FLIRTING WITH 40

by K. Bromberg

  I sat there and nodded like a good little boy who learned his lesson when all I could think about was little Ivy five floors above me and how she needed to wake up.

  I had to show that I was using my suspension wisely by handing over the journal pieces I’d written in my time off. They were supposed to help prove I was still committed to being the best doctor I could be.

  I picture their stoic faces and unemotional voices as they told me they knew all they needed to know. That they were sorry that calling me in had given me the impression they were going to reach a conclusion on when my suspension would be over, but that they were in a standstill until Ivy was able to give a statement to the police.

  So, instead of seeing light at the end of the tunnel, I spent the three hours driving up here replaying the entire meeting in my head, still in limbo whether I’ll be dropped from the program when all is said and done.

  That makes room for a lot of noise to live in your head. How my future balances on what an abused five-year-old may or may not say when she wakes up.

  Because she has to wake up.

  But I’m in the mountains, so there’s that. A great place to quiet some of that noise for a bit. I’m also with her—the woman whose green eyes look into mine and implore me to answer.

  “It went fine.” Not wanting her to look too closely, I lean down and put my mouth to her ear. “You holding up okay? No backstabbing happened before I got here?”

  Her smile is quick, and it lights up her eyes with a newfound confidence that looks good on her. “Nah. It’s early yet. But your line worked beautifully.” She laughs. “And this group doesn’t need to wait for you to turn your back, they’ll stab you while you’re looking them in the eyes.”

  I glance around and laugh. “Not to me they won’t.” With a wink, I grab her hand and lead her over to Horrible Heather so I can introduce myself as the doting boyfriend.

  This is going to be fun.

  “I’ll have her won over to your side in no time,” I say to Blakely as we lean back on the lounge chairs on the lodge’s outdoor patio.

  “Shh,” Blakely says as she looks around in a panic as if I forgot the goal here.

  “What?” I say. “It’s the truth.”

  “Not even you are that good.”

  “Wanna bet?” I reach over, grab her hand, and lift my free hand in a wave to the couple—Oversharing Olivia and her boy toy of the moment, Harley Hal—on the other side of the space. She’s already let me know he is a temporary thing and left a mile-wide invite for me to walk into.

  “Oh, please.” She laughs, and it’s such a good sound woven into the rustle of the trees and chirping of birds. “But I’m not going to complain if you accomplish it.”

  “I bet you that by the end of the trip—”

  “Slade,” Blakely warns again for me to lower my voice.

  I slide to the edge of my chair and lean into her so my lips are at her ear. I love the little hitch of her breath she makes when my hand rests on her thigh. “Don’t worry. I know why we’re here. And I bet you that by the end of the trip, Heather will be your new bestie.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far,” she says as she leans back and meets my eyes.

  Her lips are right there. So fucking close it’s painful not to take another taste of them.

  “Do you doubt my skills?”

  Our stares hold, and her eyes darken as her mind goes to the same place mine does with my double entendre. But her perfume is filling my nose, and the subtle scent of sunshine and flowers taunts me to kiss her. I’d blame it on the show, but it’d be solely for me.

  “Oh, so now you like lists and bets?”

  She’s teasing me, and I flash a grin. “I like anything that has a prize dangling at the end of it.”

  “Do you now?”

  Nodding, I glance down to her tongue, which just darted out to wet her bottom lip, and say, “I do.” I shift so I’m sitting on the seat of her chair facing her, my hips bumping against hers, and place a hand on the other side of her legs.

  “And what prize will we be dangling here?” Her voice is low, husky, sexy. It’s a seduction in and of itself.

  “How about whoever wins”—I let a slow smile crawl onto my lips—“gets a night of their choice when this is all done?”

  “A night of their choice?”

  “Yep.” I reach out and tuck a piece of hair behind her ear, letting my fingers linger. “Whoever loses has to give the winner a night out of their choice.”

  “That’s fair.” She looks over to where another of her coworkers has ventured out onto the patio to take in this incredible view. “How exactly would we measure this though?”

  “In satisfaction.”

  I love the flash up of her eyes to meet mine and the quick startle of her head. The way I can affect her is a heady feeling.

  “That’s a rather hard thing to measure, don’t you think?” she murmurs

  “Sometimes, but other times, satisfaction is clear as day.” I chuckle. “I’ll leave that up to you. How would you measure satisfaction?”

  “I get the promotion.”

  “The promotion? And how is getting the promotion a measure of satisfaction?” I chuckle and squeeze her thigh. “I’m beginning to think you’re trying to throw this bet here by giving me something to achieve that can’t be quantified or measured.”

  “Getting the promotion would give me the satisfaction of attaining the one goal I’ve worked toward for years—the vice president of marketing position. If I get the job, then ultimate satisfaction is achieved.”

  “Essentially, you’re twisting the parameter I set of satisfaction to suit your needs.”

  “I’m a girl who’ll do what it takes to get what she wants,” she says, and the playful little shrug and smile she flashes me are a deadly combination for my restraint. She’s fucking irresistible. “And I want the VP of marketing job. All I need is for Heather—”

  “You mean Horrible Heather—”

  “Shh.” She reaches up and puts her hand over my mouth while I laugh, drawing attention over to us.

  “Sorry. Best behavior here,” I say in my nerdiest voice as I grab her hand, all thoughts of Heather gone now that our fingers are linked.

  “So, it’s a bet?” There’s a flirtatious amusement in her eyes that’s impossible to ignore.

  “I still think you’re putting me at a disadvantage from the start with this immeasurable parameter you’ve set.”

  “You afraid you can’t satisfy me?” She trails a finger down the top of my thigh. “I thought you never backed down from a bet, Slade.”

  She needs to quit smiling because it just makes me want to kiss her again.

  And again.

  And then some.

  “I don’t.” I lean in closer and lower my voice. “There are a whole lot of things I can’t control, and you getting that position is one of them.”

  She twists her finger around a lock of hair while batting her eyelashes. “Don’t you have faith in me, Slade?”

  My name. Her lips. Jesus.

  “Complete faith.”

  “Then what seems to be the problem?”

  “There isn’t one.” I angle my head as I stare at her. “Bet taken. You’ll get that promotion. I’ll make sure you’re satisfied.”

  And I don’t care how subjective her satisfaction is. Scratch that. I do care. Especially when my ability to give it is being judged. The most important part is that I just extended this weekend to at least one more night with her.

  Not sure why that feels so important to do before we’ve even started . . . but this woman.

  There’s just something about her.

  Blakely

  Satisfaction.

  What man measures things in satisfaction?

  Ones who obviously knows how to give it.

  Why this owns my thoughts as Slade and I stroll down the pathway toward our cabin is beyond me.

  That’s a lie. I know why it runs on repeat in my head. I kno
w why my body reacted viscerally to the thought of it.

  Because all I could think about when he was sitting on the chaise lounge with me was our kiss last night.

  Last night? It feels like forever ago and minutes ago at the same time.

  And we’re headed to a cabin. Yes, I said it. A cabin. Where we will be alone.

  At night.

  The man I’m lusting after. The man I want to kiss me. The man who just linked his fingers through mine as if it were the most natural thing in the world to do.

  This all ties together in my overthinking brain.

  There was comfort in the idea of a communal cabin with bunk beds. Sure, it would have been a pain in the ass to be with everyone nonstop, but it also would have allowed me to draw a line of propriety between Slade and me.

  And now there is no safety. There is just Slade and me and nothing but a whole lot of thrumming desire in a very small space.

  “You’re awfully quiet,” Slade says.

  “Just enjoying the scenery.”

  He laughs, and it rumbles through the silence. “You mean the scenery in the mountains of which you despise?”

  I laugh. Cover blown. “I’m not too thrilled with this agenda,” I say, holding out the paper and shaking my head. “An obstacle course. Paddleboard yoga . . . I mean, I’m not really seeing anywhere how this is teambuilding.”

  “A fishing contest. Capture the flag. Canoe races. Relay races. Hide-and-seek.” He raises his eyebrows at the grade-school games. “It sounds like your boss missed out on her childhood sleepaway camp and is trying to make up for lost time.”

  “I was expecting a trust course and zip line or something like that. You know, things that force us to learn to trust each other. This definitely is not what I expected.”

  “Says the city girl.”

  I shrug and give him a coy smile as we take the steps up to the small covered porch of the cabin. Within seconds, his key is in the door and he’s pushing it open.

  “Well, this is going to be interesting,” he murmurs as he steps out of the way for me to enter before him.

  I step a foot into the cabin and have to stop the panic that begins to riot within me. Everything is new and nice and clean, but the interior is, at best, twelve foot by twelve foot. There is a full-size or maybe a queen-size bed in the center of the room, and our bags are on the floor next to it. There are about three feet on each side of the bed, and there is what looks kind of like a baby changing table beneath the windows for us to put our luggage on. On the other side of the bed is a doorway, which I assume leads to a bathroom.

  I’m almost afraid to look.

  “It isn’t much space,” Slade says as he hops onto the bed and puts his hands behind his head. “But at least the bed is comfortable.”

  And it looks mighty comfortable. It also looks extremely small with his body occupying the space. Space that he and I will have to share while sleeping.

  Memories of his kiss mix with the knowledge that we will be side by side . . . touching, and I know I won’t be getting any sleep.

  The cocky smirk curling the corner of his lips gives me the feeling he’s thinking the same thing.

  I step over our bags to get a foot of space between us and to investigate the bathroom. There’s a sink, a counter, and a mirror and . . . that’s it.

  “You okay?” Slade asks from his spot on the bed.

  “Umm . . .” This is not funny. “There’s no toilet or shower.” Not even remotely funny.

  “Okay.”

  “How can you sound so blasé about there not being a toilet or a shower?” I start to freak. I mean, I’m handling this nature shit pretty well so far—outwardly, at least—but this? This isn’t good.

  He chuckles. “I guess I expected it,” he says as if he’s testing the waters. “Most camping places have a communal shower and bathroom. The one plus is Sue said there’s no one else near our facilities, so we’ll most likely get ours to ourselves.”

  “Great. A lot of good that’s going to do me when I have to go pee at three in the morning and a bear comes meandering around.”

  “There are no bears here.”

  “Then why are there signs everywhere telling us to put our trash in those metal bins so as not to attract bears? Bears, Slade. Bears.”

  “They won’t come around here. It’s just a precaution.” He angles his head up and studies me. “You’re really freaked out about this, aren’t you?”

  “No. Yes. It’s stupid.”

  “I’ll protect you.”

  “Against a bazillion pound bear?”

  “Don’t you have faith in me?” he asks, that playful smile on his lips when he pats the bed beside him. “The plus side is, you know I’ll be able to patch you up after the bear gets done with you.”

  “And now you’re a comedian.”

  “At least you know I have humor to help get you through the pain,” he says as I glare at him. “Come on. Forget about bears and come plot our history with me.”

  Freaking out about bears or talking to Slade about us, albeit a fake us?

  I know which one I’ll take any day of the week.

  I take a single step and the fronts of my thighs hit the side of the bed as I look down at him. The black shirt against his tan skin and the biceps on full display with his arms folded beneath his head. His muscular thighs flexing beneath the denim as he uncrosses and recrosses his ankles. Those eyes, inquisitive and seductive at the same time.

  He reaches out and links his pinkie with mine. “You good?”

  “Mm-hmm.” I smile. “Sorry for the little panic attack.” Then I sigh. “So, what will the best course of action be? I mean how will we explain—”

  I cut off my own words with a loud whoop as he yanks me down onto the bed beside him and starts tickling me.

  “Stop! Stop!” I playfully struggle until I’m on my back and he’s tickling me from above. After a few moments, he lets me pin his hands against my body.

  Our breathing is labored, but there is a stillness that screams if either one of us makes the next move, the other will be all in.

  I wait for that next second to pass, wait for him to lean in and kiss me. There are a few seconds where I swear time stands still before his breathing slows some and his lips turn up in a smile. “You need to stop worrying, Blakely. It’s simple. We’ll keep it simple.” I release his hands, but he keeps them where they are with one hand on my abdomen and the other on my hand. “We met in a bar. There was instant chemistry, but you walked out, afraid of how strong you felt about me.”

  “Is that so?”

  His grin widens. “That’s so. And because fate is the funny bitch she is and was determined that we end up together, we just so happened to run into each other on the street a week later.”

  “Very creative.”

  “And the rest is history.”

  “But it isn’t.” I chuckle and rest my head back and look at the ceiling. The mundane white of it makes me so much less nervous than Slade’s face right in front of me while his hand heats my skin beneath its touch. “How long have we been together?”

  “We told your ex five months, so let’s stick with that.” He props his head on his hand and settles in beside me without removing his other hand from my stomach. “You don’t owe them any explanations or details. And technically, we aren’t lying. The more lies you tell, the more tripped up you’ll get, and then we’ll be outed, so . . . the fewer details, the better.”

  “Why do you have to be so logical?”

  I’m still looking at the ceiling, but I can feel the weight of his stare on me, and it’s making me self-conscious.

  “I’m sorry it doesn’t have a porch swing?”

  “What?” I ask and turn to look at him.

  “The cabin. It doesn’t have a porch swing. You said you only did the mountains with a porch swing and wine.” He pats my hip. “I’m sure I can fix the wine problem, but the swing part might be a bit tough.”

  “You’re too goo
d to be true.”

  And there it is. The thought I’ve been thinking is suddenly out in the open, and I feel like an idiot for saying it because I can’t take it back.

  In perfect Slade fashion, he gives me a boyish grin before flopping onto his back. “Don’t hate me when I say this, but she wasn’t as bad as I thought she was going to be.”

  “Who? Horrible Heather?”

  “Mm-hmm. I think I expected a fire-breathing dragon who talks like a valley girl and spits out chewed nails, but she was seemingly nice,” he says.

  “Of course, she was nice to the hot, young heart surgeon who sauntered into the room with a panache most would kill to have an ounce of.”

  “Panache?” He starts laughing.

  “If I had been in your shoes—interrupt her opening speech and walk in like you did—she would have treated me as if I were a threat.”

  “It’s the good looks,” he says with a wink. My sarcastic groan has him laughing. “I’m confused. Why are you a threat if you want a different position?”

  “It’s a long and uneventful explanation.”

  “Isn’t that why we’re here though? I need more of an understanding of what I’m trying to tackle.” He nudges me with his elbow. “So, start talking, babe.”

  “At Glam they have both a VP of sales and a VP of marketing position. They are supposed to have equally weighted responsibilities to drive the success of the products. We share the success, the failures, the bonuses.”

  “As opposed to having an outside marketing company?”

  “Exactly. It’s great in the sense that we have that whole side of our business working together, but it’s bad when the two leading positions are at odds.”

  “And she’s the VP of sales? Who is the current VP of marketing and shouldn’t they be here at the retreat?”

  “Debbie—the current VP—is retiring for health reasons. She’s a great lady, but she hasn’t been present much. We all knew she was hinting toward retirement before she got sick, but she just made the announcement that she’ll officially step down once the board has a candidate to take her position.”