The Good Mistake (Hemsworth Brothers #3)

by Haleigh Lovell

I felt a faint smile tugging at the corner of my lips. “Like a happy little accident.”

  “Happy what?”

  “Happy little accident,” I said. “That’s what my dad affectionately calls me because the condom broke and then I happened.”

  “Oh.” A pause. “He still calls you that?”

  “On birthdays, mostly.”

  “In that case, you’re my happy little accident, Edric.”

  “And you’re my beautiful oops, baby. My one good mistake.”

  “Aww,” she gushed. “That’s the sweetest thing anyone has ever called me. And this ‘thing’ between us, whatever you want to call it, it took me by surprise. It just sort of happened. Like I had no control over it.”

  “I know,” I said. “It’s like I’m driving this Chevy pickup truck, towing a horse trailer, and—”

  “You’re not ever steering it.”

  “I’m not. And I just want to keep on going and going—”

  “—on this bumpy ride,” she added. “This hellish joy ride.”

  “Hell, yeah,” I drawled, “my foot’s on the pedal, baby.”

  “And you ain’t getting out.”

  “No, ma’am. I’m not.”

  “I ain’t going nowhere either,” she said fiercely. “You’re gonna have to fuckin’ cut my foot off to get me outta this truck.”

  “Now that’s how you write a goddamn country song,” I said and we both lost it.

  “Lucy?” I said after our laughter had petered out.

  “Yes?”

  “Non-amputated foot aside, did you just profess your undying love for me?”

  “And what if I did?” Her voice held a challenge. Suddenly, she began to giggle, then to laugh, shaking like a leaf. It was the first time I’d seen her so nervous around me. “I don’t know why...” she said.

  Slowly, I traced a path along her cheekbone. “Why what?”

  “Why I’ve turned into a cold-shoulder top that’s floating in the breeze. I can’t stop shaking and I don’t understan—”

  I sealed my mouth over hers, cutting off her words, and she fell deep into the kiss.

  I kissed her like I was rediscovering the taste of her. It was slow, long and purposeful, and I stroked my tongue with hers, sliding my hands in her hair, easing a soft moan from her throat before I reluctantly pulled back.

  She stared at me for a long moment. Unspoken things moved in her eyes. At last, she said, “We’re not pretending any more, are we?”

  “What do you think?”

  Her eyes told me her answer long before her lips could form the words. “No.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Lucy

  SIX MONTHS LATER....

  “THERE’S A MOLE,” EDRIC said in all seriousness.

  “Huh?” I blinked. “On my face?”

  “In my book.” His nose was buried in his novel. Actually, that thing was so thick it was more like a tome than a novel.

  Edric and spy thrillers. I shook my head, smiling as I silently observed him.

  I loved his little quirks, like how he brushed the tips of two fingers against his lower lip for half a minute when he was trying to concentrate, and how he tilted his head slightly backward, as if in response to a tiny surprise.

  Abruptly, his book was snapped shut and tossed aside. “I knew it!” he said forcefully. “I knew Otto was a sleeper agent. Saw it coming from a mile away.”

  “Of course you did,” I indulged him. “My man’s a wily fox. He’s not one to be outfoxed.”

  “You’re absolutely right.” He watched me for a moment. “What are you doing?”

  “What does it look like I’m doing?” I was sitting in a lotus pose, smearing charcoal mask onto my face.

  “Let me do it.” He batted my hand away. “You’re doing it all wrong. You’re not supposed to slap it on with reckless abandon.” Using two fingers, he gently spread the muddy mixture across my face in slow, circular motions.

  “Edric.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Have you heard about the new facial trend that’s sweeping the nation?”

  “Charcoal is yesterday’s news, so could it be cow dung today? Manure, perhaps? Wait, I know,” he said suddenly. “Horse manure! It helps supercharge your garden, so why not slap all those active nutrients onto your face? Plus, it’s eco-friendly.”

  “Hmm. I think you’re on to something there. I could make bank with Gouda’s poo.”

  “You could,” he said. “You could build a whole beauty empire entirely from horseshit.”

  I rubbed my chin thoughtfully, filing away that information for another time. “Back to what I was saying. The new trend that’s sweeping the nation is the foreskin facial.”

  “You’re joking,” he scoffed.

  “I’m not. It’s supposed to reduce wrinkles by using skin cells from the tip of a baby’s penis.”

  “You’re fuckin’ kidding me.”

  “I’m serious. The only problem is every person who tries the foreskin facial becomes cockeyed almost instantly.”

  The cogs were turning in his brain. In less than two seconds, it clicked. “Seriously, Lucy.” A slow grin began to spread across his face. “Your dad jokes are as bad as mine.”

  I smothered a giggle. “Not nearly.”

  “Says you.” He slathered charcoal mask across my forehead, then smoothed it down the sides with his fingertips.

  “This is nice.” I sighed blissfully, feeling the cool mixture settle deep into my pores. “I’ve never had a best friend do this for me. Always wanted one, though. The bond between best friends, it’s just so powerful, ya know?”

  “I know.”

  “It’s like this suit of armor against the indignities of life.”

  His mouth lifted in a half smile. “And now you have me.”

  “And now I have you. You’re like my best friend and lover all rolled into one giant crusty crab.”

  “Erm, you’re the one turning crusty right now. Can you even move your face?”

  “A little,” I said stiffly.

  He applied more mud mask to my face, careful to avoid my eyes and lips. “What’s this shit supposed to do anyway?”

  “Absorb oil, dirt, and toxins. Not only that, the activated charcoal is supposed to cleanse my pores, exfoliate my skin, and remove blackheads.”

  “I want some of this.” He sucked in his cheeks like a supermodel in a photo shoot and began smearing the mask onto his skin. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “Oh, nothing,” I said lightly. “I was just mourning the loss of your masculinity.”

  “Shut up.” He laughed.

  Oh, how I adored this man. Every day with him only got better.

  And somehow, don’t ask me how, he was still putting up with me.

  I bit back a smile. It takes a special human.

  Emotion caught in my throat, prickly and raw as I gazed at him. “How does that saying go again?” I mused aloud. “Through our strengths we compete, through our weaknesses...”

  “We connect?” he supplied.

  “Yes, I think that’s it.” Through my pain and recovery, through all my insecurities and vulnerabilities, we connected on such a deep level.

  Now don’t get me wrong, things between us were still fun and playful, but there was that added layer of depth. He’d been with me through two major surgeries: my double mastectomy and my breast reconstruction.

  I’d had implants inside my chest for over three months now. They were small to mid B-cups. And although I’d had a nipple-sparing preventative double mastectomy, my new breasts were numb.

  With a traditional mastectomy, doctors removed the nipples and scooped out all the breast tissue. In my case, my nipples were spared but they lacked any feeling whatsoever.

  I couldn’t sense the slightest touch on my breasts, feel an itch if I had a rash, or pain if I ran into something. Nothing. I couldn’t even perceive warmth or cold.

  Just the other day, I was pouring a pot of pasta a
nd water through a colander in the sink and some of the boiling hot water must have splashed onto my chest. I didn’t even realize I had burned myself until Edric pointed out the red marks on my skin later that night when we were in bed.

  Incidents like that scared me. And, yes, I’d been told that this would happen, but I guessed I hadn’t adequately prepared myself for what it would actually feel like. The loss of sensation... I hadn’t thought it’d be like this. I didn’t know; it was hard to wrap my head around it sometimes.

  Even the simple everyday tasks required more thought behind them, like being careful when I used a curling iron or a flat iron on my hair, and wearing jewelry with sharp edges that could potentially puncture my skin.

  Exhaling a clipped sigh, I looked down at my new breasts. They hadn’t settled in quite yet; they looked bumpy and lumpy with ripples along my skin.

  “Hey.” The slight rasp in his voice tugged my eyes back up.

  I cleared my throat. “Yeah?”

  The moment stretched and the directness of his gaze made my knees weak. “You’re so sexy, baby.”

  “Even now?” I wrinkled my nose. “With charcoal mud on my face?”

  “Still sexy.”

  “What if I told you I’m wearing my oldest pair of non-sexy period panties?”

  “Still sexy.”

  “Lies,” I hissed. “Fake news.”

  “Facts,” he quipped. “Truth bombs.”

  “Just look at my boobs.” I set my lips in a pout. “Do they look natural to you? And all the scars—ugh. I look like the Bride of Frankenstein.”

  “Baby, you’re sexy because you are. Not because of your breasts, or your undies, or whatever you’re telling yourself right now. I find you sexy because you are sexy.”

  “Okay.” I exhaled.

  Edric’s right. I am sexy. He constantly reminded me of that. Showed me. I felt it. In his actions and his words.

  He made me feel sexy in bed. Yes, sex was different now. I had to guide him, telling him, “Nope. Still don’t feel anything there.” And I had to occasionally remind him to be gentle when grabbing my tits or sucking on my nipples, but the sex—it was still good, perhaps even better.

  There was a heightened level of intimacy when we had sex. It was the kind of sex that brought us closer. It was the sex you had when you’d missed each other, the sex you had when it was time to make up, the sex you had when you wanted to show the person how much you loved them.

  “Baby?” His voice sliced through my thoughts.

  “Yeah?”

  “Why are you wearing your period panties when you’re not on your period?”

  “I don’t even know.” I laughed softly. “I just feel like absolute crap.”

  “What can I do to make you feel better?”

  I thought about this briefly and then said, “Let’s go see a movie.”

  “Okay.”

  “My treat,” I insisted. “After all you’ve done for me, it’s the least I can do.”

  “All right, my little crusty crab.” He plopped a dollop of charcoal mud on the tip of my nose. “It’s a date.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Edric

  “TWO FOR Cold War, please,” Lucy informed the ticket counter attendant. “And can we get the senior movie discount?”

  “Mmmmkayyyy.” The high-school kid tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. “You’re over sixty?”

  “Yes,” Lucy said coolly. “I’ve had lots of work done.”

  “Humph.” The kid appeared skeptical, but he rang her up anyway. “That’ll be twenty dollars.”

  “Thanks!” she said, sliding her Visa across the counter.

  I waited until we were out of earshot before speaking. “Scammer.”

  “Hustler,” she corrected. “My dad used to say I was eleven when I was sixteen, just to save a few bucks. But hey, when you’re poor, a few bucks here and there... it all adds up. And right now, I have a ton of medical bills piling up.”

  “I could’ve paid for the tickets.”

  “I know, but I want to do something for you.”

  “Thanks, baby.”

  “My pleasure.”

  “So tell me,” I ventured. “What other life hacks do you have up your sleeves?”

  “When I was a kid, my mom would buy jackets that were two sizes too large so I could grow into them. I looked ridiculous, of course, and not even my friends were prepared to look me in the eye like I was a contributing member of society. I looked like a damn Paddington Bear.”

  I laughed. “Would you ever do that to your own kid?”

  “You betcha,” she said. “Would you?”

  “Probably.”

  “Let’s face it.” She nudged me playfully in the ribs. “We’re both cheap bastards.”

  “Popcorn or candy?” I nudged her back, slowing to a halt in front of the concession stands. “My treat and feel free to splurge.”

  “Hmm.” She pursed her lips, considering. “I’ll have a box of Sour Patch Kids and a Coke.”

  “Sour Patch Kids?” I frowned. “Who even eats that?”

  “It’s the best! Sweet on the inside, sour on the outside, and sneakily addictive. Like you!”

  While she stuffed her face with the little gummy candies that were ‘like me,’ I ordered a Coke and a tub of popcorn to share and then paid for our treats.

  As we walked down the hallway, she said, “I wonder why they don’t make Sour Patch Adults?”

  “Because you eat all of their kids.”

  “Valid point.” She tapped the box of Sour Patch Kids against her palm. “You want one?”

  “No, thanks.”

  “Ugh!” she grumbled. “There’s hardly any gummies left. I can’t believe movie theaters have the audacity to charge four bucks for this! I can buy this anywhere else for a dollar.”

  “All in all, a relative bargain at a four hundred percent markup.”

  She didn’t miss the sarcasm in my voice. “I know. It’s ridiculous.”

  “Why do you think I wear Hanes Her Way?” I smiled broadly. “It’s so I can afford to splurge on my girlfriend at the movies.”

  “Oh, says the venture capitalist billionaire who lives in a posh mansion, removed from reality by many layers of glass.”

  “So do you,” I pointed out.

  “Hah.” A snort of laughter escaped her. “You’re right, I do.”

  “Yeah, baby. People who live in glass houses that someone else is paying for shouldn’t throw stones, but that’s none of my business.”

  “Oii!” she cried, smacking my arm. “Shut up, already!”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Lucy

  WHO KNEW A MOVIE DATE could be hotter than Netflix and chill?

  My skin tingled from the electric pull between us each time our fingers met in the popcorn tub. And every now and then, Edric would lean in, his soft lips just barely grazing my ear, his warm breath tickling my skin as he whispered something or other about the movie.

  Swallowing hard, I pressed my legs together, feeling that familiar tug between my thighs. I felt like a sexually repressed teenager.

  Suffice it to say, I found it hard to concentrate on the love story unfolding on the large screen before us. It was one of those love-among-the-ruins romances set in post-war Poland that traversed the Iron Curtain.

  In the shadows of hardship, it was the search for reprieve from oppression, interrupted by bursts of joy expressed through love, music, dance, and sex.

  Lots of sex. This bloody film was built for maximum seduction.

  While the lead actors were in the throes of passion, I caught Edric watching me.

  His gaze scorched with intensity, his eyes never deviating from my face.

  I could almost feel him undressing me with his eyes.

  As the actors continued boning on the screen, the sounds of their flesh slapping against each other echoed through the theatre. The air surrounding us grew thick and heavy, and I dragged it in and out of my lungs in open-mou
thed pants.

  By the time the movie ended and the credits rolled, I was ready to jump his bones.

  THAT NIGHT, WE HAD a lot of sex. In the shower, up against the wall, he drove into me as I slid up and down the marbled tile. Now in the bedroom, he was doing that thing that drove me wild with pleasure. He’d pull his dick out, suck on my pussy for a few minutes, then slide his dick back in again.

  He did this over and over until I was screaming his name in dazed repetition.

  “Edric.” I whimpered as he slowed the stroke of his tongue, licking me lovingly, languidly, bringing me over the edge and back again until my breath came in shallow gasps. “Please,” I whispered tightly as he moved his mouth away from my labia. “Edric, please.”

  He pressed a kiss to my lips before entering me in one smooth stroke.

  As he slowly eased his cock from my snug folds, my inner muscles clenched and squeezed around his thick shaft, trying to prolong the moment, to extend the pleasure.

  “More?”

  My answer was a throaty yes, punctuated by a visible quiver through my body as he slid his dick back inside my pussy and worked his hard cock inside me. All the while he watched my face, drinking in every nuance of my arousal as he fucked me in slow and measured strokes, penetrating deep, lodging his dick inside me before gradually pulling out.

  Take and retreat.

  Enter and play.

  Withdraw and explore...

  He brought his mouth to my labia, molding his lips to my lips, teasing me with his tongue. Placing the flat of his tongue at the base of my slit, he dragged his head upward, his tongue laving the entire length of my labia, up and down, long sweeps, smooth and wet, again and again until I could no longer feel my legs.

  A sob caught at the back of my throat, the sound frantic, and then his cock was inside me once more. He took his time, building me to excruciating heights.

  “Edric,” I cried out, desperation filling my voice, my body pleading for the release he kept just beyond my reach.

  Pistoning his hips, he took me harder and faster, setting a ruthless rhythm, using his entire body to stroke inside me, pumping his shaft inside me until I came again and again, multiple orgasms rippling through my body, my release gushing out like a river.