by T L Swan
He pulls out and slides back in deep, and my body ripples around his as it tries to deal with his size.
Not all men are created equal. Tristan Miles is bona fide proof of that.
Sex with him . . . is otherworldly.
“I’ve been looking forward to wrecking your vagina all day, Anderson,” he whispers. I burst out laughing, and he slams in hard. “Get your fucking legs up.”
The water runs over my back, and I smile as my head leans against his broad chest.
“You know, when I teased you about drinking granny tea, I had no idea how granny you could actually get,” he mutters dryly.
I giggle. “You are a lucky boy.” I’m wearing a shower cap so that I don’t go back to work with wet hair. “You know, this is a very expensive lunch for you every day. How much does this hotel cost, anyway?”
He smiles down at me as he readjusts my granny shower cap. “Worth every penny.”
It’s Friday, and contrary to the two lunch dates a week we agreed on, we have spent three lunch breaks together here this week. I’ve lied to everyone in my office about where I have been.
I’m a bad boss doing bad things with a bad man.
We can’t get enough of each other.
“I’ve got to go, baby,” I whisper.
“Hmm.” He holds me tightly in his arms. “Don’t leave me,” he teases.
I smile as I kiss him. “I have to.” I drag myself from his arms and dry myself as he stays in the shower. “Are you not going back to work?” I ask as I dress.
He begins to wash his hair. “No. How did you know?”
“You have an overnight bag with you today.”
“Oh, I’m going to the gym.”
“Okay.” I frown as I remember something. “Did you get your car back?”
“Hopefully I can pick it up this afternoon. If not, I have another lined up for the weekend.”
“Okay.”
“Can we do Monday lunch?” he asks as he rinses the shampoo from his hair. “Wednesday is too far away,” he adds.
I stare at him for a moment, and he’s right: Wednesday is too far away. “Yes, perhaps. I’ll call you.”
What’s happening here?
I dismiss my questions and lean in and kiss him. “Goodbye.”
“Can you pass me my conditioner out of my bag before you go, please?” he asks.
I go out and retrieve his conditioner from his bag and notice his phone is lighting up. I hand the conditioner over. “Your phone has been ringing.” I put it on the bathroom counter.
“Bye, Tris.”
“Bye, babe.” He gives me a sexy wink, and I smirk as my eyes drop down his naked body.
Hmm, I’ve died and gone to lunch-break heaven.
Tristan
I listen to the door bang, and I smile as a warmth floods through me.
Claire Anderson makes me happy.
Stupidly fucking happy.
To the point where I’m nearly driving myself insane with my goofy grin.
I put the conditioner in my hair and screw up my face. Oh God. That shit stinks. I don’t remember it smelling like that before. I lean out of the shower and throw the small bottle into the trash can, and I see my phone dancing on the counter. The name Mechanic lights up the screen. Yes . . . my car. “Hello,” I answer, trying not to drip on the phone.
“Oh, hello, is that Tristan?”
“Yes. Speaking.”
“Hello, it’s Steven from Aston Martin calling.”
“Is my car ready to pick up?”
“No, unfortunately not. We’ve only just been able to discover what’s wrong with it. It’s had us baffled all week.”
“Oh.” I sigh. “Okay, what is it?”
“Um.” He pauses. “I don’t know how to put this.”
I frown.
“Someone has put sugar in the gas tank.”
“What?”
“Someone who had access to your key has put a shit ton of sugar in your tank. It seized the motor.”
I screw up my face. “Are you kidding me? Who would . . .” My voice trails off.
The wizard.
“Okay,” I snap. “That’s fine. Just fix it, and let me know when it’s ready.”
“Sorry, sir.”
Anger boils my blood, and I run my fingers through my hair. My scalp burns.
Oww. I pull my hand down and see it’s full of hair. My eyes widen.
What the fuck?
I grab my hair, and it comes out in chunks. “I’ve got to go,” I stammer.
“Okay, sir, so—”
I hang up on him and run to get back under the shower. My scalp is burning to fuck, and my hair feels like jelly as I try to rinse it out.
I think back to the words Harry said to me when I last saw him. “Tick. Tock.” My eyes widen in horror. That evil wizard has put hair-removal cream in my conditioner . . . and fucked up my car.
I wash my hair like a madman. I’m going to be bald. My anger erupts like never before.
“Tick. Fucking. Tock. Prepare to die, motherfucker.”
Chapter 15
For half an hour, I stand under the water. I get out briefly and google How to stop hair-removal cream from working?
Water and shampoo remove hair-removal cream.
I go to use my shampoo, and then I eye the bottle suspiciously. Fuck that. I reach out and throw that bottle into the trash as well. Who knows what that shit of a kid has done to anything? I use the hotel’s cheap and nasty shampoo.
I rinse my hair for another twenty minutes, and then I get out and look in the mirror. My hair feels like fairy floss—some places worse than others . . . but all in all, it’s fucked.
I dial Jameson’s number.
“Hey,” he answers.
“Meet me out front of the building in ten minutes.”
“I can’t.”
“Jameson,” I whisper through gritted teeth. “Meet me, or else prepare to bail me out of prison tonight for killing a minor.”
“What?”
“That kid.” I pinch the bridge of my nose, unable to believe it. “He put sugar in the gas tank of my Aston Martin.”
“What?”
“Oh, it gets better. He also put hair-removal cream in my fucking conditioner bottle.”
“He did not.”
“Jameson,” I whisper angrily. “My hair looks like singed pubes, so you either take me to a fucking bar, or that’s it . . . I’m going crazy.” My eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets. “And I won’t be held responsible for my actions,” I snap.
He bursts out laughing. “Are you fucking serious right now?”
“Deadly.”
“Jesus Christ, Tris. Who is this fucking kid?”
“Someone on my hit list. See you in ten.” I hang up and look in the mirror at my fuzzy hair. I try to part it and push it to the side, but it’s all fuzzy and sticking up on end.
I make a fist at the mirror. “When I get ahold of you, kid . . .” I storm out and grab my bag. I take out my toiletry bag and throw the entire thing in the trash.
Who knows what that fucker has done?
I sip my beer and glare at my infuriating brother across the bar table.
Every time he looks at me, he bursts out laughing. He’s been doing this for half an hour.
I shake my head in disgust. “If I could run my fingers through my hair in dismay, I would. But I can’t . . . because it will fucking fall out.” I sigh deeply. “This is not going to work for me. My hair is an asset,” I splutter. “How will I walk around like this?” I widen my eyes as a vision comes through. “How will I face people in meetings?” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Hi, I’m here to take over your company. Don’t mind me. I got fucked up by a thirteen-year-old.”
Jameson puts his head into his hands and laughs hard. His shoulders and back are racked with giggles.
I sip my beer, unimpressed. “Go ahead; laugh all you want,” I mutter dryly. “This is fucking hilarious.”
�
�It actually is,” he says with a laugh. “I would say hysterical.”
I glare at him, and when he finally stops laughing and comes back to earth, he says, “In all seriousness, what are you going to do?”
“Well, I want to go over there and rip him a new asshole.”
He laughs again.
“But I won’t, because Claire will kick me out.”
“And that’s a problem?”
“Yes. It’s a fucking problem. This woman has me by the balls,” I whisper angrily. “You know what I’m doing tonight?”
“What?”
“Unbeknown to Claire, I’m driving an hour to watch movies with her youngest boy . . . who is actually a pretty cool little kid, mind you, but whatever. While I pretend to the other two kids that I am just her friend.”
He frowns.
“Then, if I’m lucky, I’ll be allowed to sleep on the concrete lounge so that the Muff Cat can piss on my head.”
He drops his head and laughs once more.
“Will you stop fucking laughing?” I snap.
“I can’t help it.” He chuckles. “So this kid is the one who attacked you with the underpants?”
“No, this is the kid who hanged the teddy . . . the serial-killer one.”
Jameson puts his hand over his mouth to stifle his laugh once more. “This is fucking hilarious, Tris. I swear to God you’re being punked or some shit. I couldn’t make this shit up if I tried.”
I run my fingers over my lips as I agree with his theory. “It’s like an elaborate plan to set me up to fail.”
“Well, that’s what he’s doing. He wants you to stop hanging around. He’s effectively pushing you out. Quite smart, if you ask me, and very effective.”
I narrow my eyes and punch my fist.
“Anyway, it’s easily fixed.” He shrugs as he sips his beer. “Leave. Move on. She sounds like more trouble than she’s worth.”
“Nope, not happening.”
He screws up his face. “You really like this girl?”
I shrug. “I do.”
“Realistically, though, where is this going to go? I mean, long term you aren’t going to be with her. Why put yourself through hell with her kids if you and she aren’t suited anyway?”
“Look, I don’t know what’s going on with us, but I do know that I want to be with her in the right now, and a fucktard little kid isn’t winning and keeping her from me.”
“What would happen if you go over there accusing him and going out of your mind like you want to?”
“She’ll kick me out. Hands down, I come second to the kids. Actually . . . I probably come third after Woofy. No, fourth, after the Muff.” I sip my beer. “It’s not even a question. I don’t even have a fucking rank.” I take another sip. “I am rankless in that house.”
He smiles into his beer, and we both sit there for a moment in silence as we think.
“You know, we would have pulled this shit when we were kids if Mom tried to date someone else. Can you imagine what we would have collectively done?”
“I guess.” I sigh into my beer.
“We’d always conspire to get rid of our governesses. They were dropping like flies for a while there.”
“Then there was Maria.” I smirk. “She put a stop to that.”
Jameson chuckles. “Hottest fucking nanny I ever saw . . . I wonder what ever happened to her?”
I shrug, and we sit in silence for a while as I troll my mind. “Unless . . . ,” I murmur as a plan takes shape in my mind.
“Unless what?”
I smile broadly. “Do you know where there’s a hardware store in New York? I need a few things.”
“Why?”
I stand with renewed determination. “Jameson . . . if you can’t beat them, join them.”
He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Oh Jesus. Here we go.”
I wink.
“Whatever you are thinking, it’s a bad idea.”
I slap him on the back. “Let’s go. We’re doing this!”
“I’m not involved.”
I smile broadly. “Oh, yes you are.”
Claire
I drive down the state highway with a smile on my face. I’ve had a wonderful week, with lunch dates made in heaven, and the kids’ things have been running smoothly.
Well, maybe it’s not so much that the kids are running smoothly as it is that I’m not stressed, and things aren’t getting to me like they sometimes do.
It’s amazing what laughter and orgasms do for the soul. My mind goes to Tristan and the way he makes me laugh. I’ve never met anyone like him before. He’s hard, handsome, and professional on the outside and playful and caring on the inside.
Insanely hot right through.
I get a vision of us meeting throughout the week and how he has ordered my favorite food and drinks for lunch. How he bought me a shower cap so that my hair wouldn’t get wet when I showered. How he pulls the drapes before I get there because he wants me to feel comfortable in my skin. He doesn’t know that I notice these things, but I do.
How could I not?
He’s always making sure that I’m taken care of. There’s a gentle, caring side to him that I adore.
I call Harry, putting my phone on speaker in the car. “Hey, Mom,” he says.
“Hi, honey. How was your day?”
“Hmm, okay,” he says. “Can I go to Justine’s party tomorrow night?”
I scrunch up my face. Damn it. Justine is a girl he knows whose parents go away every weekend and leave her home alone with her elder sisters. The only problem is Justine’s sisters aren’t even home most of the time. “What’s the party for?”
“It’s her birthday. She’s fourteen.”
“Are her parents going to be home?”
He hesitates. “Um . . . yes.”
I roll my eyes. That means no. “I’ll see how you behave.”
“Can I, Mom, please?” he begs. “If I behave, can I go to the party?”
I roll my eyes again. “I’m not bargaining with you to behave, Harry. You should want to behave anyway. You’re thirteen, not two.”
“Well, can I go?”
“I want you to clean up the porch for me. Put all the shoes back in the shoebox, and straighten things up.”
“Oh, Mom,” he moans. “They aren’t even my shoes. I’m not putting everyone else’s shoes away. That’s not fair.”
My anger simmers. “Goodbye, Harry.”
“So can I go to the party?”
I narrow my eyes. God, it would be so much easier to barter with this kid, but I know there’ll be alcohol at this party, and if he starts drinking and goes off the rails now at this young age, I have absolutely no chance of reigning him back in. He’s too strong a personality. “Harrison, you want to be treated as an adult, but you act like a baby.”
“Mom,” he moans. “I’m going,” he snaps.
“Clean the porch, and do your jobs, and we will discuss it,” I snap back as I lose my patience. “Where’s Patrick?”
“I don’t know. Goodbye.” He hangs up.
I shake my head. That little twerp. He drives me mad.
I call Patrick. I had to give him a phone so that he could contact me whenever he wanted and so that I could call him. “Hi, Mama,” he says happily.
“Hi, buddy.” I smile. “I’m on my way home.”
“Oh, okay.”
“Where are you?”
“Nancy and I are at the park.”
Nancy, our babysitter, gets the boys off to school for me in the mornings and stays until five thirty in the afternoons. She works a night job, so she has to leave right on time. I’m usually home fifteen minutes after she leaves, so it works out well. “Okay, darling, see you soon.”
“Bye, Mama. Love you.”
“Love you too. Bye.” I hang up and smile. My sweet, placid child. I had to get one out of the three, I suppose.
Although Fletcher has really turned the corner since he started this internship, and I h
ate to admit it, but I think that Tristan has had a lot to do with it. His tough love approach has worked wonders with Fletch, but of course, it could just be the fact that he’s growing up too. Fletcher is a good kid, and his only crime is that he’s too protective of me. To the point where if Harry is giving me grief, Fletcher goes ballistic, and I have to break them up from a fistfight.
Harry, on the other hand, is an entirely different kettle of fish. He’s naughty wherever he goes and no matter who he’s with. His teachers are constantly calling me about his behavior, and last year he even nearly got expelled from school. I’ve had him at therapy. I’ve had him at behavioral psychologists. You name it—I’ve done it.
Diet, exercise programs, no blue lights on screens . . . nothing has worked. It pains me to admit it, but Harry needs his dad. More than the other two, and I’m so out of my depth that I have no idea what to do with him.
At this point, my only goal is to get through each day without an all-out war. If I can get into bed at night, and I haven’t had a call from school about him, and we haven’t had a run-in, it’s been a very good day.
I let him get away with a lot more than I should, simply so that Patrick and Fletcher don’t have to put up with his dramatics and my screaming.
It’s not fair to them to have to live with it, so I tiptoe around Harry to keep the peace.
It’s not right, but at this point, it’s all I can do.
“Hello,” Fletcher calls as he answers the door. “Mom, Tristan is here.”
“What?” I hear Patrick call. He goes running through the house to the door like a maniac. “Tristan!” he cries in excitement.
“Hey, buddy,” I hear Tristan’s deep voice reply.
What’s he doing here?
Nerves dance in my stomach, and I walk out to see Patrick hugging Tristan’s leg.
Fletcher rolls his eyes in a “he’s so embarrassing” way, and I smile at the beautiful man before me. “Hi.”
Tristan’s eyes hold mine. “Hello, Claire.”
The air buzzes between us.
It’s there again, like it is every time we’re together—this feeling between us where I want to take him into my arms and kiss him. It doesn’t feel natural being platonic.
Tristan Miles was made for touching.
He’s wearing jeans and a T-shirt and a navy cap. I love him dressed like this, all casual and hot.
