The Fix Up

by Kendall Ryan

  “Afraid so.” I’m smug, and I can’t help it. I just made her come apart and scream my name in under five minutes.

  “Oh thank God, because I was worried I dreamed it.”

  I can’t help but laugh. Damn, she’s cute. This must mean she’s been dreaming about this moment just as much as I have. It makes me want to do it all over again. As soon as possible.

  I help her into her knickers, pulling them slowly up her legs, then help with her jeans.

  “Are you ready for that dessert I promised you?”

  She clears her throat, looking down at the bulge in my jeans with longing. “What about you? Don’t you need . . .”

  More than I need my next breath.

  “When you’re ready.”

  “Are you sure?”

  I nod, wanting her mouth, her hands, more than I want to survive the fucking zombie apocalypse.

  “He’ll make it,” I grit out. Lie. It’s a total lie. My dick is going to die. “I’ll be fine.”

  “Okay.” She smiles at me warmly. “So, you were serious about dessert?”

  I chuckle. “Of course.” I take her hand and lead her into the kitchen. “You told me once that you wanted to go to Italy.”

  She shoots me a curious glance.

  “I have the next best thing. Gelato.”

  “Yum.”

  Camryn squeezes my hand, and we enter the kitchen together. Watching her face light up is worth the extra effort of running across town to the European grocer. My dick is still pissed at me, but my heart is happy.

  “I might have even recorded an episode of that show you like. You have time to stick around?”

  “Absolutely,” Camryn chirps, her cheeks rosy.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Sterling

  A few days have passed since my dessert date with Camryn, and my smile hasn’t so much as budged.

  Sure, I’ve been working, going to the gym, and dealing with all the other general life stuff, but my mind has been on her. The few times we’ve spoken on the phone, she says I should go on another date, but doesn’t press me when I shrug off the suggestion.

  I pass by the lobby, and when I check in with the receptionist, I’m directed to a conference room at the end of the hall. Noah and Olivia are having a baby shower today at their office for work friends. I guess when the two CEOs and marry and produce offspring, it’s something their employees want to celebrate.

  I figured I’d drop by and say hello. The fact that Camryn will be here has nothing to do with my decision to clear my calendar this afternoon and cross the city for this.

  Yeah, right.

  When I pull open the door to the large conference room, it takes me a minute to spot any familiar faces. Ninety percent of the attendees are women, and they’re all smiling and cooing and talking about baby smells and the best swaddling blankets, and promising that the lack of sleep is all worth it.

  Setting the yellow-and-green gift bag on a side table, I cross the room. I had no idea what to get them for their baby, so I opted for something that I hope will make them laugh in the stressful times ahead. Nipple cream for Olivia, and a package of condoms for Noah—size extra-small. Maybe by the time the baby actually comes, it will give me more time to think up a suitable gift.

  Spotting the guests of honor seated at the head of the conference table in the very front of the room, I approach and give them each a hug.

  “Thank you for coming,” Olivia says, her hand on her swollen belly. Her cheeks have a glow to them, and her expression is happy. It’s good to see good things happen to good people.

  I shake Noah’s hand. “Are you kidding? I wouldn’t miss it.”

  Noah shoots me a wry look. “Camryn’s over there.”

  I can’t help but chuckle. He sees straight through me. “Thanks. I left a gift on the table. You’ll know which one’s from me.”

  “At least have a slice of cake,” Olivia says. She’s already honing those mothering instincts.

  I look over at the huge layer cake frosted in pink and blue that rests in the center of the conference table.

  Noah leans closer. “We may have actually conceived on this table. Just an FYI.”

  Fighting off a shiver, I say no thank you to the cake, and go off to find Camryn.

  She’s standing with a group of women, nodding along to their chatter as she holds a paper plate with an uneaten slice of cake in her hand. I wonder if Noah gave her the same warning.

  When she sees me, her eyes widen and she excuses herself from the group. “What are you doing here?”

  “’Ello, love.” I kiss her cheek. “I was in the area. Thought I’d swing by.”

  She smiles at me warmly. “It’s nice to see you. Are you behaving these days?”

  “Me? No way. Where’s the fun in that?” I wink at her.

  It’s the first time I’ve seen her since our erotic encounter on my couch. The memory of using my mouth to get her off is one I’ve replayed countless times. Usually while alone in bed at night. Responding to her breathy moans, moving my tongue faster and faster until she came apart. I want a repeat.

  And then we ate ice cream—not ice cream, gelato—while we watched an episode of her favorite TV show. Her contented little sigh as she leaned her head against my chest was perfect. I loved that. Loved holding her in my arms.

  Our conversation that night turned deeper. I recall the memories from childhood I shared. How I’d been so mad at my parents for ripping me away from everything I’d known and moving me to a new country. I spent my first years here resentful and bitter, but now it feels like home.

  I remember how she almost dozed off at the end of the night. I attributed it to the fact that she must have felt safe in my arms. Then I called a cab for her and sent her home, but she’s never far from my thoughts.

  Fuck. That’s when I know for certain I’m falling in love with Camryn. She isn’t like other women. She’s driven; she has substance. She makes me want to settle down . . . or maybe I’ve always wanted that but never found the right fit that would satisfy me mind, body, and soul.

  Until her.

  And with the deadline approaching fast, I still haven’t found a way to tell her how I really feel.

  I pause, my hand on Camryn’s lower back. “Come somewhere with me.”

  “Now? What about work?” she asks, her gaze questioning mine.

  “Please. I have something I want to show you.” Or rather, someone I want her to meet.

  She must see something in my eyes, because after a moment of studying me, she grins. “Okay.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Camryn

  I’m playing hooky from work, which is totally out of character for me, and I’m practically giddy about it. I feel so rebellious and alive. As I hold Sterling’s hand, we practically skip down the New York City sidewalks until we reach a parking garage, where he pauses.

  “My car’s parked here.” He tugs me in after him.

  “Are we leaving the city?” I hadn’t anticipated driving anywhere, so I’m a little surprised.

  “You’ll see.” Sterling hits a button on his key fob, and a sporty black sedan in front of us flashes its lights.

  “A man with a plan. I like it.”

  We slip inside the cream-colored leather interior that smells so deliciously of his cologne, I almost moan.

  “This is me letting you into a new piece of my life.” He smiles sadly at me.

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Say yes. I promise I’ll have you home in time for supper.”

  “Yes.”

  We drive for forty minutes and cross the bridge into New Jersey. I don’t ask where we’re going—not because I’m not curious. I don’t ask because I trust him, and I want him to know that.

  “What band is this?” I ask.

  A CD has been playing softly in the background. It’s atmospheric rock, and I like the mood it creates—one that’s achingly tender and deep, yet filled with possibility.
>
  “It’s a band I like called Broken Bells.” Sterling looks straight ahead, watching the highway, and I can’t help but feel his thoughts are far away.

  Finally, we exit and make a handful of turns. I don’t recognize the area, and still have no idea what kind of adventure we’re in store for. When Sterling slows the car and pulls over on the street in front of a building whose sign reads Westbrook Assisted Living Facility, my heart drops.

  Everything springs to rushing clarity. It’s like opening your eyes after being underwater. This—whatever this is, whoever lives here—this is an important part of his life. And he’s choosing to share it with me.

  He turns off the car, and the quiet intensity of the moment engulfs us. My hand pauses halfway to the door handle, and when I see that he’s just staring straight ahead, I drop it to my lap.

  My heart pounds as the significance of this moment sinks in. “Sterling . . .”

  Finally, he licks his lips and turns to me. “Maybe this was a bad idea.”

  I glance at the building again, then back at him. “Are you worried you’re going to scare me off, or that I can’t handle whatever is in there?”

  “Something like that. Just having second thoughts about this.”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” I assure him and take his hand, giving it an encouraging squeeze.

  “Okay. Let’s do this.” His expression is determined.

  “Care to tell me what it is we’re doing here first?” I attempt a smile.

  “Right.” He chuckles, opening his car door. “Come on. I’ll explain everything.”

  On the walk into the building, he tells me that his mom has early-onset dementia. He tells me about his dad leaving, and that some days are better than others for his mother. He tells me that when he gets his inheritance money, the first thing he’s doing is moving her into a nicer place closer to home. My heart is melting by the time we sign in at the front desk.

  Finally, we’re directed to room 302.

  Everyone here seems to know Sterling; he’s a regular fixture here. From the man sweeping the floor, to the nurses, to the director—they all know Sterling. And to them, he’s not the handsome and successful attorney who’s been in the news lately. He’s just a devoted son who loves his mother.

  Sterling pauses at the entrance to her door and turns to me, his face somber. “Maybe I should have told her you were coming. Shit, maybe I should have told her I was coming.” He rubs the back of his neck.

  I shift my weight, unable to think of what to say in this moment.

  “Never mind. It’ll be fine. Come on.”

  We step inside a dimly lit room. A woman with long silver hair sits in a rocking chair in the corner, reading a book. The room itself is tiny; there’s just enough room for a twin-sized bed, a dresser, and the chair she’s seated in. A narrow window covered in a dusty drape looks out onto the parking lot below.

  “Sterling!” She beams when she sees him. She rises to her feet, and we meet her in the center of the room.

  “Mum, this is Camryn Palmer. Camryn, this is my mum, Gillian.”

  “Pleased to meet you.” I reach out and take her small hand in mine.

  “I’m charmed, darling.” She releases my hand and looks to her son. “What’s the occasion?”

  He shrugs. “No occasion. I just thought I’d take my two best girls out for ice cream.”

  Gillian breaks into a happy smile as if this man, her little boy who now towers over her, is her whole world. “Brilliant. Let me get my purse.”

  We set off, heading to an old-fashioned ice cream shop around the corner. After ordering, we slide into a booth. Sterling sits beside me, and his mom across from us.

  It’s actually pretty adorable watching Sterling with his mom.

  I love that he’s sharing a piece of himself that he previously held back. I’ve tried to deny it all these weeks, but I know now I’m falling hard for him.

  Last weekend spun out of control. I never meant to let things go that far, but when the most gorgeous man you’ve ever laid eyes on wants to pleasure you—you don’t say no. And it was amazing. Most guys don’t know what they’re doing down there, like a vagina is some foreign hostile territory they have to get in and get out of as quickly as possible. Sterling was the opposite. I sensed he actually enjoyed giving me that pleasure, and would have done it for hours if I’d let him. A ripple of heat pulses through me at the thought.

  After last weekend, I made a conscious decision not to have sex with him. That’s something I can’t let happen. I can’t give myself to him completely without knowing where he’s headed—especially since that might be down the aisle with someone else in a matter of months.

  “Tell me, Camryn, what it is that you do?” Gillian asks, pulling me from my thoughts.

  Since there’s no way I’m telling her that I’m supposed to be playing matchmaker for her son, I keep it simple. “I’m in public relations for a firm downtown. I’ve been there since college.”

  “And you enjoy it?” she asks, taking a careful bite of her banana split.

  “I love it, actually. I feel very fortunate. And I’ve gotten the chance to work with Sterling on a special project, so that’s been nice.”

  His mom takes a special interest in me, and my life, and at first I’m not sure what to think. Then I realize it’s her way of trying to get to know the woman who her son has just told her holds at least some significance in his life.

  “Is that where you two met?” she asks Sterling.

  He shakes his head. “I met Camryn years ago through Noah and Olivia.”

  Gillian smirks. “That Noah is pure trouble.” She winks at me. “Too handsome for his own good, and naughty. I had a hell of a time with Sterling and him growing up.”

  I chuckle. “I bet you did.”

  “Noah’s married now, Mum. With a baby on the way,” Sterling says, as though they’ve talked about that before.

  Gillian takes another bite of ice cream, unaware of the look being shared between Sterling and me.

  “Oh, there’s a movie I’d love to go and see if you’re still coming next weekend, dear,” Gillian says to Sterling. “It’s called Indiana Jones. Looks like something we’d both enjoy.”

  “Great movie,” I say.

  “You’ve seen it? It just came out.” Gillian’s tone is one of disbelief.

  I look to Sterling, confused, and then decide to just go with it. “Yes, I got to see it already. It’s excellent. Maybe we can all watch it together sometime.”

  “I’d love that,” Sterling says, squeezing my hand under the table in a silent thank-you.

  Soon, we’ve chatted about movies and our favorite desserts, and even discovered that Gillian shares a love of House Hunters International with me. And then suddenly, it’s time to go. Sterling’s so light and carefree on the ride back to her home, he’s whistling.

  We drop Gillian off, and she kisses us both on the cheek. “Indiana Jones. Next weekend. Bring popcorn.”

  Sterling chuckles, and we all say our good-byes.

  “She’s great,” I say as we pull away.

  “She liked you.”

  “I think it’s admirable how you take care of her.”

  Watching the road, Sterling stares straight ahead. “I wish I could do better . . .”

  “That’s what the inheritance is for.” That realization is like a pit in my stomach.

  He nods.

  “Why have her live there if you hate it? Why not move her in with you?”

  With a soft sigh that tells me he’s given this a lot of thought, he drums his fingers on the steering wheel. “I wish I could. But I often work long hours, and there’s too many things to worry about. She could leave the apartment to go to the grocery store and forget how to get home. Forget she left the stove on and cause a fire. There are so many things that could go very wrong.”

  Glancing at me, he adds, “I don’t want to give you the impression it’s a bad place. They care for her, provide her wi
th three hot meals a day, oversee her medications, monitor her when she has an episode and doesn’t remember where she is. I couldn’t do that for her at home. That’s why she’s there.”

  “I understand.”

  “But I want better for her, I want more,” he continues. “Somewhere she can garden and go on organized outings, and have her own apartment versus just a narrow room with a bed. A real community, not someplace that feels like a hospital. There’s a community an hour away I’ve set my sights on for her. They have a team of doctors who are on the cutting edge of memory care.”

  “That’s amazing, Sterling.”

  The elephant in the room that we don’t discuss is that in order to make that happen, he and I need to end our charade, and he needs to marry.

  Reaching over, I squeeze his knee. “You’re doing the best you can. You’re a good son.”

  He nods, now smiling. As the miles tick past, the music plays softly in the background.

  It seems a visit with his mom, and seeing the two of us get along, has done his soul some good.

  But there’s still something I need to talk to him about. In the excitement of him surprising me at my office and whisking me away on an outing, and then holy crap, introducing me to his mother, I pushed it to the back of my head. Now it’s time to get some answers.

  “I need to ask you something.”

  “’Course you can.” He strums his fingers against the steering wheel.

  “The credit-card statements on my dining table . . . they went missing after you were at my place last weekend.”

  “You noticed that, did you?”

  “You took them?”

  I’m shocked and my voice betrays it. I thought, worst-case scenario, he saw them when I went to the restroom, and perhaps shuffled them aside somewhere so I wouldn’t be embarrassed I’d left my personal business scattered about.

  “Are you upset?” He’s still looking out on the highway, dangerously attractive, but even more so infuriating.

  “I’m . . .” Embarrassed. Horrified. “Why would you do that?”

  He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing with the effort. “I saw an obstacle standing in your way. Saw an opportunity to clear a path for you. I only meant to help. I’m sorry.”