by Tia Siren
My buzzing phone ripped me from my train of thought, and when I picked up the phone, I saw it was Marcus.
“Hey! What’s up?” I asked.
“Wanna go to that speakeasy again tonight?” Marcus asked.
“We gonna be talking shop?”
“Not at all,” Marcus said.
“Then sign me up. I’ll be ready in a few. But you’re driving this time.”
I hung up the phone and got ready. Part of me wanted to reach out to see if Hanna wanted to go. I wanted to take her to this place just to see how she’d react to it, but I knew Marcus would flip his shit if I did. Still, there was a part of me that wanted to go out with her, actually take her somewhere and enjoy something with her.
But I logged that into the back of my mind when Marcus banged on my front door.
We cranked up the music with Marcus’s bass system and jammed all the way to the speakeasy. When we got in, I ordered us a couple whiskey sours. We took our station at the table in the corner, and Marcus wasted no time in getting to the punchline.
“You ever think about settling down?” Marcus asked.
“The fuck kind of question is that?” I quipped.
“A legitimate one!”
“Well I don’t see you settling down with anyone right now,” I tossed back at him.
Marcus smirked. “I wouldn’t be so quick to jump to conclusions.”
“Dude, don’t tell me you went back to Rhonda. Marc, you can do so much better tha—”
He chuckled. “It’s not Rhonda, dude. Stop panicking.”
“Then spill! Who’s the chick?”
“It’s not big yet. Her name’s Veeona and she’s absolutely wonderful.”
“Why the hell didn’t you tell me about her when we were bitchin’ about Rhonda earlier?” I asked.
“Because we were bitchin’ about Rhonda!” Marcus said.
“How long have you two been talking? I mean, you and Rhonda have only been done for—what, two, three months?”
“We’ve been talking for a couple months. Just taking it slow. I actually met her at a restaurant bar when I was moping over Rhonda.”
“Ah, mutual bonding over broken hearts?” I asked.
“Yeah. She was there because she’d gotten burned by her ex, and we got to talking about how shitty our exes were. We talked about all the things we wouldn’t do to our significant others that they had done to us, and we just kept meeting up for—I don’t know—vent sessions.”
I smirked. “But they’ve obviously turned into something else.”
“I took her on a couple actual dates before I came home, and yeah. I mean, the girls I dated before her were just to pass the time, which was why I was such a shitty partner to them, you know?”
“Dude, you’ve never been a shitty partner. There’s nothing wrong with dating just to date. That doesn’t mean you have permission to suck some other dude’s dick.”
Marcus grinned. “I don’t suck dick, but I get the point you’re making.”
“Good. So…spill. What’s she look like?” I asked.
“Seriously?”
“Oh, come on. I’m not talking about sexy details or anything. Is she the dark-skinned beauty you’ve always envisioned?”
A goofy smile crept across Marcus’ face, and I knew I had him. My best friend finally had it bad for someone, and the look suited him.
“You got a picture of her?” I asked.
He rummaged through his phone and found a picture of the two of them smiling together. She was sexy as hell: long black hair and a bright white smile; dark brown eyes against dark black skin; high cheekbones and a petite jawline that gave way to muscular arms that looked like they could crush you the moment you crossed her.
“She’s a full-time instructor at that massive gym a few blocks down from your business,” Marcus said.
“No shit! That place is awesome. I went there for a little while until I got lazy again, but that place was nice. What does she do?”
“She does a lot of the more intense cardio classes. She teaches all the kids’ swimming lessons and is a personal trainer.”
“Dude, don’t piss her off. She’ll kill you, and not in the ‘cut a bitch’ way.” I chuckled. “She’s beautiful, dude. Just…be careful, all right? I don’t want to see my best friend hurt again.”
“I hear ya. We’re taking it slow, but we’ve talked every evening and she seems genuinely interested in what I’m doing for you, and I’m always interested in hearing about her days, so…it’s a start.
“Hell yeah it is. In a couple years I’ll hear wedding bells, and then you’ll have to give me all the nasty details of the honeymoon.” I grinned.
“Not on your life.”
“Your parents know? You talked to Hanna or anything?” I asked.
“Nah. It’s still really early. I won’t do any of that unless I knew it’s serious.”
“But you’re hoping it will be?” I asked.
“Yeah.” He nodded. “Yeah, I think I am.”
“Good for you, Marcus.”
“Which is why I’m asking this,” he began. “Why the hell haven’t you settled down yet? I see a different woman on your arm all the damn time! Why the fuck haven’t you slapped a ring on one of them yet?”
“Because they’re airheads who happen to be good lays. They take up space and they’re warm to wake up to, but I don’t give a shit about how they color their hair or the latest handbag they have to have. What the fuck do I know about handbags?”
“Then why don’t you try dating someone who doesn’t give a shit about those things?” Marcus asked.
“Hello there, Kason Marx.”
I whipped my head up and saw my little bunny from a few nights ago. She had those same ruby red lips and the same cutoff, ass-cheek jeans, but this time she had her fake tits hanging out of a sparkling silver and black bra.
“You two want another drink?” she asked.
“Sure thing,” I said. I handed her the two cups, and she winked at me, but all I did was turn my attention back to Marcus. She stood there for a little while with a confused look on her face, so I clarified our drink order.
“I’m sorry. They’re both whiskey sours.”
The woman nodded slightly before she turned and awkwardly walked off. When I turned back to Marcus, his jaw was practically grazing the table.
“Okay, spill. Who is she and what the fuck has she done to Kason?” he asked.
“What the hell are you talking about?” I asked.
“At any other point in time, with any other woman in any other place, you’d already be gone and receiving some blowjob in the back. She was practically begging you to go with her, and you turned down those tits and those red lips just to keep talking to me? I don’t buy it.”
“Dude, I’m not feeling a blowjob,” I said.
“Bullshit. What’s her name?”
I felt like I was cornered. I knew I couldn't tell him. I couldn’t tell him that every single woman I’d ever been with paled in comparison to his little sister. I couldn’t tell him that I didn’t want any more blowjobs from other women because all I could think about was fucking Hanna’s face. I couldn’t tell him I had never come across a woman who wanted to be punished and cherished like Hanna did when we were in bed together.
I couldn't tell him there was no other woman who made me feel more like a man taking care of his good little girl than his sister had when we’d been together.
“Well, maybe I have found someone,” I murmured.
“Two whiskey sours,” the woman said. She set them down on the table and practically pressed her tits into my face. All I did was take out a bill and shove it in her cleavage before I thanked her for her service.
“Oh shit, dude.” Marcus chuckled. “You got it bad.”
“Look, Marcus, I don’t...I don’t really know what’s goin’ on with this chick. She’s a bit out of her mind, and she’s a pretty headstrong person, but I—”
I couldn’t even find the words
. Marcus’s eyes were locked on my face while I tried to search for the right words that would get him off my back and me out of the lie. The truth was, I’d promised my best friend I wouldn’t fucking touch his sister, and now here I was not even wanting to sleep with other women because I'd rather have her.
I had it bad, and I was inching closer to giving Hanna exactly what she wanted just so I could have her again.
“All I know is that I don’t want to be around any other chicks. I don’t want to kiss them or have sex with them or have them give me blowjobs or whatever. I just…I just want to be with her.”
“Even though she’s a bit crazy,” Marcus said.
“Yeah. Yeah, I guess so.”
“Well, sounds like I’m not the only one who has it bad.” He grinned.
The problem was, I was scared he was right.
Chapter 15
Hanna
“Hanna? Sweetheart? You awake yet?”
“Moooom.” I groaned.
“Honey, I’m sorry, but Kason’s mom needs help setting up for a cocktail party.”
“God, another party?” I sighed.
“I know. It’s so terrible how we throw all these fun parties for you kids,” she said. I could practically hear the smirk on her face.
“What time is it?”
“Ten.”
“Uuuuugh,” I groaned.
“Thanks, honey! I knew I could count on you!”
I rolled out of bed and slowly dragged myself to the bedroom. Out of all the things our families could do, they had to throw and attend party after party and then expect us to help set up. Oh, well. I guess I needed to get up anyway. I dragged myself to the bathroom and cleaned myself up a bit. I decided that if I was going to be helping set up a party, I'd wait to take a shower until after I was done sweating.
I put on some work clothes, traipsed on over next door, and helped Mrs. Marx point people places. She’d hired people do to the hard, dirty work, and we simply stood there and dictated. I was in charge of tables, chairs, and picking out the last-minute tablecloths Mrs. Marx forgot to order earlier. Mom was in charge of setting up areas for the drinks and plates, and all the guys got to sit around and take credit for everything else. None of this required me to be out of bed until at least noon, and I could feel my eyes drooping even as I directed the men lugging around heavy chairs.
“Over there in the corner is fine.”
“Yeah, guests will sit there, too.”
“The bigger tables are over here, so just lean them against the wall.”
After all our dictation was done and the men had set up everything, we all gathered in the kitchen and Mrs. Marx divvied out drinks. The adults got wine and I was handed grape juice in a wine glass so I could feel “more adult.” My mother gave me a cute little smile, and the men promptly left so they wouldn’t be roped into any more hard work before the cocktail party. Soon, my mom and Kason’s mom got to gabbing about boring stuff.
They talked about husbands and how painful it was to raise kids. They talked about Stacey and what was happening with her and Brad—to which I sorely interjected because it wasn’t any of their damn business. They continued on about the decorations for the cocktail party and the drinks that would be served. Mrs. Marx walked my mom through all the food that would be served. They ogled over dresses in Mrs. Marx’s closet, and I rolled my eyes while giving half-hearted compliments on her outdated old-lady wardrobe. But then Kason’s mom said something that caught my attention.
“You know, I think Kason has finally found someone.”
“Really?! Oh my gosh, what’s she like? I had no idea Kason was dating someone!”
“Well, I don’t really know for sure,” Mrs. Marx said, “but he’s giving off all the signs.”
“Like what?” I asked.
“He’s been staying in a hotel a little more since he came home. You know, hasn’t spent all his nights here. Sometimes whenever he goes out with Marcus, he doesn’t come back in until late, and a couple of the events we’ve invited him to, he’s ditched last minute. He tells me he’s not feeling well, but I think he’s seeing someone.”
“Oh!” my mother squealed. “I’ve been begging Marcus to settle down for a while. Hanna, too. Their clocks are ticking, and I want to be a grandmother so badly. I’ve raised two children who will be wonderful parents, and I want to live long enough to see them become one!”
“Oh, you’ll be a wonderful mother, Hanna.” Mrs. Marx smiled.
I grinned back. “I know, and the day will come eventually.”
Mrs. Marx switched the conversation back to Kason. “He’s just acting a bit differently. A little more uptight in some respects, but much looser in others. Whoever she is, she’s doing him a lot of good,” she said
“Do you think he’ll bring her to the cocktail party?” my mother asked.
“I wonder what she looks like…” I mused. I had to keep up my ruse, but I knew exactly who they were talking about. Blood rushed through my ears and my stomach did somersaults. Could Mrs. Marx actually be talking about me? Was I having that kind of effect on Kason? Because if I was, it meant he was probably considering my offer. It meant he couldn’t stay away from me like I couldn’t stay away from him. He might compromise just to be with me!
His features would be absolutely beautiful on a bouncing baby girl’s face, but his son would come out tall and strong just like him. God, we would make the most incredible children, and hearing his mother go on and on about the different ways he was acting solidified my resolve.
Kason was just as disoriented with me as I was with him, and it was only a matter of time.
The three of us talked until well after noon, and then my mother and I made our way back to the house. The cocktail party didn’t start until six tonight, so I decided to go into town with my mother and pick out a new dress. She was wary of why I suddenly wanted to go shopping, but all I had to tell her was that the dress I’d been going to wear had ripped. She instantly felt sorry for me and threw me in the car with her.
It didn’t take me long to remember why the hell I hated shopping with my mom, but after four different stores and dozens of different dresses, I came across the dress that would drop Kason’s jaw to the floor. It was a hunter-green dress that brought out the color of my eyes. It fell just off my shoulders and cinched tightly at the waist. The fabric fell lightly over my hips and swished to just below my knees. I found a pair of 3-inch black peep-toe heels that flexed my calves just right, and for the first time in my life, I watched my mother shed tears over how I looked.
“My god, you look just like a young woman,” she said.
I twirled a bit in front of the mirror and knew this was the dress to wear. It would knock the socks right off Kason’s feet, and—if I did my job right—it’d knock the condom off him, too.
I smiled. “I’ll take it.”
My mother swiped her card and handed me the bags, and then we were out the door. We went searching for a bit of makeup to match our new outfits. She picked up a new necklace and earring set for herself for tonight, and then we finally made our way back to the house. After grabbing a little snack for lunch, we didn’t make it back until almost five, which meant we had less than an hour to piece ourselves together before the men would come beckoning for us.
Well, Kason wouldn’t come beckoning for me. But maybe one day he would.
I smoothed my hands over my dress before I stepped out into the hallway. My father’s jaw hit the floor. He took my hands and pulled me into a hug and whispered about how beautiful I looked and how proud he was to have me as a daughter. It honestly choked me up, but part of me was ready to get to the party to see Kason.
Dear god, I hoped he fucking showed up.
We walked over and went into the house. Everyone was standing throughout the interior of the Marx home. I gave Mr. and Mrs. Marx massive hugs around their necks before I waved at my brother, who had actually decided to come. When I rounded into the kitchen, I saw Kason standing ove
r the drinks. He was pouring something over the whiskey in his glass, and when he turned around, his eyes hit my chest before they slowly ran up to my face.
I smiled. “Hey there, Kason.”
“Hanna.” He nodded.
He began to walk by me but brushed a little too close. His fingertips dragged along the waist of my dress, and it was enough to make me shiver in my heels. I went over to the juices and poured a concoction into the glass, but when I turned around, Marcus quickly cracked open an airplane bottle of alcohol and poured it into my drink.
“Marcus!” I hissed.
“You look like a grown-ass woman tonight, Hanna. Drink like one.” He smiled.
“Thanks, Marcus,” I said, smiling back. “You don’t look half bad yourself.”
He gave me a hug before I tried my drink, and I couldn’t help the grimace that wafted over my face. Marcus shook his head and walked away. When something moved in the corner of my eye, I turned to see what it was.
It was Kason, standing there watching me. He leaned against the archway that separated the kitchen from the living room, and he looked incredibly sexy in the number he was wearing. He had on a black pair of slacks with a silk stripe down the outside of each leg, his black shoes shone in the lights of his home, and his polo shirt was covered by a tailored suit coat that was buttoned once at his waist.
He was the epitome of delicious, and I could tell by the way his eyes devoured me that he felt the same about my dress.
“So,” I said as I walked toward him, “how was your day today?”
“It was all right. A little bit of this and that,” he said.
“Where did you and the boys get off to after all the hard work this morning?” I asked. I fluttered my eyes up to him, and his pupil-blown eyes connected with mine. When he knew no one was coming around the corner, he dipped his lips dangerously close to my ear.
“That dress is fucking gorgeous, but I’d rather see it on the floor.”
I let out a shuddered breath before he leaned away and walked into the kitchen. My nipples puckered under the fabric of my dress. I thanked the stars I had decided to wear underwear because I could feel myself leaking into them as the feeling of his breath lingered on my neck. I wanted him, and I wanted him bad. I wanted him in any way I could have him. In any room, in any hotel, in any position, for any amount of time. My legs grew weak at the idea of him, and when I craned my neck behind me to look at him pouring himself another drink, my plan echoed back to me in the back of my mind.
