Worth the Wait (Kingston Ale House)

by A. J. Pine

  But she pushed through it because what the hell was there to be afraid of? She had an amazing man on the other end of the line reacting to her in a way no other man had.

  She sniffed back this strange shift in emotion, not wanting to leave Jeremy hanging, especially when she was getting to the best part.

  “Okay,” she told him. “The next time my hand slides down, I take you into my mouth…all the way. I’m warm around you, Jeremy. Slick and warm. And you taste—” She let a soft moan. “You taste so good.” She sank over the tip of her stand-in again, imagining how good he would taste, and hummed her approval. “I can feel that you’re close,” she said. “And when my lips and my tongue and my hand work together…”

  “Grace,” he whispered intensely. “Grace,” he said again, louder.

  “I keep imagining what you’d taste like,” she said. “And then I think about you tasting me…”

  “Fuck, Grace. Come with me.”

  “But I’m still holding the—”

  “Drop the goddamn banana and take your pants off so you can pretend I’m inside you. I want to make you come.”

  She made her way into the kitchen, dropping the banana on the counter and then sliding down the length of the fridge until she was on the kitchen floor. She’d never make it to the couch or her bed, not now that she’d let her body want—that she’d let it need to be touched by him—even if it was only in her imagination.

  “Okay,” she whispered as she wriggled out of her jeans and then her bikini briefs.

  “Let me inside you,” he said, and she obeyed not just his words but the insatiable need to feel him between her legs.

  She slid her fingers between her folds and sank into her own warmth. She was so wet. So ready. All it took was his voice.

  She sucked in a breath.

  “God, I could listen to you all night,” he said, and she could tell he spoke through gritted teeth, that he was so close but hanging on for her.

  “I want you, Jeremy,” she said as her fingers pulsed inside her slick heat. “I want you…I want you to…”

  She gasped every time her thumb brushed over her swollen clit.

  “What do you want me to do, Grace? I want to hear you say it.”

  She couldn’t be blamed for what came out of her mouth now, right? She wasn’t herself. She wasn’t able to think straight, which was why she’d sworn off actually doing this with a man for six months. Clarity. Grace needed clarity. But no matter how much she believed in getting her life in order by any means necessary, that didn’t mean she stopped wanting. And one thing, for sure, was clear. Wanting Jeremy was like nothing she’d ever experienced before.

  “I want you to—to fuck me,” she said in between gasps, so close to the edge.

  “Good,” he said, his voice a sexy rasp in her ear. “Now come.”

  And she did, crying out with release as he did with his own.

  Silence rolled out between them but for their breathing. “Grace,” Jeremy finally said, his voice soft and full of something she didn’t recognize.

  “I did okay, huh?” she asked, trying to sound breezy, but there was nothing breezy about this situation, and she knew it.

  “Grace?” he said again, and she realized there was a question in his tone. An insistence.

  “Is everything okay?” she asked.

  He laughed, and although she thought she knew him well enough to recognize whether he was truly happy or surprised or bitter, she hadn’t heard this laugh before.

  “I don’t know,” he said. And that knot in her throat was back. “You said on Facebook that you wanted to see if two people could fall for each other without ever touching.” He chuckled. “And then you said you wanted me to fuck you. I’m still trying to process whatever just happened.”

  She nodded, then realized he couldn’t see her. “Yeah,” she said, letting out a nervous laugh. “I did say that. Didn’t I?”

  “Yeah. You did.” They both laughed. “And I think it’s possible,” he said. “Falling for someone without touching them. And I haven’t thought about ‘possible’ in a long time.”

  Seconds stretched out between them.

  “It’s a lot to ask,” she said. “For you to wait.”

  “I think you’d be worth it,” he said. “The most we can do is commit to possibility, which is more than I’ve done in a long time. Is that okay for now?”

  Her breathing hitched, but that knot in her throat dissolved at his words. She was asking him to put his faith in her because that’s all she had to give. And he’d done it. Just like that. “Why, Jeremy Denning, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you sound hopeful.”

  He laughed. “Don’t tell anyone. You’ll ruin my reputation.”

  “Your secret’s safe,” she said. “And thank you,” she added.

  “For what?”

  She skimmed her teeth along her bottom lip. “Um, for driving me out of my mind…and for trusting me with possibility.”

  It sounded like he was about to say something else, but her phone beeped with the notification of another call. She looked at the caller ID and froze.

  “Jeremy,” she said. “I’m—I’m sorry. I have to take another call. It’s a client.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut at the lie.

  “Yeah. Okay,” he said. “Sure. Call me when you get back from Madison on Sunday. I’m off, so I’m taking you on a proper date. One that doesn’t require Facebook documentation—unless you want it to.”

  She forced herself to smile, hoping it would make her words sound any way other than how she felt.

  “The second I get back,” she said. “Promise.”

  “Good night, Grace.”

  “Good night, Jeremy.”

  She should have let it go to voicemail, but she knew he’d only call again, so she simply tapped accept and answered the incoming call, deciding not to waste time with a greeting.

  “What do you want?” she asked, bracing herself for the voice she wished she could forget.

  “I enjoyed your little social media display tonight, Grace. But I think it’s time we talked,” Mark said.

  She didn’t respond, but just sat there, frozen.

  He sighed. “And leave your new boyfriend out of this, babe. Okay?”

  Grace shook so hard her teeth clattered. “What? Are you going to threaten everyone I’m close to? Because that’s low. Even for you.”

  How was this a guy she ever trusted? Or who she thought she might have loved? She didn’t understand how she could have fallen for his act, but that was just it. His whole persona—the one he’d let her see—was an act until he’d messed up and had to let her see the rest.

  He laughed. The jerk was actually enjoying himself.

  “I’m not threatening, Grace. That’s never what this was about. I just don’t want any distractions, not now that Lady Luck is on my side. Because I’m finally ready to win you back.”

  She shook her head and ended the call. She wouldn’t dignify his bravado with a response, and she certainly wouldn’t get into an argument with someone who argued for a living.

  Because somehow, someway—he always won.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Grace had answered all his texts this weekend, but the weekend was over now and communication had gone radio silent. Jeremy checked the time on his phone again. It was after seven.

  She could have gotten a last-minute client and stayed through the afternoon. It wasn’t the norm, but it could happen. But then, wouldn’t she have called?

  Holy shit. I’m sixteen-year-old me.

  He shook his head and stood up from the couch. She said she’d call as soon as she got home. So she wasn’t home. This was Grace. It wasn’t—

  A knock sounded on the door, and Jeremy blew out a breath as he headed toward it.

  “Guess the phone doesn’t measure up to the real—”

  He threw the door open midsentence and found himself face-to-face with Whitney.

  “—thing,” he said,
finishing his sentence.

  His ex pushed past him and into the apartment, heading straight for the kitchen. Only when she began unpacking a tote bag onto his counter did he realize she hadn’t come empty-handed.

  He scratched the back of his head. “Uh…Whitney? What the hell are you doing here?”

  He was too caught off guard to really register what was happening. Because the woman he once loved—who’d made him feel like he didn’t deserve what he’d finally found with Grace—was in his apartment. Oddly enough, he wasn’t angry. He just had no idea what the fuck was going on.

  She’d somehow already found a cutting board—not that Jeremy knew he had one of those—and a knife and had taken to slicing a small baguette. The knife’s next victim was a ripe, juicy tomato. After that, a log of fresh mozzarella.

  Jeremy’s mouth watered because he knew what was next. Sure enough, Whitney pulled the last ingredient from the bag—a tub of fresh pesto, which Jeremy knew she’d made from scratch. Dammit, she always knew the way to his…good side. Because Jeremy couldn’t say no to good food, especially Whit’s specialty: the caprese.

  “You still haven’t answered my ques—”

  But he didn’t have a chance to finish his sentence. She’d shoved a piece of her creation into his mouth, and he had to grab the rest of the bread so it wouldn’t fall to the floor.

  She dusted her hands off on her jeans, then crossed her arms over her Chicago Cubs sweatshirt. For a second she looked like the girl he fell in love with all those years ago. But they were miles away from that time in their lives. Everything had changed.

  “I’ve never been good at admitting when I’m—at saying I’m—” She groaned. “It’s pesto, Jer. I made you pesto. You know?”

  He continued to chew, taking his time because it had been years since he’d seen Whitney Gaines flustered. In fact, he wasn’t sure he’d ever seen her this ruffled before, and he sure as hell enjoyed being the cause of it.

  Finally, he swallowed, but he still let her stew under what he hoped was an unreadable gaze.

  “Whitney Gaines,” he said, allowing a smile to break through. “Are you apologizing?”

  She rolled her eyes. A lock of her blond hair fell out from behind her ear, covering one of her eyes. A year ago—hell, even a few months ago—he might have itched to run his fingers through that hair, to tuck it back in place, skimming over the soft skin of her cheek as he did.

  But now? All he felt was hungry. For more caprese. Gone was the anger and hurt he’d held on to for so long, as well as the blame. Because as much as he wanted to let all the fault rest on her shoulders, maybe it was time to admit that wasn’t exactly fair.

  “I do admit I maybe, possibly, misjudged you,” she said, letting the hair hang in her eye for several seconds longer than it should have before finally brushing it off her face.

  Jeremy wondered if she’d expected him to fix it.

  “So you came over here, with pesto, just to tell me you were wrong about me?”

  She shrugged and offered him another piece of bread topped with all the fixings. He took it without question.

  “I know you’ve been putting up with me and being nice to me for the sake of this whole thing with Grace. But I’m back in the city now, and we’re bound to run into each other again after this whole thing is over. I was hoping we could be friends.”

  He narrowed his eyes at her mention of Grace.

  “Is this about the other night? About her being exclusive with me?”

  Whitney winced slightly at the question, then tried to cover it with a laugh. But even after three years, Jeremy knew her well enough to spot her losing composure.

  “Whit, did you cancel her contract? Because if Grace misses out on the chance for that money…”

  Whitney shook her head vigorously. “No. No,” she said. “She played the game and won. The public wants to watch her blooming relationship with the guy she can’t touch for two more months. If that’s what the viewers want, that’s what the station wants. I’m just here as your friend to make sure it’s what you want.”

  She spun back to the tote bag, which apparently still wasn’t empty, and pulled out a bottle of red wine along with one of those fancy, battery-operated openers.

  She opened a couple of cabinets until she found the few wineglasses he had. “Impressed,” she said. “I figured all those years in a brewery would mean only pint glasses and beer steins for you.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “This is sounding less and less like an apology.”

  She groaned, opened the wine, and poured two glasses, holding one out for him.

  “Truce?” she said. “I’m still learning about this whole admitting-I’m-wrong thing. It’s gonna take a while to sink in.”

  He took the wine from her outstretched hand but then shook his head.

  “Look, Whit, I’m happy for this self-discovery you’re having and everything, but I’m seeing Grace tonight. She texted she was running late and—”

  “No, you’re probably not seeing her tonight,” she said, brushing past him with the cutting board full of her freshly made appetizer in one hand, her glass of wine in the other. She set the food down on the coffee table and made herself at home on the couch.

  Jeremy didn’t follow.

  Damn him for trusting Whitney Gaines. Of course there was an ulterior motive here.

  “What the hell are you talking about?” he asked.

  She let him stew, taking a slow sip of her wine before answering.

  “I thought you followed the Facebook page,” she said, her tone all innocence but her expression the complete opposite. “My phone gives me alerts for her page, and it looks like Grace might be tied up for a bit.”

  He set his wine down on the counter, not wanting to give her the satisfaction of telling him what he knew he didn’t want to hear. But he needed to know, didn’t he?

  Jeremy pulled his phone from the back pocket of his jeans. When he opened Facebook, the red circle indicating fifteen notifications caught his eye first. Then he saw the post.

  It was a picture of Grace in a booth at some restaurant posted by one of Grace’s regular page visitors. He couldn’t tell where, but next to the time and date was a notification that the post had come from Chicago, Illinois. What he could tell was that she wasn’t alone. A dark-haired man in a suit sat across from her, his hand on Grace’s cheek. Along with the picture was a post.

  Is this the infamous Jeremy Denning?

  He stared at the screen for several long seconds. It was Whitney who broke the silence.

  “You don’t know who he is,” she said. “Do you?”

  Jeremy’s jaw clenched, and he gritted his teeth, reminding himself what he felt for Grace. And that he trusted her.

  “Why would I know him?” he asked, doing his best to keep his voice even. He picked up his wine from the counter and downed the glass in one long gulp. But he still hadn’t moved toward the couch. Something about joining her, about commiserating in whatever was happening right now, felt like a betrayal to Grace.

  It was just a picture. On the night they were supposed to have their first date.

  Whitney sighed, and although she wasn’t smiling, he could tell she was enjoying herself. This was the Whitney he remembered—always getting the dirt on what was going on around them. It hadn’t bothered him back then because it was something he considered outside of their relationship.

  But now the dirt was on him, and he felt—well—dirty.

  She burrowed into the corner of the couch and kicked off her shoes so she could bring her knees to her chest. She took another sip of wine and then paused, most likely, for drama.

  She really was suited for the news.

  “That, my friend, is Mark Wright, one of the biggest and best prosecuting attorneys this city has ever seen. And the law firm he works for? The Law Offices of Bailey, Bailey and Dawson…soon to be Bailey, Bailey, Dawson, and Wright.”

  Jeremy shook his head slowly. Grace had never mentio
ned her ex’s name, and he was sure it was because of what a dick he was. No way this hotshot attorney was the same asshole who’d gambled away Grace’s savings. If that suit from the bar a few weeks ago—Gavin—wasn’t her type, how the hell did this guy fit in?

  And Bailey and Bailey? Where had he heard of that firm before?

  Whitney nodded. “If you’re trying to place the firm, aside from Bailey and Bailey obviously being Grace’s parents, they’re the husband-and-wife duo that helped the FBI shut down that organized crime ring in the city about five years ago. It was all over the news.”

  Everything started to click. Jeremy didn’t regularly watch the news, but Whitney sure as hell did, which meant he had seen the story. Whenever he was at her place, it was CNN, The Weather Channel, or the local news. Bailey and Bailey were everywhere when the guilty verdict came back for seven out of the seven men on trial. They were a media sensation.

  “How long have you known?” he asked, realizing she hadn’t made this deduction only after seeing the picture on Facebook.

  Whitney shrugged. “Since Grace signed the contract. We do background checks.” She sighed. “Let me guess. You didn’t know who she was, or that she was practically engaged to her parents’ little protégé.”

  Okay. Fine. He’d had enough. It was time to sit down. He filled his wineglass again and headed to the living room, dropping down on the chair opposite his ex.

  “I don’t get it,” he said. “The guy—Mark—if he’s who I think he is, then he’s an absolute douche. Why wouldn’t Grace expose him to her parents?”

  He finished the second glass like it was water. It was probably a nice enough cabernet. Or maybe a merlot. He had no idea. He tasted nothing but bitterness now.

  Whitney tilted her head and gave him an appraising look.

  “Oh, sweetie. This is so not your world you’re playing in now. These people—this family—they’re everywhere.”

  “Who’s Dawson?” he asked, still processing everything. Was he in shock? Numb? Or was that just the half bottle of wine he’d already polished off?

  “The sister. Look, I don’t know Grace’s history with Mark Wright, but every time he shows up in the paper or on the news, which is often, it’s always some version of the same headline: Mark Wright Can Do No Wrong.” She laughed. “It’s so damned cheesy it works.”