Beautiful March

by Christy Pastore

  I point my fork at him. “Age is only a number when it comes to cheese, wine and bourbon.”

  “That’s true,” he says. “So, back to you and the hottie who cooks. When are you seeing him again?”

  “Well, I’m going to a fundraiser with him Friday night.”

  “Oh, is that the one for Feed Our Kids? My receptionist was talking about it. I guess her daughter is working the event. Serving or something. It’s a big deal.”

  “Feed Our Kids, yep. Speaking of the office, are you settling in okay?”

  He leans back and takes a drink of his mineral water. “My dad didn’t bother to upgrade his computer system. They were still working in DOS. Do you remember DOS?”

  I laugh. “It’s vaguely familiar.”

  “The eighties came screaming back. It reminded me of The Oregon Trail—the original version. Commodore 64 anyone? I’m giving the place a complete makeover. Right down to replacing the brown carpet and popcorn ceilings.”

  I dig into my salad, stabbing at a tomato and a few leaves of lettuce. “Sounds like an undertaking.”

  “Probably raise my blood pressure. But no, really, I think it’ll be fun.”

  “You’re bringing the sexy construction workers to you, you little devil.”

  He arches a brow. “I’m going to hire Nichols Corp if they can squeeze me in. Their portfolio is impressive. I’m even thinking about putting in a coffee bar. Modernize the space and pull it out of the time warp.”

  The mention of a time warp reminds me of my encounter with Jenna Rae. “Nice,” I say. “You’ll never guess who I ran into the other night.”

  “Who?” His brows arch.

  “Jenna Rae Stuckey.”

  “Jenna Rae, ah yes,” he muses. “Sawyer used to sneak out to the barn with her when he was bored or in between girlfriends. He’d call and she’d coming running.” He shakes his head. “Sad, huh? What’s she look like these days?”

  I pick at my salad, moving the tomatoes and lettuce around. “Honestly, she looks exactly the same—all nylon, bold colors and high, high hair. If my mom thinks that my skin is damaged from the sun in L.A., she should see Jenna Rae. Girl looks like she sleeps in a tanning bed.”

  Aaron howls with laughter. “Oh no. This means she’ll be seeing me in a few years. Let’s hope that she’s only using a very bad self-tanner and that she got the bad end of genetics.”

  The bells to the coffee shop ring out and in walks Sawyer Collins. He strides in like he owns the place. Looking like he stepped out of a fashion magazine earns him double takes from everyone in the place. Too bad time is on his side—the man hasn’t aged.

  “Your brother just walked in,” I say lamely.

  He leans in. “We’ll pretend that we don’t see Mister GQ.”

  I take a bite of my wrap. “What’s he even doing these days?”

  “Would you believe that he’s a high school biology teacher? He also coaches the baseball team.”

  My brows rise. “Seriously? Here in Mayfield?”

  “Yep. I’m shocked the school board hired him, but then again, he was a teen dream back in the day. Mister Varsity Everything. And no one has broken any of his baseball records.”

  “Inflicting his wisdom on precious young people. There wasn’t a position for full-time asshole available?”

  Aaron laughs a booming laugh which grabs the attention of everyone, including Sawyer. “He’s changed a little bit since those days.” He twirls his fork in the air. “No worries, he can still be a massive dickweed, but he’s gotten a bit softer.”

  Sawyer appears at our table. “Having lunch with a girl? You not sucking dick anymore, bro?”

  I roll my eyes. Charming.

  “Don’t knock it until you try it, bro. After all, we share the same genes, you might be gay too.”

  Sawyer’s expression falls. “Har har. Nope, straight as an arrow.” His gaze swings to me. “I love the ladies.”

  My stomach rolls and I drop my fork into my salad bowl.

  Aaron’s phone buzzes. “Great. Well, that’s lunch. Gotta go see little Ripley Castin. Fell off his bike. Probably dislocated his shoulder.”

  “I should be going too,” I say and gather my purse. “I’ve got a conference call in an hour that I need to prep for.”

  “Jenna Rae said you were back in town, Haven.” Sawyer steps in front of me.

  “Oh, she did?”

  He nods. “Told me while we were having lunch.”

  “You and Jenna Rae are lunching together?” Aaron asks.

  “Relax, I was talking to her about making sure my guys get prime spots in the sports section this year. She works over at the Mayfield Journal. Thought y’all knew that.”

  This guy thinks I keep up with the local news. That’s hilarious.

  “We should get a drink sometime and catch up, Haven.”

  Aaron grasps my wrist. “I don’t think her boyfriend would like that too much.”

  My eyes pop wide. “What are you doing?” I hiss.

  Aaron smiles and mouths, “Trust me.”

  “Oh, you seein’ someone? Jenna Rae didn’t tell me that.” Sawyer grins and takes drink of his coffee.

  Aaron loops his arm with mine. “Yes, she is, Tyler Nichols.”

  Sawyer leans in and his eyes take a serious expression. “You look really good, Haven. Can’t say that I’m surprised that you’re spoken for. It was worth a shot.” His gaze drops to my chest and I feel the blood rushing to my cheeks.

  Aaron clears his throat. “Yes, well, we have to get going.” He drags me out of the coffee shop, shuffling us down the sidewalk.

  When we reach his car, I pull my arm back. “What the hell was that back there, Aaron?” I practically screech.

  “Relax, doll,” he says and opens the door to his silver BMW. “I couldn’t stand there and let my jerk of a brother eye fuck you. I can only imagine the pervy things he was doing to you in his mind. He’s a Neanderthal. And that’s an insult to Neanderthals. Ugh. This way he won’t try and bother you.”

  My arms cross over my chest. “Okay, well, I suppose it won’t hurt letting him believe that I’m taken. Thanks, I guess, for handling that situation.”

  “See you next week. I’ll text you,” Aaron calls out and climbs into his car.

  When I get back to Sage’s place, I grab her mail and check on Oliver. He’s found a sunny spot in the upstairs hallway. “You like the sun, huh, buddy?”

  He yawns and stretches out his cute, furry little body. And his eyes close again.

  “You’ve got quite the charmed life, Oliver.”

  My phone buzzes. My mom’s name flashes on the screen. “Hey, Mom,” I say. “What’s up?”

  “Haven, honey,” she says practically out of breath.

  “Are you okay?” I ask and stop in the middle of the stairs.

  “I’m fine, well, actually no, I need favor.”

  “Okay, what’s up?”

  “I’m hosting my ladies’ wine night on Saturday. We play bunco, anyway Missus Argenti can’t play this weekend, can you please fill in for her?”

  I roll my eyes. My mother has been playing bunco for twenty years. Maybe more.

  “Okay, I’ll be there,” I agree. “Send me the details.”

  “Twenty-dollar buy in.”

  Dang! Prices have gone up. It used to be five dollars back in the day.

  “Fair enough, sounds fun. Bye, Mom.”

  I end the call and walk back downstairs. I head into the makeshift office I’ve created in the dining room to draft some press releases for several of my clients. The conference call is a lie. I had my daily briefing with Zooey and Kenna first thing this morning. So far, things are quiet.

  An hour later, I find myself checking in on a few of my clients’ social media accounts, which leads me to Scott’s Instagram. By accident, of course. I haven’t unfollowed him yet, but I don’t really need to do that. It will just make me look petty.

  Then I search to see if Tyler has an Instagram.
Sure enough, he does. He posts occasionally, but not a lot. His last post is from Sunday morning—a picture of a cup of coffee and his iPad. “Morning coffee and reading the news. Have a good day.”

  I smile and my heart jumps in my chest.

  Haven

  Just after seven p.m., headlights flash across the living room walls. I get up from my spot on the couch to find Tyler striding toward the steps. The screen door flies open and his mouth is on mine before I even say hello.

  “Wow,” I say. “That’s some hello.”

  “I missed you,” he answers. “And I’ve brought dessert.” He crosses the threshold and places a large box on the kitchen island. “Espresso cheesecake.”

  “Oh, yes, I’ll grab the plates and forks.”

  “And a cake shovel.”

  “A what?”

  “You know, like a pie server, but for cakes.”

  I rummage through the drawers. Aside from the basics, I don’t expertly know my way around Sage’s kitchen yet. I find something that resembles a pie server, pull it out of the drawer and locate pie plates in the cabinet.

  “So, how was your day?” I ask, handing him the server thingy as I place the plates down on the counter.

  “Decent, and much better now that I’m here with you.”

  “And yours?” He looks up from cutting the cheesecake.

  I smile and fish the forks out of the silverware bin. “Uneventful, really. I’m so glad you’re here and I’m loving that you’ve brought cheesecake.”

  “Cheesecake and some news,” he says, plating my dessert.

  “And what news is this?”

  He winks and shoves the plate in front of me. “I heard from Reed today. He and Sage are in Italy. They heard from Anna. Her dad is awake, finally. He’ll make a pretty good recovery. But he’s going to need months of therapy.”

  I cut into the dessert. “That’s a relief that he’s going to be okay.”

  Tyler pulls his plate toward him and takes a seat on one of the barstools. “Yeah, it’s really good news.” He flashes that panty-melting smile at me and I want to climb him like a tree again.

  “You should know that you’ve ruined cheesecake for me,” I mention. “When I go back to L.A. nothing will ever compare to this.”

  He swallows. “Well, I guess that just gives you another reason to come back here, at least more often.” His throat bobs as he takes another swallow.

  “Hmm, yeah.” I nod, murmuring praise as I practically devour my slice.

  Tyler levels his gaze to me. “I like you, Haven. These last days not seeing you have been fuckin’ agonizing and you’re just a few miles away. What’s it going to be like when you leave for California and you’re thousands of miles away?”

  I swallow. My heart takes a dive right into my stomach. I’ve spent a little bit of time thinking about what comes after I leave. But hearing his confession makes me want to crawl into his lap and stay there forever.

  Aaron’s words from lunch come screaming back, “Life is too short not to fuck the guy and soon. Good sex waits for no one.”

  “I like you too,” I say softly. “I don’t know what will happen after I leave. What if this”—I motion between the two of us—“is just temporary.”

  He wipes his mouth. “What if it’s something more?”

  Tyler stares at me, his gaze rolling over me as if he’s thinking about me naked. Which, for the record, I’m really enjoying. The way he looks at me makes my insides turn to liquid.

  “Well, right now, we’re here together and enjoying this yummy dessert.”

  It’s all I can seem to offer. I don’t know if it’s because I’m fresh off a mostly no-sided relationship with Scott, which has me faltering to find my words . . . the right words. Words that express real emotions. Real existing feelings.

  Why don’t I have any answers? Tonight marks one week that I’ve known this man. While I want to know more about him personally, I want him to take me to bed. I want to know every inch of his body. Savor everything. Is that so wrong?

  Tyler reaches for my hand and presses a kiss to the back. His lips map over each knuckle. A wave of tingles spools over my skin. My body moves off the stool and toward him.

  He nestles me between his legs and my back is pressed against him. With a steady hand on my stomach, he kisses me hard. His lips map down my throat stopping at my pulse where his teeth scrape lightly. The touch of his graze sends a rush of heat between my legs and tugs at my nipples.

  “Tyler,” I breathe.

  “Haven.” My name spills out with the same rough edge as it did when we were in the back of his truck. He pries the buttons of my blouse open and presses his palm to my bare skin.

  Take me. Take me to bed.

  Fuck.

  I can’t have sex in Sage’s home. I’m not doing it. It’s disrespectful.

  I crane my neck and our lips fuse together. His teeth nip over my lower lip while his hands palm my breasts. My head falls against his shoulder and my arm comes up to cradle his neck. I can feel his cock against my ass. He’s hard. He wants me as much as I want him.

  Before I know it, my jeans are unzipped and his fingers rest just above the spot where I need him most.

  “Haven, I want—”

  I turn to face him and cup his face in my hands. “I want you too, but not here.”

  He presses his lips to mine. “This seems like a really amped up game of sexual chicken.”

  I toss my head back in a laugh. “Yeah, it really does. That should be the name of a band—

  Sexual Chicken.”

  He laughs. “Good one.”

  “Thank you for the cheesecake.”

  “You’re very welcome.” Tyler stands and adjusts his cock. He’s not shy about it, and I don’t mind. “I’ll see you soon.”

  “I can’t wait. I’ll be wearing a fabulous dress and waiting for you.”

  He lowers his mouth to my ear. “Don’t bother wearing any panties. I’ll just destroy them.”

  Tyler

  We were so close, but Haven is right—we can’t screw in Sage’s kitchen. She deserves better. Which is why I didn’t take her in the back of my truck or at the restaurant. My bed is the only place . . . well, not the only place. I have a few other places in mind. I’m all for indecent and depraved and spur of the moment, but I do have my own limitations.

  Plus, I didn’t have a condom with me. I didn’t drive over to Sage’s place with the intention of having sex with Haven. I wanted to see her. Kiss her. Hold her.

  I park my truck in the garage and then pull a beer from the fridge. I need to wind down. A beer and cigar on the back porch sounds like a good way to take the edge off—my Haven induced edge.

  It’s hard to walk. I’m still fuckin’ hard.

  The door to my back porch slides open and I breathe in the warm night air. Popping the cap off my beer, I stare out into the night sky. I settle into my favorite chair and light up the end of my cigar. A few puffs and the smoke rings billow up against the sky.

  It’s still light enough outside that I can see across the yard to my neighbor’s house. His porch light isn’t on. Must be out, which is a rarity because the guy seems to have visitors every night. His late-night parties, especially in the summer, go into the early morning hours. The only reason I know this is because his massive brick fireplace is still roaring when I’m out for my six-a.m. run.

  Sometimes Sawyer joins me for a beer and cigar. Nice enough guy. He moved in back in April, the week the students were on spring break. I don’t know too much about him, other than he’s a teacher at Mayfield High and he talks about the glory days—a lot. Back in the day, he was somewhat of a super-star athlete. College was a rude awakening for him though, he admits. Guys were tougher, bigger and more athletic as he tells me. So, he only played baseball for one season.

  I hear the familiar sound of my cat, Harley, pawing at the glass window. “Hey there, buddy.” I stand and open the door for him. Harley rubs against my leg and then hops
up onto the chaise lounge. I don’t let him roam around outside. He’s not an outdoor cat or a barn cat.

  I take a long pull from my beer and settle deeper into my chair and into my thoughts.

  “Waylon!” I hear Sawyer yell out. “Waylon, get back here!”

  Shit. His dog must have seen a fox or something.

  I’m on my feet and hauling Harley back into the house before the huge white goldendoodle has him running for his life. Then I’ll be in Sawyer’s current situation. Harley has never tried to run away from me, which I appreciate.

  Sawyer comes running out to his backyard and darts around his pool area. I see the dog come into view running at hyper speed. Waylon dips under the fence and soars into the pasture next to the field. I walk down to my pool and stand on one of the rocks.

  “Hey, man,” he calls out when he sees me. “Waylon, stop!”

  I lift my beer and call out, “Need some help?”

  “Nah, I got him. Damn leash broke during our run back.”

  Waylon stops and looks back at his owner. Tongue hanging out of his mouth and his tail wagging a hundred miles an hour. Sawyer claps his hands and demands Waylon sit. He crouches down the closer Sawyer gets to him. Then Waylon charges at him and jumps up, hitting Sawyer right in the crotch.

  I chuckle into my beer. “That’s gonna leave a mark.”

  Sawyer hauls the dog up into his arms and starts hiking back up the hill. “Sorry about the commotion.”

  “No problem, man. You finished working out?”

  He turns and strides across the grass still carrying his dog. “Got about six miles in before all hell broke loose.”

  “You want a beer?” I ask, hooking my thumb over my shoulder.

  “Yeah, that sounds great! Gimme a few to get him inside and I’ll be over.”