My Kinda Night (Summer Sisters Book 2)

by Lacey Black

  “I can already picture what will happen,” she quips with another small smile.

  “Me too. But if you didn’t want that to happen or it didn’t lead there, then fine. I want to take you to dinner because I enjoy spending time with you, and I think you enjoy it just as much.”

  “I do.” She stares at me through the mirror for several heartbeats before finally saying, “Yes. I’ll have dinner with you.”

  We smile at each other for several seconds like dopey kids before I glance down at my wristwatch. “I need to get downstairs. Are you going to be okay getting to your show?”

  Payton takes a step back and grabs her stuff. “Yes, it’s just across the street.”

  “I’d walk you if you wanted,” I say as I grab my laptop bag and reading glasses off the table.

  “I know you would, but it’s not necessary.”

  “All right. I’ll meet you back up here this evening. What time does your stuff end today?”

  “Five.”

  “We’ll get freshened up and head out around six or six-thirty then. I’ll meet you back here,” I say, heading towards the door.

  “Wait,” she hollers behind me. “I don’t have a key.”

  Reaching into my pocket, I pull out the plastic key card and hand it her. “Take this one. I’ll stop by the front desk and grab another.” As she takes the card from my hand, I can’t help but slide my thumb over the top of her hand. Electricity charges through my blood. She must feel it too because the sexiest little gasp slips from her plump lips and her eyes widen in shock.

  I don’t pull her into my arms the way I’d prefer, because if I did, we would never leave the room. Instead, I turn and walk towards the door, smiling a real smile for what feels like forever. I’m having dinner with Payton tonight, and if things go right, she’ll be in my bed. Not because I’m cocky about my moves, but because it’s inevitable. Like an alcoholic to the bottle, I’m drawn to her. She’s the fix I need.

  Tonight, she’ll be mine.

  Chapter Eleven

  Payton

  It’s hard to concentrate on gladiolus and gerbera daisies when your mind keeps replaying the way Dean’s Adam’s apple bobbed when I tied his necktie. Or the look of pure lust reverberating from his very soul as he watched me through the mirror. I’m sure I wasn’t able to hide the raw need that tore through my own body.

  The first day of the show has been enlightening, to say the least. The booths from big named florists and designers from all over the United States and other countries were almost overwhelming. There were so many talented people in the building that I didn’t know where to look first. I took dozens of photos of displays and arrangements in hope of implementing some of those ideas into my own shop.

  A late morning session on thinking outside of the box was my favorite of the day. The designer, Carlos Santiago from New York, explained that everything doesn’t have to be traditional and symmetrical. The same roses and carnations bouquets that are perfectly round aren’t what are in style at the moment. Sure, those have a time and a place, but most customers will see the beauty in rarity and different. He encouraged us to go with our hearts and come up with unique bouquets that would dazzle the clients.

  Needless to say, I left the first day eager and excited to get back to Jupiter Bay.

  However, something else stepped in as I walked through the entrance of The Freemont. Nervousness.

  Do you know how long it’s been since I had a date? I mean a real date, like with dinner and conversation? The possibilities of handholding and a goodnight kiss? Okay, fine. There will definitely be a goodnight kiss, but all of the other stuff?

  Dates over the last few years have become few and far between as I’ve worked to build my business. Long hours and very late nights have been my norm for as long as I can remember. Those dates were always casual, someone I may have met at the bank or at my shop, but never anyone I pictured myself being with for longer than the right now. A few turned into a handful of dates, which translates into some romps in the hay, as Grandma would so bluntly state. But there was never that spark, that desire to really just be with a person because being without them wasn’t an option.

  Not like it is with Dean.

  Not like it is for Jaime and Ryan and Meghan and Josh.

  Notice how I didn’t say Lexi and Chris? That’s because I don’t feel like they have that spark anymore. Did they ever really have it? I’m not sure. They met in high school where hormones rule and everything was just comfortable for them. But now? I see less comfort and more tension. Even when he’s around, he’s not mentally present. I would never encourage her to leave him, but I no longer feel like he’s the right choice for her. She’ll discover this on her own, I know, so for now, mum’s the word.

  I use the key card to enter our room. Our room. The one I share with Dean. Just thinking that makes me shiver with anticipation. There’s no point in denying it any longer: I want him. He’s probably bad for me, like smoking or drinking, but I can’t stop myself. He’ll probably be an even worse habit to kick.

  But as long as I keep my eyes open, I shouldn’t have any issues when this ends on Friday. When we go back home, he’ll go his way and I’ll go mine. He’ll serve as my accountant and handle my taxes. He’ll no longer handle other things. Things that I really want him to handle–and rub and kiss and fondle and lick–tonight.

  When I walk in, Dean’s already there. He’s fresh from the shower, his towel hung low on his hips. I stare openly at his body like I’m a wolf about to devour a baby deer. He’s lean, but defined with a six-pack and that delicious little V that travels from his hips to the place I suddenly want to explore. With my tongue.

  “Hey, sorry. I forgot to take my clothes into the bathroom with me. I’m kinda new at this roommate thing,” he says with a sheepish grin.

  Oh, no. No need to apologize. Please, go ahead. Drop the towel. Please, for the love of God, drop it.

  “It’s okay,” I reply with what I’m sure is my version of a predatory smile.

  Dean grabs a pair of jeans and a pair of boxers from the dresser. “I’ll throw on some clothes and then you can have the bathroom to get ready.”

  “That’s fine,” I reply, dropping my stuff on one of the chairs beside the small table.

  Dean’s computer is sitting on top with a small stack of folders. The reusable tote bag I’ve been carrying was a freebie from one of the many vendors. It’s loaded up with brochures, pictures, and free samples that I picked up from the numerous businesses at the show. Before I head over tomorrow, I’ll be sure to empty it out so that I’m ready for tomorrow’s offerings.

  My roommate reemerges a few minutes later, fresh in a pair of jeans and a tight t-shirt. I watch as he walks over to the closet, barefoot, and grabs a blue button down from the hanger. There’s something incredibly sexy about a man walking around barefoot in a pair of great-fitting jeans. It’s like an aphrodisiac. Throw in a nice button-down with the sleeves rolled up a bit on the forearms? I’m practically a puddle of hormones.

  Slipping into the bathroom, I take a quick shower, careful not to get my hair wet. I spend extra time shaving my legs, underarms, and the bikini area. As soon as I’m scrubbed clean, I apply lotion to every square inch of my body. There’s no reason not to be smooth and smell great, right?

  After freshening up my makeup and hair, I slide on my favorite pair of skinny jeans and a black three-quarter-sleeve sweater. Silver bangle bracelets, a long silver necklace with matching earrings, and a sexy pair of black pumps complete my outfit. With a spritz of perfume, I consider myself ready for the date and move to join Dean in the living space.

  I wish I could have recorded his reaction when I walked into the room. As it is, it’s something I’ll never forget. When he turns around, his eyes burn with desire, as he looks me over from head to toe and back up again. In a moment, he’s moving towards me. Pride swells inside of me, mixing with my own lust. It’s a heady feeling, knowing that this man wants me the way he d
oes. I see it blazing in his eyes, feel it in the way he touches me.

  When he stands directly in front of me, my breath lodges in my throat. His big hand grazes against my cheek as he stares deeply into my eyes. “You’re gorgeous,” he says. His touch completely undoes me.

  “Thank you. You look pretty fabulous yourself.”

  Dean takes a hold of my left hand and brings it to his lips. The touch is felt clear down to my toes, vibrating the junction of my legs. I’m wet, and the date has barely just begun.

  “Ready?” he asks, keeping my hand in his as he leads me towards the doorway. We both grab our coats since the January air can be a bit brisk this time of year.

  It’s a short walk to the restaurant where he made reservations, so we opt to walk the block and a half instead of using a car. The cool air helps clear my mind. Well, until Dean places his hand on my lower back about halfway down the block. I can feel his warmth through the layers of clothing. There’s something possessive, primitive about the gesture. It’s as if he’s making some sort of statement. It’s not like he needs to guide me through throngs of people since the sidewalks are mostly empty.

  We’re seated at a great table beside the window. You can see the traffic lights in downtown Richmond, cars passing as they head home or wherever they’re going for the night. The restaurant is casual with low lighting and dark wood. Most of the tables are full, even for a Wednesday night.

  Our waitress arrives a few moments later and takes our drink order; a strawberry daiquiri for me and a Jack and Coke for him. As we browse the menu, he asks, “What looks good?”

  “All of it,” I reply with a laugh. “They had some sort of chicken salad on top of lettuce, with grapes for lunch. I was craving a big, juicy cheeseburger.”

  “Mmmmmm, I say we go for the grease,” he says, closing his menu with a smile.

  “I can get on board with that.” Following suit, I close my menu.

  After the waitress brings us our drinks and takes our order of cheeseburgers and fries, we jump into small talk. It’s comfortable and easy, as if we’ve shared a table for days, weeks, hell, months before. I’ve never experienced this effortlessness with another person before outside of my family. It’s strange and wonderful all at the same time.

  “Tell me about growing up with five sisters.”

  The prospect makes me laugh. “One time when my dad was off, and before my mom died, she took us all to church. There were usually eight of us, when Dad was home, so we generally took up our own pew. We could be a bit unruly so Mom always picked one of the back pews and sat close to the middle so she could reach all of us easier.”

  I glance over his shoulder, smiling, as I get lost in the memory. “Well, the pastor had just started his sermon and was encouraging all of the adults to take these portable prayer books that were by the back door. As soon as he dove into his sermon, Abby glanced over at me and whispered, ‘Grandpa keeps his portable prayer book on the back of the toilet.’ I started to giggle, and the next thing I knew, all five of my sisters were giggling as well. Mom looked horrified as the pastor stopped his sermon and the entire congregation turned to look at us.”

  He laughs a hearty laugh. “I take it by keeping it on the back of the toilet, she meant…”

  “Oh, yeah. Grandpa used to read his prayers when he was using the facility. Abby must have been four at the time, and she had no clue what she was saying. To her, it was just an observation, but to me, it was talking about poop in church.”

  We both laugh as a parade of memories flash through my mind. Most of them star my mom. Those are the memories that hurt. For years, I pushed aside all of those reminiscences because it was too painful. I was seventeen when it happened, so close to officially becoming a woman. When she passed, I felt like I lost a huge piece of myself.

  “I remember when I was thirteen, I learned from some boys on the school bus to take those little poppers that you throw on the ground, you know the ones that come out for the fourth of July, and carefully tape one to the bottom of one of the little supports of the toilet seat. Then when someone sits down, it applies pressure, makes a loud pop, and scares them to death.”

  “You did this?”

  “Of course I did! I talked Jaime into helping. We got our sister AJ first, and then our dad. Let’s just say that when that happened, we quickly decided not to do that again.”

  “You got in trouble?”

  “Oh yeah. I’m sure the fact that AJ cried for two days and didn’t want to use the toilet was a big part of the punishment we received.”

  “Sounds like you guys were trouble when all together,” Dean says in observance before taking a drink.

  “Definitely. We gave our parents plenty of sleepless nights, I’m sure. Lexi was the worst though. She was trouble with a capital T. Though, she sort of mellowed out when she married Chris right out of high school. Our grandparents instigated a lot, the older we got.”

  “And Grandma would be the one who added a few zeros to your financial statement a couple of weeks back, right?”

  “Yeah, that’s her. She has this uncanny ability to embarrass all of us, especially my sister Jaime. Grandma and Grandpa always busted Jaime and Ryan when they were in a compromising position.”

  “Were they dating in high school or something?” he asks when our loaded burgers and fries are delivered to the table.

  Plucking a fry from my plate, I reply, “Oh no. Jaime and Ryan are together now. This happened last year. The first time Jaime stayed at Ryan’s house, Grandma called us all in, telling us Jaime had gone missing. Then she called the National Guard. She was in bed with Ryan when we found her, which didn’t surprise any of us. Grandma just wanted to make a big deal out of nothing and embarrass her. It worked too. Jaime’s face was scarlet for three days.”

  “Sounds like you have your hands full with them.” I watch, mesmerized, as he takes a big bite of his cheeseburger.

  “Definitely.”

  “Did you ever ask her about the extra zeros?”

  “Not yet. I will, but I was busy the last week before I left for this show. Plus, I’m pretty sure she was avoiding me, which pretty much admits guilt.” I load up my fries with ketchup before diving in again. “What about you? You’re not from here, right? I’m pretty sure I would have remembered you.”

  “No, I’m originally from Ridgewood. I lived there until about a year ago when I relocated to Jupiter Bay to work at Corbin and Denton. I was raised by a single mom who did the best she could, while working multiple jobs and barely making pennies. It was hard, but she did everything she could for me. When I was in high school, I knew I wanted to help and make something of myself, so I focused on my studies. Put in a lot of time and was able to get scholarships for college, graduating with a degree in accounting and mathematics.”

  “I can picture you, with your little glasses, studying all night for a test. It’s actually kinda hot,” I tell him with a coy smile.

  “Really? Well, if you find nerds attractive, then I have plenty of late night historical cost and matching principle study groups where we all discussed the Algebraic K-theory stories to make your panties wet,” he whispers conspiratorially with darkening eyes.

  “I think they already are.” My words are dripping with heat and desire. “The problem is I’ve been in this perpetual state of arousal since I met you.” My confession is rushed, but not any less true.

  His eyes are rich and full of need. The way he’s looking at me, like he wants to gobble me up instead of his burger, leaves me aching and ready to throw down right here on top of this table; fellow diners be damned.

  “I have something else I want to tell you,” he says. It’s as if we’re the only two people in the room. I’m transfixed with the way those plush lips move, remembering exactly what they felt like against my heated skin. My body heats up to a thousand degrees.

  “What’s that?” I whisper.

  “I’m still really close to my mom. Actually, she’s back at my place, helping
me with —” he says, but is interrupted when Althea makes her presence known by hollering Dean’s name in the restaurant.

  “I can’t believe it! What a coincidence you’re here having dinner tonight, too.” Completely ignoring my presence at the table, the redhead walks up and stands directly beside Dean and bends down, dangling her boobs in his face.

  “Mind if I join you?” Before we can even reply, she’s grabbing an unused chair from a nearby table and plops it right next to Dean. We’re talking side-by-side, can’t even slide a piece of paper between them kinda close. Thank God it’s only their arms. Otherwise, I might turn green with jealousy, and besides my eyes, I’ve never been a fan of the color green.

  “Actually, we were just finishing up,” Dean says, dropping his napkin on the table next to him. “Maybe next time.”

  “Oh, too bad. I was hoping to hang out with some familiar faces this evening.” Even though she says faces as in multiples, she has yet to even acknowledge my presence at the table.

  Hell, for all I know, she has some other dude picked out and plans to have a threesome later this evening. And that image isn’t all that bad, except I’ve discovered I’m sort of territorial where he’s concerned, and not only do I not want to picture him and some other guy having their way with Althea, but I don’t really want to think about some other dude joining him and I in bed either. I’m perfectly content with it being just the two of us.

  “Maybe another time,” she says politely while he throws a few bills down on the table. We hadn’t finished our meal so our check hasn’t been brought to the table yet, but I don’t think either of us minds. Right now, getting as far away from Althea, the redheaded supermodel with her eagle talons set on my guy, is my primary concern.

  Completely ignoring her reply, Dean reaches over and takes my hand in one hand and both of our coats in the other. We’re practically sprinting towards the door, both anxious to be alone.