First Time: Ian's Story (First Time (Ian) Book 1)

by Abigail Barnette

  “Nothing with whips or chains.” Though my brain was stubbornly fixated on imagining Penny in black leather. “But in the past I’ve quite enjoyed swinging and group sex.”

  “So, you like having sex with other people while you’re in a relationship?” Her voice got a little tight at the end of the question.

  “My ex-wife and I did, but together. Never in separate rooms.” To someone who didn’t understand the dynamic, that probably wasn’t a great comfort. I went on to clarify, “No individual dates with other people. It wasn’t an open relationship. More of a shared sexual experience.”

  “If we were…together…”

  “I wouldn’t be willing to share you with another boyfriend, no.” I didn’t like the idea, at all. I’d recoiled when Gena had brought up the idea of swinging a few years into our relationship, until she’d explained the difference between it and an open relationship. Having sex with someone else had been as far as it had gone. Dating someone else, forming a romantic bond outside of the primary relationship, the very idea had flung me into a jealous panic.

  I was relieved when Penny agreed. “Ditto. I wouldn’t be comfortable in a long-term relationship with you while you were in a relationship with someone else. And I wouldn’t be comfortable having sex with someone else with you, or watching you have sex with someone. In the interest of full disclosure, is all I’m saying.”

  That relief was only momentary, because I realized that the window opportunity for coming clean about my one-time sexual involvement with Sophie had been flung open wide. If I didn’t tell Penny now, I was a monster. My jaw clenched, and my stomach roiled. This could be the end of the line, and I desperately didn’t want it to be. “In the interest of full disclosure, then, I should tell you something.”

  “This sounds grim.”

  “It may well be.” I looked her in the eye. Whatever I saw there when I broke the bad news, I would have my answer. “I’ve slept with Sophie.”

  Confusion was the first emotion I spotted. Then dread. Perhaps because Penny had spoken so frankly about sex, I’d lulled myself into a false sense of security with regards to what her reaction might be.

  “Sophie…my boss, Sophie.”

  “Yes. Earlier this spring, before Gena and I split up.” I cleared my throat. “It was a—”

  “A swinger thing,” she finished for me, so I knew she understood. Understanding and accepting, however, were two very different animals. Like an octopus and…something with fewer arms. She still stared at me, her eyes wide, the hurt displayed in them growing with every heartbeat visible in her pupils.

  I could only imagine the conversation happening between us in her head. I wanted desperately for that conversation to play out in reality, so we knew where we both stood. “Penny?”

  “Look, I’m not going to say that this doesn’t matter to me. It does. I kinda of wish I’d known about this sooner.”

  I nodded. “I wasn’t sure what the appropriate time would be to address it.”

  “I think Sophie should have told me when she set us up,” Penny said, and I sensed she was far more upset with her boss than she was with me. How that would affect our current situation remained to be seen.

  There was one way for sure to tell how she felt about this. “Would it have affected your decision to walk into that restaurant last week?” I forced a smile to try to add some levity to the situation. It didn’t work. “In spite of the fortune cookie?”

  A week. God, it had only been a week, and here I was, desperate not to lose her. After a week, you didn’t really have someone yet, did you?

  Then why did it feel like a loss?

  “Honestly?” she asked. “Yes. I probably wouldn’t have gone out with you.”

  God, that stung. You let yourself fall for her way too soon, mate. Your first time back on the field and you’ve already injured yourself going for a goal.

  “And now?” I asked. “Does it make a difference?”

  It took her a moment to decide on her answer. I would give her all the time in the world if it meant she would keep seeing me. She took a deep breath, and I braced myself.

  “No,” she said finally. “It doesn’t change anything.”

  My hands trembled; I wanted to touch her so badly, just to remind myself she was still real, that our connection was still real. “Well, that’s a relief. Because I really do like you, Penny. And I would hate to do anything to hurt you.”

  “I would hate that, too,” she agreed. “Look, I’ll talk to Sophie. I want to be on the right page with her. But I don’t have any problem with what’s happening here.”

  “Good.” I paused, because I wanted us to be on the right page, as well, but I didn’t know how far down that page she’d already read. “And I’m certainly not going to be sleeping with Sophie again. That was a particular set of circumstances that occurred one time. And please don’t think I’m out sleeping with a new woman every night. This may be too forward, but I’m not interested in seeing anyone else, at the moment.”

  There. A week into dating her, and I’d declared that I wasn’t interested in dating anyone else. Back to my old habit.

  “You don’t have to apologize for your past,” she said, firm resolve in her voice. “The delivery of the news could have been… Well, strike that. Everything happens for a reason.”

  “That it does.” So, she hadn’t made the same declaration of exclusivity as I had. I wouldn’t let myself get obsessed over the idea I might be in competition with someone else.

  She lifted her bottle to her lips and took a drink as she turned her gaze toward Manhattan. I watched the long line of her throat flex as she swallowed, and my mouth went dry.

  “Hey, Doll,” I said, and this time, the endearment wasn’t an accident. “Come here?”

  She set her beer down and stood to walk toward me. She slid her hands in her back pockets and stopped at the end of the chaise. “I’m not interested in seeing anyone else, right now, either. I’m kind of concentrating on, like, one guy.”

  My confidence roared back to me. The match wasn’t over, yet. “Well, he’s a lucky bastard, isn’t he?”

  “Yeah.” She leaned down and brushed her lips against mine. I felt her smile. “He is.”

  She was fucking right about that.

  Chapter Eight

  I was going over corrections made to a schematic I’d redlined the fuck out of the week before when my cell rang. It was Penny, calling me during work hours on a Wednesday afternoon. It wasn’t my first choice of time to receive a personal call, but for her, I could make an exception.

  I hit the green phone on the screen. “Do you know what else might be fun on Saturday? Bowling. There is a great bowling alley by my place. We could have dinner, wear rented shoes… What’s more romantic than foot powder?”

  She giggled. God, I loved that sound. “Okay, but that’s not why I called. What are you doing for lunch today?”

  I glanced at the clock. “I should be working through it, but I have a feeling I’m about to get a much better offer.”

  “Yes, you are. Deja gave me an extra half hour today, since I worked over last night, and I thought, what the hell? Maybe Ian would want to grab lunch?”

  “Ian would love to grab lunch. Ian will be working late if he does, but Ian is willing to make that sacrifice.”

  “Okay, well as long as Ian doesn’t refer to himself in the third person the whole time.”

  My assistant, Trish, knocked on the window beside my office door. I held up one finger. “Does Penny have a time and place she wants to meet?”

  “I don’t really know where you are, so why don’t you pick?”

  “Hmm. Well, I’m in Midtown, and that seems a bit unfair to you. Do you want to meet halfway?” I frowned in annoyance at a repeated tap on the glass. Trish held up two fingers, to coordinate with the flashing light on the multiline phone. “I am getting a frantic signal from one of my employees, at the moment. Why don’t you find us a place to meet, and I’ll call you bac
k?”

  “Sure,” she said brightly. “I’ll talk to you in a minute?”

  “Can’t wait.” We said goodbye and hung up, and I reached for the phone on the desk as an interoffice message from Trish popped up on my computer reading, Carrie Glynn.

  I grabbed the handset and hit the button. “I haven’t seen you in ages.”

  “I was hiding from an obnoxious Scotsman.” Carrie’s laugh hadn’t changed a bit since the last time I’d heard it. Her voice, however, had; it was dark and throaty now, likely due to the gin and cigars she’d loved back when we’d first worked together. Our industry was a boys’ club if ever one existed, and she’d always striven to fit in. She went on, “How have you been?”

  “I’ve done pretty well for myself. Started up a firm with a partner. Landed a few high-profile projects.” I never downplayed my success with someone else in the business. You never knew when someone would be looking to hire you. Networking was key. “How about you? I hear you’re not drawing screws and brackets anymore.”

  “Production purgatory. Don’t remind me,” she said with a noise of discontent. “I’m not designing anything, anymore. The only time I pick up a pen is to sign checks to poor bastards like you after you’ve done all the work.”

  “So, I’ve heard. Property management, is it?”

  “The second largest chain of resorts in the Caribbean. Looking to become number one.”

  I imagined her leaning back in her chair, full of that Carrie confidence all us interns had envied thirty years ago. She’d had a Princess Diana haircut back then, and an ample supply of cocaine at the ready. She’d always been destined to be a mogul. She could have gone into teaching high school English and wound up the head of a multimillion-dollar textbook empire.

  “I’d flatter myself that this was a call to catch up, but no one calls me from Madrid just to chat,” I said, cutting right to the chase. If Carrie now was anything like Carrie then, she wouldn’t be offended at the change in direction. “What can I do for you?”

  “You can design me a hotel,” she said, just as eager to get to business as I’d expected. “Our chain is undergoing a drastic remodel. They were all starting to look the same, and with our new vacation club—”

  Time share, I mentally translated from marketing speak.

  “—our guests are looking for a more unique experience at each property. We’re moving in Nassau, right now, and our main competition is really that behemoth dolphins-and-swans outfit.” The disdain in her voice was almost comical. “Is this something you’d be interested in working on?”

  Was it interesting? Yes. Could I do it? That remained to be seen. “You know, I’m flattered, but our firm doesn’t do entertainment properties. We’ve got a few hotels on our roster, but something on a resort scale—”

  “I wasn’t asking about your firm. I was asking about you,” she said bluntly. “Obviously, I’d be paying your firm. And it would be a handsome payment.”

  “Oh, I don’t doubt that,” I interjected.

  “I’m not flying blind here based on fondness for a guy I spent a few satisfactory nights with,” she laughed.

  Satisfactory? Ouch. I wasn’t sure if she meant to flatter my mid-twenties prowess or knock me down a few rungs so I’d be more malleable in our current negotiation.

  “I would never accuse you of making that mistake.” I reached for a pen on my desk, just to have something to do with my hands. “I don’t want a figure—”

  “mid-eight sound all right?” she asked.

  “I said I didn’t want one.” I had to work to disguise my irritation. If I’d wanted to be rich, I wouldn’t have gone into architecture. I was amazed at my financial success already. There was no reason to get bogged down in a project I was going to fail at because I was seduced by a one-time payment.

  Even if that one-time payment would make a huge difference for the firm. The employee bonuses alone…

  “Why don’t I send you some information on the project and the property? You can look it over, and if you had any ideas or came up with a spec…”

  The problem wasn’t coming up with ideas. The problem was coming up with too many ideas. I was already imagining something old world, with columns and arches and palm trees…

  “What kind of timeline are we looking at?” I asked, sliding some post-its across the desk and starting an absent-minded doodle.

  “We want to open in time for Christmas, 2019,” she said confidently, as though what she’d just said hadn’t been on par with, “I’d like to drive to the moon.”

  “That’s a tight schedule,” I said cautiously. “When are you looking to break ground?”

  “February of 2017,” she said, the equivalent of adding, “in a Conestoga wagon,” to the previous absurd moon statement. But her confidence never faltered. “When I want to do something, I want to get it done. And I can pull the strings to make it happen. We would need the design polished by this May, and you in Nassau no later than July to file for permits.”

  “This is a lot to consider.” As if she hadn’t already thought of that. “All right, Carrie. You’ve pressured me into it. I’ll take a look. But I’m not committing to anything.”

  I’d hate myself the whole time, but I would take a look. I owed that much to Burt; he was probably already planning what he would name his boat.

  We made the requisite polite small talk for another minute then hung up. I reached for my phone to call Penny.

  Penny. She would be a complication in my decision, wouldn’t she? After all, Burt had mentioned I would have to relocate for eighteen months. Would Penny even be interested in an eighteen-month long separation? She wanted to start her life and family now. I couldn’t imagine putting a relationship that was less than a year old on hold for nearly two.

  It wasn’t anything I should worry about, at the moment, I decided. I didn’t know if Penny and I would still be dating in July—though I hoped very much that we would be—and I hadn’t accepted the job yet, anyway. I hit Penny’s number in my contacts.

  Worry, much like my decision, could wait for another day.

  * * * *

  I checked my phone, again, in case Penny had sent another text. Then I paced into the bathroom and checked my reflection one last time. I’d put on jeans and a black button-down, and I’d rolled the sleeves back. I didn’t want to look stuffy, like a funeral director, as she had accused me of before, but I didn’t want to look like I was trying to be young. I didn’t want another incident like the one at the park.

  Penny thought we were going bowling, so I had to look casual, anyway. When she found out what we were actually going to do, I hoped she would freak out, but if she’d known ahead of time, she probably would have worn a ball gown.

  I grabbed my phone and opened my email, going over the instructions inside. We would be met at the staff entrance of the New York Aquarium by either a man named Jim or a woman named Vivian, and they would take us to the main attraction.

  The buzzer sounded. I told Penny I would be right down, hit the lights, and got into the elevator.

  Penny stood on the sidewalk in what had to be the tightest pair of jeans acceptable by law, and a low cut purple T-shirt that showcased the tops of her flawless breasts and the valley of cleavage between them.

  And I had been staring right at them, far too obviously. I leaned in and hooked an arm around her waist to draw her closer and kiss her cheek. “You look lovely, as ever.”

  “Thanks,” she said brightly. “I’m digging this scruffy thing you’ve got going on.”

  I combed my fingers through my hair. “Scruffy?” God, did I look like one of those newly divorced men taking style tips from boy bands?

  Her eyes grew wide, as if she feared offending me. “Not in a bad way. In a perfect-for-bowling way.”

  “Ah, yes, bowling. About that.” She’d given me just the right opening to spring my masterfully romantic plan on her.

  Well, perhaps not romantic to many women, but I was almost positive s
he would view it as such.

  I couldn’t help the giddy glee showing on my face. “There’s been a change of plans.”

  “I’m listening,” she said warily.

  We started toward the car. “How do you feel about aquariums?”

  “Um. Like they’re awesome.” She said it in a tone that suggested I was a fool for expecting a different answer. She paused. “But also like they’re not open at eight o’clock on a Saturday night.”

  “You’re right. They usually aren’t. But interestingly enough, I know someone who is a major donor to the New York Aquarium.” Burt was more than a major donor. He’d pledged his estate to the place, so when it had come up in conversation that the woman I was seeing loved octopods, he’d offered to do me a huge favor. “And they have recently acquired a new Pacific octopus.”

  She waited in hopeful silence, then asked, “And?”

  “And I thought you might like to meet him.” I shrugged, teasing her, “I mean, we could always go bowling—”

  “No!” she shrieked. “I can’t… I mean, do I look all right?”

  “Do you think an octopus is going to care what you’re wearing?” I couldn’t help but laugh, I was so charmed by her oddness. I stepped in front of her and held her with my hands on her upper arms. It was meant to come off as a pep talk stance, but really, I just wanted to touch her skin below the short sleeves of her shirt. “If octopods are attracted to people, and who knows, they very well might be, I’m sure he’ll find you just as sexy as I do.”

  Maybe that was an aggressive choice of words. All week, I’d kept reliving our trespassing excursion to the pool. Every time my mind had an unoccupied moment, it would immediately be filled with the memory of her wet skin against mine, the taste of her mouth, the weight of her legs wrapped around my hips.

  And every time, I’d say an Our Father, because a Hail Mary seemed extremely inappropriate.

  If calling Penny “sexy” had been a transgression, it didn’t show in her reaction. She rubbed her palms against her thighs. “Okay. Let’s do it. Let’s go meet the octopus.”