A Sweet, Sexy Collection 1: 5 Insta-love, New Adult, Steamy Romance Novellas (Sweet, Sexy Shorts)

by Kaylee Spring

  9 o’clock rolls around. The DMV waiting room fills with people hoping to beat the rush, but in effect becoming the rush themselves. Mothers toting around toddlers. Teenagers who’ve taken the day off school for their first driving test. Elderly citizens with glasses thicker than my pinky.

  But no Diane.

  By lunchtime I’ve tried her back three more times, each as unsuccessful as the first. At noon, I would normally hop over to the local Italian place for a calzone or maybe to any number of fast food joints, but today I point my car towards Orange Horizons. If Diane isn’t in her office, I’ll have just enough time to drop by her home and check up on her there.

  Once inside the building, a receptionist takes my name and asks me to wait as she calls up. Within two minutes, a breathless Diane is crossing the lobby.

  “I totally forgot today was Monday.”

  This is pretty uncreative as far as excuses go, except that from her appearance, I can believe that she’s forgotten what year it is, let alone what day. She’s wearing the same clothes from our date on Saturday. Her cosmetics are smudged and a ring of eyeliner creates the illusion that she’s on her way to a Halloween party dressed up as a panda.

  “Is everything okay?” I reach out to take her wrist, but she pulls away and motions to the door.

  “Not here.”

  On our way to the car, I ask if she’s hungry.

  “I think the last thing I ate was a Snicker’s bar from the vending machine upstairs. That was this morning. No. Yesterday morning.” Her stomach growls at the prospect of food.

  “Let’s get you something to eat. Then you can tell me all about it.”

  But as I start the car, she grabs my forearm with both her hands. “They want me to go back.”

  “Who? Back where?”

  “To New York. They’re opening another office there and they want me to lead it.”

  My heart drops past my stomach. “But what about the branch here?”

  “They said that I’ve done such an impressive job setting everything up that it’s basically a turn-key at this point. Anyone can fill my shoes since I’ve already done all the hard work. Now they want me to do the same thing at the new office.”

  Something doesn’t make sense.

  “When did you find this out?”

  “Saturday night. Right after you dropped me off.”

  “So what have you been doing all weekend? If you’re going to be leaving soon, I would think you would want to spend more time together. Unless—”

  “No,” she says and grips my face between both of her palms. There’s a hint of crazy in her eyes, and I wonder if she’s slept at all since we last saw each other. “That’s the whole point. I don’t have to be there until tomorrow. But I had to tie up all the loose strings here first. If I had just worked during the day, I wouldn’t have had any time to see you at all. That’s why I pulled two all-nighters. I’m all done now! Isn’t it great? Now the next twenty-four hours can just be about us.”

  “And then what?” I don’t want to ask explicitly whether we’ll continue to see each other after she leaves. Or how that would even work with her a thousand miles away. But I’m having a hard time seeing a future where we’re together after tomorrow.

  Diane rises up on her tiptoes and kisses me on the cheek. “We’ll figure that out when the time it comes. For now, let’s just enjoy the next twenty-four hours.”

  Chapter 9

  Diane

  I wake up in a strange room. The twilight of early evening or morning leaks through the curtains. When I look around, I recognize the room that Hugh and I made love in. But I can’t figure out how I ended up here again.

  After a quick pee in the bathroom, I find Hugh sitting at his dining room table, sipping at a cup of black coffee.

  “What happened?” I ask.

  He smiles, but there’s a hint of sadness behind the expression. “You conked out at lunch. Nearly fell face first into your carbonara. So I brought you back here. Must have slept fifteen hours. Gotta say, you have the cutest snore. Reminds me of my uncle’s pug.”

  “Fifteen hours?”

  No.

  I can’t have slept fifteen hours. That would mean that I’ve wasted all the time I worked so hard to bundle up and save. I had planned the whole night during my brief respites from work this weekend. After dinner we were supposed to return to his place (or mine; it didn’t really matter) and have another romp in bed. Then, when we were both recovering from round two or three, when Hugh was at his most pliable, I was going to break the news to him. But I would follow up the bad news with the good.

  Now, I’m left with no time to butter him up. All I can do is drop my proposition and hope he leaps at the idea.

  “That means my flight for New York leaves in just a couple of hours. And I still have to pack and somehow catch a ride to the airport since I never had time to take my driver’s test again. Why didn’t you wake me up?”

  “Like I said, you were sleeping so cutely. Plus, you obviously needed it.” He points to a toaster. “Can I get you something to eat?”

  I shake my head, prompting me to brush the hair from my face. It’s greasy. As is my face. Now that I’ve noticed this, I perform a quick rundown of recent memory and realize it’s been days since I’ve had a shower. Without thinking, I take a half step back from Hugh. This probably isn’t the best time to bring my plan up, but it’s now or never.

  “I don’t want toast. I want you.”

  “Well, you already have that, so why don’t you have some toast too? I can even whip up some eggs of you like. Scrambled okay?”

  I shake my head again, harder this time. “No, I mean I want you to come up to New York with me.”

  This stops him. “What?”

  The manic voice in my head calms. I reach out for his hands, rubbing his knuckles as I repeat, “Come to New York with me.”

  Hugh is paralyzed. Looking to me but not moving. So still I can feel his heartbeat where my index finger rests on his wrist. Finally, he asks, “New York?”

  “I’ve already got an apartment in Manhattan.” I’m thinking out loud, giving voice to words before I can edit them. Before I can consider the effect they may have on him. “You can stay at my place until you find a place of your own. Or you can just stay with me. We don’t have to leave things like this. We don’t have to. We could move in together and see where things take us.”

  “In New York?” he asks dumbly. It’s clear then that we’re speaking on different wavelengths. I’ve misjudged something and now it’s going to cost me. “I can’t move to New York.”

  “Why not?” Although it’s me asking the question, I don’t want to hear the answer. Because him giving the words voice is only going to set the concrete wall being built between us, creating an impenetrable barrier neither can cross.

  “My life is here, Diane. I was born here. All my friends are here. This is my house. I just got it paid off. I can’t just up and leave. What would I even do in New York?”

  “You can be a driving instructor, just like you are now. I could even be your first student. I won’t really need to drive around once we’re in New York, but I can use my license anytime we come back to visit here.”

  Hugh is shaking his head. Reality is hitting him harder and earlier than it dares to touch me. “Why would we ever visit here? You’ve made it abundantly clear that you have no interest in a life in the country. I mean, did you even fight them on the issue of coming straight back to New York?” Hugh pulls out of my grip. Stands and backs away a half step. “Or did you simply jump at the chance to get out of the countryside?”

  “No,” I say in defense. “That’s not it at all.”

  “But you’re still going to New York,” he says, slinging the fact back at me with the force of an accusation. “With or without me.”

  “It’s not that simple,” I say. “This is my job. If they tell me I have to go back, that’s what I have to do.”

  “And what if I tell you to st
ay? What are you going to do them?”

  “But I can’t,” I explain in a soft but somber tone. “I’ll lose my position.”

  “Then lose it,” Hugh says. “Why would you want to work for a company that treats you like a slave, sending you here and there at their whim?”

  “Because I like my job,” I say with a bit too much defense behind my words. “And they don’t treat me bad at all. I’ve worked hard to get to where I am, and I can’t lose it just to settle in a place like Branchville.”

  Hugh purses his lips and nods as if he finally understands. “Now we’ve finally gotten here.”

  I reach for Hugh’s hand, but he pulls away. “You have to know I’ve loved living here. I mean, not at first. I hated it.” Hugh scoffs at this. “But then I met you. Any place that could have someone like you must be a pretty good place.”

  “But not good enough for you,” Hugh says, throwing that same accusation back in my face. My patience wears thin, unable to contain the hurt I’m feeling at his words.

  “It’s not about this place,” I say, not even trying to hold back the annoyance and anger. “It’s about me. If I quit my job and stayed here, what would I do? Do you want me grow old behind the bar like my cousin?”

  “Hey,” Hugh says. “Lucy might not have a college education, but she works hard.”

  “You’re defending her now?” That’s really all I can handle. I’m done. I’m out. But not before I lay this little truth on Hugh. “Do you know why Lucy and I don’t talk? I was supposed to get married a few years ago. We made it all the way to the day of the wedding. Had our families in attendance. The cake made. The first dance planned. Then I found Lucy with my soon-to-be husband in the choir room. Going at it like teenagers.” I stomp over to the door and yank it open so hard that the single glass window at head height rattles when the doorknob smacks against the wall. “So instead of thinking about Lucy, try thinking about me. In my mind, she got what she deserves. I’m not about to give up what I deserve after all my hard work.”

  Hugh says nothing.

  After a deep breath that calms me only a fraction, I add, “I don’t want to lose you, but I can’t lose myself either.”

  With that I’m out the door, tears streaming down my face.

  Hugh is frozen in place, not running after me like he should.

  Chapter 10

  Hugh

  A week after she leaves, I’ve fallen right back into all of my old habits. Same lunches at the same barbecue restaurants. Same beer at the same bar, sitting in my usual seat. Lucy and I pass back the same tired jokes. She doesn’t mention Diane, and neither do I. Not until Friday night when I work well past my normal alcohol limit.

  It being a Friday night, the place is bustling. When there’s a lull, Lucy drops by the corner where I’m seated. I can tell she’s judging if this is the point she should cut me off or if one more drink may open my wallet to more than the usual tip.

  “Why’d you do it?” I ask, trying—and failing—to keep the slurring out from between the syllables.

  “Why’d I do what?” She asks back with that sarcastic clip of hers.

  “Why’d you steal Diane’s fiancé? And on her wedding day, for fuck’s sake.”

  All around me, in about a ten-foot radius, conversations fall silent. Ears attune to us, awaiting Lucy’s reply. Everyone love juicy gossip, and it doesn’t get much riper than this.

  “I didn’t steal anything,” Lucy says. “It’s not my fault my cousin can’t keep a hold on good men. If you need an example, just take a look in the mirror.”

  So Lucy knows everything, or at least she suspects. It’s no secret that I’ve been mopey the past week. And Lucy would certainly have heard word that Diane got called back to the city. Even a burnt-out bartender like her could put two and two together.

  “That’s not an answer,” I say. Then I tap the bar and point to a bottle on the wall behind her. “Give me a shot of Glenlivet.”

  As she pours out the whisky, Lucy says, “You already know the truth. You just don’t want to see it.” She pours a shot for herself as well, clinks my glass before I can grab it, and downs the whisky. “That girl’s married to her job. That’s the most important thing in her life. You’re just another one of the broken guys she’s left behind, just like John. I’m sure she played me out to be the bad guy in her side of the story. And sure, it was a bitch that she had to find us on her wedding day, but that’s not when it started. It all began when she insisted John move with her to New York. They were in Chicago at the time.

  “Anyway, when she came to visit family down here, John and I met, and he leapt at me, not the other way around. It’s not my fault that I didn’t push him away. Like I said, Diane just needs to learn to keep a better hold on her men.”

  Maybe it’s the drinks flowing through my system. Maybe it’s all the frustration and self-blame I’ve been holding back this week. But when Lucy finishes by blaming Diane for her troubles, I jump out of the barstool.

  “It’s not her fault,” I say and slam my half-empty beer bottle on the bar. A torrent of beer and suds explode from the top like a limp volcano, dribbling down my hand. “You stole her man.”

  “I told you,” Lucy interjects. “I didn’t steal nobody. John and I had—”

  I don’t let her finish. “This time wasn’t her fault either. She asked me to come back with her. Begged me, in fact. I’m the one that ended things. Not because I don’t love her, because I do. Goddammit, I do.” My thoughts are coming too fast colliding with one another, the ends of sentences piling up on the beginnings of the next. “She was right too. I’m too attached to this place. Like a leech or something, I just can’t even imagine letting go. I’ve never lived anywhere else. Never even thought of taking a vacation in New York.”

  “Why should you?” Lucy says. She’s ignoring the customers down at the other end of the bar calling on her to replenish their glasses and bottles. “Why would you ever want to leave a place like Branchville?”

  For once, Lucy has said the right thing. The perfect thing, in fact. It’s exactly what I needed to hear, because the answer to her question is also the answer to the problem that’s been plaguing me all week.

  Without saying anything, I drop a twenty on the bar and head for the door. Just as the warm air outside the safety of the air conditioning hits me, Lucy calls out. “Where are you off to now?”

  “I’m leaving a place like here. You know why?”

  “Because you’re a drunk dumbass?” some joker calls from the bar.

  I shake my head and stare Lucy down. “I’m leaving for the exact reason I stayed all these years.”

  “You’re definitely drunk.”

  “No. For once, I’m thinking clearly. The thing that kept me here is fear. I’m still afraid but for once I have a reason to push back. I’m not going to be a coward anymore.”

  Chapter 11

  Diane

  It’s not until I’m back on the sidewalks, navigating the crowds, a fresh latte in my hand, that I realize exactly how much living in Branchville drained me of life. It was like the place was a sponge soaking up my happiness. Now I’m back, the frenetic energy reinvigorating me, making me remember everything that I’ve missed.

  Everything except one.

  If I had the power to create one new law, it would be that all public displays of affection would earn the violators a night in lock-up. Every couple I pass brings up memories of my short time with Hugh. Hands linked, bodies leaning against the sides of buildings, tongues delving into each other’s mouths. If Hugh had only said yes, we could be like them, flaunting our happiness in spite of all the lonely people out there. Instead, I’m the woman walking solo, staring longingly at a driving instructor’s car that waits at an intersection.

  I shake my head to stop myself from superimposing Hugh’s face on that of the instructor in the passenger seat. I’ve made my choice. And Hugh has made his. He’s there and I’m here, and that’s the way life is now. The only thing
left to do is live with that choice.

  At the front of the Brooklyn office, I pause just long enough to stare at my reflection in the dirty glass double doors. After a week of renovations and interviews and furniture movers, we’re nearly ready to open our doors to business. It’s just after nine in the evening, which means if I work through the night, I’ll have everything ready for when our employees show up for their first day of work.

  Just as I’m ready to pass through the double doors, determined to leave my emotional self outside, I come face-to-face with the last person I expected to see.

  “Diane.” He appears from the other side of the pillar holding up the awning at the entrance.

  “Hugh?”

  All this time I’ve been trying to forget him. I even swore that I would never get my driver’s license because that would mean another test next to an instructor who isn’t Hugh. But he’s here now, standing right in front of me. It would only take two steps to close the distance between us.

  “Diane,” he says with a hesitating step forward. “I made a mistake. A huge one.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  He crosses the divide between us. His hands reach out for mine. “You came to me because you wanted to learn to drive. I might have failed you twice, but it takes three strikes until you’re out.”

  “But I read that I could take the test as many times as I want,” I argue, not sure why the conversation has turned to this asinine detail. Maybe it’s so I don’t have to focus on the painful truth: that he might be here for a day or two, but he’ll leave me again or ask me to come back with him. We can’t be together, and it’s too painful to hold on to the hope that we can.