Forbidden: A Sinful Shares Romance

by Suzanne Halliday

  “Note to self,” she mumbled out loud. “Drink less coffee.”

  When she was finished and no longer felt like her bladder was going to explode, she hurriedly pulled it together and washed her hands. One glance in the mirror above the sink earned a slight grimace.

  She looked like hell. Warmed over hell but with enough gravy in the form of makeup to disguise what was really going on. Sleepless nights had a way of coming back to bite a girl’s ass—especially when it happened all the damn time. Frowning at her reflection, she felt an old, familiar sting when her thoughts landed on the reason for her insomnia.

  Robert Peyton.

  “Shit.” Thinking about him was never a good thing while she was working.

  Her conscience surged, and she grimaced. Yeah, she thought. If that were actually true, then maybe sending him dirty jokes at the ass-crack of dawn wasn’t a great idea.

  “Beef stroking off,” she muttered.

  And then she laughed because it was funny. Nobody got her sick sense of humor except Robert. Not even her irreverent mom.

  Thinking about Mom reminded Kristal that she had to check with her about Harry’s birthday. She found a local magician who did children’s parties, and considering her little brother’s fascination with magic tricks, it seemed a no-brainer to hire the guy. Marvelous Max the Master of Mystery would earn her a shit-ton of brownie points. And not just with Harry.

  The rest of the day went by in a blur. Par for the course at the busy family practice where she was a staff nurse. There was the usual round-robin of well baby visits and a couple of sickies along with a broken femur that earned groans and quite a few muttered, “Wows.”

  Dr. Matt was his standard self. For his patients, he was smiling, friendly and unusually approachable—but for the staff? The guy was a ball buster. He didn’t give a crap about things like breaks and downtime. The man was a machine and plowed through his scheduled appointments with determined professionalism. She liked him because he took what he did seriously, but shit! Would a couple of minutes between patients to take a load off or even grab a snack be a criminal act?

  By the time she was clocked out for the day and stuffing her crap into the leather satchel she carried everywhere, her back was on fire, she had a low-grade thumper queuing up in her head, and a loudly growling stomach.

  “Hey, Kristal. Wanna do happy hour at Margo’s? It’s Margarita Madness and dollar taco night.”

  “Good lord, no,” she choked out in mock horror. “Alcohol and I do not hang out on weeknights.”

  Izzy Newman gave her one of those rolling eye headshakes as she tsk’ed. Hired at the same time, they became fast friends and occasional partners in crime. Izzy attacked life and friendship with a ride or die fervor. If there were hijinks to throw down, Izzy was either in charge or at the front of the line.

  “This Debbie Downer thing is getting old,” her friend muttered. “Come on, girlfriend! Tequila and tacos? Think of the possibilities.”

  She smirked. “Do these possibilities include the hot bartender at Margo’s? Be honest, Iz. Would this be a duck and cover mission or functional co-pilot?”

  Wearing a comically rueful expression, her friend whined a reply. “Both, you snarky bitch.”

  Ah, shit. Really? Was Izzy finally going to make a move on the muscle-bound guy? Damn. The BFF code demanded she hold her friend’s purse and keep an eye out for potential hazards. Catching dick these days was sometimes a team effort.

  Mentally acknowledging that she was effectively trapped, Kristal gave in but not before spelling out some conditions.

  “Two hours, Iz. That’s what I can give you, okay? I’m beat, and you know how I get if a hangover is hovering when it’s time to get ready for work.”

  Izzy whooped and did a herky-jerky victory dance, knocking over a table-top cardboard easel with tear-offs about annual flu shots. The teeny tiny employee lounge at the back of the building where they stashed their belongings wasn’t the place for Izzy to be channeling her inner Elaine Benes.

  “I’ll drive.” Izzy smacked her hands together with amused glee.

  “Fine,” she shot back. “But you’ll owe me for an Uber if you get lucky.”

  “Whatever,” Izzy growled with playful annoyance. “But we can’t go looking like triage rejects. Let’s stop by my place since it’s close and pour ourselves into some skintight slut-walk bait.”

  “Oh, sure. Like that’s ever gonna happen,” Kristal complained. “My child-bearing hips—stupid expression, by the way—are certified plus size. Skintight? Yeah—no.”

  Izzy looked her over. “Hmph.” She tapped a shiny red fingernail on her lips and narrowed her eyes. “I’ve got it,” she blurted suddenly. “Leggings, hooker heels, and a fabulous flowy tunic in a gorgeous teal that’ll make your eyes pop! Huh? What do you think?”

  She had to laugh—just had to. Izzy was a genuine piece of work. “Two hours in hooker heels should just about cripple me, but damn lady, that sounds like a plan.”

  Did she want to get dressed up to go out and play wingman while her friend got her freak on? God, no. But some things were mandatory, so rather than piss on Izzy’s high with understandable belligerence, she slapped on a happy face because that was what friends did.

  Chapter Two

  The high tomorrow will clock in around seventy-five with calm wind and low humidity.”

  Robert listened to the nightly weather report while surrounded by piles of student journals he was in the middle of grading.

  Seventy-five wasn’t bad. It was early spring, so the occasional chilly day wasn’t unheard of, but the past week had been one sunny day after another. The uneventful segue from an East Coast winter to a mild spring meant he had an easier time on his morning runs. He’d much rather be enjoying the weather than darting around ice patches and hoping he didn’t end up on his ass.

  Unfamiliar sounds on the street outside his small Colonial got him swinging in his seat to look out a window. Pete and Azra, his neighbors across the street—his flamboyantly gay neighbors across the street—looked like they were at cross purposes as they directed a big truck that was dropping off a boat in their driveway.

  Oh, god. Right. It was almost boating season. Time for the newly married couple to spend all their weekends at the shore. Then, after a week or two of getting their fishing boat ready for the season, they’d have it moved to a marina.

  He had to admit some jealousy. The thirty-three-foot craft was the perfect family boat and overnight cruiser. If he had one, though, it wouldn’t be named something stupid like Lil’ Jiggle.

  Maybe something clever like—Wake My Day or Fishizzle.

  Getting up from the table, he put on his glasses and went to the window for a better look. His neighbors were generally a guaranteed laugh.

  Pete was frantically waving his arms at the truck driver. Azra stood off to the side, shrieking in horror as the truck destroyed the corner of a flowerbed.

  “Geez, guys,” he muttered aloud. “Maybe a daylight delivery would have been smarter.”

  An hour past dinner, the spring sky turned a dark gray, and night was bearing down. Because he couldn’t help it, his thoughts shifted to Kristal. What was she doing tonight?

  Right away, he felt a sharp sting of regret and confusion. At twenty-five, she wasn’t a kid or even a dumbass college student. She had a career in the medical profession and a good paying job. Last year, she bought a townhome close to downtown.

  She also had a social life. A social life that, like any girl her age, included dating. The thought sent him into the kitchen for a beer. His least favorite thing was any kind of reminder that Kristal had a personal life.

  Tossing his glasses on the dining room table, he sipped the ice-cold Heineken and pushed some empty takeout containers around. Since buying this completely updated flip a couple of years ago, he could have at any point turned one of the empty, underutilized rooms into a home office. But the truth of the matter was that he bought the family home on a whim�
��convinced that at any minute he was going to find Miss Right, fall in love, settle down, and start a family. When that didn’t happen, he emotionally downsized and now spent most of his time in the open space kitchen, dining area, and living room.

  His phone chirped at the arrival of a text message. Sipping the beer, he looked down and saw the word Dad on the screen.

  Hmph.

  Robert moved a chair by kicking the leg and sat. After one more sip of the cold brew he put the bottle down and reached for the phone.

  Hey, son, the text said. Sorry to interrupt.

  He snickered and shook his head. Interrupt? Bah! As if.

  Letting loose with his magic thumbs, he typed a quick answer. What do you want, old man? He laughed when pressing send. Though he was a young fifty-one, it chafed his dad’s nuts whenever anyone reminded him of his age.

  What I want is to kick your ass—but that’s not why I texted. Wondered if it’s okay to drop by. I’ve got your tank for the gas grill.

  Oh, cool. He’d cleaned the grill and set up the patio as soon as the weather got nice. All he needed to start getting his grill god act going was some propane. His thumbs flew again. Sure. Come on by.

  Great! Dad replied. See you in 5.

  Huh? Robert laughed and made a face. Five what? Five hours, five minutes? What the hell? Mara and his dad lived a good twenty minutes away.

  Exactly four minutes later, his dad’s silver Audi pulled into the driveway.

  At the front door, he stepped onto the porch and held up his hands as his dad approached, lugging a white tank. “What the hell, Dad!” He chortled. “Did you pull over at the end of the street or what?”

  Jeremy Peyton was one of those guys who never met a snappy remark he couldn’t make uniquely his own, which was exactly what he did with a comically irreverent reply.

  “Ah, you know how it is. Wanted to give my boy enough time to hide the evidence. There are some things a parent doesn’t need to know.”

  He clapped him on the shoulder when Dad joined him on the porch. “Oh, yeah? Even if most of those things you taught me yourself?”

  His father’s gregarious laughter rang out. “Especially so in that case!”

  Robert opened the door and held it so his dad could maneuver the grill tank without banging into the doorjamb.

  “Where do you want it? Kitchen okay?” Dad didn’t wait for an answer—he usually didn’t—and headed straight for the back door in the kitchen. “You’re on your own from here,” he said with dry humor when he straightened and pretended his back hurt. “If you want me to play at being old, then you’re going to have to buck up, son.”

  Brushing off his hands, he turned and surveyed everything in that single glance way parents excelled at. Robert’s eyes darted around to check for anything that might set off alarms—and then checked himself. Who the hell was he kidding?

  In an odd switcheroo, it was his dad leading the active, fulfilled life while he sat around grumbling about the kids on his lawn.

  He grabbed the remote control and muted the TV when to his horror Dancing With the Stars came back from commercial.

  “It’s worse than I thought,” his dad muttered.

  “What is?” he asked.

  “Jesus, Robbie.” His dad pinned him with a parental look that made him cringe. “Takeout? Grading papers? Star fuckers dancing?”

  He didn’t know what to say. Or do. So he made an inarticulate sound and shrugged his shoulders.

  “We need to talk.” His dad’s grave tone made him do a double-take. Uh-oh.

  “Uh, sure,” he answered. “Can I get you something? A beer maybe?”

  His dad snickered as he took a spot on the sectional sofa and motioned at him to sit down too. “Are you insane? Mara would have my balls if I came home reeking of beer.”

  He had an amusing comeback but bit his tongue. Sitting next to his dad was all sorts of uncomfortable because he had the niggling feeling a riot act was about to break open.

  “Okay, look,” his dad bit out in a straightforward, no-nonsense way. “I’m just going to come out and ask.”

  Robert’s brows shot into his hairline, and he gulped.

  “Are you gay?”

  “What?”

  Sounding like a school counselor, Jeremy Peyton lowered his voice to convey his sincerity and said, “It’s okay if you are, son. Love is love.”

  His mind screeched as he gave in to a free-falling confusion. There’s no way this is happening, right?

  “Dad! What? No!” Robert swung his head and pinched the bridge of his nose.

  “I had to ask, Robbie. I mean, come on.”

  For no reason except that he couldn’t sit there, Robert jumped to his feet and started to anxiously pace in front of the coffee table. “What the fuck, Dad! Why would you even think that?”

  “Well, let’s see,” he answered. “You haven’t had a girlfriend in like forever, and if you’re dating, it’s the best kept secret in town. You hole up here by yourself like a hermit in a home meant for a family, and I’ll just say again—Dancing with the fucking Stars. Reasons enough to ask.”

  He stopped dead and gawked at his father. Hearing the way he depicted his life was depressing as shit.

  “Hold on,” he grated. “First of all, I’m not a hermit. I’m an overworked public school teacher. And I don’t want a girlfriend. In fact …”

  “Ah. I see how it is now.”

  His mouth snapped shut. What had he stupidly walked into?

  “You’re carrying a torch. That’s it, right?”

  Robert shook his head to help clear the confusion. Was his father losing it? Or was he? “What are you talking about, Dad?”

  The man chuckled and sat back. “From where I’m sitting, your problem had to be one of three things.”

  He held up a finger. “Carrying a torch.”

  Another finger came up. “Involved with a married woman.”

  And then the third finger. “Gay.”

  Robert groaned and rolled his eyes.

  “If we take gay off the table,” the grinning older man said with a wave before holding up two fingers, “that leaves torch or married. I hope you’re not that guy,” he said with the hint of a warning. “So that leaves torch carrier.”

  His father left out one category. The forbidden. If he was giving a deposition right, then Robert might swear to feeling the walls start closing in. Something that felt a lot like panic took hold with an able assist from guilt.

  “Who is she?”

  Incapable of anything other than slowly blinking, he glanced away from his father’s probing gaze and waited for inspiration. None came. Involuntarily, he looked at the framed picture of him and Kristal along with Harry standing together behind a smiling Mara and his equally jovial father.

  It was the family portrait Mara asked for to celebrate their twenty-year anniversary.

  Realizing his wayward glance could reveal a thousand truths he knew better than to confront, he tried to act nonchalant when he looked at his dad. If his parent had caught the telltale moment, he kept it to himself.

  “You left off one very important category, Dad. Never finding the one.”

  Father and son looked at each other and nodded. His dad’s first attempt at finding the one had been a complete disaster.

  “I stand corrected,” he muttered. Standing up, he stuck out his hand. Robert clasped it tight and let his dad pull him in for a hug.

  The damn phone chose that moment to ping. His dad’s face wore an expression of curiosity.

  Fishing it from his pocket, he glanced at the screen and instantly forgot that he wasn’t alone. His face lit up. He knew this because whenever he saw Kristal’s’ name, his spirits lifted.

  Dammit if his dad didn’t balls out lean in and check out the screen himself.

  “Kristal?” he said with a big laugh and a clap on his back. “She’s gone out with Izzy tonight. Mara,” he drawled when Robert looked at him with surprise. “Girl tells her mama everythin
g.” His father gave a little snort. “Well, maybe not everything.”

  Ah, Jesus. If she was out with Izzy, anything could happen. Tapping the message, it came up but instead of a text, he saw a blurry shot of an empty bowl next to a pile of peanut shells.

  Apparently satisfied, his dad clapped him yet again on the back. “They’re at Margo’s. Dollar taco night. You’ll do the rescue if they need a sober ride?”

  He nodded and offered a distracted wave as his dad walked to the door. “Robbie?” he called out.

  He looked up from the phone to find his father staring at him strangely.

  “Yeah?”

  “Everything’s gonna work out, okay?”

  “Sure, Dad.”

  And then he was gone.

  Going back to his phone, he typed quickly, Dinner?

  Aww, hell. She’d never been so ass-numbingly bored in all her life. With the planets in some sort of fucked-up alignment, Izzy struck hookup gold five minutes after they made their way to the end of the bar at Margo’s. Whatever crazy plan her friend worked up was damn effective because the second Marcus the Magnificent got a couple of eyefuls courtesy of Iz putting the girls on full view, he was all over her.

  Which meant that Kristal was forgotten in record time. So much for co-piloting.

  From her vantage point on the barstool, it hadn’t taken long for things to wander into nauseating territory as she watched her friend and the hunk bartender do a mating dance that left Kristal feeling like a peeping Tom. For something to do, she quietly drained a single margarita and built structures on the bar top from a pile of hulled peanut shells. With each passing second, her brain got duller.

  Izzy’s flirtatious laughter made Kristal want to punch a wall. Seriously. She couldn’t understand how this behavior would lead to anything except a hangover and her friend’s panties in somebody’s pocket. The very thought brought on a shudder. Ugh.

  “That’s why you’re the odd bird.” She sniggered to no one but herself. “Or a wallflower.”

  Interested in far more than a casual hookup, she yearned for something a shitload more meaningful. Yep, that’s right, she thought. Me—the romantic fool of all times. I was holding out for true love.