by Emily Bishop
Satisfied with her work, the woman spun on her heel, but then she stopped short, her eyes turning to bright orbs when she spotted me. She inhaled sharply. I couldn’t help but notice the quiver in her breasts. A wave of recognition came over me, warming me: my brain lit up, my muscles strained inside my leather jacket. Those familiar, supple lips, that curious little wrinkle between her eyebrows, the way her cheeks turned to apples when she was surprised.
This girl. This woman. She had been mine. Maybe a million years ago.
“Remy,” I said, my voice low. I brought my arms over my chest, crossing them. I took up the space in the doorway, forming a blockade between her and her brother, Quintin.
“Wesley,” she said, stiffly. My name sounded so delicious in her mouth. Like a sweet candy she rolled around, twirling along her tongue. “What the hell?”
Quintin yanked me back slightly, giving me a dark look. I understood now why he’d rather have had me on a different day. Remy had been my high-school lover, the girl I’d first thrust my cock into on a particularly foggy September day after skipping science class. I still dreamed about the way she whimpered into me mid-first-fuck, her eyes daydreamy and wet.
Remy remained near the keg. Her fingers flickered against her thighs, and her bottom lip trembled, though she’d put up a frown.
“My sister’s working here now,” Quintin said, clearly trying to take control of the situation. “Just for a while. Right, Rem?”
Remy’s eyes remained on mine. The energy between us sizzled with a strange mix of nostalgia and desire. God, I hadn’t seen her in ten years, maybe more. Her body looked better, tighter. Her hair curled in a grand, alluring way. Something behind her eyes spoke of sadness, of longing, but after fucking my way across the states, I knew that kind of look just came with age. What were we now? Thirty-one goddamn years old. Of course she’d had a broken heart or two. Hadn’t we all?
“You’re looking fucking great, Rem,” I told her. I gave her my best smile.
Remy remained feet away. “As if I’m looking good for you,” she said, her eyes sparkling. “But you were always the kind to think that the world only existed for you, weren’t you?”
“What was it you always said during our fights, Rem?” I asked, my smile becoming crooked. “That it’s Wesley’s world and you’re all just living in it?”
“Hey. As much as I love this little reunion between you two,” Quintin began, slapping a palm against the bar top. “It’s really not cool to come back here, Wesley. Customers up front. Fucking please.”
I stepped back from Remy, clearing a path. Despite her apparent sass about seeing me, we still shared a small, private joke: that no matter what, Quintin still hated that we’d ever been together. That we’d ever “loved” one another—or whatever the hell that meant when you were sixteen, seventeen years old and pumping with hormones. God, he’d put up such a fit when he’d discovered Rem and I with our lips locked in the back of my shoddy Chevrolet. He tossed his science book at my head, glaring from beneath dark eyebrows low over his eyes. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing, man? I know you. I know what you do.”
He hadn’t been wrong. But at the time, I’d felt nothing but the love pumping through my heart. I hadn’t been able to resist her. Until it all fell apart, just as he’d expected it to. I was no good. I don’t know why I’d ever thought I could be enough for her.
Remy slid out from the keg room, whipping her hair behind her back. One of the local drinkers, a white-haired overweight man with thick glasses, smacked his fist on the bar top. Remy turned her attention to him. “What can I grab you, Marshall?” she asked.
“Just your love, Remy,” he sighed. “That’s all any of us want. Even this asshole.” He gestured toward me with a drunken, thick thumb, chortling. “Ain’t that right, man?”
I rolled my eyes at him, lifted my beer, and chugged almost half of it. When I set it back down, the old man, Quintin, and Remy’s eyes were all on me, like they were waiting for me to say something. Finally, I did.
“Don’t be fucking ridiculous—Marshall, was it?” I kept my eyes on Remy. “I’ve had her love. But neither of us wants that anymore, do we, Rem? We know to keep our distance.”
“So glad you came in here to make my day brighter, Wes,” she said. “It’s always a pleasure. Every ten years.”
I thrust myself from the stool and into the glinting light outside the pub, still grinning. I felt almost gleeful, sizzling with energy from her anger. She still burned with memories of me. And I was surprised at how swiftly memories of her rushed to the surface.
Hadn’t seen that perfect ass in more than ten years. But it was as if not a single day had gone by.
I heard Quintin’s boots behind me. I whirled around at my bike. He shook his head, showing a strange mix of anger and humor. “Leave my sister alone, asshole,” he said.
I slipped my leg over the side of the motorcycle and revved the engine with a squeeze. Over the roar, I said, “You know I’ve already traveled that road, Quintin. I wouldn’t do that to you twice.”
“Ha. You fucking better keep your word this time,” Quintin said. He took a few steps toward me as I turned the bike toward the road. “And man, hit me up more often before you get back on the road. It’s been, what? Six months? Seven?”
Quintin was a guy I’d left behind, a friend I felt shit about abandoning. He’d had to make his way in the city alone in the years after I’d cut out on the road. “Why don’t you just come with me?” I’d spewed at him, knowing he wouldn’t. His mother was sick then, and so he stayed back, giving Remy the chance to get out.
“Will do, man,” I said, before slipping back onto the streets. “Will do.”
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Also by Emily Bishop
Due Date
Her Baby Daddy
Redemption
Bad Duke
Taming Cupid
Protecting Rayne
Cuffing Her
Famous
Saving Scarlet
Untouchable
Wet Dreams
Bachelor’s Secret
Mr. Anything
Mr. Everything
A Note from Emily…
I’m stubborn. I know this. My family knows this. My husband really knows this. You tell me not to do something and I’m going to do it. Better than anyone else in the world. (According to me at least!)
I’m also sassy. I have the perfect comeback for almost anything. I’m not one of those people who thinks about the perfect thing to say while in the shower two hours later. A thought pops into my head and it comes out of my mouth. Ask my husband if you don’t believe me.
I love writing naughty, sexy, over the top bad boys and the women who tame them. Everyone deserves a little extra romance in their life and I’m here to give it to them.
Love, Em
Let’s get to know each other!
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