by S. A. Wolfe
“I know.”
“No, really. You were a fiend. You undermined Carson, but you also played me,” I snap.
Dylan’s smile fades to concern. “No, that wasn’t my intention. I didn’t think I would actually end up in a relationship with you. I planned on flirting and making Carson jealous, but I really fell for you.”
“It doesn’t matter now,” I mutter. “What’s done is done.”
“I regret fucking everything up for all of us,” he says. “But on the bright side, you know more about Carson, maybe things he was afraid to tell you. I hope it works in his favor and you don’t shut him out.”
“Well, I did get that very inspiring story from Archie on missed opportunities.”
“Oh right. The story about making his fortune and losing the girl he loved to someone else?”
“Very sad.”
“Yeah, he’s used that story on everyone under the age of thirty.”
“You mean it’s not true?”
“No, it’s true and very sad, but Archie has been milking that one for years, trying to get all of us to settle down and get married. He’s lonely, especially without your aunt around. He wants us to all settle and grow roots in Hera so he has some company.”
“I’m not sure this was the best decision for me to give up the anonymity I had in New York and all the action there to be the center of small town gossip and scandal here.”
Dylan comes around to my side of the booth and hugs me. “You are definitely in the right place. You need this place as much as it needs you. No one should go through life being anonymous.”
I lean my head against his and he kisses me on the temple.
“Walk me out. It’s time for me to go.” He pulls my hand as he stands up.
Before we can get out the door of the diner, Imogene, Bonnie, Lauren and Imogene’s parents, Pam and Mark, all give Dylan long embraces. A few of the women are crying and I feel my eyes well up, too. The customers give him a cheery loud sendoff of Go Dylan! Go Dylan! Go Dylan!
I walk him out to Carson’s truck, which is idling in the street. Dylan is still smiling. “It’s nice to know that people will miss me.”
“I’ll miss you,” I say and look over to the driver’s side window where Carson is waiting patiently for Dylan. He’s wearing aviator sunglasses and he’s looking straight ahead at the road and not at us.
When I stand on my toes to give Dylan a peck on his cheek, I notice Carson glance our way. Dylan quickly kisses the top of my head and I push him forward. “Leave before I start crying for real,” I whisper.
Dylan jogs around the truck to the passenger side and gets in. Carson turns towards me at the last moment and raises his hand in a solemn wave.
“Seventy million,” I whisper to myself, teary-eyed.
Thirty-Nine
The first two weeks that Dylan is gone are the worst for everyone. The town seems too quiet and somber without him.
Leo is painfully lonely in his home without Dylan there talking and cooking, so he spends as much time as he can with Lauren at my house. He speaks in a soft, reserved manner, although it’s apparent he’s got it bad for Lauren. He follows her around, pulling out chairs, getting her coffee and generally touching her arm or back in a possessive way that I miss having in my own life.
Imogene is very industrious and focuses on growing their jewelry business and her relationship with Jeremy. Both women party less and put more structure into their day, so when they aren’t waitressing, they are working in the room dedicated to their business. When I’m lonely, I wander in and sit at their craft table and watch them make their intricate pieces.
Bert follows my moods and mopes along with me. We drag ourselves around the house from the studio so I can paint, to the library where I unravel mangled code and rebuild weak platforms and then back to eat my umpteenth bowl of cereal before I make my way to bed. Bert lounges against me to give me some comfort in that special way dogs can read their owners.
I miss Dylan’s friendship, but I ache for Carson in every way, emotionally and physically.
“Why don’t you send him a nice friendly text? It’s not as scary as a phone call or seeing him in person. That way you can connect to him in a less terrifying way,” Lauren suggests one morning at the kitchen table as I scroll through emails on my phone.
At first I think she’s referring to Dylan, but then I realize she’s not.
“That’s an excellent idea,” Imogene says, looking up from her laptop. “Let him know you’re thinking about him.”
“How is that a good idea? Then we’re right back where we started from. He wants a sure thing and I’m wishy-washy. We’ll have the same argument.” I put my phone on the table.
“You’ve been sad long enough. You drag your sorry ass around the house like some maiden who lost her sailor-pirate-husband-lover at sea!” Lauren shouts.
Her outburst surprises Imogene and me.
“You need make-up sex and then you’ll come to your senses. You’re just as crazy about Carson as he is about you,” Lauren continues. “You’re not fooling anyone with your I’m-not-ready-for-a-serious-relationship. I’m-not-sure; poor-me! Enough, Jess, you’re the surest person I know. Your whole life has been about planning and following a very specific path and you nail each objective perfectly. I think you are madly in love with Carson and yeah, maybe it scares you a little, but you can’t throw it all away because of a little fear of the unknown.”
“Take it easy,” Imogene says to Lauren. “Jess has to figure this out on her own.”
“No. She won’t figure it out because this isn’t one of her number problems that add up to a nice perfect sum. She’s so used to being the girl genius and having all the answers. Nothing is a mystery to her.” Lauren leans over the table to me. “Quit being an asshat and go after this guy before you lose him. Who says he has to wait around for you? Another pretty genius could come along and snatch him up. You’re not the only one on the planet.”
“God,” I say. “Why are you flipping out over this?”
“Because you’re making a problem where there doesn’t need to be one. Are you in love with Carson?” Lauren asks.
Imogene looks at me. “Well?”
I take a deep breath; the question is a punch to the gut that stirs a whirlwind of emotions in me. “Yes,” I say softly.
“Give me this,” Lauren says, grabbing my cell phone.
“What are you doing?” I panic.
“Thinking of you,” Lauren says as she types furiously. “There. Done.”
“What did you do?” I shout and lunge for the phone.
“I sent Carson a sweet text from you.” Lauren tosses the phone back to me.
Imogene huddles next to me as I read the text. Thinking of you.
“Oh God. This is so not like me. What do I do if he responds?”
Lauren huffs and puts her hands on her bony hips. “You have a big, fat I.Q., so I’m sure you’ll have no problem sending a reply. Imogene, we have to finish those necklaces and get our shipments out today.”
Before they leave, my phone pings with an incoming message.
Lauren runs around the table to see my phone. She and Imogene lean in to read the screen while I’m holding it in my hand like it’s a live grenade. They giggle at Carson’s response. Good. I’m always thinking about you.
“There. Now who’s a genius?” Lauren says, waving her arms above her head. “Me, that’s who. I got the ball rolling for you. You’ll thank me when this nonsense is all over.”
Several hours later, the paintings for the show are finished and packaged, ready for Tom’s assistant, Griffin, to pick up. I leave my studio, still wearing my black leggings and oversized painting smock, which is really one of my father’s old, white dress shirts. It is covered in faded, dried paint and it’s almost tissue soft from years of washings. My hair is pulled into a ponytail on top of my head, making my curls fan out like a mop head. I keep my big, black, retro-style glasses on since I’m going to s
it in front of the computer for a few hours. Lately, I’ve been wearing my glasses more when I paint or have to look at screens for a long period of time to prevent eyestrain. They make me look like a total geek, though.
I go back to the library and sit in front of the monitors, pulling up the work I’m doing for Lauren and Imogene. One screen shows the website I set up for them. Another screen shows the simple program I set up for their financial records and inventory. The screen I’m currently working on shows photos of individual pieces of their jewelry collection. I’m creating a product gallery so people can purchase items directly from the website.
As I play around with a photo, I hear my phone ping. I look down to see Carson’s text. So? What were you thinking about? Bed? Truck? Shower?
I laugh and quickly type a response. Not sex. You.
I try to concentrate on the photo position I keep changing, but it’s hopeless. I’m waiting to hear if my phone will ping again. I’m more excited about the prospect of engaging Carson in a remedial texting conversation than working.
He texts back. I like that. Can I see you?
I respond. Yes. When?
After a few minutes, there’s still no response, so I figure he must have had something to do at work. I put my heavy, noise cancelling headphones on and decide to listen to some music while I work on the website design. Lauren comes in from the room next door that has been dubbed L & I Creations, as their temporary business title. She hands me the SLR camera she has been using to take photos of her jewelry. I can’t hear her over Adele’s deep voice wailing in my ears as I dance and play with the website, but I nod and take the camera, knowing there are more photos I need to download for the gallery portion of the site.
After Adele, I have my music library shuffle through dance songs. Rick James’s “Superfreak” comes on and I have to sing and dance along.
I feel a tap on my shoulder and scream. I jerk around so fast, the headphone cord yanks my head back and I hit the floor on my ass.
It’s Carson and, as I scramble to my feet, he watches me with an expression of amusement. His hands are clenched at his sides as he searches for something to say.
“You scared the hell out of me.” I put the headphones on the desk. “I’m doing some stuff for the girls; their website.”
He looks at my bare feet, my freshly painted pink toenails and works his gaze up to my leggings and tattered shirt before his gaze then settles on my face. “That’s a good look on you.”
I look down at my grungy clothing and adjust my glasses with a nervous laugh. “Yeah, no one is supposed to see me looking like this. Except Imogene and Lauren, that is. They always see me like this, unfortunately.”
“I envy them,” he says, his voice wavers and I know that look he gets when he’s turned on.
“Ah!” I scoff.
The blood is rushing through me, starting those exhilarating waves of searing heat. I try not to stare at his blue eyes or his biceps bulging underneath the long-sleeve, black T-shirt he’s wearing, but he has that sexy five o’clock shadow I love to touch and his hair is falling in careless waves around his face. The sight of him puts my sexual drive into warp speed, and this, after I texted him that it wasn’t about sex.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, gripping the edge of the desk so I won’t fall down.
“You said, ‘Yes’. I got here as fast as I could.”
“I thought you wanted to set up a date and time. I didn’t know you meant now.”
He’s eyeing me like I’m his prey and he’s toying with me. Who doesn’t love being pursued by someone they’re crazy about?
“I meant now,” he says, moving closer so we’re only a few inches apart.
“But it’s the middle of the work day. You must have furniture… stuff… things, and I’m in the middle of work… here.” I struggle to sound coherent.
“You’re not working. You’re dancing and singing “Superfreak”. And I like it. I also really like those glasses on you. You’ve got some kind of sexy-librarian-slash-bohemian artist thing going on here.”
“Oh,” I say. My vocabulary bank is completely empty.
Carson has inched his way forward so his body lightly touches mine. I can feel his breath on me and the electricity he puts out makes me shiver and tighten my inner muscles. I am trapped between the desk and him with my ass practically on my keyboard. He reaches down to touch my face and put a hand on my lower back so I don’t crash backwards into the computer equipment. He bends his head down to kiss me tenderly, tugging at my lip with his teeth and circling my lips with his tongue. He keeps his eyes locked on mine. My breathing becomes heavier, however, I don’t want to lunge at him, instigate sex and then be accused all over again of being heartless.
“What are you doing?” I ask breathless.
“Seducing you,” he says calmly as he continues to kiss my lips and trail down to my neck.
“I thought you didn’t want casual sex with me. I thought you were angry at me and you don’t want me near you unless I’m willing to sign myself over with some kind of rights of exclusivity or declaration of dependence.” He licks around my ear and my nipples get hard, so does the bulge he has pressed against my belly.
He sighs and then pulls back to look at me with a curved mouth. “It’s been a long three weeks since you slept at my house.”
“I wouldn’t call what we did sleeping,” I say and he smiles.
“I miss you. Every day. The first thought I have when I wake up is you and the last thought I have before I fall asleep at night is you. I don’t want you to forget about me.”
“Don’t worry; Hera is hurting for available good looking, young studs, so you’re always in the running.”
He laughs and runs his hands around my waist. “I also miss your sense of humor.”
“I miss you, too.” Saying it out loud is liberating and for the first time, I feel like I’m making myself available for real intimacy. I’ve been hurting over missing him, so rather than doing it in silence, I might as well summon up some bravery and say how I feel.
“Thank you,” he says. “Thank you for saying that.”
“I’m not just saying it. It’s true.”
Carson kisses me harder, with more purpose, and I melt into the strokes of his tongue, letting my hands rest in his hair.
He presses into me and the zing of arousal is instantly amplified.
“I can either take you on this desk or the couch. Either works for me,” he says into my ear with a husky voice.
“We can’t. The girls are right next door, working in the other room.”
“That’s what doors are for.”
He grabs my hand and pulls me across the room to slam the door to the hallway closed. I turn the bolt to prevent any surprise visitors. Then he swings me around to the couch so I land on my back against the aged leather cushions. He pushes my legs apart and nestles his body on top of me. He kisses me with a grateful brutality. His erection feels like a brick against my pelvis and I get wet thinking about it being inside of me.
“I have been hard since this morning when you sent the first text. So, I decided I would either have to jerk myself off while thinking about you, or I could drive up here and convince you that Tuesday afternoons are the optimum time for sex.”
“Take off your clothes,” I command, pulling the bottom of his T-shirt up.
Carson stands up and hurriedly takes off his shirt, yanks his boots off and then throws his jeans and boxer briefs off. I’m lying on the couch as he pulls my leggings and panties off with such force that I slide across the leather cushions. I slip my oversized shirt over my head without unbuttoning it. Carson’s eyes widen when he sees that I’m braless.
He kneels on the couch between my legs as I take in his beautifully sculpted features; his olive skin that looks so dark against my fair complexion when he runs his fingers up my leg and his handsome face that shadows with lust and love when his eyes meet mine.
As he leans down, propping his
arms on either side of my head, I take his erection in my hand and rub it against my wet folds. “I’m so ready.”
“Good,” he chokes out. “I’ve been waiting all day to do this. I need you now. This second.”
I put him partially in me and grab his back to drive him into me. He obliges without delay and goes deep with the first thrust. “I’m sorry, baby, but this is going to be fast and hard.”
“Yes,” I whisper as he pummels me with his thickness.
Our moans and grunts escalate with each thrust. Suddenly dance music with a heavy, thumping bass starts blasting from the other side of the wall where Lauren and Imogene are working. Carson and I laugh as he pumps into me with more force in sync with the quick beat of the music. I lock my legs around him and he moves in closer, changing his long thrusts to faster, shorter pumps so his hips are doing most of the work. As soon as I start arching upwards, the friction on my special spot makes me tighter and hotter.
“Carson,” I moan as an orgasm takes command of my nervous system and I fall into a delirious series of aftershocks.
“Ah, shit,” Carson says as his own release takes over him. “God, fuck; I love you.” He covers my mouth with his as he rams his last shred of hardness into me.
He collapses on me, all two hundred plus pounds of him, and I hope the couch doesn’t collapse after all that creaking and crunching coming from the wood frame. His mouth travels down to my breasts and sucks on each nipple. “And I love these,” he says then kisses my ears, shoulders and hands, proclaiming his love for them as well.
I roll to the edge of the couch so Carson can lie behind me against the back of the couch and hold me. He grabs the throw blanket from the armrest and covers us. I snuggle against him so he can spoon me.
“Thanks for the booty call,” he says and kisses the nape of my neck.
“My pleasure.”
“Trust me, it was mine. I wasn’t kidding; I’ve been carrying a hard-on all day over you. A guy can only adjust his dick so many times before he loses his vision and implodes. I was ready to hunt you down; I couldn’t think straight at work.”
