Blogger Bundle Volume VI: SB Sarah Selects Books That Rock Her Socks

by Kathleen O'Reilly

  “You shouldn’t put up with it. She’s an adult. She’s capable. She is, right?”

  “She’s my sister, David,” she whispered, in case anyone could hear.

  I can hear fine.

  “And that means she’s not capable?”

  “No, she is.”

  “You’re not tough enough, Ashley. You have to be strong, and say, not my problem. They own that problem. And if they make stupid decisions, you can’t let it ruin your life.”

  “She’s not ruining my life.”

  “All right. Rephrase. You can’t let it hurt you, you can’t let it affect you.”

  “She’s family.”

  “Trust me, that’s not an excuse. Your family can hurt you most of all.”

  “David—”

  “Stop. I’ll drop it. You have to do what you think is right. I’m only the innocent bystander, not my concern. Who’s the last designer gonna be?” he said, and obviously they were finished talking about Val and her problems. Business was easier for both of them.

  “I’ll stick to Chicago. There’s a guy in Wicker Park. I need to give one to the home team.”

  “You want me there?” he asked, a completely stupid question for such a smart man.

  “Of course. I want you. In Chicago.”

  “I can’t,” he said, his voice hoarse. Ashley stopped playing with her hat, frowned at the phone.

  “I didn’t say when,” she said to let him know that she could see through his little denial tactic. “You don’t want to come here, do you? You’re still mad.”

  “It’s not you.”

  “It’s my family?” she asked incredulously.

  “It’s something else, Ashley.”

  “Like what?” He was so clever about keeping his secrets. Now, he wanted to know every detail about her life, and like a gullible idiot, she had told him, but when it came to opening up, he was a clam. A tongueless, noiseless, speechless clam. Ashley hated clams.

  “I don’t want to say anything,” the clam answered.

  Furiously, Ashley jumped up from the bed, and began to pace. David needed to hear this. Oh, he needed to hear every word.

  “That doesn’t work for me, and let me tell you why. I just spent seven days beating myself up because I didn’t want to tell you about my sister. It’s not an easy subject to talk about, and it’s not my story to tell, so I have issues with saying anything about it. Big issues. But I knew I had to tell you because it wasn’t right to leave like that. It’s not me. And because I knew I had to tell you, I stopped beating myself up, practiced my words—several times, mind you—and I called and I told you the truth. So I don’t want to hear, ‘I don’t want to say anything.’ I have laid bare my soul here, so you can suck it up, and bare yours as well. What the hell is the matter with Chicago?”

  There was a long silence and she stopped pacing, afraid she’d been too rough. Sure. From the closet, her slippers were busting a bunny-gut. But at least she’d done what needed to be done. Or at least, she’d thought she’d done what needed to be done.

  What if she’d been wrong? What if she had moved this relationship up a level, and he hadn’t? What if they were still having stranger sex and she didn’t know it?

  What if she had betrayed Val’s secrets to a man not worthy of knowing them?

  Gee, thanks, sis.

  No, I don’t believe that.

  Ha.

  She waited, feeling uncertain, not even sure if he was still on the line.

  Finally, he spoke. “My ex-wife lives in Chicago.”

  That was it? Ashley began to pace again. She had assumed it was something bad. Something heart-twistingly awful. “I’m wanted for a felony there.” “I was once mugged on the South Side—the memories get to me at night.” Or even, “I have a love child roaming the streets, I can’t bear the guilt.”

  This was it? She stopped her pacing and sighed loud enough that he could hear.

  “It’s a big city, David. The third largest city in the United States. I guarantee you won’t see her.”

  “I know. It’s weird.”

  “You should see her. Confront your fears head on.”

  “That’s a really bad idea.”

  “Only because you’re terrified.”

  “I’m not terrified.”

  “Liar.”

  This time, he sighed, a frustrated sigh tinged with overtones of “you don’t get it”—much like hers had sounded. “Ashley, it’s complicated.”

  Ashley wasn’t deterred. “How long since you’ve seen her?”

  Silence.

  “You haven’t seen her, have you?” she asked, and it killed her that he was still so busted up over his ex. Studies had shown that men had a much harder time than women. Ashley had never believed it—until now.

  “There’s no reason for me to see her. She’s married. She’s got a new life.”

  “And so do you,” she reminded him softly. Ashley was some part of that new life, she knew that without a doubt.

  “Then you come with me.”

  Come with me. It was definitely moving their relationship into a level beyond stranger sex. Meet the ex-wife. And she wanted to be there for him. She wanted to meet the bitch in person, possibly glare at her when no one was looking.

  But then what the heck would they talk about? And what about the questions?

  Sure, come with him, meet his ex, explain that yes, they met on a plane and live half a nation apart, but their relationship transcends such obstacles. Oh, God. This was a bad idea. They’d have to lie.

  “I don’t know,” she told him, staring at herself in the jazzy white hat. She looked like a woman who tackled the world head-on. Hats could do that to you. Fool you into being something you aren’t.

  “Terrified?”

  “Yes,” she answered truthfully.

  “Would you do it for me?” he asked. It was a terrifically cheap shot because there was guilt involved in this equation, since she had left him stranded in Miami alone and there were few things she wouldn’t do for David. The list was growing smaller daily. He was not the world’s most perfect man, he was not the world’s easiest man, but he was constant and loyal and he cared about her dreams when sometimes she ignored them. He got big bonus points for that. Dreams were very fragile things.

  “When?”

  “I’ll set it up. Two weeks from now, last week in June. Christine’s schedule is flexible.”

  Christine. His ex-wife was named Christine. It was a nice name, an elegant name. Not as elegant as say, Ashley, for instance, but a name was only a set of letters arranged in some arbitrary order.

  “You’re sure this is a good idea?” he asked.

  It’s an awful idea. A god-awful idea, Ash.

  “You want to borrow my bunny slippers?”

  “Only if you’re still attached. Preferably naked.”

  She plopped onto the bed, smiling for the first time in days. Seven days to be exact. “I could be naked now.”

  “Jeez, Ashley, do not tease. Fourteen days is killer…. Are you really naked?”

  Her smile shifted into a grin. She shed her Hello Kitty sleep shirt, slid her panties down her legs and looked in the mirror. Something was missing. She pulled the brim low, low over her eyes. Trampy, vampy. Better. This was the way a woman should look when she’s talking to her lover.

  “Now I’m naked. Except for the hat.”

  “You’re wearing a hat?”

  “The white one we got in Miami. It makes me daring.”

  “How daring?” he asked, the words sounding wonderfully strangled.

  She merely laughed, then fell back against the pillows. The cell was at one ear, her free hand sliding over her breasts, taking a short moment to get to know her ever-tightening nipples on a close, personal basis. She’d never been much for self-exploration, either the physical or mental kind, but honestly, it did have advantages. Being eight hundred miles away from sex could make you creative.

  “Ashley, what are you doing?”


  “Touching my breasts,” she told him in a hushed voice. “I have very sensitive nipples, did you know that? Little buds that perk up at the slightest hint of a cool breeze, or a playful finger, or a hungry tongue.”

  “Oh, jeez.”

  “I wish you were here to see.”

  “I do, too. I didn’t know my imagination was this vivid, but gawd, you wouldn’t believe the stuff in my brain. I didn’t even know I had this stuff in my brain until now.”

  “Do you like my breasts, David?”

  “They’re perfect. Soft and plump. I love the way they fill my hands.”

  She checked her breasts and smiled. “You have nice hands,” she whispered, sliding her fingers down her body in a little dance. “I like when you touch me between my legs.”

  “You’re touching yourself, aren’t you? I’m a dead man. Tell me you’re touching yourself. No, don’t tell me.” He coughed, his voice deeper, huskier, and she felt an answering shiver skim across her breasts, her skin. “Go ahead, I can take it.”

  “Now I’m touching myself. It’s so nice and warm and comfortable. Taking all the time in the world.” It was the hat, she kept telling herself. It was the hat that made her voice sound different, sensual, aroused…turning her on even more.

  Her old quilted bedspread was soft against her bare skin, but it felt odd to be lying here in her room, naked, pleasuring herself. She’d always kept her love life, her sex life, separate from the house, spending the night out if she needed, but this felt forbidden.

  David’s voice urged her on, and her body responded as if he were there, as if they were his hands on her, not her own. Between her thighs, she was wet and swollen.

  “I want you here. In Chicago. Touching me. Tasting me. Filling me.”

  “A plane…I could get on a plane…now.”

  “But then what would I do? That’d be…hours. No, I think you’re going to have to talk me through this one.”

  To please her, he talked about her body, how he loved to plunge inside her. He told her that her skin was soft, the taste of honey against his tongue. As he spoke, her fingers danced with more talent than before. When he talked of her breasts, she heard awe. Awe. His words stroked over her, as surely as his hands, and her eyes drifted shut because she no longer wanted to stare at four walls. She wanted him in her head, taking her body.

  His voice grew more ragged, his whispers more intimate, and when he took himself in hand, he told her, her fingers stroked even faster. Over the phone line, he couldn’t see her blushing skin, or the way her feet dug into the covers, needing a place to hide.

  There she lay, on her old bed, her fingers buried between her thighs. Her heart skipped forward, the beat of her blood matching each slide of her hand. He asked her to show him this when they were together, and she wondered whether she had the courage. She thought for a moment, smiled, and said yes. It was a stranger’s voice that was talking, and her hand moved faster.

  “I need to come, David,” she breathed, and her hips rose, higher and higher, until she felt as if she were flying. Her hand tightened on the phone, and she could hear David, she could feel David.

  At last.

  “David?” she asked, because he had gotten so quiet.

  “I think I died.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said, apologizing for more than this.

  “You shouldn’t apologize so easily. I was a bastard.” His voice was soft and warm, softer and warmer than her hand, softer and warmer than her old quilt, and she wished the sound of it wasn’t quite so appealing. It made all the wants return, and as valiant as her hand was, as familiar as her quilt was, they were a poor imitation, and she knew it.

  “Spoken like a man who just got his rocks off,” she joked, because it would be two weeks—at least—before she saw him again.

  “I’ll call you when I set up the dinner,” he continued, still in that same appealing tone. Ashley sighed as the wants returned.

  “I miss you,” she told him reluctantly.

  “I miss you, too,” he said. “I’ll call tomorrow night.”

  Ashley hung up the phone and stood up to stare at the naked woman in the mirror, wearing the floppy white hat and her heart on her sleeve.

  This was the woman who hadn’t drawn a paycheck in four years. This was the woman who was going to lure some of the brightest designers in the country to her boutique, as if it were some great privilege. And this was the woman who was going to have to introduce David to her family. More specifically, Val.

  Ashley frowned because she hadn’t wanted to go there yet. Val wouldn’t like David. Ashley knew it. Actually, Val would be fine with him until she learned he lived all the way in New York City. Then she would hate him. And proceed to tell Ashley about it in many detailed lectures. Telling Ashley how he wasn’t good enough for her, that she should hold out for someone better.

  I wouldn’t do that.

  Yes, you would.

  Only because it’s true.

  Sometimes families sucked.

  11

  DAVID WAS HAPPY now that he knew about Ashley’s sister. Not happy, as in, he was glad her sister is an alcoholic, but that was a better option than the thought of some man—Jacob?—calling her back to Chicago, and putting the wariness in her eyes. Ashley didn’t realize that he couldn’t stand to see her hurt. He wanted to protect her, to keep the wolves away, but he was too far away to do a great job of that. So, he had to trust her, to believe that she could manage on her own.

  Still, that wasn’t always enough, and sometimes he found himself calling her just to hear her voice, just to make sure. When he heard her breathy, nervous rambles, he would get instantly hard, feeling the insistent urge to plunge his cock inside her over and over again, while watching her face, that reckless mouth. She had no idea how much he thought about her, embedded between her thighs; if she did, it would probably scare her. Hell, it scared him, and he was a guy.

  They didn’t have phone sex again. He didn’t ask, and she didn’t ask, and since he wasn’t sure if he would survive another night like that again, he was almost glad. Almost.

  The ache in his cock, the tightness in his balls, kept him from thinking about Chris and Christine. Ashley did that. She made some of the hurt go away. The trip to Chicago was a few days from now, and he was excited, aroused and ready to punch his brother’s face, all at the same time.

  He would land in DC on Monday, then fly through Oklahoma City on the trip back, but before he got to Chicago, he had one thing on his calendar. Lunch with Martina’s ex, Barney Burdetti.

  THEY MET AT Raw, a sushi place near Church. On a normal day, David wasn’t a big fan of sushi, but today, it wasn’t about sushi, it was about pretending to be Martina’s perfect man. It wasn’t that he wanted to be Martina’s perfect man, it was merely that he wanted to teach the jackass that had cheated on her a lesson.

  Martina’s actual perfect man wasn’t hugely tall, a couple of inches shorter than David, and his face had that pinched-fox look, that some women might have considered attractive. Whatever. And as he listened to Barney drone on about his accomplishments, talk about the multitudes of women in his life, David came to the realization that Barney was more clueless than most men.

  They discussed the markets. Barney and David’s friend Tony bitched about the slowdown, while David smiled, perhaps more arrogantly than he should, but hey, what the hell. And when Barney began to talk about how much he loved books, how he used to sleep with a hot little editor from midtown, David saw the opportunity he’d been waiting for.

  “No, kidding, I’ve been seeing a lady in the book biz. I’ve always had a weakness for cool blondes. Tiny, with crystal blue eyes. God…” He wiped his brow. “Sorry, I just start thinking.”

  Tony nearly cracked up. “David works a little too hard. Sex does a number on his brain. He’ll be cruising along at the gym, and then, boom, you can knock him out. I ask, what happened? He shrugs. Getting laid though, he gets more excited than most.”


  “She’s good, huh?” asked the weasel.

  “I don’t like to talk about that.”

  Tony busted out laughing. “Since when?”

  David glared.

  Barney was intrigued. “You’re among friends. You don’t need to be shy.”

  “Nah, she’s different,” he said. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, she definitely keeps me up at nights. All night, sometimes. Gawd, just the other night…” David trailed off meaningfully, sipped at his martini, and smiled as any well-satisfied man would.

  Tony shook his head. “I think it’s getting serious.”

  David nodded. “Right, she wants to settle down. She’s only twenty-four, I told her that she was too young to think about that sort of thing, but her sister just had a kid, and now she’s an aunt, and she goes on and on about little Jameson. Who names a kid after Irish whiskey? Apparently, in her family, they do.”

  David knew the exact moment that Barney started putting the pieces together. It was like watching gears click into place. He nodded slowly. “Sounds like she’s thinking about marriage.”

  “Maybe,” answered David, shrugging in a perfectly casual manner. “I don’t know. I’m not ready. I got divorced a few years back, and I want to relax, sow some wild oats, plough some fields…”

  The man leaned forward, waving his chopsticks like a drunken samurai. “You can’t lead her on like that. What if she gets hurts? You can’t hurt her,” protested the guy who had slid a knife right through her heart. David frowned, and studied Barney more carefully, the pinched lines in his forehead, the anger in his eyes. When he’d first met this guy, he’d wanted to punch him in the face, but now…not so much. Did the man have a living, beating heart after all?

  “I don’t want to cause any problems,” David began, watching Barney’s face as he talked. Testing the waters. “Honestly, she hasn’t said anything, so I’m probably assuming. But you know, a guy can’t be too careful.” He put an extra dose of jackass in his laughter just to see what Barney would do.