by Ashley Jade
Straight people kiss members of the same sex all the time and chalk it up to simple curiosity or inebriation and no one bats an eye. Why do they get a free pass to do whatever they want, but I don’t?
“It’s not like that between us. Other than a few kisses here and there—it’s completely platonic. We’re friends.”
“Kit?”
“Yeah?”
“How many years have we been friends?”
I think about this for a moment. “Since our freshman year of college, so about seven years, give or take.”
“Have you ever stuck your tongue in my mouth?”
“No.” My cheeks go a shade darker. “I know how it sounds, but there’s really nothing going on between us.” To my absolute horror, my voice cracks and my eyes become glassy. “I have no desire to have sex with him, okay?”
She wipes what I assume must now be mascara streaks from my face. “Okay.”
I give her a skeptical look. “Okay?”
“Yeah. You’re a big girl and if you say it’s not like that between you two, I believe you. I’m sorry for pushing the issue.” She drums her nails on the counter, appearing lost in deep thought. “Maybe you like being close to him because you miss having that intimacy with someone, you know? You haven’t had that since—”
“Becca,” I finish for her, my heart making its objection to her name known.
Breslin has a point. I’ve had sex with girls since she ripped my heart out, but I haven’t allowed myself to fully go there with someone. Not even with Jess and I was crazy about her…up until she revealed her true colors.
It’s like Becca permanently cut out the part of my heart that made it possible for me to get to that final level again.
Breslin’s nose turns up. “You mean Becca—the giant thundercunt.”
My face twists. “Or, Becca—the two-timing skank.”
We burst into laughter but make no move to stop hurling insults at my ex.
Breslin slaps the counter. “Becca—the dirty sewer whore.”
She holds her fist out and I bump it. “Becca—the cum guzzling dumpster snatch—”
“That counter must be really comfortable.”
Asher’s voice jolts us from our conversation and we turn to face him.
Breslin’s hands fly to her face and I gasp when I see his split lip and what looks like the start of a black eye.
Landon steers Asher over to the sink. “Stop talking so I can clean that cut.”
Breslin races over to them. “What happened?”
Their eyes float to the entryway at the same time Preston wanders in, shaking out his hand. His knuckles are split and bleeding, and the finger that was already fractured looks worse. “Got any ice?”
Oh, no.
I trek over to the freezer. “I thought you said you were supervising them, Landon?”
“I was. Everything was fine until…” His sentence trails off and he grips the back of his neck.
“Until what?” Breslin questions.
Landon shifts his weight from foot to foot. “Until I went into the bathroom to take my insulin. That’s when Asher cornered Preston and confronted him about something.”
“Traitor,” Asher hisses.
Landon throws up his hands. “I’m sorry, but they weren’t going to believe your story about flying monkeys attacking you.”
I open the freezer door and frown. “I don’t have any ice. How about a few bags of peas that are probably as old as I am?”
Preston nods. “That’ll work.”
Breslin tips Asher’s chin, checking him out. “What did you confront Preston about, baby?”
From opposite sides of the island, Preston and Asher exchange a menacing glance.
“Nothing,” they mumble in unison.
It’s most definitely something.
Arms crossed, Breslin and I turn to Landon again.
He shrugs innocently. “Don’t look at me. I’m just as clueless as you two are. By the time I came back, Preston already had Asher in a headlock.”
I pick up the bags of peas and chuck one at Asher. “He told you he needed space.”
I chuck the other one at Preston. “Stop attacking your brother.”
Preston places the bag on his hand. “What makes you so sure it was me who attacked him? Maybe it was self-defense.”
I blink. “Was it?”
He smirks. “No.”
Breslin’s eyes become tiny slits. “Why did you have to punch him in the first place?”
Preston’s gaze draws inward. “None of your business.”
Breslin rolls her eyes and looks at Asher. “Why did he punch you?”
“I—” Preston glares daggers at him. “I called him a douche for eating my bagels.”
Preston smiles wide. “There. Everyone happy now?”
I’m not stupid enough to believe it’s the real reason, but I’m not going to question it since Asher and Preston are finally in agreement about something.
Breslin grabs her purse. “We should probably head back to the hotel.” She looks at me. “Are you free tomorrow?”
I shake my head. “Nope. I leave for New York.”
She pouts. “That sucks. Our flight home doesn’t leave until Tuesday.”
“Don’t worry. After this stupid merger with Porn Rub is settled, I should have some free time to visit.”
She cringes. “Ugh, I forgot about that. Call me and let me know how it goes.”
After they find Picasso, we exchange our goodbyes.
Well, everyone but Preston who just stands there.
I close the door and lean against it after they leave, a strange sense of relief washing over me. I feel like I just crossed the finish line of a marathon. Not that their absence makes me happy, but it does ease my anxiety to know I won’t have to juggle Asher and Preston being in the same room anymore.
I catch Preston silently studying me. That’s when I remember I have another big favor to ask him.
“So, I’m leaving for New York tomorrow.”
“I heard.”
I look down at my shoes. “Those people will be coming here to do those stupid renovations while I’m gone.”
“Make me a list of everything you don’t want them to touch and I’ll make sure they don’t.”
I stare at him wide-eyed. “Really?”
It’s not that I didn’t think he would do it, I just figured I’d have to beg and offer…
I cover my face with my hands when it dawns on me. “Crap, I promised Max nudes.”
“What?” Preston roars so loud I jump.
Hand clutching my chest, I tell him, “Relax. I was gonna paste my head onto some hot porn star’s body.”
“Yeah, that’s never happening. He’s not choking the chicken to what he thinks are naked pictures of you.”
“It wouldn’t actually be me, silly.” He motions for my phone, but I don’t give it to him. “He did me a favor, Preston. If I don’t deliver, it goes without saying he won’t help me out the next time.”
“There will be no next time.” His nostrils flare. “I don’t want you calling him again, you hear me?”
I’m a little taken back by his hostility. “Or what, Daddy? You’ll ground me?”
“Bishop.” There’s a dark note in his tone. “I don’t want you talking to Max anymore. Not without me present. And I definitely don’t want you sending him naked pictures. It’s a deal breaker.”
I don’t like this controlling side of Preston one bit, but not talking to Max or sending him nudes is without a doubt something I can live with. However, I’m going to take a cue from Preston and use what he wants to get something I want.
Like security that he’ll stay. If he’s comfortable and feels at home, maybe he’ll reside here for longer than a few nights.
Maybe he won’t leave while I’m in New York.
“I won’t talk to Max or send him nudes,” I say, and he visibly relaxes. “If you let me take you shopping.”
Gett
ing Preston out the door was like pulling teeth, but he finally agreed when I said I would deduct whatever we bought today off his two-million-dollar marriage of convenience fee.
“Are we done yet?” he gripes as we walk through the store.
“We only got here three minutes ago.”
His face sets. “That’s three minutes longer than I wanted to be here.”
We turn down the first aisle and I get down to business. “Are you pro loofah?”
“What the fuck is a loofah?”
I reach past him. “Washcloths it is then.”
With no help from Preston, I spend the next fifteen minutes filling the cart with various bathroom essentials.
We turn down the bedding aisle next. “Do you have a preference?”
“For blankets?”
I fidget, nervous to broach this topic with him. “No. I was thinking more along the lines of…do you have a preference for your bedroom?”
When he stays silent, I play with the hem of my shirt. I don’t know why telling him we should have separate bedrooms is so difficult…it shouldn’t be. We’re not having sex and we’re not in a relationship. In fact, sharing the same bed will put the kibosh on having either of those with someone else.
My mind drifts back to what Breslin said earlier about intimacy. Maybe I’m utilizing Preston as my crutch because I miss the real thing.
When the minutes stretch I say, “There are two guest bedrooms—”
“I know. I picked the one with the adjoining bathroom.”
Oh.
And just like that my chest sinks. “Good choice.” I thumb through some throw blankets. “At least now you won’t have to kick your wife out of bed before you fuck some other woman.”
I ignore the dirty look the lady scoping out a flannel comforter gives me.
I don’t know what to make of the expression on Preston’s face. “Is that what you want?”
I’m honestly not sure how to answer that. Or rather, I can’t decide if the twisting in my gut is due to the thought of Preston having sex with someone…or remorse, because I’ll never be the girl he has sex with.
I just want to be the girl who gets all his other parts. The parts that actually matter.
I try to get ahold of my emotions because having a mental breakdown in aisle twelve at my local Target wasn’t on my agenda for the day.
Drawing myself tight, I tell him, “Doesn’t bother me either way. Do whatever makes you happy.”
It’s the truth. I want Preston to be happy. I want him to conquer his issues and have the best things life has to offer.
Including the things I’m unable to give him.
My heart knocks against my chest with every step he takes toward me. It threatens to break free entirely when he leans in and his lips brush my ear. “I was talking about the blanket in your hand.”
I look down. I’m clutching a plush throw blanket so hard my knuckles have turned white.
My stomach swoops and my face goes hot. I’m so mortified I can barely speak. “Right. Sorry.”
He eases back, and those intense orbs examine my face. I don’t know what he sees, but it causes the corners of his lips to turn down in a frown and his forehead to crease.
But it’s his words that send a kick of pain straight through my heart. “Me too.”
Chapter 23
You can learn a lot about a person by being around them long enough.
For instance, I know that Preston likes to wear dark colors as opposed to light. He thinks social media is a stupid diversion that’s designed to turn everyone into sheep. And he doesn’t like to show off his impressive math skills.
When the lady at the checkout counter handed him the receipt at the store earlier, I saw his eyes narrow momentarily before he stuffed it in his pocket. When I pressed him about it in the car, he handed it to me and said the total was off by three cents. I thought he was mistaken, but after he went upstairs for the night, I took out my calculator and fetched the receipt out of my purse.
In the battle of man vs. machine, it turns out that man is smarter.
If that man is Preston.
Thing is, I can think of at least a dozen people off the top of my head who would have complained and caused a scene.
Not Preston, though. He prefers not to be noticed and left alone.
I’m still thinking about the damn receipt as I toss and turn in bed. So much so that I’m wide awake when I hear a loud grunt followed by the sound of the headboard banging on the other side of my wall.
I’m seriously regretting taking the other guest room instead of my childhood bedroom now. Listening to Preston jerk off isn’t the soundtrack I want to listen to before I go to sleep every night.
I thump the wall with my hand. “Can’t you do that in the shower like every other married guy?”
Turning in bed, I place a pillow over my head, trying my best to drown it out. When that doesn’t work, I decide I’ve had enough.
Stomping to his room, I prepare to let him have it. But what I see when I open the door makes my heart bottom out.
Preston’s not riding the solo train…he’s violently tossing and turning on the bed.
I guess we have something in common after all.
Nightmares.
His face is contorted in pain and the muscles in his neck are straining like his body’s in the middle of a storm.
My heart’s in my throat as I approach. “Preston.”
I go to place my hand on his shoulder, but he bolts up so fast I stumble back.
His eyes are wide and frantic as he looks around the room, like a feral animal who’s about to be trapped.
“It was just a bad dream,” I whisper, and he jerks his head in my direction.
I take a tentative step toward him and he shifts to the edge of the bed, his harsh stare tracking my every movement.
He looks so out of sorts right now my heart breaks.
“You’re okay,” I say when I reach him. “It was—”
His arms fasten around me, his hold is so strong it nearly knocks me off my feet.
Whoa. Dread coils my insides. I don’t know what’s going on, but something is seriously wrong.
“Kit.” He says my name like a prayer he’s begging me to answer.
I clutch him tighter and he nuzzles the crook of my neck. “I’m here.”
A tremor zips through him and my hands bracket his cheeks, forcing him to look at me. There’s so much turmoil etched on his face, a knot forms in my chest. I wish I could siphon all his pain into me.
But mostly? I wish he would tell me what’s wrong so I could find a way to save him from whatever demons he’s keeping locked up inside.
“Tell me how to fix this.”
He catches the tear streaming down my face with his thumb. “You can’t.”
“Let me try.”
A breath shudders out of him and he maps my lips with his, inhaling my every exhale like he has to breathe me in to survive. “Make me forget for a little while.”
It’s like the tiniest ray of light shining through the darkest of clouds. “Deal.”
Faster than I can blink, he crushes his mouth against mine. His kiss is angry and vicious. A predatory sting that’s meant to punish me for caring. “You really want to place that bet?”
The ominous note in his voice sends a shiver up my spine, but I’m not backing down. I’ll play his game if that’s what he needs. “Yes.” I kiss his jaw. Then his cheeks. “Raise.”
I’ve never played poker, but I know that’s one of the terms.
Those long fingers of his spasm as he slips them under my shirt, causing every nerve ending of mine to vibrate in response. “Rule number one, Bishop. You should never place a bet without knowing the stakes first.”
I gasp when he tugs my bottom lip between his teeth and his tongue slides inside, hungry and greedy. “And if you raise, you have to set the new stakes so your opponent can decide whether to fold or call, got it?”
I nod.
/>
“Good, because it’s a new round.” His teeth nip at my collarbone. “Are you in or out?”
I’m trying to follow along, but he’s not playing fair. “In.”
A husky groan rumbles in his throat and his eyes darken with arousal. “Me too. I have a damn good hand.”
My cheeks flush when I look down at my puckered nipples through the thin fabric of the white Henley I’m wearing. Given I don’t have a bra on, there’s very little left to the imagination.
Eyes locked on me, he undoes the first button of my shirt. “Stay in or fold?”
My insides swoop when the second button pops open and he presses a soft kiss to my skin. “In.”
I suck in a breath when he undoes the third button and runs his calloused knuckle down my cleavage, watching me intently. My heart is beating so loud in the quiet room it nearly echoes.
A low, strangled grunt leaves him. “Raise.” He tugs on my shirt, and the fourth button goes flying.
I’m torn between wishing there were more buttons…and being thankful there were only four.
The tip of his finger grazes the underside of my breast. “Call or fold, Bishop?”
Blood whooshes in my ears and I swallow hard. “C-call.” I clear the nerves from my throat and try again. “Call.”
Tension in my core tightens when his mouth hovers over my nipple. So close it hurts. “You can still fold.”
My thighs tremble. “I don’t want to.”
He looks up at me with a dirty smirk. “Then what do you want?”
“I want...” I don't recognize my voice. It's so thready and urgent. “Please.”
God, I'm a mess. A desperate, shivering mess.
His breath tickles my nipple through the fabric of my shirt, teasing. “You want my mouth here?”
I whimper, unable to form cohesive sentences.
“Want me to taste them?”
My pulse explodes when he gives it a little flick with his tongue.
“Suck them?” He closes his mouth around the bud and lures it into his mouth.
The wave of pleasure has me digging my nails into his shoulders. “Preston.” My moan is guttural when he sucks harder and my hand goes to the back of his head, urging him on. “Please don't stop.”
A growl leaves him and his fingers dig into my hips. “Bishop.”
