by K B Cinder
His voice grew more playful as he spoke, wrapping me up in his story. His story about us.
“When I said hi to her, my mouth started going a mile a minute, talking about everything under the sun. I probably looked like a nutcase, but I didn’t want to stop making her laugh. Suddenly, it didn’t feel like the end of the world to be there. I wanted to be there. With her.”
A flock of butterflies migrated to my stomach, the flutter of nerves and excitement leaving me borderline nauseous. I could remember that day just as clearly. I couldn’t believe Theron Slater was talking to me. Flirting, too. Jesus, if I’d had a crystal ball then…
His brilliant blue eyes held mine as he took a deep breath, and when he leaned a little closer, I felt myself leaning into him, too. “I kissed her that day, and I kissed her every day for the next eight weeks. I fell in love, knowing that I’d have to pick someone else at the end. I didn’t realize what was happening before it was too late. Had I had a quarter of that girl’s strength, I would’ve told her. I would’ve trusted that she wouldn’t run. But I was a coward.”
I sucked in a nervous breath as the clouds surrounding us cleared. I’d done that a few times as a kid. Carried on a lie a little too long. Mama always found out. But if Vince wasn’t parenting, maybe he hadn’t developed that little voice in his head. The one that always whispered that Mama was watching. Mama liked to say God was watching, but honestly, I was a lot more afraid of her and those guilt trips she took me on me as a kid.
He paused, reaching to take my hand in his. “I was worried about myself. About hurting her after we were too far gone. But that doesn’t matter now. I’m stronger than that. We’re stronger than that. No matter what comes, we’ll kick its ass.”
I sputtered with a laugh, unable to contain it. “I don’t think I’ve ever kicked anything’s ass,” I admitted. “I can’t even kick the bag consistently during kickboxing class.”
His fingers traced figure-eights on the back of my hand. “I’ll teach you sometime. After you teach me how to make those dick donuts.”
“Deal.” I offered him my free hand, which he readily shook.
He released his grip on one hand but gently squeezed the other that he still held. “I had to pick Staci because I was forced to. Someone found out who my mother is.”
I shrugged, thoroughly lost. “Why does that matter? It’s just your mom.”
Unless he had a Cersei situation going on, his mom’s identity didn’t really matter.
He’d never mentioned her before, and I’d learned not to pry. If someone didn’t talk about family, there was usually a good reason.
We didn’t talk about Mama’s cousin Lisa, but that’s because she went bonkers and burned down her house one day for insurance money. Every family had one.
“My mother is the CEO of TNK,” he said, looking nauseated at the revelation. “It looks bad. Especially when my entire career is based on not following the rules. Someone knows that and is holding it over me.”
“Well, that someone is an idiot,” I muttered with a shrug. “I don’t see the point in blackmailing someone over that.”
His mom couldn’t be that bad, right?
“My mother has a reputation.” His fingers still flowed gently along my skin, but they lingered near my wrist. “One that would prevent other studios from being interested if I ever leave TNK.”
“What’s stopping the person from blackmailing you again?”
He shook his head sadly. “Nothing. It was stupid to fall for, but I was a fool. I wanted it to go away quickly, and it did. For a while. But I don’t regret it. In doing the show, I met you.”
I squeezed his hand gently, but still asked the question I needed to know the answer to. “Why not tell me from the start? Why not tell me before you picked Staci?”
“I was scared at first, but then I almost felt like I was doing you a favor in the long run.”
I stiffened. “A favor?”
“I don’t want you to get sucked into my world. This comes with a lot of highs, but it also comes with extreme lows.”
My stomach burned at the news, scorching the butterflies. “I never cared about any of that.” I still didn’t. A block option exists for a reason.
“I don’t know how to make this all up to you,” he conceded, pausing his trail along my skin to cradle my hand in his. “I don’t know that I can. But I know that I love you, and I want to make us whole again. I love being with you. I love being us.”
Inside, I quaked. But outside, I froze solid. I felt each word like a punch to the gut, but my heart sang instead of hurt. That last knot of rage was unraveling, and I wanted to wrap myself up in distractions to eliminate any residual pain.
“Let’s forget about the crazy,” I breathed, threading my fingers in his.
“Yeah?”
I nodded, needing to stop the thoughts whirling in my head. The indecision. The fear. The hope. “Let’s remember what we felt like.”
He leaned in, pausing a touch away from my lips. The faint hint of mint came in a whoosh from his mouth while those blue eyes locked with mine, silently asking permission.
My soft mhm was all the permission he needed before his lips found mine.
It was everything I needed, wanted, and missed in one as we fell into one another, our bodies fusing as we sunk into the cushions. Months of heartbreak and tension unraveled at a record pace.
I hated what he’d done as much as I loved him, but I was nothing against the force between us. The force that kept us locked in one another’s embrace, taking what we needed.
Our lips collided as our hands explored, and before I knew what I was doing, I had his shirt over his head and my fingers greedily skimming the hardness of his chest.
He matched the invasion by taking mine, tossing the flimsy tee across the living room with a quick tug. He grunted at the sight of my breasts, his hands falling to circle the flesh I’d explored in the shower.
My nipples beaded at the contact, his touch infinitely better than I remembered.
His lips feathered across my cheek before dipping down my jaw and finally reaching my neck with gentle caresses.
I gasped at the intrusion, a shudder jerking my shoulders.
He laughed against my skin before taking a quick bite, coaxing another shudder out of me. “I love you,” he murmured, his breath dancing along the line of my throat.
I had no answer, and he knew it, moving on to skim his lips along my collarbone and leaving a trail of heat in their wake.
I was nothing against him. Completely powerless. But I didn’t care. Getting lost in him was what I did best.
As my head rolled to the side, he hooked a finger in the hip of my pants, removing the garment in a single move and leaving me bare on the sofa.
“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he murmured, pausing to look down at me. All of me. “Are we really doing this?”
I pressed a gentle kiss to his lips before sliding onto his lap, my body straddling his as I gripped his hair. His eyes held unspoken questions that only came out as a groan when I tugged his head back and kissed his neck, returning his earlier favors tenfold.
The large hands I’d dreamed of skimmed my sides before the hiss of a zipper left my body clenching in anticipation. I didn’t have time to relax before he lifted me, his hands biting into my hips before crashing down, filling me with everything he had at once.
I screamed—apartment living be damned—but slowly started rolling my hips with his as the initial shock wore off, taking him in as I moved to grip the couch on either side of his head.
I’d be sore in the morning from the rough start, but the pain would be worth it.
I had my Slater, and I planned on enjoying every second.
16
Theron
Something was burning my eyelids.
I opened them slowly, regretting it when I got an eyeful of sun through the slatted blinds. I held up a hand to block the rays, seeing bare cream walls as I did.
L
ita’s bedroom.
We’d stumbled in after enjoying midnight snacks in the kitchen—each other—and a hallway performance that still had my muscles burning from fucking her against the wall. There was also a horizontal dance in bed, which was probably why the blankets lay in a tornado around us.
Lita rested against my bare chest, her body folded and limp with exhaustion. Her thick lashes splayed across her cheeks, the slightest snore escaping her lips.
The marathon romp might’ve left my body sore, but I’d never felt better. Bliss replaced the doom and gloom.
I could’ve laid there forever and died a happy man, but Mother Nature was calling, and if I didn’t answer, the pretty white sheets would turn yellow.
I disentangled my limbs from hers, the curly-haired beauty moaning slightly before slipping back into slumber. I tucked the blankets around her shoulders before heading to the bathroom and draining the tank.
Her apartment was quiet and calm before a pounding sounded upstairs, her upstairs neighbors on par with a group of sumo wrestling Rockettes. I was more amazed that she seemed to sleep through it and wasn’t screaming and threatening to wring their necks. I would’ve already been up there banging on their door and raising hell.
The bathroom was distinctly Lita, with cutesy touches here and there. The puppy picture reminding you to wash your hands. The tiny open makeup bag containing just the basics. Her scent was everywhere, and I couldn’t get enough of it.
I splashed water on my face and did the old finger toothbrush trick with a dab of insanely minty toothpaste before heading into the living room.
My cell phone lay on the coffee table beside my belt, and it was buzzing intermittently as I padded over. I lifted it, discovering a wall of texts and missed calls waiting for me.
Not unexpected.
Technically, I didn’t leave anyone hanging. I’d asked for the weekend off, and Clarke granted it. I just didn’t mention that I was jetting off on said weekend.
Chase and his flock of nosy PAs were probably losing their fucking minds. God forbid I venture out of earshot. When I got back, they’d probably slap a fucking shock collar on me that went off if I left the grounds.
Vince: When I said “catch off-guard,” I didn’t mean me, asshole. Where the hell are you?
Chase: Where the fuck are you?
Clarke: Skipped town in the middle of filming? New low, even for you.
Chase: Theron, this isn’t funny. If you’re not back by Monday, I’m done with this.
Vince: Uh, hello? Answer your phone.
Vince: You left me here with my balls in the guillotine, kid. A little head’s up would’ve been nice.
I chuckled to myself as I pulled my jeans on without boxers, not wanting to bare-ass it on my girl’s sofa.
My girl.
Damn, that felt good.
Your balls aren’t in danger. I’ll be back by Monday morning.
I sent the text to Vince before leaning into the cushions, not looking forward to leaving.
There were four more weeks on site in Louisiana before we wrapped things up in Burbank for the season. I would spend every step of the way with Chase and his spies, and once we landed in LA, Clarke would likely join the fray. That shock collar might not be as ridiculous as it sounded.
“Good morning, you,” Lita greeted in a singsong voice, her eyes still squinted from sleep while her hair stood every which way. She’d slipped a t-shirt on but had nothing beneath, her nipples hard while the curve of her ass peeked from the bottom.
I set my phone on the arm of the sofa, leaving the worries for later. “Hey.”
She toed across the room, her hips swinging seductively with each step. “What do you want for breakfast?”
Note to self: Have Talita wear one of my shirts in said fashion. Immediately.
She stopped at the edge of the couch, her thigh wedged between mine. As she waited for an answer, she crossed her arms; the act lifting her shirt and revealing the pussy I’d thoroughly enjoyed all night long.
“Well?” she pushed.
“I’m starving.”
She let out an exasperated breath. “For? Pancakes, waffles, eggs…?”
She’d pay for that attitude.
She was still listing breakfast foods when I hauled her hips forward and brought my mouth down her, devouring the sweetest fruit in the land while she cried out, rivaling the racket of those pesky upstairs neighbors.
* * *
“How does an extended vacation in Louisiana sound?”
I buttered a slice of wheat toast, while the slow scrape of the knife held Lita’s eyes.
Back and forth. Back and forth.
Just like my tongue had been on her earlier.
She shook her head, pulling her eyes to mine with blushed cheeks. “Sorry, I can’t.”
I set my knife down on the thick plate, the diner’s dishware practically indestructible. People weren’t kidding when they said Jersey was the diner capital of the world. Lita listed off at least twenty before we decided on the Golden Sun for breakfast.
“You can’t, or you won’t?”
“I can’t,” she replied, lifting a grape from her fruit salad. “I graduate next week, and I have a full-time job. Helen needs me at the restaurant. I’m her only chef.”
“I have about four weeks left on set down there,” I said, stabbing at a scrambled egg chunk on my plate. “Then at least four more in Burbank.”
Just thinking about being apart that long physically ached. But I’d make it work. Chase would have to get over his aversion to me flying out on weekends. He wasn’t my fucking parole officer.
“Don’t tell me any spoilers,” she warned, pointing her fork at me. “I’ll never forgive you.”
“I won’t,” I laughed, taking a gulp of orange juice to wash down the Sahara Desert that a bite of toast left behind. “I know how serious you take your Sinners.”
She might feel a little different once she saw the outright orgy that comprised the entire season. I felt like I wore a cocksock more than clothes all season.
“Damn straight.”
I set down my silverware and folded my hands, locking eyes with my future. “I need your help with something.”
She lifted her brows suspiciously but mimicked me in putting down her utensils. “I can’t save the world, but I can try.”
She’d already saved me, but I didn’t want to pump up her ego too much.
I cast a glance around, sweeping for eavesdroppers. A borrowed pink baseball cap and sunglasses only offered so much of a disguise. With my hair sticking out the bottom, I probably looked like an off-duty queen out of drag. One could hope.
“I need to make a statement about Georgia.”
I didn’t know when, but it had to come. And it had to come from me directly.
“Claiming her as your mother?” she asked, her lips pinched.
I nodded. “That prevents any of this from ever happening again. I’ll just lay it all out there, and people can pick what they like about me like Chex Mix.”
“I’ll take the pretzels,” she joked, looking like an angel in her Ramones t-shirt and jeans. “So where do I come in?”
“Help me write it,” I said, running my finger along the edge of my glass. “Let me bounce ideas off of you. Everything about me and Georgia is so disjointed. I’m worried that it’ll read too negatively if I write it alone.”
I might slip and call her a bitch, and that’s ruin the whole point of the letter. I wanted freedom, not revenge. Freedom to be with the woman I loved. Freedom to live and work where I wanted.
She eyed me carefully before leaning back in her chair. “I’ll help you on one condition.”
My heart clenched in my chest. “What’s that?”
She smirked. “You play mini-golf with me first.”
17
Talita
“I call it the Blondie Banana!”
Helen spun the dish around, proudly unveiling a stack of caramelized bananas atop a blond
e brownie.
“That looks amazing!” Smelled it too. The pile of sweets looked like the brainchild of some cooking channel lair where they baked things that made the ensuing food coma and tight pants seem worthwhile.
She brushed her hands on her apron, leaving a streak of powdered sugar. “It’s inspired by a certain someone.”
I narrowed my eyes at her. “Really?”
That certain someone was currently hanging out at my apartment alone while I worked. He had a flight out to New Orleans that night, and Helen—being the angel she was—immediately changed my schedule to leave at five upon hearing the update.
Go time was inching closer as the afternoon barreled ahead, an online order of desserts for the firehall swallowing most of our time.
“Come on! It can be your signature dessert dish at your wedding!”
I rolled my eyes and went back to mixing loukoumade dough. “Cart before the horse, much?”
I didn’t know if I’d ever get married. Nothing personal against Theron. I’d just never pictured myself as a bride. A business owner? Definitely. But a Mrs.? Not so much.
“It’ll be a Hollywood affair!” she gushed. “You don’t want to have a Pippa moment on a magazine cover? You have the tooshie for it.”
What the hell? A magazine cover?
I stopped mixing. “Wait—you know who Theron is?”
She huffed, sliding the plated dessert to the side. “Honey, I might look like a sun-dried tomato, but I’m not out of touch.”
“I never said you were old!” I challenged.
I hadn’t. Most of the time she made me feel like the old one. She had enough energy and zip for both of us.
She pinched the bridge of her nose as she shook her head. “You didn’t need to. You assumed I had no idea who Theron Slater was. I own a television, sweets. I’m old—not dead.”
I waved a hand to silence her before she dug a hole I couldn’t climb out of. Despite how it sounded, that wasn’t what I meant. Jeez.
