by Isla Olsen
It’s not until I have my bare foot on the bottom step, ready to head back upstairs that I’m stopped by someone…
“Hey, have you seen my brother?”
I spin around to find Jesse standing there with a concerned frown on his face. As he rakes his eyes over me, however, the frown reforms into a knowing smirk and he gives a small shrug. “Never mind.”
Not wanting to linger any further, I spin back around and rush up the stairs. When I enter the bedroom, I find Zack in the exact same position I left him in: spread out on the bed, legs dangling over the edge of the mattress. The sight brings a little life back to my cock and I know it’s not going to be long before I’m ready to go again.
I stalk over to the bed and toss my haul down. “I brought supplies. To help you refresh and recharge.”
Zack blinks up at me in what appears to be part confusion, part disappointment. “Why do you have clothes on?”
I arch an eyebrow at him, my mouth curving in an amused smirk. “I thought people would probably take more notice of me if I went downstairs stark naked.”
Zack nods and slowly starts getting up. Once he’s on his knees, he shuffles across the mattress until he’s right in front of me. “I guess that makes sense. But you don’t need them on now.” He reaches up to unfasten the two buttons I’d hastily done up, before slipping my shirt from my shoulders. Then he moves to my pants, leaving me completely naked again.
He reaches for my half-hard cock and I hiss through my teeth as he starts gently stroking it. That merges into a full-on groan as he reaches around to tease my hole.
“Get on the bed, Slater,” he commands. “I want to taste this ass.”
I’m practically numb with anticipation, and it’s all I can do to flop down onto the bed, my ass in the air presented to Zack like an offering. One that he accepts eagerly and with great enthusiasm.
The way he works me with his talented mouth drives me so fucking crazy, it’s not long before I find myself hurtling over the edge for the second time tonight. I thought the earlier orgasm was incredible, but this is even better, and afterward all I can manage to do is collapse onto the bed, right on top of the wet spot I’ve just made.
All I can think is thank god I had the foresight to gather those supplies, because I’ll really be needing some sustenance after this.
We manage to get a couple hours’ sleep in between all the sex and the joking around and the eating potato chips off each other’s chests—which is actually sexier than it sounds, although still kind of messy. But by the time morning comes around, I can tell Zack is in two minds over all this. One mind is the one controlled by his cock, and it’s telling him to proceed full speed ahead; the other is his more logical brain—the one that has to think every decision through and analyze it from every angle—and that one’s starting to kick in and tell him this isn’t such a great idea.
Personally, I’m not even remotely conflicted right now. I love him. I’ve loved him since we were fourteen years old, and I never stopped; even when I know I probably should have. But that’s not what he feels. To him this is…well, I’m not entirely sure what. Nostalgia, maybe? Chemistry?
Whatever it is, I’ll take it…
11
From the private Facebook group ‘Finchley Locals Community Hangout’
* * *
Post by Genevieve Goode: Thank you everyone who came yesterday to help us celebrate Ted’s life. It was a great day, all things considered, I’m sure Ted would have loved it!
Hank Latham reply to Genevieve Goode’s post: Genevieve, your son is the devil
Genevieve Goode reply to Hank Latham’s comment: Which one?
Hank Latham reply to Genevieve Goode’s comment: George. He kept forcing tequila down my throat yesterday
Genevieve Goode reply to Hank Latham’s comment: George isn’t my son Hank
Hank Latham reply to Genevieve Goode’s comment: Well then who’s son is he?
Candace Goode reply to Hank Latham’s comment: No one really knows. He just showed up one day like a kid from a horror movie…
Lorelai Goode reply to Hank Latham’s comment: Don’t talk about my baby like that!
Zack
* * *
My conversation with Slater plays in my head over and over as I make my way from his parents’ place to my mom’s.
“…it was a one-night only deal. Call it a bonus night or whatever. It’s over now. We’re done.”
“If you say so.”
I shake my head, furious at myself. I can’t believe I let him kiss me after that. One brush of his lips and it took all the willpower I possessed not to just fall into bed with him all over again…so much for my defiant declaration.
Argh, this is bad. So, so bad. I mean, it was good—really, really, really good. But that in itself is bad. Because I just can’t want Slater. And at least before we hooked up I could tell myself the sex would be terrible. Now, I have concrete proof that it’s anything but.
Fucking hell, I’m such a mess.
When I arrive home, it’s to find my mom sitting at the kitchen table eating a bowl of oatmeal. She’s dressed in her nursing scrubs, and I vaguely recall her leaving the wake early last night so she could get to work.
She looks up as I enter the kitchen, her eyebrow arched as she glances over my disheveled appearance. “Do I want to know?”
I let out a wry breath. “I’m sure you can probably guess.”
She offers me a considering look before returning to her oatmeal. “Is it…serious?”
I shake my head adamantly. “One-time thing. Just a backslide.”
She nods. “Okay.”
Like I said, Mom and I don’t really do the close communication stuff. This is pretty much as deep as our conversations go. With a shrug, I grab a bottle of water from the fridge and head up to my room, where I strip out of what’s left of my suit and slide under the covers of my bed.
“Why the fuck are you calling me at five am?” Lawson demands after answering his phone on my third attempt at calling.
“I slept with Slater,” I blurt out. “Like, a lot. I don’t know how many times. I lost track. But it was a lot. Like, so many times. My ass is killing me right now.”
“Uhh…how, exactly…” Lawson says, clearly struggling for words. “I mean…what happened?”
“I don’t know,” I moan in frustration. “One minute you and I were talking to Everley about Real Vegas Weddings, and the next I was in the bathroom and Slater and I were making out and he put his finger up my ass and things just kind of went from there…”
“Well, I’m not exactly surprised you two hooked up. But, seriously…at a wake?”
I let out an annoyed groan. “Because I needed to feel worse about this. Thanks.”
Lawson chuckles softly. “Why do you feel bad? Sounds like you should be over the moon right now. I definitely would be after a night like that.”
“Because it’s Slater!” I whisper-yell, not wanting to wake Jesse in the room next door. “I can’t hook up with Slater, Law. I can’t go down that road…”
“Well, I hate to point out the obvious, Z, but you’ve already gone down it.”
“I seriously hate you,” I mutter.
Lawson just lets out a low chuckle.
There’s a beat of silence before I move the topic on to something else that’s been on my mind. “Hey, Law?”
“Mmhmm?”
“Don’t go after George.”
He’s quiet for a long moment before saying, “What?”
“I know he messes around a lot,” I say carefully, “but he’s completely straight.”
Lawson lets out a heavy sigh. “I know that, Z. I’m not an idiot.”
“Okay…just making sure.”
* * *
Later in the day, once I’ve had a few hours’ sleep, I decide to venture out into town. I bump into Harriett and her younger sister Delia in Main Street, and we’re trying to decide what to do for lunch when a commotion erupts nearby.
Turning around, I see Mrs. Ackerman and Hank Latham involved in a heated argument that’s drawn the attention of several passersby.
“I’ve told you before, Hank, we can’t be talking like this—if you have issues with the way this is being handled you need to take it up with my lawyer.”
“Your lawyer is my lawyer, Alice! He’s the only one in town!”
“Then you shouldn’t have any problem talking to him,” Mrs. Ackerman replies testily.
“You’re being completely unreasonable,” Hank growls.
“I’m being unreasonable? This whole situation is your fault!”
“My fault? It happened on your property.”
“And you should be thankful I’m not pursuing trespassing charges!”
I finally manage to tear my eyes away from the argument, glancing at Delia and Harriett in utter confusion. “What the hell’s going on?”
“Custody battle,” Delia explains. “It’s getting pretty heated. Really stressing Chance out.”
My eyes widen in shock. “What? Hank and Mrs. Ackerman? Custody?” Mrs. Ackerman is in her mid-seventies, at least, and Hank would have to be a good ten years older. As far as I know there’s no romantic history whatsoever between them…
“Puppy custody,” Harriett clarifies. “Apparently Hank’s dog, Butch, got out a few weeks ago and snuck into Mrs. A’s yard while Fifi was in heat. Now she’s pregnant and they’re fighting over the puppies.”
Wow. I can definitely understand Mrs. Ackerman’s anger now. Fifi is a prized purebred show poodle; this pregnancy is likely to force her into retirement. Hank’s probably lucky he’s not being sued.
“How many puppies are they expecting?” I ask.
“Four, I think,” Harriett says.
“Can’t they just take two each?”
Delia shrugs. “You’d think so, but Mrs. A doesn’t want to separate Fifi from her babies, and Hank thinks any pups of Butch’s will need a lot of space to run around, so he wants them on his farm.”
“And Chance is stuck in the middle?” I venture, remembering what the arguing pair had said about him being the only lawyer in town.
Both Harriett and Delia nod.
“Yep,” Harriet says, offering a wry smile. “But at least he’s getting paid twice over.”
I shake my head with amusement. Seriously, this town…
“Okay, so lunch,” Delia says, getting us back on topic. “How about Jones’s?”
“Oh, yeah, sounds good,” Harriett agrees.
“What’s Jones’s?” I ask.
“It’s that little restaurant where the medical practice used to be,” Harriett explains. “The food’s amazing.”
My eyes light up immediately and I can already feel my stomach growling. “Oh, yeah, that place looks great.”
Before we can get on our way, we’re intercepted by Missy Clarke. “Oh, girls, I’m so glad I ran into you. Yesterday was lovely. I think Ted would have really enjoyed it.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Clarke,” Harriett says, smiling brightly.
“And you,” Missy says, turning her attention to me, her eyes twinkling with excitement. “A birdie told me you spent the night at the Goodes? I do hope this means you and Slater are getting back together—I’ve been rooting for you two for years!”
My eyes widen as I’m taken aback by her enthusiasm. “Uh…I’m not…I mean, we don’t…”
“Hey, Mrs. Clarke,” Delia jumps in, saving me from my floundering, “would you like to join us for lunch? We were thinking of going to Jones’s—they serve a really nice eggplant parmesan.”
“Oh, I do like eggplant,” Missy says wistfully, and having joined the town Facebook group this morning I’m having a hard time keeping a straight face, right along with Delia and Harriett. “But I have a hair appointment in half an hour, so I’ll have to miss this time. Rain check?”
Harriett nods. “Absolutely.”
“That was a little risky,” I comment once Missy’s bustled off. It was amusing, but I’m not sure I’d be able to handle and entire lunch with Missy Clarke.
Delia waves my comment away. “She gets her hair done at one pm every Sunday. It was low risk.”
“So, shall we?” Harriett suggests.
I’m about to agree when my attention is caught by something—someone, to be more specific—across the other side of the street. Slater has just emerged from the saloon and, as though sensing my presence, he glances up, his eyes immediately finding mine. He offers a soft quirk of his lips and begins crossing the street.
“Oh oh, I think we’ve lost Zack,” I hear Harriett say wryly from what seems like very far away.
“Hey,” Slater says once he’s standing right in front of me. Then, as if only just noticing they’re there, he turns to his cousins and offers a soft smile, “Hey, Deels. Hey, Harri.”
“Hey, Slater,” they both say, their faces split into matching grins. I’ve never thought these two looked all that much alike, but right now they seem almost as identical as Harriett and Livia.
“Do you want us to give you a minute?” Harriett asks.
“No,” I say.
And at the same time, Slater says, “Yes.”
Both Harriett and Delia chuckle. Delia turns to me, offering a sly smile. “We’ll save you a seat at the restaurant. But don’t worry if you lose track of time and don’t manage to join us.” And with a parting wink, she and Harriett turn on their heels and saunter off up Main Street, leaving me to my fate.
12
From the private Facebook group ‘Finchley Locals Community Hangout’
* * *
Post by Beth Bowry: Does anyone have a good hangover remedy?
George Goode reply to Beth Bowry’s post: Hair of the dog *wink emoji*
Missy Clarke reply to George Goode’s comment: Beth do not do this! Dog hair should not be ingested by humans!
Gunner Clarke reply to Missy Clarke’s comment: Mom that’s not what ‘hair of the dog’ means *face palm emoji*
Missy Clarke reply to Gunner Clarke’s comment: It’s not?
* * *
Slater
* * *
“I’m sure this will do a lot to stop the gossip,” Zack says dryly as I grasp his elbow, guiding him away from the center of town to somewhere more private.
I let out a soft chuckle. “Don’t worry. I’ll just ask Candace to have another baby. That’ll get them talking about something else.”
Amusement lights Zack’s eyes and his lips spread into a wry smile. “Yeah, I’m sure with three kids already she’d be thrilled to do us that favor.”
“Here…” I direct us toward the blacksmith’s, which has been preserved by the county’s historical society and is one of the town’s main tourist attractions. It’s closed at the moment, though, so I usher Zack around the side to where a wooden partition will block us from the view of passersby on the street.
I press him back against the partition and take a step closer so we’re flush together, my hands coming up to gently squeeze his sides. I draw in a breath of anticipation before lowering my head…but before I can reach his lips, he slaps his palm to my mouth, holding me back.
“No. Wait…”
I hesitate for a moment before gently prying his hand away from my mouth, taking the opportunity to thread my fingers through his. “What is it?”
There’s a stubborn jut to his jaw as he eyes me intently. “I meant what I said this morning. We can’t do this again.”
I glance down between us to where our groins are practically molded together, before lifting my gaze back to Zack’s, one eyebrow raised. His cheeks flush adorably pink at my unspoken observation, and I watch as he swallows deeply, my cock pulsing at the sight of his bobbing throat.
“It’s not a good idea,” Zack murmurs in what I’m sure he intends to be a firm voice, but it comes out a little ragged.
The corner of my mouth quirks up and I shake my head slowly. “Oh, baby. We both know it’s a very good idea.”
“
I’m only here until Thursday,” he points out. “Not even a week.”
I lift my free hand to graze his lightly stubbled jaw. “So we make it a temporary thing. Like a…vacation fling,” I suggest. The words feel wrong in my mouth. There’s nothing temporary about what I want with Zack, but I know there’s no chance he’ll go for anything more right now.
He offers me a considering look, his plump bottom lip jutting out in the kind of way that makes it impossible for me to stop myself from gently running my thumb over it. His stormy gray eyes meet mine for a long moment before his tongue sneaks out of his mouth to lazily lap at my thumb.
I let out a soft groan before snatching my hand away from his mouth and crashing my lips against his. The wooden partition rattles as I shove Zack harder against it, pinning him tight with my body.
“Just this week,” he gasps in between frantic kisses, his hands tugging so desperately at my hair I’ll no doubt look like I’ve been electrocuted once we’re done. “Just until I go home,” he clarifies. “Just sex.”
I don’t answer audibly, instead giving what I’m sure passes as a nod as I claim his lips again, my hands roaming over his body until I reach the waistband of his jeans. He’s only giving me half of what I really want—if I had my way he wouldn’t even be talking about going home—but I have a few days to convince him this is where he should be. That I’m who he should be with…
But right now, I just desperately need to get my mouth on this gorgeous cock.
“Oh, look, Bob—there are people there! I told you it would be open by now.”
“But the sign says closed, love. We should come back—”
“Don’t be silly! They’re right here—we’ll just ask them…”
Zack and I have completely frozen, and are staring at each other, silent and wide-eyed, as it occurs to us the man and woman—who must be tourists, based off their British accents—are talking about the blacksmith’s. And us.
