One Way or Another
Page 1
Table Of Contents
Other Books by A.L. Brooks
Acknowledgements
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
About A.L. Brooks
Other Books from Ylva Publishing
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www.ylva-publishing.com
Other Books by A.L. Brooks
Up on the Roof
Miles Apart
Dark Horse
The Club
Acknowledgements
Thank you, Ylva, for letting me play with the Window Shopping series—it’s such a fun premise to tackle!
A big shout-out to my editor, Alissa, who taught me a whole heap of stuff about not repeating the obvious and trusting your readers, and to Sheena for excellent proofing and spotting of awkward little sentences that needed a good tweak!
My beta readers were incredibly patient with all the rewrites this one underwent, dropping everything to read the latest version and give me essential feedback, so massive thanks go to Katja and Erin.
Glendon, the cover is wonderful—thank you for bringing to life exactly what I had imagined.
Andrea Bramhall continues to be an important mentor, sounding board, and project manager who is always there when I need to talk, and for that, she gets a big hug the next time I see her.
Tanja, my partner—your support means the absolute world to me, and being a writer is a vastly more wonderful occupation with you by my side. Thank you, my love.
Dedication
In memory of Nellie Bewley
Chapter 1
The sun reflected off the window, obscuring the view of the shop inside. Still, Bethany was hyperaware of the products on display. She shuffled her feet and coughed but didn’t move towards the door. In the window, she caught the reflection of another woman’s easy smile, as if she frequented sex-toy stores all the time.
Even in the distorted reflection, the woman was incredibly attractive. Maybe two inches taller than Bethany’s five foot eight, she had dark hair cut in a pixie style that suited her high cheekbones and elegant jawline. She was dressed in a dark-coloured trouser suit with a jacket that dipped in at her waist and flared out slightly over her hips. It was a sophisticated look, and the woman carried it off with style. Her smile was wide, and although Bethany was tempted to return it, her nerves over the adventure she was about to undertake prevented her lips from moving.
A soft breeze lifted Bethany’s hair and brought her back to herself. Her eyes focused on the window before her, and the tantalising array of products on sale. She could barely believe she was here, and although her heart was thumping in her chest at the prospect of climbing those stairs and walking through that door, at the same time a thrill was coursing through her. Shopping online would have been far easier, and less nerve-wracking, but Bethany had always known it would come to this for this particular purchase. Seeing—and touching—would be essential to make the correct choice.
Vibrator. Even the word sent a shiver of anticipated pleasure skittering down her spine to settle somewhere deep between her legs. In this day and age, buying a vibrator was commonplace for many women—but not Bethany. She’d made the decision back in college to focus on her studies and her ambition to become a teacher, and as a result, sex and relationships had fallen by the wayside, easily discarded in the pursuit of a higher goal. Now that the goal had been obtained, and she was five years into her teaching career, old urges—and some new ones that she really wasn’t sure what to do with—had surfaced, and were in desperate need of attention.
So, here she was, standing outside a sex shop in the heart of London, the thirty-minute Tube journey having done nothing to calm her nervous excitement. Her palms were damp, and she wiped them on the pleats of the light summer dress she wore. She adjusted her handbag on her shoulder, and pushed a few wayward strands of hair back behind the arms of her glasses.
“They have lots more inside, you know.”
She jumped.
“God, I’m so sorry. I thought you heard me approach.”
The voice was deeper than her own, with a hint of huskiness about it that caused a disconcerting fluttering sensation across the back of Bethany’s neck. She turned her head, meeting the gaze of the tall woman in the suit, who was now smiling widely at her.
Embarrassment at reacting so twitchily made the manners Bethany’s mother had instilled in her from a young age flee, and she snapped out her next words before she could contain herself.
“Well, obviously, I didn’t.”
“Wow,” the woman said, frowning as she tilted her head. “I do believe I apologised, but if that’s not good enough for you…”
A throat cleared beside them and a woman’s voice said, “Miss Keane?”
Bethany turned, her face still set in a scowl, to find the mother of one of her pupils standing a couple of feet away. Lucinda Marchbanks. Of course, it would have to be—Mrs Marchbanks’ ideas about the education of her little darling often clashed with Bethany’s, and many a parents’ evening had been more of heated debate than a report on little Michael’s progress.
“Mrs Marchbanks,” Bethany murmured. “Hello.”
“How funny that I should bump into you this evening. Michael came home from school today rather upset. Apparently you sent him to the corner this morning?”
Stifling a groan, and ignoring the soft chuckle behind her—was that woman still there?—Bethany inhaled deeply.
“Yes, that’s right, I did. He pinched Camilla.”
To her credit, Lucinda Marchbanks relaxed her posture somewhat, although her voice still held a huff as she said, “Well, he’s a boisterous child. I’m sure he didn’t mean anything by it.”
The dark-haired woman snorted, and Bethany rounded on her.
“Do you mind? This doesn’t concern you.”
The woman grinned, held up her hands and backed away, but did not, much to Bethany’s annoyance, actually disappear. Instead, she made a show of crossing her arms and leaning casually against the sex-shop window.
The action, of course, made Lucinda Marchbanks look her way, and Bethany’s cheeks burned as Lucinda’s eyes widened and her eyebrows shot up her forehead. She pointed at the shop before turning her gaze back on Bethany.
“Are you…? Is this…?” Lucinda’s voice was a squeak.
None of your damn business, yes. “Oh, er, no. I was…I was just passing.” She’d wanted to be brave, and say ‘yes, I am intending to shop here,’ but the glare of Lucinda’s green eyes wilted her courage. It probably was for the best—the last thing she needed was Lucinda Marchbanks spreading God knows what about her to the other parents.
There was another soft chuckle behind her, which thankfully didn’t seem to carry to Lucinda’s ears. Bethany gritted her teeth and resisted the impulse to turn round and tell the woman to get lost. “Look, Lucinda, perhaps we can talk another time. I don’t think standing in the street is—”
Lucinda straightened to her full height, an intimidating five foot ten, and glared do
wn at Bethany. “Michael is a good boy, with bags of energy. I do think you need to take that into account during your lessons.”
“Mrs Marchbanks, I can certainly do that, but not to the detriment of Michael’s classmates. Now, can I suggest that we meet at the school about this if you still have concerns?”
“Yeah, you tell her,” whispered the dark-haired woman, only this time it appeared that Lucinda Marchbanks heard her. Bethany cringed as Lucinda looked past her, and turned to see the woman still leaning on the front of the shop.
“Do you mind? This is a private conversation.” Lucinda’s tone was haughty.
“Not if you’re having it in the middle of the street it isn’t.” The woman grinned, but there was fire in her eyes.
Bethany wanted to crawl away from the situation, but knew she was trapped.
“Lucinda,” she said, her tone placating, “why don’t you and I talk on Monday, hm? When you come to collect Michael.”
“Well,” Lucinda huffed, still glaring at the other woman. “I suppose we can do that.” She turned back to Bethany, eyes blazing, and Bethany took an involuntary step backwards. “Have a good evening,” Lucinda said, flicking a glance between Bethany and the stranger that made her feel as if she were under a microscope.
Lucinda Marchbanks spun on her heel and strode off up the street, and Bethany’s heart rate gradually started to slow.
“Well, thank God she’s gone.”
Bethany rounded on the woman, her irritation soaring. “Just who the hell do you think you are?” she snapped.
The woman—how dare she?—grinned.
“Oh, come on. Who the hell did she think she was?” she said, uncrossing her arms and walking a couple of paces nearer. “Accosting you in the street with something that was, quite frankly, a load of shit.”
“Do we know each other?”
The woman frowned slightly. “Well, no, but—”
“Then what gives you the right to butt into my conversation—my business?”
The woman smiled that infuriating, cheeky grin again. “Hey, she was giving you a hard time, and I do so hate to see a damsel in distress.”
“You cannot be serious.” Bethany stared at her. What planet was this woman from? “I don’t need you fighting my battles for me. I can look after myself, thank you very much.”
“Hey, come on. You can’t blame a girl for trying.”
The woman was still smiling, and Bethany’s heart was back to pounding out its stressed rhythm. How could someone so attractive on the outside be so…shallow on the inside?
“Look, this conversation is over. Please don’t talk to me again.”
Bethany spun round, and as she did so her handbag slipped down her arm and, before she could grab it, fell to the pavement. It burst open on contact, and to her mortification, the entire contents scattered. Her face flushed, and she knelt to start scooping everything up.
“Here, let me help,” the woman said, sitting on her haunches next to Bethany.
“No, thank you.” Bethany’s tone was clipped, her hands scrabbling to gather all of her possessions as quickly as possible.
“Look, I’m sorry. I guess I did come across a bit strong just now.” The woman’s tone had completely changed—gone was the cockiness, the cheekiness. Now there was nothing but sincerity, and Bethany couldn’t help but turn to look at her.
The woman really was stunning, especially up close. Her deep brown eyes were framed with lush eyelashes, and her skin was lightly tanned, which only emphasised her extraordinary cheekbones. Her lips were full and naturally deep pink. Bethany realised she was staring again, and dragged her gaze away.
“Yes, well. You did,” Bethany replied, concentrating on cramming everything back into her handbag.
“It’s just, well, you seemed nervous when you first looked in the window, and then that woman was just being a bitch to you and…”
Bethany risked another glance at the woman, who was still crouched down at her level. Her confusion escalated; there was nothing but concern and…tenderness etched on the stranger’s face.
“I-I was… Nervous,” she admitted, and blushed.
The woman nodded slowly. She pointed at the remnants of Bethany’s handbag still scattered at their feet. “Can I help?”
“I-I… Thank you. Yes.” Bethany cringed as her voice croaked, and looked away again, grateful for a few moments not to look into that beautiful face and feel like a stuttering teenager.
They gathered the remaining escapees—including, to yet more mortification, the small box of tampons Bethany kept in the inner pocket—then both stood.
“Thank you,” Bethany whispered, clutching her bag to her abdomen.
The woman dipped her head. “You’re welcome.” She glanced up at the shop window. “Look, I’m a regular here. It’s a very welcoming place, you know. In case you were worried.”
Her expression was soft and understanding, and Bethany managed a weak smile, despite everything that had gone before.
“Th-thanks. That’s good to know.”
The woman smiled again. “See you inside.”
And with that, she turned and walked to the two steps that led to the shop door. Bethany watched those long legs as they ascended, then snapped her gaze away as she realised it was journeying up the legs to the perfectly curved bottom perched at the top.
Ogling women was not something Bethany made a habit of. While comfortable in her sexuality since she’d had her first—and only—girlfriend in college, she liked to think of herself as somewhat more highbrow than someone who lasciviously stared at random women she bumped into outside a sex shop. Even if that sex shop was women-run and made a specific point of advertising itself as a safe space for any non-straight customers.
Flustered, Bethany pressed a palm to her warm cheek.
For goodness sakes, calm down. You came here for one purpose, so take a deep breath and get on with it.
Straightening her spine, she sucked in two extended lungfuls of air, exhaling slowly on each one. She fixed the strap on the handbag, hoisted it onto her shoulder, and then, before she could overthink it any further, she stepped to her left, climbed the two steps, and walked through the door.
Chapter 2
Sarah wouldn’t normally stop outside the shop before entering and launch herself at a random woman hovering by the window, but the woman’s understated beauty had stopped her in her tracks.
The woman—Miss Keane, she thought she’d heard that uptight cow call her—had the cute, nerdy look down pat. Her floral print summer dress was shades of pink and grey, and practical yet surprisingly attractive sandals adorned her feet, with painted pink toenails peeping through at the ends. Her body, as far as Sarah could tell with one extended look, was slim and full in the chest. She had hair of a nondescript brown colour that some would probably call mousey, and it fell in soft waves to just past her ears. But it was the glasses that had Sarah smiling—full on, thick-framed but stylishly modern glasses that reminded her of Nomi in Sense8.
Sarah was a huge sucker for nerdy glasses—as well as for a pretty woman looking lost and forlorn.
And when their eyes met in the window, the smile split Sarah’s face before she’d even thought about it. Miss Keane looking rapidly away only made Sarah smile more, and wonder if today she would get to pick up more than a bottle of lube in the shop.
The incident with that stupid parent and the handbag nearly ruined things, but she was confident that she rescued the situation with her final words. And they were, after all, both heading into the shop, so Sarah had plenty of time to lay on more of the charm. Although, she begrudgingly had to admit, perhaps not as full on as she’d attempted initially. She’d misread Miss Keane, and she wouldn’t make that mistake again; cute and nerdy did not mean weak and feeble. Lesson learned.
She smiled. She could imagine what Aunt Eve
lyn would have to say about this. And Jonathan too. As much as she loved them, their self-appointed roles as her lifestyle advisors had been grating on her nerves lately.
Squaring her shoulders—and shoving all thoughts of exactly what the pair of them would say into the far recesses of her mind—she strode into the shop.
Mira, all long blonde hair and curves, greeted her from behind the counter. “Sarah! Long time, no see.”
Sarah remembered her first visit to the shop, maybe four years ago, and being more than a little overwhelmed by Mira’s obvious enthusiasm for her job. There was welcoming, and there was “Oh my God, will you please get out of my face you over-perky chipmunk”. Mira skirted a fine line between the two.
Still, it wasn’t every shop you frequented where they bothered to find out your name and offered you a pretty good coffee thirty seconds after you walked through the door, so she couldn’t complain.
“Espresso?” Mira asked, already walking towards the small Nespresso machine by the side window.
“You read my mind.” Sarah wandered over to meet her at the machine, taking the proffered cup once the hot fluid had trickled its way to completion.
“How’s life?”
Sarah blew on the coffee before taking a sip. “Not bad. Overworked, as usual.”
Mira returned to the counter. “What are you in here for today?”
“Oh, just some lube. But I’ll check out the books too.”
And Miss Keane, who’s just stepped in the door.
“Cool. Shout if you need anything, or another coffee.”
Sarah raised a hand in acknowledgement, her quota of Mira time now filled, and leaned against the window sill next to the coffee machine. Her gaze landed on the nervous-looking Miss Keane, who was now the focus of Mira’s attention. Poor thing looked like a rabbit caught in the headlights.
Sarah studied her over the rim of her coffee cup as she sipped. What was a mouse of a woman like her doing in a shop like this? Although, to be fair, this shop was probably the most welcoming you’d find—certainly in London—if you were in any way interested in adding something non-vanilla to your sex life. She swallowed. Non-vanilla was certainly something she craved, deep down, but not something she’d ever found the courage to really explore. Maybe she and the mouse-like Miss Keane were more alike than she’d first thought.