by Bromberg, K
We wrangled a little about where I belonged and whether or not she would show me what she was wearing underneath the dress. I was going to let her go with a reminder that we’d see each other soon, and when we did, she was going to come at my discretion. Her eyelids would flutter, and her cheeks would get hot. Under her dress, she’d soak the panties I’d bought her.
Instead, she told me that people knew.
I didn’t care, but she did. Her voice broke a little when she told me. She cared about secrecy for reasons I understood but, at that moment, didn’t care about.
As I got in the car to get her, all I could think about was how she felt and how I could fix it. She’d told me to stop, but she’d walked out to meet me on the opposite corner where we wouldn’t be seen. She wanted my help. Needed it.
Then, Boy Scout Barton.
The car windows were up, leaving Olivia and Alan darkened by tinted glass.
He caught up to her. They spoke. I hung back and waited like a fucking ghoul, getting pissed that I had to wait for her to finish talking to a man who was neither a threat to me nor a danger to her.
It was the anger that tipped me off.
Because why?
Why?
Olivia was talking to an old friend, and I was an uninvited interloper hanging around them.
For what? So she could soothe me?
Jesus Christ, was I a baby?
This wasn’t the action of a man who’d just tried to prove he was worthy of being a father.
As I put the car in drive, Olivia looked at me with a longing that matched my own. Her expression stayed with me as I turned the corner. And another. And a third, until I was back in front of the restaurant.
I’d stay still for three minutes. If she wanted me, she’d look for me, and if she looked, she’d find me. Let her decide to come to me if she wanted.
If she didn’t come out, I’d go home and nurse the bruised ego she hated me for.
Chapter 24
OLIVIA
Emilio exited the kitchen, showing his face for the first time, fifteen minutes after Alan and I returned from the street. The chime of silverware hitting glasses filled the air, and he got on a chair.
“I want to thank you all so much for coming!” Emilio said. “Sharing my grandmother’s recipes with you is a dream come true for me.”
My back was to the front windows, but something made me look around. A deep pull of not just my gaze, but my heart.
“I have so many people to thank! So, first, the man with the money…”
The Jaguar was idling at the curb as everyone clapped for Russell.
When I turned back around, all eyes were on Emilio.
“Somehow, I attracted the most professional staff in Los Angeles and…”
The car sat there. No one was looking. Emilio was going to mention me, and when he did, everyone would turn around. If he mentioned me last, everyone would look at me, and my opportunity to slip out without being seen would be gone.
“…but there’s one person I don’t do anything without. One person with a secret talent I’m about to disclose. She’s mine, people, so…”
I backed out the door and dashed into the street, where I got in the passenger side of the Jag. When I shut the door, I ducked before everyone at the opening could look for me.
The car coasted away, and I erupted in a belly laugh of relief. All my nerves spilled out, and when Byron laughed too, all my worries about him followed. We laughed for blocks until he stopped the car and I sat up straight.
In Los Angeles, it wasn’t uncommon to start in a fancy restaurant district Downtown and, with a few turns, end up on a dark street lined with closed warehouses. But without seeing the slight transitions, it was a little jarring.
Byron shut off the car and put his hands at the base of the wheel.
“Did you bring me here to murder me?” I asked.
“Destroying you was my intention.”
I wanted to be destroyed. The underwear pressed against my pussy, and the harder I breathed, the tighter the straps around my rib cage felt.
“But?” I continued his thought for him.
“But.” He draped his arm over the back of the seat, facing me. “I owe you an apology.”
I let my expression ask why. Casually, he drew his fingertips over the curve of my ear.
“I came here because I wanted to. It’s not a risk for me, but it was for you. I wasn’t thinking about you or what you wanted.” He moved his hand back to the seat as if he didn’t want to distract me with his touch. “I’m sorry.”
He seemed honestly regretful. I was sure he was capable of guilt. That had been clear in Santa Barbara. But his regret in the car wasn’t tinged with anger or self-loathing.
Was this Byron? Or some sort of impostor?
“Why the change of heart?”
He shrugged, wiping an imagined smudge from the steering wheel. “This and that.”
“Start with either one.”
He balled his hand into a fist and tapped the wheel with it. “Alan. Fucking Alan Barton talking to you.” He gestured in a circle as if blah-blahing the whole thing. “And I got mad and jealous and wanted to write my name all over you in ballpoint pen.” He looked out the window, then down at my lap. “Then he caught up to you on the street… and he was concerned. I could see it on his face, and we all know Alan’s a Boy Scout. Right? And I’m thinking of ways to kill him because he’s considering you first, but then…” He shot out a little laugh at his own thoughts. “Then I thought, ‘How come I’m not concerned?’ and like this…” He snapped his fingers. “I realized he wasn’t the problem. You aren’t the problem. The only problem on that street corner was me. You said you were going out without me, but I showed up anyway.”
“Man.” I put my elbow on the door and held my head up with two fingers. “This is…” I rubbed my eyes. “What am I supposed to do now?”
He stroked the back of my neck. “Forgive and fuck. In that order.”
I scoffed, dropping my hands into my lap.
“No. I mean, you just… What are we doing? You and me. What the fuck are we doing?” I twisted to face him. “We’re going to get involved. We are getting involved, right here. Right now. And this is the worst time for me to start a thing. The worst. We’re making the riskiest decisions two people can make, and we’re making them like we’re plastic pieces on a board. Like it’s win or lose and nothing in between. And you’re impossible. You keep…” I balled my fists. “You keep pushing me and pushing me.”
“Into what?”
“Into loving you!”
Shit.
“Forget it,” I said. “I don’t mean it. I’m on these new fertility drugs, and they’re making me emotional.”
I played it off, and I read him like a book as he made a conscious decision to believe me. Thank God.
“I am pushing you. But not into that,” he said.
“Into what?”
“This case, unjustified as it is…”
“Totally justified.”
“It’s not going to go on forever.”
What was he implying? If he’d stopped throwing up baseless motions and new drawings, it could have been closed in a week, but strategic adjustments based on a personal relationship weren’t on the table.
“We can’t discuss that here,” I said. “You play to win. I play to win. No side deals.”
“No side deals except the deal to get you pregnant.”
“We shouldn’t see each other unless I’m dropping eggs. We’re complicated enough. I can’t commit, and you won’t. But,” I took his hand and squeezed it, “here I am, letting you push me.”
He stroked the side of my hand with his thumb. The skin crackled and hummed. “You need me to do what, then?”
I needed him to stop being a better man than I gave him credit for. I needed him to be a hateful partner and a good father. That was too much to ask of anyone. It was too specific, and it would be asking him to be inauthentic.
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“I’m trying to keep you at arm’s length,” I said. “I wish that wasn’t so hard.”
“It’s easy. You don’t want someone telling you what to do. You want complete independence. I’d limit that. Any partner would. Even little Alan would. That’s the way it works. The only way out of it for you is what we agreed to.”
“This underwear wasn’t on the list.”
He laid one hand on the back of my neck, leaning in put the other inside my knee. “We’re making the most of it.” He slid his hand under my skirt, and I gasped as my body melted into his touch. “Because I’m not a medical instrument in a doctor’s office. Your whole body is with me. You’re receptive. It relaxes you to know I’m there. Deny it and I’ll jerk off into a cup for you.”
“That’s not the point.” Even as I tried to force my mind away from the way he touched me, my legs relaxed to allow him farther up my skirt.
“It is the point. It’s exactly the point. Your body wants to take me. When I touch you, everything inside you reacts, and all I can think about is driving myself deeper than any plastic tube can go.”
“That wears off,” I told myself more than I told him. Because he knew it. He was right. This heat would wear off, and we’d hopefully be colleagues in parenting.
“Exactly. Now. Spread your legs.” When I did it, he pushed deeper, just barely touching the damp fabric of the underwear he’d bought me. “Good girl.”
My throat let out a hum of satisfaction.
“Pull up your dress for me.”
I exposed my legs and the satin-covered triangle joining them. When he saw the black satin and the gold clasp that released the crotch of the panties, he sucked in a breath.
This was the confirmation he’d asked for. My legs opened even farther because I knew it would please him.
“It’s going to be hard to be friends,” he said, lightly brushing his fingernails against the fabric covering me where I was wet and vulnerable. The taunting sensation was deliciously unbearable. “What do you think that’s going to be like?”
“Not like this.”
He undid the clasp, exposing my wet folds to him. “Or this.” He slid two fingers inside me, and my hips rose to meet them. “Friends don’t fingerfuck their friends.”
“No, they…” He rubbed my clit with his thumb, and my sentence broke down into a meaningless vowel.
“What did you say?” he purred into my ear and pulled the neck of my dress aside.
“They don’t.”
“Don’t what?” His thumb was making me tighten around his fingers. His lips found the base of my neck.
“Fingerfuck in the… car. God, Byron. Lord Byron.”
“Friends don’t call each other Lord. They don’t spread their legs to come in their friend’s hand.” He nipped the base of my neck. “Friends don’t mark friends.”
“We’re not friends. Not yet.”
“Good.”
“Yes.”
“Come, Beauty.”
As I exploded in a clenched, twisting mass of pleasure, he bit my neck, sucking to a pain that tied itself to the orgasm, stretching its limits so thin I thought I would lose consciousness.
He let the neck of my dress go before removing his fingers.
“Thank you,” I said between gasps.
He smiled and unlooped his belt. “Now…”
My phone rang.
“… you’re going to…”
Riiing
“… leave some of that lipstick…”
Riiing
“… on my cock. That is really distracting.”
“Hang on.” I opened my bag to shut off my phone. It was Linda. I could call her back later.
But when I declined the call, the home screen was covered with her texts.
—Olivia—
—Where are you?—
—I’m in the bathroom. Can u come?—
—Please Olivia where are you I’m
stuck in the ladies room and there are o
nly two stalls where are you there’s a
stain on my dress and I need you to
get the spare—
—Olivia???—
Byron was looking over my shoulder, pulling back my dress to run circles around the mark on my neck. “What’s going on?”
“I’m sorry, but…” I held up the phone. “I have to go back.”
He didn’t hesitate long. Just enough time to put my neckline back in place and drape my skirt over my thighs.
“I’m sorry,” I repeated, texting Linda back.
“Don’t be.” He started the car. “That’s what friends are for.”
His smirk and the twitch in his eyebrows should have shaken me like a thunderclap on a clear day.
He was being genuine.
Sincerity was the last thing I’d ever expected from him.
Chapter 25
BYRON
I suggested we park around the corner from Amelia’s so we wouldn’t be seen, but she didn’t care.
“She’s upset, and the more upset she gets, the more she won’t let anyone help her. Park there!”
I swung into the spot and let the car idle.
“You have to come in with me.”
“But—”
“Just do it!” She got out and slammed the door.
I shut off the engine and caught up to her in the middle of the street. Cars stopped for us, but it was close.
“There’s a crosswalk right there,” I objected, jogging to catch up.
“This is faster.” The restaurant was just around a corner. “She has a thing with food and stains and people seeing. Especially her father, who’s in the back. So, I’m going to stay with her while you get her change of clothes.” She turned to face me. “She’s a very functional person otherwise.”
The block was lined with crowded open-front restaurants, and it was dinnertime. We either blended in or made a spectacle. There was no way to know.
“Olivia, you didn’t want anyone to see us together.”
“I know.” For a moment, she seemed tormented, scanning the street for prying eyes. It was probably too late. “It’s just… You’re right. I don’t know what to do. The only other person she trusts is Emilio, and I’m not ruining his night. But I need someone to go to her car.”
“Go around back,” I suggested. “I’ll meet you outside the bathroom.”
“Yes. Okay. Yes. Thank you.”
She strode in the opposite direction, as if she knew exactly where she was going, and disappeared around a corner into a narrow alley. My blood was flooded with the pull to follow her and make sure she was safe. The area had turned upscale, but Downtown was still Downtown. The seedy underbelly lived and breathed.
Don’t. Just do what you said you would.
Dinnertime on Restaurant Row. There were people everywhere. Employees and staff would be in the alley and the kitchens.
I swallowed my instinct and went into Amelia’s. The crowd had thinned, but I still had to push through without making eye contact. As I got to a short, carpeted hall with two doors, she entered from the other side.
“Stay here,” she said before disappearing behind the ladies’ room door.
I waited, standing in an empty hallway like an attendant after she’d spoken to me in a way no one else dared… without a question mark at the end or the possibility that I wouldn’t obey. I could have gotten riled about disrespect. Made plans to punish her insolence. Instead, I found myself pleased.
She trusted me.
Being liked was fine. Being desired wasn’t unusual.
But being trusted by her was something new between us.
I’d planted my flag at the top of the tallest mountain, overlooking the landscape of our relationship, way out to the farthest horizon, and from that most distant place, where the future met the present, a sliver of our last conversation called to me.
You keep pushing me and pushing me.
Into what?
Into loving you!
I’d sworn off love because I’d botched it so spectacularly that my failure had destroyed the object of it.
The ladies’ room door opened, and Samantha came out in a long, yellow dress, snapping into my thoughts like a puzzle piece.
“Byron,” she said with her hand out.
It wasn’t Samantha. It was her sister. Mandy. Right.
I shook the shit out of my head before I took her hand and kissed her cheek.
“I didn’t know you were here,” she said.
What God had declined to give my fiancée in shallow social confidence he gave to her sister twice.
“I came late. How have you been?”
“Very well. I released the new collection in Paris, and it’s been simply explosive.”
“Congratulations.”
“You should come around more.” She tapped my chest with her clutch. “I miss that serious face.”
“Thank you.” I said, surprised. The Bettencourts had made a public show of amnesty and a private show of rage and vilification toward me. “I’ll try.”
“I don’t blame you for not.” She lowered her voice. “My mother was an utter bitch. But, Sam… I loved her so much.”
“So did I.”
“She was so sensitive. A raw nerve, you know?”
“Yes.”
“It wasn’t your fault.” She laughed at herself. “Of course, you know that. I’m sorry. My therapist had to tell me that for six months before it got through.”
“Why would you blame yourself?”
“Oh my God.” Mandy rolled her eyes. “That day? Nightmare. She borrowed a pair of jeans that were too big for me, and they were small on her. She freaked out about being a size ten, and I said, ‘So lose weight,’ like it was nothing and then… well. It was terrible. You know how she was.” She waved it away, then delicately rubbed the inside of her eye before the tear fell.
