

#  Copyright

A Pucker Up Press Book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright 2017 Lorelai LaBelle

All rights reserved.

lorelailabelle.000webhostapp.com

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Editor: Rachel Guerin / Bridgetown Editing

Cover photograph: iulianvalentin/123RF

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

#  Dedication

To all Portlandians and the city that never stops brewing. Here's to keeping it weird.

To my husband for all his input, inspiration, and love.

Table of Contents

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter 1—STUCK

Chapter 2—INTO HIS ARMS

Chapter 3—WHEN MACI MET HARRY

Chapter 4—WHEN MACI MET JOSH

Chapter 5—WHEN MACI MET ANDRE

Chapter 6—WHEN MACI MET DAVID

Chapter 7—TIME FOR MOXIE

Chapter 8—THE FIRST OF MANY?

Chapter 9—MY FIRST SELFIE

Chapter 10—THE LIST

Chapter 11—ONE DOWN

Chapter 12—THE DINNER PARTY

Chapter 13—THURSDAYS

Chapter 14—FOREST PARK

Chapter 15—THE SEX TAPE

Chapter 16—MR. HAMMER

Chapter 17—RESTRAINED

Chapter 18—OVER THE LINE

Chapter 19—SAND AND SEX

Chapter 20—ALL IN

Chapter 21—FAULTY WIRES

Chapter 22—AN UNEXPECTED KISS

Chapter 23—I DO

Chapter 24—THREE'S A CROWD?

Chapter 25—CRUMBLING WALLS

Chapter 26—THE PRICE OF HAPPINESS

Chapter 27—HERE COMES THE BRIDE

Connect with Lorelai

Acknowledgements

About the Author

# 1

### STUCK

"You know what your problem is, Maci?"

Danielle plucked the photo that lay between my thumb and the crossword puzzle that I was pretending to fill in. She had snuck up behind me and now peered down at me over the tall back of the couch.

"Hey!" I exploded off the old, worn sofa, diving at her feet to retrieve the picture of my ex-boyfriend, the book of crosswords flying behind the forty-inch flat screen.

"You've never had an orgasm," she answered her own question as she danced around, waving the picture in my face as though we were still in high school. "It's as simple as that." She was tall, gifted with an hourglass frame, and breasts no man could cover with one hand.

Ignoring her ridiculous "observation," I wrestled the snapshot from her strong clutch. The glossy paper tore: a rip that ran from his crotch right up to the bridge of his nose, bisecting his chiseled face. "What the hell, Danielle?"

She released the photo and stepped back. Her brown sugar hair swayed, her long bangs dangling in front of her eyes, blocking most of her thick eyebrows. "Look, I'm just trying to help. It's been a month since you dumped Ryan's cheating ass, and it's time you moved on. Your mood is starting to affect our friendship."

"My mood?" I stared down at the ragged seam of the photograph. Ryan's smooth, black skin was now crumpled, his bare chest divided, and his face barely recognizable.

"Yeah," Danielle went on, "your mood. You're a grouch. I mean, you may as well move into the dumpster. It's been that bad this last week."

"It's a garbage can," I corrected. "Oscar the Grouch lives in a garbage can."

"See. That's what I'm talking about." She whipped around and headed for the kitchen.

I followed after her. A strip of clear tape would right the wrong. Retrieving the tape roll from the junk drawer, I smoothed out the picture and flattened the adhesive down the rift. It was no good. The picture was ruined. Sure, I had a whole folder on my computer with hundreds, if not thousands of snapshots of us, but there was something about holding the glossy paper that I found comforting.

"Ahh!" I ripped the picture apart and threw it in the trash.

Danielle flipped off the switch to the electric kettle, the water near boiling. "Did you just growl?"

"What?" I eyed her, a little more than pissed off.

"Nothing," she said, scooping loose tea into a dinosaur mug. Every morning she drank Yerba Mate, her _healthy_ replacement for coffee. She seldom consumed it in the afternoon, but today was one of those days.

"That was the only print I had of us," I hissed. "So what if I'm pining—"

"You're not just pining," she interrupted, pouring the hot water over the tealeaves. The fleshy dinosaurs disappeared on her mug as the piping water changed the design to skeletons. "You're bitchy, crabby, and, well, downright mean. If you were just pining, you'd be locked in your room eating cookie dough ice cream and drinking chocolate porters, but you're not doing that. You're just arguing and snapping and criticizing."

I stood there, silent, reflecting on her words. What were we doing? Fighting? We never fought. It wasn't us. It just wasn't the nature of our relationship. But then again I'd never had a boyfriend like Ryan before. He was a wild black stallion in a corral of broken, soul-sucking ponies. Perhaps an embellishment on my part—who could say for certain? Danielle said she could, and she was of the opinion that I was hallucinating, charmed by his sensational, muscular body. It had been a minute and I hadn't responded. She plunked a metal strainer straw into the steeping tea.

"I have too had an orgasm," I said at last.

She smiled, happy the conversation was shifting to a more appealing topic. "Is that so? You didn't with Todd, I know that, or Aaron. And Ryan—come on, you already told me he wasn't what you thought he'd be."

I laughed. "Well, of course I didn't with Todd. He was my first, and it was just clumsy and messy. Can't blame him for missing the mark. And I _did_ have them with Ryan."

Her smile twisted into an unimpressed smirk. "Just because his dick was the size of my forearm, doesn't mean he had the blood to take it home. So, were you lying before or are you lying now?" She had caught me in the lie, but it was a lie I was committed to, unwilling to admit the accuracy of her assumption. "What did it feel like?" she asked, after another long silence.

"Uh—it felt uh, well—warm?"

"Warm? That's what you're going with?" She sipped her tea, her lips barely sealing over the straw because they were stretched so wide, hardly containing her laughter.

I leaned against the counter and crossed my arms. "All right, so what? So I've never had an orgasm before. It's not a big deal. What's the point you're trying to make?"

"Don't you get it? You were with Ryan for seven months and you never had an orgasm, so why on earth would you want to get back together with him?"

"Because life is about more than just sex, Danielle," I declared. "You should know that, _engaged_ and all."

"Sure, that's true," she said between sips, "but sex is a big portion of it, not a tiny segment, and I think you owe it to yourself to find the right person who electrifies you in all the right ways. Let's face it, Ryan wasn't that guy. He was an asshole who cheated on you."

"Because I wouldn't try new things in bed!" I shouted. My heart was pounding now, my cheeks flushed. It felt like a surge of water was breaking the fissures in the dam I had built to keep the secret behind his betrayal.

She set down her mug, aware that I was on the verge of collapsing into tears. "That's the reason why he cheated?"

I nodded, holding back the tears.

She wrapped her arms around me. "Oh, honey, no. No, that's not why he cheated on you. He did it because he's a lowlife pig—"

"But maybe—maybe if I done the stuff he wanted, he wouldn't have gone to someone else for it."

She pressed my head into the top of her chest. At five-four, I was a good five inches shorter than her. "You can't tell yourself that. He was scum, and you deserve so much better. A guy like Ryan still would've done it even if you had given him blow jobs five times a day. It's in his character—in his rotten, good-for-nothing genes."

Her words helped fight off the tears. "You really believe that?" I asked, rubbing under my eyes.

"He had no love in him, Maci," she said, squeezing me tighter. "Only a drive to satisfy himself. If you want my advice, I'd say spend one more day analyzing the disaster, being mopey and grouchy and all that stuff, then move on. Forget him. I know Mr. Right will come along and sweep you off your feet, and who knows, maybe with him you'll want to do the dirtier stuff."

"Yeah, maybe," I blubbered. "Look, I know you're right. I know he wasn't good for me. I know he didn't have that magical, heart-warming love. But what is that stuff, right? He had a hard body—"

"And a big, limp dick that did nothing for you." After one last body-crushing embrace, she released me and resumed drinking her tea. "Come on, one more day, and then move on."

"One more day," I repeated. "And after today?"

"You move on," she said. "Find another guy."

"And if I can't?"

"Well, who says you need a guy anyway? You're a strong, independent woman who runs her own business."

"I don't _need_ a man, Danielle. I _want_ a man. I want someone to cozy up to on the couch while watching TV. Someone to go on long walks with, to fall asleep next to—my nights are a lot lonelier than yours."

"You can always come and cuddle with Ashley and me."

"I'm serious. What if I can't find the right guy?"

Her face contorted. "What does that mean? There are guys walking all over the place. I'm positive you'll snag the one who really fits you, the one who really wants to be with you . . . and most importantly, the one who _pleases_ you."

I gave her a thin smile. She was brightening my mood a bit. "All right, I'll waste only one more day hung up on him."

"Good," she said. Her grin revealed that her teeth were dulling to a shade of green, though this happened every morning, and disappeared after she brushed away the residue. "The only thing I don't get—" She paused, reluctant to bring up what was on her mind.

"Why didn't I tell you about my problems in the bedroom?" I finished for her.

"Yeah. I don't get it. We've shared everything since the third grade and now you're keeping secrets from me?"

I turned and looked out the window at the falling snow. It was chaos. The wind was ever-changing, blowing the baby white specks in every direction. The snow layered the ground a good six inches. "I was embarrassed, I guess." I turned back to face her.

"Embarrassed, really?" She hinted with her eyes that I was tending toward childish rationale. "I told you I preferred women when we were seventeen, and that was _way_ bigger than this, but you're my best friend and I couldn't keep it from you despite not knowing how you'd react."

"You knew I'd be supportive," I said, a bit defensively.

"Just like you should've known that I'd be supportive now," she threw back.

"Fine. You're right. I should've told you sooner." My hands had a mind of their own, gesticulating as I talked. "I'll explain it all now, if you want."

"Well, we're pretty snowed in, so lay it on me."

"Here?"

"You feel like going out?" she asked. "I'm not driving in this."

"We could walk somewhere," I suggested.

"Mocha Momma's?"

"I was thinking more like U-Brew," I said. "I could use a drink—or two."

"Sure," she said with approval written in her smile. "I think that's manageable. We'll need layers." We dug through drawers and scoured the coat closet for the warmest clothes we had, then trudged off into the calf-deep snow, heading for the pub a few blocks from our duplex. As we plodded down the sidewalk, I prepared myself to unleash the vexation that had been eating at me for over a month.

THE ALARM BELLED IN my ears the next morning. I had set it for seven, not wanting to oversleep. I must have pressed the snooze a few times because the projector displayed 8:23 on the ceiling in a red glow. I hated that number, twenty-three, and I'd swear I saw it everywhere. It followed me. Haunted me. I couldn't go a day without seeing it somewhere, and believe me I tried. Rolling over, I slapped the "off" button, staring at the date: 2/11/18.

It had snowed again last night, as it had all that afternoon and evening, making the journey back home from the pub a stumbling nightmare. I hadn't left out a single detail in my tale. Danielle—the trooper she proved to be time and again throughout the years—listened and interrogated me with interest, even though I was a bitchy mess. I harangued myself for my poor choices and blind faults. We dissected my seven-month relationship with Ryan and all the signs that pointed to what would eventually occur. The examination took several hours and multiple porters, but after our discussion ran its course, my chest felt better, and my body lighter.

And, in the end, I vowed to never date another prick like Ryan again. I was done with them. No liars, cheaters, or domineering men who bossed me around like a fifties secretary. If they were rude and disrespectful, they were gone in a finger-snap. I had no more time for such abusive egos. As Danielle put it: "I deserved better." She also believed I should add a second rule to my dating policy: if he didn't give me the O, then he was gone, no second chances. I was a little more tentative to execute that one, but I didn't disregard it either.

I slid from under the toasty down comforter into the frosty air. The heater hadn't worked properly in two months, but the owners shirked their obligation to repair or replace it, regardless of the bombardment of desperate calls from me. Drawing the curtains open, I gazed out on a land of snow. Short icicles draped along the eaves. The snowstorm had practically shut down Portland, as far as I could tell from the news and the empty streets. There were a lot more people walking, though: kids carrying the lids to plastic storage containers, and utilizing them as sleds in the absence of actual saucers and toboggans. Any hill, no matter how minor it was, attracted crowds of families. Parents even blocked off both ends of the street with big trucks so that their children didn't have to contend with cars charging through the snow as if it were dry pavement.

I dressed in my thickest sweatshirt and yoga pants over a pair of fleece-lined leggings, and then shuffled into the sole bathroom of the apartment. The mirror greeted me with its usual morning grace, reflecting pillow creases on the left side of my face and the wild strands of my deep chestnut hair running in all directions. Bed head was never flattering. I studied my eyebrows for strays and plucked the ones deforming the line. Patches of peach fuzz peppered my upper lip, none of it noticeable until a couple of inches away, but still, it gave me enough concern for me to pluck, too.

I held up my B-cups and wished they were more like Danielle's triple Ds. I mean, I was comfortable with them and everything, but men just looked at her differently, in ways I sometimes desired. Although her looks came with a downside, like the assholes in our college dorm who used to call her "FLBP," which no one cared about until later when we Googled it and found out it stood for "Future lower back problems."

Todd, my high school sweetheart who took my v-card at eighteen, once said mine were more like B+s. That was always nice to think about when I glanced at them, even though he ended up being a total douche.

At twenty-five, my slim figure still turned heads, but most of the time I was hidden behind the counter at work, and very few bothered to sneak any peeks, so far as I could tell anyway. People who did notice always complimented my smooth skin and high cheekbones.

In many ways my roommate and I were complete opposites in appearance. She had brown Indian skin where I had olive white. She had curves where I was as straight as a pencil. She was tall and I was short—or more like average? She wore straight hair with bangs and I styled my hair in curls with my bangs tucked behind my right ear.

I disregarded the mirror and the comparisons between Danielle and me, retrieving my toothbrush to combat the foul stench emanating from my mouth. I hadn't brushed the night before and the alcohol wasn't doing me any favors.

After I finished, I ambled into the kitchen, passing the living room where Danielle was sitting in the recliner next to the fireplace. She was reading a mystery novel while she sipped her tea.

I boiled some water for the French press and let the coffee brew. "Are you going to work today?" I asked her, resting against the narrow frame between the kitchen and living room. Small marks along the left side suggested that hinges once clung to the wall and supported a door, but for whatever reason, it was gone now.

"No, I called in and I have a bunch of stuff I can do from home," Danielle replied, setting her book down on a thigh. "Are you going in?"

"Bridgett said she could handle the bakery this morning," I said, "but I'd like to get up there. Inventory was supposed to be done on Friday."

"If you want, I can take you this afternoon." Her deep brown eyes stared back at me. "The Crosstrek has all-wheel drive, and the snow is starting to turn to slush on the roads."

"Great." I disappeared into the kitchen and grabbed my "Keep Portland Weird" mug, pouring until just below the brim. I had a habit of doing that—rushing. I slurped down a fingernail's breadth so it wouldn't slosh and flopped down on the couch, opening up my old laptop from college. The pastime of social networking had taken up a large chunk of my life since oh-six, yet now I mostly did business-related research and advertising instead of chatting.

Colby-Jack, my cat (named after the cheese that matched his color scheme) leapt onto the open cushion next to me and rubbed my forearm, climbing into my lap. I scratched his belly before he jumped onto the couch's arm and lay down, his feet dangling off its sides. Danielle liked to call him "Tubbers" because of his size, but after a year a dieting, he hadn't lost any weight and was irritable all the time, so now he ate what he wanted when he wanted, thanks to a feeder that never stopped filling his bowl. He was a fat, happy cat, who loved to be near me more than cuddle. But I didn't mind.

"Oh," Danielle spat out half an hour later, interrupting my web browsing. "Becky texted me this morning. She has two spots to fill on her Hood to Coast team and was hoping we'd join."

"Hood to Coast is so long," I said, "and I haven't run in, well, _years_. Not since working at that first bakery in Eugene."

"You're still a runner at heart, aren't you? Isn't that why you have that hanging up?" She pointed to a black-and-white poster of Steve Prefontaine crossing a finish line with the quote, "To give anything less than your best, is to sacrifice the gift," printed in the corner. The poster hung off to the side of the fireplace, sandwiched between two decorative sconces.

"Yeah, I guess," I replied, glancing at the quote. "I'm just so out of shape."

"No more than I am," she said. "And I wasn't twelfth at state like you were."

"High school cross country was a long time ago," I reminded her.

"Come on, it'll be fun," she urged. "We can join that gym that just opened up by the bakery on Hawthorne."

"Ripped City Fitness? _Really_?"

"Sure, what the hell? It's close to work, and I saw that the joining fee is only ten bucks since it's new, and fifteen a month. That's better than any of the other gyms."

"But it sounds like it's for bodybuilders," I argued. "I don't need some guy ogling me the whole time I work out."

"Guys are going to do that at every gym," she insisted.

I refilled my mug. "That's a good reason _not_ to join one." The truth was that I had no interest in paying for a membership I was likely to use for a few weeks before losing the motivation to keep going.

She picked up her book and blocked her face from me. "Well, I'm going to do it, with or without you."

"Fine. Fine. I'll do it." I Googled "Ripped City Fitness." "The gym is open today, if you want to join when you take me up to the bakery."

She got up. "Sounds like a plan, Jan. I'll get to work so we can head over there early."

"You're so lame," I said.

"And I make a lot of money," she teased. It was true, as some kind of a senior manager at Powell's, she made at least triple what the bakery brought in for my wages. She swept down the hall to her bedroom and left me to my web browsing.

"COME ON," DANIELLE YELLED, wrapping herself in her warmest coat. "You always take so long to get ready."

"I can't just throw something on," I said, changing out of the white spaghetti strap tank top, and tossing it on the growing pile near my dresser. "We're going to the bakery afterward, remember?"

She stood in my doorway, throwing her head back, irritated. "Then bring a change. You won't find something for both." She picked out an outfit for work as I swapped into a tighter pair of yoga pants. Rummaging through the pile, she held up a high-performance shirt designed to wick away sweat. "Put this on."

"But it covers everything."

"So?"

"So, maybe I want to meet someone," I said. "You're the one pushing me to move on."

"I wasn't thinking today," she laughed. "And besides, your sports bra hides your girls. Just put this on so we can go."

I yanked the shirt from her, scowling, even though she had a point. Yet they showed a little, enough to attract an eye or two. Her bra, on the other hand, completely concealed her twins: it was one of those Enell bras that boasted ten hooks in the front to secure her exceptional size, nearly eliminating the bounce. She hurried me along as I double-knotted my shoes. We swept down the stairs to the single-car garage that made up the basement of our long, narrow duplex. The room only ran half of the apartment. Why the designers hadn't constructed the basement the entire length and included another room was as big a mystery as the missing kitchen door.

Every other week we switched parking in the garage to keep it fair. Danielle's new silver Crosstrek sat in the cold, damp room. Only one flickering light hung in the middle of the garage, leaving most of it in shadows. I had never been fond of spiders, and the thought of spending too much time in the dark, underground, vulnerable to the swarms of fangs that skittered around on eight legs, always forced me into the car as fast as humanly possible.

Danielle laughed at me, climbing in slowly, and drawing out the scene of my discomfort. The car door closed and she pressed the clicker under the center console that opened the garage door. "You know, if you didn't make such a big deal out of it, I wouldn't even bother," she said, looking over her shoulder as she backed out into the cement driveway of the two duplexes.

The car spun out and I stomped my foot as if slamming on an imaginary brake pedal.

"Relax," she said, driving over the buried sidewalk and past the eight-foot hedges, onto Yukon Street. It was a modest climb up to Seventeenth Avenue. Danielle broke too hard and the tires skidded, heading into the intersection. Luckily, there were no souls around.

"Maybe this was a bad idea." I held onto my seatbelt for dear life, remembering Danielle wasn't the most cautious of drivers. It wasn't normally a big deal, but I'd never ridden with her behind the wheel in the snow, and it was starting to freak me out.

"Don't be a baby," she said, continuing onto Milwaukie Avenue. "I'm a good driver. It's just been a while, that's all."

"I don't remember snow like this since oh-eight when my mom slid into that ditch," I remarked. "Remember that? It was lucky that I was there to help dig her out."

"I think last year was worse than that. If the snow keeps falling we're going to have two snowpocalypses in a row. That's not good for business." She pulled up to the stop sign. A big full-ton pickup was barreling down the road, slush flying toward the sidewalk and us. Dirty, wet snow splattered our windshield. Wipers slapped it off, streaking the glass. I regarded Danielle, worried that her road rage might kick in. Her eyes blazed with fury.

"Fucking asshole," she screamed. "Come on!"

"Don't do it, Danielle. Don't even think about it."

She stepped on the gas and followed the truck.

"This isn't going to accomplish anything, you know that, right? You're just heading for trouble. I've seen that look before. I know what you're thinking."

"What are you talking about? I'm not doing anything."

"Yes you are," I said. "You're going to follow him until he parks then chew him out, just like you did to that guy last month." My hands were braced against the armrest and the small console that divided the seats.

She gave no reply. Disaster was on the horizon. She drove within inches of the pickup's bumper.

"Let it go, Danielle," I pleaded, but her ears were closed. "Really? You're going to do this in a snowstorm?"

Before I could berate her decision at length, the pickup turned abruptly without a blinker. The stunt shocked us both, and Danielle flattened the brake pedal in reaction, launching the car into a perilous swerve. As the truck cleared the corner, the shiny bumper of a sports car met the front of the Crosstrek.

The seatbelt proved its futility as my face slammed into the dashboard.

# 2

### INTO HIS ARMS

The car was full of groans, most of them made by me. "You all right?" Danielle asked.

My forehead thumped and I could feel the bruise blooming above my eyes. My chest hurt where the seatbelt was strapped from my shoulder to my hip. "Nothing a little porter won't cure," I joked. "My eyes are having a hard time focusing." I looked over at her and saw a blurry face.

"Your forehead is pretty red," she observed. "There's no blood, though, so I think that's a good sign."

I nodded. "How are you?"

"My shoulders are a little tense and my heart is racing, but that's about it," she replied, unbuckling both of our seatbelts. The car in front of us was stopped, the engine idle. "We should go check on them." However, before either of us made a move for the handle, two men jumped out of the sports car, one from each side. The blurriness lingered as they ran to our car.

"Are you okay?" the driver shouted. His sexy voice forced the blood from my head, having an intoxicating effect, as if I were actually swooning, something I didn't believe happened in real life. It certainly didn't to me.

Danielle opened the door. "We're fine—we're okay. You two?"

The driver was bending over Danielle's door. "Neither of us is injured. What happened? There was a truck tailgating us, and then . . ."

"I fucking hit your car, that's what happened." She was starting to panic, the pitch of her voice climbing. Neither of the men replied, but the driver offered Danielle his arm as she got up. "Ugh! And the bastard got away!" She rubbed her face.

"Excuse me?" the driver asked, concern plaguing his countenance.

I got out and inspected the two. The passenger was a tall, burly guy with tattoos up his arms and neck, a shaved head, and a huge, black beard that consisted of tight curls. He looked like he could have played for the Timbers. The other man was shorter, about Danielle's height, slender but attractive—from what my suffering vision told me—with a fancy navy-blue blazer over a white shirt that said "Nerdalicious" across the chest. I glanced down at the Crosstrek's bumper, but it didn't even seem scratched. The sports car was the same, which I noticed was a Ford Mustang by the design on the trunk. "Mach 1" was stenciled along its top edge. To our collective relief, the disaster could be downgraded to a minor fender bender.

"Don't pay any attention to her. She's really sorry and upset," I told them. "Danielle!" I hissed. "Get out your insurance card." She was looking at where the truck had turned. I snapped my fingers to draw her attention. "What are you doing?" My voice sunk to a whisper.

She broke out of her trance and walked around the car to the glove box, searching through a stack of manuals and papers.

"Oh, don't worry about it," the driver said. "There's no damage done. It was an accident and no one got hurt."

Danielle straightened up. "You sure?"

The intoxication wore off as my responsible instinct kicked in. "We have to exchange insurance information," I said. At that moment I felt like I was under heavy scrutiny from all three, and I made myself small, hiding behind the car door, now self-conscious of what I was wearing. Damn Danielle for hurrying me. "Just in case one of us feels an injury later on. I once read that most people don't even notice they're hurt until seventy-two hours later."

He nodded. "In that case." He started for the passenger door.

"I'll get it," the passenger said coolly. He wore a stern expression, one so grim it wouldn't have surprised me if he had never smiled in his life.

Danielle poked me, and whispered, "Why did you do that?"

"What do you care? Don't you have full coverage?"

"Yeah, but now my rates are going to skyrocket," she said, resuming her hunt for the insurance card.

I thought twice about bringing up how the accident wouldn't have happened if she hadn't lost her temper. But I knew nagging her then wouldn't accomplish anything, so I ignored the comment and moved on. "I think that's it," I said, pointing to the floor under the compartment.

"I've never been in an accident. What do we do?" she asked, picking up the piece of paper and depositing the rest on the seat.

I shrugged. "I've never been in one either." My head was beginning to really ache, and my vision was going in and out, from extremely hazy to a little fuzzy. "Just write down their info and let them do the same."

"Here," the passenger said, offering Danielle an open leather folder with the insurance card displayed behind a soft plastic cover. They traded info, Danielle jotting down the lines on the back of a receipt, while the driver extracted a leather-bound notepad, accepting the card from his friend. The passenger walked around both cars, appraising the damage.

"Again, I'm really sorry," Danielle said a minute later, handing back the folder to the passenger. He trudged back to the door he had left open and got in. She turned her attention on to the driver. "I'm glad there wasn't any damage to your car."

"Well, I'm just glad there isn't anything wrong with you ladies," the driver said. "Cars can be easily fixed. Bodies, on the other hand, they're a little harder . . . Are you okay to drive?"

"Yeah, we just live a couple blocks away," she replied. "And I think we've had enough adventure for the day."

He smiled, though it was hard to read his face, especially because my eyes couldn't focus. "Okay. You two take care, and get home safe." He hopped into the Mustang and cautiously drove a few blocks, pulling off to the side. It was as if he were watching us. Maybe he was a gentleman and wanted to make sure our car still worked, or maybe he was going to follow us home and harass us, or maybe he had other plans . . . Who could say? My mind wandered for a moment, concocting multiple scenarios. It was sweet and creepy at the same time.

Only a few cars had driven past throughout the ordeal. None of them stopped to offer assistance. "God, that was awkward," Danielle said, letting out a huge breath.

"Painful," I responded. We climbed into the Crosstrek, both pretty shaky.

"Do you still want to go up to Hawthorne?" she asked, her hands trembling as she gripped the steering wheel.

"Is that a joke?" I said with a bite. "I think I need to go to the doctor. My vision isn't getting any better."

"Sorry," was all she said, checking behind us as she pulled forward, then swooping around to head back home.

DANIELLE WAS SITTING IN the waiting room at our Doctor's office in Milwaukie. "So?"

"So?" I echoed, passing the receptionist.

She failed to smile at my humor. "So, what did Dr. Franklin say?"

"I have a minor concussion," I answered, ready for a nap.

"Really?" she gasped, surprised. "But we barely hit them. There wasn't even any damage to the cars."

"I'm just telling you what he said." I swept out the door into the freezing afternoon air. "I also have a chest contusion and a swollen forehead. He was worried about my hips, but the x-ray checked out, I guess, so I just have to ice for a few days." She unlocked the doors with her clicker. "Oh, and he said that new science has disproven that you have to stay awake after a concussion, so you don't have to worry about making sure I stay awake."

Her eyes grew wide with concern. "I can't believe you have a concussion. Do you want to stop at a drugstore and get icepacks?" We jumped inside, and she started up the engine, still warm from the drive to the office.

I yawned, nodding.

The engine revved as she pressed on the gas while still in park. "Oops." She locked the shifter into reverse and gradually backed up. The ride home was as slow as the ride there. Danielle didn't exceed ten mph, mindful of the drivers that dared the slick and obstructed roads.

"How about you?" I asked, about halfway home. Her appointment had slipped my mind until then. "What did the physician's assistant say?"

She grinned at me. "No worries here."

We spent the rest of the day watching season two of "Once Upon a Time" on Netflix while I iced twenty minutes on and twenty off.

"ARE YOU READY?" DANIELLE shouted from her room on the morning two days after the accident. The rain had come and melted almost all the snow. Clumps lingered in random spots, but the streets were free of the white menace.

My vision had cleared up and my bruises ached but the pain was dwindling. "I can't find anything to wear," I said, shuffling through mountains of clothes. Most of my outfits were from high school or my early years at U of O. Every time I gazed at my closet or inside my dresser, I had the dreadful sense that I desperately needed a new wardrobe. In reality, there was nothing wrong with the majority of what I owned: they just felt wrong when I put them on.

Danielle appeared at my door, her arms folded. "Not doing very well at your New Year's resolution."

"I'm trying." I grabbed a pair of black running pants and slid them on. "Nothing feels right."

Danielle threw me a bright pink tank top from the side of a pile. "So your cleavage will show."

"Maybe I'll move on today," I said, pulling the tank over my head. "How do they look?"

"Like they'll trap the next guy who catches a glimpse," she said, already out the door.

I found my coat and stumbled after her. "Thanks," I said, as we got in the car. It was clear her patience was thin. "I really am trying, though." Silence captured the mood, all the way up to Hawthorne. The gym was on the north side, on the corner of Thirtieth. The four-story building consisted of a parking garage and three narrow levels for equipment. "I can't believe this used to be that old cement lot."

"Didn't even take them that long to build it," Danielle said, parking in front of a house on thirty-first. "I've never seen a place go up so fast."

We strolled up to the front entrance, where a giant sign hung over the door that read "RIPPED CITY FITNESS" in bold red. Glass panes made up the first two floors. The third had smaller windows so no one could see inside unless they stood on the roof of the bar across the street and had a pair of binoculars. A fit, peppy woman behind a tall circular desk greeted us as we walked in.

"Hi," I said, "We were hoping to sign up for a membership."

"Sure, I'll get someone to start you up." She flagged another woman over from a group of desks to the right. "Sam, could you sign these two up?"

The thin woman smiled, introduced herself, and shook our hands. She then led the way to a large desk and gave us a packet, sitting across from us. "Here at Ripped City Fitness we want to see you reach your goals and we believe that the first step is recording where you are now and where you want to be in three months, six months, and one year from today."

I looked down at the list of silly questions and then at Danielle, who had already begun answering hers. "Is there a way we can skip over this and just join?"

The woman stared at me blankly, as if no one had asked that before. To our luck, she didn't turn hostile, but replied, "Sure, if that's what you want, but you won't be getting the value out of our fitness center and the free three sessions with a personal trainer."

I handed back the papers. "That's all right. We weren't looking to work with a personal trainer."

Danielle shot me a displeased look. She never liked it when I rushed through things—unless, of course, it involved my innate inability to dress myself and get out of the house on time. But honestly, benefits such as free sessions were always a waste of time because we never followed through on stuff like that, and I had never cared for spiels.

"Okay, well, let me get you the agreement forms." She searched through several drawers before she apologized and rushed off to the office behind her.

"Maybe I wanted the free sessions," Danielle snarled, the moment the woman was out of earshot.

"Don't you have to be at work by noon?" I asked, already knowing the answer. "I'm saving us time. We both know you wouldn't ever work out with a personal trainer."

The woman's prompt return killed the argument. "Here you go." She slid the forms across the desk. "As you can see, we are a twenty-four-hour gym, and we don't charge for an all-hours access pass like some of the fitness clubs in the area do. We have a few different options: the basic being a flat, two-month contract for twenty dollars, and fifteen per month after that. You can also select the 'women's only' option, giving you unlimited access to the top floor where men are not permitted, for an additional five dollars a month."

Danielle and I regarded each other. "That sounds pretty good," she said, raising her eyebrows and beaming. It would be a paradise for her. As a glorious "10" on the offensively-inane-yet-widely-used "Attractiveness Scale," she was constantly approached and pestered for dates by men, so any place she could escape such forward behavior she considered a sanctuary. Plus the obvious: she preferred to check out women.

It wouldn't be quite the haven for me. I mean, sure, I didn't want a bunch of nimrods ogling me, but at the same time I kind of did. Well, maybe not nimrods, but guys in general—potential candidates. "Hard to meet guys with no guys around," I pointed out.

"Yeah, but after Mr. Right scoops you up, you'll want privacy," Danielle said, adamant that we shell out the extra five a month.

The woman didn't mind our conversation. She was probably used to worse than women talking about meeting men.

"All right, fine," I said. "You win, but I think you should pay my extra five." She ignored me and signed up for the monthly twenty. I circled the same plan and filled in the rest of the information. "Is the sign-up fee really only ten?"

"Actually," the woman started. "Any time the owner is at the gym, the sign-up fee is waived, and he's working out right now."

If I'd been a cartoon character, I'm sure my jaw would have hit the floor. "I like that policy. Is he in here often?"

"He comes in every few days," she answered. "He likes to rotate between the three branches."

I thought about asking her to point out Mr. Generous, but on a second assessment it sounded too forward. After ten minutes of paperwork and a quick run-through of the three different levels and equipment, Danielle and I made for the second story and the cardio equipment.

We chose the taller ellipticals in the back next to the stair steppers. Treadmills formed the line in front of us, and the stationary bikes were in the row ahead of them. Free-weights lined the wall in front of all the cardio equipment. The level was virtually empty. No one else was using the ellipticals, and only three people ran on the treadmills, as more cycled than anything else. Two men were lifting weights in front of the giant floor-to-ceiling mirror that made up the wall.

"I bet that guy has a huge cock," Danielle said ten minutes into our workout. She jerked her head toward the beefier of the two guys pumping iron. They were hard to make out from across the room, but it was clear that one was a lot slimmer while the second was an unattractive hulk of muscle. The descriptor "heavenly fit" came to mind as I gazed at the lean but incredibly toned guy.

She frequently made comments like that, even though she was gay. She did it just to get me to blush or react in some way. She also loved to talk about tits, clits, and pussies, which I liked to call "v-spots."

"Shh!" I shrieked. "Why do you always have to try and embarrass me?"

"Embarrass you? I'm trying to help you break through your prudish barrier," she said.

"I'm not a prude," I defended, almost slipping off the elliptical.

"Saturday night you told me the only position you've had sex in is missionary."

"Danielle!"

"That makes you a prude," she continued without skipping a beat. "I mean, I'm still grappling with the sad reality that you've never had an orgasm."

"Would you keep your voice down?" I urged her. "If you're going to talk like that, there's no sense in letting the whole room know."

"See, that's what I mean." She eyed me. "It's two thousand eighteen, Maci. People don't care. You can talk about sex without being persecuted."

"Not everyone has to be as open on the topic as you are, Danielle."

"Just say it," she said. "I won't stop bugging you until you do."

"I'm sorry—I didn't realize we were still in middle school." I started to slow down, distracted. "I'm not going to say it just because you want me to."

"Fine," she snapped. "Anyway, I think they're gay, so it really doesn't matter."

I squinted at the pair, trying to make their features out. At twenty-five, my long-distance sight was failing me, starting to slip, and every few months it seemed perceivably worse. "What makes you think they're gay?"

"Uh, hello, I know things you don't," she answered. "And even if they weren't—which they _are_ —it still wouldn't matter because you wouldn't do anything about it."

I halted the elliptical. "What the hell does that mean?"

"It means you're way too shy around men." She kept going like everything was cool. "You went out with Ryan for two weeks before you kissed. And before he came along, it had been, what, eight months since you went on a date?"

"I'm not shy," I said, "I'm just not as confident—"

"And that's the strange part," she cut me off. "You're so certain and resolute when it comes to business and the bakery. You're like some unstoppable machine, but then when it comes to men, you're a completely different person."

"What is with you lately? You just keep attacking me." I climbed down from the cardio machine, staring at Danielle. My temper flared.

"I just don't want you to get stuck in the same rut you always do after a breakup," she said, looking down to meet my eyes. "I want you to find someone like I have."

"And saying _c-o-c-k_ "—I whispered the letters—"will help me do that?"

"What? No, that's a completely different subject. I think asking one of them out would." She glanced across the room and I followed her eyes, landing on the fit guy. "That's one way to see if they're gay."

"That's ridiculous, Danielle."

"Think what kind of story that would be though," she said. "Asking your future husband out to win a bet."

"To prove he's not gay," I said, wiping the sweat out of my eyes. That was a big reason why I hated gyms: I sweated ten times more indoors than outside. Plus, I felt so trapped and restricted on the machines. "Romantic."

"Just do it as a confidence booster, to show yourself it's not so scary to ask someone out."

The idea sounded good in my head. I could use more confidence around men—there was no kidding myself there—but asking a complete stranger out was something else. I had no intro, no way to transition from unfamiliar to familiar. I needed something to settle my nerves before I met someone new. I was staring over at the two men while Danielle waited for a reply. "If you do this today, I won't bug you about anything date- or sex-related for a week."

It didn't sound worth it. "Just a week?"

"Isn't that better than a few hours?" she said, nudging me forward between the ellipticals.

"All right. All right. I'll do it." Her face lit up as I spun around. I took a step toward the two men and my heart rate instantly escalated, my throat dry and swelling. Talking to potential dates never came easy for me. At work it was easy to talk to customers. It was routine.

The sweat I had built up from the workout now seemed to be clinging to every inch of my body. I stuck out my chest as I walked, but by the time I was within a few feet of the fit guy, my shoulders had hunched, and I had grown smaller. The excessively buff friend had disappeared, probably to the bathroom.

The odds were now a little better that I might string a sentence together, but not by much. About two feet stood between us as he set a pair of thirty-five-pound dumbbells on the floor. He was sitting on the bench, inclined, breathing hard—as hard as I was sweating.

"Excuse me?" I said, realizing as the words stumbled out that it was the driver from the car accident, but by the time my brain told me to retreat, the sole of my foot rolled over something and my balance faltered. My legs buckled, launching me right into his lap, and I stared straight into his warm brown eyes, petrified.

# 3

### WHEN MACI MET HARRY

Our eyes were glued to each other's. My heart was running wild, pumping in my ear, and my thoughts were so scattered, I couldn't form a coherent sentence to save my life. And underneath it all, as he held me in his sweaty arms, which had swelled to the size of my head from exertion, I had the supreme urge to kiss him. It was as though there were a magnetic force pulling me to his lips. A spark permeated through my body, alive with electricity from his touch. His face had a soft innocence to it, hiding some inner darkness that his piercing eyes gave away. His forehead soaked the tips of his thick curly brown hair—hair that made me want to glide my fingers through it. But it was those eyes that stirred me, attracted me, compelled me. They were sweet and alluring, yet at the same time, cold and distant.

After the car accident, my vision had been distorted, and I never saw him clearly that day. I also couldn't make out any of his features from a distance. But now it was different. Now he was holding me inches from his face and my eyes drank in every last bit of his glory. He was so striking, so appealing to the eye; there was no way I could look anywhere but directly into his gaze.

"Hi," he said, somewhat brusque, breathing hard.

My face was already flushed, but now I could feel the heat radiating from my cheeks and neck, my body afire. The same intoxicating effect took hold as it had when I first heard his voice, but now it seemed somehow amplified, and my head spun. "Hi," I squeaked.

He didn't move to release me or set me back on my feet, his left hand hugging my breast. "Are you all right?" Care attended his tone, his concern genuine.

Before I actually took the time to heed any pain signals from my body, I nodded, my head whipping up and down. "I—I was just wondering if—if you were done with the bench," I said, inventing some reason for my presence. I shifted and he brought me to my feet, holding me still for a moment so that I didn't fall over before I regained my balance. He stood up and displayed his magnificence from head to toe, and I slipped into a dumbstruck stare, reveling in his gorgeous body. His well-defined chest screamed at me to run my hands across the muscles.

He surveyed the front of the room and the row of empty benches, then smiled, his stunning white teeth capturing my attention. "I—"

"I guess not," I interrupted, snapping out of my paralysis and backing up. I had to escape before he realized who I was, if he did at all. My eyes downcast, I noticed a cat's eye marble on the floor, the culprit behind my clumsy tumble. I bent down and scooped it up. "Marble," I laughed. "Sorry to bother you." I turned and bolted back to Danielle as fast as I could without running. I could have won a speed-walking race. "We have to go!" I whispered, but it bordered on a shout.

"What happened?" she asked, slowing the elliptical until she could hop off. "It looked like you fell."

"I'll tell you at the bakery," I said, collecting my sweatshirt and water bottle. I didn't wait for her, hurrying down the stairs, passing the bulky man, whom I then registered as the passenger from the accident.

I shot out of the front entrance and hit the sidewalk, considering whether to walk the three blocks to the security of my office or wait for Danielle. I rounded the corner to the car. Danielle was sprinting to catch up. "What the hell, Maci? What's going on?"

"I just want to get to the bakery," I said, short on breath. _What happened?_ I wasn't exactly sure myself. I didn't have the words to relate the unnerving experience.

"Maci?"

"It was them," I burst out, ducking into the car.

Danielle pulled out and drove north toward Salmon Street. "It was who?"

"Them—the guys from the accident."

"From Sunday?"

I nodded. "Yeah. Them. It was the driver. I almost asked out the driver." I had almost done more than that. I had almost kissed him. The urge had barely been controllable.

"You're kidding," she laughed.

"It's not funny," I clipped.

She turned down Thirty-fourth. "It kinda is." After I shot her an annoyed look, she asked, "What's the big deal? So you almost asked out the guy who we hit. Some people might call that fate."

"It was embarrassing, Danielle. I felt like a fool."

"Did he recognize you?" she asked, turning onto Hawthorne and then into the alley between the Herb Shoppe and the Road to Tibet gift shop. The parking area behind the bakery was small, but it meant I didn't have to contend for street parking, which was one of my biggest pet peeves about the city.

"I don't think so," I said, heading for the back door into Friends Bakery and Brunch House, the bakery I co-owned. Bridgett was sitting at her desk in our shared office when I rushed in.

Danielle was at my heels. "Then what's the problem?" She turned to Bridgett. "Hi, Bridgett."

"Hey." Bridgett swiveled her chair to face us. She was a cute, short, plump woman, with dirty blond hair. Twenty-eight, recently divorced, and the most austere person in the world, she made for a great business partner. But she was much more personable when she was drunk, and lately she liked to hit the bar scene after hours, searching for her next bed-warmer since her husband left. "Problem?"

"I just freaked out, that's all," I said, sinking into my chair. I was unable to formulate the right sentence to describe what had happened, and on the other hand, I wasn't sure I wanted to describe it at all. No man had ever affected me like that.

"What happened?" Bridgett asked, curiosity drawing her into the conversation.

"Maci almost asked out the guy we hit on Sunday," Danielle explained. "But she's blowing it up into a huge thing when it isn't."

Bridgett rocked in her chair. "Ah."

"I'm not blowing it up," I contended. "I was embarrassed and had to get out of there. I mean, I fell into the guy's lap for Christ's sake."

"You fell into his lap?" Bridgett remained calm, on the edge of disinterest.

"Fell on this." I produced the marble from my sweatshirt pocket.

"A marble," Danielle observed. "You tripped on a marble?"

"What's a marble doing at a gym?" Bridgett asked coolly.

"How the hell should I know?" I placed it on my desk and stared at it for a second. "All I know is that I give up on dating for a while."

"You didn't even start!" Danielle exclaimed.

"I don't have time," I expressed with a sigh. "We just opened the bakery two months ago and are struggling to keep our heads above water. Things need to settle, you know?"

"Not really," Bridgett said. "I don't think things will ever settle, for one. For two, if you don't make the time, you'll never have the time. What you need is to find someone online."

"Online dating," Danielle laughed. "Bridgett, come on, _seriously?_ "

Bridgett ignored Danielle's mocking tone. "I made a profile last night on NorthwestMingle. I've read that it's the best place to meet people in Portland."

"For sex or for relationships?" Danielle asked, dropping her keys on my desk and taking a seat in the extra chair.

"Either," Bridgett replied, spinning in her chair. She grabbed her mouse, then started typing. "I can bring it up for you."

"Sex is what she needs right now," Danielle said. "A few good humps should do it."

I checked my anger, about to throw the marble at her. "I don't need sex, Danielle. I need to get to work, and so do you. Aren't you working downtown today?"

Danielle checked her sporty wristwatch that she swapped out for an expensive white gold one when she worked. "Yeah, I guess I should . . . but don't think that just because I have to go means you're off the hook." She snatched up her keys, pausing at the door. "I'll pick you up at five."

I raised my eyebrows and gave her a single wave.

"She's right, you know," Bridgett said once Danielle was gone. "You could use a good lay."

I collapsed my head into my hands. "Oy."

She threw up her hands. "All right, just sayin'. Well, my break's over." She stood and stretched out her arms while yawning. "I'll get back to the kitchen. You still have to do inventory, remember."

I rolled the marble back and forth across my desk. "Yeah, I know. I'm a little behind. I'll get us all caught up today."

"You better. We're already looking at a hard third month." With that, she disappeared out the door.

I brought the marble to my eyes and inspected it. It was such a small thing and yet it caused me so much grief. I sat there and gazed at the swirl, captivated and confused, replaying the incident at the gym over in my head.

I FOUND MYSELF BACK at my desk after hours of torturous inventorying, something that supposedly gets easier with experience. The goal was to eventually get the system up and running to where we could track the inventory and when someone marked that we needed something, it would be added to a master-ordering list, where one simple click did all the work for us. Research called it streamlining, I called it a pain in the ass. If we had an I.T. guy, I'd be in heaven, but our dismal budget put an end to that idea when Bridgett and I discussed our technical skills. She concluded that I had the proficiency to succeed.

It was our third month in business and I was still having trouble. A headache battered my brain as I gaped at my computer screen. The morning events hadn't left my mind all day. I kept returning to the memory at the gym. I'd fall and he'd catch me and I'd run away in a flash. It all happened so fast that there wasn't much to remember. Online dating had also been running through my head. _Had it truly come to this?_ Would I be another casualty of the modern dating predicament that forced women to browse a list of profiles instead of meeting someone organically?

I typed NorthwestMingle into my browser. Pictures of happy couples flooded the screen. My cursor hovered over the "join" button. I desired to meet someone like Danielle had, and come May she'd be off and married and I'd be alone.

That single thought pressured me into clicking the mouse.

I filled in the information and became a new member of "the number one dating site for Northwesteners," or so the front page boasted. I didn't see any data to back up the claim, and even if I had, I probably wouldn't have believed it.

And so the search began. I scrolled through countless profiles. I had never noticed before how many guys in Portland had beards. It seemed like an uncommonly high amount. Beards really weren't my thing, so I checked that off the finder, which narrowed the list considerably, leaving only those who shaved or sported stubble.

It was a quarter past five when I noticed that I'd spent over an hour hunting for Mr. Right. By then, I had selected and bookmarked four guys. Bridgett had said countless times that she always waited for men to ask her out, but Danielle's nagging about my shyness around men prevailed, and I wrote a quick message to my first choice and sent it on its digital journey.

Danielle knocked on the back door and I let her in. "So, I did it," I announced.

"Did what?" she asked, zooming for the leftover muffins in the front.

"I signed up for NorthwestMingle and messaged a guy."

She peeled off the bottom wrapper and took an enormous bite, smiling. "You're kidding. I don't believe you. Show me."

I led her to the office and pulled up the profile. "He's cute, right?"

"Sure, I guess. From an objective point of view." She wore an aloof face. "I wouldn't have picked him."

"You wouldn't have picked any guy," I said.

"True. But give me a break, his username is CoolGuyPDX."

"Who cares about usernames?" I closed the application, shoving her out the door. We made for home after locking the office and the back door.

"Usernames mean a lot. They tell you about that person's character, underneath. You can really judge someone by their username. Like yours, what'd you pick?"

"CuteLittleBaker92."

She laughed hard, spitting muffin bits at the steering wheel.

"You're such an ass sometimes," I said. "I thought it was a descriptive name."

"It was better than CoolGuyPDX, I'll give you that, but not much." She stuffed the remaining muffin chunk into her mouth and swallowed. "So, what did you say in your message?"

I turned up the heater—my ass was frozen. Danielle never had the heater high enough. "I asked him if he wanted to get together for coffee."

"Mellow and informal, a good start," she said. "What's his name?"

"Harry," I answered, shivering.

"Harry," she said more to herself than to me. "I guess there are worse names out there . . ."

I was about to reply when my phone beeped, signaling a text or email. Unlocking the screen and sliding to the alert, I opened the message. "It's from Harry. He wants to meet tomorrow night. You think I should?"

"I thought your goal was to get him to not go out with you," she said, her sarcasm scraping against my nerves.

"You're very funny, you know that?"

"And you're very strange," she threw back. "Of course I think you should. That's what I've been driving at since Saturday, for you to get out there and find someone new."

"I was only double-checking . . . you know what, never mind." I returned to the message and wrote out a reply, then erased it, wrote a second, but erased it, too. I hit the send key after I revised the third draft. "Okay," I said, exhaling, as if I'd been holding my breath the whole time. "Sent. There's no going back now."

Danielle looked over at me with a wide smile. "To finding Mr. Right. Celebrate at U-Brew?"

I nodded, excited. Maybe he would be Mr. Right. Maybe he'd be the man of my dreams, the fairytale prince who'd sweep me off my feet and whisk me off to the bedroom. Maybe he'd be the one to give me what Danielle says I'd been missing in my life: the big O.

THE MORNING STARTED OUT crummy. My hair wouldn't cooperate, my morning breath persisted despite three brushings, and I couldn't find the right outfit for the coffee-shop date, which had kept me up half the night, the anticipation stimulating my brain like caffeine. To top it off, Eddie—my purple Fort Escort—wouldn't turn over. It took twenty tries and fifteen minutes before the engine came to life. He was twenty-three and on his last tires.

With the snow gone, it was back to the routine. I pulled into the private parking behind the bakery at 4:49. Norm, the "Bread Guy" was already there, arriving at 4:30 on most days. The only plus of working so early was that I never had to contend with traffic. Other than that there was nothing positive about it. I was dead—a zombie—guzzling drip coffee and espressos until about eight. This morning was even worse since I'd only gotten half the sleep I normally did; and all the energy that had kept me awake during the night had vanished, leaving me drained.

It was going to be a long day.

Norm and I never really talked. It was too early, so instead, we took turns blasting our music. He favored heavy metal and hard rock, where I leaned toward what some might call alternative rock, like The Killers, but I also enjoyed just plain, upbeat pop. It was his day to choose, and when I came in, "Back in Black" was blaring over the built-in speakers. He nodded at me as he did his thing.

I prepped for the day, slipping on my apron, turning on the fan and oven, then crafted a caramel, Irish cream, and cinnamon macchiato. Afterward, I stuffed the crockpot with oats and milk and set the timer for an hour. Next came the cookies, muffins, and sticky buns, made fresh every day. One of the last items I prepared in the early morning was the bread pudding, using the day-old breads. It was one of our big sellers to the early risers.

There were always one or two people stopping in at 5:30 in the morning. At six, the real crowds rushed in—our special coffees and bagels, along with our unique croissants, brought in the most customers until we began serving brunch at 7:30. A group of elderly men came in then to be the first to order from the brunch menu, never diverging from their usual. They were my favorite customers because they walked up to the counter and gossiped about people in Portland and those closest to them. I found them very entertaining and pleasant.

Bridgett arrived at 6:30 to prep the kitchen for brunch, which was mainly served upstairs in an old apartment that we leased when the health insurance company moved out of the ground floor. It was a rickety building that demanded some upkeep and renovations—repairs we planned on starting in the summer sunshine.

Even though we both earned our AAS in Baking and Pastry Management from the Oregon Culinary Institute—whose slogan was "training kitchen Ninjas"—Bridgett argued that we should be more than just a bakery, and was therefore in charge of the "Brunch House" portion of our operation.

The day, like every day owning a restaurant or similar business, had its ups and downs, including slow times and crazy rushes, and by ten A.M. I was wide awake and couldn't stop thinking of the impending date. A thousand scenarios played in my head by the time I clocked out. Half were good and half were bad. The Killers song "When You Were Young" was stuck in my mind and ran alongside the situations that I watched with my mind's eye. It was the theme song for the day. The only problem was that a beautiful boy had caused my heartache, so to dream of another one saving me might be a thorn in the scheme.

By the time I clocked out, I was always wiped. Ten hours was my standard since we opened Friends Bakery and Brunch House in December, and I usually worked longer on most days. The requirements to maintain the place were ceaseless and exerting.

And I loved it.

Despite the enervation, I soldiered on to the gym and worked out, my playlist pumping me up and keeping me company. I used the women's-only third floor to avoid a run-in with the driver, just in case he made an appearance.

I sank back into my office chair at four, staring at Harry's profile picture. There was no doubt he was sexy. Tan, but not overly so: he was no orange. Toned, but not Tom Hardy buff, even though I had liked that about Ryan, whose arms were as big as my head. Harry's mossy green eyes captured my focus and I drifted off into another daydream.

I was sitting in my chair when he kicked open the office door, rushed in and hoisted me onto my desk, folding back my silk skirt. He ripped off my simple blouse, the buttons flying through the air. His silence elevated my heart until all I could feel was lust. He tore his shirt in the heat of the moment and buried his face in my boobs as I threw my head back. Then his image morphed into that of the driver from the accident, and we were back in the gym as he looked up and kissed me so passionately that my head felt like it was going to explode from the rush of blood.

Bridgett broke me from my reverie. "What time are you meeting your date?" she asked, standing in the door, eyeing me with her brow crumpled.

"Five," I blurted, unaware of her presence. I nearly fell out of my chair, jolted by her voice. "Five," I repeated, this time much calmer.

"It's four-thirteen, you might want to get ready," she advised. "You have flour all over yourself."

I launched out of my seat. "Right. I—I—"

"I know," she laughed.

"How long have you been standing there?"

"Long enough to see you drool a little," she answered, shaking her head. "I locked up the front and upstairs."

I smiled awkwardly. She was one of my best friends, but it was still embarrassing to be caught doing something that was probably best suited for home, if it could be helped. I retrieved the five outfits from my car and laid them out in the office. "So, what do you think?"

Bridgett studied each one. "I like the purple blouse with the white cardigan," she concluded. I trusted her enough to simply go with her decision. She didn't have the best eye for fashion, wearing fishnet stockings outside of work, which I'd never been a fan of, but she'd been married before, and that superseded the one poor fashion choice.

Dressed and with my makeup all done, I grabbed my keys. "Ready," I said, looking in the mirror one last time.

She hugged me tightly, and then spanked me as I left. "Remember to feel his junk before you throw off your clothes. You don't want to be disappointed later on."

"Thanks," I said, feigning sincerity. I drove west toward downtown. My mind wandered, returning to the daydream. Why had Harry turned into the driver? Did I really desire him that strongly? Or was it because the incident was so fresh in my mind that it was just a coincidence? I laughed when I thought about how silly it was.

Arriving at the coffee shop a few minutes late, my nerves were starting to control me. My stomach knotted, my throat constricted, and my clothes felt too small, which made me fidgety and uncomfortable.

Sitting in the car, I checked my phone. _I'm here,_ he had texted me at five-oh-two. I gathered up my courage and headed for the entrance. As I opened the door, a woman squeezed in front of me, pinching my arm. "Hey!" I shouted at her.

She didn't give me a second glance, running for the bathroom. I scanned the room, but saw no one who fit the picture. A gaggle of teenagers sat in the corner, on their phones, no doubt playing one of those fatuous games against each other. Sure, I enjoyed a mindless diversion from time to time, but not out in public—not like that. Lone white women dominated the coffee house, and men in business suits came in second. None of them were as fit as Harry's picture. There were also a few bald, portly men sprinkled throughout the crowd.

Shuffling out of the way of the door, I opened the texts between us, my hands shaking, and sent him: _Here, but I don't see you._ I was probably a little more proper in my texts than most, but shortening words didn't help with filling in crosswords, and I had to keep my mind sharp for those.

At first I thought one of the chubby men was heading for the door when I realized he was on a collision course with me. "Maci?" he said, his throat deep and scratchy, a smoker's voice.

"Ha—harry?"

# 4

### WHEN MACI MET JOSH

"One lousy date shouldn't ruin the whole experience," Danielle said the next night at home. The night before I'd shut myself in my room, watching season three of "Friends." I always found great comfort in the tragic dating excursions on the show. They were so close to working out but never did, and I took comfort in the fact that they were like me, so close . . . but not.

"I think one lousy date is a good enough reason to quit," I replied, picking up Colby-Jack as he ran by my legs. Sitting on the couch, I settled him across my lap. "It was ridiculous, Danielle. He was forty-five pretending to be twenty-five."

"Yeah, I get the picture." She flopped down beside me, putting two plates on the coffee table in front of us. "You don't have to keep repeating it. He was not what you expected."

"Not what I expected?" I laughed. "All day long I pictured what would happen, but that—that was not a scenario I ever envisioned. Forty-five, Danielle. Forty-fucking-five." I rubbed my face on Colby-Jack's soft fur. "Ugh! I'm taking a break. I need it."

"God, when did you become so whiny?" She hit me with a pillow as I sat up.

"When every guy in the world decided to become an asshole."

"Well, maybe you should ditch men," she teased. "They don't know what they're doing down there anyway."

"Always with the sex," I said, exasperated.

"Always putting sex aside," she contended. "Maybe you should try putting it first and see what happens."

"I can tell you what'll happen," I said. "If I took your advice, a wake of emptiness would follow the chain of meaningless one-night stands."

"Compared to the wake of happiness you're swimming in right now?" She flicked open the Opa Pizzaria box and grabbed a slice of the pre-cut pizza. One thing Danielle and I shared was our predilection for pepperoni pizza with black olives. There was nothing better on a Thursday night after a terrible day—or days, in this case.

I moved to get a slice and Colby-Jack padded off, climbing onto the arm of the couch and plopping down once he found the right spot. "A little harsh, don't you think?"

"I'm just saying," she said, chewing. She often had a plate in front of her but rarely used it, preferring to eat with a hand under her food to catch falling food particles, which caught nothing and let everything slip through. "You need to open up, sexually. You need to explore, you know? I mean, you sound as if you think anyone who enjoys sex is a whore."

I gulped down a bite to reply. "I never said that."

"But that's how you come across," she said, "and I think men can sense that. Sense your prudeness, if that's a word."

"It's prudery—and _again_ with calling me a prude. When are you going to lay off?"

"Well, I'm still waiting for you to say 'cock.'"

"Then you're going to be waiting a long time, because I'm not going to say it," I said. "Only because you want me to so badly."

"A stubborn prude," Danielle laughed, her words muffled by bits of pizza.

"As stubborn as they come," I joked, with a tinge of truth.

"I'm serious though, you need to expand your sexual scope," she said. "Give yourself the opportunity to understand what I'm talking about. You need to get back out there and forget about yesterday and one silly date."

"I already took your advice and look what it got me—a date with a bald forty-five-year-old."

"No one ever said Mr. Right was going to just drop into your lap, Maci," she said. "That's your own romantic fairy tale that you've held onto for too long. Finding the right guy takes time and effort. All you need to do is commit to the hunt like you've committed to work."

Laughing, I choked on a piece of pizza. "The _hunt?_ You make it sound like I'm going out to kill my own food."

"Well, you never know, you might slaughter a few men along the way to happiness."

I got up and retreated into the kitchen to get a napkin. "You're so weird sometimes." Wiping off the stream of grease that trickled down my fingers, I found my laptop and placed it next to the pizza box. Her rather clumsy argument for me to persevere did, for some dumb reason, motivate me not to give up so easily. It was probably more my obstinacy and drive to succeed that persuaded me. Regardless of the reason, I navigated to my NorthwestMingle profile and the bookmarked options. "Take a look at these."

"Bleak," she said, after scanning my choices.

"No good?" I asked, taking back the computer. She shook her head, scarfing down another slice. I sifted through the profiles again. "What about this guy?"

"SlakinPlayer85?" She gave me the are-you-crazy look. "I know you're screwing with me. Everything about him sounds fake, and his username—what the hell does that mean anyway? What's a 'slakin player'?"

"I told you, you're too into usernames. They don't mean anything."

She was about to respond when someone knocked on the door. A horrible creak told us the door was opening. "Hello?" came Ashley's voice. Danielle had given her a key when they got engaged, but she still knocked before she entered. I guess she thought I could possibly be with someone and wanted to give a warning that she was coming in. She appeared behind us, a draft chilling the small room.

"You're just in time," Danielle said, bouncing off the couch and hugging her fiancée.

"Oh?"

"Not only do we have pizza, we also have the fine opportunity to help Maci select her next bachelor."

"Do we give him a red rose?" Ashley asked, excited, closing the door and throwing her purse next to the recliner. Though taller than me, Ashley Fuller fell short of Danielle's height by three inches. Pear-shaped, her butt stuck out, a quality Danielle often praised, and she did so loudly. Her breasts were no bigger than mine, but she was so thin around her ribs that they appeared huge, another physical attribute Danielle loved to comment on. She had the same brown sugar hair as Danielle, which dangled above her chest, and the same sparkling brown eyes, but her skin was a shade paler.

"I don't know," Danielle said, turning to me. "Maci?"

"Har, har, very funny, guys." I got up and hugged my soon-to-be bestie-in-law. "We missed you around last weekend."

"The snow was a drag, for sure," Ashley said. "I didn't go anywhere. But I did hear about your little adventure, rear-ending a Mustang." She scowled at Danielle. "Now I know we're never getting one of those." The two were perfect for each other. They had the same sense of humor, the same interests, the same speak-your-mind attitude, and they both made a handsome salary. I could never remember where Ashley worked, but she was a junior executive for a big company in Portland. "So show me the lucky fellas."

We all sat, and Danielle snagged the laptop and displayed the profiles I'd bookmarked. Granted, these ladies weren't the most knowledgeable when it came to dating men, but they were enthusiastic. They were opinionated and wanted to help. After hours poring over hundreds of profile details, we had a new top ten list.

"So what should I say?" I asked, opening up the private message box.

"You sure you want to try BlazersFan88 first?" Danielle asked. "I think you should go for HereForYou."

I hung my head. "Because of the username?"

"Hey, it means he's willing to stand by you," she said.

"Personally, I like that he's a Blazers fan," Ashley said. "I could use another person around here battling to watch sports." Ryan was a sports enthusiast, but he had never wanted to hang out with Danielle and Ashley, wanting only to spend time with me.

"I told you I'd watch the games with you," Danielle snapped. That was one area of contention between them: watching sports. "I even said we should get season tickets this year, but you laughed at the idea."

"I know you, Danielle. We'd go to one game and you'd grumble the entire time," Ashley asserted. "Now if we had someone else, then you and Maci could talk about other things while we watched the game."

"All right, that's two to one," I said. "Now what should I say?"

"Well, you should forget coffee," Ashley suggested. "Go with dinner. Dinner raises the stakes and he's more likely to bring his A game. Plus you get a meal out of it—unless he's a d-bag."

"Haven't you heard? Maci is done with dating pricks, finally. She's going for the Gold now."

"About time. Men like Ryan can only drag you down."

"Right. The last thing she needs is an anchor pulling her to the bottom of the sea. No, what she needs is a pair of wings to soar into the sun."

"She means orgasm," Ashley said playfully.

I shook my head at their silliness. "Thanks for the interpretation." With their bickering counsel, I typed up a message and sent it. I scanned the clock. "It's nine," I sighed. "I gotta get to bed."

"'Night," Ashley said.

"Come Saturday, this girl will be thanking us for all our efforts," Danielle said, smiling.

"Goodnight, _Ashley,_ " I emphasized while staring at Danielle. "See you tomorrow night." I tottered down the hall and collapsed into my bed, zapped. After a half hour of tossing and turning, I stared up at the projection. The minutes ticked away at a devastating pace. Each minute felt like it took twenty.

By ten, my mind had wandered onto Danielle's advice about me opening up sexually. Over the years she had lectured me a dozen times on the subject, but lately she was really sticking me with the "prude" gibe. One concept that I returned to again and again was Danielle's assertion that to know what you liked, you should experiment on your own. Masturbation never appealed to me, though. The mood was never right, the intensity level never there, the desire missing from the equation.

During my teen years I'd given the subject of titillation—what got my motor going, as Danielle would say—a fair amount of thought. Fantasies steamed my nights, dozens of them, and I even made a mental list of all the things I wanted to try someday. But then as the years went by and I never got up the courage to actually _do_ any of those fantasies off the list, all of that pent-up sexual energy deflated, evaporated into a steady dose of the same: the same closed-mouth kissing, the same position under the sheets, the same everything. By my early twenties, all that youthful eagerness started to reverse, to the point that I clenched up at the very idea of trying something new.

Closing my eyes, I tried to think of what _would_ turn me on, sliding my hand over my nipples and down my stomach to my v-spot, visualizing BlazersFan88's profile picture. Over my clothes, I began to rub myself in circles, and blood started rushing between my legs, but my mind wandered. The picture changed to the driver and suddenly my body flooded with lust, blood surging in my head as it had during my last daydream of him.

A second later, Colby-Jack jumped on the bed and scared me so badly that I kicked him off. As I scanned the room, I noticed I was huffing air, and I tried slowing my frantic heart rate. The cat returned a minute later, unshaken by my attack, curling up by my stomach, his favorite sleeping spot. I crashed not long after that.

JOSH, OR BLAZERSFAN88 AS he was also known by, had replied by noon the next day, agreeing to meet me for dinner on Saturday. I had proposed Henry's on 12th and he seemed pretty stoked that I'd even suggest such a place. I liked it because of the huge beer selection, all labeled by styles. Why he liked the idea so much I'd soon find out.

The day slogged by, with very few high notes, cursed by a computer system that wouldn't cooperate. It seemed the harder I tried to solve the computer problem, the more the answer eluded me. The driver occasionally intruded into my thoughts, but I shrugged them off, focusing on the upcoming date. By the time Bridgett asked me if I wanted to go out, I was grouchy and ready to punch something, anything. After I told her I'd think about it, I ended up passing, opting for a night spent in front of the TV with Colby-Jack.

I DIDN'T SLEEP MUCH that night, anticipation gnawing at me, condemning me to an early morning fraught with expectations and different visions of how the date could go.

Butterflies came and went throughout the day, and I tried to work them out of my system when Danielle and I went to the gym. That plan failed. Back at work, I tried distracting myself with the manual for installing the network correctly at the bakery, but that only made me frustrated. By the time it came to dressing, I was a nervous wreck. Luckily, Danielle and Ashley were home preparing for a fancy night out, and they agreed to put together an ensemble they assured me would "knock him dead." They did not disappoint, dressing me in a jean skirt with leggings, a red V-neck sweater that showed enough cleavage with my best push-up, and tall boots that added a few inches.

"Wish me luck," I said, on my way out the door.

"You're too gorgeous to need luck," Ashley said, slapping my butt as if to say good job.

"Hey," Danielle called out. "Cut that out. Mine's over here."

I waved goodbye, laughing. The drive from the Sellwood area to downtown was about as simple as it got, but I hated the competition for street parking, so I designed a strategy a few years back, beginning at the parking spaces across from Irving Street Kitchen on NW Thirteenth. They were normal, head-first spaces. Parallel parking had given me trouble since I was fifteen in Driver's Ed. The night started off on a good note, with a free space for Eddie.

Eight blocks away, Henry's sat on the corner of Twelfth and Burnside, only a block away from Powell's City of Books, my favorite store in the city. I loved the unique crosswords they sold. The eight blocks in the brisk air leveled my overwhelming jitters. I walked through the entrance six minutes late. Josh had texted twice about my ETA. Maybe he had a thing for punctuality.

The date was a total joke.

Our conversation ebbed and flowed until the food came, mostly small talk and first-date, get-to-know-you questions, then it fell into a lull. He had taken out his phone, more interested in texting than conversing. The vibrations on the table were grinding away my patience, but it was a date and I didn't wish to be as rude as him since I hoped he was paying, otherwise, I would have gotten up and left the moment the last bite of mac and cheese slid down my throat. I managed to eat half of it before my stomach insisted I cease.

We both got boxes to go. The check came and we stared at it in awkward silence. He made no attempt to reach for it whatsoever and again retreated into his texts. Then I noticed that he was swiping left and right a lot. _Oh my God, he's looking for his next date! I should throw this mac right in his stupid schmuck face. What a goddamn prick!_ Minutes passed, and after he'd ignored me for more than half the night, he said, "Dutch?" My jaw dropped in astonishment. I'd suffered his company for nothing.

I made a give-me-a-break gesture that also acquiesced to his proposal. We both had cash, but he didn't have enough for a tip, so that landed solely on me. He was a real gentleman.

He tried to hug me outside the entrance, but I pulled back and gave him a stiff-arm. His hands in his pockets, he said he would like to do it again sometime, then crossed the street, vanishing into the city. I laughed to myself. _Not a chance, douchebag._ I looked east toward Powell's. They were open late and I had to walk off a little bit of the alcohol. A new crossword book or historical romance sounded like exactly what I needed to turn this night around.

Five seconds later my phone beeped. I unlocked it and saw the new text, sent by BlazersFan88. _Man you've got a sweet ass. I wanted to squeeze it all night. Can't wait til next time._ I burst out laughing, so hard, in fact, that tears formed, ready to spill.

I was so absorbed in laughing at the text that I didn't notice the person barreling straight for me. It felt like I was hit by a car, the speed-walker built like a brick wall. My mac and cheese leftovers flew straight into the street as I chose to save my phone with a death grip.

My butt crashed on the sidewalk, flattened, and all my breath fled my body. I lay there staring up at a silhouette, gasping.

# 5

### WHEN MACI MET ANDRE

"I'm so sorry," came a voice, sweet and smooth—a clear tenor. It sent a jolt to my heart and made my blood buzz with lust.

My eyes focused on the offered hand. I grabbed it and allowed the silhouette to pull me up. My vision cleared up under the new lighting and I saw whom I'd collided with. It was the driver. I let out an audible gasp.

"Oh my God, it's you," he said, recognizing me under the streetlamp. "From the accident and the gym. You ran away so fast the other day."

I was speechless, caught in the headlights of his penetrating gaze. His smooth skin was the kind I craved, without a trace of facial hair. It was the kind of face I wanted to kiss all night.

"Are you all right?" he asked, putting his other hand on top of our interlocked fingers.

At the realization of his touch, my body flushed, my heart thrashing inside, excited. The unknown current returned, turning on a mysterious urge deep down within me, an unexplored cavern of libido protected by inhibition. My wits came back in a startling snap. "Uh—yeah, yeah I'm fine. I must've hit my head." My tongue got in the way of my words, jumbling them.

"Do you need to sit down for a moment?" he asked, again genuine concern in his voice.

I shook my head, releasing his hand. "No, I'm fine. Just shaken up for a moment, that's all." I glanced at the road and my smashed box of mac and cheese. My mouth hung open, stunned, but no words followed, too nervous. Danielle was right: I was too shy.

He scanned the road. "What is it?"

"My mac and cheese," I muttered, disheartened. I pocketed my phone. "My leftovers."

"Ah," he said, noticing the box on the blacktop as traffic continued to run it over. "I'm really sorry. I was absorbed in a book description." He bent down and picked up a book with a cloaked man on a fiery red background. _A Dance of Mirrors_ was printed in yellow across the cover. "Sometimes I get so lost in something that I completely block out my surroundings. If you want, I can buy you a takeout order." He smiled, showing off all his teeth, which seemed too perfect, all aligned and model-white. "Wouldn't want you to miss out on your leftovers."

His offer took me by surprise. Staring at his gifted body and visage, I understood what he meant about getting lost in something so deeply that the background faded away. A seal brown blazer draped from his shoulders, clinging tightly to his body. An exact fit. Underneath it, he wore a white shirt with a green circle sandwiched by two horizontal bars centered on his chest, a symbol I'd seen before, but I didn't know its meaning. His khakis hung from his waist, relaxed. A pair of running shoes protected his feet.

I found it all intoxicating, put-together without trying too hard and somehow novel. I battled down new cravings that I'd never known were inside me, now stirred, as though he were extricating this strange passion from the darkness of my subconscious by some magical force, bringing the feelings to the forefront of my heart and between my legs. I'd never had such a flutter in my veins.

I felt like a teenager for thinking it, but he was _hot_. _Really hot. Scorching hot._ The kind of hot that made women week in the knees and faint because they stared too long at such gorgeous features.

Without warning, I noticed the heat of my burning cheeks, and I was held by his gaze, I felt exposed even though my scarf covered the cleavage-peeking V of my sweater. _How long have we stood in silence?_ I wondered, now hurrying myself to come up with something to say. "No, that's okay," was all I managed at first. "It's not that big a deal. I was just looking forward to having it for lunch tomorrow."

He nodded, polite and composed. "You took off so fast on Tuesday that I didn't get a chance to introduce myself. Vince Forte," he said, sticking out his hand for me to shake.

The business side of me took over when I saw his extended arm. "Maci," I said, making eye contact, the way I was taught from an early age, to assert confidence. I withdrew quicker than I normally would, but the eerie tingle produced when our skin touched unnerved me.

"Maci?" he fished.

"Sorry. Maci Goodwin."

"Goodwin," he said, examining the name. "That's a strong name."

"Not as strong as Forte," I pointed out. "Originating from _fortis_."

He laughed. "Quite right. You know words pretty well, I take it?" he asked, fidgeting with the book he held. I caught on to his nervousness then, and it was odd to observe, since it was nearly impossible for me to form a brief answer.

"Crossword buff," I replied. "I also read dictionaries sometimes."

He nodded, his movements rather jerky. Did I make him as anxious as he made me? That was a silly question—of course not. I had to escape, had to get far away from these bizarre and troubling feelings.

But before I could get the words out, he asked, "So, do you live around here?" The blunt question floored me. He must have caught on to my agitation, as he followed up with, "I ask because I wanted to walk you home. It's the least I can do after knocking your leftovers into the street."

I analyzed his offer. Despite my wish to flee, another part of me desired to stay in his company. After debating with myself, quickly listing the pros and cons, I settled on an invitation. What harm could it do, right? "My car is on Thirteenth and Irving if you want to walk me to it."

His smile widened. "I'd love to."

The idea of foraging for books at Powell's was now replaced with intense fascination with Vince, and the incident, while sobering, was also exhilarating. We strolled beside each other, and I had to fight my feet that challenged every step I took, trying to shift into speed-walker mode.

Vince broke the brief wave of silence. "So where was the mac and cheese from?" His voice was smooth once again, with a seductive silky quality, if that were possible for a man.

I pointed at Henry's as we passed the restaurant, turning up Twelfth Avenue. "I had a date." The words slipped out before any filter intercepted them.

"Oh?" He raised his eyebrows. "And how come he's not walking you to your car?" His straightforward manner attracted me even more, showing the confidence I was now searching for, since it had chosen to abandon me at such a crucial time.

My cheeks went crimson. "Bad date," I said, attempting to match his frank tone.

"Sorry to hear that."

"Sorry my friend hit your car," I blurted, directing the conversation onto a new topic. "She has a problem with road rage."

"It was barely anything," he said. "Mary Jane is just fine."

"Mary Jane?"

"That's what I call my Mustang, after Mary Jane Watson from Spider-Man." He laughed to himself. "You could say I'm a bit of a comic book enthusiast. Not sure if you noticed, but she's painted like Spider-Man's costume."

"I was having trouble seeing that day," I admitted. I hitched onto the better subject. "I name my cars, too."

"Like?" He cocked his head at me, interested.

"I have Eddie right now," I told him. "He's an Escort. I always use alliteration with the names. Before Eddie, I had Carrie the Corolla, but she died a few months after I got her. Before that, I had Gary the Golf, my first car. He was stolen when I was in high school down in Oregon City."

"Oh, when was that?" he asked, nonchalantly, as if he weren't asking get-to-know-you questions.

"Two thousand eleven," I answered, my nerves still frantic. "My senior year." The urge to kiss him had increased over the passing minutes as we headed for Irving Street. Conflicted, my brain hadn't stopped debating whether my decision was a good one.

"Really?" He sounded utterly surprised. "Only a year after I graduated . . . I would've pegged you for a few years younger."

"Thanks," I said, accepting the compliment. At least I thought it was a compliment. "So, what's the book about that had you so enthralled?" My words were coming easier now, my mind turning around despite the hard throb of my heart.

"This?" He raised the book. "It's just a writer I've been following for a while. I read the book when it was self-published and now it's been picked up by Orbit, so I'm reading the new editions to catch the nuances. But to answer your question, it's about thieves and love and power . . . with a lot of killing." I flinched a little. "Not your cup of tea, I take it."

"Not really, no," I said. "I'm a sucker for historical romances."

He waved his hand left at the street sign. "I like the honesty. I haven't read any, myself—though I've read a few contemporary romances."

I couldn't believe we'd walked seven blocks already. Conflicted, I didn't want the conversation to end, and at the same time, I couldn't get away fast enough. "Did you enjoy them?"

"A few."

"This is me," I said, nodding at the purple escort. We stopped at Eddie's back bumper. One lesson I'd learned from my last two dates was that I no longer wanted to ask men out. No, I was going to leave that up to them. If they really wanted it, they'd make a move, right? Standing in front of Vince, My mind disputed this course of logic, begging me to release the words, "Want to get coffee?" But instead, I kept my lips tight.

"Again, sorry about your leftovers," he said. "I have some work to finish tonight, so I won't keep you. It was good to finally meet after the last two times." He flashed a smile that stole the breath from my lungs.

"It was good to meet you, too," I forced out, awkward, my nerves going berserk. I was afraid my mouth was going to say something unpredictable.

"Hope to see you around the gym," he said, waving.

"You too." My smile had become twitchy, my body shaking. He turned and headed down Thirteenth. The keyhole gave me trouble as I tried unlocking the door. I drew in a deep breath and exhaled, collecting myself. Why did the driver— _Vince Forte_ , I repeated in my head—have such a strong effect on me? It simultaneously scared and thrilled me. Ugh! All my feelings that surrounded the man contradicted each other. Slightly trembling, I started up Eddie and drove in the opposite direction. Even though it was a circuitous route home, I didn't want to chance passing Vince.

I patted myself on the back for not asking him out, though I knew Danielle would have been disappointed. One bad date in a night was sufficient and it was obvious he wasn't as interested in me as I was in him, so it was probably for the best we had gone our separate ways.

The conversation played repeatedly in my head the entire drive home, and I tried desperately hard to remember all that he'd said, scrutinizing every detail. But why? Why was I putting so much effort into understanding the encounter?

The question kept me up most of the night.

THE NEXT MORNING I related the night's events to Danielle and Ashley, neither believing my encounter with Vince. They also found it hard to fathom the nerve of Josh for sending such lame and vulgar texts after an appalling date that ended by splitting the bill. It made for a good laugh for them, but it doused my enthusiasm for going out on another date, especially one produced by an online source. After a gym excursion with Danielle and Ashley—which, in spite of their audible hopes, was Vinceless—I met up with Bridgett and unloaded the story, asking her advice. She told me to wait for an invitation and not to worry over relationships. But then again, this was advice from a woman who was seeking only sex as a result of a failed marriage.

In the end I chose to heed it. Before I crashed for the night, I checked my phone and saw the new message from ThePortlandPirate. He was actually one of the profiles I'd bookmarked for later, a top candidate. He wanted to meet for dinner and a movie, so we set it up for the following Wednesday. It was the first night in a while that I slept decently.

WEDNESDAY BROUGHT MORE PRE-DATE jitters. My heart was preparing for another letdown, and my stomach knotted, making me queasy throughout much of the morning. After work, I went to the gym and braved the second floor alone, secretly hoping to bump into Vince. Only a few people populated the level. The ellipticals were all free, so I chose the one by the window.

Fifteen minutes into my workout, another woman joined me on the machines, taking the one right beside me. The rest were still vacant.

I thought my headphones would dissuade her from conversation, but she turned to me and said, "Hi, I'm Emma." She was taller than me with straight, luminous blond hair and milky-white skin, but she had the same bust, and the same slim, straight body shape as I did. The paleness of her green eyes held my gaze for a second, stunned. They were very unusual and somewhat haunting. She wore a baby-blue racerback tank and supremely short shorts.

I removed my earbuds, though they weren't very loud. "Maci." I stuck out my hand in a trained, reflexive fashion. She gripped it with a soft, delicate touch that bordered on fragile.

"I've seen you around a few times on the weekend, so I thought it'd be nice to introduce myself," she said, starting up the elliptical on its lowest level, which signaled her eagerness to carry on our chat, since she was clearly in shape.

"Yeah, I normally go up to the third floor during the week when I'm alone." I slowed down to match her pace. "My friends like to push me into meeting guys."

She snorted. "Yeah, I know how that is. So, do you do any races? You look like you do."

Her topic change threw me off for a heartbeat, and I wasn't sure if I should be flattered or skeptical. Backhanded compliments plagued the world of women, and she looked like the type to sling double-edged words. "I used to," I answered, wiping my forehead with the towel I brought from home. I hated sweating in public. "But I haven't in a long time. I'm doing the Hood to Coast this August, though, so I thought I'd get in here so I don't look like a total fool out there."

She was nodding in a casual, not-really-listening sort of way. "That's cool. I'm doing Bridge to Brews in April and a few after that. I'm not ready for a commitment like Hood to Coast."

I laughed. "I'm not really either, but my friend talked me into it . . ." An awkward pause settled in and I thought about putting my earbuds back in, but then decided I didn't mind talking. "I've heard the after-party is pretty great."

"Where's that again?" she asked, looking at the TV with a home improvement show on it.

"Seaside."

"Oh, right," she said, nodding as if the information was popping into her brain. "Yeah, I've heard that it's worth doing at least once, but three legs and sleeping in a van—brutal."

I shot her an all-lip grin, not knowing what else to do.

"So, do you have a place to stay?"

"For Hood to Coast?" I asked, for clarification. She nodded. "Um—I'm not sure. I don't think so."

She turned and made eye contact. "Because I have a place in Cannon Beach, and you can stay there for free, if you want."

I scrunched my face, suspicious. "But I just met you." There was no masking my incredulity.

She was beaming, her eyes sparkling under the bright gym lights. "I'm one of those people, I guess. Generous. Or I try to be. And you seem like a nice person, so if you'd like the place for that weekend, it's yours. I rarely go there, anyway."

"That _is_ very generous," I conceded, at a loss for words. "I'll have to talk to my friend who's running the show, but that sounds wonderful . . . thanks—uh, Emma."

"No problem. And you can call me Em," she said in an energetic voice. "Remind me when you're done, and I'll put your number in my phone and call you later with the details."

"Okay, sure." And just like that, it seemed I'd made a new friend. As we talked, something began nagging me, and I realized it was her age. "If you don't mind me asking," I started, pausing in a moment of hesitation. "Well, it's just you look so young—"

"And you want to know how I own a beach house?" She raised her eyebrows. After I shrugged, she continued, "The house belonged to my great aunt, who I was close with all my life until she passed away. My uncles live back East, and she rarely saw my cousins, and I guess she thought I should have it over my parents, so she gave it to me."

I didn't quite know how to respond, so I made an apologetic nod and said, "Sorry about your aunt."

"Don't be. She was old and lonely, and it was her time. Anyway, that's how I ended up with a beach house at twenty-four." So she was a year younger than me. I had placed her at twenty-one. "Have you ever watched the show Dexter?" she asked after a minute or two.

"It's in my Netflix queue, but no, I haven't."

"You should," she said. "It's great. Though I like the books better, it's still worth watching. I'm on the last season and I can't stop thinking about it."

"Well, maybe I'll watch it when I get home."

She nodded vigorously. "Hey," she drew my attention again. "What do you think of him?" She pointed with her eyes at the benches at the front and I noticed Vince lying on his back with two dumbbells over his head.

I went pink, sweating even more. I dabbed my face with the towel.

"Pretty _hot_ , huh?" Emma said, noticing my reaction. "I've been eyeing him for weeks, since the place opened. He's always here with that big guy"—she nodded at Vince's bearded friend—"but I'm pretty sure he's not gay. Ooh, wouldn't you like to lock him in your bedroom for a few hours, right? I'd say he's an eleven."

I had seldom rated men the way I knew men rated women, not just because I found the scale offensive, but also because I never really had anyone to do it with, since Danielle couldn't care less about a man's attractiveness, and she only liked making vulgar sexual comments about men because it goaded my sensitivity on the subject.

I gazed at Vince, my heart pounding, kicked into overdrive as though I'd started sprinting. I didn't want to let on that I agreed with Emma, denying the urges that emerged in his presence. "Being generous, I'd say he's an eight."

"An eight?" she roared. "Seriously? Do you need glasses? He's definitely an objective ten."

I glanced down at the machine's countdown, wondering what time it was, searching for an excuse to leave. "I have to get going," I said, checking my phone. I slipped off the elliptical in a hurry but managed to keep my balance.

She peered down at me. "So soon?"

"Yeah, I didn't realize what time it was." I gathered up my sweater, coat, and scarf from the floor.

"All right, well, hold on—let me get your number." She climbed off of her machine and rummaged through her bag for her phone.

I was about to decline when she retrieved it, so I gave her my number in a rush, making a B-line for the stairs afterward. Unable to elude Vince's vigilance, he nodded and waved at me, starting to jog my way.

"In a hurry," I shrieked, keeping my eyes on the stairs. My breathing didn't start up again until I was outside. Reaching Eddie in the bakery parking lot, I rested against his frame, gasping. I hadn't run so quickly since track, nearly seven years ago. I couldn't for the life of me figure out what made me flee like that, but talking about Vince's body just made my attraction too real, and made those secret urges too palpable.

Letting the heater warm up, I beat the steering wheel with my fists. Then I headed home, scolding myself the entire way.

I SHOOK OFF THE gym, showered, and picked out my outfit for my date with Andre—aka ThePortlandPirate—allowing for plenty of time in case I needed to change. To Danielle's delight, I selected one on my own and stuck with it. A pair of super-tight jeggings made it look like I had a butt to speak of, and the push-up I chose could have fooled me into thinking that I had D-cups. I wore a revealing red blouse in the hopes that tonight I might move on from Ryan, in the bedroom, like all my friends kept pushing for.

Sadly, the night ended as just another disaster for Maci Goodwin . . .

# 6

### WHEN MACI MET DAVID

Running on fewer than four hours of sleep, I forwent the gym and took a nap after work. I lay there for hours until a rap on my door woke me. "Maci, you feeling all right?" Danielle asked, worried. "Bridgett called me and said your date didn't go well. You want to talk about it?"

"No," I groaned. "I don't."

"Can I come in?" she asked.

"No." Even though my door had a lock, we worked off the privacy system, meaning we only entered if the other permitted it, so I never bothered to lock it. Danielle broke that rule, cracking the door, a stream of light blinding my eyes. I squinted at her and the harsh light. "What are you doing? Go away." I tossed a pillow at the door but missed.

"Hey, it's me," she said, opening the door all the way and sitting down on my bed. She peered down at me with concern. "What happened?"

"I'm never fucking dating again," I screamed into my pillow. "Men are such fucking jackasses."

She rubbed my back. "What'd he do?"

"You wouldn't fucking believe it." I sat up, looking at her. "In the middle of making out, the sicko goes and turns on a porno." Her mouth dropped. "He didn't ask me, didn't clue me in on what was happening until _Pirates_ was on the screen—and two women on top of that. So then he turns to me and says, 'You're into girl-on-girl, right?'"

"I told you all usernames have meaning!" she exclaimed.

"That's what you're focusing on?" I shot her a nasty scowl. "Really, Danielle?"

"Sorry, I was just saying." As if realizing her mistake, she waved her hand for me to continue. "So he turns on a porno, and. . .?"

"And?" My face contorted, puzzled. "And I fucking left."

"You just left?"

"Just left. Didn't say a word to him."

"Pornos aren't so bad, you know," she said, with a slight grin.

"You and Ashley watch porn?" I asked, nonplussed. I stared at her for a moment, unsure how to move forward with the news.

"We have, sure. Softcore ones," she answered.

"But they're disgusting and degrading to women," I countered. "How could you sit through it? It's virtually prostitution, Danielle."

"Not every porno is the same, Maci," she defended. "They're not all graphic, hardcore raunch-fests. Some have actual dramatic plots, where the sex is tasteful, and are shot very professionally. I don't know anything about _Pirates_ , but maybe if you'd given it a chance . . ."

My eyes lit up with fire, my lips pursed, and I balled my fists, my nails digging into my palm.

She must have seen my fury. "Granted, he should've asked you, definitely. There, he was a jerk."

"A fucking douchebag."

"Right," she acknowledged, "and you'd every right to walk out on him, but for the future, if you talk about it beforehand, you might want to give it a try."

I was shaking my head. "Don't you feel like you're not enough then? That you're not really turning the other person on?"

"In your situation last night, yeah," she agreed. "That guy definitely has some problems, probably an addiction. Turning it on in the middle of a make-out session—that's weird. But, if you watch it beforehand, it can help get the juices going, you know? There's a reason why sex sells. People want it. Not just lonely, depressed men, either. It can be very arousing in the right context."

"Ugh! I don't want to go through it again. I'm fucking done."

"You can't be _done_ , Maci. What about the hunt for Mr. Right?"

"Mr. Right? Mr. Right doesn't exist," I growled. I lay back down into my pillow. "It was a dream and that dream is dead." I didn't even mention the fact that I saw Vince with another woman at the movie theater seconds before Andre invited me back to his place. Wearing a dazzling blue dress that stopped just below her butt, she showed off her slender legs, her mocha-brown skin practically glowing with perfection. After she'd leaned up and kissed his cheek was when I decided to accept Andre's offer, flushed with anger and surprise. For some reason, out of all that had happened last night, seeing that kiss stung the most.

"Hey, come on. It's not as bad as you think," she said, rubbing my back again. "I'll invite Ashley and Bridgett over, and when you're done with this pity party, we'll have some ice cream and watch _Forgetting Sarah Marshall_. That'll cheer you up, I know it."

She gave me a few reassuring pats, then left me in the dark, as I indulged in self-pity.

"SO, YOU'RE JUST GOING to ignore all the messages you get?" Bridgett asked a week later as we sat in the office.

"Yep," I replied, leaning back in my chair. Work had absorbed me all week, and I did little else, except fill out crosswords while drinking Split Shot Espresso Milk Stout with Colby-Jack warming my lap.

"Why don't you just delete your profile?" She cocked an eye at me. "Doesn't that make more sense?"

I was staring at the cat's eye marble on my desk. "You've got a point." I straightened, pulled out the keyboard, and brought up my NorthwestMingle profile. My inbox blinked at me, saying _Hey! Click here, you have twenty-seven unread messages_. I navigated to the first deletion point.

"You're really going to do it? Give up?"

Her shocked tone gave me pause. "What if I am?"

"That doesn't sound like you, Maci," she said. "You're a go-getter, not a quitter. You're the one who convinced me to start up this place with all that I had. You're the one who wouldn't let me drop out of OCI. You've always been the aggressive, doesn't-take-any-shit-from-anyone personality, but lately, I don't know, you . . ."

"Yeah?"

"Well . . . you just seem like you've lost your confidence, and it hurts to see you like this because you're so spirited, so strong, and young. Too young to be giving up on relationships."

"I keep trying, Bridgett, but they keep knocking me down. You can only take so much."

"Hey, I know that better than anyone," she said, walking over to me and sitting on the edge of my desk with only half her butt. "After Jake left, I felt like it was all over. And you'll probably be knocked down a dozen more times, but in the end, I think you'll find Mr. Right just like you've always talked about. You just gotta keep getting back up. I mean, I really don't see you as an old, lonely grouch, do you?"

I took a moment and reflected on her question. The wave of bad dates had taken their toll on me, but she was right, I believed in love too much to let the ideal slip through my fingers. "No, I don't, but it's starting to look like my future," I said, half-joking.

She glared at me, but it quickly changed into a silly smile. "Give the online dating one more shot, please, for me."

Her big, begging eyes prevailed. "Fine. One more, but I'm telling you, after that, I'm done."

"One more may be all you need," she replied. She scooted off my desk and took over my keyboard and mouse. "Let's take a look at your pursuers." Clicking on the inbox icon, she scrolled through the list of messages. "This one sounds good." She opened up a message from Sir-Do-A-Lot. His profile flabbergasted me so much that I concluded there was no way he was real.

I regained mouse control and browsed for myself. "I was thinking something more like this. I clicked on HereForYou. His faultless profile promised a high compatibility.

"Sure, he looks nice, but can he get the job done like Sir-Do-A-Lot?" she laughed. "You still have that goal, don't you? To have an orgasm?"

I banged my head against my desk. "Oy."

"Love _and_ orgasms." She patted my back. "Right?"

I ignored her comment. "How should I reply?" I opened up his message and read it a second time.

"Tell him you'll agree only if he'll bone you."

"God, Bridgett!"

She smiled. "And buy you flowers, of course."

I shook my head. "You're just like Danielle, you know that?"

"That's because we're trying to help you," she said, her smile widening. "You gotta break out of your old shell."

"What should I say?" I bore a serious, no-nonsense face. She yielded and helped me write out a response that agreed to meet HereForYou Saturday night for dinner. He was my last shot. If he fell through, I was resigned to throw in the towel.

DAVID, WHO WENT BY HereForYou on NorthwestMingle, lived on the eastside, so we settled on HUB—Hopworks Urban Brewery—for dinner. He was into craft brewing, which meant he was one up on the last three guys. Saturday night arrived and I had frantically gone through my entire closet in search of an outfit. Danielle and Ashley were out, leaving me without any backup opinions. My New Year's resolution was turning into an utter failure. I found my tightest pair of jeans in the dryer and they fit just the way I wanted. I paired them with a green sweater and a patterned scarf.

I drove Eddie down into the lower parking lot and talked myself up in the rearview mirror. I kept repeating, _last chance, last chance_. About six minutes late, I found myself sitting alone at the bar. He wasn't as punctual as the last three, but I didn't dwell on that since I had no room to talk.

Twenty minutes passed. My nerves were amped up from the wait, and I had downed a 7-Grain Stout in an attempt to attenuate them, but to no avail. I guess I didn't like waiting. At thirty minutes, I got up to leave when a slender man walked up to me, and said, "Maci?"

"Uh—yeah, I'm Maci."

"It's me, David," he said, as if I should recognize him.

"Oh, I'm not the best at faces, sorry," I lied. The truth was I hadn't had any food to go with my stout and he was a little fuzzy from the alcohol.

"No worries," he said. "Sorry about my late arrival. My car died and I had to bum a ride from a friend."

His story sounded genuine, and he did make the effort to get here, so I gave him a chance despite my irritation. He was tall, dark, and handsome—and my last chance.

The meal went well, just as it had with Andre, which said little about where the night was heading. Our conversation never lagged, and David was engaging to talk with, even more so than Andre. He wasn't wealthy like Andre, but he possessed a certain charm that intrigued me, and I found it hard to take my eyes off him. He had scorching brown eyes, short styled hair, and a rugged face that pulled me in.

"Would you mind giving me a lift home?" he asked, apologetically.

"Sure," I answered, putting on a seductive smile, hoping he'd catch on. I was ready to move past Ryan, and David had won me over. "My car is down below."

He lived close enough that Eddie's heater never kicked in, which could take twenty-five minutes sometimes. The apartment complex was large with assigned parking, but he directed me to a guest spot. We sat in the cold as Eddie idled. "So, would you like to come in and watch a movie?" he asked, his eyes twinkling under the parking lamps, his voice heady. It was obvious he didn't plan on watching any movie.

I gave him a seductive smile that said I got the cue. "I'd love to."

DREAMING OF VINCE, HIS hands roaming all over my body, I woke with a start, gasping. I scanned the apartment from the couch as a million images from the night before flooded my mind: the awkward fumbling, gross sex talk, and David passing out soon afterwards. Oy, what a night! I checked my phone. 8:23. _Goddammit._ Twenty-three again—why did that number haunt me so? If David was awake, he was being curiously silent. Heading for the bathroom, I glanced inside his room and spotted him sprawled out, ass up, half his sheets hanging off the bed. He probably still had the condom on.

What a disappointment.

It seemed I was destined to never experience the fabled orgasm . . .

I got in and out of the bathroom as fast as possible, finding Eddie in the morning light. I didn't even linger to do a second search for misplaced things. If I'd left something there, it was gone forever, since there was no way in hell I would be returning.

Without a shower, I opted to stay out of sight of the customers for most of the day. The computer system was still in development. I gave up after a dismal hour. I chose to get creative and mix it up in the kitchen, producing limited specials for the day. The variation proved a great distraction.

Bridgett found my story stupendously entertaining and bizarre. "So, let me get this right," she said, sitting in her office chair after four, our closing time. "He wanted you to call him his dirty little girl while doing it?"

"Yes, his dirty _little_ girl," I replied, rolling the gym marble from hand to hand across my desk. "Weird, right?"

"Not necessarily." She leaned back and kicked up her feet so that they rested on her desk. "Dirty talk can be very arousing."

"He wanted me to be his _little_ girl," I emphasized again. "'Little,' as in he's a pedophile and wants little girls." I shivered at the thought. "Not 'dirty girl,' not 'his nasty girl,' or any variation like that, but his 'dirty _little_ girl.'"

"Well, when you say it like that, sure, it sounds pretty bad." She shifted her weight, switching her feet around. "But maybe that's not what he meant."

"It doesn't matter," I snapped. "It was a turnoff."

"But you slept there," she remarked.

"He doesn't know that," I said. "I was too tired and too intoxicated to drive home. The night couldn't have gotten worse."

She chuckled, finding the tale too humorous. "Well, I'm sorry it didn't work out. Does that mean you're done with the pursuit of Mr. Right?"

"It means I'm taking an indefinite break, yeah."

"Do you want to get drinks?"

"What, now?" I glanced at the wall clock. It was only a quarter past four.

"No, silly, not now. In an hour or so? I've gotta go home and change, and by the looks of it, so do you."

"Oh I most definitely need to change . . . and shower . . . and completely disinfect myself from the whole nightmare that has been the last few weeks." I stopped the marble and placed it in a special compartment in the main drawer. I didn't understand what my fascination was with the object that nearly broke my neck, but every time I saw and touched it, I felt a peculiar tingle deep inside me. "Anyway, I think I'll pass."

"Oh come on, I could use a wingwoman."

"Don't you have Clara for that?" Clara was Bridgett's older sister, still single, and still as hyper as a four-year-old on a sugar rush.

"No," Bridgett said, shaking her head in grief. "She found a boyfriend last week and is completely smitten. She's saying he's the one."

"Ah, sorry you lost her," I said half-heartedly. "Maybe I'll come out next time."

"I'm going to hold you to that." She rocked herself to her feet. "You going to be here much longer?"

"I don't know," I answered.

"All right, well, lock everything up. I did the upstairs."

"Will do," I said by way of parting. She left me alone in the office, staring out the window. A knock on the doorframe stirred me from my idleness.

"All done, Ms. Goodwin," Marcella said, one of the servers who regularly worked the closing shift. She was only a couple of years younger than I was.

I nodded at her. "Thanks, Marcella. And you don't have to call me Ms. Goodwin," I told her. "You can just call me Maci—it's fine. You can call Ms. Greenfield 'Bridgett,' too. We don't care."

"Okay," she said. "I'll remember that. See ya later." She waved nervously, as if I were some big-shot executive.

I gave her a warm smile. "Have a good night." I went from room to room and turned off the main lights, locked up, then decided to walk over to Powell's to see what Danielle was up to. I had texted her in the early afternoon, but she never replied, which was odd since only rare circumstances kept Danielle from her phone. The walk was cold, the overcast dreary. It reflected my feelings well.

If Danielle worked on Sundays, she usually worked at the Hawthorne branch. I was hoping today wasn't one of those strange schedules. To my luck, she was in the back, at the desk she used when she worked there. "Knock, knock," I said, tapping on the door with my knuckles.

"Maci, hey," she said in an exhausted, strained voice.

"You all right? You look dead." I walked in and sat in a vacant chair.

"Yeah, just tired . . . didn't sleep much last night."

"Why? What happened?"

"Ashley and I got in a stupid fight about how many layers the cake should have." She hung her head. "I know, I know . . ."

"Layers, really?" I grinned at her.

"Don't worry, I've learned my lesson," she muttered. She yawned, a great, powerful yawn. "What about you? How'd your date go?"

I relived the night and the excruciating finale, supplying all the details. "You know what you need?" Danielle started after I finished.

_Oh, God. Another lecture._ I tilted my head, preparing myself. "I'm sure I'm about to find out."

"You need to find out what you like," she advised, "sexually, I mean. You should go browse the Human Sexuality section and find something on women's sexuality and exploration, or something like that."

I sighed and rubbed my face with both hands. "Why is everyone telling me to change my sexuality—gah! It's getting ridiculous."

"All right, don't. It was just a suggestion." She turned her attention back to the papers before her. "You want to get dinner at U-Brew? I should be done in about an hour." It was clear she was also fed up with hearing me complain about her counsel.

"Sure, I'll see you at home," I said, shutting the door as I left. In front of the office, I passed the sign that pointed out the small Human Sexuality section and paused. Maybe she was right. Maybe they were all right. Maybe I needed to open up more, try new things, see what I liked and didn't like, and maybe a book would help with that. It would be private. No one would have to know.

I whirled around and gazed at the titles on the shelf. _For Yourself:_ _The Fulfillment of Female Sexuality_ stood out, along with _Secrets of the Sexually Satisfied Woman_ , and I compared the two with a diligent eye. After heavy consideration, I was leaning toward _Secrets,_ then—

"Maci?" someone said behind me.

Startled, I dropped the books, flushing. I jumped around and saw Vince standing there with his warm brown eyes reading my reaction.

"Oh, sorry," he said, bending down to retrieve the fallen books.

I panicked and shot down to get there first. Our heads clashed as I fought to collect the books. Too late, he was already holding one in his hands as his butt hit the floor. _Oh, God!_ _How can I get out of this alive?_

He groaned from the encounter but launched to his feet before I could gather my senses, offering me a steady hand. I gazed up at him, my cheeks on fire. "You all right?" he asked, pulling me up.

I smiled, but it was faint and uncomfortable. "I'm—yeah, I'm okay. Sorry about your head." I rubbed my stinging forehead where it felt like a bruise was forming.

He ran his long, sexy fingers through his curls and smiled. "Oh, it's nothing." His eyes concentrated on the book for the first time and his cheeks went crimson. "Here's your reading material." His voice turned hoarse and shy.

I practically tore the book from his grip, despite my mother always chiding me as a child to be polite. I thought politeness didn't apply in this circumstance. My face felt like a furnace, and I noticed the first beads of sweat sliding down my unwashed forehead. I quickly wiped them away, acting as if the collision had caused them instead of my embarrassment. "Thanks," I said, my voice cracking.

We stood there, falling into a lethally awkward pause. "So," he said, in an attempt to get the conversation moving again. "How come you had to rush out of the gym the other day?"

"Trouble at work," I lied, not knowing what to make up. Work trouble seemed a real enough answer.

"Ah," he said, sounding as though he could relate. "And where do you work?"

"Just down the street at Friends Bakery and Brunch House. I co-own the place with a friend."

"Oh, I've never been." He shuffled from foot to foot. Was it me or something else causing his nervousness? I couldn't tell . . .

"You should stop by some time," I blurted. _Shit! Why did I just say that?_ Sweat coated my body as if I were in a sauna and I had no towel to pat myself dry.

"I might just do that," he said, showing off his pearly whites. "Hey, did I see you at the Fox Ten Wednesday night?" His words rushed out like they just came to him and he didn't want to forget them.

"Uh—" The question caught me completely off-guard and my mind fumbled for what to say. "Yeah, I thought I saw you," I finally managed, my tongue entangling my words. "I was going to say hi, but you looked busy with your date."

He bent over and retrieved the dropped book he'd been holding before we bumped heads. By the cover, it looked like a fantasy or sci-fi book. "Who, Alma? No, she wasn't my date," he said, defending his availability. "She's just a good friend and colleague."

My heart fluttered at the news. _But why?_ That didn't leave the door open for me, or did it? "Oh, well, I just thought—"

"I mean we dated for a while, but it didn't go anywhere," he added quickly. "She was there for me when I needed someone and it made us pretty tight." Why was he telling me this? "She's great, but we're not a couple. I'm single." He was shooting off each word like a semi-automatic. I hadn't been around a man so nervous in years. His face looked how mine felt: pink and slick with sweat.

My jaw hung open, and I stared at him, perplexed, unsure how to respond. Should I tell him I'm single, too? Was he about to ask me out? My stomach tightened, my throat clenched, and my head swooned a little at the thought. The deep, dark passions aroused from wherever they hid, speeding up my heart rate. I bit my lip, holding back the compulsion to jump on top of him and rip off his clothes.

Before I could reply, the bearded passenger from the car accident arrived from out of thin air, leaning into Vince's ear to whisper some secret. Vince wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his blazer, nodding as his friend spoke. "Okay. Thanks, Terrance." He turned back to me. "I have to go. It was really nice to see you again, Maci. I'll stop by your bakery sometime for a pastry. I hope you have croissants. I absolutely love them."

In shock, I nodded slowly. "Yeah, we make croissants." My saliva had disappeared and left my voice dry and grating.

"Well, I hope to see you soon." He stepped back and put up a hand for a quick, awkward wave, then turned, heading for the checkout counter at the front of the long, narrow store.

Frozen, I couldn't move. My blood was pumping so rapidly that some terrible, abrupt end seemed inevitable. My hands were trembling, so I leaned on the info desk as a precaution in the event that my legs buckled. Dryness assaulted my mouth worse than any cottonmouth I'd experienced during my cross-country years.

I inhaled deeply, collecting my composure. Analyzing his words, I tried to puzzle out if he was into me. He said he'd stop by the bakery sometime. Was he just being polite? That made the most sense after I examined the possibilities. If he were into me, he would have asked me out, right? I eyed Danielle's office door and thought twice about asking for her input, but she was in no mood for discussion, not even one so thrilling.

Then an impulse arose, an urge to catch a glimpse of Vince one last time before he left the store. I tossed one of the female sexuality books on the info desk, figuring they were pretty equal, and rushed for the checkout counter. Like a creepy stalker, I hid behind a bookshelf near the purchase line, watching Vince buy the book. Terrance, Vince's friend, scanned the area while standing at his side.

It was at that moment that I realized: I really wanted him. I wanted Vince like I'd never wanted any other man. It wasn't some mental connection that drew me in. No, it was an urge that originated between my legs. For the first time in my life, it was my crotch doing the thinking. _But I thought only men thought like that?_ I bit my lip and clenched my fists, beating down the notion to approach him and ask him if he wanted to get coffee.

Within a short breath, the transaction was complete and Vince had left the bookstore, leaving me with only the memory of his image. My normal rationality slowly returned. A shiver struck me and I felt creeped out by my own actions. What was I doing hiding behind a bookshelf spying on someone? This wasn't me. Despite that fact, I couldn't deny that I'd enjoyed it in all its brevity.

The adrenaline withdrew and I breathed normally again. I glanced down at the book in my hands and decided to go buy it before I changed my mind. Although the store was fairly busy, the purchase line was rather dead, and I ended up with the same cashier as Vince, with no one between us.

I laid the book down on the counter and smiled at the middle-aged woman. "Hi," I said.

"Good evening," she returned cordially. "Can you believe who was just in here?" she said, a little star-struck.

I shook my head, intrigued. "No, who?" So drawn to Vince, I hadn't even looked at anyone beyond him and his friend, absorbed in the moment.

She pointed to a magazine pinned up behind the counter. "Vince Forte, the billionaire."

I gazed up at the edition of _Wired_ with Vince on the cover, smiling wide with a strange box in his hands. I couldn't believe it. I couldn't believe I'd been talking to a billionaire. A multibillionaire.

But most of all, I couldn't believe I'd just stalked one of the richest people in the United States—and, wanted _more_.

# 7

### TIME FOR MOXIE

I gaped at the magazine cover, stunned.

"Are you okay?" the cashier asked, after a perplexing moment of silence. I couldn't take my eyes off the cover.

"I—yes, yes, I'm fine," I answered.

"It'll be thirteen ninety-five," she said.

"What?"

"The book, the book is thirteen ninety-five," she said, raising her voice.

I looked at the counter and saw _Secrets of the Sexually Satisfied Woman_ and suddenly remembered what I was doing at the counter in the first place. "Right, right. Sorry." I opened my clutch and withdrew my card, but something else snuck out with it. I had forgotten about my stowed panties from the night before, and they got caught between my fingers as I slid out my card. My eyes bulged in terror. I glanced up at the woman and she regarded me with disgust. "Sorry. So sorry."

Pocketing the card and panties, I handed over a twenty, certain that the card touching the panties probably had mortified the woman. She counted out the change and gave me a faint, hesitant smile. "Have a nice night," she said as I sprinted for the door.

Once in Eddie, I sped home, reviewing the bizarre events at the bookstore. I had nearly lost control standing before Vince. _Vince Forte, the billionaire, the same guy who said he'd stop by the bakery for a croissant and walked me to my car_. How had I not put the name to the face before? I had heard it over and over on the news in recent months. _Vince Forte_ _had walked me to my car!_ My mind was running wild, so many different thoughts at once, it was making my head hurt. _We had almost kissed on several occasions!_ But he didn't, and I didn't, and it never happened. _So close!_

When I got home, I jumped into bed and buried my face in my pillow. I finally realized how much, and in what capacity, I wanted Vince, and then to find out that he's exceptionally, insanely rich stunned me through and through, I couldn't do anything but lie there.

"Maci?" I heard Danielle's voice. She sounded close, so I turned and spotted her in the doorway. "You all right?"

I nodded. "I think so."

"What happened?"

I opened my laptop on my bed and navigated to the Wikipedia entry on Vince Forte. "This." I spun the screen around so she could see.

I watched her eyes as they shifted left, right, then left again, reading his brief biography. "Holy shit—that's—that's the guy I hit!" she gasped. "The guy you keep running into! The guy whose arms you fell into! He's _the_ Vince Forte . . . how—?"

"How did we not know?" I finished for her. "Well, who the hell thinks they're going to crash into a billionaire? Who thinks one is randomly going to walk her home?"

"How did you find out?"

We moved to the kitchen, grabbed some ice cream, and I went through the details, second by second, blow by blow. I even showed her my _private_ book that wasn't so private anymore. "Well, I'm glad that you're at least taking some of my advice." She grinned, reading the title. "This is just too bizarre. I hit a fucking billionaire's car."

"And you wanted me to ask him out!" I exploded, the excitement getting to me. "Could you imagine if I had?"

"But he said he'd stop by the bakery?"

"He was just being polite," I said.

"What if he wasn't?" she tossed out. "What if he's into you? You could be dating a billionaire, Maci, a billionaire! I can't believe I hit a fucking billionaire's car." She repeated that statement throughout the night. "I mean, if we examine all the 'accidental' encounters, it seems like maybe he's stalking you. Have you ever thought of that?"

"That's creepy, Danielle, and he's definitely not stalking me. It's just coincidence that we keep running into each other—nothing more."

A knock at the door made my heart jump. "Hello?" Ashley said, coming inside.

"In here," Danielle shouted back.

Ashley walked in and tossed her purse on the kitchen table. "Hi, Maci." She smiled at me, then turned to Danielle. "We need to talk."

"It doesn't matter how many layers," Danielle said before they got into it. "I'm cool with whatever. You need to see this, though." My laptop sat in front of me on the table, and she turned it around, pointing enthusiastically.

Ashley frowned. "You're just going to give in? That's it?"

"That's it," Danielle conceded. "Relationships are give and take, and I'm giving this time."

Ashley folded her arms, unconvinced. "You never give in so easily. Why now?"

"Look." Danielle pointed again at the laptop screen.

Ashley leaned over and read the bio. "Yeah? I've heard of him before. He's a big shot in the energy world, so?"

"That's the guy I hit!" Danielle exclaimed. "The guy who's been chasing after Maci."

"He's not chasing after me," I chimed in.

Ashley still wore her incredulity, her face mocking us. "That's the guy? But—"

"But he's a billionaire?" Danielle filled in for her fiancée. "Yeah, it's unreal, but it's the truth. That's him. That's the guy."

I was nodding as Ashley turned to me. All three of us stayed up late that night, evaluating all of my encounters with Vince Forte, from the car accident to the Powell's female-sexuality-book blunder. They were entirely convinced that he was into me, even attracted to the degree that he couldn't resist faking our chance meetings, which of course he designed and carried out flawlessly.

At one A.M. I said goodnight, knowing I had the next day off and realizing that my subconscious must have planned it this way long ago in its recognition that I'd need a break. Enervated from the night before and my lack of sleep—plus the toll of the day and the lengthy symposium centered on Vince—I could barely keep my eyes open when my head hit the pillow. I immediately conked out.

DANIELLE AND ASHLEY WERE eating breakfast by the time I got out of bed. They'd made up as if nothing had happened, each confessing that it wasn't actually the cake layers they were mad about, but the stress of the impending wedding and all the details required to pull it off.

"You want to hit the gym this morning?" Danielle asked as I dumped out the old coffee from Saturday. "Ashley's coming."

Well rested, my body was loose and ready to get back on the elliptical. "Yeah, after a few cups."

"Okay, but we have to go fast. We both have to be at work by nine."

I nodded. I had taken a quick shower last night after dinner, but I still felt the grime from David's apartment and decided to take another before the gym, even though I'd probably take one after, too.

"You know Vince owns Ripped City Fitness," I said, as Danielle drove, on our way to the gym.

"Was that in his bio? I didn't read it all," Danielle admitted.

"It's amazing that he held you in his arms," Ashley said before I could reply. "Maci's white knight."

"You mean Mr. Right," Danielle joked.

"Oh, that's right," Ashley laughed. "Maybe he'll be there today for round two."

"I'm glad you guys are together," I said, staring out the back window. "You two make the perfect couple."

Danielle grabbed Ashley's hand and brought it to her lips for a soft kiss. "Don't be jealous now." She pulled into the underground parking garage, scanned her pass, and the security arm shot up and let us through. The spaces were slim, but it was mostly empty, so it didn't matter. "Third floor, Maci?"

"If we go to the third, how will she bump into Mr. Right again?" Ashley asked with a playful grin. "I'm fine with a few men staring at me if it means true love for you." Her sarcastic tone scratched at my morning-sensitive nerves.

"Ha ha," I said. "Maybe you should quit the business world and break into the comedy scene."

She patted my shoulder. "I mean it, I'll take the sacrifice."

"So, second floor?" Danielle asked, walking up the stairs.

"You guys will never let up if I say no." I rolled up the towel I brought and whipped them both.

"True enough," Ashley agreed. "We might continue with the material just for the hell of it, though."

Deserted, the second floor was ours for about ten minutes before people started shuffling in. They were mostly men on the treadmills and free-weight benches. Even in the back, I could feel the eyes on us, the floor-to-ceiling mirror eliminating the obstacle of facing us to get a view. One man gawked the entire thirty minutes he worked out, but for some odd reason, Danielle and Ashley really didn't mind, maybe because there was no interest the other way, or maybe because they were just more comfortable with their bodies. They laughed and made jokes about him and all the rest, throwing in fake, sexual taunts that were impossible to hear at such a distance with all the noise of the cardio machines.

"I can't believe it," Danielle said abruptly. "Look at her." She pointed to a woman hopping onto a stationary bike. "She's only wearing a sports bra."

I spotted the black and red racerback bra with an oval of bare skin toward her midback.

"Lots of people wear them as tops," Ashley remarked.

"No they don't," Danielle snapped. "Only dumb sluts do."

"Well, frankly, I'd like to see more women as comfortable with their bodies." Ashley raised her eyebrows in a mischievous manner. "I mean, good for her."

Danielle shook her head. "You're only saying that because she's hot." I could see her temper flaring. She wasn't the super-jealous type, but she didn't like it when Ashley pointed out other good-looking women, especially since her fiancée had such a wandering eye.

"Ladies, please," I broke in. "We're in public. Let's try and keep it civil." Just as my words parted my mouth, Vince came strolling in with Terrance at his side, heading for an open bench.

My heart leapt at the sight.

"Ooh, Maci, look who's here," Ashley said without delay. "Calling Mr. Right to Maci's vag."

"Ashley!" I growled. "Shut up. God! What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Oh, calm down," Danielle defended. "Loosen up, will ya?"

Ashley was dying of laughter, an evil glint in her eye. "Oops, sorry. I know you don't like that word. How about 'pussy,' is that better?"

My face turned so red, I could see the contrast in the mirror clear across the room.

"Ashley," Danielle scolded in a phony tone. "You know we're not supposed to talk about pee-pees and vajayjays in front of Maci."

"You two are so juvenile sometimes," I said, with a crisp, hard voice. I slowed the machine, my thoughts turning to flight. Before I knew Vince was a billionaire, it was nerve-racking enough, now it was ten times worse.

"Maci, we're just joking," Danielle said, looking over at me. "Stop. Ah, come on, don't leave." She put out her arm as I got off. She jumped down and blocked my exit. "Sorry. We're sorry. We'll stop."

Ashley was still laughing, trying hard to suppress them as they broke through.

"Stay—we still have twenty minutes left," Danielle begged.

She didn't realize that it wasn't her taunting, as much as it was Vince's presence, that made me want to leave. I could rarely say no to those big, brown, puppy-dog eyes of hers. "Fine," I said, "but cut it out. I don't want to hear any more about Mr. Right or Mr. Billionaire, all right?"

"Sure, you got it. We're done." She turned to Ashley. "Right?"

"Right."

"Good." I hopped back onto the elliptical. Danielle waited for me to get moving before she followed suit.

"But why not?" Ashley asked a breath later.

I eyed her with Danielle between us. "Why not what?"

"Why not you?" she said. "You should take a page out of the Russell Wilson handbook and think about it."

"Who?"

"The quarterback for the Seahawks," she answered. "Remember from the Super Bowl? His dad always said, 'why not you?' and the Seahawks turned it into 'why not us?' to get them motivated. So, why can't it be you? You're definitely in his league looks-wise—really, above him, but you see what I'm saying?"

The thought had crossed my mind. _Why not me?_ He had to date someone, didn't he? But I couldn't see me at his side in any scenario. They all seemed so fake and fantasy-based, grounded by the monetary gap between us. "Because." I paused.

They both stared at me, waiting. "Yeah?" Danielle prompted.

I shrugged. "What would I do, just go up and ask him out? Like he's just some regular person? You two are insane."

"Why not?" Ashley said. "You want to prove you're not shy around guys: ask out a billionaire. Show your business tenacity—your moxie."

"You've got lots of it, we both know it," Danielle added.

My heartbeat was starting to climb again, strangely encouraged by their words. It would be something to just go up and do. Ask out a billionaire. I mean, I could do it, but the rejection . . . yet, if I already knew it was coming, what was the big deal, right? _Because you'd look like a fool_ , a voice inside me said. _You'd probably fall into his arms again and have to face the humiliation in front of all these people._ That thought terrified me.

But I did want to prove that I wasn't as timid as they judged me to be. "So, what would I say?"

"Well, he's wearing a Blazers shirt, so we know he's into basketball," Ashley noted. "You could ask him out to Migration Brewing; they have happy-hour pitchers during all Blazers games."

"I don't think he's worried about the cost of a pitcher," I laughed, unable to believe that I was entertaining the idea at all. "We couldn't go somewhere so relaxed. It's too average."

"After everything you've said about him"—Ashley took a quick drink—"he doesn't really seem like the tux-and-ballroom type. You've described him as nerdy and laidback, until he gets awkward. He might like it if you asked him to a regular place like Migration."

"It's a good idea," Danielle reinforced. She opened her mouth to say something when she whipped her head around, apparently glimpsing something at the front, her jaw hanging loose. "I don't believe it."

The dirty-blond, bra-only wonder had moved aside a bench and was stretching in her short white spandex shorts directly in view of Vince, bending at the waist. I noticed then that she was wearing a plunge sports bra that displayed both her girls. Vince's eyes were glued to her cleavage.

"Well, now we definitely know he's not gay," Danielle observed. I'd never had the feeling he was, but there was little sense in arguing with her about the subject. "I think someone is trying to steal your man." Her irritation with the woman was palpable.

"He's not my man," I pointed out.

"Still . . ." Her lips curled up, and her eyes were practically lasers. "Hey, I have an idea—I'll go up there and distract the floozy while you ask out Vince. How's that sound?"

"Sounds terrible," I said.

"Yeah, what?" Ashley gave her a severe glare.

"Danielle stopped her machine and threw up her arms to the side of mine to get me to slow down. "Sometimes, Maci, you just have to take the plunge."

Her words forced out a grin in me. That was the advice I'd said to her before she proposed to Ashley. She was madly in love with her but afraid of commitment. Now she was the happiest I'd ever seen her. I swung my leg off the footpad and wiped the sweat away with my towel. "Okay," I said softly. I drew in a big breath and exhaled, controlled. "I'll take the plunge."

She smiled back. "Moxie."

"Moxie," I repeated. My jumpy nerves proved hard to steel, and my tongue felt too big for my mouth, choking me.

Danielle turned to Ashley. "Let's see how comfortable you are with this." She grabbed my hand and tugged me between the ellipticals and treadmills, up to the row of bikes, heading left for the aisle. She let go of my hand as we approached.

Blood was pounding in my ear, muting the various gym noises. "Show him what you've got." I heard her encouragement, though dulled. I smiled thinly, all too aware of what I was about to do. _Okay, time to lose the demure attitude_ , I told myself. Although I was wearing a skimpy blue cami, it didn't rival the woman's bra outfit in terms of the skin-to-fabric ratio, and was modest by comparison. She had turned around so that her butt was now the show.

There was enough room that Danielle could stretch beside the woman with a sizable gap between them. She strolled up beside her, her backside facing the woman's eyes, and bent down in a sensual, rather than practical, position to "stretch." Vince's eyes were now drawn to two pairs of cheeks as he rested on the bench. Terrance was beside him pushing dumbbells into the air as if he were punching the ceiling.

I composed myself, getting into my business, brimming-with-confidence mode. "Enjoying the view?" I asked, with a silly smirk that showed a sly playfulness.

Vince whirled his head and jerked back as he spotted me. "I—uh—I was taking a break," he said, his voice cracking worse than a thirteen-year-old boy's. "I noticed that exercise ball was flat." He pointed to a giant deflated rubber ball in the corner, on the other side of Danielle, who was putting on a show for Mrs. Huge Boobs. "I thought I should probably have someone get a replacement out." He was caught, but doing a fine job covering it up. Sweat was pouring off him like a showerhead—a showerhead I wanted to stand under. He stood, looking down at me. "So, long time, no see. How are you? Need the bench again?"

I laughed, maybe a little too hard. Nerves. Damn them. "No, I don't need the bench, but that's a good one." The joke stung a little, remembering the idiotic attempt to hide my advance, when all the benches were vacant except his. I continued, unfazed. "I'm doing well, just trying to get in shape, you know. How about you?"

"Yeah, same. Terrance here is a real stickler for proper training, too." He pointed with his chin at his muscular friend, who didn't so much as smile our way, ignoring my presence entirely. "Pretty crazy bumping into you again last night." I could tell his shyness was fishing for something to say.

"Yeah, sorry about your head." I thought about touching his arm, but that seemed too forward. My tongue had swelled so much that it felt like I was talking funny, but Vince's face didn't seem to register a change.

"It was nothing." He rubbed his forehead where a red spot marked our encounter. "We do seem destined to keep running into each other, don't you think? We've had what, three collisions?"

I laughed, my heart leaping at the sound of his voice. The urge to kiss him returned, fiery and unstoppable. "So, uh, Vince . . ." _Would you like to go out to dinner?_ I repeated a million times in my head, about to hurl them at his ears.

"Hey, if you're not doing anything tonight, would you like to go to a Blazers game with me?" he asked, throwing off my whole prepared speech. "I have an extra ticket, and I'd really like it if you joined me."

Staggered, the question made my knees buckle. _Stop staring at him and say something!_ the little voice inside me screamed. "Basketball?" was all I could manage, in a small, mousy voice.

"I mean, if you're not into it, that's cool," he said, and I could see where the conversation was going.

"I'd love to," I blurted. "I'm a big, big fan of the Blazers. Love basketball." I'd never been so thrilled about a sporting event in my life; my body was afire with excitement.

"Really?" he said, skeptical.

"Oh, yeah." I felt like a fool for saying it, knowing the truth would come out later, but I had to get closer, had to take the opportunity. "Well, more college," I lied. "Go Ducks!" Hopefully that would distract him from asking too many questions about the NBA, of which I knew very little indeed.

"Well, that's, uh—that's cool." He cleared his throat. "To be honest, I only watch March Madness, and that's about it as far as college games go . . . The game's at seven, so I'll pick you up around six?"

"Sure, that sounds great," I said smoothly, checking my enthusiasm. I didn't want to come off as a giddy high school girl.

"You live with Danielle, right?"

I nodded.

"All right, then I have your address from the insurance information." Terrance was waiting by the stairs, glaring at us, his eyes searing. "I better get going. I'm running a bit behind today. I'll see you at six." He wiped down the bench he used with a personal rag towel and spray bottle.

"Six sharp," I said, nervous laughter breaking through my professional barrier. He laughed, and I could see the eagerness in his eyes before he turned and left. Did mine possess the same obvious desire?

Danielle was already back at the ellipticals when I turned around, the bra-only woman forgotten. Grabbing my arm and pulling me in for a congratulatory hug, she squealed, "So, tell us exactly what happened."

I supplied them with the particulars and, as I told them the story, my stomach grew more and more nervous for the coming evening. I had never been so attracted, so sexually intrigued by a man before, and the thought of us together tensed my muscles into knots.

Whatever the future held, I was about to go on a date with a billionaire, and I was determined to make the night a memory he wouldn't soon forget.

# 8

### THE FIRST OF MANY?

Vince arrived fifteen minutes early. A knock at the door sent a wicked jolt to my heart. I spied through the peephole, and then abruptly opened the door, smiling so wide, it hurt. I found it extremely difficult to contain my excitement. Vince stood there, alone, wearing a red jersey that read "PORTLAND" across the front with a little "0" underneath it. Over this, draped a snug custom-made black blazer with "RIP CITY" embroidered on the chest in white and red. He even wore a pair of custom Blazer basketball shoes.

Seeing all the Blazers gear reminded me of the first bad date with BlazersFan88, and my heart sank at the thought, hoping that the night didn't go the same route. I scanned the vicinity for his partner but saw no one. "What, no bodyguard?" I asked, joking.

"He's over there." He pointed to a man parked on a motorcycle, reading a book.

"Oh, right . . ." Suddenly my joke didn't seem so humorous. "Is that Terrance?" I asked, noticing the beard dangling underneath the helmet.

"Yes," Vince answered quickly. "He's my prime bodyguard and sometimes driver."

"You have more than one?"

"I have a few," he said. He clapped his hands, animated. "So, are you ready for tonight?"

"Uh—actually—no, sorry. Could you give me a minute?" I had spent over an hour on my hair, only to give up and let it down as it was, with small ringlets and my bangs flowing to the left. Even with Danielle and Ashley's help, putting together an outfit that would leave an everlasting impression on him was no easy task, probably taking just as long as my hair. The only problem was that I hadn't put it on yet, afraid to ruin it.

"Yeah, no problem," he said. "Can I come in?"

"Oh, right." I stepped back and waved my hand for him to enter. "I'll just be a sec." I scurried off to my bedroom and threw off my clothes, changing underwear. I swapped into my favorite push-up, grabbed the ivory sweater dress off the bed, and slipped the plush knit over my head. The deep scoop neck accentuated my bustline and revealed enough cleavage to make a man sweat with excitement—or so I hoped. I forwent any leggings despite the cold and chose to show off some leg, figuring it would be warm enough in the stadium. For the same reason, I also sacrificed my usual scarf, hoping that it challenged Vince's attention to focus on me instead of the game, knowing how easily men could be distracted by a little skin. I paired my brown knee-high boots with the dress and fake pearl earrings.

Colby-Jack hopped onto the bed and kneaded the comforter, desperate for attention. I rubbed his head and scratched behind his right ear, his second favorite spot, and said, "Wish me luck, CJ." He replied with a soft purr.

After adjusting my hair, I rejoined Vince in the living room, where he was talking with Ashley and Danielle. "Again, it wasn't a problem," he said, obviously talking about the fender bender. He turned when their eyes shifted toward me entering from the hall. His eyes landed on me and my skin tingled all over, electrified. "Wow—that's uh . . ." He gulped, staring at my chest. "You look stunning. What is that? I've never seen anything like it."

"It's a sweater dress," I answered, smoothing out the sides to the flare skirt hem.

"They're all over," Danielle said. "You've probably seen them, but didn't notice."

"Because few are rockin' 'em like Maci," Ashley added.

"I would agree with that," Vince said, smiling. "And who's this little guy?" Colby-Jack ran beside me and rubbed Vince's legs. He dropped to the floor and scratched Colby-Jack's neck.

"That's my cat, Colby-Jack," I answered.

"Like the cheese?"

I nodded. "Yeah."

"Clever." He stood up and held up his arm like a gentleman from the movies. "Shall we, my dear?"

I tossed my clutch into one of Danielle's stylish brown leather purses that matched my boots, then grabbed his arm. "I'll see you two later."

"Go Blazers!" Ashley said, throwing out her arm to smack my butt, but Danielle blocked her shot with a quick slap that Vince couldn't see.

"Have fun," Danielle said, shutting the door as we stepped down onto the broken and cracked walkway. He opened the passenger door to his Mustang and closed it when I locked the buckle in place.

"So, this is what a billionaire's car is like," I joked as he sat. I wanted to tranquillize the elephant before it loomed between us on the date.

He started up the engine, which was oddly silent, and when I made a second glance at the controls, I saw that they were all electric, with a green "ON" button. "So, you _do_ know who I am." He entered the street. Behind us I could see Terrance zigzagging back and forth on his motorcycle in a bored manner. "I was beginning to wonder."

"It took me a while," I admitted. "Actually, I probably never would've figured it out. The clerk at Powell's last night pointed you out on the cover of _Wired_."

"Ah." He looked over at me and trapped my eyes. "And?"

"And what?"

"Are you comfortable?"

"I wouldn't have agreed to this date if I wasn't."

He nodded. "Just checking. Most people are very uncomfortable around me when they realize who I am."

My left hand was inching toward the console between us, edging for his thigh. The impulse to kiss him was so strong and wild. It took all I had to arrest the temptation. I clutched the purse in my lap with a vise-like grip. "It is a little intimidating."

"Are you trying to strangle your purse?" he asked, nodding at my hands.

"What? Oh." I relaxed my fingers and loosened my shoulders, placing my arms on the upholstered armrests. "Just trying to wrap my head around what's happening."

"Our date?"

"Yeah, our date."

"Because of the money?"

"Because you seem so normal."

He laughed. "I like normalcy."

I had to do it. I had to know. "Why me?" I asked.

"Because you think I'm normal," he answered. "Few others do. Makes it hard to be normal, you know? When people talk to me, they talk about my money, my company, and all that. But not you—you talked to me about normal stuff, even asked about the book I was reading. Other women just talk to me because they see dollar signs."

I opened my mouth to respond but was cut off.

"And because you're leagues sexier than any woman I've ever met." His voice hitched, clearly nervous putting that out in the air.

I reddened all over. "Are you looking for a dalliance with me?" My heart pounded as the words left my mouth. What did I want him to say? Yes? No? What would I do _if_ he said yes?

"You mean like a one-night stand?"

I nodded, shaking.

"No," he said, "that's not what I'm looking for."

I hadn't even noticed I was holding my breath, but I sighed in relief—a huge, audible sigh.

"Is that what you want from me?"

I smiled at him, my eyes yearning for him, and I could tell he was fighting the same battle. The sense of desire pervaded the small enclosure. _No, I want you more than once_ , a dark little voice whispered in my head. Who was she and where did she come from? "I want to get to know you," I replied. "Every time we meet, I don't feel like you're just talking to me because I'm there, but you're talking to me because you genuinely are interested in what I have to say."

"So you're not here just for my rippling muscles?" he laughed. The nervous tension was evaporating, leaving only the sexual. "I'd like you to get to know me, too, but I really want to dive deeper into the mystery that is Maci Goodwin."

"I'm not sure I'm much of a mystery."

He laughed again. "You are to me. I know almost nothing about you."

"Well, sadly, there's no Wikipedia page on me for you to brush up on my past."

"No, I guess not. I'll just have to do it the old-fashioned 'Q&A' style." He rested his right hand on the gear stick and I wanted to graze his fingers, but instead, I turned my attention to the passing buildings for distraction. Could I be so forward? He wasn't an Andre or a David, and flirtatious touching seemed more complicated, especially since every time I touched him, my body came to life with electricity. His voice broke my thoughts. "But first, tell me what Wikipedia said about me."

"That you were born in Seattle in ninety-one," I said, checking the mirror for the bodyguard. It felt like he was a spy sent to make sure I didn't get too close. "That you went to Stanford for your undergrad, then earned your MS in Mechanical Engineering, also at Stanford, starting up your own company with Alma Perez in two thousand sixteen after you graduated, working in the alternative energy industry . . . Surprisingly, not much. I mean, for someone with your affluence."

"Well, I'm pretty new to the scene. I mean, I'm no Mark Zuckerberg, not yet anyway. He was only twenty-three when he made his first billion." It sounded like he was comparing his success, but it was hard to tell what he meant by the comment. "It's all happened so fast, our first contract coming early last year to really kick us off, then the military voiced their interest in June, and that's where a huge chunk has come from. Of course, international clients are what sent us over the billion-dollar hump and into the major players club."

I crossed my legs and straightened up a bit. "So what exactly is it that Imaginuity Solutions, Inc. does?"

"We make batteries. Big and small."

"Batteries?"

The Moda Center grew as we neared and I couldn't believe that we were almost there. Time melted away just talking with him. "It was our breakthrough in lithium-air technology that started it all. Alma and I set out to design a battery module for electric cars that would last five hundred miles on a single charge, but we ended up creating one that lasted one thousand forty-seven miles on a charge."

"That sounds amazing," I said, blown away despite not understanding everything he said. "How come that's not all over the news?"

"It's being kept a secret, for the most part, with many of our tests guarded by non-disclosure agreements—Ah, which I probably should've had you sign before I told you all that. But you're not going to tell anyone, right? Something about you says I can trust you."

I ran two pinched fingers over my mouth, zipping them up. "Sealed."

He smiled. "Sweet." The streets around the Moda Center were packed—the sidewalks too. Vince pulled into one of the parking garages and showed a special pass to a guy directing traffic at the entrance. We parked in a space designated with Vince's name. Terrance pulled into the space next to us.

"Come here often?" I asked, not entirely surprised since he had an expensive jacket embroidered to show off his team spirit.

"Every game I can. Stay there for a second." He got out and walked around the car, opening my door. "My lady." He offered me his hand.

I accepted it with a smile. "Such manners."

"I was always told that if you were nice to girls, they would kiss you when the night was over."

"So much effort for a kiss."

"I think the reward will be greater than the effort." Our fingers mingled, finding their place as they interlocked. My skin burned at the touch, and I felt alive, my veins pulsing like they never had before. He led the way to the entrance, passes in hand. Terrance trailed not far behind us. He didn't look much like a bodyguard, dressed in jeans and a Blazers T-shirt instead of a black suit that my brain pinned as the usual bodyguard image. He was more like a stalker than anything, doing none of the things men in his position did on TV.

To my surprise, after we rushed through clearance, we remained on the first level, heading into the arena. "We're not sitting in some fancy box?" I asked, surveying the immensity of the arena and all the seats, rows upon rows, layers upon layers, climbing so high, I had to crane my neck to the point that it seemed like I was looking straight up.

"Basketball is a different sport than football," he said, weaving through a group of people. We entered the second row, where the seats were all black instead of red like they were for most of the arena, and we sat in the very middle, on the opposite side of where the players sat. "I like to be as close to the action as possible. Those suites don't have the atmosphere that you can feel down here." His eyes were bright and excited—excited to be sharing something about himself with me, and I could tell he really had a passion for the game.

I situated myself, folding Danielle's coat over the cushiony seat. "Did you ever play?"

"A little, when I was a kid, but nothing serious, you know?" He looked at me and our eyes locked. "How about you, did you play any sports?"

"I ran in high school."

"Really? Makes sense with a body like yours."

I studied the seats, searching for Terrance, and found the bodyguard a few rows behind us in the nicer red seating just behind the fancy black seats. "I was pretty good, too. I could've run in college if I had chosen a smaller school than U of O, but that's where Danielle was going, so that's where I went because I didn't want to be alone."

Vince didn't look like he really understood my reasoning, but nodded anyway. "Is that where you found your love of baking? Does U of O have a prestigious culinary major?"

I laughed. "Not that I'm aware of. I majored in sociology, with the intent of entering the social work field. I discovered my love for cooking and baking my junior year at U of O when I started working part-time at a bakery down in Eugene."

"So did you drop out then?" He had flawlessly gone into Q&A mode, and even though they were standard get-to-know-you questions, he asked them with a singular subtlety that put my nerves at ease. Our other conversations had been so awkward it was hard to fathom how we had lost the nervous tension so quickly into our brief relationship.

"No. I graduated." I crossed my legs and leaned closer to him, using the armrest between us. "I even got a job as a case manager in an outreach program for homeless kids involved in gangs, which you might think you need a Master's degree for, but you don't. Anyway, after a few months I couldn't take it anymore, so I quit, and that's when Danielle conjured up the idea of culinary school. We had moved into the place we live now after U of O, and I didn't want to move away, so I looked into OCI downtown, applied, got accepted, took out some more loans, and there you go."

"And there you go," he said. He caressed my hand with gentle strokes, playful. "Except you left out how you ended up with your own business at twenty-five. When Alma and I started Imaginuity Solutions, we were a business in name only, until we got lucky. You must've gotten pretty lucky too, I take it."

My eyes broke the strong connection that had my head swimming. I hung my head, grief still in my heart. "Not luck," I said, a lump in my throat. "My Grandma died in September." I barely got the words out. "She left me and my brother some money, enough for me and Bridgett to start up Friends together, after we got our loans approved."

He stopped playing with my hand and straightened a little. "Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. You were close, I take it?"

I nodded, holding back the tears from the relatively fresh wound. "So, tell me about the Blazers," I said, needing a distraction as I breathed out a partially clogged nose.

Vince got the hint. He started pointing to the players that were warming up on the court. "That's Damien Lillard, number zero, or as he says, 'the letter O.'" He indicated one of the smaller players. "He's my favorite player. I think he'll be MVP someday. That really big guy is Jusuf Nurkić, nicknamed the Bosnian Beast. Last year when they traded for him, everyone around here got Nurkić fever, and he's been a favorite ever since."

"Nurkić fever?" I asked.

He retrieved his phone, typed in Nurkić fever song, and played it for me. "He really turned the team around last year, that's why. He was what the Blazers needed to compete."

The lights went off about ten minutes after seven and the announcer shouted off the Blazers starting lineup with enthusiasm. I gathered from the visiting team's purple and yellow jerseys that they were the L.A. Lakers, largely due to the fact that they read "LAKERS" on the front, but also because of Vince. I never even opened the night's program since he told me everything pertinent to the game.

The first quarter started off with the Lakers pulling ahead with several Blazers turnovers, but then Portland started climbing back in the second. The crowd, including Vince, went crazy when Nurkić dunked the ball hard around halfway through the quarter. The arena did seem upset about being down, and Vince explained that the Lakers were toward the bottom of the ladder this year while Portland was doing well and ranked near the top, thus they shouldn't have been losing.

"So are you enjoying the game?" Vince asked at halftime.

"I can see why Ashley watches it," I said, sliding my bangs out of my eyes. "It is pretty fun."

"Then maybe you'll join me again sometime?"

"I'd like that, yeah."

He smiled and touched my hand. "Do you want anything to eat? The wings are really good at Fire on the Mountain."

I looked down at my ivory dress. "Wings?"

"Hmm, maybe something a little cleaner then," he said, noticing my hesitation. "There's a bunch of stuff. Pyramid Brewery has a big stand here."

I shot to my feet, probably a bit too eagerly. "Lead the way." I went for Danielle's coat.

"You can leave it," Vince said. "Terrance will watch our stuff."

"Right." I had forgotten about his bodyguard. He seemed so normal. I mean, did rich people eat wings? And talking to him was no different than talking with Ashley, or Danielle, or Bridgett, except during our conversations I had a little voice screaming at me to kiss him. Other than that, it was the same: relaxed and fun and easy.

Throughout the night, the sexual tension continued to escalate as we exchanged more background on each other, the Q&A going back and forth. The game also continued with a lot of the same. The Lakers played scrappy while the Blazers tried to come back. They fell into a pattern where they'd close the scoring gap, then would fall behind again by ten or so, only to fight their way back. Hope permeated through the arena with the growing sense that the players in white could win with each comeback. The Blazers tied it up at one-oh-five with a minute to go. They took the lead by one with thirty seconds to go. At seven seconds, the Lakers threw it in and one of them dunked it to bring them back on top.

Everyone was on their feet at this point, though most had been standing since the game was tied, and Vince was watching with coiled apprehension when the Blazers passed the ball to Lillard, their last hope. I'd never heard so many people scream when he made it at the buzzer.

"That was amazing," he rasped. The seats began to clear out faster than I would have thought, the crowd disappointed. "Hey, stay here for a second." He left before I could reply, walking onto the court and across to the other side, striking up a conversation with a familiar-looking man who I couldn't quite place.

Vince returned after a minute, his disappointment as palpable as the crowds. "What was that about?"

"Oh, I just offered Paul Allen, in my opinion, a very generous offer to buy the team." He shook his head. "He turned me down, though. You ready?"

I stood there, shocked. I guess I still hadn't yet comprehended how wealthy he truly was. By his demeanor, it was easy to forget. I began to laugh, and soon I was bending over, holding onto the back of the seat in front of us.

"Did I say something?"

"I think I may have made a mistake."

"What do you mean? I thought you were having fun."

"I did. I mean I am. It's not about that."

"Then what?"

"The income gap between us. I mean, God, you just tried to buy a professional basketball team." I curbed the laughter that was splitting my stomach.

He played with his lip, now nervous. "The money doesn't define me," he claimed. "It's true, I have it and I'm smart with it. But that's not what I'm all about. I really like you, Maci, and you seem to like me too. I think this has a chance of being something, something more than a fling or whatever, you know? Tell me you don't feel that vibe—that connection—whatever you want to call it. Tell me you don't and I'll let it go."

How could I let him go so easily? For weeks he had drilled deeper into my mind and planted the seed of irreversible, implacable attraction that I could not hope to ignore, and had failed to direct my thoughts toward any other man. He was brilliant, warm, thoughtful, so easy to talk to—and rich as hell. How could I get past such a divide? We lived in two different worlds. In mine I bought flour for a bakery and in his he bought sports teams. But I couldn't deny force—the energy that pulled us together—and it was something I had to explore, had to respond to. Nothing in the world had stirred me so. He had awakened something in me and I needed to see what it was.

"Yes, I feel it," I finally answered after a moment of silent debate.

He stepped closer and grabbed my hands. "Then maybe we can just set the money thing aside for a moment and concentrate on this." He waved his hand from his heart to mine.

I could feel the heat rising within. The sensation was building and building as my heart sped up. A desire took control, coming from my crotch. "Would it be too rash if I said we should go back to your place?"

He smiled, staring at me with barely an inch between us, on the threshold of our lips connecting. The anticipation climbed like a rocket through the sky, about to explode at any moment. "It would, but I'm trying this new thing where I follow my impulses to see where they might take me." In an instant, he slid his right hand under my hair to my nape, his left taking hold of my hip and bringing us together. There was a brief pause—and then my lips met his. Stricken by a shudder of pleasure, my mouth opened and his tongue found mine, twirling. They danced a slick and erotic dance that burned my veins with pure felicity.

And I wanted more.

He pulled back and left me paralyzed, the intensity dropping off faster than a bullet traveling to its mark. "My place," he rasped, clearing his throat. We rushed off to the parking garage, my hand in his, my hormones on the edge of taking over completely. I checked them by slowing my breaths, drawing in deep, holding them until they broke free.

I glanced back and spotted Terrance at his usual distance, a look of extreme irritation contorting his face together, narrowing his eyes to the point that they were almost shut. I never gave the look a second thought as Vince opened the door and hurried me inside.

"My condo isn't far," he said, backing up. The ride was still too long. I couldn't contain the urges swelling, raging to break free. The air in the car was charged with attraction, worse than being in an elevator because there was no outlet, only waiting and more waiting. He turned left down NW Twenty-third, crossed Burnside at SW Vista, then took a right down a super narrow street and hooked one last right onto SW Osage, arriving at one of several individual garages for the Envoy. I was surprised that the outside didn't look fancier, but I was betting the inside would be a different story.

Terrance parked in a garage of his own before following us to an elevator. "I think we'll be fine from here, Terrance. Thank you." Vince closed the door on his bodyguard, who only nodded in reply. One of Vince's long, agile fingers pressed the P button, then entered a five-digit code on the keypad, after which the elevator shot upward.

"Does he live with you?" I asked, noticing the intimacy of the elevator.

"No, he lives in a condo below mine."

"Ah, okay. And P stands for. . .?"

"Penthouse."

"Of course."

"I was told to find something like it for public image." He took out his phone and checked the screen. "But now I actually like it. It has an amazing view and it's surprisingly quiet and secluded." After he pocketed his phone, his hand was trembling with anticipation again, and I watched as the key he was holding shook. "Fuck it. I can't wait." Before I could react, he had me pinned against the wall, one hand on my waist, the other awkwardly squeezing my breasts—but that didn't matter. I wanted it there.

Our tongues were wild and wet, swirling in each other's mouths, exploring the arousing sensations each new direction created. I threw my arms around his back and pulled him tighter.

The elevator dinged when we reached the top. By then our breathing was rapid and I lost what little control I'd maintained during the car ride. He started backing up, bringing me with him, until at last we hit the mirrored door to his condo.

Vince stopped for a breath and turned around, fumbling with the key, trying to jam it in. At last it slipped in and the door swung wide. It was a palace with vaulted ceilings, but he didn't take the time for a grand tour, leading me straight to the master bedroom, which was probably larger than my entire apartment. The room was sparsely decorated. The king-sized bed in the center sat before a huge square window that looked out onto the Portland cityscape.

Vince lowered the lighting, letting the city lights shine. I sat on the bed, debating whether I should slip off my dress or leave it on for him to do. He kicked off his shoes, so I unzipped my boots and tossed them. He almost tripped in his excitement getting to the bed. He leaned over and whispered in my ear, "I want you."

I wanted to scream _I want you too_ , but settled for taking off his belt, which prompted him to kiss me. His touch set my world on fire again and again, the temperature climbing like an inferno. I didn't understand how I'd never felt this before. Vince would be my seventh, and yet he was somehow completely different, compelling me in ways I'd only heard Danielle describe.

He stood back and flung his jersey across the room. I saw his bare chest for the first time, and I ran my fingers through his fine black hair that stopped after his nipples, except for a trail that went down to his crotch. The light bathed his flawless abs and I took them in for a moment before feeling how hard they were. I tugged off his pants, leaving him in only his boxers that did little to hold back his erection.

He collapsed and buried his face in my exposed breasts, kissing them until he ran into my bra. "You smell so good," he said. "Like vanilla." I held up my arms and urged him to strip off the sweater dress that was blocking his way. He did. Foreseeing his nervous hands attempting to unhook my bra, I spared us both that moment and did it myself, letting it fall into my lap.

His eyes widened as my breasts were freed. He took one of my nipples clumsily in his mouth and sucked on it, sending a jolt of pleasure throughout my body. He shifted to my left one, and then made a trail of kisses down to my panties as he squeezed them with eagerness.

I jerked down his underwear and watched as his erection bounced with life. Gasping, I was stunned by his length. He was every inch the size that Ryan was, but—unlike my ex—he had so much blood flowing through him, it looked as hard as stone.

I couldn't wait any longer. "I want you inside me," I said, gently pushing his head back and slipping off my panties. He unwrapped a condom and rolled it on his now fully erect penis in a second flat, and I smiled, glad that someone else besides me was mindful of STDs. Falling flat on my back and spreading my legs, I urged him to enter. I couldn't believe his pubic hair: it was as though he'd never cut it in his life, but I ignored it, my eyes glued to his face.

With his right hand, he grabbed his erection at its base while his other hand held my hip. Carefully, he slid inside me.

"Ah," I cried, as a rush of sensation exploded from my crotch to my neck. I wrapped my hands around his chiseled back.

His right hand moved to my thigh, his erection sliding in and out, slowly. His eyes burned mine as he stared down at me, biting his lip. He sped up, bending down for a kiss, until he couldn't hold his weight and stood again, his movement rapid. Despite his wild thrusts, he seemed distant, as if he were somewhere else.

Disregarding his temporary remoteness, I could feel an indescribable sensation of pleasure building, a feeling I'd never known and couldn't recognize. What was it? Was it an orgasm? My thoughts focused on the building while my neck tightened, my blood torrents of fiery joy. I could feel the surge coming until all I heard was Vince screaming in orgasm, pumping like a madman, his control lost as a primal, animalistic drive exploded. He slowed, groaning, then pulled out, holding his base so that the condom stayed on.

It was then that I could feel the momentum slipping away, my orgasm fleeing me right before it burst into a million pieces of pleasure—and just like that, it was gone. I looked over at Vince, whose breaths were ragged and happy. A kind of sadness filled me then, as I realized it wasn't him after all.

Vince wasn't the one to break my curse.

# 9

### MY FIRST SELFIE

Stirring from a dreamless sleep, I woke up in a warm, snuggly bed that I never wanted to leave. The mattress made for the best sleep of my life. I had thought about asking Vince what material it was the night before, but after he had come, it didn't seem so important. Looking over at him, a deep, profound depression set in. I was twenty-five and still had never experienced the mythical orgasm . . . seven guys and seven duds.

Yet, Vince had been different. He had built up some feeling inside of me that I had never known, and our connection was unprecedented—a mutual mental tie that made conversation a breeze. And staring at him then, surrounded by darkness, the craving still lingered, pulling me toward him as if he possessed some gravitational force. I wanted him. I wanted him inside me again.

And that feeling—that delicious, thrilling feeling that had been growing at the base of my skull and vanished the moment Vince had pulled out—I wanted that back. Maybe it could happen, maybe he could still break the curse, and after all, it had only been our first time. I mean, how many things in life were successful on the first go, right? Maybe Danielle's rule didn't apply here. Maybe one chance simply wasn't fair.

I found a notepad on his nightstand and wrote him a quick note, telling him to call me. Gazing at his soft curls, I wanted to run my fingers through his hair, and kiss him goodbye. Instead, I left like a mouse, silent and sneaky.

Since I didn't have Eddie, Vince, the generous man that he was, had agreed the night before to let me borrow one of his cars. After some searching, I found the garage that the key opened, and my jaw dropped when I spotted a prototype car that resembled a Fiat with "EverGO" sprawled across the back. The inside was a dream. The seats were more comfortable than a recliner. I powered it on and was welcomed by a soft, seductive female voice. I backed out and was amazed by its handling, having grown so accustomed to Eddie's poor maneuvering powers.

The roads at 4:40 A.M. were dead, though there was more traffic downtown than down in the Sellwood or Hawthorne areas. The heated seats were a real bonus for the early morning; my butt had never been so happy to be driving to work.

Walking into the bakery, I was greeted by blaring Dropkick Murphys, a favorite of the Bread Guy. I unlocked the office and pulled out the spare clothes I had tucked away in a filing cabinet for an occasion such as this. Changed, I went to the kitchen, nodded at the Bread Guy, started the coffee, and began my daily routine with a grin on my face.

"YOU HAD SEX WITH him?" Danielle shouted, barging into my office around noon, her lunch hour. I had texted her earlier about the events of the night.

I jumped out of my seat. "Whoa, ever heard of knocking?"

"I want to hear everything! Everything, Maci!"

I returned to my chair. "All right, God, relax there."

"I'm just stunned," she said, rolling up Bridgett's chair next to mine. "Did you—did it happen?"

"No," I answered flatly.

She scrunched her face in disbelief. "No?"

"That's what I said."

"Lay it on me, kid," she begged. I went on to tell her about the night. "What about foreplay?" she asked after I'd finished.

"Just kissing, mostly," I answered.

"Just kissing? You mean down there?" She moved her index finger back and forth, pointing at her v-spot.

"No, on the mouth."

She shook her head, and then leaned forward. "But you think you felt something different with him?"

"Oh yeah, never felt that building feeling before." I tapped where my neck met my head. "Right here. Is that—"

"Probably," she said before I finished. "There's more than one place to feel an orgasm, and more than one way, too. My biggest happen in my forehead with a rush of blood that sometimes gives me a headache. Ashley says her best ones come from her clit and reach up her back and neck and out to her fingers and toes. You have to remember that they're not often the same, either, and they vary in so many ways, even duration. Mine are mostly short but successive while Ashley's last longer—minutes even—but it takes way longer to get there."

I couldn't believe we were talking about this. We had never had this kind of conversation before—not once. Not this intimate. Danielle was opening up in a way that made me wish I could reciprocate, but I wasn't sure I could. My reservations were broken when she asked, "What did you do afterward?"

"We cuddled, talking for quite a while, more back-and-forth Q&As. Then he just held me for a long time until I fell asleep. It was the most intimate I've ever been with anyone, Danielle. I couldn't believe how right it all felt."

"Are you supposed to see him again, or are you implementing the no-O rule?" she asked, folding her arms and leaning back.

I shrugged. "I'm on the fence about the no-O rule. I have one of his cars and wrote him a note to call me."

"You wrote him a note? What is this, the eighties?"

"No good?"

"No good. I'll tell you what you should do, you should send him a selfie, spice it up a little. Show him that you were into it."

"A selfie?"

"Yeah, get some lingerie and text him a few pictures, then tonight surprise him by wearing it. It would be hot, trust me." Her eyes showed her enthusiasm for the idea.

"Lingerie? I'm not really a lingerie type of girl," I said, looking at the marble on my desk.

"You said you didn't do stuff with Ryan and that's the reason why he went elsewhere. You said you wanted to break out of the mold, broaden your horizons. Trying this is an easy first step." She paused for a second, smirking. "Tell me: what position did you do it in last night?"

I reddened.

"Oh, Maci, stop being such a goddamn prude. What position?"

"Normal."

"Normal?" she pressed.

"God!" I yelled, standing up. "Missionary, okay? We did it in missionary—boring old missionary. I know, you don't have to say it. I need to expand my horizons or whatever. That's just the way we ended up doing it."

"I wasn't going to criticize, I just wanted to know," she said, her voice small. "I thought we were sharing."

"We _are_ sharing," I said. "I didn't mean to snap like that. I'm just . . . frustrated. I mean, I meet a great guy like Vince and I still . . . ugh!" I paced the room.

"Try my idea. I think it will get you started." She looked at her elegant white gold watch. "Look, I've got to get back to work. You still need a ride home, right?"

"Yeah," I replied, as she walked to the door.

"Okay, I'll be back around five." She cocked her head, playful. "And Maci, give my idea a shot. You've got nothing to lose."

"I'll think about it," I said. After she was gone, I went back to the marble on my desk and rolled it around a few times. An easy step. I could do that. _I'm not a prude_ , I repeated to myself, going back to work at the front counter. A few minutes passed when a welcomed sight appeared.

Vince sauntered up to the display case, Terrance at his side, and the two started discussing the menu. My feet skipped as my heart celebrated his presence. Vince scanned the room and our eyes met, his instantly brightening. He walked over to the side of the counter, forgetting his bodyguard. "You look good covered in flour."

I glanced down at my apron and all the flour dust. Spots the size of my hands covered the protective garment from where I wiped off various ingredients, which was part of the fun of being a baker. "I look good in everything," I said, giving him a flirtatious grin.

"I'd like to test that sometime." His words sent a rush of excitement to my heart. A yawn suddenly struck him. "I can't believe you get up so early."

"Neither can my body," I said, laughing. "It's very resentful of my job."

"My body did too, until I bought that mattress." He fidgeted while he stood, more nervous than before. Maybe he was concerned about his performance last night. "How did you sleep?"

"Great. It was by far the best bed I've ever been on."

That gave him pause for a second. "I'm glad. Maybe I'll have one sent to your apartment." His nervous laughter made it hard to tell if he was joking. I played it like he was. "Listen, I had a great time last night. It was . . . amazing." He scratched his neck, unable to stop shifting. "I stopped by to see if you wanted to get together again, maybe tomorrow night?"

"Um—" I said, pretending to think of my schedule.

"Oh, or some other time," he added quickly, misinterpreting my "um."

"No, tomorrow night works. Oh, before I forget!" I reached into my khaki pockets and retrieved his keys and starter, holding them over the counter.

He took them and, as the keys were exchanged, our hands kissed and a current shot through me. "What did you think of the ride?" he asked.

"It was incredible." I held his hand for a moment, teasing his skin, and he returned the gesture. "I'd never experienced a ride like it." I hoped he caught the innuendo.

"It's the prototype we tested our battery module in," he said, missing my suggestive subtlety. I guess it was too subtle. "Thanks." He held up the keys, and then handed them to Terrance. "Would you like anything?" he asked him.

His bodyguard's lips formed a severe line. It hurt just to look at his clenched muscles. "I'll have a sixteen-ounce cinnamon mocha," Terrance ordered, his voice husky.

"Cinnamon mocha, got it." I turned to Vince. "Anything for you? A croissant, right?"

He smiled. "A croissant, and what's that yerba mate tea?"

I soured my face. "Oh, it's this nasty tea from South America that Danielle loves, so I have it on there for her. It's pronounced mah-tey: there's a little accent over the "e." Anyway, we actually get a lot of people in here who drink it, but I wouldn't recommend it. I make a good pumpkin caramel latte, if you want to try something different. It's one of my favorites."

He smiled a seductive smile, though I don't think it was meant that way. "Sure, sounds great."

"All right, I'll have those out to you in a second." I went to work concocting the drinks. Sliding them across the counter when they were ready, and handing Vince a croissant, I noticed him taking out his wallet and said, "No charge. It's on the house."

"Are you sure? I'd rather support a local business."

I laughed, but saw that he was sincere about it. "No, it's cool."

"Okay, thanks." He raised the cup. "So, I'll call you tomorrow?"

"Looking forward to it." _Looking forward to it? Really? That's all I could come up with?_ I smiled to compensate for my reply. "The car is around back," I added as he waved goodbye.

He nodded before the two disappeared out the door.

I fulfilled a dozen more orders, going over the exchange with Vince, when I found a one-hundred-dollar bill in the tip jar. Was it from Vince? Of course it was; no one else left one-hundred bucks for a tip. What did it mean? Was he trying to buy me over?

I overanalyzed its meaning, like I did everything else in my life.

When Danielle swung by to pick me up, it was 5:30. I told her about the visit and the money. "That's perfect!" she shouted. "Use the hundred to buy the lingerie."

"I don't know," I said. "It feels dirty." I threw up my hand before she contradicted what I meant. "And not dirty in a good way."

"He's wealthy, Maci. If you continue to see him, you'll have to get used to him lavishing you with gifts." She put the car in drive and headed home.

"You make it sound so petty that I don't want to take his money." I played with the Benjamin as she drove. "I prefer to earn my money."

"Yeah, you're stubborn like that," she said, cross. "If Ashley and I were like that, neither of us would ever get anything."

"I think it's a _little_ different when the other person is about a million tiers above your income bracket."

"Maybe, maybe not. Give it to Bridgett then, or one of your employees as a bonus." She glared at me for an instant, disapproval written on her face. "If you didn't want it, why'd you take it?"

"I don't know." Because I liked the thought that it was in Vince's hand, and if I imagined hard enough, it smelled like him, a sweet tropical deodorant. "Will you come with me to pick it out?"

"The lingerie?"

"Yeah."

"Where do you want to go? My favorite place is Spartacus downtown." Her voice lightened, and I could hear her excitement in sharing this part of my life with her for the first time. It had always felt so personal talking about specifics, but also so closed off, isolating. She had fed me way more information than I had about our sex lives, and I don't think she ever understood why—writing it off as a product of my prudish sensibilities. In any case, she was more than ready to join me on this journey. "Or how about Lovers?" she added, as I considered the options.

"I was thinking something more like Victoria's Secret or Fredericks."

"To Lloyd Center then?"

I nodded. "You really think this will heat up the sex?"

She turned up Twelfth Avenue. "Like I said, trust me on this. I may not know guys well, but I know what they want, because really, our tastes don't differ much." She gave me a pretend concupiscent smile. We parked in front of Marshalls, and then roamed around the mall, stopping at a few different stores, until we stumbled on Victoria's Secret.

Danielle picked up a shopping bag. "Plan on trying a lot on?" I asked.

"I need a new bra," she said, circling a display of panties. "A few of mine have started to poke me. I also need new underwear: some thongs, really. But first, let's get you some seductive lingerie—something irresistible."

We browsed the walls and racks of lingerie. "I like this one." I held up a silky purple nightie.

She smirked. "Sweetie, that's sleepwear, not sexwear. You need something like this." She grabbed a black lacy top with red bows. Seeing my frown, she replaced it on the rack. "Or this." She held up a red corset with segmented frills spanning the center from where the cups connected to the garment's bottom. A row of fake buttons ran down the middle of the frills with a big red bow centered at the waist that halved the frill segments.

"Now _that_ I like," I said, taking the lingerie from her and holding it up to my figure. "What do you think?"

"Perfect," she purred. "Go try it on. If it fits, take some pictures."

I inspected the tag. "This one is a 34C. Is there a B?"

She scanned through the rack and pulled out a duplicate. "34B."

We traded and I headed for the fitting room before I realized I'd need matching bottoms. I found a pair of satin panties that looked like they completed the set. As I started off again, Danielle stopped me. "Don't forget these." She handed me a matching pair of lace thigh-highs that would attach to the garters.

"Gee, thanks," I said sarcastically, thinking it was a bit over the top. She only grinned in return. The woman standing at the back took my name and size, wrote it on a card, and pointed out an available room.

"Let me know if you need anything else, hon." I could hear her put the card on the door.

After hanging up the clothing, I stared at the mirror, mentally preparing myself. I had never worn anything so overtly sexy before. Ryan had tried several times to get me to wear lingerie, going so far as to buy me a kinky outfit for my birthday, but it didn't fit right. I stripped off my clothes and put on the panties first, then the main piece, which, oddly enough, fit perfectly, as if it were made for me specifically—which had to be a first.

Scrutinizing the outfit, the lingerie made me feel confident, sexy, even bold. It was amazing. I actually felt _hot._ I grabbed the package of thigh-highs and thought twice about slipping them on in the store. My phone lay hidden in my clutch, and I fumbled to retrieve it, the thought that I was doing something naughty forefront in my mind. I mean, lots of people sent racy lingerie selfies to their lovers, right? Then how come I felt so devious and sneaky? Like I was the only person in the world who had stood in front of a Victoria's Secret mirror holding a camera.

Opening the camera app, I raised my phone to the mirror, watching the live screen, and then snapped a shot. It looked nothing like how I felt. The angle was weird and unflattering. I took several more, all with the same result. Every angle seemed wrong, unnatural. My lips were somehow unconsciously pouty, but not in an attractive way, not in my eyes anyway. I lost track of time in my attempt to get the dream photo. It never came.

I settled on cutting off my head and legs and focusing on my breasts. They were what really shined in the lingerie anyway, and that way it would be more of a teaser, or so I reasoned. I reunited with Danielle in the "pink" section of the store.

"I take it the top fit?"

"What do you mean?"

"You were in there for like twenty minutes," she said, checking her phone. "Everything work out?"

"Yeah, it all fit," I replied, following her as she headed for the checkout line. "Well, I didn't try on the thigh-highs. I'll just buy them."

"Did you get a good pic?"

"I think so. It's just of my boobs."

"A sneak peek."

"Right."

She laughed. "Did you send it?"

"Not yet," I answered, stepping into the short line.

"Ooh, you have to let me help you write the caption." She nearly tossed her bag as she threw up her arms in excitement. "I'm pretty good at writing dirty notes."

"I can imagine," I said, walking up to the counter and laying the outfit down. Swiping my card, we were in and out in a flash, Danielle using all her coupons on a full bag of underwear. "Migration isn't far, you want to go there for dinner?" I asked, climbing into the Crosstrek.

"Only if you say I can help write the message," she negotiated.

I put on my "really?" face and stared at her. Why did she want to be _so_ involved? I contemplated for a moment. "Deal. But nothing too gross. I don't want him to think I'm a perv."

"Or do you?" she joked. "Okay, okay, relax," she added when I glared over at her. "Let's see, nothing too obscene, eh? Hmm . . . Maybe write, 'Turn you on?' below the pic."

"That's it," I said, grinning with surprise. "I thought you said you were good at this." I laughed, digging out my phone and opening up the pictures. I had saved a few but only planned on using the one close-up shot.

"Hey, I'm just warming up, all right? It's a process."

"How about 'Making you hard yet?'" I wrote out the caption to see how well it went.

"Speaking of his hard-ons, how big was it?" Danielle asked, a bit more curious than I would have thought. "I guess it wasn't that impressive, since, well . . ."

"God, Danielle, can't leave anything to the imagination with you." I shook my head. "What if we end up seriously dating? I don't want you blabbing to the entire world about his dong."

"You mean cock," she said with a wry smile.

"Do I?"

"Don't worry, I'll get it out of you one of these days."

"You keep telling yourself that," I said, erasing the stupid line from the phone.

"Does that mean you're not going to tell me?" She made a sad-puppy-dog face with her huge brown eyes.

"When has that face ever worked on me?" I asked, pushing her face away as she leaned over.

"When has it ever _not_ worked?"

"Are you trying to kill us?" I screamed.

She corrected the car, which had swayed over the white line. "Four inches? Five? Six? Seven? Eight? Was it one of those monster dicks—is that why you didn't like it?"

"I'm pretty sure I said the opposite of not liking it," I countered. "I just didn't have an orgasm. Now, can we get back to the message?"

"Sure, I'll find out eventually," she said, confident. "Why don't you just say 'I'm wet.' It's short, simple, and it will definitely turn him on."

I wrote it in. "It's a little dirtier than what I was thinking, but I like it." My finger paused over the send key. "You really think this is a good idea?" I asked, having last-minute doubts.

"Would you just send it already?" she shouted, pulling headfirst into a spot on Glisan.

"Okay, okay." I hit the button. "Sent."

"Great, now let's get something to eat before I die." She practically ran into the building, leaving me far behind.

THE REST OF THE night she pestered me for his length, which I never gave up despite her relentlessness. I had checked my phone every five seconds, looking for a reply, but one never came, and when I finally crashed for the night, worry plagued my mind. What did his silence mean? I conjured up a million answers. Maybe he was really a playboy out on another date, having sex with another woman, duping me just like every other man I'd met. I hoped the reality was that his phone had died and he hadn't seen the text yet. It was about the only answer that didn't twist my stomach.

The first thing I did when I woke the next morning was check my texts, ignoring the alarm. I sighed when I saw there weren't any new ones. What was he trying to do to me? The silence was as torturous as a rejection, if not worse. A small depression set in, the lack of acknowledgement eating at my nerves.

The work day drifted by, agonizingly so. I locked my phone in my desk, too obsessed with it. My irrational compulsion was out of control. At 2:45, well past two hours since last I'd checked, I unlocked everything. My inbox was still shy one new message. I just about ripped out my hair at that point.

I debated about making the trip to the gym for a good twenty minutes, finally deciding just to go and get it over with. No use wasting the membership. Nearly swooning, I struggled up the stairs when I spotted Vince working out on the second floor. Another debate emerged on whether to confront or ignore him. My boiling blood chose the former.

"What the hell?" I spat, speed walking up to him.

He was sitting on one of the benches at an angle, pushing weights into the air. Terrance was beside him, leading Vince in the same exercise. Vince glanced over and rested the weights on the floor. "Maci," he said, standing up.

"You've got some ego," I growled, poking his chest.

Terrance was rushing to his aid a breath later. Vince waved him off. "Ego?"

I poked him again. "Yeah, ego. I send you a picture like that and you don't even have the courtesy to respond."

"I'm sorry. I'm in the process of updating my phone to some special prototype from a company I've invested in. They're using one of our lithium-air batteries." He stepped back to avoid another jab. "I haven't had access to my phone since yesterday morning."

"Since yesterday morning?"

"Yeah," he nodded. "I've only been able to check my emails."

"Oh." My voice broke. "No texts?"

"No texts, honest." He stared at me in confusion. "Was this about tonight? Because I was planning on calling you after my workout."

"Um—kinda." I hesitated to say more with so many people around. "I, uh, sent you a text and was anxious for a reply."

He laughed. "I can see that."

"It had a certain type of pic attached to it," I said, hoping he'd get the hint. By his puzzled expression it was clear he didn't. "When will you get your phone back?"

He turned to his bodyguard. "Terrance, when will my phone be ready?"

"I picked it up before I met you here, sir," he replied. "I'm sorry I didn't say anything. It slipped my mind. It's in the trunk on my motorcycle. Would you like me to retrieve it?"

"NO!" I screamed. They both looked at me, alarmed. "You—you should get it first," I said, almost whispering, overcompensating for the outburst.

"I see. Terrance, your keys please." He held out his hand, waiting.

"Sir?" The bodyguard's voice was deep and scratchy.

"I'd like to get the phone myself."

"Sure." He dug a set of keys out of his pocket and handed them to Vince.

"Would you like to come with me?" Vince asked.

I considered the offer. Would it detract from the sexiness of the selfie if he opened the pic in front of me? It really seemed like it would. "No," I declined. "Why don't you just text me later about tonight? I think I'm going to go out for a run."

He was definitely baffled by my behavior. "Can I walk you to the door?"

I nodded. The short trip to the main exit was a bit uncomfortable, but also relieving that it hadn't been one of those brutal outcomes my mind had concocted. He kissed me shyly on the cheek and waved as I walked down the sidewalk back to Friends.

My phone vibrated halfway home. I opened the text and my eyes nearly popped out of my head in surprise. He had sent a picture of the tip of his penis with the caption "Takeout, my place, 7?" He clearly was even worse at this than I was. I replied with a simple smiley face.

I WORE A PAIR of loose jeans over the thigh-highs, and covered the rest of the lingerie with a sweater and a coat. When I stripped off the outer clothing, I wanted the outcome to go smoother than the selfie had. Parking Eddie in the Envoy's gated parking lot, I zoomed up the elevator, and then took a breath before I knocked on the mirrored door.

Vince opened it in a flash, as though his hand had been resting on the door handle. "Hey, come in." He waved me inside. "Can I take your coat?"

I slipped out of it. "Thanks."

He hung it in the closet around the corner. "I was thinking we'd order from Henry's, so that you could get your mac and cheese leftovers. I can have Terrance pick it up."

I raised an eyebrow. "Your bodyguard does errands for you?"

"If I ask him nice enough and slip him a hundred." He smiled, hoping to get a laugh in return.

I gave him a quick, sharp laugh out my nose. "Right."

"Not funny?"

"Not really," I said. "Can we order an appetizer?"

"Like the buffalo wings?" he asked, directing me through the kitchen to a tablet that lay on a fancy walnut table. "I browsed the menu a bit. The Gorgonzola fries also sound great."

"They both sound really good." I played with the fringe of my sweater. "Um, I don't know. You decide."

He raised his arms with his wrists flipped back. "How about both?"

"You talk with your hands a lot," I observed.

He shrugged. "Is it distracting?"

"No, I do the same thing."

"Sounds like we're made for each other," he laughed. "So both?"

I nodded. "And the mac and cheese for me."

He picked up his new phone, which didn't look too out of the ordinary, and placed the order. "Hold on, I'll send Terrance now." He called his bodyguard and asked in a polite voice for him to pick it up.

"So that's your new phone?" I asked after he hung up with Terrance.

He smiled. "I really enjoyed the picture."

Gazing at that smile, I couldn't hold back the urge to kiss him, so I threw my arms around his neck and stood up on my tiptoes, our lips fusing. A rush of energy flooded my body, my heart leaping. Without a word, I took his hand and led him to the bedroom, pushing him onto the mattress. "Close your eyes." He did as instructed, and I undressed as quickly as I could without falling over, using the pole of his four-post bed for balance. I cursed my clumsiness before I said, "Okay, open them."

His eyes grew when he did. "Wow. Is this—"

"Uh-huh," I finished for him. "The rest of it."

He grabbed me by the hips and pulled me to him, my cleavage in his face. He inhaled a huge whiff. "Did I mention that I like it?"

I wrapped my arms around his head and suffocated him in my breasts. I gasped at how alive I felt when he peeled back the cup and took my nipple in his mouth, his tongue swirling around it, the suction growing as my nipple stiffened. I pushed him back, afraid he'd run out of breath, and he gulped down air, freed from some spell of compulsion.

He ripped off his shirt in a hurry, quickly pulling down his pants and boxers, his erection springing up. I gawked at his bush for a second, amazed and disgusted by its length, but shoved the thought aside as he slid off my panties. I coursed my fingers through his hair and down his neck and watched him shiver. His fingers briefly caressed my v-spot while he kissed me hard. He pulled back and eased me to the bed, his breaths ragged in my ear, laying me flat. He stood, and with the head of his erection, massaged my clit in gentle, erotic circles. Fire coursed through my body, my blood rushing, singing, dancing—alive. So alive. He reached over to the nightstand, and I grasped his hand, preventing him from claiming the condom. "I have an IUD," I rasped. "And I'm clean. You?"

"Clean," he said with assurance, and the trust in his eyes made me believe those words.

"You don't need it then."

He smiled at me. Then, without warning, he grabbed my legs near my hips and plunged inside. I groaned from the pain and pleasure, the filling sensation swooping in, stretching, engulfing. And the feel of his skin inside me seemed to make it all the more intense.

His breath hitched as he looked down at me, his eyes distant, as though he were somewhere else.

I forgave it, the feeling of something building inside of me back, growing, tensing, about to explode. I closed my eyes, my body shaking as he thrust, harder and harder, like a wild jackhammer pounding. The pulse in my throat increased, and I could feel it thumping, my adrenaline surging. The feeling continued to escalate, his thrusts now wild, savage, and I knew at any moment my body would erupt in ecstasy.

His rapid breaths climbed and climbed until he screamed, "AH!" A series of grunts followed, then he stopped deep, deep inside me, and I tried to keep going, but he pinned me down, rendering me immobile. He shuddered as his climax ended. I held still as he pulled out. His eyes returned to normal from the distant glaze they'd possessed, and he rolled over, catching his breath, lying on his back.

"You didn't—" he managed to get out, fighting for breath. He waited a moment before he tried again. "You didn't come."

I turned over, lying on top of his chest, kissing below his neck, buying time as I thought of what to say. What would he want to hear? With all my other boyfriends I had lied and it had never gotten anywhere, so I decided with Vince to give honesty a chance. "No," I said, my breaths already back to normal. "I never have, actually."

"Never?" he said, his voice cracking in shock.

"It's not from lack of trying," I joked, but he didn't find the comment amusing. "I guess I'm not wired to have them." I could feel the sperm swimming their way down and out, so I excused myself and headed for the master bathroom. When I returned, he was sitting, his back propped up against the headboard with pillows buffering the thick wood.

He looked eager to continue from where we'd left off, but then decided against it when his phone rang. Terrance was at the door with our food. Vince dressed and sauntered to the entrance.

I dressed and made my way to the kitchen, electing neither to ask why he seemed so distant during the act, but also not wishing to continue with our previous topic. The mood was mellow and I didn't want to ruin it with serious questions. Vince shut the door and unloaded the food on the giant table, spreading it out. "I'd like to do this again," he said after wolfing down half a dozen Gorgonzola fries.

I hesitated, unsure if I should make a third attempt. I could hear Danielle in the back of my mind, _money won't buy you orgasms_. On the other hand, I really liked spending time with him, more than with anyone before, including Ryan. "Tomorrow night?"

"I can't. I have to work tomorrow night. Friday?"

"Sure, I can do Friday." I scooped up a spoonful of mac and cheese, licking my lips for show.

The rest of the night went as well as the last, though neither of us mentioned what happened in the bedroom. The conversation never paused until I said I had to go home. He frowned at that, puzzled.

"I'll see you Friday?" he said, waiting at the elevator.

I smiled when the elevator dinged, its door withdrawing into darkness. "Friday," I said, stepping inside. I hit the button for the ground floor and the doors slid closed, cutting off Vince's wave.

And that ended another disappointingly orgasm-less night in the ongoing string of letdowns.

# 10

### THE LIST

"Really? A third date?" Danielle stared at me from the kitchen, her hands on her hips in dismay. "After last night, you're still willing to go for a third?" She returned to the stove top, out of view.

"I don't know," I said from the couch, gazing at the ceiling. Colby-Jack was lying on the couch's arm above my head. "We connect so well in all other aspects, and it's not like he's the worst lover I've had . . . It just doesn't make sense to call the relationship a failure and move on."

She popped her head into view. "That's exactly what you need to do. You'll find someone else out there who you'll connect with on _all_ levels, not just most."

"But what if I don't?" My fear of spending a lifetime alone was giving me serious pause.

"You're too beautiful to be single long," she encouraged. "It might take twenty guys, but you'll find what I'm talking about."

"Twenty? I'm not a hooker, Danielle." I sighed, looking at Colby-Jack, listening to his soft wheeze as he slept.

"Sleeping with twenty people doesn't make you a hooker or a whore," she said. "It makes you committed. If Vince doesn't do it for you, then Vince doesn't do it for you. You can't change that. You gave him a chance and it didn't work out. Plus you were overly concerned about him spending money on you. I mean, do you really see the relationship going somewhere?"

I evaluated that question, scrutinizing it from all angles, and it seemed so muddled. Could I see Vince as a father? It was hard to say with his busy lifestyle, but then again, so was mine. Would either of us ever be home? The thought of retiring entered my mind, but it sounded dull and uninspired. I couldn't do it. I needed my business, needed to know that I could bring home the bacon, too. It was in my blood to work for my money—not have it handed to me—and I liked it that way. I liked knowing I was achieving something.

Besides the money, though, there was little else stemming our relationship. I could get by without having orgasms, couldn't I? After all, I'd been doing it for twenty-five years, what was another fifty?

"You didn't answer me," Danielle said, her head reappearing in the doorway.

"I was thinking—jeez."

"And?"

"And I don't know," I said, getting off the couch.

She disappeared again, back to frying. "Well, there's your answer. Dinner's almost done, by the way."

"I don't know if I can eat," I said, my head swirling with confusion.

"Of course you can eat, it's chicken fried rice." I could hear the sizzle over the kitchen fan, and the smell did draw me in, making my mouth water.

My stomach growled, unfed since eleven A.M., and I had done an extended run outside, about six miles. It felt good to be outside and running again, muscle memory returning, my form getting back to what it had been in high school. "Yeah, you're right."

She turned off the stovetop and removed the pan to a trivet, scooping the dish into two deep bowls. "Here ya go." She handed me a steaming bowl. "You know, it's funny, you're the one with the cooking degree, but I'm the one who cooks more at home."

"My degree is in pastries and management," I reminded her. "Plus, that's what I do most of the day. A break is nice sometimes."

"Yeah, I guess," she laughed.

I retrieved two forks from the silverware drawer and handed her one, heading into the living room. Despite having a table, we rarely ate at it, except for breakfast on the weekends when I went into work later. "What do you want to watch?" she asked, scanning through our Netflix queue. "' _Orange is the New Black_?'"

"I kinda already watched the third episode," I admitted, sitting on the couch.

"Without me? You said you'd wait."

"I got bored," I defended, "and it's not like you haven't watched a show without me."

She glared at me. "You'll just have to rewatch it then."

"That's fair," I said, with a mouthful of fried rice. "This is really good. Hot, but really good."

She grinned as she selected the episode. "I'm glad you approve."

"And I promise I won't spoil anything." She only laughed, knowing that I had a bad habit of divulging endings.

"So what about this Vince situation?" she asked after we ate and the show ended.

"You really think I should just end it?"

She nodded. "A clean break."

"Do I have to do it in person?"

"You slept with him, but only went out twice . . . I'd say it could go either way."

I went and got my phone from my bed. "Two dates . . . I think it'd be all right if I only texted him, right?"

"Break-up by text is rough," she said, making a sour face. "You did say he's a nice guy, after all."

"That's why I think over the phone would be so much harder."

"Well, it's up to you."

I stared at his phone number. "I can't do it. I can't call him." I opened up the text screen and wrote out _Hey, I had a lot of fun with you on our last two dates, but I can't make it tomorrow. Sorry. Actually, I don't think we should see each other anymore. Sorry. We are not really in the same place. Sorry. I wish you the best of luck._ "Will you read it? I'm not very good at this." I handed Danielle the phone.

"That's an understatement. You apologize too much, and your writing is so proper for a text," she criticized. "And what's with the last line? It sounds like a rejection letter."

"Isn't it?"

She handed back the phone. "You know what I mean. Anyway, I'd take out at least two of those 'sorry's."

I reread the message and erased the first two "sorry"s. My thumb hovered over the send key. I drew in a deep breath. "Okay, here I go."

Danielle saw my wavering and reached over and tapped the send key. "You're welcome," she said in a superior tone.

My jaw dropped as I stared at the screen, a small part of me wishing I could take it back, but everything moved too fast in the digital age. The message had already reached him before I exhaled.

EITHER VINCE'S PHONE WAS being upgraded again, or he was choosing not to respond to my breakup text, which was probably the most likely scenario. It was hard to gauge his interest in me, and how hard the news would hit him. He might just move on without skipping a beat, but I doubted that.

It actually affected me more than I thought it would. I was barely able to crawl out of bed on Friday morning, depressed and regretful. I wore my most comfortable pants that I could pass off as professional, and a baggy T-shirt, which was well hidden under my apron.

When Danielle arrived home, she found me face down on the couch, one of my favorite spots for reflection. "Pizza?" was all she said.

"Yeah," I answered.

"Pepperoni and olives?"

I rolled over. "Yeah."

"I'll call Ashley, too." She ordered the pizza and invited her fiancée over. "You want to talk about it? Bridgett said you were mopey all day."

"I just think I made a terrible, terrible mistake, Danielle. Vince was a great guy."

"But not Mr. Right," she pointed out.

"Oh, fuck Mr. Right," I growled. "He doesn't exist. Vince does."

"Then call him and say you made a mistake."

"You can't just dump someone and then suddenly change your mind," I said, shaking my head. "Especially since I dumped him by text."

A knock at the door interrupted her reply. She hurried to the peephole. "Holy shit."

"What? Who is it?"

"It's fucking Vince," she whispered, turning to me.

I jumped off the couch. "What?" I whispered back. "Let me see." She scooted over and I spied through, sighting Vince on the other side. "What's he doing here?"

"I don't know?"

He knocked again, louder this time.

"What do we do?"

"Open the door?" she ventured, still keeping her voice at a whisper.

I straightened up, sucked in a big breath, and rested my hand on the doorknob. Danielle sprinted for the kitchen, out of sight but within hearing range. I opened the door. "Vince, what are you doing here?"

"Hey, Maci," he said nervously. "After I got your text last night, I've been going over our relationship, because I thought everything was going well, that we were doing well . . . Anyway, your text shocked me, to say the least. And after going through everything in my mind, because we connected so well, there was only one hiccup that I could detect, and that was the sex. Am I wrong there?"

I gaped at him, frozen, speechless. My brain had stopped communicating with my mouth and it wouldn't form a syllable.

"Are you going to say anything?" he asked after a minute went by in awkward silence.

"You caught me a little off guard," I finally got out. "I wasn't expecting you to just show up."

"I thought it would be best to communicate face-to-face," he said, shifting his weight to his left. "So, am I wrong?"

"I—I—uh—no. No, you weren't wrong."

"So it was the no orgasm thing, right?"

I nodded, too embarrassed to speak.

"Can we talk privately?" he asked. "I can see Danielle peeking from the kitchen."

I twisted back and saw a trace of her eye before she retreated. "Yeah, we can talk in my room." I closed the door after he crossed the threshold, leading him to my room, locking the door behind us. He unslung a black messenger bag, which I hadn't even noticed until now, and laid it on the bed. "Nice bag."

He smiled thinly. "Thanks, I had never liked bags like these before, but Alma got it for me because my backpack was falling apart, and I've gotten used to it. But I didn't come here to talk about my bag." His lips hardened in a straight line, serious. Another long pause stole the air in the room. "So, what was it? My ineptness? Did I go too fast? Was it because I didn't talk dirty, because I can talk dirty, if that's what you want."

"I don't know what it was," I said with honesty. "I've just never had one, and Danielle got it in my head that I need to find someone who can give me—those—and since I didn't with you, I figured I wouldn't, so I sent you that text, but then I regretted sending you the text. UGH!" I sat down on the bed, rubbing my exhausted eyes.

"So, you _do_ think we have a connection? Because I really thought so."

"I love everything about our relationship so far," I said, looking up at him. "Even the sex. I've never felt so close to—to that moment, but it still didn't come." I laughed at the pun.

"So the sex was good, but not good enough?" He was rubbing his forehead, trying to absorb everything.

"It was great," I answered. "But Danielle got me thinking that maybe I should find someone who can make me feel that sexual intensity, you know, at least once in my life."

"Look, I know I have to work on intimacy, and I am—I know I'm a little distant when we do it. I'm working out some problems there from my past. But I think I can give you that _moment_ , if we work on it together. If we learn about each other's bodies—meaning, if you let me learn yours, what turns you on and what doesn't." He grabbed his bag, unlatched the clasps, and brought out a book with an illustration of a woman with blue hair kissing a man with orange hair.

" _Guide to Getting It On_?" I read aloud, as he handed it to me. I flipped through the table of contents and blushed. The compulsion to flee arose, and an image of me bolting out the door flashed in my mind.

Vince slid off his jacket, the space heater I bought working as it should, making it nice and toasty in my room. "It's an older edition that I found at Powell's, but I think this book will help both of us connect in that department. I've already read some parts of it, and I think it can give us some perspective. Like, did you know that only about one-third of women have orgasms from intercourse. Do you have orgasms when you masturbate or from oral sex?"

All the blood drained from my head. The question slapped me in the face, and a dizzy spell suddenly attacked me, making me wobble on the bed. I leapt off the mattress and headed for the door. "I—I—"

Vince reacted, putting his arm around me. "Are you okay? You look really pale?"

"I—" I could hear Danielle teasing me, _Prude! Prude! Prude! Grow up, Maci! You're an adult. You can talk about adult stuff._ "I'm not very comfortable talking about this stuff."

"Sex?" he asked, concerned and confused.

"Yeah, sex," I replied, my breathing picking up as panic set in. I wrestled out of his hold.

"Like anxiety?"

"I don't know." My back hit the corner and I sunk to the floor.

Vince knelt before me, watching with worry. "Breathe, Maci. Breathe," he said, as my breaths shortened. They were coming so quickly that dots started to appear in the distance. He placed a hand on my shoulder. "Breathe." He slowly drew in a big breath and held it, then let it out just as slowly. "Like this." He repeated the action, and I attempted to copy him.

I don't know how long we sat there while I mimicked his breathing, but it felt like hours. When I finally got my lungs under control, I about keeled over into the fetal position, ready to burst into tears from embarrassment. "You must think I'm a total wacko."

He laughed, stroking my cheek. "On the contrary, I think you're quite normal. Everyone has something that makes them panic. I guess for you, it's sex, or at least talking about it."

I hung my head, my eyes downcast, humiliated by my reaction. "I don't know what it is, but for some reason talking about sex just seems so wrong, like it's something illegal, which I know is irrational. I know there's nothing wrong with it—that sex is a good thing. And the weird part is, it's not like my parents forced abstinence on me, or anything religious like that, I just have this part of me that cringes inside and panics when someone brings it up. Do you know what I'm saying?"

"Kinda, I think." His hand slid under my chin and brought up my head so that our eyes locked. "We don't have to talk about it—"

"No, that's the thing: I want to." My hands went wild as my voice exploded. "I want to be able to say 'cock' in front of my best friend and not feel like I've committed a felony. I want to stop blushing like a teenager when someone brings up sex. I don't want to be a prude, and I know I am one—but that's not who I want to be."

"So, what do you want to do?"

"Honestly, I have no clue where to begin."

"How about we both say what we've done and work from there?" He cocked his head, still holding my chin. "I can start." He removed his hand and sat cross-legged, his elbows resting on his thighs.

"What if I'm like this forever?"

He shook his head. "You won't be, trust me." He pointed at the book that had slipped from my hands and now lay on the floor by his feet. "You have a guide." He grinned, showing off his remarkably white teeth.

I smiled back and nodded.

"Well, what I've done is pretty short, I think." He looked at the ceiling as if concentrating hard. "I started masturbating when I was in fifth or sixth grade."

"Really, that young?" I asked, blown away.

"Oh yeah," he said calmly, "and that's not even young, I knew a guy who started in third grade."

"Jesus."

"Yeah, that's pretty damn crazy." He was nodding in agreement. "At that age, I probably didn't even know what good my thing was for besides peeing. My freshman year at Stanford I met a girl and lost my virginity then. We dated for four years, and yeah, she was the only person I've ever been with."

"What? Seriously?"

"Well, until you, yeah . . . and all we did was normal stuff, I guess. A few different positions, nothing too out there, no oral sex or anything like that. We never went crazy or explored that much. What about you?" He raised his eyebrows in a pointedly humorous fashion.

"Six," I blurted. "Well seven, counting you."

He leaned back. "No way? Seven, really?"

I nodded, my face crimson, burning.

"It's just, I didn't expect seven when you're so shy about the subject."

"I think Danielle has been a factor in that number, boosting my confidence when I was ready; and it's different _doing_ it. I don't know why, but talking about it is like a huge wall, an obstacle that my mind just can't overcome. Does that make sense?"

"I think so," he answered, though his scrunched-up face said otherwise. "So with seven partners you've never had an orgasm?"

I shook my head. "Not once."

"What about by yourself?"

"I've never masturbated," I confessed. "I've tried a few times, but it never felt right, you know? No, I guess you wouldn't." I laughed to myself.

Vince laughed, too, but it was more nervous, I-don't-know-what's-going-on laughter. "What about oral sex? It seems like you're one of those two-thirds who doesn't have an orgasm from intercourse."

"Never had it, giving or receiving." I inhaled a deep, calming breath. "I've always stopped the men from going that far. I mean, I've imagined what it feels like, but I guess that is also part of my mental block when it comes to sex. I've also only had sex in . . . well, missionary."

His mouth fell open, and it was clear that he didn't know how to react to that. "Then it's more than just talking about it, if you've only done one position your whole life, and never explored anything else."

I reflected on that for a moment. "Yeah, I guess so. But in my head, it's talking about it to myself, see? So it's sorta the same even though it's not. And it's not like I've never considered exploring. I've had fantasies. A lot of them. I've wanted to try stuff—I even made a mental list when I was a teenager of all the dirty things I wanted to do one day . . . I just haven't been able to cross that barrier. I've never been able to tell someone what I've wanted to do."

"Then tell me," he said, his body language encouraging me. "In fact, how about we write down our fantasies and anything else sexual that we've ever wanted to do? We can make a list and talk about it. That way you can get comfortable about the idea ahead of time, and maybe we can cross them off the more we adjust and grow. How's that sound? Can you write them down if we do it together?"

I squirmed against the wall, and then offered him my hand, and we pulled each other up, though it was obvious he was doing most the work. I opened a desk drawer and extracted an old, empty notebook from a stack that I kept around, found a pen and handed it to him. "You first." I lay down on the bed.

Vince did the same next to me, flipping to the first page of the notebook. He wrote across the top "The List" and then put the point to the first line, pausing. "Let's see . . . what have I always wanted to do. . .?" He paused, chewing on the cap of the pen, then suddenly, started writing. He angled the paper so that I could see when he was finished.

"Make a home sex video?" I looked over at him. That was certainly something I'd never considered before. "Would you upload it for people to see?" I nearly choked getting out the words.

"It'd be for our eyes only. I always thought it might be fun and erotic. Fill a room with candles and light a fire, make it more than just taping sex. Anyway, it's your turn." He pressed the pen into my hand.

I eyed the paper, clearing my mind, inhaling deeply. _What did I want to do? Better yet, what did I want to tell him I wanted to do? Honesty, honesty, honesty,_ kept running through my head. If I were to break out of this spell, I had to be open and honest, otherwise it wouldn't mean anything—it wouldn't amount to anything. One thing I'd always wanted to see was a _Thunder from Down Under_ show in Las Vegas. Something about a man stripping excited me in ways I never wanted to admit, guarding that secret to the point of denial. I wrote down _"Have a man strip for me"_ and turned the notebook back to Vince.

"Really? Interesting . . ."

"What does that mean?" I shot him a look.

He leaned over, kissed my cheek, and then spoke in a low, soft voice in my ear, "It means that I can make that one happen."

The hint of that possibility turned me on as my pulse quickened. "Now you." It didn't take him long to come up with _"Have sex publicly in a car_. _"_ When my mind grasped "public," the thought just about sent me running for the hills, but I maintained my composure, reminding myself that it was only a list of fantasies and not some commandment I had to follow. When the pen came to me for my second fantasy, nothing came to mind, and I searched the darkest parts where I imprisoned all the things I wanted to ignore.

"You want me to go again?" Vince asked after a few minutes went by in silence.

"Yeah, maybe," I said, but as I was handing the pen over, one formed in my head, based on the heady historical romances I read. "I'm not sure how to phrase this, but I've often imagined dressing up in nineteen thirties clothing, and walking into a P.I.'s office asking for help on a case. Then we have sex on the desk."

"So, like role-playing?"

"Yeah, I guess that's what it's called. So should I write it all down?"

"How about nineteen thirties P.I. office sex?" he suggested.

I wrote it down next to the number four I made.

"I have a role-play scenario of my own." He laughed while writing it down.

"You want to dress up as Spider-Man?"

"And have sex with Mary Jane Watson. She's one of the lead females in the story . . . Have you ever heard of the popular 'Princess Leia in the golden bikini fantasy'?"

I nodded. "There was a 'Friends' episode about it."

"Yeah, that's right—well, this is my version of that."

I tried to picture how that would go, but it seemed so silly that I couldn't conceptualize the scene and I gave up, thinking of something that I'd wanted to do. "How many should we write down?"

"I guess until nothing else comes," he answered. "Are you empty?"

Shaking my head, I remembered a fantasy I'd always had when I was younger, but had forgotten about as I aged and became more sensitive to the subject. Writing it down felt like I was breaking free of the shackles that had been binding me since puberty.

"Sex in the shower," he read back. "That's one that I've done."

"Was it as steamy as they make it look like in movies?"

"You'll just have to wait and see." He put on a seductive smile that pulled me to his lips, and we paused our task for a short make-out session, resuming a few minutes later with hot breaths and an escalating sense of urgency. Despite the desire, Vince wanted to wait and let the moment build until it would be impossible to deny—a practice in restraint for both of us.

He rolled to the side to give us a little more space. "You might not like this one, but I think part of making this list is employing full disclosure and honesty, and it's something I've fantasized about on occasion, so I think it should be included." He wrote it down, forcing a gasp out of me.

"With whom? Alma?"

There was nervous sweat beading down his forehead. "No, not with Alma. That would complicate a lot."

"Because she's your business partner?"

He hesitated for a breath, and then said, "Yes."

"Should I even ask: male or female?"

He laughed hard. "Female."

The thought of a threesome scared the hell out of me, but I pushed the actual act to the back of my mind, keeping everything notional. "Then who with?" I bit my lip with a lascivious glint in my eyes, attempting to hide my revulsion.

"I haven't actually given it any thought," he said, returning my lustful gaze. "When I've fantasized about it, the women never have recognizable faces, you know . . . they're just imaginary."

"I see . . ."

"If we decided to do it, we would both have to choose the person, together."

I wanted to puke, but settled on nodding, accepting the pen when he offered it. "Sounds fair. Back to me . . ." I sighed. How many more could I come up with? I felt at the end of the road with my ideas. There was nothing left in the imagination tank. Until I glanced up and saw the beautiful beach picture in my "Hawaiian Aerial Views" calendar, which was still on January. "Have you ever been to Hawaii?"

"No," he replied, following my gaze to the calendar.

"I've always wanted to go, and do this . . ." I wrote down, _"Sex on the beach_. _"_

He read it. "I've heard that the sand gets everywhere, even inside."

I shuddered. "That would suck."

"I would imagine it wouldn't be fun."

"But it would be romantic," I said, staring at the picture, almost losing myself there and then. I unpinned the calendar and found a spot that I imagined would be perfect to roll around, secluded and expansive, the waves continuously pounding the beach, pounding, pounding, pounding.

"Maci?"

Vince stirred me from the reverie. "Sorry." I tossed the calendar to my desk.

"I take it you're really into that one?" He flashed his teeth in a provocative manner, or so it seemed to my dreaming eyes.

"Yes," I rasped, clearing my throat.

"This one might be a little extreme—I don't know." He glided the notebook across the bed.

"Male dominance? Is that like whipping and stuff?"

"I don't know." He shrugged, his voice shaking. He cleared his throat to regain composure. "That's not exactly what I was thinking. I—I was thinking more like restraints and blindfolds." He held his breath, waiting for a response.

"Oh, okay . . . So like bondage?"

"Yeah, I guess . . . that sounds right."

"Hmm . . ." I paused, unsure what to say. Maybe this had gone too far. What kind of side was I seeing right now? Threesomes? Bondage? I wasn't prepared for that. But that was the point, right? The reason behind this was to get everything out in the open and talk about it. _I'm not a prude_ , I repeated in my head. _I can do this. I can be open-minded. It's only talk._ "So what would we do?" There was an inkling of dread in my voice.

"I don't know. We'd have to research it, _together_ ," he emphasized, "and come up with a scenario that both of us would be interested in. Of course, that's only if you want to. It's a list of ideas, and we don't have to do everything we write down: it's just to help us get started in the right direction. To get us both more comfortable with talking about sex." He made an effort to comfort me, rubbing my back. "Don't get overwhelmed by the suggestions."

I eyed the list. It was hard not to feel overwhelmed—but I was also aroused at the same time. There was so much to try in the world of sex; it was exhilarating to think about. I went through all the actions that had turned me on in movies, and then my mind stumbled on one of the more obvious choices: oral sex. "I don't know how to say it exactly, or spell it, but I think it's pronounced cunn-ing-ling-us."

"Oral sex?"

"Yeah."

"I think it's cun-ni-lin-gus," he said.

I wrote it out like he pronounced it. The word sent me near the edge of breaking, the anticipation so hot and difficult to control. Of all the things on the list, cunnilingus was what I desired most, given all the praise by Danielle, Ashley, and Bridgett. It sounded more erotic, more appealing than the rest, even though it was one of the simplest of the fantasies.

After that, Vince wrote down _"Sex outside_. _"_ "That's pretty much the same as sex on the beach," I pointed out. "At least, it's in the same category. Where at—like in a park?"

"Sure, maybe a park. Maybe a pasture. I don't really know, just outside somewhere, besides a hazardous beach."

"A pasture?" I giggled. "That doesn't sound romantic at all."

"The cows could sing for us as they graze," he joked, but both of us knew how lame it sounded. "Or maybe not," he added quickly. "Back to you."

"I think I'm out," I said, regarding the short, yet somehow daunting list.

"That's it? Only five fantasies?" He observed me with mock suspicion. "You don't have any secret, deep dark ones that you're holding back?" The red of my face that had been present all night deepened. "I thought there might be. You can tell me. Look"—he tapped the paper—"I told you some that I've never shared with anyone else. It's okay if it's super dirty or whatever." His encouragement melted my insecurities.

The pen scratched the paper as I wrote _"Role reversal, female domination_. _"_ "What do you mean?" he asked after I showed him.

I swallowed nervously. All of a sudden it seemed like I had an excessive amount of saliva in my mouth and all I could do was swallow it down. "Um—" My vocal cords seized up.

"Maci, it's all right. Do you mean like penetration?"

I nodded, trembling.

"With what? A dildo?"

I gave him a faint smile. "A str-strap-on."

His eyes grew huge. "Oh. Whoa. Got it." He was nodding and wetting his lips. "Well, I guess that's only fair that you would have that fantasy when I have the male-dominant one. It makes sense. I'm not sure I could ever do it, just like you might never be able to do mine, and that's okay. It's out there, and we can talk about it."

I slammed my face into a pillow. "You think I'm a freak, don't you?"

He snorted. "A freak? What?" He tried to roll me over, but I refused to turn over. "No, I don't think you're a freak, Maci. I guarantee you a lot of women have the same fantasy, even if they don't admit it. It seems pretty normal to wonder what it would be like to switch places, I think."

"Have you ever thought about it?" I asked, my stomach knotting. I could tell he hadn't, but that he also didn't want to make me feel worse.

He sighed. "To be honest, no, I haven't. But there are a lot of people out there doing a lot of different things in the bedroom." I could hear him grab his phone and it spoke with beeps. "The term for what you want to do is called pegging," he said a minute later. "See, enough people do it that there's a term for it."

I sat up and read the Wikipedia entry on it. The article produced conflicted feelings—I was simultaneously titillated and disconcerted. It was as though the thought was heinous and immoral with a forbidden aspect that turned me on in the hottest ways. As I read, Vince flipped through the _Guide to Getting It On!_ "There's even a section in here on it. See?"

"Huh . . . 'Bend Over Boyfriend' . . ."

"My point is, enough people do it that you shouldn't feel weird about it. And just because I haven't thought about it doesn't mean anything. It's just never entered my mind."

I took the book and folded the corner, a bad habit of mine. "For later."

He leaned in so that our foreheads kissed. "So, does that mean you're all right?"

"Yeah, I'm okay. I'd feel more comfortable if we moved on, though. For now."

He gave me a quick peck, then returned to the position he had been in most of the night. I sat in front of him and put my back to the wall with crisscrossed legs. "So it looks like it's my turn. I have one that I've wanted to do for a long time." He scribbled it down.

"Sixty-nine until you come? In my mouth?"

"Doesn't have to be, though that would be way hotter," he answered. "There's seven for me and six for you on the list. You should think of one more to make it even, and then we'll call it good. It's already been a few hours."

I glanced at the clock, amazed. It was almost nine, yet it didn't even feel like an hour had passed. _One more  . . . one more . . . what else is there?_ My body was running too hot to think, all I wanted was Vince—more specifically, his tongue. I wanted it all over my body. To speed things up, I wrote down a generic fantasy, not really one I'd had before, but one that others, most notably Bridgett, had discussed with fondness. I jotted down _"14. Sex on a plane"_ and showed him.

"You want to join the mile high club, eh?" he teased. "I can't say I'm fond of airplanes, but that might make the time pass quicker."

"That's fourteen: seven for me and seven for you."

He went to his knees. "What do you say we cross one of them off right now?" The anticipation in his voice reflected my own expectations. They were wound so tightly, I almost jumped him. Then I did, throwing my arms and legs around him, pushing my lips on his.

He hit the notebook, pointing. "This one! _This one!_ " he commanded in a heady voice.

I looked over at the list, bit my lip, and nodded.

# 11

### ONE DOWN

Vince wrestled off my shirt, unhooked my bra, and took a nipple in his mouth, sucking wildly. Freed, my nipples hardened as he squished my breasts together, squeezing gently. He kissed each one in turn before I yanked off his shirt, diving at his chest, kissing up to his neck and sucking.

"Ah," he moaned, and I released my hold. He stood, threw me to the bed, stripped off my pants and panties in one swift tug, and fell to his knees, pulling my thighs toward his head. He pressed his nose against my right thigh and inhaled. "Your pussy smells so sweet." His dirty talk was intoxicating. _Pussy_ , I repeated in my head. I had never called my v-spot that but it sounded so right in the moment. I rose to kiss him, my impulses running wild, but he tenderly pushed me flat. He ran his nose down one thigh, above my clit, and up my other thigh.

The softness drove me crazy as I released a moan. My legs squirmed beneath his touch as he began making a trail of kisses back to my v-spot over my well-trimmed mound, then up my other thigh again. _Wait!_ A voice screamed in my head. Was I really going to let him do it? He'd be the first man down there in unexplored territory, but that was the point, right? To let go and embrace my sexual urges—to indulge the fantasy.

_Yes_ , I motivated myself. _Yes, it's what I want!_

The building anticipation nearly made me grab his head and force him to my center, but I waited, patiently, losing control second by second.

Finally his nose and lips gravitated back to my—pussy. That was the word. He hovered over her, teasing her—until his nose swirled around my clit and my body contracted, releasing a giant shudder of pleasure. I groaned. I'd never felt so wet inside, so horny, so lost in emotion and sensation. His arms wrapped around my thighs, his fingers massaging as he continued to nuzzle my clit, circling, circling, and then unexpectedly, he added his tongue, probing my pink lips. My body clenched in reaction and I grasped his hair. It was so soft and curly. I ran my fingernails along his scalp while he licked up and down, my hips rotating with the movement, around and around, unstoppable.

I glanced at his head between my legs and at the same time his eyes opened, meeting my gaze. The burning contact pushed me over the edge, and I screamed with euphoric joy. It was so unexpected that I grabbed a pillow to muffle the noise. His nose continued its assault on my clit as his tongue spread my lips open, gliding between my pussy and clit. Each stroke triggered a wave of ecstasy that started in my clit and shot to the nape of my neck. I could feel my clit swelling, my lips opening, the blood surging.

Then he bit down on the bundle of nerves and my abs flexed. "Oh, God!" I cried out. I grasped the sheets so hard, my fists hurt, but I didn't care, letting the sensation build and pulse through me. When he began sucking on my clit, seismic waves blasted through my body, my stomach contracting as if I were doing crunches.

_Holy shit! This is incredible!_ The building sensation was so intense that I could feel the tipping point approaching.

He suddenly released my clit, paused, and then calmed his attack, kissing my thighs. "You taste so good," he said breathily, flattening his tongue against my wetness and licking up in broad strokes.

He started rubbing his erection against the bed, moaning as his tongue worked, swirling, swirling. I clutched the pillow again, stifling another bout of screams. My wrists ached from the torturous, yet glorious exertion that rocked my body. "Vince," I whispered. It was the first time I unintentionally said a lover's name—a real cry of heightened emotion.

"I could do this for hours." He kissed my lady lips, once, twice, and then pressed his tongue hard into my clit and circled. He changed up the routine several times, and I soon lost track of time, the minutes melting away, my body contracting, throbbing, convulsing. My hips never stopped moving, despite Vince's effort to hold them in place, and soon he gave up, his hands sliding to my butt, reinforcing the gyrations.

"Let's see how you like this." I watched him wet his index finger, then sensually cup my pussy, massaging. I closed my eyes, and he slowly dipped his finger inside, a little at first, then out, then in a little more, then out again, until finally his entire finger was inside, rotating.

My breathing calmed as he fingered me for a break, then slipped out, startling me. He didn't see my reaction, his face rushing in for another round. My hands flailed about, beyond hope of control. The building excitement regained its momentum as his tongue danced with my clit.

My hips wriggled and writhed in pure bliss, and then without warning, he changed everything, shoving two fingers inside me, his tips curling back toward him, rubbing the wall.

Every single nerve exploded in my body. I screamed and screamed, holding onto his hair as tightly as I could. A deep crimson swallowed my vision and splintered my world into a million pieces. _Oh God, this is it. This is an orgasm!_

And then my mind left me.

My body repeatedly slammed against the bed, convulsing, my abs clenching so hard, I could scarcely breathe. His grip on my thighs tightened, and, responding to my full-body heaving, he wrapped his lips around my clit and sucked. I thought my lungs would collapse as blood surged to the base of my skull. The intensity compelled my hands to my neck, my nails digging into the skin.

Eventually the world returned. My breaths were sharp and uneven for what seemed like minutes before I reclaimed normalcy. I was gulping down air, shuddering, aftershocks rolling in and tensing all of my muscles.

Coming down from the orgasm, I noticed Vince's loud moaning for the first time, and the fact that he was shaking the bed as much as I had been, his hips thrusting across the sheets, his penis poking through the window in his boxers. He was still licking my clit when suddenly he roared in climax. His face grew red and veiny, and his eyelids flickered, mostly closed. He came all over the sheets, some of it reaching my legs and pussy, spurt after spurt of white erupting from his penis.

As I watched him come, I smiled inside, supremely aroused. I had never felt this accomplished as a lover: turning on a man so much that he came without one of my body parts having ever made contact with his penis. He let go of my legs and stood, semen still squirting out in smaller quantities, his shaft pulsing every few seconds.

The dark red of his face faded to a light pink, his cheeks glowing, and I wondered what mine looked like. He opened his eyes and stared at me, exhaling a long, drawn out breath. "Wow." He stood there, dazed, his body wobbling. He grabbed his penis and squeezed the last drops from it, letting it fall on the sheets.

"That was . . . intense," I said, my body trembling. I ran my fingers through my hair before stretching out my arms and legs to their fullest, my fingers and toes curling. "I can't believe I never let anyone touch me there before—and your tongue!"

He smiled, climbing onto the bed from the side, collapsing. His hard-on shrank and the throbs stopped. "I never knew an orgasm could be so intense," he responded, his voice deep and smooth, relaxed. "I've never come from stimulation like that before."

"Was it better than sex?"

"It was different. Somehow more potent, I think." He turned and studied me. "And you—your climax nearly broke the bed. For a woman who's never had one before, I was surprised it was so big."

I leaned over him and kissed him. "How did you know to do that, at the end with your fingers?"

"It was in that book." He pointed to the sex guide on the floor. "I read the chapters on female anatomy and orgasms. I figured since you never climaxed from sex, maybe you would come from clitoral stimulation."

"Well, you figured right." I lay back down beside him, my eyes heavy. My body tingled, especially my neck, where the sensation lingered, slowly growing fainter. "I feel like such an idiot, being so uptight before, not knowing what I was missing . . . but at the same time, I'm glad that it was with you."

"That you let me in."

"That you somehow broke down those walls that had been repelling my desires for so long."

He rolled over and held me, stroking my hair, gliding a finger up and down my arms, torso, and hips. The tingling relaxed me even more, until my stomach growled, crushing the moment.

Vince's stomach responded in kind, with a deep, fierce rumble.

"Danielle ordered pizza," I said. "I didn't hear a knock at the door, but that's probably because we were making the list. You want me to check?"

"Sure, I love pizza."

"Well, who doesn't?" I rolled off the bed, grabbed a new pair of panties from the dresser, found some yoga pants, and threw on a T-shirt.

"You'd be surprised," he laughed. "There are pizza haters out there."

I shot him a yeah-right grin and opened the door a crack, scanning the hall. "Be right back." He nodded as I left. I tiptoed into the living room, where I noticed a flash of light, the TV changing to a new picture. Danielle and Ashley were on the couch, cuddling. Ashley had her eyes closed, asleep. Danielle—the big spoon—glanced over at me with a huge smile and made a thumbs-up gesture.

I waved it away.

"The pizza is in the fridge," she said.

"Thanks," I replied, walking into the kitchen and finding the leftovers.

Danielle was still wearing a huge grin as I passed her on my way back to Vince. Turning for the hall, I heard her whisper, "Welcome to the club."

I flushed, but also couldn't help but smile.

At long last, I was _in_.

I WOKE UP WITH Vince's arm under my pillow and his boner pressed against my back. Vince's other arm was holding my hip. I scooted out of his grip and off the bed. We both had fallen asleep shortly after we devoured the pizza. I smiled at his sleeping face. He was so sexy, even when he slept. _How is that possible?_

When my hand met the doorknob, a voice behind me said, "Taking off so soon? I hope that wasn't a one-night stand."

I turned back. "I'd be a fool if it were." I hopped on top of him, and he pulled me down for a hot kiss, wet and wicked. "Though, we do have to talk about some stuff," I added, pushing myself up so that I could see his eyes.

"Such as?" His voice indicated that he was at a loss.

"Such as—well, I don't know how else to say it, but your pubic hair—"

"Ah," he cut me off. "I suppose it's been a while since I did any maintenance down there. How much yard work?"

"I don't know," I said, my throat clogging up. "I've never planned on spending much time down there, but after last night, and coming up with the list, well—let's just say less is better."

"Does that mean you're going to start shaving?"

"I can, if you want. Is that sexier?"

"I guess it's more attractive, yeah." He rolled up my shirt and brought my body down on his. "Skin to skin, it's nice. The warmth."

My breasts were smashed into his chest and my body responded, my heartbeat speeding up. His erection rubbed against my butt, ready. "You know, I've heard you should never waste a morning wood."

"Is that right?" he asked, smirking. "Well I can't say I disagree with it." His phone rang to break the mood. He screened the caller. "Sorry, but I have to take it." I tumbled off him before he answered the call. He began getting dressed, so I made my way to the kitchen, grabbing a box of cereal. Vince joined me a minute later. "I'm sorry, but I have to head out. Apparently there's something wrong at the lab."

"Oh?"

"Nothing serious," he insisted. "I'll call you this afternoon." He planted a vibrant kiss on my mouth, and then headed for the door, his gear already collected.

"Uh, okay. Bye," I said, staggered at his sudden vanishing act. I closed the door behind him, turned, and nearly jumped to the ceiling, startled by Danielle, who was standing behind me.

"SO!" she shrieked. "I take it things went well. _Very_ well, even."

"You've no idea, Danielle. Well, actually, I guess you do. Now I understand why you were stressing so emphatically that I find someone who can—"

"Make you come," she finished for me. "Yes, I did have a reason for all the criticism and advice. Are you going to tell me about the night, or leave me dying like you usually do?"

"It depends, are you making pancakes?"

She grinned. I hadn't seen her this excited for me in years, not even when the bakery opened. She grabbed my wrist and yanked. "Come on."

I put the cereal box away and got out the flat pan and a bowl, starting the story with Vince's arrival, including the bit about her poking into the doorway. Danielle went to town mixing the pancake ingredients, completely rapt by the details I was providing, an uncommon feat for me.

"So, what's on the list?" she asked halfway through.

"That's a little more personal."

"Maci, it's me. I can tell you everything that I've ever done if you want."

"I think you already have," I pointed out.

She nodded and made a funny face, placing the first two pancakes on my plate. "That's probably true. So you're not going to tell me?"

"Would you let me finish the story first?"

She raised her hands as though I had a gun pointed at her. "All right, jeez. Don't lose your temper."

"Yeah, like I'm the one with the short fuse." I laughed, buttering up the pancakes, pouring Tripleberry syrup from Bella Farms on top.

"Hey!" She shoved the spatula in my face. "Road rage doesn't count."

"Okay, okay . . . do you want me to continue or not?"

She withdrew her threatening kitchen utensil and poured more batter onto the pan, beaming the whole time. "Go on."

I supplied her with an exceptional number of details as I continued, ending with Vince's abrupt departure. "It was completely mind-blowing. I've never felt anything so intense."

"And you saw red when it was happening?" she asked, flummoxed.

"Is that strange?"

"I've never heard of anyone seeing colors," she said, "but then again, I've only talked to, like, four people about orgasms. It's not something many people share, you know?"

I tilted my head and raised my eyebrows.

"Yeah, yeah, dumb question." She shut off the stove and served herself.

"What about Ashley?"

"Oh, she won't be awake for another hour," Danielle answered, sitting beside me at the table.

I nodded. "Do you think I should ask my OB/GYN about it?"

"About seeing color?" she asked with a mouthful of pancake. "Nah, I wouldn't worry about it. Tell me about this book he got you, the guide to doing it?"

"He got a copy for both of us," I replied, "and it's called the _Guide to Getting It On!_ It's huge and looks like it covers just about everything on sex."

"And you think it will help you open up?"

I laughed. "I think it already has."

"Maybe I'll borrow it sometime." She gave me a cheesy look.

"I think it's something you'll have to get for yourself."

She shoveled down the pancakes, finishing before me despite my head start. "So you've _never_ let anyone tongue your clit, not once?"

I fought off my blushing instinct. "Not once."

"Why the change?" she asked, rinsing off her plate.

"I've never been able to talk to anyone like Vince," I said, cutting up the last chunk of pancake. "It's just so easy with him. It feels like I can tell him anything and he'll still accept me, still be there for me . . . is that how it is with you and Ashley?"

"You could say that, though it took some work to get her to open up and let me in—a few months, actually. Before that, she was always telling me half-truths, or excluding details, you know, not necessarily lying, but omitting stuff."

"Yeah, I remember talking about that before."

"She also didn't divulge much on her own. It was like her lips were sealed until I asked the right questions."

"I did the same thing with Ryan," I confessed.

"Oh?"

"It wasn't because I was purposefully not telling him stuff; I just never thought about what he wanted to know until he asked." I swallowed my last bite, washing it down with milk.

"Maybe because you weren't connected enough to consider him?" she proposed.

"Maybe," I agreed. "It's not like that at all with Vince, though."

"Well I'm really happy for you, Maci." It looked like she was considering whether to hug me or grab another glass of milk. In the end, she chose the milk, which left me partly relieved. Hugging over me having my first orgasm would have been weird, though the hug would have also been for me finding Vince, but still . . . "Hey, before I forget, you said he did all that magical stuff with his tongue, but did you have sex?"

I paused for a second before I said, "No."

She eyed me, skeptical. "Then what was all that racket? I definitely heard Vince grunting and shouting. Did he spew his gunk?"

"He came while"—I cleared my throat—"licking me."

"Whoa, no shit?"

"I guess it made him so hot, that it was enough," I said, now rinsing my plate and putting it in the dishwasher. "I mean, he seemed to be really into it. He was moaning as much as I was."

She laughed. "He was a little quieter."

I could feel the heat on my cheeks as they changed, embarrassed.

"There's no need to blush, Maci. It's something to be proud of." She slapped me on the back in a playful manner. "Well, it seems you found the perfect man. He certainly excels in all the 'Mr. Right Categories.'"

"He could be the _one_ , Danielle. He could be Mr. Right."

# 12

### THE DINNER PARTY

Vince had called later on Saturday and reported that things at the lab were worse than he originally thought, so we set up a time for Tuesday instead. The night went well, but we didn't cross anything else off the list, settling for watching a movie on the couch in front of his massive TV and entertainment system after I made him beef stroganoff from a special recipe.

I tried to set up a Thursday date, but for the second time he said he was working that night, and he wouldn't say on what. He joked about a non-disclosure agreement. The week progressed like normal—slow, tiring mornings mixed with long days. On Wednesday, Vince sent me a text, saying he wanted to have a get-together dinner on Saturday to get to know my friends. Ashley and Danielle were in, but Bridgett thought the idea was pretty strange and couldn't decide if she'd attend. I invited Becky, too, though I rarely saw her anymore. I missed her because I liked her quirky personality, and she was actually clumsier than I was, which made me feel better about my two left feet.

I had started running outside a few days a week to get used to striking the ground—the minimal impact of the elliptical was a good way to start training while the skies were overcast and rainy, but to run three legs of a relay road race, the bones and muscles needed the hard surface.

During the week, I had also read a lot of the _Guide to Getting It On!_ and was surprised by how much I didn't know about my own body. It shed light on a thousand little mysteries. The first chapter I pored over was the orgasms chapter. It turned out that seeing colors wasn't some ill sign, which relieved my growing anxiety after Danielle brought it up. Evidently people experienced orgasms in hundreds of different ways, where before I had always assumed they were the same across the board, though I couldn't say I gave it much thought beyond, _I wonder what it feels like?_ The second chapter I ventured into was on female anatomy, then male anatomy. Sure, they taught that stuff in sex ed., but not in the same way, lacking the thoroughness, open-mindedness, and general enthusiasm for all things related to sex. It was refreshing, comforting, and most of all, informative.

Saturday couldn't arrive quickly enough. When it did, I waited and waited all morning, planning my evening attire, fretting over what Danielle would describe as trivial things, such as shoe colors. Trivial to her because she could color coordinate in a flash, where it could take me hours on my normal days—on my worst days, I didn't even bother going out, and bagged whatever plans I had.

Danielle had spent the night at Ashley's and never came home, so I couldn't fall back on her judgment, and ended up with a summery V-neck dress despite the cold, with leggings and a cardigan for warmth. Arriving an hour early, I was shocked to discover that I wasn't the first one there, as I heard a woman laughing inside his place.

Vince opened the door, dressed to match the more formal occasion: he wore his favored blue blazer, but wore a white dress shirt underneath with an ice blue bowtie. His soft curls fell perfectly and were as touchable as ever. He kissed me, took my coat, then pointed at his bowtie. "Bowties are cool," he said, as if it were a line from something.

Uncertain, I shrugged.

" _Doctor Who_?" He looked at me expectantly. "No? That's all right. Come on, there's someone I'd like you to meet."

He led me to the kitchen in a hurry, where his business partner was sitting at the semi-circle breakfast bar on the far end. I couldn't believe how beautiful she was—far more attractive than my first judgment from a distance. Close up, I could see how flawless her smooth brown skin was, her comparable bust that peeked at the world under an elegant silver dress, and how full and luscious her black hair shined. Vince had said they dated for a while, but he never mentioned why they broke up, though I did remember him making it clear that they never had sex. _Why?_ I wondered, staring at her. _Maybe she prefers women to men. If that's the case, Danielle and Ashley will be able to tell_. I didn't know how long I stood there in silence, before I noticed her hand in front of my body.

I accepted her grip. "Hi, I'm Maci."

She squeezed my fingers so hard, it felt like my knuckles would break. "Alma Silva Perez. I'm sure Vince has mentioned me." Her stern voice surprised me and her eyes burned my retinas. She exuded arrogance and intelligence, and scared the hell out of me.

I returned her serious grip. My parents had always taught me that eye contact showed true confidence, so I turned on my lasers, and it seemed as though we were battling like Harry Potter and Voldemort, _Priori Incantatem_ style. Finally Vince broke it up with his warm voice. "Would you like something to drink, Maci?"

Forced to turn away, I surrendered, looking at Vince. "A porter would be nice."

"I put one on tap for you in the game room," he said, "or I have a selection of bottled."

"Tap is almost always better."

"Tap it is then." He put down a spatula and headed for the game room, where he had a billiard table, foosball, an old _Street Fighter_ cabinet—that he was totally proud of and elaborated on for some time—and of course, his largest TV for the multiple consoles, complete with custom surround sound. All of which I knew little to nothing about before he gave me a lesson on the various devices and games that he played.

I made a gesture to stop him. "I can get it."

"Nonsense. It's a quality of a good host to make sure his guests don't lack for refreshment," he insisted. He vanished before I could argue.

"I hope you're not taking his pubescent sincerity for granted," Alma said, her voice ice and daggers.

I gaped at her, baffled. _What the hell does that mean?_ "I'm not sure what you want me to say to that."

"You don't have to say anything. You can just listen," she snarled. "When I look at you, I see a seductive little woman charming her way into the pants of a very, very rich man—a man who possesses a juvenile naiveté and can't see the train wreck ahead. But I can, Maci. I can. And if you fuck with him, just remember that I'll be right around the corner to cut out your little cunt before you can fucking blink. Do you understand me, or should I elucidate the situation in a plainer, less sophisticated manner, better suited for your public education?" She clenched her glass like a baseball, primed to chuck it at my head.

Before I could respond to her insane threat, Vince returned with a nonic pint glass, brimming with a black porter that showcased a huge tan head. I accepted the beverage, and despite the situation and my shaken nerves, I remained composed, my hands steady.

"So what were you two talking about?" Vince asked, appraising Alma's countenance.

"Oh, nothing really," she said, her face lightening, her shoulders relaxing. "I was just telling Maci about our super-secret project, the metal-free mega battery." She smiled at me with a glint of malice that Vince didn't seem to catch.

"I thought we were supposed to have people sign NDAs for that?" Vince asked, but his tone implied he was jesting.

"Only the ones you're not fucking." She forced out a laugh.

"Jesus, Alma!" Vince threw up a hand. "Show some courtesy, will ya? Disregard her, Maci. She's a little high-strung right now. We're supposed to demonstrate the storage capacity of a battery next week for PGE, and things aren't going as well as we had hoped, especially with last Saturday's setback."

I met her glare. "I know how stress goes. It makes you say crazy things sometimes."

"You don't know stress until you've performed a test in front of the Secretary of Energy," she scoffed.

"Goddamn, do I have to send you to a corner to chill out?" Vince narrowed his eyes at her.

She snorted. "I think I'll go play _Call of Duty_ upstairs." She said nothing more and retreated into the hall, heading for the game room.

"Whoa! What crawled up her ass?" I asked, bewildered by what had just transpired.

"Like I said, I think the pressure to get our project ready before the test is getting to her."

I set the glass on the luxurious countertop of the massive island that made up the other half of the breakfast bar. "That seems like a little more than just stress."

He walked around the island to the sink and rinsed his hands. "What do you mean?"

"Well, for starters, when you left, she threatened me."

He turned to face me. "Threatened you how?"

"She said that if I fucked with you, she'd cut out my"—I cleared my throat—"cunt." I gulped down the porter to wet my drying mouth. The coffee overtones were dark and roasted to perfection.

He rested his palms on the counter and leaned back. "What? You're joking—that doesn't sound at all like Alma."

"Maybe not, but it happened," I asserted.

"Well, I guess I'll have a talk with her. For now, we should let her calm down." He shook his head, staring at the floor cabinets in front of him. "Do you like risotto?" he asked, changing the subject.

"Like it? I love it."

"How about with Italian sausage and a hell of a lot of cheese?" He wiggled his eyebrows to emphasize his inclination. He turned around and stirred the two heavy saucepans. Inside each a broth bubbled.

"Hard to go wrong with both," I said. "Did you or Alma make it?"

"I did," he nodded. "I also have something else to show you." He strode around the island, grabbed my hand, and sped for the master bedroom. Opening the door to a long walk-in closet behind the master bath, he released my hand and picked up a red pillow shaped kind of like a doorstopper.

He offered it to me, so I took it with tentative hands, fumbling with the covered foam. "What is it?"

"It's a sex pillow," he said, his eyes lighting up. It was then that I noticed his growing erection. He regarded me and must have recognized my disgust. "It's not used or anything," he added. "It just arrived yesterday."

I sighed, relaxing. "Oh."

"I read that specific sex furniture can add a lot of value to the act, giving different penetration angles, and stimulating different nerves. I thought we'd start with one of the smaller ones to see what it's like . . . What do you think?"

I pressed my hands into it. "Feels sturdy." His eyes were telling me he wanted more than an evaluation of the physical product. "I think it's a great idea," I said, though I didn't actually know where I stood on its application. Sex furniture had never crossed my mind before. I handed it back to him.

"I also made a copy of the list in my notepad." He extracted the leather-bound notepad from an inner pocket of his jacket. "I was thinking we might cross one off tonight, after everyone leaves."

I smiled at him and rubbed his hard-on. He let out a moan. "I've been waiting all week," I said into his ear. I didn't know what took over me, but suddenly I found myself on my knees, unzipping his pants.

Vince gave zero protests as I unleashed his erection. I gasped. "You trimmed—and shaved!"

"Surprise," he said, his low voice silky and sultry. I felt the smoothness of where he had shaved, most noticeably his balls and pubic bone. His penis stared at me, straight and long, blue veins visible along the shaft, a bigger vein running from the base to the tip, almost centered. The slit of the head peered at me, begging for my mouth. I had never given head before, but an overwhelming desire urged me on. Without hesitation, I leaned forward and stuck out my tongue to probe his soft skin. I circled underneath the head, the most sensitive spot, and Vince gasped. A shudder followed as I ran my tongue down to his balls.

I opened my mouth and nervously swallowed his hard-on, inching my way to the base.

Then the doorbell-buzzer rang and I gagged, startled. I pulled back, coughing. It took a moment to collect myself. Vince's erection hadn't wavered in its strength. "I guess we'll have to continue this later."

"It was just the doorbell," Vince dismissed, his penis craving my touch.

It rang again. "You have guests coming over. My friends. We can't just leave them stuck in the elevator."

He capitulated to my reasoning, hung his head, and tucked away his hard-on, struggling to fit it in his pants. I was going to ask him if he had taken a Viagra because it was so hard, but it eventually faded, shrinking to its flaccid state. "Okay, ready."

We exited the closet, though not before I tripped over a shoe, almost taking out the rack of shirts. Vince opened what he called the front door and found Ashley and Danielle standing there with a bottle of white wine, probably a sweet one if Ashley (who had a penchant for Rieslings) won the coin toss. All of my knowledge of wine, which was little enough, came from her.

Ashley stuck her hand out first. "Hi, I'm Ashley. You must be the reputable and distinguished Vince Forte."

"I'm not sure about the first two, but I am Vince Forte," he said, showcasing his humorous side. "Ashley, that's the same name as my secretary. It's a good name."

"I like it well enough," she said.

Danielle butted in and took his hand. "Danielle, but we've met before."

"How could I forget," Vince laughed. "Nice to see you again. Come in." He took their coats, and bam—Ashley was on display in a strapless sweetheart dress. She had definitely bought a new one for the occasion. Sequined, the black slinky cocktail dress sparkled under the bright light, and its shortness showed off Ashley's long, slender legs, not to mention the tightness that clung to her wide hips and big butt. I could practically see Vince's pants shift as he attempted to hide a peek.

At first I didn't know what she was trying to pull, but then it hit me that she might try and squeeze her way into a business deal. This had never crossed my mind because I could never remember what her company did, though financial firm stuck out in my head just then.

"Is that a new dress, Ashley?" I asked, thinking that if I drew attention to it early on, it wouldn't be so awkward.

"Doesn't she look gorgeous in it?" Danielle boasted. "That's my fiancée for you."

That changed the subject fast. "You two are engaged?" Vince asked, surprised.

"Yeah, I told you about that," I said.

"Hmm. Sorry, I don't recall the conversation," he said, his breathing noticeably louder, uncomfortable. "Come into the kitchen and we'll open that bottle of wine." He led the way, his eyes forward. I could sense the resistance to stare at both of them. Although Ashley wore the more revealing dress, Danielle had the bigger bust, and her deep purple halter dress provided a good view of her girls, too. I could also see my friends' selections as a way for them to have fun with me, trying to make Vince sweat. It was their kind of humor.

In the kitchen, Danielle handed Vince the wine, and he uncorked it. He read the name, venturing to do it with a German accent, but failed by any estimation. "So where are you getting married? I hear a lot of people get married along the Gorge or at the coast," he said, pouring three wine glasses."

"We're getting married in Vancouver," Danielle answered. "At the Hostess House. We love their garden."

"And it's only ten weeks away!" I added.

"Ah, the end is drawing nigh," he said, taking a sip from his glass.

"Excuse me?" Ashley straightened up.

Alarm bloomed on Vince's face. "I only meant the end of the planning, not your relationship. Nothing like that." He became tongue tied for a moment.

"She's only messing with you," I said, hoping to ease his tension. I picked up my beer glass and raised it. "To two beautiful women! May they live happily ever after!"

"Cheers!" Danielle clanked my glass. Ashley and Vince followed suit. "We hope to see you there, Vince, as Maci's plus-one."

Vince turned to me. "Well, I hope to attend as Maci's plus-one. I've never been to a wedding before."

"To a gay wedding, you mean?" Ashley asked, sincerity in her tone.

"No, it will be my first wedding, gay or straight."

"But you're twenty-six," she said flatly.

"That I am." He drank a gulp. "And sadly, I've never found myself surrounded by a couple happy enough to tie the knot."

"Really?" Danielle said, incredulous. "That sucks. They're so fun. All the dancing and drinking with family and friends."

"Well, if I'm lucky enough to ever go through the experience, it will be without family." His eyes glazed over as he talked, distant. Melancholy dripped from his words.

"Estranged?" Ashley asked.

"No," he shook his head. "I never knew my biological parents. I was adopted as a baby. Tragically though, my adoptive parents died in a car accident when I was eight. With no other family, I was placed in foster care, moving from one family to the next until my senior year of high school, when an older couple took me in. Both passed away two years ago." Sorrow plagued Vince's voice, and I had no idea where his openness was coming from, as he hadn't even mentioned his childhood to me, and now here he was, sharing with everyone. I made a mental note to ask him about it later.

A somber quiet had settled in the room. "Sorry to ruin the mood," he said a minute later. "I'm happy for you both. May you share eternal bliss!" He raised his wine glass for another toast.

"Hear! hear!" Danielle knocked her glass against his. After the round of clanking, she asked, "Is Bridgett coming tonight?"

"She never gave me a definite answer either way," I replied, finding my phone inside my clutch. "I'll ask her." As I opened up the text log, a gentle thump came from the entrance. "Oh, that's probably her." I scurried to the door and opened it, and was a little shocked to see the fiery ginger hair of Becky, since she was usually the last to arrive at any event. She was wearing close-fitting leggings and a moderately cut blue blouse.

"Hey, Maci." She reached in for a hug.

"Hey, Becky." I returned her embrace. "I'm glad you could make it. It's been months."

"Yeah, I haven't seen you since you and Bridgett opened the bakery," she said, releasing her hold.

I stepped back. "You should stop by some time. I can hook you up with a free lunch." She smiled, and as I gazed at her, a feeling crept into my brain, a feeling that told me I was forgetting something important. And then it hit me. "Oh my God. I never called her."

"What?"

I waved her in and shut the door. "This woman from the gym," I replied, my voice shooting for a squeaky high. She stared at me, not following. "She told me we could stay at her beach house in Cannon Beach for Hood to Coast, but I had to rush out that day, and I completely forgot after that. I forgot to even ask you if we have a place to stay."

"Yeah, I already booked a beach house," she said. "Oh, which reminds me, it's a hundred and thirty-two for the race, and it'd be cool if you could pitch in thirty or forty for gas."

"Wow, Danielle didn't say it would be so expensive."

"Sorry, I should've told you earlier. I'll send you an email to remind you."

"Thanks. That would help."

"So, have you seen her since?"

"What?"

"The woman that offered her beach house," she elaborated.

I shook my head. "No."

"Well then I wouldn't worry about it," she advised. "You'll probably never see her again."

"Yeah, you're probably right." I shrugged it off. "Anyway, the party's in the kitchen." I led her through the condo to the kitchen, where Ashley and Danielle were now talking to both Alma and Vince.

"Boy, do I feel underdressed," Becky said, as way of greeting. I scrutinized her closer. She was the only one not wearing a dress, even though mine was flowery instead of fancy. As I studied Becky, I noticed how much fitter she looked, especially her butt. At that moment an unbidden dirty thought snuck into my mind, and I pictured kissing her, contemplating what it would feel like. I had wondered on several occasions what it would be like to kiss another woman. It was hard not to, living with your best friend who also happened to be a lesbian and constantly talked about how lush women's lips were.

Now with the list and Vince's fantasy in the open, I had contemplated it actually happening and how it might go. It obviously couldn't be with someone as close as Danielle or Ashley, but Becky was further removed as a friend, one that the scenario could work with; and if it ruined our relationship, it would be sad but not the end of the world. The idea, while hot, also carried a gloomy weight with it. I mean, how could our relationship ever be the same afterward? What if Vince decided I wasn't the lover he wanted after all? He had only been with one other woman, so why settle for my inexperienced repertoire of conservative moves? Did I even have any moves?

I put the thought far from my mind before it boggled me down.

While Ashley and Danielle hugged Becky, I introduced her to Vince and Alma. Alma had lost the conceited and malicious attitude, adopting a more peaceful appearance, with a friendly smile. I was afraid that she might stab someone at any moment, though—except Vince of course. She didn't come across as a woman who enjoyed other women's company at all. I thought to make it my mission to befriend her, but the idea just didn't sound appealing enough to make it my resolve.

"When Bridgett shows up, we can begin the tour," Vince said, which was accompanied by _oohs_ and _ahhs_ of my sophisticated, yet surprisingly goofy friends. I was actually looking forward to a tour, since I hadn't seen much of the enormous condo, save for the master bedroom and the game room.

Bridgett replied to my text a short time later, confirming her attendance, and saying she was almost here. When she arrived, I did the standard introductions, poured her a beer, and shook my head at her fishnet stockings, laughing.

With Alma staying behind in the kitchen to stir the risotto, Vince began the tour. He started in the foyer, which he called a solarium, where the elevator dumped you. Through massive arched windows, you could see the entire city. Three beautiful chandeliers hung in the center of the room from a soaring fourteen-foot ceiling. The room was set up like a quiet living room with a three-cushion sofa, an armchair, and a loveseat arranged in an open square. "That door leads to the western terrace. Since it's a little cold, we can skip that part." He turned around and headed right, toward the master bedroom. "The Envoy people label this the 'Great Room,' but I just call it the game room." The room was massive, with hardwood parquet flooring, and surrounded by more arched windows. "Up those stairs is the master bedroom." He whirled on his heels, about to move on to the three upstairs bedrooms.

"Can we see it?" Danielle asked, giving me a mischievous look.

"Yeah, I'd like to see a billionaire's bedroom," Ashley threw in.

Vince hesitated for a second. "Sure, why not?" He grabbed my arm, and whispered in my ear, "The pillow in the closet," while the rest went on ahead.

"I'll keep them distracted." We followed the group, and I pointed out the window at the terrace and the view. With them occupied, Vince charged for the closet to hide the sex pillow in one of the million built-in cabinets. The view didn't distract them long, and soon the four women were in the master bathroom, which was split so that the tub was on one side and the shower was on the other, with closets and sinks on both ends.

"I've never seen such a huge bathroom," Becky exclaimed. "It's bigger than my bedroom."

"And look at this closet," Bridgett shouted, snooping in the back. "It's insane!"

"All right, ladies, shall we move on?" Vince was wearing a pink hue, hoping they wouldn't pry into every nook and cranny and discover the pillow. He waved them out in a commanding manner.

"Very impressive," Danielle said as we entered the game room again. "I've noticed you have a lot of art all over. Are they all mostly fantasy-oriented?"

"A lot of them, yeah," he answered. "I've contracted some local artists to paint fantasy and sci-fi scenes. As you can see, a lot are of majestic landscape stuff and space battles. That one over there"—he pointed to a giant canvas between the last two windows—"is the cover of _Towers of Midnight_ , a fantasy book that I loved, and I actually contracted the original artist to replicate it."

"I bet that cost a lot," Bridgett said, off-hand.

"It did indeed," Vince laughed. "These were much cheaper." He tapped the poster of a soup bowl by his shoulder. Inside the bowl were quotes from "Seinfeld" with the tagline "No Soup for You" in bright red font. "These I bought at the Saturday market. There are a dozen or so throughout the house. If you'll follow me up the stairs here, I'll show you the guest rooms." We explored the three rooms, but they were pretty minimal and standard, except one room was full of boxes with all of Vince's toys and collectibles, including binders of basketball cards. It didn't take long to poke around, and we were soon downstairs in his office. Two desks took up most of the room, a Mac display on one and a PC on the other, both towers hidden in the cabinets.

The utility room lay next to the office, which looked like a skinny kitchen, including a sink and a second dishwasher. We entered the kitchen, which shared the same floor as the open dining area, where a depressed-looking Alma was setting up the table. Beyond the dining area through three arches lay the final room of the tour.

Vince leaned into Alma's ear and whispered something before he joined us. "The Envoy calls this the 'Living Room,' but I like to think of it as my library, as you can imagine why." Bookcases twice my height covered every wall in the room. Vince even had a tiny stepladder to grab the top-shelf books. There must have been thousands of paperbacks. A fireplace sat at the far end, unlit and unused.

Bridgett glanced outside with interest. "Is that a life-sized chessboard?"

We all flocked to the last window. In the corner, a light outside revealed a giant checkered floor with huge chess pieces aligned as if ready to start a game. "Yeah," Vince replied. "I've never used it, but it's a cool idea. You're welcome to play later if you'd like."

"I'll play you, Bridgett," Ashley said. I had seen Ashley and Danielle play chess a few times over the years, and as with everything else, she was very competitive.

Bridgett smiled. "Maybe when the weather warms up."

Vince drew our attention. "So that concludes the tour," he said, clapping his hands. "I believe the risotto is done." He glanced at Alma for confirmation, and she nodded at him, so we all sat down around the colossal table.

Vince took the head of the table, so I sat to his right, with Danielle and Ashley beside me, Alma across from me, and Becky and Bridgett next to her. Everyone had wine except for me. "Danielle, do you want to see Vince's tap selection?"

"No, I'm fine with wine," she said, placing a cloth napkin on her lap.

"Really, I think you should take a look at it." I grabbed her arm and cleared my throat.

"Oh, right. You were going to have me taste that one," she said, getting the hint. We withdrew from the table and crossed the long hallway to the game room. "I know this isn't about beer, so what's the deal?"

"It's Alma."

"What about her?"

"I just wanted to know your impression of her," I said, masking my feelings toward her.

"She seems really sad and lonely," Danielle answered, looking over the taps.

"Anything else? Any other vibes?"

She cocked her head at me and glared. "Maci, would you just ask me what you want to ask?"

"Does she bat for your team or mine?"

She rolled her eyes. "Did you seriously just ask me if she was gay with a baseball metaphor?"

I threw out my arms unintentionally. "Is she, or not, Danielle?"

"No. I don't think she's gay," she said, turning back to the tap. She found a clean glass and poured herself a pale, unfiltered ale. "Why does it matter?"

"Because look at her!"

"Your point?"

I folded my arms across my chest, glancing over my shoulder at the hallway. "Vince and her dated, remember. . .? But they never had sex."

"Never?"

"According to him."

"Maybe he lied about it," she said, taking a sip. The drink left a foam mustache afterward.

"Why would—you have foam on your lip," I said, rubbing my fingers across my upper lip to show her where. "Why would he lie about it?"

She wiped the foam away and licked her finger. "Thanks. Maybe he did it to make things less awkward between you and her. I don't know. What I _do_ know is she's definitely not gay."

"Do you think you could test her?"

"Jesus, Maci."

"Ashley then," I said, with desperation in my voice.

"No, I'm not going to ask her either. You'll just have to take my word for it, okay?" She shot me a look that said she was done with the conversation. "Why don't you just ask Vince later what happened between them?"

"Yeah, I guess." I grabbed myself a glass and poured another porter. She started back for the hall and I tailed her. "But if you change your mind, I'd really appreciate it."

"Forget it," she said with finality.

"All right, all right. God, so touchy . . . I thought you'd enjoy the challenge."

She shook her head, grinning. "I'm not going to take the bait, Maci."

"Had to try," I said, entering the kitchen, almost spilling my drink. We took our seats, and I did spill a little on the tablecloth, but luckily missed Danielle. I didn't want to push her over the edge into crabbiness.

The rest of the dinner went well, mostly just introduction talk, including what my friends did for professions, which prompted Ashley to talk about her investment firm. She boldly asked if Vince would be interested in a proposition. Polite as ever, he agreed to hear her out later in the evening. Alma remained silent through much of it, her sadness visibly growing deeper the more wine she drank—and she drank a lot of it. We cleared our dishes to the counter by the sink. Becky was the last at the table, talking more than eating, a factor I hoped didn't pertain to her weight loss.

Vince was rinsing off the plates when Becky got up and made her way to the sink, but she tripped over the thick mat in front of the sink, spilling what remained on her plate all over his crotch. "Oh my God! I'm so sorry." She snatched up a towel from the counter, bent down, and started wiping away the sticky cheese, her strokes spanning from his waist to his mid-thigh, right over his penis. It was as if she was rubbing him down to get him hard.

I'd never been the jealous type, but seeing her down there, stroking like she was, launched a wave of jealousy in me. It was then that I knew I'd definitely never be comfortable with a threesome.

Vince looked at me in panic, his wide eyes asking what to do, before he finally stepped back. "That's all right, I'll just go change. That's what they invented washing machines for anyway, right?"

She giggled, straightening up. "So sorry. I didn't see the mat."

"It's fine," he insisted.

"Where's your broom?" she asked. "Do you have a mop?"

"Becky, really, don't worry about it. Go join the others." Vince nodded at the group that had shifted into the library, now scanning his shelves. "I'll handle it. Go."

She nodded slowly. "O—okay." She put down the rag and joined the others.

"She was a little enthusiastic, don't you think?" I said, picking up the plate from the floor.

"What do you mean?"

"What do I mean? She was practically jacking you off."

"She's _your_ friend," he said in defense. "Besides, I think she was more frantic than intentional."

I grinned at him. "If you say so."

ALMA WAS THE FIRST to leave, swearing she had work to do in the morning, but really she was falling asleep from too much alcohol. It was good she was rich and had a driver, though she could have stayed in one of Vince's guest rooms. Bridgett left second, and then the rest left a few minutes later at about one in the morning.

"That was fun," Vince said, removing his bowtie.

I sat on his bed. "Yeah, it went really well," I agreed.

"Your friend Ashley is a tenacious one. She wants to set up a meeting at her firm to discuss handling my financial portfolio."

"Really? She asked you that tonight?"

"Yeah, it was all right. People ask me stuff like that all the time. They know I'm young and have a lot of money. I might take her up on her offer and see what they can do." He kicked off his shoes and advanced toward the bed. "But I think we have other business to discuss."

"You mean Alma?"

Vince halted, taken aback. "Alma? You mean her drinking? She does that from time to time. It's nothing to worry about."

"That's not exactly what I meant, though it was odd," I said. "I actually wanted to talk about your relationship with her."

"Oh." He resumed his trek from the closet to the bed. "What do you want to know?"

"How long did you date?" I lay back on the pillows. "You never really clarified that."

He had taken off his pants and it was slightly distracting. He sat down, his back against the right bedpost. His penis bulged in the boxer-briefs he had changed into after the accident. "From February to June in two thousand sixteen, so about four months," he replied, his voice steady.

"How come you never slept with her?" The words slipped out faster than I could filter them.

"It just never worked out," he said passively. "I guess we never connected that way. No chemistry, you know? Then we mutually broke things off soon after we graduated with our Masters and started the company."

"No chemistry? But she's so pretty?" I stared at him, unconvinced by his explanation. "Both Ashley and Danielle were commenting on her looks all night. Even if there's no chemistry, wouldn't you at least try _once_ , to see if it's just nerves?"

He frowned and gave me a small shrug. "I don't know what you want me to say. We never had sex and that's the truth. Are you saying you don't believe me?"

"No, I believe you. I'm just trying to understand why not."

He laughed. "Would you prefer that I had slept with her?"

I considered the question for a minute. "No," I said at last. "I'm just a little shocked that it never happened."

He scooted closer and ran a finger up my thigh. "Well, if it means anything, I think we have a lot of chemistry."

The soft touch awoke the passion from earlier in the evening. "Is that so?"

His finger went up and down my leggings, each time getting closer to my clit, and soon I forgot all about my fears concerning him and Alma. I gasped when his palm stopped on my clit and held. I looked down at his bulge, the underwear barely containing his hard-on. The transition from discussion to arousal was so fast, it seemed like desire had suddenly flooded my body, and there was no way I could stop it—but I didn't want to even if it were possible.

He withdrew his hand and pulled out his notepad with the list. "Which one do you want to cross off tonight?" We regarded the thirteen remaining fantasies together. When my eyes hit number thirteen I knew what I wanted. I pointed. "This one."

His penis responded with a jerk, fighting to break through the cotton. "Pick up where we started?"

I nodded. He stood and pulled down his tight boxer-briefs. His erection bounced with life. I crawled off the bed, my eyes hungry. My lips wrapped around his smooth skin, sucking, as I slid down his shaft as far as I could go. It was so strange how simultaneously soft and hard his erection was. His hips thrust forward, and I gagged, but didn't flee like I had before, trying to stay calm.

I slowly glided back and rolled my tongue around his tip. He shuddered with a groan. His stomach and hips flexed, and while I glanced up, I could see each muscle of his six-pack. Seeing his toned body urged me on even more. I ran my fingers across his chiseled stomach as I sucked harder and another groan escaped his mouth. My left hand grazed his skin, stopping on his butt for support— _and_ because I liked to squeeze it. I moved down the length of his shaft, deeper than before, almost to the base, but it was too big for me to reach. I kept reminding myself to breathe through my nose so I wouldn't choke as his body reacted.

One of his hands reached around and cupped my hair. He opened his eyes and gazed down at me, his brown eyes boiling with passion. "You look so sexy when you do that," he breathed. His hips flexed again, forcing his shaft deeper, and I sucked harder in response.

I rested at his head and circled it with my tongue in big, wet strokes. He tasted salty and delicious, and I could feel the slickness of his pre-cum as my tongue maneuvered around his swelling head. He abruptly stopped me and lifted me to my feet. Kneeling, he tugged on my tight leggings and thong, inching them off in the steamiest way possible that made me crave his— _cock_. The word popped in my head. It sounded dirty and erotic . . . and I liked it. I wanted to please his cock as much as he had pleased my clit the week before.

His hands gripped my butt and pulled me forward. He smiled up at me as his tongue connected with my clit that sent a jolt of pleasure through my body. "You shaved, too," he said, pleased. "It's so smooth." He explored the whole shaven region. Then he returned to my clit, and his tongue flattened as he applied pressure to his strokes. His hands squeezed my butt and I let out a soft moan. "So firm," he whispered.

"I want you in my mouth," I begged after a minute of his slow, methodic tongue massage.

He stood, wiping his mouth. His cock was so hard and engorged, it looked like he was going to come right then. "I bought this, too," he said, taking a calm breath. He walked to his nightstand and took out a clear bottle from the top drawer. "It's tangerine flavored."

"Lube?" The word sounded so foreign and naughty to my ears. I hadn't expected it, and I think it showed on my face.

"Was it a bad idea?" he asked, cautiously.

"I've just never used it before," I said. "It was always a joke that it's for old people, but after reading a few chapters of ' _The Guide_ ,' I know it's definitely not."

He smiled, relieved. "I think I should be on bottom. I don't want to crush you."

I moved forward and squeezed his cock, eliciting a grunt. "You're so sweet." I directed him to the bed, released my hold, and pushed him down. I took the sides of my dress and pulled it up, tossing it to the floor, then unhooked my bra, freeing my breasts. He buried his head in my cleavage as I pushed my boobs together. Withdrawing for breath, he ripped off the plastic packaging to the tube, popping up the lid, pouring a handful of lube onto his palm. His hand reached for my pussy and rubbed the entire area. A tremor shot through my body. I bit my lip, letting the feeling envelop me for a second while he kissed a nipple.

"My turn." I extended my hand, palm up, wiggling my fingers. He squirted half my palm full. As he set down the bottle, I ran my hand down his cock to his balls, massaging them.

"Fuck," he gasped. I pumped his shaft a few more times before swinging my legs over his. Swatting the pillow to the floor, he lay down, his back flat across the bed. I scooted back so that we were in perfect sixty-nine position. His fingers slid up my legs and around my waist, lowering my clit to his tongue. I wanted to scream in ecstasy, but held it in, focusing on the tip of his head. The lube tasted like sweet orange Creamsicle—delicious. I licked right underneath the tip, the male sweet spot, I found out. He thrust up, sending his cock into my mouth, and I could feel him at the back of my throat, tickling my uvula. I forced him back, sucking, swirling around and around.

His tongue penetrated my pussy, and then glided down to my clit, upside down. "I could eat this all day," he said in a heady voice. Letting his words seduce me, I could feel that wonderful pressure building in my body, as his tongue and nose worked, rubbing, licking. The lube added a slippery, exciting aspect. I had felt wet on the inside before, but this time I knew I was wet on the outside, and then I noticed a finger massaging the entrance to my pussy. I cried out when he inserted it. Everything was so slick, it went right in. He added another finger after a minute.

Pumping his shaft with my right hand, I squeezed and fondled his balls with my left hand, playing with his tip all the while. I couldn't tell who was louder, him or me, as I tried to focus on pleasing his cock. It grew more difficult by the second. My hips had a mind of their own, in rhythm with his fingers and tongue.

Pleasuring while being pleasured was the most erotic experience. There was nothing like it, but it was much harder to maintain, and at times I forgot what I was doing, falling away into the sweet sensations. Resuming my strokes, Vince called out, "Harder, harder."

I grasped his shaft with more vigor, but he kept asking for more pressure, harder, harder, until I was squeezing as firmly as I could. His head had swelled so much, it barely fit in my mouth, so I continued with my tongue, swirling.

His fingers, tongue, and nose were moving so fast—keeping pace with my hands—that I had to shout out, "Softer, softer." He complied for a moment, but soon he was lost in my grip.

"I'm gonna come," he warned. I put my mouth fully over his head, preparing myself for what was about to happen, stroking his long slick shaft as fast as I could. His head swelled a bit more, signaling his climax. Suddenly, his cock pulsed, shooting a stream of semen straight at the back of my throat—surprise flooded my body. He cried out, over and over, and my hand never stopped until he stilled, empty.

His penis throbbed, still stiff, the blue veins bulging. I rolled off him, hot semen in my mouth. His eyes were barely open, but when I turned to him, he gazed at me, elated. I swallowed the oozing liquid and his cock responded with an aroused pulse. "That was so hot," he said, his breath rough. I slowly licked my lips, my eyes locked with his. I had never felt so sexy and erotic.

He waved me to him, and as I leaned in, his hands wrapped around my body, pulling me into his arms. The hard kiss that came next surprised me, his tongue in my mouth, exploring, swirling, sliding across mine. I could sense his satisfaction—his gratefulness. He pulled away, smiling. "Now it's time for me to finish what I was doing." He lay back down, clutched my hips, and slid down across the sheets so that his head was under my pussy.

His tongue and fingers resumed their play. My hips rocked up and down his face like I was fucking him. After swallowing his load, I was so charged that it only took a few minutes for me to peak, and I yelled and yelled, unable to control what came out. It was the only release my body knew.

The flash of red never came. Instead, the pressure remained down in my clit, and then surged out to my fingers and toes in an explosion that splintered every cell in my body. When I finally opened my eyes, I was staring at the ceiling, my eyes twitching. I looked down and noticed that I was gripping him so intensely, I was practically tearing out his hair. I immediately released my hold. "Sorry."

He craned his head and peered into my eyes. "For what?"

"If I pulled too hard."

He kissed my wet lips. "You pulled just right."

# 13

### THURSDAYS

After we crossed "69" off our list, we seemed to do it every night we saw each other, the foreplay lasting minutes to over an hour, and often ending with Vince flipping me over and coming inside me. Almost two weeks had passed since the first time I gave my first blow job that wonderful Saturday night. The first week flew by at work. Although, apparently, Vince and Alma's demonstration for PGE on Wednesday didn't go as well as they'd hoped.

On Thursday, Vince blew me off again, swearing he had to work that night. It was the third straight Thursday in a row that he "had to work late," and a suspicion seeped into my brain. I ignored it over the following fantastic weekend spent in the bedroom. But when I asked him if he wanted to go out on the fourth Thursday, my gut was telling me something was up. Something bad.

"Do you think he's cheating on you?" Danielle asked Wednesday night, right after I'd received a rejection that said he had to work late tomorrow. We were in the kitchen cooking. Well, really she was cooking and I was complaining, speculating about what he was actually doing on Thursday nights. We were guzzling the sweet, nut brown beer from our growlers like two fishes.

"I don't see how I could let him get so close and not know," I said, staring at the text. "I mean, I've never been this intimate with a guy before, and even with Ryan I could see it coming. I denied it, but I could still see it coming. I just don't understand why he won't tell me what he's _actually_ doing every Thursday."

She gave me a doubtful look. "So what are you going to do?"

That was a good question. _What could I do? Stalk him?_ A light bulb went on in my head. "What if we staked out his place?"

She laughed at me. "What are we, spies?"

"We don't have to be spies. More like detectives," I said, pulling up Google Maps and searching for a place around Vince's building that would be good to park incognito.

"You don't think that sounds a little ridiculous?"

"Does it?"

She sighed. "Really? You sound like an obsessive psycho."

"Ouch," I said, pretending the remark had stung. "I think 'psycho' was a bit strong." I got out two plates when the timer went off.

"Maybe," she teased. She served the chicken pot pie she had prepared the night before. "You really want to do that—stake out his building?"

"I need to know, Danielle."

She frowned, staring at her slice. "It just sounds so extreme and crazy . . . but I'm in if you decide to do it."

Scooping up the front chunk, I chewed my first bite. "Hot," I said, sucking in air with the food on my tongue. I blew on my second bite. "It's really good."

She gave me a thin smile, not too happy about the idea of stalking my billionaire boyfriend. "What if his bodyguard spots us or something? There could be security all over the place that we've never seen before."

I tilted my head at her, and my hands were moving about as I said, "Really? And I thought _I_ was the paranoid one."

"Hey, he's rich and powerful. I doubt he only has the one bodyguard watching him." She was already halfway done with her slice, munching it down like there was no tomorrow. "Anyway, say his bodyguards don't spot us, and he leaves his building, and we follow him . . . what then? What if he's doing what you think he's doing? Are you going to break down the door to the cheap motel and go on a rampage?"

"I don't know, Danielle." I shook my head. "You still have that baseball bat?" I smiled over at her. She gave me a nice glare. "I'm not serious."

"Then what?"

I shrugged. "I'll know the truth and I can deal with it then. It may be that you're right and he really is just working late, but either way, I'll know. I'll know."

THE NEXT MORNING PROVED to be another wet one. It was a bummer after such a gorgeous weekend that peaked in the high sixties, but after Monday, the weather turned to rain and more rain.

Work went slowly, and my gut knotted, churning for most of the day. Nerves were imploring me not to go through with the plan. An inherent curiosity and need to know was telling me to do the opposite. To get away for an hour or more, I walked to the gym, incorporating some weightlifting and stair-stepper time into my workout, and ending with thirty minutes on the elliptical.

Halfway done, I was surprised when the woman with the luminous blond hair strolled in. Her face grew excited when she saw me, climbing onto the machine beside me. "Hi," she said, her voice cheerful.

I turned off my iPod and removed the earbuds. "Hey . . ." I blanked on her name.

"Emma," she filled in.

"Right, sorry." I was already red, so she probably didn't even notice my embarrassment. "Maci."

"I remember," she said pointedly. "I'm very good with names and faces," she added after a brief and awkward beat.

"I wish I were," I said, intent on sounding apologetic. Hopefully she wouldn't bring up the beach house, as that would pose another awkward disaster.

"So, did you ever find out if your team has a place to stay for Hood to Coast?" she asked with a bright smile.

"Oh, right. I totally forgot. We do have a place to stay, I guess, but thanks for the kind offer, and sorry that I never called about it." I couldn't tell if she bought my act.

"No worries," she said, remarkably unfazed. "I had actually forgotten until just now." Her words didn't come off as true, but I wasn't about to call her a liar.

"I haven't seen you around for weeks," I said, trying to direct the conversation in a new direction. "Been sick?"

"Been out of town," she replied flatly, making it obvious that she didn't want to discuss the topic. "Have you seen Vince Forte in lately? I just love those days when he's here. He's such an Adonis."

"A geeky Adonis," I laughed. She was right: he had the looks that drove me wild inside, but he also had had a mind like no other.

"I don't think playing video games constitutes a geek anymore." She looked over at me, her face forming a slight glare.

I opened my mouth to make a joke about how much he played, but then realized how strange her comment was. _How did she know he played video games?_ It wasn't on his Wikipedia page. Was she Vince's mystery woman? The only woman he had been with before me? She certainly didn't sound like an ex, but I supposed it was possible . . . I chose to further investigate what she knew. "He's a big gamer?"

"I don't know how much he plays, but he supports the field a lot. He gave a speech at PAX Prime last year in Seattle. That's where I first saw him. I was there with the guy I was dating at the time. I remember melting away as he spoke. He was a lot smaller then, but still sexy as hell."

So she had an infatuation with Vince. _How_ _lovely_. Jealousy didn't arise like it had when I saw Becky rubbing down his crotch, but I did think it would be a poor decision not to tell her I was dating her crush. "I haven't seen him in here lately," I lied. He had virtually stopped going to his other two gyms, opting to work out in the Hawthorne branch so we could see each other daily.

He had mentioned a business meeting before, and I was pretty sure it was supposed to go all afternoon, so chances were small that he'd show up. That would be an awkward scene.

"That's too bad," she replied. "It's always easier to work out with some eye candy to distract you." She grinned at me. "Right?"

I returned her smile, not knowing what else to do. I still had five minutes left and I didn't want to quit, but my tongue was tied and my brain absent.

Emma was friendly, though, and didn't seem to mind my shortage of words. She detailed her workout regimen, ready for the Bridge to Brews race, which was next Sunday. I really enjoyed her sanguine personality. When I finished, she asked if I'd be in tomorrow at the same time, because she wouldn't mind a workout partner for the weights downstairs. Since I wanted the same thing, I told her I came in at three almost every weekday. We planned it so that we could be there at the same time.

Back at home, I grew even more anxious, pacing the living room, waiting for Danielle and our stakeout to begin. I called it that, anyway. She called it _stalking_. She had grabbed takeout from a Mexican food cart and we shoveled it down. It was 4:50. She had taken off early so we could get there as soon after his meeting as possible.

"My car or your car?" she asked.

"Your car makes way less noise," I said. "Plus mine sticks out more than yours does." We got in her nice and cozy Crosstrek, heading for Vince's. "I also like the heated seats."

"I just hope this doesn't end how I think it will."

It was 5:37 by the time we reached the Envoy, parking on the narrow street in front of the building. "Oh my God, that's him!" I spontaneously smacked Danielle's shoulder with the back of my hand.

"Hey, watch it!"

"Sorry." I pointed. "That's him. That's his Mustang."

"I know. I hit it, remember?" She kept her lights on as he backed out of the single-car garage. There was no sign of Terrance on his motorcycle, and we were too far away to see how many heads were in the car. He turned his car so that he would drive east, the opposite way we were facing. He came zipping our way.

"Duck!" I screamed, pulling on Danielle's wrist. We both bent down below the window. After he passed, we straightened. "Hurry, you have to turn around to catch him."

Danielle pulled out and turned for one of the garage doors, readying the car for a three-point turn. It was more like a five-point turn. "Hurry, we're gonna lose him!"

"I'm not an Indy racer, Maci," she growled. She finally aligned with the road, going east, racing after the Spider-Man Mustang. We turned left onto SW Green, then right on SW Vista.

"I've never been over here," I said, looking at the nice houses. "Where do you think he's going? He doesn't have an office in the south."

"Doesn't he have a gym down here?"

"Lake Oswego," I corrected. "If he's going there, he's taking the long, _long_ way."

"Don't panic yet," she said, glancing over at me. "Maybe he has another meeting at an office down in southwest or maybe out in a suburb." My breathing picked up, and I kept thinking I was going to hyperventilate. "If you don't start breathing, I'm going to turn the car around and go home."

I inhaled as deeply as I could and held. "Okay, I'm okay. Keep following him." We tailed him to SW Patton, taking a right. Danielle remained at least one car behind him at all times. A few times, two or three cars snuck between us. Lucky for us, he never abruptly turned off anywhere. We took a left onto SW Scholls Ferry and followed him for what seemed like forever, all the way down past the Washington Square Mall in Tigard. After we reached highway 217, I yelped, "Turn, turn, turn!"

Danielle hurtled into the left lane, flying to make the yellow light onto SW Cascade. "Where the hell is he going?" she mumbled to herself. The road ended, and we banked right onto SW Greenburg. The car that had been our buffer took a left at the light, leaving us right behind Vince's Mustang. She slowed down so that we were four or five car lengths back. Hopefully he wasn't paying that much attention. It wasn't getting dark until after 7:30 and if he glanced back with any awareness, he could easily make us out. We went right, down SW Ninety-first until we came to a large apartment complex.

"Holy shit!" Danielle burst out, startling me. "What if he has a family down here that he keeps out of the press? He could be a father."

The idea overwhelmed me. "No, he couldn't, could he?"

"Rich men do it all the time," she asserted. "They keep it hush-hush with all their money. It's possible." Her enthusiasm for the hypothesis did nothing to calm my nerves. She pulled into the expansive parking lot. Signs warned us about towing, but I told Danielle I'd pay the bill if anything happened, so she parked in a vacant spot by the road.

I ignored a lot of what Danielle said, concentrated on finding Vince. "Do you see his car?" We searched the parking lot, but couldn't find it in the front area. Walking around to the back, Danielle spotted the blue and red Mustang parked on the other side of a pool.

"I wish our place had a pool," Danielle said. "Don't you?"

"Do you see Vince anywhere?" I asked with a strained urgency.

"No," she answered. "He could be in any one of these apartments." Two men were walking from their car toward what looked like a community room that some of the bigger complexes had.

"Maybe there's something going on in there." I nodded toward the building. "Let's check it out."

Inside, we found a cramped hall with chairs arranged in a circle, and a table with coffee and snacks. The two men sat down on the far side while another man spoke, though I couldn't hear exactly what he was saying with the rattle of the metal chairs. The man's tone softened, as though he were ending his speech, and the hall quieted. "So if you've had the same trouble with step ten, please feel free to share now, or if you've had any other problems, you can share those, too."

I could hear the clear tenor of Vince's familiar voice. "Hi, my name is Vince, and I'm an addict."

There was a pause, followed by a collective, "Hi, Vince."

"Vince?" I called out, unable to control my reaction.

I could see his soft curls in front of me as he spun in his seat. Our eyes locked and there was definite panic in his. He jumped up. Terrance jumped beside him. "Maci." Vince put up his hand at his bodyguard, darting to where Danielle and I stood by the door. "What are you doing here?" he whispered.

"Wha—what are _you_ doing here? What is this, AA?"

"Let's talk about it outside." He grabbed hold of my elbow and pushed me toward the door. I squirmed out of his strong grip, turning around.

Danielle opened the door and exited first, holding it for us. "I'll let you two talk things over. I'll be in the car, Maci."

I nodded at her, quickly turning back to Vince, in utter shock.

"It's NA—Narcotics Anonymous. I'm a drug addict, Maci. Recovering, but still an addict."

"What do you mean—what does that mean?" I was shaking my head, my mouth involuntarily open.

"It means I used to do a lot of drugs. Hard drugs. Terrible, nasty, hard drugs."

Disbelief flooded my head, and suddenly the world felt foggy and distant.

"I think we should go somewhere else to talk about this." His face was pleading with me.

About to lash into him, I saw the reasoning behind his suggestion. "Where?"

"There's a café not far. Is that all right?" I had never seen such worried eyes before. He was afraid, I could tell—afraid of losing me.

I wanted to be reasonable, and not let my anger and confusion get the best of me. I simply nodded.

"I'll go let Terrance know." He rushed back inside.

I plucked my phone from my pocket, hands shaking, and typed out a message to Danielle, asking her to wait thirty minutes since she had her book, then to leave if I didn't come back by then. If things couldn't be worked out, Uber and Lyft existed. Walking around the building and pool, I waited by Vince's car. He came running up from around the building, out of breath.

"I thought—I thought you'd left," he gasped. "I'm glad you didn't." He unlocked the Mustang. Pulling out, we ended up crossing 99 on Commercial, then parking in front of a chiropractic office on Main Street in Tigard. Neither of us spoke during the short car ride. I was trying to collect my thoughts and keep some composure.

"It's across the street. That red old-fashioned general store." He pointed to a cute two-story building. We jaywalked across the dead road, found a four-person table by a street-side window, and calmly sat in the vacant café. I didn't know what to do, fidgeting for a while before folding my arms across my chest, clutching my arms as tightly as I could.

He scratched the back of his head, looking at the table, unsure how to proceed. "So, you're a drug addict?"

" _Recovering_ drug addict," he inserted quickly.

I brushed aside the comment. "For how long?"

"I've been in NA since late May two thousand fifteen," he answered, his elbows on the table, his eyes looking out the window. "I was in rehab for a few weeks before that . . ." He was struggling to get the words out.

After a long pause, I said, "I guess my biggest question is _why_? You don't seem like a partyer, so how did you get into drugs?" He finally looked me in the eye. His lips were shaking as he held back tears.

A waiter came by with two glasses of water and asked if we wanted anything else to drink. After a decisive _no_ from me, he said he'd be back in a minute to take our order. He moved too quickly for me to tell him I wasn't interested in food.

Vince was on the edge of a rainstorm. He held his breathing in check, stifling the flow of tears that could come at any moment. "My—" he started, but his throat grinded from dryness. He took a sip of water and cleared his throat. "After my adoptive parents died, my childhood wasn't a fun one, being tossed from one foster home to the next. I never really got to know anyone, transferring to different schools. I never really had a constant in my life, you know, until my senior year of high school. Then I went off to Stanford. That's where I met Skye, during my freshman year. I'd never met a girl like her. She was so caring and generous, and . . .

"And we fell in love, _hard_. We moved in together our sophomore year, then I proposed our senior year, in September. We were planning on getting married after we graduated—you know, have a nice summer wedding outdoors. But in May, she and her sister were heading down to New Zealand for a weekend. Her brother-in-law was part of a film crew, and he had been down there shooting a movie for a few weeks. Anyway," he choked. I could see his will weakening as streams steadily dribbled down his cheeks. "The plane—it crashed over the Pacific. There were no survivors."

He swallowed a dry, hard swallow. I put my hands out and reached for him, but the table was too big, and his face was buried in his hands, veiling his tears.

I had no words: no way to comfort him.

Vince was breathing through the pain, slowly collecting himself. Minutes later, he went on: "Skye was my life, my constant, and after her death . . ." He brought his red-rimmed eyes level with mine. "I fell apart. I couldn't eat or sleep at all. That's when I started taking sleeping pills, but they didn't do the trick, and then I found an old bottle of Vicodin in my medicine cabinet. They numbed the pain and put me to sleep. I spent a lot of time sleeping then. I scraped by until graduation, already admitted into the mechanical engineering program for grad school, but then I found myself utterly alone that summer and things just seemed to get worse and worse.

"In August, I remember being at a party, and this shady dude asked me if I wanted some 'pearl,' which I later found out was cocaine. I tried it . . . and after that, everything got worse. By May, I hit rock bottom. This was in two thousand fifteen now, and I had gone through a slew of drugs by that time, until Alma rescued me. She was the one who took me to rehab.

"It hasn't been easy, but I've bounced back, barely getting by during those long, long months. School of course didn't go well, but I was good, and Alma, she was even better. Because of her, I graduated; because of her, I found life again . . .

"Anyway, I've been going to NA every week since then, and every Thursday since moving to Portland. I've been clean since May of fifteen, and I still see a therapist to deal with Skye's death."

There was another long pause. "Why—" I found I had no voice. I gulped down half my glass, trying to piece it all out. "Why couldn't you tell me all this before?"

"I've been trying to for weeks," he said, his voice hoarse and nasally, his nose clogged. "I wanted to after the night we made the list, but the words never seemed right—they never came to me when I was about to broach the subject. I wanted to tell you all about it. And after you asked about Alma, I wanted to tell you even more, but I—I just couldn't." He winced, as if attacked by a sharp pain in his gut.

"Skye was the reason you couldn't sleep with Alma?" I asked, evaluating how hard a blow her death had been to him.

He nodded. "After Alma helped me get cleaned up, we grew even closer, but we took it slow, remaining friends for almost a year before we decided to give a real relationship a chance. Months went by and I still couldn't do it, still couldn't get over the obstacle of seeing Skye's face the moment Alma would try to get intimate."

Then it dawned on me and everything became clear. "So that's why you were so distant the first two times we had sex?"

He nodded again. "After you sent me that text, I knew I had screwed things up just like before, and I also knew I couldn't lose you like that. I liked you too much to let ghosts from my past get in the way. But still . . . even though I got over what had been keeping me back for so many years, I couldn't tell you, I couldn't—"

"It's okay, Vince." I got up and sat beside him in the empty chair. Wrapping my arms around him, I squeezed tight. He returned the embrace. "It's okay. I understand. I get it."

He went silent. Tears were streaming down both our faces by then. I didn't know how long they lasted, but it was a while. The waiter was smart enough to give us space; he never returned.

"So, I didn't scare you off?" he asked, smiling, snot on his upper lip. I handed him a napkin and he blew.

"No," I answered. "I just wish I wouldn't have found out this way. I thought you were cheating on me, and then Danielle had convinced me you had a secret family living at that apartment complex."

He laughed. "A secret family. Is that right?" He blew again.

"Walking in on an NA meeting was just as great a shock, though. Neither of us ever guessed drugs."

"Should you tell Danielle you're okay?" he asked, looking his wristwatch. "It's been over an hour."

"I'll text her, yeah," I said. "I told her to go home after thirty minutes."

"Do you want me to take you home?"

I shook my head. "I'd like to stay with you tonight, if that's all right."

He leaned in and kissed me.

"There's just one thing . . ." I started as we were leaving.

"Yeah?" he prompted.

I stopped on the sidewalk in front of the café. "How come your stint in rehab isn't in the news, or on your Wikipedia page or whatever? I mean, as soon as a celebrity goes to rehab, it's everywhere—in your face for days."

He gave me a small chuckle. "Well, I'm no celebrity, and I haven't been wealthy that long," he replied. "I'm sure given enough time, it will be. There probably won't be any major digging into my past for a few years, though, with some luck. Right now, I've paid off the right people, which sounds bad, but so does 'former druggie owns major alternative energy company,'" he air quoted.

I laughed. "Yeah, that does sound bad."

We drove back to his place. In the solarium, I grabbed his arms, and turned him to face me, leaning in. We held each other without talking for a while. It was weird how much closer I felt to him now. I rose on my tiptoes and kissed him gently. The soft touch sent a shiver up my spine as we parted.

Vince's eyes locked with mine. "I know we haven't known each other long, Maci, but I'm pretty sure I'm falling for you."

I leaned in for a second, harder kiss that lasted twice as long. After we separated, I felt like a motor had just been turned on, alive with desire. I stripped off his jacket, and lifted off his shirt so that he stood there in only his pants and shoes. His skin was so warm, and his muscles so hard. I glided over his abs and rubbed his growing erection through his pants.

He stopped me. "I have a surprise for you," he said breathily. He grabbed my hand and led me upstairs to the largest spare bedroom on the far end. Inside, he whipped around the corner into the bathroom, where we almost came to a crashing halt. "I had it installed a few days ago."

I gazed up and spotted the huge waterfall showerhead hanging from the ceiling where a light had been. My heartbeat picked up, excited. "Do both showerheads work?"

"I guess we'll have to find out." He turned both handles and water spouted out of both. "Shall we cross another fantasy off the list?"

I couldn't help but bite my lip, eager. Stripping off the rest of our clothes, we stepped into the extravagant shower. One and a half sides were huge glass panes, while the other two and a half were expensive tile, with a corner bench on the half-wall.

The water was hot and relieving. Our bodies collided under the soft pellets of the waterfall, slick and sexy. His tongue explored my mouth before swirling with mine. His cock had stiffened to its full length, and I squeezed it like he had showed me. "God, it's so hard," I gasped. "And thick."

His hand reached for my clit and he smiled, circling under the endless cascade. With dexterous fingers, he gently pinched my inner lips and stroked them. I could feel them parting as my veins burst afire. He slid a finger in, shallow at first, then deeper and deeper. "You're so tight," he said into my ear. He circled as he went in and out, slow and intentional. It was hard to see with the waterfall above, which added a different sensual element and increased my tactile sensitivity.

"I have an idea," he said abruptly, withdrawing his sweet fingers.

I brushed the water from my eyes and saw him grab the detachable wall-mounted showerhead, bringing it down to my pussy. Tenderly, he massaged my clit with the showerhead. I let out a hard breath. The pressure of the water shot pulses of pleasure straight up my back to my neck. Stopping his hand after a moment, I replaced the showerhead, and pulled him directly under the waterfall.

Then I knelt on the tile. The water slicked his cock and made it easy to pump up and down. My left hand ran up his thigh and around to his butt, keeping me stabilized. He was groaning as I raised his hard-on above his waist and probed his balls with my tongue. I slipped one in my mouth and sucked as I continued to pump his shaft. His breath hitched and he leaned back on the wall, his arms supporting him. "Jesus, what are you doing?" he cried out, his head tilted back.

"Twirling my tongue around your balls," I said happily.

He was panting, constantly changing pitches, but between breaths I heard, "Oh, God! Suck it! Harder! Harder!" We hadn't discussed much about dirty talk, but his words triggered something inside me and encouraged me to go a little wild. His hips flexed and his balls reacted, shifting in gravity. He grabbed my right hand, which had never stopped stroking, and brought me to my feet. Out of the water, he wiped his face, then kissed me with such passion, I thought he might come from it.

He turned me around so that I faced the glass. His cock slid between my legs as he leaned against my back. His hands caressed my ass, which sounded marvelously naughty in my head as I thought about where they were going. They cruised down to my legs and back up again, slapping a cheek. "I want to fuck you— _hard_ ," he whispered in my ear. The words, coupled with his hot breath, pushed me over the edge.

I spread my legs a little, inviting him in.

The head of his cock played with my lips, parting them. A breath later, he thrust in and a gasp exploded out of my mouth, while the sudden penetration sent a shockwave of pain and delicious gratification throughout my body. His cock went so much deeper from behind. It was a shock and a rush at the same time. Placing his hands on my hips, he picked up his tempo, forcing me to grab onto the top of the glass wall for support.

He glided one of his hands around my body and fondled a breast, squeezing. The hand traveled down my stomach to my clit, where he pressed into me. Another jolt ran through my body and made me cringe in absolute ecstasy.

Nearly losing his balance, he reached for the top of the glass, pushing closer and closer to the wall. With his weight, he pressed my body against the glass, my breasts squishing, the surprise of the cold tingling my hardening nipples. The position just screamed "sexy," and in response I cried out, "Faster . . . Oh, yes, please. Faster!"

The pressure was building deep inside me this time—bigger and bigger—and soon I was lost. For a time I had no thoughts, only the feeling . . . the sensation. It was only me and him—and the motion, the ceaseless rhythm. His fingers pressed harder and harder. His cock thrust faster and faster. Relentless.

I could feel the explosion coming. My breaths were already so fast and so rough, that I didn't know anything more could come out, until I felt the first scream leave. I couldn't control or stop them.

Grunting and moaning, Vince shouted, "Come. Come for me, sexy. Come for me, Maci."

I stiffened, falling apart at his words, the pressure unleashed, shattering me into a million pieces of orgasmic paradise. As if from afar, I could hear my own screams, muted: the explosive intensity consuming my thoughts, my senses, all that I was.

As I settled, I heard Vince, still pumping, his breath hoarse. Suddenly he buried his cock as far as it would go while he called out my name. His fingers on my clit squeezed firmly, and then relaxed, while the rest of his body remained still and rigid. His cock pulsed inside me, and I shuddered every time it did.

He wrapped his arms around me and hugged me tenderly. I turned back, my mouth open, and he quickly leaned in, kissing me with eagerness. We parted, and he slowly, carefully pulled out, leaving me with an empty, and at once, full feeling.

Full of satisfaction.

# 14

### FOREST PARK

Waking up to be at work at 4:45 in the morning had never been easy. Now, though, it was a hundred times worse. Late nights with Vince meant a day of fatigue the next. Add in a run or gym workout and I was dead. But I loved my job, and business still hadn't picked up enough that I could ease back on the hours. Luckily, Bridgett handled most of the financial load.

Vince had also been kind enough to set up our network on one of his visits to the bakery. He and Terrance often ate lunch there during the week. His bodyguard still hadn't warmed up to me, which was strange. I'd never met a person so ostensibly cold. I received several glares a week from him. Sometimes I swore he was grinding his teeth when he looked at me.

At the beginning of April, about three weeks after Vince's dinner for my friends, I decided to surprise him with a lunch visit at his office. I had yet to see it. I knew his main office was in a downtown skyscraper. He had pointed it out from his condo before, but I never had the urge to drop in. Until that day.

I'd never bothered to learn the names of the big buildings downtown, though some of them you couldn't help but hear about, like the Wells Fargo Center and the Fox Tower, and the U.S. Bancorp Tower. Vince's office was in the Bancorp Tower. Before Vince corrected me, I knew it as "the pink building" or "the copper building," depending on the lighting. Imaginuity's main lab was at another location, but they ran all of their office-related work from the skyscraper.

On Vince's floor, I walked up to the main secretary. "Excuse me."

She put a finger up to my face. "One moment." She was looking down, nodding. "Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Yes, I'll transfer you right now." A second later she was staring up at me. "How can I help you?"

"Where is Vince Forte's office?" I asked pointedly.

Her eyes narrowed. "Do you have an appointment with Mr. Forte?"

"Appointment? No." I grew nervous. _Would I need one? I am dating the man, after all_.

"I'm sorry, I can't let you see him without an appoint—"

"Wait!" I cut her off. "I'm here for a lunch appointment. Yes."

She eyed me, skeptical. "Ma'am, clearly you don't have an appointment."

"Is everything all right?" a familiar voice asked behind me. I turned and saw Alma standing there in a skirt suit.

"No, Ms. Perez," the secretary answered quickly. "I was just about to tell this woman that she will need to set up an appointment in order to see Mr. Forte."

Alma snorted. "Unlikely," she said with a tart bite. "This is Maci Goodwin, Vince's _companion_." The way she said the word made me sound like an escort.

"Girlfriend," I corrected, getting the words out in a hurry, almost stumbling over them. "I'm his girlfriend."

"Don't worry, Cassandra, I'll show her the way," Alma said, taking my arm in a fierce hold.

The secretary looked blankly at us as we disappeared down a row of cubicles. "Come for a quickie in the break room?"

I understood her bitterness now, and I felt sorry for her. I mean, Vince hadn't been able to move on with her, but he could with me, which had to sting in the most awful way. Despite that, I couldn't resist. "Yes," I replied, raising an eyebrow at her.

"Watch it," she snapped. "His office is at the end of this row." She pointed left as we came to the last cubicle in the hallway.

Before I could reply, she had turned and charged off, making for the huge office opposite Vince's.

As I drew near, Terrance opened the door, hauling a man out of the office by his jacket collar. Tall, with a scruffy beard, and a haggard look, he could have easily been a bum or a drug addict. Terrance didn't so much as glance my way, handling the man with rough hands.

Vince caught sight of me and smiled, on the phone. I passed his personal secretary's desk and she tried to stop me, but Vince waved her off. Closing the door, I sat across from him. I was a little amazed by Vince's choice of business attire: he wore an Iron Man shirt under a black blazer. Apparently he didn't change for work. His confidence and sense of self turned me on as I appraised him in his work environment.

Then I thought how funny it was that I knew the character on his shirt. We had watched nearly every comic book movie and dozens of sci-fi and fantasy shows in the last five weeks, and the weirdest part was that I liked them. _Was he nerdifying me?_ I asked myself, staring at him. I reflected on how compatible we were, how much give and take we employed. For every comic book movie, we also watched a cheesy romantic comedy. Of course our relationship involved much more than watching movies.

Vince's voice broke my thoughts. "All right. Yeah, no problem. Okay. All right. Yeah. Yeah, I'll see you next week. Okay, bye." His bye was barely a word, more a blip than anything. "Hey!" He jumped up. "What are you doing here? You never come here."

"Surprise!" I said, drawing out the end of the word. "I thought we'd go out to lunch, and I wanted to see where you work. Fancy."

"Well, I work mostly at the lab," he said, his smile fading. "There are other people here to run things. If you plan on stopping by more often, you should call, just in case I'm not in."

I nodded. "So was that your dealer in the jean jacket?" I teased.

His lips hardened. "No. I've never had a dealer up here."

"So who was that guy? Terrance looked like he was about to kick his ass."

"He's someone from my past." Vince's voice grew dark. "Someone who believes there was a mix-up in our contract. I have a restraining order against him. That's why Terrance was escorting him out."

I could tell he wasn't going to divulge anything more on the topic, not at that moment anyway. "Oh, sounds bad."

He gave me a shrug.

I leaned in for an embrace, changing the mood in the air. "So what would you like for lunch?"

Vince's attitude adjusted to match mine. "How about a picnic? There's a great pita place not far away. How long is your lunch?"

"I can take an extended lunch," I answered, leaning on his desk. "Why?"

"We could go up to Forest Park." His eyes were as excited as I'd ever seen them, completely different from a moment ago.

"It looks like you've already got something planned?"

"Not planned exactly," he said. "But I've thought about what we could do during a long lunch." He took my hand and bolted out of his office. "Ashley, I'll be gone for a while. Cancel any appointments I have until three." We were gone before she could open her mouth.

"No introduction?" I asked, on the way to the elevator.

"Oh, right. When we get back." Vince pointed out a private spot labeled for him in the parking garage. Heading to a pod of food carts on Third Avenue, we pulled into the parking lot, ordered what looked like exquisite pitas, and then drove west toward Forest Park.

We ended up on a gravel road, surrounded mostly by forest, with a few houses and driveways along it. The road ended at a trailhead. There was space for a few cars to park on each side, though one side had a steep cliff. Vince chose a spot a few feet from the edge. There were three other cars parked, but no people within sight.

"So why did we come all the way out here?" I asked him, gazing around at the wonderful and dense forest.

He pulled out his leather-bound notepad and flipped to the list. "Number three."

"Have sex publicly in a car," I read aloud. I glanced around at all the trees. "I don't think this counts as public."

"It's public enough, I think," he countered. "I've fantasized about this since we made the list. See, there's still the risk of being seen." He nodded at a group of four hikers returning to their car. "What do you think?"

I clicked the pen and crossed out the fantasy, seductively licking my lips. He leaned over and stole a kiss. I put the food on the floor while the other car departed, leaving us alone . . . for the moment.

He climbed into the backseat. I followed, reminded of high school and making out in cars . . . it was so long ago, but there I was, doing it again, about to take it one step further. I sat on top of his lap, pushing his chest back. He slid his hands along my thighs, up my back, and to my neck, playing with my hair. At that moment I wished I had worn a skirt to work instead of khakis. Even though I was shorter, my head touched the roof, so I had to keep it bent down, which I didn't mind since it allowed me to stare into Vince's intense brown eyes.

He yanked down my undershirt, kissing my breasts. I ran my fingers through his soft, curly hair, mussing it into chaos. Leaning back and, with one arm behind my neck, he pulled me down for a delicate, passionate kiss. Arousal had taken hold by then, and I wanted to tear his clothes off as badly as he did.

Kissing my neck, he traveled from one side to the other, and its titillating effect drove me to slip off my top and undershirt. My heart hammered against my chest, the possibility of being seen adding a thrill to the tight space of the car. I tugged off his jacket, and then he stripped off his shirt in a flash, reaching around for my bra.

Suddenly we were skin to skin.

The back of the Mustang was no SUV, cramped and intimate, and it provided no room to move around. Getting off our pants proved a difficult task. I flopped into the open seat, Vince wrenching at my khakis—but they were so tight, I really needed to stand for them to make it over my ass. Success came after a minute of struggling, and we turned our attention to his slacks. His practically slid right off.

I climbed atop him again, his erection as solid as ever, but he tucked it under my ass, opting to rub my clit. His deft fingers found the bundle of nerves, massaging it in circles. I writhed, my hands clenching around his biceps. My stomach flexed, my hips tensed, and I gasped in his ear.

As his fingers continued their sublime assault, my hips began to sway, mimicking his motion. "You're so wet when I play with your clit." He brought his fingers up and showed me just how wet I was. He took each finger into his mouth, slowly sucking each clean.

I couldn't take the anticipation any longer. "Fuck me. I want to feel you inside me," I said oh-so softly in his ear. I raised my hips, and his cock, held down by my ass, sprang up, alive and throbbing with hunger for me.

He seized it at the base, whipping me, teasing me. I slid down, the head of his penis entered, and then he rammed upward, filling me, breaking me, stealing my breath with the surprise. I couldn't believe how far his cock reached. It seemed like it was moving around all the organs in my stomach, making room.

_And I thought doggy style went deep_. This was a completely different experience. I cried out and he stilled.

"Like that?"

I nodded. "But I'm on top," I said, taking charge, pushing him back again. I rocked my hips, shoving my breasts in his face. He pressed them together, sucking on a nipple. I cradled his head, picking up speed with my hips, gyrating, losing myself in the feeling.

He sucked in air, throwing back his head. He began panting, screaming, grunting. He returned to my breasts, kissing, sucking, biting.

My clit was rubbing against his pubic bone, and the faster I moved, the stronger the potent sensation got, building, building, building—until it was all I knew.

The intensity of my orgasm peaked, and I could feel my eyelids twitching out of control, as red filled my vision, swarming me. My hips slowed as my mind drifted elsewhere.

Vince's hands slid from my breasts around to my ass, taking over, pumping wildly, frenetically. I watched as his eyes rolled back in his head. He screamed and screamed, nothing coherent.

He stilled, his grip on my ass ached and burned, squeezing as though afraid I'd slip out during his fierce thrusts.

Our breaths were short and quick, reflecting our happy exhaustion. He opened his eyes and stared into mine. Rising to kiss me, he traced his fingers along my back, sending tingles throughout my body.

"I didn't know it could go so deep," I rasped. I touched far above my bellybutton. "It felt like it was hitting up here." I laughed, tapping the spot.

His hand settled on my thighs, smiling. "That was . . . intense," he breathed. Sweat covered both of us. The windows had fogged up from our steamy heat. It smelled hot and musky.

I smiled as I rolled off him, grabbing my panties. I could feel his semen oozing out. "Do you think anyone saw us?"

"Maybe heard us," he panted. He stroked his still impressive erection, getting the last drips of semen out, and wiping it on his boxers.

I giggled at the thought of someone hearing us. We dressed, bumping elbows and other body parts. He kissed my breasts before I hooked my bra back on. "I like it with you on top," he said, zipping up his pants. "I felt so much closer—and how your boobs pressed against me."

I rubbed his crotch. "It won't be the last time, I guarantee that." He kissed me one last time, clambered over the center console, and wiped off the windshield. "Uh." His voice choked.

"Yeah?" I scrambled over the console and peeked out the window. "Oh." In the car across from us, two older people were sitting in their car, both of their heads facing us, eyes wide with interest. "How long do you think they've been there?"

"Don't know, but I think we should find another place to have our picnic," he said, grinning. He powered on his electric motor and swung the car around, saluting the couple with two fingers and a nod. They only stared as we passed. "I hope they enjoyed the show." He broke out in laughter.

I started laughing too, buckling my seatbelt. "I can't believe we just possibly had sex in front of people."

"Random people," he added. "Besides, what they saw was a beautiful thing."

"Red-hot, passionate sex?" I asked, going for the obvious.

He drew out a pause, then, shaking his head, he said, "Love."

VINCE WAS BUSY THE next two days after our park escapade. I hadn't returned his variation of "I love you" like he hoped—at least it seemed that way, as he was somewhat distant on the phone Wednesday night. I left him alone on Thursday while I contemplated my feelings toward him. Was it love? I had fooled myself into thinking I'd loved others, and after Ryan, it was hard to tell exactly what love really was.

Our bond was something special: there was no doubting that. I'd even call it beautiful. But _love_? The closeness, the openness, the attraction—was that what love amounted to?

I counted the weeks since the car accident. Nine. It had only been nine weeks since I had first laid eyes on him. Could you fall in love with someone in nine weeks? According to romantic comedies, of course you could, but I didn't believe that, and I knew no one who did.

Still . . .

Something existed between us that I'd never felt before, something deep inside of me that gave me confidence and pushed me into new realms, and not just sexual ones. Sure, I'd always been confident outside of sex, but now I felt more whole—more complete with Vince in my life. I decided while sitting at my work desk to tell him that. I didn't have to say "I love you" yet, not if I wasn't ready . . . if he didn't understand, then it wasn't love we shared.

While I dwelled on all this, I rolled the marble back and forth across my desk. My break had been over for ten minutes, yet I couldn't stop. Listening to the sound eased my nerves.

Suddenly Vince barged into the office. I fell over in my chair, crashing to the floor. Vince ran over and helped me up, yelling my name. "Sorry. The hinges . . . I thought I needed more force."

"Just greased them," I said, a little out of it. I examined his disconcerted face. "What's wrong? What is it?"

He lips really didn't want to say it. "I—uh—I don't know how to say this, so I'll just be direct."

His words worried me, and an internal alarm went off, bracing for a spontaneous breakup. "Okay?"

"Maci, Bridgett stole something from me." He paused, waiting for my reaction.

I burst out laughing so hard, I nearly peed my pants. "Bridgett stole something from you? Are you crazy? Bridgett might look a little edgy or whatever with her fishnet stockings, heavy eyeliner, and colorful eye shadow, but she's smart and respectable, and certainly not a thief. I mean, come on, what reason does she have to steal?"

He shook his head. "I don't know. But two days ago, I started putting together my memorabilia room, you know, the bedroom upstairs with all the boxes in it." After a nod from me, he continued, "Well, when I came to the box with my basketball cards, I noticed that a binder was missing. More importantly, the binder with a certain Michael Jordan rookie card worth over a hundred thousand. I think that entire binder was worth about three hundred grand."

"And why do you think it's Bridgett who stole it?" I folded my arms across my chest, grinding my teeth.

"I don't _think_ —I _know_." He extracted a flash drive from his pocket and plugged it into the USB port on my keyboard. When it loaded, he opened it up, scrolled down the files, and then clicked on one labeled "Parking Lot-3-17-18." A video began playing: footage of the Envoy's gated parking lot. Suddenly Bridgett appeared, walking to her car, then stumbled, a little too tipsy. She dropped her purse. A binder flew out of it, and Bridgett scrambled to pick it up, shoving it back into her bag. Vince rewound and paused the footage with a clear shot of the binder. "See?"

I stood there, dumbfounded. "But why would she take it? Business is steadily picking up. She's not a klepto."

"As far as you know," he interjected.

I shot him a nasty look.

"Anyway, I called around, and finally located the Jordan card at a pawn shop down in Tigard," he said. "Apparently she hocked it for twenty grand. The guy was really surprised when she came in with it, to say the least, and clearly took advantage of her rookie-card ignorance. I had to buy it back for ninety thousand."

I shook my head. How could this be possible? I knew Bridgett. She was one of my best friends. We owned a business together, for fuck's sake!

Vince regarded me with a lost look. "So, what do you want me to do?"

"What do you mean?" I asked, my throat dry and abrasive.

"Well, considering she's one of your close friends, I haven't called the police, but we need to do something about it."

I rubbed the back of my neck, ready to pound my face on the desk. "I guess we should confront her."

As if her ears were burning, Bridgett walked in, her mouth open, and stared at us. "Oh, hey," she said like she'd just caught us doing it. "Hi, Vince. I didn't know you were here."

He nodded at her. "Just stopped by to talk to Maci about a problem."

"Oh? I hope it's nothing serious," she croaked. After clearing her throat, she took a step back. "Well, I should—"

"Wait, hold on," I cut her off. "Come look at this. Maybe you can help us out."

"Me?" she squeaked. "How could I help?"

I waved her over. "Just come here and look at this." Vince stepped aside as she plodded up to my desk. As she crept within range of the screen, I pointed at the image. "What do you make of this?"

Her eyes blew up. She stared at the image in silence. Then, after a minute of awkwardness, she broke down in tears, collapsing into my chair. "I had no choice, Maci. I had to . . . had to do it . . . the business." It was difficult to make out much between her sobs.

I looked at Vince, nodded at the door, and gestured like I was drinking from a mug. He took the hint to get a cup of coffee and left. I patted her back as she continued to weep. When her tears began to subside, she raised her head and met my gaze. Makeup had run down her face and transformed her into a frightening monster. I handed her a tissue, holding back the laughter that wanted out.

The situation called for more severity. I gave her a hard, interrogative look. I received only silence. "Why'd you do it?" I finally asked, my voice stern.

"For the business," she mumbled.

"The business?" My face contorted into a glare. "The business is fine."

"The business is not fine," she snapped, but then eased up. "Sorry. Sorry. You keep thinking that business is picking up, but it's always about the same, and the same means we're losing money. Lots of money."

I shook my head. "Business _is_ picking up. I've been monitoring the numbers."

"Face it, Maci, in another two or three months, we're out of dough—no pun intended."

I waved off her attempt at cuteness.

"I saw that without an infusion of cash, we'd be shutting our doors, and it'd be over." She stifled another round of tears, sucking in a deep breath. "Then I saw those cards and knew they'd be worth some money, and it's not like Vince would miss a few thousand dollars, so I took the binder. I only sold the one card. It was Michael Jordan, so I knew it was worth some money."

I pulled up one of the visitor's chairs and sat across from her. " _Stealing_ , Bridgett? We were that desperate? The credit union—"

"—wasn't going to give us any more money," she cut in. "As far as I saw it, it was that or go under."

I rubbed my forehead, a small headache coming on. "I just never pegged you as a thief—and did you really think you wouldn't be caught?"

"I figured he has a lot of business people over, he gives a lot of tours, and after a while, he'd give up looking for it. Or maybe he'd think he lost it in the move. Stuff like that happens." She was trembling as she spoke, her voice broken. "Look, I'm sorry, Maci. Really, I am. What do I do to fix this?"

"Well, for one, we have to give the money back."

She cringed. "Oh, God, Maci. What have I done? I've ruined our business and our friendship . . ."

"Every friendship has its bumps," I said softly, though my anger wanted to tear her apart. "This is our first. Granted, it's a huge one, but I think we'll survive. We'll work something out with Vince, and we'll get another loan somehow. Don't worry. It'll all work out. I'll handle it. I'll talk to Vince. I don't think he's at all eager to press charges or anything, so you're in the clear there . . . It's gonna be a long road trust-wise, but we'll get through it. We'll be okay." I got up and rubbed her back as she buried her face in her hands again. "I think, for now, you should apologize to Vince, then just take the rest of the day off." My tone conveyed that it wasn't a suggestion.

She nodded. I retrieved Vince, and Bridgett gave him a sincere apology, tears still flowing. She left soon after that, when she seemed stable enough to drive.

"I'm so sorry about all of this. It's not something I ever saw coming," I said, shutting the office door.

He smiled warmly. "Would be pretty hard to."

"So I guess I'll get you the money as soon as I can."

He wrapped his arms around me and held me loosely, our eyes lost in each other's gaze. "Don't worry about the money. Call it an investment."

"I can't let you give me money," I said, my words more barbed than I intended.

"People will always need to eat," he replied. "Investing in restaurants is always a smart move, especially with one as delicious as yours."

"Smart move?" I laughed. "Most restaurants fail within their first year."

"I'm an optimist." He leaned in and kissed me.

"Still, I can't take it."

"Then I guess I'll have to turn Bridgett in," he threatened with mock sincerity.

"I'm serious."

"So am I." His grin gave him away, but deep beneath it I could sense that he wasn't going to take no for an answer. "I've invested more than twenty thousand in other companies, and I like none of them as much as yours."

"It's different when you have a personal investment," I argued.

"Money makes everything personal," he countered. "I'll tell you what: why don't you look over your books and see how bad it is, and say you only need two grand, then I'll un-invest the other eighteen. Deal?"

I considered his proposal. If Bridgett was right about getting more loan money, Vince's "investment" could be our only option to stay afloat. I hated the idea of accepting his charity, but I nodded, agreeing to at least think about it.

"Do you think you could stop by the gym around eight?" he asked, switching subjects out of nowhere.

"Uh—why?"

"I have a surprise for you."

"A surprise?"

He nodded.

"What kind of surprise?"

"You'll just have to show up and find out. Can you do eight?"

"I have a whole mess to work out, but I guess so. For a surprise."

He leaned in for a kiss goodbye, then let go, heading for the door. "See you at eight." He was gone a breath later.

OUR BUDGET PROBLEM WASN'T as dramatic as Bridgett had made it out to be. Every month we were steadily draining money—that part was true, but we had about six months before everything crumbled. Six was a long way from two. In six we could pick up and be far ahead. From a realistic, objective standpoint, we did need Vince's money though. About six grand of it. He didn't seem worried about the ninety grand he had forked out getting the card back, but if that was included in the bill, we were dead, plain and simple.

I guess we got lucky that Bridgett didn't try her slick maneuver on a greedier person; otherwise we wouldn't be coming out ahead. I decided to swallow my distaste for accepting unearned money, and embrace Vince's "investment," despite how queasy it made me feel. I didn't know if it was guilt or what, but something was twisting up my insides.

I spent the rest of the afternoon committed to the chore of deciphering the books, and the clock read 7:53 when I glanced at it. Stuffing the Reuben leftovers in the fridge, I locked the back door, speed-walking down Hawthorne. The wet, cold air did nothing for my mood. Although, trying to guess the surprise Vince had in store for me did help cheer me up. I had a feeling it would be something expensive and I'd have to turn it down, already over the limit for the month.

Nearing the front entrance, I noticed that most of the lights were off even though the gym never closed. Taped to the door, a sign informed members that it was shut down for maintenance, and apologized for the inconvenience.

Confused, I swiped my card anyway, and sure enough the light turned green and the door unlocked. Inside, I found the place deserted. A bag lay on the front counter with a note on it that said "MACI." I withdrew a white sports bra. Only it wasn't a full bra. Holding it up to my chest, it reached halfway down my boobs. The second article was a pair of white underwear.

A trail of rose pedals led me to the bathroom, a clear indicator that I was supposed to change into the new outfit. The panties covered half my cheeks, exposing most of my ass. When I put on the bra, I understood its design and purpose. It covered my breasts until just past my nipples, revealing the flesh under my boobs. I didn't grasp the sexiness of the top, except for the easy access, but clearly Vince had fantasized about this for a while. The tight material of the bra pressed my boobs together, with a different type of seductive cleavage.

Leaving the bathroom, I climbed the stairs to the second floor, where I'd seen Vince most often and expected him to be. As I ascended, the air grew hotter, as if the heat had been turned way up. When my eyes peeked over the floor, I saw a thousand white candles spread out before me, all flickering with life.

I sighted Vince at the centermost bench, doing arm curls, shirtless. My quiet footsteps went unheard, but my image in the floor-to-ceiling mirror made me easy to spot. He dropped the weights and stood, whistling as he eyed me up and down. "You are one sexy lady," he said, breathing hard. His body glistened with sweat, his muscles bulging from the workout.

"And you're one sweaty man," I returned, eyeing his arms with lust. I wanted to eat each of his defined ab muscles, but I supposed licking them would also do.

He glanced down at his arms and chest, then back at me. "My goal is to make you one sweaty woman." He grinned, alluring me, seducing me. My knees nearly buckled.

I sucked on my lip in a way that said, "I can't wait."

"I know it's not silky lingerie, but how do you like the outfit?"

I pressed my boobs together, creating more cleavage. "I like that you like it." I slid my hand down his gym shorts to his rock-hard cock.

He cupped my breasts, bending over to shove his face in them. He spent a minute inhaling with his nose in my cleavage, then he straightened up, his hands reaching around to my ass, squeezing, caressing. Suddenly our mouths connected, tongues swirling, wet and exhilarating.

He slapped my ass and my heart jumped. Pulling away, he flattened the inclined bench he'd been working out on, and turned it lengthwise so that it ran parallel to the mirror. He eased me on to my back and when I glanced at the mirror, I could see the full length of our bodies.

Biting his lip and on his knees, he ran his fingers from my feet, up my thighs, and to my ass. I rested my feet on the ground as he spread my legs, his nose skimming from one thigh, over my panties, to the other.

The soft nuzzle tantalized all my nerves. With every pass, he drew closer to my clit, but never touched it, teasing me. "God, you're so sexy," he whispered. "And you smell so delicious."

I lifted my hips, wiggling them, begging him. He relented. Moving aside the panties, his tongue swept over my clit, down to my pussy. He licked up in broad strokes. I gasped. He removed my panties in one swift motion. Free of holding my underwear, his hands fondled my exposed breasts while his tongue continued to glide up and down.

"You taste so sweet," he murmured. "I could do this all day."

I writhed in pleasure, unable to contain myself. Eventually, he concentrated on my clit, pressing a finger under the bundle as his tongue twirled. He licked a finger and slid it inside me. My stomach contracted, and my legs pressed in, crushing his head. His left hand clenched my thighs as his tongue increased speed.

Then he bit down. A gentle nibble at first, adding more suction.

I screamed. I could feel the wetness flowing out of me as my hips convulsed. My muscles contracted in waves, and eventually I released my thighs that hugged Vince's face. _How did I not suffocate him?_ I wondered in a distant dream. I noticed his dripping wet curls as I raked his scalp. My eyes came back into focus, and I glanced down at Vince, who was looking at me with burning eyes. He wiped his mouth, coming up for a kiss.

"I love the way you taste," he said, massaging my clit with two fingers, our eyes locked, intense.

I flexed up for another kiss.

The heat from Vince, combined with the candles, had bathed my body in sweat. The atmosphere created a mood that I'd never experienced before, slick and hot and intimate. The dim candlelight was intoxicating—stimulating. Romantic.

Vince knelt beside the bench. With his other hand, he grazed my skin, skimming a finger under my breasts, around my stomach, and down my thighs. It felt like he was everywhere on my body. Everywhere but in me.

"I want to feel you inside me," I said, rubbing his chest, sliding my finger up his neck and through his hair again. He stood up, slipped off his gym shorts, and helped me up. Behind us sat another bench, its design angled so that a person's head was near the floor as they did crunches. Swinging the bench to make it parallel to the mirror just like the other one, he raised the angle of the back so that it sloped a tiny bit in the other direction, forming an open "V" with the butt cushion.

I stepped in front of it, about to lie on my back, when he started turning me around. Realizing what he wanted, I stopped him. "I want to see you."

"You can, in the mirror," he replied, compelling me to turn with his strong arms. He bent me over the bench. Its sturdiness easily held my weight. I grasped the sides of the seat cushion for support. "See?"

I peered at the mirror and could see Vince's hand sliding up my legs to my ass. I hadn't even noticed that he had moved the weights that normally sat in front of the mirror, giving both of us a clear view of each other.

I shook my ass for him to enter.

He took his cock and played with my lips for a minute, until he was nice and wet and ready. My lips parted and he gently eased into me. I watched as he slowly thrust in and out: my own private, erotic show. His hand holding my hips, he gradually increased his pace, his muscles flexing, shimmering with sweat.

He was also regarding the mirror, watching as my boobs bounced, the undersides smacking my ribs. That drove him wild with lust, and he began pumping hard, slamming against my ass. I moaned as his balls slapped back and forth. He was gasping and grunting, but the sound of him driving into me was even louder, and I loved it, loved how wet and delicious it was.

Watching his cock glide in and out, his balls swaying out of control, while listening to the sexy noises—all of it converged as he came, pushing the sweet sensation deep inside me and out to my fingers and toes. My toes curled as Vince stilled. I let out a long exhale as my head swirled in bliss.

"You're so beautiful," he breathed. He palmed my ass, leaning into me.

I craned back to kiss him. Recovering my breath, I withdrew, gulping for air. Then, with Vince still throbbing inside me, unfiltered and unplanned, an impulse took over and I whispered, "I love you, Vince."

Gazing at me with those soft, warm eyes, he whispered back, "I love you, too."

# 15

### THE SEX TAPE

I drove home the next morning. The sun was out and the birds were singing. At least they were inside my head. If it had been raining, I would have stopped the car and started dancing in it. My head was swimming from euphoria.

It was definitely love. I knew that now. We had both torn down our walls and embraced each other. Truth, openness, and willingness: that was what it all came down to. That was love.

And, not to mention, fierce attraction.

I recognized that what I felt for Vince was beyond infatuation. It was greater. He drew out emotions in me that I never knew had existed. Beyond sexual gratification, he drew out happiness—pure and simple happiness.

I parked on the street since my week to park in the garage didn't start until tomorrow. I practically skipped to the front door. I planned on shouting out my love at the top of my lungs as soon as I saw Danielle, letting her and the rest of the neighborhood know all about it.

I was twenty-five and in love.

I turned the key and found Danielle asleep on the couch. "I'M IN LOVE!" I screamed in her ear.

She exploded awake, slapping me across the face. "WHAT THE FUCK!" she roared, realizing it was me in front of her. Huffing, she leaned on the couch for support. "Why—why would you do that?"

I was holding my cheek in pain, breathing through my teeth. "I don't know. It sounded like a good idea in my head."

"A good idea to scare the shit out of me," she hissed. "Are you okay?"

I rubbed my stinging cheek. "You got me pretty good, but yeah, I'm fine."

She laughed, sitting down. "So what did you even say? I just heard a screech in my ear."

"I said, 'I'm in love,'" I repeated meekly.

"You're in love? With Vince?"

"Of course with Vince," I said, cringing as my fingers massaged the area.

She gave me a naughty grin. "Have another orgasm?"

I laughed. "As a matter of fact, I did . . . but that's not why I'm in love."

"It's a part of it, I can tell you that," she argued.

"It's where it started," I agreed. "Now it's so much more, so much deeper . . . the intimacy, Danielle. I think I understand what you and Ashley have."

"Do you now?"

I nodded. "And guess what else?"

"What?"

I paused for a moment for dramatic effect. "Cock."

Her head jolted, as if her ear were trying to catch the word straight from my mouth. Then she smiled. "Maci Patricia Goodwin, did you just say what I think you said?"

"If it was 'cock,' then yes." I returned her comical grin.

"Oh. My. God. You really have changed, haven't you?" She jumped to her feet. "I've been trying to get you to say that silly word forever. Years even. And look at you, throwing it out there like it's no big deal."

"You can no longer call me a prude."

"I guess not." She waved me in for a hug. "I can't believe my bestie is having orgasms, saying cock, and falling in love. Real love. It's like you're a totally new woman."

I shrugged her off. "I can't tell if you're making fun of me."

"I'm seriously proud of you. No joke. Honest."

I looked her in the eye and could tell she meant it. I returned her hug. After a minute, we broke it up, and she walked into the kitchen. "Breakfast?" she asked.

"Already ate," I answered.

"All right." She pulled out a box of cereal from the cupboard. "So, are you going to tell me about last night? What changed? What put that huge smile on your face?"

I gave her all the details: the gym, the candles, the emotion, and the exchange of those three simple, but meaningful words. After I went through the entire night, and our conversation was tailing off, she pointed at the kitchen table. "You got something in the mail yesterday. A big envelope."

I retrieved the yellow envelope, tore it open, and pulled out a DVD. " _Maci—for your eyes only,"_ was scribbled across the bottom.

"There's no return address on it," Danielle pointed out.

"Or our address," I said, examining the front. "It just says Maci. So the sender must've personally put it in the mailbox."

"Kinda creepy," she said. "Are we going to watch it?"

" _We?_ It says for my eyes only . . . what if it's Vince doing something . . . you know?"

She pretended curiosity wasn't eating away at her. "Fine, watch it by yourself. I'll be in the shower." She strolled out of the kitchen as I snagged my laptop, heading to my bedroom. Shutting the door and locking it so she wouldn't barge in, I inserted the disc. The DVD only had one file on it, so I opened it. A movie began playing.

The camera was facing a bed. A familiar bed. Vince's bed. The camera was level with it. A fake-tanned blond woman wearing short jean shorts and a hot-pink cami crawled onto the bed. Vince, wearing his usual attire, walked into the shot, facing the opposite wall. He took off his jacket as they began kissing. She threw off his shirt, moaning. "Yeah, baby," she said loudly. "Are you gonna fuck me, fuck me real hard?"

Vince nodded, stripping off her shorts and panties.

My mouth dropped as he slid off his pants and boxers. The camera only caught him from behind. He started ramming her, holding her legs up in the air. Grunts, moans, and screams filled most of the tape.

"Yeah, fuck me, baby," she screamed. "Fuck me harder. Harder. Harder. Oh, fuck. I'm your little slut. That's right, baby, fuck me harder."

He finished up, yelling incoherently in a hoarse voice. She rolled off the bed and shut off the camera.

At first I just stared at the black screen. Then rage flooded my body—rage like I had never known. Unaware of what I was doing, I picked up my computer and chucked it at the wall. Pieces broke off and the screen cracked as it split from the keyboard.

A scream exploded out of me.

Seconds later, Danielle was jiggling the doorknob, shouting, "Maci. Maci, are you all right? Open the door. Maci, open the door." I unlocked it and she rushed in. "What is it? What happened?" She saw the destroyed computer. "What the hell happened?"

"I was duped, played the fool again, just like with Ryan."

"What do you mean? Are you saying Vince cheated on you?"

I nodded, rubbing my head. The wrath swelled again. I kicked over the wastebasket full of old papers, and then punched the wall, leaving a small dent. The landlords wouldn't be happy about it, but I didn't care.

I was about to throw another strike when Danielle surrounded me in a bear hug. "MACI!" She was screaming at me to calm down, to catch my breath.

I couldn't. "That fucking asshole!" I yelled, struggling in her tight hold. "I can't believe it!"

"What was on the DVD, Maci?"

"It was Vince fucking some blond bimbo!" I roared. "He set it up and filmed it, the sick fuck!"

"Maci, listen to what you're saying," she said in a soothing voice. "That doesn't really sound like Vince. Ryan, sure. But that doesn't sound like Vince, does it?"

"It was all there, Danielle. I saw him. I saw him fucking that bitch like a fucking bastard!" Releasing me, Danielle scooped up the broken laptop, and popped open the DVD tray. Somehow the disc had survived. I ran at her. "Let me smash that fucking piece of shit!"

"Wait. Hold on, Maci. I want to see it for myself," she said.

"To rub in the humiliation? What the fuck, Danielle?"

"To see if it's really Vince," she replied, racing into the living room where her laptop was. "I just don't believe it. I have to see it with my own eyes."

I chased after her, balling my fists. "Give it back, Danielle, or I swear I'll rip your goddamn hair out."

"I'm not the one you're mad at, remember?" She straightened to her full intimidating height, towering over me. "Just breathe for a second. You can smash it, burn it, and throw it into the river for all I care—just hold on, all right?"

It felt like torrents were shooting through my veins, and my vision blurred, tears welling in my eyes. I looked at my fist, realizing I couldn't actually hit her, and relaxed my hands.

"I'll watch in my room so you don't have to hear it, okay? Are you cool with that?"

I nodded slowly, unsure.

Danielle sidled past me and closed her door. Time crept by and it seemed like she'd been in there for hours. _Was she watching it over and over? Did she find it entertaining?_ _Was she getting off on it?_ That didn't even make sense. My thoughts were running frantically, my temper rising as the seconds passed.

When I was finally about to knock, the door swung open, and Danielle stood there with a skeptical look on her face.

"So?" I asked, the word coming out as a hiss.

She shook her head. "I don't know."

"What does that mean, you 'don't know'?"

"It means, you never see his face, never hear him talk, never get a real clear shot that shows for certain that it's Vince. I mean, yeah, it looks like Vince a little, but it also doesn't. I don't know though. I've never seen him naked. Did you listen to it? Does it sound like Vince's sex noises?"

"Of course I listened to it," I barked.

She folded her arms across her chest. "I mean _really_ listened to it—not just having the audio on."

"You're insane, Danielle. I fucking heard it all. It's him. It's Vince's bedroom for Christ's sake!"

"I think you should confront him with the tape before you destroy it," she encouraged. "You're a smart, rational person, Maci. If you watch it again, I think you'd have your doubts, too." _Watch it again?_ She was definitely crazy, and there she was, telling me to be rational. She stepped back to her bed and pressed the play button. I cringed as I stared at the screen. "Close your eyes and listen to it."

A horrible, sick feeling rose in my gut, but I did as she advised, focusing on the sounds. The grunts were so deep and guttural that doubt squeezed into my mind. And hope—hope that it wasn't Vince.

"So, does it sound like Vince?" she asked when it finished.

I shook my head and collapsed onto her bed, hiding in her pillows. "When we're doing that stuff, most of the time I kind of fall away, you know, into another place, and I can't really hear him until the last second. It's hard to remember exactly what he sounds like then."

I heard her pop out the disc. "Come on," she said, shaking my leg. "Let's go."

"Go? Go where?"

"To Vince's," she answered. "This isn't something you take a day to think about. You need to talk to him now. You're too unstable and upset to drive, so I'll take you." She placed the DVD in an old P!nk CD case. She tugged on my leg, dragging half of me off the bed.

"Okay, okay!" I got to my feet. "Fine. I'll just grab the Santoku knife from the block."

No smiles or laughs erupted from her. Dead serious, she scowled at me. She herded me toward the stairs and into her car. The trip went by in silence, my head plagued by the graphic images. They made it hard to collect my thoughts. Danielle wanted me to show Vince the DVD, but I didn't know if I could stomach that presentation.

_If_ it was him, and _if_ he had sent it to me as a cruel joke, then talking about it would do nothing but make me wish I had the knife. On the other hand, it seemed so out of character, as Danielle had pointed out. With Ryan, you could see it coming—see it in his nature. Not with Vince though, which was the one reason I entertained the idea that it wasn't him. But who was it then: his stunt double? His doppelgänger? Someone to take his place on a high-risk mission? It all sounded so incredibly unbelievable.

Danielle parked on the street below the Envoy. "What do I say?" I asked, my stomach roiling, nausea coming on.

"Try and keep a level head, for one," she said, "and then just show him the DVD. Be honest and open. If you need me, I'll be down here."

_Honest and open_ , I repeated to myself, opening the car door. I let out a huge exhale. "Okay," I sighed. "If I'm not back in thirty, it means I'm covering up a murder scene."

She shot me an austere face and said, "Don't forget this." She pointed at the CD case.

I nabbed it and headed for the stairs. I figured the longer trip would allow me to come up with what to say first. Only curses filled my head. I climbed all the stairs outside and inside, and paused at the top before the elevator that gave access to his condo. I thought about texting him to open the door for my surprise visit, but the nerve never came, my hands shaking over the screen.

Pressing the button for the penthouse, I closed my eyes and tried to channel my anger into my breaths, controlling them with deep inhales and long exhales. The elevator shot up the single floor, and when it dinged and the light lit up, I brought my clenched fist to the door. I could suddenly feel all of my saliva evaporate in my mouth, leaving a sticky, sour residue.

My phone unexpectedly came to life. I gazed at the name and face. Vince. My thumb idled over the green accept button. I hit it and raised the phone to my ear.

"Maci?" Vince said after a second.

"Hey, s-sorry."

"You all right? You sound a little weird."

My mouth dried up even more. "Good. I'm good. I'm actually in the elevator at your front door."

"What? Really? Did you forget something?"

I gulped, unsure of how to respond. My stomach was about to launch the breakfast we had shared.

He opened the door, lowering his phone when he saw me. "Hey." His voice cracked.

When I saw his face, all the anger and hurt and confusion exploded out of me. I hurled the CD case at his face. "You fucking cheating bastard!" I screamed, tears surging. I swung a fist.

Recovering from the blow by the case, he caught my wrist, wrapped his arms around me, and restrained me with ease. His muscles bound me like thick ropes. "Whoa! What the hell was that for? What are you talking about?"

"You cheated on me with that whore," I spat. I tried to bite his arm, but it was safely out of harm's reach.

"Cheated on you? Have you lost your mind?" He squeezed tighter as I squirmed to get free. "I've never cheated on you. Is that a joke about Skye?"

"Skye? Is that who that blond whore was? Did you tell me some fake sob story so that I'd feel sorry for you? You make me sick. Fucking sick."

"Maci." He tightened his grip in a jerk. "I'm going to let that one slide, and say that you've temporarily gone fucking crazy. Now before you say anything more—" He jerked again. "I want you to tell me what this is all about."

"What's this about? It's about that homemade movie you sent me." I nodded at the floor and the open CD case, the DVD a foot away.

"Homemade movie? Maci, I'm going to release you now, but only on the condition that you calm down, all right?" His voice was stern and level. "All right?" he said again when I didn't respond.

"Fine. Yes. I won't hit you," I agreed, his strength subduing my will to injure him.

He let go of me. I turned and our eyes met, mine blazing with fury, his confused and defensive. "I'm going to pick that up, okay?" After a nod from me, he bent over and retrieved the DVD, reading its title. He started laughing. "This isn't my handwriting."

"Well, it's certainly you on the video," I retorted, wiping my nose and eyes.

His laughter subsided. "Let's take a look then." He left me behind, heading for his game room and the giant TV. Afraid I'd unleash my wrath again, I followed at a distance, reflecting on the detail he pointed out. I hadn't compared the handwriting on the DVD to his penmanship on our fantasy list, which would have helped confirm my suspicion. He powered on one of the game consoles and shoved the DVD inside, before navigating to the "play" option.

When the man walked onto the scene and stripped off his clothes, Vince's mouth dropped open. "That's not me," he snorted. "That's Cory."

I stepped closer to the screen. "Who?"

"Cory Michaels, he works for the private security company I own, Three Rivers Security Services. He's often part of my security detail."

"Security detail? What does that mean?"

"Sometimes I use more than just Terrance as a bodyguard," he replied. "Look"—he pointed at the man's hip—"that's a little tattoo." He raised his shirt and pulled his gym shorts down a bit. "I don't have a tattoo."

I switched between the screen and his skin. At the angle, there was definitely some color on the man's hip, but it was hard to make it out with any certainty. It looked more like a smear than anything else, a visual defect of the camera.

"I will say that I did hire him in case I ever needed a double, as we look remarkably similar," he said, "but enough for you to doubt my commitment, my loyalty, my trust? That's painful."

I studied the detail over and over. Was it really a hip tattoo? "Why would this Cory guy make the video and send it to me? It's on your bed, Vince." I stamped off into his room. The camera was set up again, which he must have done after I left, now with more equipment arranged around the bed. Taken aback, the anger swelled once more. "You have the goddamn camera right here." My voice must have hinted that I was about to kill him, because he backed away, making sure there were a few feet between us.

"I just bought that for us," he tried justifying its presence. "It's on our list, remember? To make a home movie?"

I waved my hand for him to stop. "I can't do it. I can't take any more lies." I stormed out of the room, breaking for the elevator.

"It's not a lie," he said, rushing after me. "I'll prove it to you," he added, stepping in front of me, slowing me down. "He should be at Terrance's right now, I'll have him bring up Cory and you can see for yourself that I'm telling the truth."

I shook off Vince's arms and continued for the elevator. The tears poured out of me as though I were a faucet.

Vince snatched his cell. He pressed a button and his phone beeped. "You rang, m'lord," a voice joked on the other side, imitating Lurch from the "Addams Family."

"Terrance, bring up Cory."

"Cory? Sure, boss." There were no more exchanges.

I pressed the button, but the doors didn't immediately open. Vince grabbed my arms. "Wait. Just wait until they get here. Please?" It was a plea.

I didn't have a choice. The elevator stopped at the level below us first. It whooshed up and the doors sprang open. Next to Terrance stood a man with eerily similar features to Vince, but they weren't twins—not from the front, anyway. The two stepped out of the elevator.

Cory fidgeted, clearly antsy.

"Cory, show me your tattoo," Vince commanded, and it was a command: severe and rough.

"My tattoo?" he stuttered. "That's a little odd, sir."

"Excuse me?" Vince snarled.

Terrance turned to Cory, all his former friendliness gone.

"Do it or you're fired," Vince threatened.

Cory backed up. "Then fire me. I don't need this wacko shit."

Terrance struck fast and hard, grabbing the man by his shirt collar. The bodyguard's movements scared the crap out of me, and I retreated a step. "Hey, put me down, man," Cory struggled to say.

Vince yanked down the right side of Cory's slacks. "Look familiar?" he asked me, nodding at a colorful tattoo.

I got closer for a clearer view of a leprechaun standing underneath a rainbow with a pot of gold. Despite the poor angle of the video, it did look like a match. All my rage surfaced. Before I knew what I was doing, my hand slapped the guy across the face, leaving a red handprint. "Why? Why did you send me the video?"

Cory fought to get free of Terrance's firm hold. "I didn't send you anything. I don't even know you, lady!"

I raised my hand again, but this time Vince stopped me. "You had sex on my bed, Cory, and made a video of your grand escapade. Did you give it to anyone?"

His eyes darted all around except at Vince. "I didn't know . . . I thought it was a joke. I thought he was some perv looking to get off."

Terrance slammed Cory against the wall. "Who?" he growled. The bodyguard pinned the other man like a ragdoll.

"He never gave me his name! I swear!" Cory cried out. "I was approached at a bar a few nights ago by this dude with cash. He wanted me to make a sex video in your bed. He said not to talk or show my face in it. He said it was a joke, a prank. He said he was a friend of yours, sir—an old college friend. He paid me a lot, so I didn't think much of it. It was supposed to be a prank . . ."

"And what did this old college friend of mine look like?" Vince asked, releasing my hand and stepping closer to the man. I backed up for a better view, Vince and Terrance standing only inches from Cory's face.

"I don't know, kind of scraggly, unshaven . . . he had longer greasy hair."

"Was he wearing a jean jacket?" Vince asked, though it sounded like he already knew the answer.

"Yeah. Yeah he was," Cory said excitedly. "So he _is_ your friend then? You know him."

"Terrance, let him go," Vince said, his voice cold and dark.

Terrance glanced over at his boss. "You sure?" Vince nodded.

"Thank you—thank you, Mr. Forte. I'm—"

Vince waved for silence. "Cory, you're fired for your little stunt, but you'll receive a one-month severance package for telling the truth. Breaching security like that . . . having sex on my bed— _my_ _bed_." He raised his voice, losing his composure. He pressed the button for the elevator. "I mean, come on, what the hell did you think would happen? That you'd get a raise? You're lucky I'm a generous guy, Cory. I'm a billionaire, remember? Billionaires can make people disappear and pay all the right people so no one will ask any questions. You should remember that in the future." The elevator opened, and he clapped Cory hard on the shoulder, and then shoved him into it. "Terrance, escort him out of here."

The man of few words stepped into the elevator. The doors closed a second later and they were gone.

I stared at Vince, processing all the events. "I have no idea what the hell is going on right now," I said, shaking my head.

"I think you need a beer," he said with a small laugh. "I'll pour you one." He swept into the game room and poured two glasses from the taps. "System offline." His loud, clear words shut off the TV, speakers, and whatever else was on.

I leaned against the back of the couch, looking Vince straight in the eye. "Does this have anything to do with the guy Terrance was escorting out of your office that day I came to see you?"

"Made the connection already?" He gave me a thin smile and handed me the beer.

"You said he was someone from your past?"

"Someone I'd like to forget," he said, sipping his pale beer. "His name is Luke. I met him in grad school, with Alma. We all knew each other. He was going through some problems of his own, and when I tumbled down into the world of drugs, he tumbled with me. The difference between us was Alma. She tried to help him like she helped me . . . tried to help him to get clean, but he didn't like that she had a thing for me. He blamed me then, because he was in love with her, and well, you get the picture."

"Had yourself a love triangle," I said.

"I never chose to be involved in it," he defended, "but yeah, you could say that. Anyway, he never got clean, never came back to school, and then kind of disappeared. Then a couple of weeks ago he shows up, saying he'll go to the press, tell them all about my past and all that shit, unless I pay him two hundred million or some crazy figure like that."

"So you told him off and then as revenge . . ."

He hung his head. "He gets at you. Crazy, right?"

I put down my beer and grabbed his arm. "So what are you going to do if he does tell someone?"

He looked at my hand, and then met my gaze, his soft eyes glowing. "Well, like I said, it can't stay a secret forever, so I guess I'll just deal with it."

I nodded. "I'm sorry I doubted you."

He placed his glass on the bar. "Hey, if it weren't for that tattoo, it would've fooled me, too . . . and I know you've been hurt that way in the past, but I was just hoping you trusted me enough to know that I would never hurt you like that."

We hugged each other tighter. "I guess the pain is still there from Ryan, still lingering, reminding me. It's a hard feeling to get past, how your world can shatter in less than a minute." The tears were flowing again.

He lifted my face so that our eyes met. "I would never cheat on you, Maci. Never."

"I know . . ." I leaned up to accept his kiss. He took me in his arms and held me until the ache inside faded. "I think we should cross making a home video off the list," I said about twenty minutes later, snuggled on the enormous couch. "I don't think I'll ever be in the mood for it."

He smiled. "Yeah, it kind of ruined it for me, too." He paused for a moment, and then added, "So we're all right, right?"

"I think so."

"I'm not sure what that means."

"It means yes, but I need a few days to clear my head," I explained.

"Oh, okay," he sighed. "Well, I'm leaving on Monday for San Francisco and won't be back until Wednesday. I have to meet with some investors down there. Is that enough time to 'clear your head'?"

"It should be . . . Shit," I blurted, rolling off the couch.

"What?"

"I forgot about Danielle, she's parked down on the street."

"Are you leaving right now? I can give you a ride home."

"No, it's all right. I need to stop by the bakery." I put on my shoes and started for the elevator. "There are still some money issues to resolve."

"All right." He got up and trailed behind me. Giving me a long embrace, he kissed me goodbye before I stepped into the steel box. "I guess I'll see you Wednesday."

I blew him one last kiss goodbye before the doors closed and I was left with my own puzzling thoughts.

# 16

### MR. HAMMER

Vince posted a security duo on my street before he left, worried that Luke might show up. One of them even followed me to work and sat in the bakery most of the day. It was supposed to be comforting, but it was almost as creepy as if it were Luke. For all I knew, it _was_ Luke, except Vince said he screened the two guys, and picked them personally.

The days slogged by, and when Wednesday rolled around, I was excited that Vince was coming home. I felt really out of it for about a day after the incident, questioning our relationship—my commitment—but by Monday night I was longing for Vince, missing his voice, his breath, his sweet smell.

Wednesday night was extra special because Danielle was having her first improv show in northeast Portland. She had been practicing for weeks, and wouldn't let any of us know about her progress, wanting us to wait for the show. Packed with people, the small room was stuffy and hot. Danielle went on stage with the first group, where they took turns asking the audience to fill in the prompts. Ashley, Bridgett, and I filled in a few of the blanks. Danielle joined our table when her group finished, and we all patted her on the back for a job well done. I kept looking at my watch as the night went by and other groups performed. Vince's plane was supposed to land at 7:10, but at 8:50 he still was a no-show. The whole production ended by 9:30.

"Sorry Vince missed it," I said to Danielle.

She shrugged, not bothered by his absence. She had been blown away at first by the story of the sex tape and Luke, the drug addict. Now it was old news. "He's a busy man," she said. "I just wanted my girls here."

Just then, Vince walked through the door, rushing to our table. "I missed it all, didn't I?" he sighed. "The plane was late getting in."

"Yeah, but the brewery next door is still open if you guys want to get drinks," Ashley said.

I leapt to my feet, throwing my arms around him. "Hey!"

He hugged me back. "Hey." He kissed me softly, and I could feel the others staring at us.

"I think these two are going to get some private drinks," Danielle laughed.

"That's all right," Bridgett said, "I'm tired anyway. I think I'll just head home." Awkwardness filled the air, mostly between Bridgett and Vince. Both glanced around the room, avoiding eye contact. I hadn't seen much of Bridgett outside of work since the affair with the basketball cards. We had amicably settled all that had happened, resolving our debt issue and her desperate, spur-of-the-moment decision to steal, but there was still some tension between us. We both knew it would be a while before we reached our old "normal."

Everyone stood after a short pause, and as we parted for the night, Ashley caught Vince's arm. "Hey, you still owe me a timeslot for a presentation."

"Oh, right." Vince took out his wallet. "Here's my secretary's card. Set it all up with her." Ashley smiled as Danielle pulled her away.

I got into Vince's warm car. "How was the trip?" I asked.

"Boring," he replied, "and the whole time I was thinking about getting back to you." He turned south onto MLK. "I have another surprise for you."

"From San Francisco?" I asked, wondering what gift he might have gotten me down there. He turned onto Broadway heading for the Broadway Bridge and downtown. "Where are we going?"

"You'll see," he said with a hint of anticipation. He parked in front of an old two-story brick building that looked like they were half apartments, half office spaces.

Following his cue, I got out of the car. "What's here?"

He walked up the steps and opened the door for me, refraining from giving anything away with words. "Stay here for a moment," he said, heading up the staircase to the right. I didn't bother asking for how long. My phone vibrated about five minutes later with a text from Vince that read, _"Room 226."_ I ambled up the steps, reading the numbers, and following them to the end of the hall. A metal sign hung on the door and I laughed when I read it: _"Private Investigator"._

I opened the door and found myself in a waiting room with another door at the far end. There was a bag sitting on the desk, which was presumably the secretary's station. I shuffled through the bag, grabbing a black vintage V-neck evening gown, complete with black evening gloves, a black Empress Eugenie hat, and a beige three-button wool coat with faux fur around the neck.

It took a few minutes for me to put everything on, but soon I knocked on the second door, fully dressed in the nineteen thirties costume. Walking through that door was like stepping into a movie. Vince had the entire room decorated with authentic antiques from the thirties. At the far end sat Vince behind a huge desk, his legs crossed on top of it, a cigarette in his hand, and his fedora tipped over one eye. His charcoal drape suit was heavily padded in the chest and shoulders.

"My secretary tells me you've got a case for me? What seems to be the trouble, ma'am?" Vince asked in a deep, smooth voice.

I knew nothing of role-play and I hadn't had time to prepare. What could I say to sound authentic? Did it even matter? "It's my brother, Mr. . .?"

"The name's Tommy Hammer, ma'am, and I've solved over a hundred cases, so why don't you sit down and tell me about your brother."

"Tommy Hammer?" I laughed.

"You got a problem with the name, babe, then take your case to someone else."

"You're very good at this," I said, taking a seat on the other side of the desk. "Do you actually want me to make up a story?"

"Make up a story? Honey, I want you to tell me the truth," he said, still in character. "I bet it was those no-good mobsters down on Amsterdam. Did they take your brother?" He slammed a fist on the desk before I could answer, and then jumped to his feet. "I knew it was those scumbags. Was he murdered? Dumped into the river?"

It was easy to see that he was very into his role. He wanted me to play along, which was the point, but it was really the whole setup that turned me on. My heart was fluttering as he paced behind his desk, waiting for me to reply. "They took him, Mr. Hammer," I said in a squeaky voice. "Mickey Billa and his gang—they took him yesterday, and no one has seen him since."

"Billa and his gang, eh? Looks like I'll be needing this." He took out an old revolver from a holster around his waist and placed it on the desk. I flinched. "It's not loaded, doll. Nothing to fear."

"Okay, good. I'm not a fan of guns," I admitted. "Is that a real cigarette?"

He tossed it on the desk. "Nah, it's one of those e-cigarettes. It's not on either." He returned to his seat, kicked up his loafers, and leaned back in his chair. "I hope you don't mind me saying this, Mrs. . .?"

"Betty," I said, thinking fast. "Betty—uh—Betty Crocker."

Vince pursed his lips, holding back his laugher. "Betty Crocker? Really?" His voice broke out of character.

"Betty Gipson . . . sorry. The stress—it's making me forget my own name."

"Well, Mrs. Gipson, I hope you don't mind me telling you that you're the prettiest lady I've ever laid eyes on, and I've traveled all over the world solving cases." He waved his hand across a wall map as he talked.

I pretended to blush, putting my hand over my mouth and batting my eyes. "Oh, detective." I got up, no longer able to play the back-and-forth game. "I must confess, I've never seen such a strong and handsome man," I said with a sultry, seductive voice. I walked around to him and leaned on the desk. I ran my fingers up his thighs to his crotch, rubbing his cock. "I must also confess the real reason I came down here tonight."

"Oh?" He moved his legs to the floor, giving me better access. "And that is?"

I unbuttoned his pants, taking my time with the zipper. "To see if you could solve the case of the missing orgasm." It was hard not to laugh as the words left my mouth. I pulled down his underwear and grabbed his stiffening shaft. I knelt between his legs. He melted in my grip, moaning.

His hips rocked up. I twirled my tongue around his swelling head. He responded with a thankful gasp, grabbing my hair, weaving his fingers in it. He yanked me closer. My mouth engulfed him as I tried to put my lips in front of my teeth. He pushed too fast and my front teeth slid along his soft skin. He must have liked it because he groaned in pleasure.

I massaged his balls with one hand, stroking his shaft with the other, while my tongue licked underneath his head. His grip on my hair tightened, and his hips started thrusting, his cock sliding through my fingers, hitting the back of my mouth. I gave up stroking and clenched the base of his hard-on, forcing the blood to the tip.

His breath had increased to rapid huffs, so he slowed to prevent from coming too early, and removed my hands from his soft, freshly shaven balls. He helped me to my feet as a signal that we were moving on. Rising off the chair, he kissed my breasts, then my open mouth. From inside his jacket, he pulled out a small purple tube of lube and a plastic package containing what looked like a thumb.

"What's that?" I asked, my voice jerking with hesitation. We had never used a sex toy before.

"It's a finger vibrator," he said, his character voice forgotten. With the package already cut open, he tore the rest of the plastic apart. "I thought it'd be a good idea since you get more stimulation from your clit."

The way he said it made it all sound so calculated and detached. My face must have showed my displeasure, because he followed it up with, "I mean, I thought it'd be good because my tongue can't be down there at the same time. Do you not want to try it?" His head sunk a little, disappointed by my tone of rejection.

"I didn't say that. It's just not very nineteen thirties," I lied, a little afraid of the device. _What would it feel like? What if I didn't like it and he took it personally?_ I sidestepped caution. That was the old me. The new me experimented. The new me wasn't afraid of risk. "Put it on."

We both looked down and saw that his hard-on was fading, so instead of jumping right into sex, he pushed me against the desk and gave me a long, wet kiss. Our tongues met, swirling, rubbing, mingling in passion. I inhaled his deeply-missed scent. It didn't take long for his erection to return.

He pushed me up on the desk. "Wait." I stopped him and twisted around to gaze at all the old objects on the desk. "I've always wanted to do this." I bent over and swept everything to the floor, leaving the wood surface bare. "There. Much better."

He laughed, and then launched me onto the desk again, slipping a strap down my shoulder. "Leave it on," I whispered. "It's part of the fun."

After returning the strap, he grabbed his coat. "This too?" he asked, smiling.

I nodded, opening the bottle of lube, pouring it over his cock. I gave it a few quick pumps. He put out his hand and I poured a pile on his palm. With his dry hand, he peeled back the long dress, slipping off my panties. His skillful fingers slid down my clit to my pussy and up again, pinching my clit with the lube.

I gasped, the anticipation of his touch coiled inside me.

He found my inner lips and stroked them between his thumb and index finger. I could feel them slowly parting as wetness flooded his fingers. Warmth crept from my pussy to my stomach, tingling.

Seizing his shaft, I guided him inside me, and he slowly pushed through, penetrating my desire. A surge of electricity shot deep inside me. My hands wrapped around his suit, pulling him tighter. His left hand glided from my hips to my lower back, holding me steady as he thrust—in and out, in and out—his movements were delicate and controlled.

Before he lost himself, he slipped the finger vibrator on his right thumb, and then clicked the end. It started humming away. His cock began plunging deeper as his thumb cruised down my thigh.

The slow journey of vibrations built up the suspense as he crossed over my mound to my other thigh. He teased and teased me until I was begging for him to touch my clit. He relented.

A jolt echoed through my body when the vibrator kissed my clit. Vince's palm pressed down on my mound while his thumb sent sparks through my veins—my blood screaming with pleasure. He pulled me tighter, kissing my neck and trailing down to my breasts. His hips began picking up momentum—faster, faster, faster—pounding away. It sounded wet and sexy as he slammed into me.

The vibrator never quit its wonderful assault on my clit. The pressure continued to build deep inside where his cock struck unremittingly. I tucked my face against his neck. His mouth rested next to my ear, panting. Ever so slowly, I began to slip away into a field of red. Everything turned to shades of red, from pink to carmine, and suddenly the color erupted with searing flames as my world exploded. Shards of red flew across the field as the pressure in the back of my neck climaxed, seizing me with rough, sensual hands. My entire body clenched, then went rigid, my head continuing to pulse.

Then I grew aware of Vince's teeth digging into my neck, and that his right hand was no longer rubbing my clit but cradling my head, his grip strong, the vibrator buzzing in the air.

A storm of grunts and shouts followed as Vince came. He stilled, removing his teeth from my tingling neck. He smiled at his handiwork. "I completely lost control," he huffed, kissing the marks that he left.

Our shallow breaths filled the air between us. It felt like someone had stolen my lungs and I was fighting for air. "So did I," I said, half a minute later.

We listened to the vibrator hum away while we recovered from the sweaty, energy-stealing, body-shaking romp of a lifetime.

# 17

### RESTRAINED

"I keep forgetting to ask you," I said, as Vince and I drove down 99 East to Oregon City the following Saturday. "Is Terrance your sponsor?" I was driving him this time, though not in Eddie, since Vince let me cruise behind the wheel of his electric Mustang. Terrance was behind us on his motorcycle.

Vince laughed. "No, Terrance is just my bodyguard. I do have a sponsor, but when I need to, I call Alma, not him. She's been there through it all, you know?"

I nodded. "You can always call me, too."

"Thanks," he said. "I haven't had a problem for a few months, but I'll keep that in mind for the future."

"So what's his deal? How come he's so cold to me?"

"Who? Terrance?"

I glanced in the rearview mirror at the giant beard above the handlebars. "Yeah, Terrance. He's never been nice to me. Why is that?"

"Well, to be honest, I've found that he generally dislikes women," he answered.

"What do you mean? Like he's a womanthrope?"

"Is that one of your crossword words?" he asked, all smiles.

"Maybe." I returned his grin with one of my own. "It means he hates women."

"He doesn't hate women," he said, grimacing in amusement. "He just doesn't like them very much. He prefers the company of men."

"Yeah?"

"Socially and . . . sexually."

"Oh, Danielle was right then. He's gay."

"I don't know anything about what Danielle said, but yeah, he's gay," he said, as though that were an excuse.

"So? I've met plenty of gay men who like women. In fact, I think it's pretty weird that he doesn't."

"Well, I guess Terrance is one of those few who just completely ignores them."

"So you're saying you don't think he'll ever warm up to me?"

He nodded. "But, I've only known him since September, and that's what?" He counted the months on his fingers as he named them. "Seven months," he calculated. "That's not that long. Maybe he just needs a few months to get to know you."

"I hope so if he's always going to be around." I reflected on Terrance's behavior over the last few months, how protective he'd been over Vince, making sure people were always at a distance while in line, even at the bakery. There was a certain affection in his eyes when he looked at Vince and I wondered if he thought of him as a brother. It sure seemed that way. What else could explain such devotion?

"I've never met anyone's parents before," Vince said abruptly, changing the subject. His voice startled me from my musing.

"What do you mean? You've never met a single parent of anyone ever?" I said sarcastically.

He glanced at me with a dull look. "Of a person that I'm dating, no. Skye's family lives in Virginia, and we could never afford to fly there together, and they never came out to visit us . . ." He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "What if your family hates me?"

"Why would they hate you?" I turned on Tenth Street. "You like good beer. My family will love you just based on that. My mom has hated just about everyone I've brought home, but she really hated the ones that asked for Busch. Trust me, saying good things about my brother's beer will go a long, long way."

He nodded as I pulled into a lot across from my brother's brewery on Seventh and Washington. Terrance drove on by; Vince encouraged him to ride around when he wasn't needed at his boss's side. "He started this place with the same inheritance money you got?"

"Yeah, my grandma's house was worth quite a bit, and she had a small life insurance policy. She left most of it to my mom, and my mom divided it between Donny and me."

"Ah, right. And how old is your mother again?"

"She's turning fifty-eight today," I answered, swinging my door wide. It swung too easily and I practically slammed it shut, used to Eddie's rusted hinges.

"Could you be a little gentler?" he implored, inspecting the door.

"Sorry." I grabbed the gift out of the trunk. It was a great big box wrapped in green and blue paper with a colorful striped bow in the middle.

Stopping in front of the restaurant, Vince looked up and said, "'Portertown Brewing Company.'" His eyes darted below the main sign to a smaller one. "'Where the Porter is King.'" He chuckled at the slogan. "So I take it they have a different focus than the majority of Portland's breweries?"

"I'm not even sure he _makes_ an IPA," I said. "So yeah, you could say he's on the fringe."

He opened the door for me, and I led the way to a private room in the back where large flat screen TVs hung along the walls; the space was usually reserved for Timbers and Blazers games. Most of my family was already there, waiting—too punctual for their own good. Vince had that in common with them.

"Maci, darling," my mother said, boisterous. "I'm glad you could grace us with your presence." She had always been a snarky joker, like my father, and their bickering had gone back and forth like bullets being exchanged, before he died in oh-four. Her speech had taken a significant dive since then. She swooped in for a hug. "I haven't seen you since you've gotten a new man. Ooh, and this is him I take it? The man who's stopped our weekly visits. She even calls me less because of you. So handsome—I can see why now. Who would like to spend time with an old woman like me when they could be wrapped in those muscular arms?" Lost for words, Vince stuck out his hand, but she tousled Vince's hair before he could react. "A handshake? This is a family event, not a business meeting," she quipped.

"She wants a hug," I told him.

"Sorry, Mrs. Goodwin."

"At least he has manners," my mother laughed, pulling him in for a tight hug. "And please, call me Nora." Vince returned her embrace with an awkward pat, quickly releasing her. "You should've seen that last one she brought around. Good God, he was a prick."

"Mother!" I cried.

"What? I'm only telling the truth. Would you rather I lie and say how sweet he was to you?" She looked at Vince. "Did you know he never got the door for my little darling? Not once. He'd sooner slam the door in her face."

"Well, Maci is a strong, independent woman," Vince said. "She likes to get her own doors."

My mother gazed at Vince as if appraising a new piece of furniture, which she took very seriously. Her brow scrunched, her mouth pursed, and her eyes squinted, sharpening. I had always regarded her as a beautiful woman, and age gave her little problems, her dark red hair full and healthy, her skin smooth and glowing. In fact, her feminine figure still attracted wondering looks, and her bright blue eyes still shined with tenacity.

After what seemed like a minute of silence, she finally smiled, and said, "That she does. She's always been a self-assertive girl, except around boys, as I'm sure you know."

I blushed. "All right, mom, how about we introduce Vince to the rest of the family, yeah? Before you go off on an hour-long tangent describing all the men I've dated."

She touched her hand to her chest and gasped. "I'd never."

My brother Dominic, who everyone just called Donny, saw that we were in trouble and rushed over to rescue us. Tall, broad-shouldered, with short black hair and a dim brow, my brother went for the rugged look. For some reason, he always looked like he was squinting, a subject I knew better to leave alone. He and his wife were both fitness buffs, and she was slim and curvy while he was meatier.

Donny reached out his hand. "I'm Donny, Maci's brother."

The two gripped and shook. "Vince . . . I was told this is an event where we are supposed to hug," Vince said, smiling.

"Only if you're fifty-eight and crazy." He put his arm around mom.

She pinched his arm for the remark. "See what I get for all my love?"

"Is that what that is?" Donny laughed, waving his wife over. She had bright blond hair with mocha lowlights. "Vince, this is my wife, Evelyn."

"It's nice to meet you," Vince said, shaking her hand. She returned the greeting, but a second later she ran after their little blond boy. He was a troublemaker compared to their younger daughter.

Vince made the rounds, meeting the twenty-odd gathered relatives, including some closer cousins and their families. One of Donny's waiters took our orders, rushing around like his job depended on how well he performed for this single event. Dinner and cake went by quickly, and Vince stayed silent most of the time, listening to my relatives blather on about this and that. At one point, Donny pulled Vince aside, and it looked like he was getting a lecture.

When it came time for presents, my mother let her grandchildren tear them open. Every year she said she didn't need anything, and every year she complained that we didn't get her what she wanted. She was a hard read that way. I had thought about making a donation in her name to a charity to see how'd she react, but I never did, feeling like a bad daughter if I didn't show up with something tangible.

All in all, it was a typical Goodwin family function, with my Uncle Taylor cursing at all the kids, my Aunt Bethany spilling a glass of beer on the floor, and my Cousin Derik hitting on my Cousin Tori's new girlfriend of the week.

As we were about to leave, my mom herded me into a corner. "I'm glad to see that you've grown up enough to stop chasing those asshole _bad boys_."

"'Bad boys,' mother?" I raised my brows. "Did you really just say that? I don't think any of them were bad boys."

"What would you call them then? They've all been brash, insensitive, controlling . . . if that doesn't spell 'bad boy,' I don't know what does."

"That's true. I don't think you do either."

She ignored my comment. "I know that attraction, darling," she said with care. "But I'm glad you've left behind that phase of your life. Vince, I can tell he's something special. He's the opposite of all the others. Attentive, caring, obviously smart—and he's not too bad looking, either." She laughed, nudging me. "If I were—"

"No," I cut her off. "Don't say it." She heeded my warning. "I'm glad that you approve, mother, but I'm not dating him for your approval."

"I never said you were." She feigned innocence, throwing up her arms. It was a Goodwin family trait to talk with your hands. "I'm just saying that you actually look happy for once, that's all."

I gave her a slight smile, then regarded Vince, who was talking with Donny again. "He is different from all the rest, I'll give you that."

"He's one of the good ones—like your father was—and that's what you deserve, Maci. You deserve a man who respects you, who values your opinions, and shares your good heart."

"Mom, you've told me all this before," I sighed.

"Yes, but this time I'm not telling you to dump his ass, I'm telling you that you've got a keeper."

"'Bad boys,' 'dump his ass,' where are you getting this stuff?" I asked, wondering what she was watching on TV during the week.

"I'm fifty-eight, Maci, not a hundred and eight. You'd be surprised what I hear at work, too. It's always 'fuck this' and 'fuck that' with those middle school brats. They curse more than your uncle does." She pinched my arm like she had a habit of doing, and tugged on my sleeve hard enough for me to lean into her. "I mean it, Maci, he's a keeper."

I leaned in all the way for a hug and kissed her cheek. "I know, mom. I know."

She continued to wave as we headed out the door. "So that's what a family is like," Vince said, amused, but also pleased.

"Yep. That was the Goodwin experience," I replied, going for the driver's seat.

"I could get used to it." He was wearing a shy smile as he talked.

"My mother certainly likes you," I said, finding the keyhole. "She thinks you're a keeper."

He placed his hand on the door. "Do you mind if I drive? I have a special place in mind."

"Another surprise?"

"Too many for the week?" he asked, with mock incredulity.

I handed over the keys. "So, what do you think about what my mom said?" I asked when he started driving.

"About being a keeper? I won't argue with her." He rubbed my knee, exposed by my skirt. "What about you? Do you agree?"

I feigned indifference. "I don't know. I'm undecided right now." I couldn't hold in my cheesy grin that fought to the surface.

From Washington, he turned right onto Abernethy, which turned into Holcomb a few blocks later. He was heading out into the boonies. "Your brother was sure a delight," Vince said, a trace of sarcasm in his voice.

"Yeah? He looked pretty serious. What were the two of you talking about?"

"Oh, you know, just how if I ever hurt you, that he'd break my legs, and that he didn't care how rich I was . . . stuff like that."

I nodded, smiling. "Yeah, Donny's always been a little overprotective. One thing's for sure: he's not kidding around. After one of my exes hit me, Donny went over to his place and kicked the shit out of him—really let him have it. He's a good brother like that. He's always been there for me."

"Well, then it's a good thing I don't plan on hurting you, isn't it?" He rubbed my leg again.

I only nodded. We drove and drove and drove, all on Holcomb, until we crossed S. Bradley. We ended up on S. Timber Ridge Drive. "I've never been out here before," I said, my fingers feeling the breeze out the window. "What's out here?" Without answering, he turned right onto a long paved driveway that ended in front of a massive house. He parked in front of the first of the segmented three-car garage. Terrance's motorcycle sat near the last garage door. "Is this where Terrance lives when he's not protecting you?" I teased, gauging the size of the enormous house and all the acres around it.

"No, this is where I come to get away from it all. To get away from the busy streets and all the lights of the city that never turn off."

I could hear my mouth parting. "This is yours?"

He nodded. "Come on, I'll show you." He hopped out of the car, retrieving his keys like this moment wasn't really a surprise at all.

Walking up to the front door, I stared at him, mystified. "How come you never told me about this place? It's a _huge_ secret."

"I don't really think about it until I want to get away from the city, and lately I haven't wanted to leave." His words were sweet, but underneath them hid something else, an obstacle to trust—a barrier that kept him from full disclosure.

"I just thought we were at the point where we shared all our secrets with each other," I said, remaining outside as he went in.

"Secret? This place isn't a secret. I'm sorry that I didn't tell you about it. Honestly, it just slipped my mind. I've only been out here once since we met, and that was to set up the surprise."

"This isn't the surprise?"

He gave me a funny look, his bafflement genuine. "No, like I said, I never intended to keep this place from you until I had the idea for what I'm about to show you. But that idea only came to me on Tuesday when I was out of town. I'm sorry if it's a big shock. If it matters, I have no other real estate—just this and my condo."

His body language told me he wasn't hiding anything, and that he had actually just forgotten about the house. His words and countenance comforted me into forgiving the unintentional error. I stepped under the entryway. "It's just weird that you never mentioned it before, but I guess it's not like a secret love nest or anything, so I can't be too upset, right?" I laughed awkwardly, feeling a bit foolish for my rash reaction.

He grinned. "No, it's definitely not a secret love nest." His eyes glinted seductively. "Not yet anyway."

I raised my eyebrows to be humorous. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that I should give you a tour before I show you the surprise." He waved me into the kitchen at his right.

It was even more spectacular than his condo. "This place is huge," I exclaimed, skimming the fancy island countertop with my palm.

"It seems that way, but it's actually smaller than the condo." He sauntered into a huge family room with a wall entertainment center. A white wall of stone sat opposite the TV with a decorative window peeking in on a cellar with so much wine, it could have rivaled a grocery store.

"I didn't know you were so into wine," I commented, nodding at the stocked wooden racks.

"They all came with the place when I bought it," he said. "I've tried a few, but I like wine better with company, and I only come out here to be alone. Alma has never even been out here."

It really was his sanctuary then. "What about Terrance?"

"Oh, he's probably outside running along the grounds. There are over twenty acres out there. He likes to camp out when I come down here."

"He doesn't stay inside?"

"He understands my need for privacy, and even though I've told him he can stay inside, he chooses a tent instead." He pointed to the next room. "Shall we?" The next room was small with stone floors. He opened the double doors and revealed a gorgeous fenced-in pool.

"Wow," was all I could come up with, gazing at the luxurious pool area.

Adjacent to the house sat a guesthouse. We entered a long rectangular room with a kitchenette on one end and beautiful stone flooring. "I call this the pool room," Vince said, then led me through the guesthouse.

"Why doesn't Terrance stay in here?" I asked. It was bizarre that the bodyguard chose to sleep outside in the cold when there was a perfectly good guesthouse that provided privacy for both of them.

"I couldn't tell you. Come on, there's more," he said, waving me back inside the main house. We traveled through a hallway to an open great room. Through the double doors lay a stone courtyard with a four-tiered fountain. Beyond that was the most impressive view of Mount Hood I had ever seen from a distance. "You should see it at dusk, when the sky is pink and orange. It's pretty crazy." He grabbed my hand. "Time for the surprise."

Leading me to the master bedroom, Vince held his hands over my eyes, acting as a blindfold. I could hear the door swing open as we walked forward. He removed his hands, and said, "Okay, open them!"

In front of me was a long, rectangular piece of furniture that reminded me of an ottoman, except it stood much higher and had no hinges for storage. On top of it was a shorter black rectangle that spanned about three-quarters of the red ottoman-ish box. The black rectangle had black cuffs on both ends. "What is this stuff?"

"Well, according to my research, it's marketed as 'bedroom adventure gear,'" he said with a straight face. "But really it's just sex furniture."

"Sex furniture? Like the pillow?"

"Yeah, it's the same brand as that." He strode around it, brushing the black one. "I thought since we both enjoyed that so much, I'd surprise you with this." He pushed down a few times. "It's sturdy, so it won't move around, yet"—he pressed down with both hands—"it's soft and conforms when needed."

"And the cuffs?" I reached out and touched one. A shiver of apprehension shot through me. "For bondage?"

"Yeah, they market it as playful restraint, so it's not as hardcore, but yeah, it's the reason why I bought this particular model." He eyed me with anticipation. "I know I said when we were making the list that we'd research this together, but in my downtime on my business trip, I gave _Fifty Shades of Grey_ a shot— to see what all the hype was about."

"Really? You read that?"

"Well, I needed a break from the sci-fi and fantasy stuff I usually read, so I thought I should try a completely different genre. Anyway, it wasn't really my thing, but it did give me some ideas. I know it might be a little intimidating and sudden, but I think that's part of the thrill."

I hadn't given the bondage idea much thought since we wrote the list, and looking at the furniture made me a little queasy—yet, also, excited. I think the apprehension came from how he sprung it on me. We were supposed to talk about it first. "I wish you would've talked about this with me before, it's not really the same kind of surprise as the thirties fantasy."

"Oh, okay. So what does that mean?"

"How about we watch a movie and eat dinner, and then go from there?" I suggested.

"I can do that," he said, walking over to kiss me. "How about some wine to relax those nerves?"

"I haven't had wine in a while," I said, leaving the bedroom. "I've liked Riesling the few times Danielle pushed it on me, or something sweet like that."

"There's bound to be one in there."

I started watching _One for the Money_ as Vince barbecued chicken outside. I couldn't concentrate on the movie at all, though—my thoughts revolving around the image of being restrained. Fear and a dark craving mingled in my stomach, and the two became an enthralling mixture. One part of me was begging for the release, to let Vince take total control; another part was telling me I wasn't ready, that I hadn't had enough time to prepare.

But that's what I always did: calculated. That's what I was doing now. I should have just embraced the concept in the bedroom. Now it would all be planned, and that was a reminder of my past, which was a turnoff on its own.

I considered the idea through dinner while we watched another movie. "Okay," I finally said, halfway into the action flick. The sun had dipped below the horizon and dusk surrounded the countryside.

Vince turned to me. "Okay, what?"

"I want to do it. I want to try it."

"The cuffs?"

I nodded.

Pure excitement resided in his eyes. "You sure?" He stroked my legs, his touch electrifying. "I don't want to pressure you into anything you don't—"

I raised a finger to his lips and cut him off. "If I didn't want to, I'd say no," I assured him.

He launched off the couch. "Okay, give me a second." He bolted out of the room before I could reply. About ten minutes later, he returned with a fuzzy red blindfold that reminded me of Danielle's sleeping mask. "Do you trust me?" he asked, holding out the mask.

Without hesitation, I nodded and said, "Yes."

"Put it on." It sounded more like a command than a suggestion.

Standing, I complied. My world went dark. He took my hands and led me next to a crackling fire. The heat felt intense on my skin. He started undressing me where I stood, taking off each piece slowly, artfully. He kissed my body up and down as he went. The fire was bringing out a sweat in both of us, our skin gliding across each other's. He released my bra, and I heard it hit the carpet. His nose moved between my breasts, pressing them to his face and inhaling, planting kisses on my soft skin. He let out a small moan. "I like it when you sweat. You smell so good."

Without my vision, I was trying hard not to fall over as he sucked on my nipples. They hardened in his mouth, tingling.

"Lie down," he instructed, a breath later.

I did as he bid with his help, finding the flat surface and a sturdy pillow for my head. He slid off my panties. "Shouldn't we have a safe word or something?"

"I don't plan on getting that rough," he said.

"What if you do anyway?" I asked, still able to feel the fire from the lounge. He must have moved it closer when he was preparing the room.

"Can't you just tell me to stop? 'Stop' can be our safety word."

"I don't think that counts."

"Okay, then how about 'wet monkey'?"

"Wet monkey?" I could hear the laughter in my voice.

"You're not likely to say that, are you?" he asked.

"I don't think so."

"Then it's a good safe word," he asserted. "Are you comfortable?"

I repositioned so that my head was more on the pillow. "Yes." He took my right foot and brought it down, wrapping a strap around my ankle. A surge of expectancy coursed through me. He strapped my other ankle down.

"Too tight?"

"No," I said, raising my legs. They moved about an inch, the soft cuffs snug, binding my legs open, my pussy exposed.

"Good." He cuffed my wrists as slowly as he had stripped off my clothes. A second later, I felt a light touch grazing my skin, tickling my thighs.

I wiggled at the sensation. That was the moment that I realized I was really trapped—totally at his mercy. I fought off the rush of panic, reminding myself that I trusted Vince, that I wanted this. "What is that?" I asked, more of a distraction than anything.

"A feather," he said, blowing on my nipples. It was difficult to tell where he was standing, the crackle of the fire stealing what little noise he made on the carpet. "You're so sexy, you know that? Your skin is so soft, so flawless." He teased my breasts with the feather; the sensation was heightened without my sight. It tickled, but in an intoxicating way, which didn't make sense—how could a tickle feel so good?

The feather meandered down my torso, grazing my clit, sparking my nerves with electric heat. He moved on, down my thighs to my toes, but this time when it tickled, I fidgeted, uncomfortable.

The feather returned between my legs, and I flexed in reaction, my stomach crunching. My gasps were growing more and more audible as I let go in the world of fire and darkness. He swirled over my pussy, descending with each pass, and before I could refuse him, the feather was skimming my ass. A perverse rush sped through my veins. The unexplored nerves of my anus flittered with excitement. It hadn't occurred to me that Vince might enter there. _Would he do that without asking?_ As if to answer the question, the feather moved on.

I could hear him step away, toward the bed, and then nothing but the pop of the fire. _Did he leave? Is he just watching me?_ "Vince?" I called out. No reply came. After several more calls, trepidation set in, and the cuffs became more than I could take. The fleeting reactions disappeared when I heard Vince's footsteps again. "Where did you go?"

"To get something special," he replied, his voice soft and tender. "This will be cold." The warning came right before a freezing spike jolted my nipple. In the heat of the fire, the chill ran wildly through my body, the dual sensation tormenting and thrilling. I shivered, and I could feel the goose bumps forming across my flesh, down to my legs.

Vince circled my nipple, dipped down the slope of my breasts, and up to my other nipple. They grew harder and harder, until Vince took one in his mouth, sucking down the cold water. He ran the ice cube down to my stomach, over my bellybutton, stopping just shy of my clit. I could sense his lips hovering above the bundle of nerves, drawing out my anticipation, almost to the point where I cried out for his touch. He breathed a hot, sexy breath on my clit, then immediately rubbed it with the ice. The temperature change sent a shockwave up to my neck, where it lingered for a second, before Vince's lips devoured the nerves, sucking hard.

"Ahh," I let out. I went to grab his hair in reaction, but was suddenly reminded of the bondage, the straps jerking tight.

"I've never tasted anything so good," he said, his words melting away my fears and bringing out only lust. Suddenly Vince vanished for a second time. My body writhed from the withdrawal.

"Vince?"

"I'm here, sexy," he said silkily. I could hear him opening a drawer and placing items on the nightstand.

Raising my hips what little I could, I encouraged him with my pussy, begging him to continue with his tongue. Instead, what I got was a cold, startling glob on my clit. A second later, I could feel Vince straddle the longer lounge. With two fingers, he massaged my lips with the lube, stroking up to my clit then back down. The heat slowly intensified as his fingers parted my inner lips, delicately stroking them up and down. "I love it how your lips part for me when I rub you," he whispered. My heart leapt at his words. I chose silence, listening as his breaths quickened, hitting my clit, adding a different pulse to his foreplay.

The sensation stopped when he grabbed my right ankle. Loosening the cuff, he slid it up to the middle of my calf, tightening it again. He repeated the action on my left leg. Without warning, he wrapped his arms around my thighs and pulled me toward his chest, elongating my arms above my head. The pillow came with me.

He buried his face between my legs, his tongue probing between my lips, while his nose tantalizingly nudged my clit. I succumbed to the storm of sensations: the cuffs, his lips and tongue, the warm lube, the soft and sturdy furniture, the blazing fire, and his nose—his beautiful, talented nose. Who knew a man could do so much with his nose?

My body repeatedly contracted, my abs burning, my hips gyrating, my ass flexing, pushing into his head, harder and harder. "You like my nose, don't you?" His voice was honey in my ears, so smooth and confident.

"Yes," was all I could get out between my heavy breaths.

"You like it when my nose fucks your clit, don't you?"

"Yes."

"And when it does this?" He pushed my clit down, and then rolled over it in a circle.

"Yes."

He duplicated the maneuver. "What was that?"

"Yes," I said louder, my voice weak. "Just like that."

He did it again, but this time never stopped. His tongue wiped up the wetness coming out of me, the two sensations taking over, leaving the rest behind. With my body locked up in a crunch, I shut it all out. I came—loudly. The absolute darkness of the mask intensified the red scorching my eyes. Ecstasy exploded in my body. It felt like I was showering Vince's face, and I could hear his tongue licking it up, so sexy and arousing. The orgasm seemed to last forever as I listened to his mouth drink me in. All of me.

My other senses slowly returned, except my sight, which was still shrouded. I felt drained, tingly and warm: satisfied. I pictured Vince's throbbing cock and how hard it must be, patiently waiting to explode like I just did. My throat was dry, the fire stealing what little saliva I had. I hadn't heard him leave, but my ears caught him returning, and he tilted my head up. "Water," he breathed.

I slurped it down. After I finished, I heard him gulp down his own glass, resting the glasses on the nightstand.

"Are you ready for more?" he asked with an enticing suaveness.

"More? More of your nose and tongue? How can you wait? I want you to come inside me."

"I will," he said, "but I have more to do. You trust me, right?"

_Why was he asking me that again? What was he planning?_ "Yes, I trust you," I answered, though with a little hesitation.

"If I could lick you and fuck you at the same time, I would love it." I heard him pop open the lube and squirt it onto something. "This may be the next best thing." He straddled the lounge, and I could hear his hand stroking something, the lube spreading, slick and noisy.

He played with my lips and the entrance to my pussy with something hard. The building anticipation shattered when he rammed the object deep inside me, filling me up. Whatever it was felt like a real cock, yet fake at the same time—a mixture of a soft outside and a firm core.

He slid it out, then in again, repeating the process, allowing me to get used to it. "How does it feel?" he asked.

"Good," I purred. "Really good actually. What is it, a dildo?"

"Yes," he said, and I could tell he was pleased. "A nice hot pink one." He picked up his pace. "I'm glad you like it. You should really like this—"

Before I could ask what he meant, his tongue was massaging my clit, as soft and delicate as possible. He slowed his pace with the dildo, matching the two in rhythm. The sweet touch was so seductive, so incredibly sexy, that it in itself turned me on.

Ever so slightly he increased the pace of the masterful combo. It was hard to pay attention to both feelings, one so deep inside me, the other shooting through my body from my clit. It was almost too much—too much sensation, but I loved it, and craved it.

Then, abruptly, I heard a noise like a fart, and I stopped dead. "What was that?" I said, embarrassed.

"A queef," Vince said, unaffected by the release. "It was in the book, remember? Vaginal farts. There's nothing wrong with you."

I remembered the short segment in the book, but it had never happened before, and it was weird to hear.

"Relax," he said. "Let go. Let it happen." He continued increasing his pace. As he did, the queefs increased in frequency. I ignored them, focusing on the growing pressure under my skull and beneath my stomach. "That's it, sexy. Like that. Just like that. God, you're so fucking sexy." He ran his free hand up my stomach and cupped a breast, pinching my nipple.

I moaned lustily.

"You like that? You want more?"

"Yes?"

He pinched harder. "More?"

"Yes."

He circled my nipple and pinched again. I let out another cry. Then he stopped everything at once. I could feel his weight leave the lounge. He left the dildo inside me as he went to the nightstand. Its idleness was strange. Despite the fullness it gave me, I missed the movement.

A clink caught my attention. It sounded like a chain. "What's that?" I asked, curious.

He stood over me, near my waist. "Something to do the pinching for me." A rush of minor pain bolted through my nipples as he simultaneously clamped something to them. "How's the pressure?"

Once the initial pain subsided, the lingering pressure added another glorious ingredient to the orgasmic dish he was cooking. "Light," I said. "I like it."

"Good. I didn't think we'd ever use the nipple clamps, but you seemed like you wanted the pinch." He returned to his position on the lounge, and began pumping the dildo in rhythm with his tongue, regaining the momentum lost from the rest. Every so often he pulled on the chain that linked the clamps, shooting a tinge of pain from my nipples through my breasts.

It didn't take long before I reached the point where Vince had paused. He tugged on the chain, and I screamed in response, the crescendo of pleasure climaxing—my body shattering under his divine dance of sexual prowess. Red flooded my vision again, more intense than ever: giant bursts of color, like fireworks erupting in the night sky. I screamed myself hoarse.

As I settled back on the furniture, my body convulsed, my abs on fire, my legs jelly. The pleasure of the clamps turned to irritation quickly. "The clamps. Take the clamps off." Vince was quick to respond, removing them in a hurry, tossing them to the floor. "I want to see you." He slowly lifted the mask. The world was dim and fuzzy. He was standing over me, and his cock looked as swelled as I'd ever seen it, about to explode.

I reached to stroke it, but the cuffs prevented my touch. "Come inside me," I rasped. He needed no more encouragement. Picking up the wedge pillow from the bed, he placed it under my ass, then straddled the lounge. After pulling out the dildo, he grabbed his shaft just above the base, inching himself inside.

Our eyes locked, and passion took control from there, his body flexing like a Greek god. He came a few minutes later. His screams were so fierce that I thought he'd lose his voice right then and there. Veins were bulging everywhere in his body, especially in his forehead and neck.

He pulled out, his eyes foggy and half closed, and I could see the euphoria in his spent smile. With unhurried movements, he uncuffed my wrists and calves. I rubbed my wrists, and the freedom felt unusual for a moment. I stood up and wrapped my arms around him, squeezing with all the strength left in me, which wasn't much at all. After a kiss, I tottered to the bed while Vince turned down the fire. The moment my head hit the pillow, the world immediately dissolved, and I passed out from wonderful, exhilarating exhaustion.

# 18

### OVER THE LINE

The morning after the most mind-blowing night of my life, I found myself naked in bed, rejuvenated. I gazed at the two rectangular sex furnishings and all the sex toys strewn about on the carpet. Exhilaration coursed through me at the sight of them.

I rolled over and noticed the bed empty. Listening intently, I could hear the shower running, so I decided to get up and make a pot of coffee. So far out in the boonies and without any neighbors, I forwent dressing, feeling warm and comfortable naked—and horny. When Vince came out, all clean and fragrant, I planned to hop on him and give him a ride, since he had done it all the night before.

The giant house was immaculate compared to his condo. There were no books about, work files, or forgotten dishes. No video games or movie cases. It was just clean and open and beautiful.

The bright sun sparkled through the massive windows, and I paused, staring at Mount Hood. Pine trees covered the distance, and it seemed like there was nothing else between the mountain and us other than the trees, standing tall and proud.

I headed for the kitchen. Rounding the corner, I jumped when I saw Terrance standing there, as if waiting for me. He glared at me as I crossed my arms across my breasts, ducking out of the room. I swore I saw him smirk with satisfaction at my humiliation.

"It's all right, love," he said gruffly. "I don't much care for your goods." He laughed a little. "There's coffee if you want it." Frozen on the other side of the wall, I could hear him pouring out what remained in the pot. "Oh, wait, I guess I drank it all. Sorry about that."

I tramped off on the hardwood flooring. His laughed echoed in the house. As I entered the bedroom, I spotted Vince leaving the bathroom. "We need to leave," I growled, throwing on my clothes.

"What?" he said, startled. He unwrapped his towel and rubbed his butt with it in a silly way, shaking his penis side to side. "Why? We just woke up."

"I just need to go, that's all. Could you drop me off at home?"

"I don't get it. What happened?"

"Terrance saw me naked just now, and I'm uncomfortable, and I just want to go home."

His face contorted in disbelief and confusion. "Terrance saw you naked?"

"In the kitchen. Just now. I went to go make some coffee, and he was in there." As soon as I said that, the roar of his motorcycle blasted our ears, the harsh noise fading as he drove away.

"Looks like he was as uncomfortable as you were," he laughed.

"It's not funny, Vince," I snapped. "He was really rude. He purposefully dumped out the coffee he made so I couldn't drink it."

"He did?" His face told me he didn't take me seriously. "Now why would he do that? I know he's not fond of you, but that's a little out of character."

"I don't know what to tell you. He did it. Now could you take me home? I'm creeped out."

"Sure. Yeah, let me get dressed." After he put on fresh clothes, he locked up all the doors, and we headed for Portland. "Sorry if he scared you. I'll have another talk with him."

"I don't want to make this about me, but you might want to get a new bodyguard—a friendlier one, possibly."

"Yeah, I'll think about that," he said, parking in front of my house. "This doesn't have to ruin the whole day, does it?"

The weird scene had freaked me out, but being home gave me an odd sense of security and comfort. "No," I said. "Have you ever explored Sellwood?"

He shook his head as we got out of the car. "I'm up for anything though."

"Great, let me change, and then we'll make Mocha Momma's the first stop on the tour." I pulled him by the shirt so that our bodies touched. "After we take another shower, of course."

THE REST OF SUNDAY we had spent lazily walking through Sellwood, and I had forgotten the whole thing with Terrance by midday. Vince had an early meeting with Alma the next day, and I always had to wake up early, so he decided to sleep at his place, where I cooked dinner—I was using his fancy kitchen more than he ever did—and we watched the Blazers game before I headed home.

Monday came, and I was taking my first break at work when my phone went off, vibrating over and over. I checked it, reading thirteen voicemails, all from Alma. _Why would Alma call me thirteen times?_ I listened to the first message: "Maci, it's Alma. Call me back." The second one played: "Maci, pick up." The third: "Have you seen Vince? He's late for our meeting." The fourth: "Goddammit, Maci, pick up your fucking phone." The rest were all in the same vein. She was really distressed about Vince missing one meeting.

I dialed her number.

"Maci?" Alma hissed. "Why the hell haven't you picked up your phone?"

"Hi, Alma," I said with emphasis. "I work just like you do. I can't always pick up the phone."

"Did you get my messages?" she asked. "Forget that. Vince is missing. He missed the meeting and still hasn't shown up for work."

"Maybe he slept in. People do that from time to time, Alma. It's no big deal."

"You don't understand," she snapped. "Vince has _never_ missed a meeting. Vince is punctual, unlike you. I think something has happened."

I sighed, frustrated with her, and pissed about the barb. "Have you tried Terrance?"

"Oh, what an excellent fucking idea." She grumbled to herself before taking a deep inhale. "Yes, I've tried Terrance. He's not picking up either, and none of Vince's security seems to know where either of them is."

I ground my teeth before answering. "You don't think Vince is home?"

"No, I don't, and his _security_ "—she paused for emphasis and I could imagine her doing air quotes on the other end—"team is too lazy to go up and check because I guess Vince told them last night not to bother him."

"I think he just wants to sleep, Alma. Or, if you're so worried, maybe you should go and check for yourself."

"Not possible. I can't leave work. But you can."

"I can? I'm running a business, too, Alma," I snarled. _God, she is a bitch._ "Look, I gotta go. I hope you chill out."

"Wait," she shrieked in a panic. "Please." There was an attempt at civility.

"What was that?" I asked.

"Please, will you go and check? I'm worried, and I'm not a person who worries."

I sighed heavily. She was practically begging me, so I didn't see how I could say no. Anyway, I could use the points to get on her _good_ side, if she had one. Not for her, but for Vince and their friendship. I had to make the effort for him. "Fine," I caved. "I'll call you when I get there to tell you that you're freaking out for no reason."

"Thanks, Maci," she said. A click came next.

I found Bridgett in the main kitchen. "Hey, I have to go to Vince's real fast. I'll be gone for an hour or so."

"Everything all right?" she asked, preparing a cookie sheet.

"Yeah, I think so," I replied, dodging her as she reached for a container of flour. "I guess he didn't show up for a meeting, and Vince never misses meetings, so I thought I'd go see what's up."

She nodded. "All right, see you in an hour," she said, her mind too focused to be drawn into the conversation. That was understandable, and I did that too from time to time, responding without hearing.

Hopping into Eddie, I drove across the city to the Envoy. The elevator ride was long and quiet. When I got to the penthouse, the door was closed, as usual. An alarm went off in my head when I tried the doorknob and it turned, unlocked.

The door creaked opened. "Vince?" I called. Only silence answered me. I crept through the game room and into his bedroom. His sheets were tousled, but there was no sign of him. The clothes he wore yesterday were on the floor, where he dropped them before climbing into bed, never collecting them after he woke. That wasn't that strange, since he was untidy in the morning, cleaning up at night if he wasn't too drained. I searched the rest of the house, finding no trace of him. His cell was gone, yet his keys were in their spot on the row of hooks in the kitchen, and I knew he'd never leave his place without them.

I called the security guards that worked out of Terrance's condo on the floor below. Only two were on duty, and only one of them bothered to come up. "So he left his keys?" the tall, skinny man named Roy said, dressed in a fine suit that made him look the part of a secret service agent. "That _is_ a little odd."

"It's also odd that no one can seem to reach him," I said, a little paranoid now.

"All I can say is that Terrance told us this morning not to disturb Mr. Forte because he had a long night last night. We told Ms. Perez that when she inquired earlier this morning." With his hands on his hips, he shrugged, his head cocked to the side. "Forgetting his keys isn't that big a deal anyhow, seeing as we have a spare down below, and he could call us to let him in if he was locked out. He's probably just out on a run."

"Terrance told you, not Vince?" That sounded off. "Does Terrance normally do that?"

"Relay what Mr. Forte says?" he asked for clarification. I nodded. "Not often, but every once in a while. Most of the time Mr. Forte will tell everyone with a group message using his walkie." He scooped it up off the kitchen counter.

"I've never seen Vince leave his door unlocked when he goes somewhere, have you?"

"Now that detail is the most peculiar," he admitted. "Mr. Forte has yet to leave his door unlocked or open that I know about."

"And you really think he's just out for a run?"

"That'd be my best bet, yeah," he replied, laying down the walkie.

"But Alma—" I stumbled over her name. "Ms. Perez has been trying to contact Vince ever since early this morning. Vince likes to work out, but for three hours?"

He hung his head in thought. "Yeah, I guess that is a pretty long time. I'll talk it over with Mark downstairs and see what he thinks."

"All right." I shrugged off what he said. Talk it over? What the hell did that mean? I got out my phone after he left, typing in nine-one-one, pausing on the send key. Was I overreacting? The security guys weren't worried, so why was I? Erasing the numbers, I called Vince's gyms instead and asked if anyone had seen him. No one had. A call to Imaginuity's lab revealed that no one there had seen him either. He was just gone.

Panic started to settle in.

I dialed Alma. "Is he there?" she asked as way of greeting.

"No," I answered flatly. "And the security guys just think he's out for a run."

"But you don't think so?"

"I don't know what to think," I said honestly. "His front door was unlocked and his keys are here."

"Those lazy bastards," she snapped, but not at me. "I told Vince they had little value." I understood "they" to mean his security team. "I'll get the police looking. Thanks, Maci." She was talking fast, almost too fast for me to catch that last bit.

"You're—" Too late, she'd hung up. "Welcome," I finished for no one. God, she was crazy.

Where else could I check? Alma was going to have the police take over. I thought about waiting for them, but I also didn't want to hang around idly. I went back to his bedroom to see if I'd overlooked something. Normal. It was all normal . . . until I noticed a cluster of black fuzzies where Vince slept. I pinched one between my fingers and brought it up to my eyes for a closer inspection. It looked like the material the bondage cuffs had on the inside.

The Oregon City house flashed in my mind, sparking an idea. Maybe he went back out there for his phone, and left in a hurry. That sounded too convenient in my head, too easy. He hadn't taken his keys either, or had he? I regarded the keychain and saw that the car starter wasn't missing, but he did have spares—Terrance kept one on him at all times. Then something caught my eye. The starter to the EverGo was gone. _But why would he take the EverGo?_ After a minor debate with myself, I texted Alma, deciding to check it out. I also sent Bridgett a text to let her know my change of plans.

Climbing into Eddie, I headed down to Oregon City. I had a bad feeling crawling around in my brain, and the farther south I drove, the worse it got. I pulled up into the driveway, parking in front of the garages. Vince's EverGo wasn't there, and last time he didn't pull into one of the garages, which may have meant they were full with other toys. It looked like I made the long trip for nothing.

Before I got out, I checked my phone to see if Alma had replied, but it was dead. "Dammit." I tossed it into the passenger seat. Without a charger, it was useless. Before killing the engine, I glanced at the clock, reading 11:23. The number made my skin crawl with foreboding.

Inspecting the windows on the sides of the first and third garages, I discovered they were placed too high to check inside, except maybe with a good jump, which I didn't have. Luckily, the door to the house was a different story. I turned the handle and the door swung quietly open. Sidling through the house, it appeared normal, everything exactly how we'd left it—

Until I heard glass shatter and angry screams. "Because I love you, Vince. And you—you love me too, can't you see that? We belong together."

I rounded the corner and spotted Vince and Terrance in the middle of the great room. Gasping at all the lit candles, I stared at the romantic scene, and found I had no voice to ask what the hell was going on.

Terrance shot a look my way. "It's her who has you all confused." He turned back to Vince. "We understand each other, Vince. She's just some pretty tits, shaking her ass in your face, that's all. She doesn't know you like I do. She doesn't care the way I care."

"Terrance, you're way out of line," Vince yelled.

"Am I? I'm just trying to wake you up to reality." Terrance got down on one knee and grabbed Vince's hand. "There's no denying that we share a special bond, Vince. We worked out together, ate meals together, watched movies together, played video games. And then along comes _Maci_ _Goodwin_." He emphasized my name with a cruel glint in his eye. "Everything changed after that. Now the only time we eat together is at her pathetic brunch house. Well, I'm sick of it. Sick of her. Sick of pretending."

"Pretending?" Vince said with confusion, withdrawing his hand from Terrance's strong grip.

"Pretending that you love her. It's me you want, Vince. I know it. I know it with all my heart." Hearing the big man spill his guts sounded so off to me that all I could do was gawk with an open mouth, utterly stunned. "We belong together. If you just gave us a chance." Terrance jumped to his feet and wrapped Vince up in an embrace, which Vince fought to break, struggling, but the monstrous bodyguard held him long enough to plant a kiss on Vince's lips. Vince shook his head and finally slipped free.

"Terrance! What the hell, man! You've gone fucking insane or something. You're a good guy—"

"We—" Terrance cut in.

"But I don't love you, Terrance . . . I love Maci."

"MACI! SHE'S NOTHING," he roared, his face darkening. "I'm what you want, what you need. Didn't you feel that spark when we kissed?"

"Terrance, you need to leave, _now_ ," Vince said sternly.

"I'm not leaving until I get you to open your eyes." Terrance's big brown eyes pleaded with Vince.

"Terrance," I spoke up, knowing that I might enrage the beast and incur his wrath. His eyes met mine with fury blazing in them. "You have to see that Vince doesn't like men like that."

"You don't know what he likes," he spat.

"My eyes are open," Vince took over. "I don't love you and I never will. This is absurd. We're friends! We're just friends . . ." The words sounded juvenile, as if stolen from some teen movie.

The big man's face grew the deepest shade of red I'd ever seen, then a furious purple. "It wasn't supposed to happen like this. Why—why are you saying that?"

"Because it's true."

Terrance shook his head. "I don't believe that."

"You need to leave, before this spins out of control."

I could see the big man breaking down, rage boiling, about to spill over, about to lash out in some terrible way. He clenched his massive hands, his knuckles white and cracked. He stared me down. "This is all your fault," he croaked, pointing sharply at my chest. "I will make you suffer."

The threat pushed Vince over the edge. The punch happened so unexpectedly and with so much force that it knocked Terrance to the floor.

"Get out," Vince growled. "Get out. NOW!"

Terrance got to his feet, his left eye darkening, which would soon bloom into an ugly shade of purple. "Fine." He swept across the room toward the kitchen, but stopped and spun around when he reached the dining table. "I hope you both burn in hell!" His forearm swiped half a dozen candles to the floor, any semblance of romance stripped away, the air now toxic. He charged out of the house, fuming.

"The rug," I shouted, as the flames licked the area rug underneath the table. It only took a second for the fabric to catch on fire.

"Hurry," Vince said, his voice spiking with alarm. We both tried to stamp out the flames to little effect. It was almost as if the rug was soaked in oil the way it burned, the flames spreading faster than I would've thought, but then I noticed the broken glass and fresh wine stains, probably from Terrance gathering up his courage to confront Vince.

"Where's the fire extinguisher?" I asked in panic.

"The garage," he replied.

I shook my head. The fire was spreading too fast to rush to the garage and back before it clung to something else. "Too far. We have to drag it outside."

Vince flipped the table out of the way, not worried about breaking it; saving the house was by far the more important of the two. "Grab the other end," he said, pointing. We pulled together, running for the double doors and the courtyard beyond. I dropped my corner as soon as we breached the threshold. Vince tugged it a bit farther, down the steps, and let it burn next to the fountain. He dashed off, presumably to grab the extinguisher.

I gaped at the orange blaze, captivated. Mount Hood towered in the background, a thorn in the sky. The angle of the fire made it look like the mountain was burning.

Vince sprinted up a breath later, extinguisher in his hands, blowing out the flames. The rug was ruined, spotted with black-rimmed holes and dozens of singe marks. "I never liked that rug anyway," he joked.

I laughed, adrenaline feeding my nerves, my heart pounding. "What the hell just happened?"

"I don't really know," Vince answered, his voice strained. "One minute I get a call from Terrance telling me about an emergency out here, the next I find him on his knees professing his love for me . . . and then I'm punching him . . . and the fire . . ." He was shaking his head.

"Are you all right?" I asked a minute later, after both of us regained our composure.

He nodded, wrapping his arm around me. "You?"

"A little shaken up, but I'm okay."

He laughed, staring at the destroyed rug. "That was some crazy shit."

"What are you going to do about Terrance?"

"He didn't mean to hurt us, he was just worked up . . . still, I think I should call the police."

"Is your phone dead? I called you about a hundred times, and Alma—she actually tried to be polite to me today, so that shows you how frantic she was."

"Did she really? I told you she'd come around." His smile broadened. "But yeah, I forgot to charge it last night. I'll go use the landline." He disappeared inside the house.

Alone again, I found myself trembling. _Just breathe. Breathe._ I took a deep breath and held. I recalled my earlier ponderings from two days ago, reflecting on how Terrance looked at Vince, thinking it was a look of brotherly love, when in reality it was romantic infatuation. I wondered if Vince knew about it, but tossed that absurd notion out the window. By his look of surprise when Terrance declared his love for him, he obviously hadn't the slightest idea.

"I think we need a vacation," Vince said, startling me from behind.

"I don't remember the last time I went on vacation." There was a quiver in my voice that I tried to hide. "It feels like years ago." It _had_ been years, a road trip to California with Danielle after we graduated from U of O.

"A trip will do us some good after today . . . Where would you like to go?"

I considered that for a moment. "Anywhere?"

"You name the place and we'll go," he said. "I need a break."

I just felt like going home and curling up with him. But a trip also sounded nice. Someplace warm and tropical—and secluded. I didn't want to see people. "Hawaii," I finally said.

"Hawaii it is." He smiled, and then kissed me with all the love in the world.

# 19

### SEX AND SAND

"They finally caught Terrance," Vince said, packing his bags at the last minute before we set out for our weeklong getaway.

"Where?" I asked, extremely curious. Terrance had fled Portland after the little incident at Vince's country house, taking off for God knows where. Vince didn't plan to press charges for the fire—it caused no real harm, he defended, and Terrance had been a good friend and bodyguard. He no longer worked for Vince of course, and the big man knew nothing good came out of Vince's rejection or his reaction. The news stung, and it stung hard, to the point that he lost his mind, or so it seemed.

"Southern California," Vince responded, rolling a pair of socks together. "Outside San Diego. I guess he was heading to Mexico."

"He really went crazy, didn't he?"

Vince shrugged. "I don't know. I feel sorry for him . . . if only I had known about his feelings, maybe it could've been handled a little better."

"What's going to happen to him?"

"Well, nothing would've happened if he hadn't started the whole high-speed chase. But he'll do some jail time for reckless endangerment and eluding the police, and will probably have to pay a hefty fine, hopefully nothing worse than that. But I don't want to think about that now. We're off to Hawaii and that's all I want on my mind."

"You're right," I said, nodding with a faint smile. Friday finally had come after an exhausting week. The news buzzed with the story: "Local Billionaire And Girlfriend Nearly Die In House Fire." How the media caught wind of the story and managed to blow it up into a house fire, I never knew, but I couldn't stand the publicity. I tried to shut it out as best I could, burying myself in work. The only problem with that was more and more people stopped by each day as the week progressed, packing the bakery and brunch house, and every one of them had questions for me. "Is it true you lost your leg in the fire?" one woman asked, as she paid for her latte. It seemed like every person had heard a different version. She was one of hundreds to ask the same question or some variation of it. A few people even asked to see my prosthetic foot. The silver lining was that business was good. Better than good, actually.

But there was no break—until Friday, when we stepped on the private jet to Kauai. I didn't even know about the Hillsboro airport until Vince drove us out there at five in the morning. Apparently it was where all the celebrities flew into Portland, to avoid PDX and the public crowd.

The privacy was beyond wonderful: not a soul to interrupt us. Even though it was early, I was used to the time, and I alternated between watching Vince sleep, the view from the jet window, and my book. Staring blankly out into the clouds, my thoughts turned to the details surrounding Terrance's breakdown. The strangest detail was the broken starter in the Mustang, which had forced Vince to drive the EverGo out to the country, but why would Terrance want him to drive the EverGo?

Vince told me about the GPS in the Mustang that Alma and Terrance had access to, but why would Terrance want Vince off the grid—what did he plan to do with Vince after he confessed his love? That question had troubled me all week.

I must have drifted off at some point, because I jumped awake when the plane hit a pocket of turbulence. I hadn't slept right since Monday and the incident with Terrance. It took some reflection to figure out why, but when I did it all made sense—I had been truly gripped by fear, not knowing what the big man would do next, always giving me a malevolent look. I was actually relieved that he was gone. He was just too cold and unfriendly.

Vince spent the glum week in sadness. He had lost a friend, and dealt with it by avoiding work altogether, shutting out everyone but Alma and me. He swore a break would set him right. We had cuddled more than fooled around in the bedroom, Vince partly withdrawn. The enduring flame had diminished somewhat and needed a spark to rekindle it.

We both hoped we would find it on the trip.

When I glanced over at Vince's seat, I saw that he was gone, a note left in his place. I reached over and grabbed it. "Meet me in the bathroom," I read aloud. _The bathroom? Why would he.  . .? _And then it hit me. It was one of my fantasies on the list: to join the mile high club.

A sudden rush of arousal washed over me. I pushed in the door, and there was Vince, naked except a thong with a tux on it, standing as far back as he could. Even when the door closed, there was no room to maneuver.

His cock was hardening with expectancy, the thin fabric of the thong doing little to hold it back. After such a distant week sexually, I had no idea he was ready to resume our naughty adventures. "Why, hello," he said, low and sexy.

"How long have you been in here?" I asked, smiling.

"I don't know, I took off my watch before I came in," he laughed. He rocked his hips back and forth and his cock popped out of the thong. "I don't know how you wear these. They're not comfortable."

"I guess I'll have to make it worth your trouble," I said, seizing his cock, squeezing.

He gasped, the fire in his eyes coming to life for the first time all week.

I knelt down and took his entire length in my mouth, slowly inching down and up, while my left hand massaged his balls. Moving aside the thong, I held the tip of his head against his abs, licking up the bottom side of his shaft, then down the seam of his balls, circling my tongue around them.

His entire area was cleanly shaven, except around his pubic bone, which was trimmed short. I took both his hairless balls into my mouth, sucking, pumping his shaft. He sounded like he was about to come, and that was when he stopped me. "This is your fantasy, not mine." He helped me up, pulling me in for a sweet kiss.

Sliding down my yoga pants and panties, he knelt, running his hands down my thighs as he kissed my pussy. The cramped spacing made it all the more intimate, his head right under my body, with nowhere else to go. I closed my legs around him as he clawed my ass. His tongue loved my clit, swirling in the most erotic way, so wet and soft and gentle—I never wanted him to stop.

When he did, I was more than yearning, and he stood, uncapping a small purple bottle of lube, designed for women's pleasure. He rubbed the warmth all over me. I turned around and stuck out my ass. There was barely enough room, but I thought it would work, leaning over the sink.

He positioned his legs to the side of the toilet, bending over me, with his chiseled stomach on my back. His shout thundered when he penetrated. It had been so long. I couldn't believe how much I'd missed the fullness of his cock in me. He paused, letting the feeling run through my body, and then he slid out and in, slowly, sensuously, tirelessly. It didn't take long before we were lost in the moment, his hand holding mine above the door, the other on my hip and ass, supporting him as he thrust away. He screamed in orgasm. I followed seconds later when his cock was at its max in girth.

He nearly collapsed on top of me, spent, in the wild haze that was ecstasy. I turned around and kissed him.

After we cleaned up and returned to our seats, he handed me a pen and his notepad, opening it to our list. Smiling, I crossed off number fourteen.

OUR RENTAL WAS A small cottage on a private beach on the south side of Kauai. We were somewhere outside Poipu, but I didn't know where exactly. I studied Google Maps for a while so that I wasn't completely lost.

After breaking in the sheets of the king—as well as the sofa cushions—we decided to go into town for dinner. I couldn't believe the weather, so warm and sunny. It was hard to grasp that people lived here all the time. How did anyone leave? I'd heard the word "paradise" thrown around so much before that it had devalued the real experience. It truly was paradise.

We browsed around the Poipu Shopping Village, choosing Keoki's Paradise after some debate. Once I saw their tap list, I knew the restaurant was the right choice. We explored the rest of the shops after dinner, while Vince got updates of game three of the Blazers playoff on his phone. We ordered some gelato as dessert and watched a hula show in the center of the shopping village.

The troubles of the week seemed to melt away in the island heat. Thoughts of paralyzing fear still haunted me, but they had dulled, as though someone were dragging the experience to the back of my subconscious, hiding it away. That night, when I drifted off in Vince's arms, I said goodbye to the small trauma, locking it away for the week.

VINCE WAS PREPARING BREAKFAST when I rose the next morning. I'm not sure when he had gone to pick up groceries, but bacon was frying, along with eggs, peppers, onions, and mushrooms. He sprinkled a white cheese on top as I entered the kitchen area.

"Good morning," he said, as I hugged him from behind. He twisted his neck and leaned back for a kiss.

"Morning," I returned. "This all looks great. How long have you been up?"

"An hour or so." He snatched up the bacon with a pair of tongs and laid the strips on a toweled plate.

"I can't believe how comfortable that bed is. I slept so well. I don't think I woke up once. How about you? Did you sleep all right?"

"Slept great, yeah," he answered, but hesitation signaled that it wasn't as tranquil as mine. "I have a surprise for you," he said, before I could ask anything more on the subject.

"I see that. I'll make you breakfast tomorrow."

"No, not this," he said, grinning. "It's something much, _much_ better."

"Really?" I raised my eyebrows comically. "How much better can it get than bacon and scrambled eggs?" I poured a glass of orange juice from a new container.

"Well, I don't know about better," he laughed, "but it can get a whole lot sexier." The hunger that existed in his eyes since I met him was now back after that terrible week, refueled from yesterday. It stirred all the urges Vince brought out in me.

I rubbed his cock through his shorts. "I can't wait to see this surprise."

"After breakfast though—I'm starving." We both sat down and ate our fill. I took a shower and put on a nice summer dress. Vince was waiting outside on the patio area, lying back in a lounge chair, reading a fantasy book. He laid the book on his knee. "Ready for your surprise?"

"Are we driving or walking to it?"

"Walking."

I smiled, excited about the prospect of some delicious treat. "Lead the way."

He left the book on the table, retrieving our sunglasses from inside, then came back with a big-ticket digital camera strapped around his neck. "It goes along with the surprise," he said, after I gave him an unsure look. He offered me his hand. "To the beach?"

I entangled my fingers in his. "To the beach." The cottage was built back from the shoreline and the beautiful golden sand. Trees blocked both sides of the area, leaving only the ocean in front of us, providing some privacy from neighbors. The dirt path was riddled with black rocks and small pebbles, but I ignored the stabbing as we walked over them barefoot.

The secluded beach of the cottage stretched on for a few thousand feet. It wasn't huge, but it was beautiful, and free of people. It seemed as though we had the whole stretch to ourselves, which made little sense with the number of other small cottages and houses along the beachfront.

"Where are all the people?" I asked him.

"At other beaches," he replied, burying his feet in the warm sand, gazing out across the blue-green water. "They've been compensated for the day. We shouldn't be bothered."

"We have it all to ourselves?" I asked, surveying the gorgeous coastline.

"For today." He strode up to me and took me in his strong arms. "I love you," he said, his voice smooth and sweet.

"I love you, too," I said. We just held each other for a few minutes in the sun's warmth, basking in the rays and each other's love. I touched the camera that was now resting on his back. "So, what's the camera for?"

"For the rest of the surprise." He took my hand and led me around scads of huge bushes. "This may be more for me, but I hope you find it as fun." Sprawled out across the upper beach were dozens upon dozens of swimsuits. Bikinis dominated the bunch, but a collection of each style was present. The swimsuits ranged from plain and traditional to wild and exotic in shape and pattern.

I scanned over them, evaluating what they meant. Looking back at Vince's camera, the scheme hit me. "A photo shoot?"

His smile turned wicked and seductive. "A _tropical beach_ photo shoot. It has been a fantasy of mine ever since I saw a Sports Illustrated calendar when I was in my pubescent years. I hope you will accommodate this indulgence," he said, his eyes yearning.

Modeling had never sounded tempting in any way, though I'd been told by a few that I should, mostly by Danielle's single and horny friends, but also by men who dared to hit on me back in college. This wasn't modeling though. It was a show for Vince, to satisfy a fantasy and to spur his desire. "Okay," I agreed. "But on one condition."

"What's that?" He raised the camera and snapped a photo of me.

"That I get a turn taking pictures of you."

"But I don't have any special outfits." He waved his hand at all the swimsuits.

"That's all right, I like you better naked." I flashed him a provocative smile. "So what do you say?"

"I have no problems flipping the fantasy."

The steaming visual of Vince naked on the beach stimulated my already fluttering heartbeat. I could see why it was a fantasy for him. I picked up a pink polka-dotted top with a frill along the cleavage line. "Which one do you want me to start with?"

He pointed to a strapless red suit with three oval cutouts to reveal side cleavage. Without fear of being seen, I stripped off the dress, already naked underneath, and strapped on the swimsuit top and matching bottoms. Once I was ready, he directed me in front of the beach, facing the trees. "Now lean forward on your fists," he said as I knelt, arching back. I did as directed and my bust squished together. He squatted in front of me, snapping photo after photo.

"God, you're sexy," he said after every shot. I swapped the bikini for another one after Vince had gotten all the pictures he wanted. The morning flew by as I listened to his directions, coupled with the crashing tide, and the birds that flew around the beach and treed shoreline.

After a long lunch break, we went back to the beach until I had done every pose imaginable in over thirty different outfits. I loved them all, feeling sexier with each one Vince picked out.

Then it was my turn with the camera. I tugged down Vince's board shorts and used the massage oil we'd been pouring on me all day to rub down his cock until it was nice and long, but not erect. "Try and think of something else," I said, noticing that his cock just kept growing.

He grinned. "I can't help it. All day long I've thought about fucking you and now you're teasing him."

"Lie on your side and put your knee up. No, like this." I positioned him how I wanted the picture, stroking his cock. We were both enjoying the building tension, the anticipation.

As the sun was going down, Vince rolled out an enormous blanket and weighed the corners down with rocks. I was still wearing the faux fur red bikini that apparently was his favorite of them all. We had both washed off the oil. He sprawled out, naked and hard, his chiseled abs inviting me in for a nibble.

I couldn't resist the temptation. I kissed his neck, down to his chest, biting each of his ab muscles in turn, working my way down to his cock. It tasted salty with a slight hint of sunscreen and oil. Propping himself on his elbows, he moaned and moaned as I licked under his head, down the solid shaft, tonguing his balls at the end, and repeating the whole process until he couldn't take it anymore.

"I'm going to come," he managed to get out.

Reading his body language, and listening to his increased breaths, I already knew, and braced for it, pumping relentlessly. I swallowed it all, rubbing his cock as it flopped against his stomach, steadily shrinking.

He kissed me long and passionately to show his gratitude. "Now it's my turn," he said, switching positions so that his tongue trailed down my body. When he arrived between my legs, I was so wet from the day of expectation that I might not have even needed his tongue on my clit to make me come. It certainly didn't hurt though.

I was screaming instantly, coming almost as fast as Vince had. My arousal had him hard in no time. I pushed him flat on his back and straddled his torso, playing with his cock against my clit.

Then he was in me.

His swollen cock was reaching so far up inside me, I could feel things rearranging. I rotated my hips around his shaft, arching back as he squeezed my ass. He pulled me down and brushed aside the bikini cups, taking my nipples in his mouth, until I pushed back, keeping my hands on his chest, sliding up and down on his cock. I leaned back again, reaching behind me with my right hand to play with his balls.

He took over thrusting—the added sensation sending him into a new gear. The veins in his neck and forehead became pronounced as he came for the second time. His breath was heavier, his shouts louder, and his grunts deeper.

The pressure in my neck exploded a second later, his hands clasping my ass so tight, it sent jolts of pain and pleasure up my spine, adding to the orgasm.

Afterward, I lay on his chest, listening to the pounding of his heart as it slowly settled into a restful beat. We watched the sun vanish over the horizon while the moon rose above, shining bright on the lightless beach.

Flooded with endorphins, I fell asleep to the crashing waves and the music of Vince's heart.

THE WEEK FLEW BY in a flash. We had done as much as possible in the short time span, zooming around the island on a helicopter to see the Na Pali Coast, kayaking up the Wailua River and hiking to a waterfall, exploring the Waimea Canyon, and so much swimming, it seemed like I had permanent wrinkles. The only thing we had yet to do was snorkel.

Vince booked one of the tours along the Na Pali Coast for the early morning and afternoon that Friday. Having an assortment of swimwear meant I had the luxury of picking outfits that suited different adventures. I chose the fluorescent green monokini for this particular one.

I thought it would be a perfect end to a perfect week—that is, until I saw Ryan climb up the steps to the charter boat. Behind him walked a dirty blond who wore the smallest bikini I had ever seen, the tiny triangles covering only her nipples, with thin strings tied around her back and neck.

I was positive my jaw dropped at the sight of them. "Holy fuck," I gasped.

Vince looked up as they walked on by the front. "That's pretty skimpy. I'm surprised she can wear that in public and not be busted for indecent exposure or something."

"That's—that's Ryan," I blurted.

"Who?"

"Ryan—the guy I dated for seven months. The guy I dated before you."

"Oh," he said, processing the situation. "He's bigger than I thought he'd be."

"That's what you choose to say right now?" I shook my head. "We gotta get off this boat."

"What do you mean?"

"We can't stay here," I snapped. "I can't stay around him."

"It's a big boat."

"Not big enough." I gathered my bag and water bottle, heading for the exit, but a crewmember had already unhooked the ropes that bound the boat to the dock. The captain came over the PA with an announcement.

"No, no, no. This can't be happening," I muttered. I looked at Vince and received only a shrug.

"We can move to the back," he suggested. "We can avoid him so that he never sees you."

"It's a five-hour tour, Vince!" I whispered loudly.

"What do you want me to do? Pay the captain to turn around?"

"Yes, that's exactly what I want you to do." I put up my hand to stop him. "I know what I said before about your money, but this is different. That asshole has hurt me like no one ever has, and just being near him makes me furious, and to see him with that—that bimbo. No, no I can't do it."

Vince stood up and hugged me. "All right, I'll see what I can do." We walked to the back of the boat, and he climbed up the ladder to where the captain was, asking if he could talk to him. The captain, a short, round, hairy man with a sunburnt face, seemed like a cheery, reasonable guy, so there was hope.

Vince returned a few minutes later. "He says he doesn't do this gig for the money and won't turn around. Now, if it were an emergency, he'd reconsider."

"It _is_ an emergency, dammit!" I howled.

"He doesn't see it that way." Vince folded his arm around my shoulder. "Are you going to be okay?" I considered that for a moment. "I mean, it's not the worst thing in the world, is it? Even if he does see you, he's likely going to try and avoid you, too."

"Ryan's not like you, Vince. He might walk right up to me, plant a kiss, slap my ass, and force me into a hug so that my boobs press against him. He's that type of guy."

"Well, I'll tell you what, if he starts making a move like that, I'll knock him over the railing. The captain will have to go back then." A sincere smile crossed his face. He was trying hard to not make this a horrible end to a great week. "Sound good?"

I rubbed his arm. "Thanks." We were sitting on a bench where people put on their snorkeling gear; it wasn't made for sightseeing. "We can sit up front if you want," I said after five minutes of boredom. He nodded, grabbed our stuff, and headed for the last bench in the front. "I'm just going to read until we get there." Book in hand, I spread its pages so that they blocked my face.

About twenty minutes later, a couple of tourists started shouting, and soon all the passengers were at the railings, pointing and yelling. Vince dragged me to an open space in the railing. "Oh, wow," I gasped.

"Crazy," he said. "There's so many." All around us dolphins swam. We could spot dozens and dozens of them in the clear water. They raced along the boat, leaping next to us, then zooming underneath the boat's hull to the other side.

The captain came on the PA. "You'll notice the distinctive spinning motion of these dolphins, which gives them their name. These are Gray's spinner dolphins, more commonly called Hawaiian spinner dolphins around here." He went on for a few minutes, telling us this was a good sign, since sharks tended to stay away when a pod of dolphins congregated nearby.

We watched the dolphins for as long as they stayed with us, but the boat kept on traveling north, and eventually the pod turned back or headed out to deeper waters. On the way back to our seats, I heard, "Maci?" from behind me. The resonant voice caught my attention immediately. I spun on my heels and saw Ryan standing at the end of the row.

"Oh my God! Ryan." I tried to sound surprised, but I didn't think it came out very convincing. "I can't believe I'm seeing you here."

"Just on vacation with my girlfriend," he said. His shirt was off and his muscles rippled under the sunlight. His smooth black skin looked even smoother than I remembered. "Hey, babe, come over here. I want you to meet someone." He waved over the blond. "Babe, this is Maci, one of the girls I dated before you."

"Hi," she said in a high, whiny voice. She stuck out her hand. "I'm Claire. It's nice to meet you."

I shook her hand despite the rage inside me telling me not to, for fear that I might crush her hand. But what animosity between us existed? She wasn't even the slut he cheated on me with. How could I blame or resent her? I kept my grip to a professional firmness.

"Hi. It's nice to meet you. This is my boyfriend, Vince." Vince stood up and shook both of their hands.

Uninterested in Vince, Ryan went straight to talking about himself, locking eyes with mine. "Yep, I've been playing indoor football for the Portland Gorgers these last few months." He stretched out his arms behind his head like he used to do, showing off his muscles for a crowd. "You've probably heard of them—they have ads all over facebook. We play in the Moda Center." His bragging tensed me up so much that I started grinding my teeth.

"Yeah, I've heard of them," Vince said. "I thought about buying the team before they relocated, but I really wanted to buy the Blazers. I just can't get Allen to sell."

Ryan thought it was a joke and hurt his gut laughing so hard. "You found a real comedian, Maci. A true funnyman." He popped Vince on the shoulder.

Vince tapped him back. "I _am_ pretty funny, but I wasn't joking, Allen really won't sell."

"Ah, man, you're too much," Ryan laughed. "I never took you for the jokester type, Maci."

"I think you should go back to your seat," Vince said smoothly.

All of Ryan's humor vanished. "What's that?"

"I think you should go back to your seat," Vince repeated. "Before I have to bribe the captain to leave you stranded in one of these valleys." He nodded at the sharp hills of the Na Pali Coast.

I could see Ryan's explosive anger rising up, his fingers curling into a fist. I jumped between them to diffuse the situation. "Ryan, just go back to your seat."

The blond bimbo put a hand on his chest. "Come on, baby. You can't afford to lose it here. Don't spoil the trip, baby. Come on." She tugged at his arm.

"You're lucky I'm in a good mood, man," Ryan snarled, pointing his finger at Vince. "If I wasn't, I might have the sense to rip off your balls and feed them to the sharks." He turned around at the insistence of the bimbo, heading back for their seats.

"I wonder why your mother didn't think he was a catch," Vince teased, sitting back down. "I thought he was real charming myself." He laughed, mostly to himself, pulling me in close after I returned beside him. "See, that wasn't so bad. Not worth leaving the ship and blowing the whole afternoon. Now it's over and done."

"Ryan has real anger issues," I said, nodding ahead at my ex, who was fidgeting in agitation. "And he really hates being told to do something."

"I'm not worried about it," Vince asserted, "and you shouldn't be either. Let's just enjoy the rest of the tour. We're going snorkeling in Hawaii after all. It's something to be excited about. Forget about them—let's focus on us and the moment, all right?"

That was all I wanted to do. He made it sound so simple, but Ryan got under my skin in the worst way, eating at me with anger and bitterness. "I'll try," I said with sincerity. The boat weaved in and out of giant caves and through massive holes in the rocky shore. The stunning beauty of the coast was a spectacle to behold. The captain turned back south once we had explored half a dozen caves, and anchored the boat after fifteen minutes or so, preparing for an hour and a half of snorkeling.

Afraid of being eaten alive, I had trouble overcoming the initial fear of getting into the water, hanging back with my flippers on. Vince swam at the edge of the boat. "The water is great," he said with irregular breaths. "I'll be right by you the whole time. We can just swim around the ladder." His encouragement and assurances finally broke me down as my curiosity urged me into the warm water.

"I can't believe how warm it is," I gasped, my right hand still on the boat. Not able to breathe through my nose, the snorkeling gear added a level of anxiety, one that took a few minutes to adjust to.

With the underwater camera strapped around his neck, Vince took photos of all kinds of fish. A big group swam under the boat and came so close I thought they would bump into me. Most of them veered away at the last second, missing my body by less than an inch.

It took about forty minutes to acclimate to the water atmosphere. By then I was ready to explore the coral and rocks away from the boat. We dove down a little, watching an eel swim in and out of the rocks, both of us taking pictures. Every time we saw a new fish, excitement forced us to point and shout like little kids.

Diving deeper, I was positive I saw a Humuhumunukunukuapua'a, the state fish, and tracked it across a field of rocks. Pictures of the state fish were all over the shops on the island, but I wanted to capture one on camera myself, and so I continued to follow it until I was within range to get a clear shot, about a foot away. Satisfied with my effort, I looked around, and became all too aware that Vince wasn't within sight. Panic stabbed my heart with needles.

Breathing had already been a challenge, and now it was verging on dire. I could see the boat in the distance and swarm hard for it. But then something moved in my peripheral, something big.

I jerked my head right and my heart stopped for a moment. Swimming along the ocean's floor, a giant blue body streaked through the water. Trying not to hyperventilate, I bolted for the safety of the boat as fast as I could, unable to think straight.

But as the streak swam closer, I saw that it was a dolphin, not a shark, as I had feared. There were four of them swimming for the boat and the people splashing around. My heart calmed, but an impulse still told me to clear the water.

My eyes darting between the boat and the dolphins, I never noticed Vince shooting through the water to my left. He grabbed my arm, and panicking, I punched him in the shoulder, mistaking him for a threat. He put up his arms to show that he wasn't.

I pointed at the boat and together we swam toward it. I flew up the ladder and onto the safety of the deck. People were shouting in astonishment as the dolphins darted around the water. Vince joined me on the boat. "You all right?" he asked.

I nodded, out of breath. I hadn't recovered my lungs yet and gave him a smile instead of words. "I thought—thought it was a shark."

Vince held me tight. "I'm so sorry," he said. "One minute I was tracking a fish, and the next—poof, you're gone."

I eased his conscience. "I did the same thing. It's okay, honest. It's all right."

"I'm going to ride me a flipper," I heard Ryan yell, looking over the railing.

Vince glanced up at him. "I wouldn't do that if I were you," he told Ryan.

"Man, don't tell me what to do," Ryan snapped. "I'll do what I want." He jumped overboard.

"See," I huffed, still catching my breath. "He doesn't like to be told what to do."

Vince shrugged.

I never went back in the water, too afraid that the dolphins might turn evil. Vince swam the rest of the time with them, which lasted about ten minutes before they moved on. Ryan was as loud as ever, bragging about how he rode one of them by its fin. The captain wasn't at all happy about that.

After we pulled up to the dock and were waiting to exit, I could hear Ryan behind us. "No, baby. She meant nothing to me. She's not like you. She did nothing for me with those little titties. You're the kind of woman a man needs—not her."

I felt Vince clench up. He set our stuff on a bench, then spun around abruptly, swinging a fist. He punched Ryan square in the jaw and sent him over the railing. Ryan battled the water, shouting.

"She was too good for you, you fucking moron!" Vince snarled. He grabbed our things, retrieved his wallet, and stuffed ten Benjamins into the captain's hand. "That never happened."

"It was a smooth docking," the captain said with a grin, as we walked down the gangplank.

"I can't believe you just did that," I said, astounded.

"He had it coming," he laughed.

I wrapped my arms around Vince's shoulders and kissed his bare chest. I was utterly turned on. "What do you say we celebrate back in the bedroom?"

"I like the way you think," he said, opening the car door for me with a huge grin on his face.

# 20

### ALL IN

We departed Kauai on the earliest flight the next morning. Neither of us wanted to leave, but we had to get back to reality, and a part of me missed the bakery and all the friendly faces. After the long plane trip, all I wanted was to sleep. My plan was spoiled at four A.M. I woke up to the sound of Vince shifting things in his closet.

"Vince?" I said, thinking he was right there. I rolled out of bed, heading for the light, through the split bathroom and into the walk-in. Vince was sitting on the ground, packing his suitcase. "What are you doing? Why are you packing?"

"I have to go to San Diego," he said, shoving socks into his carry-on.

"What do you mean? Now?"

"Yes, now," he said hurriedly. "I just got a call. It's an emergency. I have to leave right away."

"Emergency?" My brain barely processed what he said. "What is it? What happened?"

"I'll explain as soon as I know all the details." He zipped up the suitcase and stood. "I don't know exactly when I'll be back. It could be a few days. I doubt more than a week."

He dashed for the kitchen. I hurried after him, my head groggy, and my stomach queasy. "You're just going to leave like that? No warning, no explanation?"

"I don't know enough to explain." He snatched his keys, a banana, and a few energy bars. He kissed me by the elevator. "I'll call you tonight," he said, stepping inside. Soon he disappeared into the morning before my brain could comprehend what had happened.

Worry fully woke me before long. I stood in front of the bedroom windows, gazing out on the city, puzzling out what business could be so urgent that compelled Vince to leave for San Diego at four in the morning. He had big clients in San Diego, sure, but nothing that would make him bolt so quickly. I tried Vince a few times, but it went straight to voicemail.

I decided to give Alma a shot—she had been remarkably kinder after Terrance left, especially when I called her on that terrible Monday and let her know we were all right and that Vince was fine. "I always knew something was off about him. I could _feel_ it," she had said. "I never imagined that he was in love with Vince though. Strange, how love works." I gathered a hint of vulnerability in those words, but before I could get any more emotion out of her, she said goodbye in a rush. Ever since that day she showed a little decency towards me.

She picked up despite how early it was, but she knew less than I did, without any idea that Vince was even back, let alone that he'd left again.

I paced the house for most of the day. Stress and uneasiness plagued my nerves and stomach. For background noise, I turned on the TV, listening to the news. I figured if it were huge, one of the news channels might have something to report.

"I'm freaking out," I said over the phone to Danielle.

"Why don't you come home?" she suggested. "If he's going to be gone for a while, there's no reason for you to stay there alone. Come home and we'll figure it out together." I followed her advice and drove home.

When I opened the door, Danielle eyed me like I had just caught her doing something naughty, nervous and shocked. "What? What is it?" I asked. She pointed at the TV, turning up the volume.

Some CNN reporter I'd never seen or heard of was doing the broadcast. "The seven bodies arrived shortly after eight last night at Naval Air Station North Island in San Diego. They were discovered on a small island in the Pacific by an American couple on a sailing trip from Australia to San Francisco, who had stopped for a day at the secluded beach before stumbling on the bodies.

"Flight ANZ107 from LAX to New Zealand crashed three years ago over the Pacific near Fiji, more than two hundred miles from where the seven bodies were found. Dental records confirmed the deceased as John Drexler, Danny Larson, Greg Turtledove, Gary Vosloo, Michelle Dotson, Windy Pirri, and Skye Burkhart. We have yet to get an interview from any of the surviving family members. We'll have more for you as the story develops."

Danielle muted the TV. "That's her, isn't it? Vince's old fiancée?"

I nodded slowly, the wave of shock hitting me hard. I stared at the screen. It didn't seem real. How could it be real? She'd been dead for years—how could her body just turn up like that? I dialed Vince a hundred times, but every call went straight to voicemail. "What does this mean?" I asked Danielle. She shook her head. "Skye was the love of his life. Her death devastated him to the point that he's barely ever actually gotten over it."

"Vince loves you, Maci," she comforted me, embracing me with a strong hug. "You know that. You have to be there for him when he's ready."

"This could destroy him again, make everything we've fought through disappear."

"Or it could finally bring him closure," she said.

There was no way to guess what would happen next. I sat glued to the TV for the rest of the day and long into the night until I eventually passed out from exhaustion.

AFTER THREE DAYS OF waiting, with my gut twisted like a rag, my nerves going haywire, and my brain concocting a million dramatic scenarios, Vince finally returned. He had called every day, but they were all short, vague conversations about what was going on.

I found him sitting at the massive table in the dining room, his head folded in his hands, in a pose of utter exhaustion. In front of him a ring with one simple diamond gleamed under the low lighting.

"Is that?"

"The ring I gave Skye," he finished for me. His voice was broken and strained. "They found it on her corpse. Her parents wanted me to have it back." He hadn't so much as twitched from his position, stuck there like a stone.

I didn't know what to say. His sorrow was plain enough. _You have to be there for him when he's ready,_ Danielle had told me. Was he ready now?

When he finally looked at me, the pain in his eyes pierced my heart, and I collapsed to my knees to hold him. "I'm so sorry, Vince."

He sobbed into my neck, wordless. It was a long while before either of us spoke again. "It's weird," he said, breaking the silence. "All these years there was a part of me that was still holding on, hoping that she'd come back, that she'd washed ashore somewhere, stranded but miraculously alive. I've pictured her walking through that door so many times it's hard to imagine . . . and now it's final. She's gone, dead. They buried her body yesterday. All that hope is dead now too."

I didn't know what to say to that. What could I say to that? Deep down, there had always been a part of me that knew he was holding back because of hope. Now to hear it aloud put it all into perspective: his heart was split between two women.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I know that's not something you want to hear."

"No, it's all right. I think I've always known." I touched his chest, placing my hand over his heart. "She was your first love. I understand."

A long silence passed between us again. "Will you stay with me tonight?"

How could I refuse? Although his words stung, I also knew they were words of grief, and only compassion could heal those wounds. "Of course," I whispered. After cooking him dinner, we watched movies on the couch until we fell asleep wrapped in each other's arms.

WE TALKED LITTLE THE next day. Alma called and said she checked in on Vince to find him asleep around midday. After work I headed over to his place and cooked an elaborate meal, but Vince had fallen into a deep depression, staring off into space, in and out of sleep all evening.

My attempts to console him seemed too little, too ineffectual, and when we talked about what he was feeling his mood appeared to worsen without any breakthroughs afterward. Like closure would never come for him. I could feel Vince slipping away and I hadn't a clue how to rescue him from the riptide that was pulling him out into a sea of despair.

All that changed the next morning when Vince walked through the front entrance of Friends, holding a bouquet of various chrysanthemums, my favorite flowers. "What are you doing here?" I asked, utterly shocked by his appearance.

"I . . . I realized I said my goodbyes a long time ago," he said. We headed to the office for privacy. "Even though I never fully accepted it, I knew Skye died on that plane. I couldn't let her go all these years because of hope . . . but I came here to tell you that I _have_ moved on, Maci, even though I know you've had your doubts about that. I won't lie and say there's not a spot in my heart that loves her, because there is, and as much as I'd like to deny it, I can't . . . I mean I was going to marry her. We had it all planned out, the flowers, the colors, the cake, who was going to sit where and all that . . ." His voice choked with pain, shaking. "But despite all that, and despite the difference in length between the relationships, I was never as close to her as I am with you. I came here to prove that to you. I also came here to tell you that I love _you  . . . _and that I'm ready."

"Ready for what?"

"Ready to prove my commitment to you," he answered, laying the flowers on the desk. "To show you that I'm ready to be with you, all of me." My heart jumped. _Is he about to ask me to marry him?_ "I'm ready to do number twelve on the list."

_Number twelve?_ I had gazed at the list so many times I had it memorized. "Are you sure? I thought—"

"That I'd never want to do it," he interrupted. "You were right. Just like I know you never want to have a threesome. But I want to do this, Maci, for you. For us. Besides, I've been reading about it online, and I read the 'Up Your Bum' chapter in _The Guide_. There's a reason why people do it: it's supposed to feel great."

"But not if you're not into it," I countered.

"I am into it," he said. "I researched it. I watched _Bend Over Boyfriend_ and the thought turned me on after a while. Thinking about your breasts slapping my back . . . I want to do it, Maci. That is, if you still want to . . ."

Ever since we wrote out the list, I had thought about number twelve. Pegging: the reversal where the female does the man like a man, the thrusting, the penetration, all of it. It was one of the most arousing things on the list. "I do, but I don't want to do it just to prove something. I want to do it for the same reasons we did all the other fantasies."

"To build a connection." He took me in his arms. "To grow together, to explore each other, to strengthen our bond and let go of the past. Those are all the same reasons I'm talking about. I'm just saying that I want to show you my commitment to you by being open about the idea." He grabbed my hands and stepped back a little. "I want to do this, Maci. I'm all in."

_All in?_ _What does that mean?_ "I have to think about it." Was I overanalyzing his sentiment? Maybe. But I planned on analyzing it, then analyzing it again, just to make sure it didn't end up in the mistake column later on.

Vince left soon after that. I contemplated his words and the fantasy. I hadn't done much research on it, so I figured I'd start there after work. Reading through the Wikipedia page on pegging turned me on. The control, the dominance: it was all so exciting. At the time, it seemed so out there, so dark and dirty and taboo. Women played the submissive in all the books I'd read, and the desire for the dominant point of view felt somewhat wrong, in that I should be more inclined for the submissive role. The thought of experiencing sex as the penetrator was overwhelmingly erotic. Not to say that I wanted to take over the role—I just wanted to try it once.

When I got home, I cracked open _The Guide_ to the "Up the Bum" chapter. I read it twice before I decided to pay for the instructional video, _Bend Over Boyfriend_. Lubrication and communication seemed key. The whole thing was a turn-on, but it was a huge commitment for a man who never desired anal play before, and that was the point Vince had tried to make at the office. But just showing up this morning and saying all those things showed his commitment to our relationship didn't it?

I sought out the advice of the one person I knew who had ever used a strap-on before. "Why do you want to know about strap-ons?" Danielle asked, intrigued.

"I've just never thought much about it," I lied, "and I wanted to know how it feels."

"Well, we've played around with a few different ones. The vibrating harness is my favorite," she said. "Ashley's is a double."

"Double?"

"I can't believe we're having this conversation," she said.

"Now who's the uncomfortable one?" I laughed. "See, you don't have to be a prude."

She grinned at me. "A double is two dildos: one for the wearer, one for the receiver. There, are you happy?"

"Quite." I returned her grin. "Thanks."

"That's it? That's all you wanted to know?"

I nodded on my way back to my room. There were still so many questions to ask and ramifications to consider, and I figured talking them through with Vince was the best option for us both.

"Hey," he said, opening his door around seven that night. "After this morning, I didn't expect to see you again today." His voice was upbeat, and his face was beaming, as if this morning he had suddenly been jolted back to his old self. _He has moved on. He has found closure at last._ His eyes told me this truth.

"Well, from everything I've read, there needs to be an open line of communication on the subject, and so I thought we'd research and explore it together."

We hugged and he kissed me hello. "I was going to say that this morning, but you looked like you needed time to think it out on your own."

"I did," I agreed. I led him into his office and woke his main computer, running a search for "pegging," scrolling down the list. "The main thing I'm worried about is how you'll feel afterward, you know?"

He shook his head.

"Well, I think most people wouldn't classify it as a 'straight' thing to do," I voiced my concern. "And since you've never been curious about that stuff before, I don't know . . . I just don't want to lose you because of this."

He crossed his arms by the door. "Lose me? Why would you lose me?"

"I don't know . . . what if you feel violated afterwards, or insecure, or emasculated?" I paused, looking at the links. "Come here and read this."

He strode up beside me and started reading the article in _Men's Confidence Magazine_. When he finished, he squared up my shoulders so that we faced each other. "Maci, I'm right there with the author. I'm perfectly secure with my sexuality and masculinity, and I don't think you fucking me with a dildo will rip us apart. In fact, I think it will bring us together. I'm in this to share your fantasy."

I leaned up on my toes and kissed him. "I just needed to be sure. All in?"

He gave me a reassuring smile. "All in," he said. "So are you ready to shop for some toys?"

Excited, I nodded with enthusiasm. "Danielle said she enjoys the harnesses that vibrate."

"You told Danielle about this?" he asked, his tone a bit tart.

"No, I just asked her about strap-ons, about what she likes—that's all. I didn't tell her about us, about pegging, though I'm sure she wouldn't say anything to anyone besides Ashley."

"For now, let's just keep it between us," he said, slightly warmer. "I guess that's good to know since you come more from touching your clit." He took over the keyboard, better at searching than I was. We eventually found a strap-on vibrating harness with a pouch for a bullet vibrator to stimulate the clit during the act.

"That article said to start small with a five-inch or six-inch dildo that's one-inch thick," I noted. "Since the area is so sensitive." After a half hour of searching, we ordered a five-inch dildo that was only point-eight inches thick. We bought both with next-day delivery.

"All of this talk has my heart pounding," I admitted. I stripped off his pants, pushed him into the office chair, and blew him until I had a mouthful. We ended up in the bedroom for round two. Tingling, I drifted off minutes after Vince came, satisfied by his gifted tongue.

VINCE AND I HIKED through Forest park the next morning and long into the afternoon. By the time we returned, both packages had been delivered. Before we began our night of exploration, we ate dinner downtown, then visited Spartacus, where Vince bought four bottles of Uranus water-based lube, since every article, book chapter, and instructional video made it clear to use a lot of lube. We also bought a spare bullet vibrator as a backup.

Vince took a shower when we got back to his place, and I decided to join him for some soapy, wet fun. Afterwards, we adjusted the harness straps before we continued with any more foreplay. "You look so hot in this," Vince said, tightening the straps around my thighs, squeezing my ass. He slapped it, and then began kissing my skin, traveling down my leg, up my other one until he reached my other cheek, where he gently bit me. He stripped off the harness, leaving me in only a sexy black corset that pushed up my breasts. "God, you're so damn sexy," he whispered, pushing me onto the bed.

I slowly pulled down the boxer-briefs he'd put on after the shower. His cock sprung up and I caught it in my hand, my grip tightening around his girth. I watched the blood rush to his head before I took it in my mouth.

He pushed me back and climbed onto the bed. I lay back, swiping all but one of the pillows off the bed, while he rotated around, his cock in my face. He lifted his hips so that I could place the pillow under him, positioning his hard-on at the perfect sucking angle.

Unable to wait, he dove between my legs, kissing my pussy. Immediately, my nerves exploded, the sensitivity greater than usual. "I love the way you taste," he said, licking from my pussy to my clit in broad strokes. I caressed his cock, gazing at how his head and balls responded to the movement.

"Do I taste sweet?" I asked, glancing down at his eyes.

"Sweet like candy," he said, rubbing his tongue between my inner lips.

I gasped. Sixty-nine's were so hard to do, yet were so sexy and arousing. I tried focusing on his cock instead of the glorious sensation, licking his tip with my tongue. Vince rocked his hips forward in reaction. I rubbed behind his cock, and touched around his anus, getting him hot for later on. He started moaning the way he did before he came, so I backed off, and let the surge in my head take over.

After a few minutes, he rolled me onto my back, wet his tip with the juices between my lips, then slid in, electrifying the cravings deep inside me. As he pounded me, I awaited with palpable excitement for when it would be my turn to do the thrusting, and the thought pushed me over the edge as he took my partly exposed nipple in his mouth, sucking hard.

He came halfway through my orgasm, both of us screaming, cursing, calling each other's names. When he pulled out, rolling onto his back, I gazed into his elated eyes, and the urge to fuck him overwhelmed me. Compelled, I tightened the strap-on around my thighs and hips, wiggling the washed and sanitized dildo in front of him.

He looked shocked that I was ready to go so soon. "Come on, sexy, roll over."

"I need a few minutes," he rasped. "I need some water first."

"Okay," I said, grabbing a pillow off the floor. I sat up in the bed while he headed for the kitchen. "Can you get me a glass, too?"

He nodded, out of breath.

Waiting, I played with the plastic pink cock, pumping up and down the shaft. _I wonder if this is what it's like to masturbate as a man._ My thought was interrupted as Vince handed me a glass. He gulped his down in a hurry.

We rested for a few more minutes before Vince crawled over me. "Are you ready?" he asked, touching the plastic cock.

I nodded. "I'm so horny, I feel like I might come just sitting here," I replied. I leaned forward and kissed him. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For coming into my life. For getting me to open up. For sharing all these experiences with me. All of it." My words were a touch sentimental, but I couldn't control it—they just rushed out.

He kissed me back, harder. "I love you." He turned around on all fours.

My heart pumping wildly, I took the bottle of lube and squirted until my palm was full. I rubbed it on his anus. He moaned. "Does that feel good?"

"Feels real good," he answered.

I poured half a bottle on the dildo, making sure it was as lubricated as possible, then stuck the fake head between his ass. I applied a little pressure on his hole and he sighed in pleasure.

"A lot of nerves," he breathed.

"Too much?"

"No, keep going."

I slowly inched into him and he _oohed_ the entire time. I paused about an inch in, checking in with him again.

"It hurts," he said, "but in a good way. A really good way."

I started again at his signal, pausing after another inch. I continued with the routine until most of the dildo had disappeared.

Vince was breathing pretty hard by then, trying to control his breaths. "I'm okay," he said. "It's just different, that's all. It feels good, but it's different."

I began making gentle circles as per the instructions of _The Guide_. He let out more gasps and a few grunts. Even though the cock was fake and not attached in the same way, I loved the feeling. I loved gyrating my hips with him in front of me. I bit my lip in anticipation for when I could start thrusting.

"I'm ready," he said after about five minutes with the dildo all the way in.

"You sure?" I could barely contain myself.

"I'm very sure." He started moving back to show me he meant what he said.

I pulled all the way out as slowly as I could manage, then applied about half of what remained in the bottle on the dildo, inching in again, then out just as slowly as before, building up the speed with every plunge. I switched on the vibrator at that point, and the sensations—combined with the rush of thrusting—shot a bolt of ecstasy right up my back that swelled into my forehead. The pressure stayed there, building. I pulled down the corset and leaned over so that my breasts grazed his back as my hips rocked back and forth.

Vince moaned as my nipples slid up and down his skin. "Softer," he cried out, so I slowed my efforts, lost in the moment for a second.

After a minute, I pulled out again and applied the rest of the bottle, then entered in one smooth motion, Vince exhaling through it. "Fuck—me—fuck—me," he said between breaths. Putting the corset back in place, I grabbed on to his hips, slipping down his ass and pinching. The little bullet nearly blinded me with pleasure. With so much blood down in my pussy, my eyes were swimming. I threw back my head, calling out Vince's name.

The three other bottles sat on the nightstand, and after a few minutes of gentle thrusting, I opened a second one and poured more on. As I was replacing the bottle, I noticed that Vince's cock was now rock hard, so I dumped a handful of lube into my palm and greased him up before entering his ass again.

The vibrator never stopped during any of it, which slowed down my actions—the constant pulsing diverting my concentration. I shoved the dildo all the way in, hugged his back, and reached around to his throbbing cock. My brain was everywhere, my hips thrusting, my hand stroking, my clit taking a heavy assault of gratification, all the while the pressure in my forehead and temple continued to build.

I felt like a shaken champagne bottle about to explode.

The pressure became too much for me to continue with my hand, so I latched on to his hips, losing myself in a sea of sensation. The cork blew. A surge raced straight to my head, and I could feel the veins popping out of my skin, the intensity so powerful I lost my breath for a few seconds as my body went rigid.

I fell onto Vince's back, whimpering, gasping, utterly consumed by the orgasm. Panting into Vince, I could hear him grunting while his body shook, then he erupted in orgasm, coming on the sheets.

Our bodies convulsed into each other's, the aftershocks fusing our skin as the waves rolled on and on, lessening in the minutes that passed. Quickly reaching down, I turned off the vibrator, its attack now too much for the sensitive area. I gently pulled out and collapsed on my back, finding my breath.

"It's never been like that before," I said after a minute or so. "It was all in my head, and so—so intense."

"It was good then?" he asked, lying beside me. His ragged breathing made him sound as if he'd never catch his breath.

I rolled over and kissed him as passionately as I could, trying to show my gratitude. Through all our fantasies and all our talks, I had never felt more connected to Vince than right then, lying on his chest. Could two people grow any closer? It didn't seem possible. If any doubts lingered after Vince showed up at the bakery at 9:22 yesterday morning, they had vanished now, his commitment unquestionable.

"How's your prostate?" I asked after a few minutes.

He gave a small laugh, and then smiled. "They weren't lying when they said it'd feel good. It rubbed it perfectly, and the small vibrations from the bullet massaged it. It was a completely different orgasm for me, too." There was a certain satisfaction written on his face that eased my nerves about how he'd feel afterward.

I freed myself of the corset and harness, wobbling next to the bed. "I feel like I could sleep for days."

"Do you want me to change the sheets?"

I shook my head. "It's just semen." I closed my eyes and they rolled back into my head. The world became warm and heavy, and I curled up in the comforter that was suddenly on top of me. Seconds later, in the distance, I heard the shower turn on, and I fell asleep to the steady sound.

# 21

### FAULTY WIRES

Vince was horribly sore Sunday and Monday. He didn't work at all either day. By Tuesday, he was feeling more like himself.

"So what are you making?" I asked him Tuesday night. I sat at the island as he prepared dinner.

"Steaks," he replied, leading me out to the east terrace. He opened the hood of the grill. Two big steaks coated in a black rub cooked over the blue flames. Two cobs of corn also cooked on the upper rack. A shell of aluminum foil sat between the steaks. "With some veggies, and I'll whip some potatoes in the mixer."

"Smells wonderful," I said, taking in a big whiff. I gazed out over the terrace. We hadn't spent much time on the east wing, mostly basking and relaxing on the western side, near the bedroom. I hadn't even touched the life-sized chess pieces. I walked over to the giant board that was the tiled floor. "Care to play a game?" I had never been into chess, but playing with pieces that came up to my knees seemed like it might be fun.

"Actually, I had a different type of activity in mind," he said, his eyes burning with lust.

"Oh?" I leaned against the king with my ass facing him. I turned my head and batted my eyes.

"Well, technically speaking, we had sex outside when we crossed off sex on the beach, but I don't think two for one is the point of the list, do you?"

I pretended to consider the question. "I suppose not. Are you saying you want to fuck me on the chessboard?"

He turned the knobs of the grill to their lowest setting. "Right now."

"Right now?" I said, nervous. "It's still daylight."

"The walls are high enough," he said, with a smooth, coaxing voice. "If anyone sees . . . well, they'll get a good show." He unbuttoned his pants as he walked over to the chessboard.

He was right about the walls: they were much higher in the corner, even taller than me. But the hill to the north gave the taller buildings a good view. In the end, I figured someone would really have to be looking, probably with binoculars, to see the action.

My tight jeans proved difficult to pull down, but eventually Vince wiggled them off. He pushed me back against the king, and then turned me toward the knight, sliding down my panties before nudging me down. I sat on the horse's head, its curve a perfect seat. His arms held half of my weight, my legs too far forward to hold me completely.

Vince kissed up my thigh, teased my clit, then down the other thigh. It was one of his favorite foreplay moves. He made a few more passes before his tongue began its rotation, massaging my clit in short circles. After a minute though, he switched it up, pressing his nose hard against me, shaking his head side to side. The motion drove my clit wild. I rocked my hips into his face. "Fuck, I love your nose," I said. He replied by shaking faster.

When I was dripping wet, he stood up, pulling me off the chess piece before I tumbled over. My legs were weak and trembling. I knelt on the tile and yanked down his pants, releasing his erection. I tasted the saltiness at his tip, then swirled my tongue around the head. Running my tongue down his shaft, I licked his balls, staring up into his yearning eyes. "Baby, that feels good," he breathed. He had never called me "baby" before, but I liked it, and I began twirling my tongue faster and faster in response.

His arms reached back and found the bishop behind him, leaning, shifting his weight. His cock stuck out, hard and throbbing, so I swallowed it up, all the way to the back of my throat. I had gotten much better at not gagging, and it almost never happened anymore unless Vince thrust too wildly. My hand usually stopped that, pumping away, limiting how far back his shaft went.

I returned to his balls. "Suck on them. Yeah, like that. Ooh." He started breathing hard as if he were about to come, so I retreated, giving him some air. He nearly fell over, but caught his balance before he did, gasping.

"Take off those shoes and pants," I said, "and fuck me doggy style." I leaned over the queen, which was about the right height, angling my hips for deep penetration. He tore off his clothes, now completely naked, and gripped his cock, sliding it along my wet lips before ramming inside.

I gasped from the suddenness. Vince grabbed my shoulder with his right hand, palming my ass with his left, thrusting hard from the start. I closed my eyes and let the red deepen as the pressure built in my neck. His hand cruised from my shoulder down my spine, adding a tingle that pimpled my skin for a second.

His grunts grew louder, about to climax. "I want it—want it in my mouth." He pulled out in a hurry, and I spun around, dropping to my knees, taking his head in my mouth, stroking his shaft like he'd showed me how to do. My mouth filled with one hot shot after another, and I swallowed as it came.

I peered up at him, but his head was back, his mouth open in orgasm. When he finally looked down, I was swirling my tongue around his now sensitive cock. He inhaled deeply. "That was hot," he said in a husky voice. "Really hot—and unexpected."

I smiled at him, licking my lips. "I just wanted it all of a sudden."

He pulled me up to his mouth for a deep kiss. "How did you taste?"

"Sweeter, until you came," I said. "I liked it enough to do it again."

He kissed me again. Checking on the steaks after we'd dressed, we found them nice and charred—just the way I wanted them.

I ALMOST MADE IT to work on time on Thursday. No matter how hard I tried, I never made it there before 4:46. It just wasn't possible. The morning went by with a crowd of people, unusual for a Thursday, but not unwelcomed. Bridgett and I were relatively back to normal, talking like we used to. She was once again telling me about her nightly escapades at various bars.

Both of us were excited about Saturday and Danielle's bachelorette party. The night on the town would be one to remember—that I didn't doubt. After the lunch rush, I took a break in the office, playing with the marble like I often did, while I contemplated the future.

Despite all the sex and all the cuddling, and how close Vince and I had gotten over the months, we still hadn't talked about where this relationship was heading. This wasn't necessarily a bad thing since I had no interest in rushing things. Yet, there was a part of me that wanted to know . . . I wanted to have _the_ _talk_.

Glancing at the clock, I saw that it was 1:23 and laughed. Still not a day went by without seeing twenty-three somewhere. I decided that this was as good a time as any to end my break, when Joey, a line cook, burst into the office. "FIRE!" he screamed. "FIRE! THERE'S A FIRE!" I pocketed the marble, running out of the office, following Joey to the main kitchen. People scrambled to exit the restaurant. Blocking my view was a man wearing a tattered jean jacket. When we reached the kitchen, the second stove was a column of fire. Bridgett was there, along with Tabitha, using the fire extinguishers to no avail. The smoke detector blared like a siren. It was so loud, it made me cringe.

Observing the flames as they shot for the ceiling, it was clear there was no stopping it. "EVERYONE OUT!" I yelled. "OUT NOW!"

Joey and Tabitha rushed out, but Bridgett, as stubborn as I was, wouldn't leave until the third extinguisher was empty. "WE HAVE TO GO—NOW!" I clawed at Bridgett's arm and yanked her out of the kitchen. I had never seen so much smoke in such a small place. My eyes burned and watered, and I could barely see.

The fire had spread to the upper level, and parts of the ceiling split apart, crashing to the floor. My first thought was to save the computers in the office, but Bridgett had the sense to drag me out of the exit, the flames licking at our heels. The heat threatened to stop us from reaching the door, but we darted around the burning counter. It spread insanely fast, as if it had started in multiple locations.

Tabitha sprinted up to us as we bolted out the door. "The fire department is on its way," she said, panting, wiping her eyes.

I nodded, coughing. "Good—good job."

Luckily, the nearest fire station was only six blocks away on Thirty-ninth. I scanned the area for the jean jacket I'd seen, but it was lost in the chaos, if it had ever been there at all. By the time the fire department arrived, half the building was on fire, the flames reaching for the clouds.

A few firefighters pushed back the crowd while others battled the inferno. The hoses sprayed jets of water, but the building continued to burn, my dreams dying before my eyes. What the firefighters were able to save amounted to a black shell: half of the building gone, and the center of the second story collapsed. All of our equipment was damaged beyond repair or recognition.

The terrible awe the sight instilled didn't compare to the utter heartbreak tearing my insides apart. Bridgett gave me a tight hug. "It's okay. It'll be okay," she cried. "The insurance—they'll pay—it'll be all right."

We cried in each other's arms, the overwhelming shock racking our nerves.

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN, the insurance company won't pay?" Vince asked, his voice harsh like a growl. Bridgett, Ashley, Danielle, and I were sitting in the living room. He paced the small room. "I thought it was arson?"

I was too shaken to respond. Friday morning had been as dismal as the night before, and now the afternoon was shaping up to be more of the same, with bad news on top of bad news.

Bridgett spoke up with her clear, powerful voice, "The Fire Inspector didn't find any evidence that it was arson."

"But Maci saw Luke there."

"She saw a jean jacket," Bridgett said, "and she was the only one who saw a guy in a jean jacket. If someone did start the fire, they made it look like we did it."

"Still, why won't the insurance company pay?" Vince was the only one of us not in shock. Even Ashley seemed out of it and not her usual collected self.

"They're saying the wiring wasn't up to code," Bridgett answered after glancing at me. "I guess the Inspection Engineer who cleared us before was busted for not doing his job right, had his license taken away, and had to pay a heavy fine . . . but still, the insurance company says it was our fault . . . the old wiring should've been updated for all of the old kitchen outlets. I guess the stove was plugged into one of those and not one of the new ones."

"So we get nothing," I chimed in, trying to hold in all the anger and tears.

Vince stared at us, his face red, his eyes dark and dangerous. He looked like he was about to set out on a warpath. "Can't you sue the inspector who cleared you?"

"We've talked about that with the owners at The Herb Shoppe, and they're in," I told him, "and they think a few others who were screwed over would more than likely join in, but that won't help us right now."

"It might take years to get any money," Bridgett added.

Vince started rubbing his knuckles, which I'd never seen him do. "This is ridiculous, just fucking ridiculous."

"I'll say," Danielle jumped in. "Can you have them evaluate the place again, to make sure they didn't miss anything?"

"They were pretty clear that the verdict was final," Bridgett sighed. "We're just fucked."

A few minutes later, the group broke up, and Vince and I went out for a walk to get some warm, fresh air in the beautiful May weather. We hadn't made it two blocks before Vince brought up his money. "What if I were to invest the startup costs for a new place?"

"Your money isn't a cure-all, Vince," I said, a tad more harshly than I had intended.

"You let me invest before. Why not now?"

"Because it's a lot more this time."

He sighed in exasperation, his mouth twitching. "What's the point of having all this money if I can't share it?"

"It's not my money, Vince. And the things you're talking about are too big, too grand. We're not talking about a pair of shoes here. We're talking about hundreds of thousands."

"No, we're not talking about shoes. We're talking about a business," he said pointedly. "I have the money . . . let me do this, Maci, for you."

"And what if things don't work between us? What then?"

A twinge of surprise threw him back. "What does that mean?"

"It means I can't take your money just because we're dating," I replied, stopping on the sidewalk.

"What if I loaned it to you? You could pay me back—"

"Loans are worse than gifts," I cut in. "Or 'investments' as you call them." I shook my head. "I'm not going to take your handouts, Vince."

The mood grew dreary as silence swept in for the remainder of the walk. "I have _some_ money," I said, standing outside the apartment door. "I'll be okay until I find another job."

"But what about your dream?" He folded his arms, leaning against the frame.

"I succeeded for a while." I shrugged with indifference. "I guess that will have to do for now."

Unsatisfied by my answer, he stared at me, wanting more—more than what I had to say. My dreams crushed, without answers and without a plan, I was lost, endlessly swimming, trying to find something to stay afloat on. Vince thought it was his money, but all I really wanted was him. He didn't get that.

Staring off into space, I laughed unexpectedly.

"What's so funny?"

"Two fires in as many months," I said, shaking my head in disbelief. "I must be cursed or something."

"You're not cursed," Vince said. "A string of bad luck, that's all it is. But I can help."

"I think I'm going to go for a long run." My words were abrupt. "You know, to clear my head a little." I kissed him softly, quickly. "I'll call you later."

He stood there, motionless, speechless, his contorted face split between certainty and doubt. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but then thought better of it.

I left him there with his ambivalence.

I HAD DECIDED TO spend the night alone, collecting my thoughts after a phone call from the company that backed up our files. The one positive note throughout the tragedy was that all of our information stored on the network was backed up on a cloud system. It was a small win, but at that point, we took it with big smiles.

Vince wanted to make me breakfast—a sweet gesture. He was finally figuring out that I needed _him_ and not his bankrolls. As I turned onto Osage below the Envoy, Eddie started to sputter like never before, smoke climbing into the air from under the hood. "No, no, no!" I shouted, banging the steering wheel. I maneuvered him in front of someone's garage, where he suddenly died, and I jumped out, half expecting him to erupt in an inferno.

I stared at the smoking hood for a long while before I called Vince. As I waited, I paced in front of Eddie, hoping his problem was fixable. Vince arrived a minute later, panting, as if he had sprinted here. He popped the hood. Smoke rushed his face and he coughed in a fit. "You have no oil," he said, taking out the oil dipstick.

I threw my head back and gazed at the clouds. "You've got to be kidding me." Standing at a safe distance, now somewhat paranoid of fire, I walked up beside him and he lifted the dipstick for me to see. "I just had it changed two weeks ago . . ."

"Must've gotten a leak, I guess." He replaced the dipstick and sighed. "The engine's probably seized."

"What's that mean?" I asked, clenching my fists.

"It means Eddie's a goner." Vince tapped the edge of the hood.

I could feel my nails digging into my skin, and I released the explosion of anger at the car door in one big swing. "FUCK!" I screamed. "God-fucking-dammit. How? In two days . . . everything . . ." On the verge of breaking down, I collapsed to my knees, tears flooding my face.

Vince knelt beside me, his arms hugging my shoulders. "It's okay," he said softly. "I can buy you a new car, any car—how about a Ferrari?"

I pushed his hand away. "I don't want you to buy me a new car, Vince. Stop trying to throw money at me."

His face soured, realizing the mistake. "Well, why don't you take the EverGo? I didn't pay for it. There's no money involved and I never use it. It's just sitting in the garage."

I shook my head, not considering the offer. I was too pissed off for his charity.

"Just for the weekend," he added, "or until you can find a new one."

I hung my head. There was no reason to refuse his offer, besides maybe too much pride, but I couldn't let that stand in the way. Despite not liking handouts, I had to face the fact that I was drowning and needed a life preserver. He lifted me off of my knees as I yielded, accepting his offer.

After calling Junk My Car, they came and towed Eddie away. It was hard to say goodbye after so many years of reliability. Vince whipped up a huge breakfast, but without much of an appetite, I nibbled on a few bites and that was it.

With such a terrible week, it was hard to get excited for the night and Danielle's bachelorette party, which I'd been looking forward to for so long, planning how it would all go. Now I didn't care so much, and that was depressing in itself.

"Come on, you need this," Danielle said when I got home. "Tonight is a night to let go, to have fun, and forget about all that real shit, you know?" She grabbed my hands. "Let's get you something to wear." She dragged me to my room, and before I could protest, I was sucked into the glorious world of Danielle's outfit compositional skills.

Before long, we were ready to hit the town.

# 22

### AN UNEXPECTED KISS

Meeting up at Becky's, I had forgotten about all the gear we'd bought months ago, storing it all at her place so Danielle wouldn't find it with her snooping eyes. It turned out our outfits weren't that important because of the pink tank-top dresses that read, "Help Us Tank Her Before She Sets Anchor." We were all decked out with white "Bride's Crew" pins and tiaras. Danielle of course had the complete package with a white tank-top dress that read "Tank Me I'm The Bride To Be," a fancier tiara, a "Bride" pin, a fancy black sash that read "The Bachelorette" in hot pink, and a shot glass necklace that said, "Last Shot of Freedom."

By the time everyone had arrived, there were nine women in total. Danielle pulled me aside to warn me about one of the girls I didn't know, an old coworker of hers. "Nikki's a seductress," she said.

"And that means. . .?"

"It means she likes to get women to do things— _sexual_ things."

I sighed. "I'm not gay."

"Gay or straight, she doesn't care. Just watch out for her, all right?"

"For you?" I asked, a bit confused.

"For yourself," she answered. "She's got a weird ability to lure girls in without them having a clue what's going on—that is, until the next morning, when they wake up next to her. I've seen it happen before—more than once, in fact."

"Right," I said sarcastically, nodding.

Danielle pinched my arm. "I'm serious."

"All right, I'll watch out." I batted away her claws. "Your job isn't to worry about me tonight; it's to get as many free drinks as you can."

"Please, with these girls"—she held up her breasts—"I can get drunk in ten minutes."

"I didn't say your job was to drink all the free drinks," I laughed. We left a few minutes later, parking at the Park & Ride on Ninety-second by SE Powell, where we took the MAX downtown.

When we arrived at Fifth and Burnside, we were about fifteen minutes early for our reservation. Portland City Grill was on the thirtieth floor, but the elevator ride only took a couple of seconds. Even though we were early, our tables were ready, situated in a corner by the windows. Half of our table was a booth and the other half were chairs, prepared for eight since Nikki was a last-minute addition.

I sat in the booth by the right aisle, Danielle beside me. Bridgett went to sit across from me, but Nikki snagged the seat. Bridgett shrugged and sat at the opposite end by Becky.

"I'm so glad to finally get to meet you," Nikki said, flipping her bangs out of her eyes. She looked like a stereotypical blond bimbo, with too much makeup and big pink lips—this struck me as odd because Danielle said she was really smart. Apparently, this was her night to cut loose too. If she had dialed back the makeup, men probably would have referred to her as a blond bombshell rather than a bimbo. Danielle and Ashley often did just that, likening her to Carrie Underwood—only with Danielle's bust.

"You too," I replied. "I've heard a lot about you from Danielle."

"I hope it was all good." She unfolded her napkin and laid it across her lap. "Sometimes I have wild streaks that people like to talk about." The waiter came by with water before I could reply, and we all ordered drinks, killing the conversation.

"So, I here you're dating a billionaire," Nikki continued.

I nodded and smiled weakly.

"Don't like to talk about it?"

"They enjoy their privacy," Danielle said, winking at me.

Nikki shuffled in her seat. "Oh, so that means you won't share how big his junk is?"

"And why would you care?" Danielle asked.

"I enjoy a real one from time to time," she laughed. The topic turned to her stories of sexual conquest—something I didn't mind, as long as the conversation didn't return to Vince. I wasn't comfortable talking about our relationship with people I didn't know.

The food arrived not too long after we ordered, the drinks flowing during the meantime, and I had to stop Danielle before she went overboard. It was too early in the evening for her to crash.

Halfway through dinner and after her second drink, Nikki suddenly started rubbing my calf with her foot, her skin grazing mine with a soft, practiced touch. She didn't look at me as she slid up and down, talking to the woman next to her. At first I thought it was an accident, but after a few seconds, her intentions were clear, and I shifted in the booth.

About five minutes later she tried again, her bare leg on my bare leg. The weird thing about it was that I didn't hate her touch. It was different than Vince's hairy legs, so silky and clean, and more electrifying than when my legs grazed each other.

We were all good and buzzed and almost ready to leave when Danielle, Becky, and I decided to go to the bathroom. On the way there, I overheard a guy say, "Look at those sluts."

I stopped at his table. "Excuse me?" My blood was boiling, my anger ready to blow after such a devastating week.

"You can't deny it," the guy said. "You're sluts."

"Yeah, hon, he's right," a woman said, the only one sitting with the group of five guys. "You're sluts." The other guys were all laughing, but said nothing.

"Fuck you, you little whore." The alcohol and rage destroyed my filter. "And fuck you, douchebag."

Danielle rushed back and grabbed me by the shoulders. "Hey, we're better than that."

"Are you though?" the same guy said. "A slut like you? Come on."

Becky arrived and hauled me away before I lost it. "What the fuck was that all about?" she asked in the bathroom.

"I have no idea," I said, "they just started calling us sluts as we walked by."

"People are weird," Danielle said, "let's leave it at that and enjoy the rest of tonight. I'm not tanked yet, remember? So we still have a long night ahead of us."

I promised to let it go. On the way back to our table, the group harassed us again without a reason, trying to provoke us into some sort of confrontation. I gritted my teeth and walked on. We were heading for the door when I grabbed Becky's half-finished margarita and turned back for the harassers.

I could hear Becky behind me, " _Maci!_ "

I tossed the drink in the guy's face and slammed the glass down on the table as the other four guys cried out, " _Oh!_ "

"Fuck you, morons," I laughed. Becky yanked my arm, pulling me for the exit. A waitress was rushing over to us as we started speed-walking to catch the others. Adrenaline pumping through my veins, I let out a laugh of sweet revenge, climbing into the elevator.

"What just happened?" Bridgett asked. Becky and Danielle fed them the story on our way to CC Slaughters for some cheap drinks. I was all pumped up and ready to dance. As a group, we took over a large portion of the floor, but the music wasn't what any of us wanted. "I want to dance!" Danielle yelled.

"We _are_ dancing," I shouted back.

"Dirty Nightlife is a few blocks down," Nikki said, "that place gets really hot."

"Let's finish these drinks and go," Danielle said. We didn't argue with her. It was her night, and no one really cared anyway, though a few of them wanted to go to Darcelle's for a drag show. My head was swimming by the time I finished my drink at CCs. As maid of honor, it was my duty to see that Danielle paced herself and to make sure people didn't force too many drinks into her hands. Sadly, I was unable to control myself, let alone her.

Two random girls ended up buying Danielle another drink at CCs, so we stayed for a while longer before we gave up and went to Dirty Nightlife, which I had never heard of, but then again, I didn't do the club scene, so that was no surprise. The club was packed, and cleavage was everywhere, including a few women wearing only bras. Stripper poles were scattered throughout the place, yet there were no actual strippers, only regular dancing partyers doing their own thing.

Nikki ran over to a free pole with the rest of us in tow. A group of guys bought us a round of martinis and the night really took off from there. We all went wild: dancing, drinking, and laughing. Nikki kept climbing the pole and pointing at me, but I laughed it off, glancing at someone else while sipping on my drink.

Tugging down her shirt so that her breasts were practically popping out of her tank top, she caught my eye again, and danced with her ass grinding against the pole, sliding down, then back up. She pointed at me again and drew her finger in toward her, signaling me to get closer.

I didn't know if she would ever stop, so I walked over to her. "Yeah?"

"Dance with me."

I gave in. "Sure." She placed a hand on my hip, scooting closer. I guess this was what Danielle had warned me about. She grinded her crotch against me, then spun around, bumping me with her ass. I'm not sure if it was the alcohol or something else, but I clutched her hips and grinded back.

She grinned with a trace of seduction. "Have you ever kissed a woman before?" she asked, leaning into my ear.

"No," I answered. I couldn't see straight at that point. "But I've thought about it."

"How come you've never tried it?" She squeezed her breasts into mine and I felt a little turned on.

"Don't know." I pulled back so I could see her better. "Never was in the situation to try it, I guess."

She turned around and danced down to the floor, then back up, running her hands up my legs. She spun back into me so that our eyes met. Her lips were wet with lip-gloss. Before I knew it, her mouth was on mine, her tongue exploring mine. I fell into the moment, rolling my tongue against hers.

"What the hell?" Danielle broke us apart. "Maci, what are you doing?"

"Kiss—kissing a girl." I backed up. "And—and guess what—I liked it, Danielle. Just like the song." I laughed at myself.

"Then there's no reason to stop," Nikki said.

Danielle put a finger up to her face. "Not this one, Nikki. I told you that earlier." She looked livid with her friend.

"You said not to sleep with her." Nikki eyed Danielle, just as pissed off for the interruption. "You never said anything about making out."

"You told her not to sleep with me?" I asked Danielle, confused.

"You know what? Keep her to yourself. I'm out of here."

"Good. It was a mistake you were ever invited anyway," Danielle shouted as Nikki left. She grabbed my arm. "I can't believe you, Maci. I told you to watch out for her."

"I'm a grown woman, Danielle. If I want to kiss a woman I—I can."

"Maybe you should take a break for a while," she said.

"That's a good idea." I grabbed my stomach. "I don't feel so great." I sat down at the table we had claimed earlier in the night.

Bridgett sat down next to me. "Did you—did you just kiss a girl?"

I nodded, my drunken vision seeing a few of her. "Yeah."

"How was it?"

"A little arousing."

She spat whatever she was drinking. "God, I hope I remember this in the morning." We sat there laughing, and I slowly, drunkenly drifted off into a hazy sleep.

# 23

### I DO

The next morning I had the worst headache of my life. I snapped awake on the floor in the hotel room we'd booked for the bachelorette party. I couldn't remember how I'd gotten there and was pretty sure I had blacked out at the dance club. The hangover lasted all day, and I had thrown up more than once. I remembered little, but I did recall the one big event, especially when Bridgett brought it up again, laughing with her whole body.

I went the entire week without telling Vince about the kiss, worried about his reaction. Sure, a lot of men say they think it would be hot, but when it came down to it, it was a guessing game. Guilt ate at me.

Saturday morning came and I swore I had more jitters than Danielle, even though it was her wedding day. Everyone from the bachelorette party would be there except Nikki, including big-mouth Bridgett, who couldn't keep a secret. On a positive note, she was keeping her distance from Vince ever since the theft ordeal, so the likelihood that she'd spill the beans was miniscule. I worried about all the others, though. People would be getting drunk, which meant their tongues would be getting loose, like mine had. Luckily, Vince had to work late Friday night and missed the rehearsal dinner, where I was asked several times if I was switching teams. All the jokes bounced off me for the first hour before I grew tired of them, and snapped at Becky.

Danielle had packed the schedule for the day full of fun preparatory appointments and tasks. We started the day off right with a delectable breakfast with strong mimosas, then we got our nails and hair done, did our own makeup, and dressed at the venue. The Hostess House, a beautiful, elegant choice for Danielle's smaller wedding, had a chapel and reception room, and a gazebo outside, where the two lovebirds were to unveil in front of each other prior to pictures.

I almost cried twice while helping Danielle dress. She was so stunning in her gown, and all the emotion was getting to me, realizing that she was about to enter into a new stage in her life. "Are you ready?" I asked after we finished adjusting her wedding gown. It fit perfectly, the pure white fabric falling in a short train, with the surplice neckline showing off a great deal of cleavage.

She nodded, happy tears running down her cheeks. She clasped my hands. "I know things are about to change a lot between us when I move in with Ashley, but I want you to know that I'll always be there for you. Even though we're not related by blood, you're my sister, and that will never change."

My eyes watered again: I was on the verge of losing my composure. I had no words for her, my emotions too wild, so we embraced each other in silence. "I'm so happy for you," I said at last. "Come on. Let's go see your bride." I took the yellow sash and tied it around her eyes, blindfolding her. I guided her outside to the gazebo where Ashley stood, also blindfolded, next to her maid of honor.

"Ready?" I asked. They both said "yes" with tense excitement. I nodded at the other woman, and we both untied the blindfolds at the same time, drawing them back. Both brides gasped. Instead of white, Ashley wore a yellow strapless sweetheart dress. The ball gown featuring a dropped-waist bodice bejeweled with diamonds, and a trainless floor-length skirt, layered in six ruffled tiers.

Tears dominated the next few minutes as they relished the moment. Then we took pictures and the time flew by. We retired to the prep room a half hour before the ceremony. Danielle grew nervous then, pacing.

"You can do this, Danielle," I said in a calm tone. "You want to do this."

"I'm just worried about my vows," she said. "I'm worried I won't be able to say them. I don't want to be up there bawling the whole time."

I hugged her tightly. "When the time comes, so will your voice." The simple words comforted her enough to where she stopped pacing. Her mother and father also gave her advice each in turn as we waited.

The wedding coordinator, a slender Asian woman, peeked into the room before rushing in. She wanted no one outside the wedding party to see the brides before they walked down the aisle. She was very particular about it. "It's time. Maci and Becky"—she waved us over—"come." She began ordering us around as we filed into line outside the chapel.

Ashley walked down the aisle first. Unlike Danielle's parents, Ashley's didn't accept her sexuality, so her uncle—who was also gay—gave her away as everyone rose from their seats. Becky and her counterpart walked next, then Lisa, one of Danielle's friends from grad school, started off with her complement. I went last with Tanisha, Ashley's maid of honor, who was popping out of her pink pastel dress. The blue pastel dress I wore wasn't as flattering as I would have liked, but Danielle chose it, and there was no point arguing with a bride.

Blue and pink flowers filled the candlelit chapel. The site stunned me as we made our way to the front, amazed at how well it all turned out: the streamers and decorations, and all the people who showed up.

When I took my spot near the Officiant, I spotted Vince in the second row with my mom. He smiled at me with his sweet, intoxicating eyes. Scanning the room, I laughed a little at the ratio of women to men, which was easily four to one.

A breath later, Danielle entered the room on the arms of her parents. At the arch, they gave her away, and Ashley leaned in and whispered something to her. From there, the ceremony proceeded without incident, their vows prompting more tears. When I finally found Vince afterward, he was in queue for the receiving line. "Hey, you're looking pretty good in that dress," he said, giving me a hug and a kiss when he reached me.

"It'd look better on the floor," I teased, whispering in his ear.

He laughed. "True. Where do I sit?" The long line behind him pushed him on as I pointed. After everyone passed through, I found Vince waiting at our designated table with Alma. I touched his chest as he hugged me again. His sharp suit probably cost as much as Danielle's wedding dress.

I downed a glass of water, feeling a bit lightheaded. "Wait here. I'll go get Eric." Ever since we got back from Hawaii, Alma continued to be nice to me, but her mood had declined, now even more dismal. Luckily, Danielle, Ashley, and I concocted a brilliant plan to set her up with one of Ashley's rich co-workers.

Tall, broad-shouldered, muscular, and charming, with a reputation for fulfilling a woman in the bedroom, Eric Dresker fit the bill to get Alma laid. I brought him over to the lonely table and introduced them. Less than enthused for the setup, she took to him nonetheless.

"I have to go get something out of the dressing room. Will you be all right here?" I asked Vince. After he nodded, I hurried off.

Digging through my purse, I found a tube of lip balm, and refreshed my coat. I jumped when Vince came in, thinking it was a random guy that figured this was the bathroom. "Becky was just chatting me up good," he said. "I didn't know she was such a talker."

_Oh God, he knows!_ I had no choice but to confess my crime before it blew up. I couldn't hold it in any longer anyway. "I did it," I blurted.

"What?" His eyes narrowed. "I'm a little lost."

"I kissed a woman last Saturday at Danielle's bachelorette party," I admitted. "Her old co-worker, Nikki."

"You _what?_ " he asked, stupefied. His faced turned suspicious. "Did you really, or are you just messing with me?"

"It wasn't anything." My voice took over, leaving my brain behind. "It didn't mean anything. It was just a stupid drunken mistake, nothing more. I wish I could take it back." My words turned into nothing but incoherent mumbles.

"Whoa!" He raised a finger to my lips and stopped me. "I'm not mad, Maci. Relax."

"Relax? I cheated on you, Vince, and I feel miserable about it." Emotions from the wedding, and from the collapse of my life the week before, were now all surging in full force, tears welling, about to break free.

He took me in his arms, tucking my head into his shoulder, stroking my hair. "It's okay . . . it's all right . . . I don't think you cheated on me." His voice plunged, deep and soothing. "Was it just one kiss?"

"That I remember," I said, embarrassed. "The night is pretty fuzzy."

He pulled back so that I could see him. "Well, how was it?" he asked with a wicked smile, his intrigue apparent.

"Better than I thought it would be," I said. I looked at my feet. "I don't know how long or how far it would've gone . . . Danielle broke us up, and Nikki left after that, and Bridgett says I blacked out minutes later."

"So you were pretty shit-faced," he laughed. "Better than you thought it'd be . . . hmmm . . . I never thought . . . anyway, I wouldn't call that cheating. It was a drunken kiss with a woman. How can I be upset with that?"

He was taking the news so well—much better than I had predicted—and it turned me on for some weird reason. "I think I want to try it," I said out of the blue.

He cocked his head at me. "Try what?"

"You know . . .  _it._ "

"You don't mean—"

"Yeah."

"Based off one kiss?"

"You did pegging to show me your commitment, to show me that you were letting Skye go," I said. "To show that you were all in. Well, I said I'm all in too. I want to do this for you. I want you to know how committed I am."

"I know how committed you are," Vince assured me.

"But I want to _show_ you."

A grin spread across his face. "With the same woman?" he asked hoarsely, barely able to contain his excitement. His pants betrayed him, his cock stiffening.

I shook my head. "No, things didn't end so well with her and Danielle. I wouldn't want to get into anything with her."

"Right. So who?" His cock fought the slacks, and it appeared as if it would win, the material about to rip.

"I don't know. Someone I don't know that well, but not a complete stranger." Becky popped into my mind again, as she had a few months ago when I considered a threesome. I didn't like the idea then and I didn't like it now. Not her, anyway. "We'll have to brainstorm who it should be."

He leaned in for a hard kiss. "Do you know how much I want to fuck you right now?"

I pressed my hips into him. "I have a pretty good idea, yeah." I smiled as my hand traveled down his tux to his cock.

Vince pulled away, locked the door, and unbuckled his pants. "In here?" I asked.

"In here, right now." He lowered me to the couch, brushed up my dress, and yanked down my thong. He dove between my legs without another word. His tongue played with my clit and kissed my pussy. After a minute, he pulled me to my feet, and then bent me over the couch's arm. He entered from behind and I gasped like I always did when he first penetrated.

He filled me, completed me in the way only his cock could. I buried my head into a pillow so I wouldn't scream as his hand reached around and rubbed my clit with those incredible fingers of his. He had learned my body so well over the last few months that I came within minutes.

He bit into my back to control his orgasm, muting his screams, and then rested his forehead between my shoulder blades, his breaths slowly returning to him. I arched back and kissed him, my head swimming in ecstasy. I could feel his semen running down my leg, so I hurried to the private bathroom before it marked my dress. When I came back out, Vince was dressed and ready to dance, though he claimed to be a very poor dancing partner.

"We might have to do that again before we leave here," he said. "I don't know how long I can hold out if you start grinding my crotch."

"It's a wedding, Vince, not a dance club," I said, smiling. "I don't think there'll be any grinding."

"It's my first one, remember? And I know Danielle and Ashley. They can get pretty rowdy."

"That's what the bachelorette party was for," I reminded him. "Let's go grab some dinner before it's all gone from the buffet." We headed out into the reception hall to the stares of Becky and Bridgett.

"Your hair," Becky pointed out.

"What about it?"

"It's all messy," she said.

"It's called sex hair," Bridgett cut in. "I'm surprised you don't know that. I thought you got your share."

"I'm having a dry spell," Becky muttered.

"Okay," Vince laughed. "I'm going to go get some food." I joined him after I told the two not to say anything to Danielle about our little quickie. They fed me what sounded like hollow promises, too eager to share.

My mother snuck up behind me. "You should really fix your hair, darling. Remember to always check the mirror after a little lovin'."

"Mom!" I yelled.

"What? It's good motherly advice," she said. "It's a wedding after all, Maci. You don't think people will notice that one of the maid of honors went from having nice, beautiful, curly hair to messy hair in ten minutes after she disappears into the bathroom?"

"The bathroom, mom? Really?"

"Well, I checked outside and didn't see you frolicking in the bushes, so one can only assume."

I snorted, glad that Vince stood a few platters ahead of us, and that no one else lingered nearby to overhear my mother's indiscreet tongue. "Oh, mother, how funny you are."

She picked up on my sarcasm and shrugged. "What? I'm not saying not to have your fun, darling. God knows I would with a body like his."

"Okay." I stopped her, shaking my head in an effort to get those words out of my head. "I got it. Let's not go too far."

"Too far? Is it inappropriate of me to say you have a handsome boyfriend that most women would kill to get their hands on?"

"I'm going to go with a big 'yes' on this one, mom." I glanced over my shoulder and saw Danielle's mom approaching. "Look, mom, it's Darla. Why don't you tell her all about those rotten kids at school?" She shot me a look before I rushed off. _Oy! That woman is insane sometimes!_ But deep down, I loved how she spoke her mind like she did, and I couldn't imagine her with any other personality. She also had a point about Vince. When our eyes locked as I sat down, a spark jolted through my body, a craving for round two. It was hard to deny that his hard body drove me wild like no one else could.

I kept my urges at bay for as long as I could, through the toasts—mine earned more laughs than I expected—the cake cutting, and the first dances, stepping in for my brother on the mother-son dance. Vince and I stole away into the private bathroom for round two. A big handicap bar provided support as he rammed me from behind. With the long buildup, my orgasm proved even more explosive, but the music in the reception hall drowned out my screams, or so Vince asserted as he encouraged me to let it out.

And I did. Loudly.

I fixed my hair better this time around, hoping to avoid any more comments. That didn't discourage my mother, though, who continued to explore the topic of sex throughout the night. I picked up on the loneliness in her voice, so I let her talk freely, knowing that it had been fourteen years since my dad died, and to my knowledge, she hadn't been with anyone since. What harm was there in letting her talk, right?

The party died down, and people left in a slow but steady stream, until the crowd had dwindled to thirty or so. Alma had left with Eric, the two hitting it off better than expected, and for the first time since I met her, she actually seemed excited. Vince and I were slow dancing to "Iris" when out of the corner of my eye I spotted blue denim, which I hadn't seen all night. I tilted my head to the side of Vince's shoulder for a better view while we continued to make our small circles. My eyes nearly exploded in their sockets. In a panic, I tapped Vince's shoulder and pointed. "Luke!" I whispered, my voice dry from fear.

Vince shoved me behind him as Luke strode up to the dance floor with a devilish smile spread across his face. "Well, look who it is? My old billionaire buddy." In his hand, he flicked out a switchblade in a snap.

"Luke, think about what you're about to do, man," Vince said coolly. "You don't want to do this."

"The fuck I don't," Luke spat. "You ruined my life, you rich cocksucker. Well, I hear payback's a bitch."

In a blink of an eye, Luke charged forward, the knife pointed right at Vince's chest.

# 24

### THREE'S A CROWD?

Vince threw me to the left as he dodged the knife right before it would have plunged into his collarbone. He spun out of the way and let Luke collapse on a dining table. "Come on, man, put down the knife," Vince urged, as Luke got to his feet, more furious than ever.

"Fuck you," Luke growled, swiping at Vince, just inches between them. His bloodshot eyes made him look crazed, and I couldn't see how this wouldn't end badly.

Vince sidestepped Luke again, his reaction time slower from five or six beers. I got up and waved people back. "Go get the guys in the black MDX," he shouted.

"If you mean the two guys sharing a flask in that SUV parked out front, then I'd say you're out of luck. I knocked them out cold." Luke laughed at his vicious handiwork. He slashed at Vince's stomach again, but Vince sprung to his right. He evaded the blade's intended head-on mark, but caught the attack in his shoulder. "Looks like this is not your day."

"I hope you're ready for prison, Luke," Vince retorted.

Luke lunged at Vince with everything in him. He crashed into Vince's shoulder, the two dropping to the floor. Vince snagged Luke's wrist, preventing the blade from plunging into his throat. Despite Luke's wiry strength, he wasn't strong enough to overtake Vince, as the blade inched up.

Instinct took over, and I bolted for a table, snatching a centerpiece vase. Whipping back to the two struggling on the floor, I raised the glass over Luke's head and brought it down as Vince pushed up. Luke collapsed to the floor while Vince rolled away, catching his breath.

But the blow didn't knock out Luke, and he regained his footing before anyone could stop him, running for an emergency exit. Vince leapt to his feet but stumbled, the wound and the alcohol doing him no favors. No one else pursued Luke.

People had been screaming throughout the incident, but I hadn't paid much attention to it at the time. The deafening crowd now pierced my ears, but Danielle and Ashley took charge and quieted them down.

I helped Vince climb into a chair. Paling, he didn't look so great. "How many beers did you have?"

"I don't know, too many," he laughed, clearly dizzy. "It's a wedding. I thought you were supposed to drink and dance."

"Your blood is pretty thin," I said, covering his arm with my cardigan. "I think we'll have to get you to a hospital." Helping him up, we teetered, caught by one of Danielle's male co-workers who raced over. "Help me to his car." The guy nodded, carrying most of Vince's weight. I thanked him after we set Vince down in the Mustang's passenger seat.

Danielle ran up as I opened the driver's door. "Don't forget this." She handed me my purse. "The cops are on their way. Don't worry. They'll catch him, Maci."

"Always a few wedding-day hiccups," I said with a cheerful grin, accepting her optimism.

She returned the grin. "Mine was just a little crazier than most. Hurry before he bleeds to death."

"Sorry," I said, slamming the door. I rolled down the window. "I hope your honeymoon goes smoother." We said our goodbyes, promising to call when the doctors patched up Vince. Then I drove away, Google Mapping the route to the nearest hospital.

THE HOSPITAL WAS A miserable experience. After I got him into the ER, they banned me from seeing him since I wasn't his spouse or a blood relation. After what felt like an eternity, a nurse allowed me to see him. A huge bandage covered the eleven stiches on his shoulder.

They released him around four in the morning, and I drove him home, where I had security check out the condo before we entered. Although it wasn't the scariest moment in my life, it made it into the top five, easily. The security team restricted the elevator access so that it wouldn't go to the penthouse unless they permitted it.

In the morning, the police reported good news about the knife, which Luke had left behind; now they could definitely pin the crime on him, which unfortunately wasn't the case with the bakery fire. Yet, they were unable to catch him, and he remained lurking in the city somewhere.

"IT'S NOT THAT BAD," Vince said, as I re-dressed the wound two days later. "Honest."

"It's not that great, either."

He ignored my pessimism. "I fired those two guards who were working that night. Drinking on the job . . . Christ, I don't know how I ended up hiring such a shitty crew . . . Cory, Terrance, Mark and Roy—all terrible."

"Well, I don't think Terrance was really the same," I said, finishing up with the bandage.

"Anyway, let's move onto a better subject." He got up, heading for the kitchen. "We still haven't discussed what we talked about the night of the wedding."

"It's kind of hard to think about who we should choose to include in the bedroom when you're lying there dying."

"Don't you think that's a little overdramatic?" he said, getting out the pasta leftovers from the night before.

"Luke tried to kill you, Vince," I raised my voice. "It's hard to overreact about that."

"So do you have anyone in mind?" he steered the conversation away from Luke and the attack.

"No, I don't," I snapped. "If you're not willing to talk about what happened, then I'm just going to go." I swept toward the elevator.

He quickly blocked the way. "Just because I'm not ready to talk about it right now, doesn't mean I won't ever be. For now, indulge me, okay?"

I sighed. "I haven't thought about it," I answered truthfully. "I really can't think of anyone. Why? Have you?"

"No," he said flatly. "Besides, I think it'd be better if you chose. I don't want to overstep any lines with proposals. I'm not sure how comfortable you are with talking about women's physical features and attractiveness."

"Then we should talk about it so I get used to the idea, and we should talk about what we both want out of it," I suggested. We entered a long conversation revolving around the proposed threesome. The more we talked about it, the more comfortable I became with the idea of Vince with another woman—in my presence only—and the idea of being with another woman grew more exciting.

The next day, I set out to find the third for our threesome.

A WHOLE WEEK WENT by and I had come up with bupkis. Everyone was either too close or too much of a stranger. I asked myself how attractive I was willing to go as I passed people on the street, scrutinizing physical appearance even more than usual—and I had been trained since middle school to compare other girls. Now I had to consider if I wanted to kiss this woman, or touch that woman, and it was a lot to handle for someone who hadn't given it much thought in the past.

The pursuit seemed pointless until a visit to the gym that Tuesday afternoon. The June sun climbed high, filling the sky with so much sunshine, I was thankful to be indoors, under the gym's air-conditioning.

And that's when I spotted Emma on the elliptical.

It hit me that she made the perfect candidate. I knew her well enough through our workout sessions, but I had never seen her out of the gym, and had no other connections to her. Plus she was gorgeous, supporting a fit body, long blond hair, full lips, and perfect skin. I found myself staring after a while, picturing her and me with Vince, our bodies grazing, sensual, electric. I could almost feel the current from across the room.

On the downside, she might have been too attractive for such an experiment. I quickly banished that thought from my mind. If jealousy flowered in my mind, the threesome would never work. I knew I had to let go of my insecurities; the trouble was, I didn't know if I could.

I approached Emma like it was any other day at the gym. She wore a huge smile as she worked out. When I set my stuff between our machines, she took out her earbuds, her smile growing. "Haven't seen you for a few weeks," she said, as I climbed onto the footpads.

I swallowed hard, from nerves and stress, both tearing at me for different reasons. "Been having a rough patch."

"With Vince?"

"No," I shook my head. "He's the only thing that's been stable. My car died, and my bakery burned down."

"Oh, yeah. Sorry. I saw that on the news . . . what happened?" she asked. I began to detail the horrific event, and the entire time I was wondering how I would bring up the proposition. _How would she react? Would she be into it? Would I have to find a new gym if she was appalled by the idea? I guess Vince could just strip her membership away._ A million thoughts zipped through my head.

At the end of her workout, I snapped a few photos of her and the equipment with my phone. "It's for a friend," I said when she asked what I was doing. "She's thinking about joining and wanted to see the inside."

Emma didn't question my answer.

LATER THAT NIGHT, I showed Vince. "I think I found the one," I said, practically running out of the elevator, shoving my phone in his face.

"I've seen you working out with her. What's her name again?"

"Emma Barker," I answered, while he scrolled through the dozen pictures I had taken.

"She's very pretty." He handed the phone back. "Did you already ask her?"

"That's the thing—I have no idea how to bring it up."

He pulled out a baking sheet, displaying two bubbly calzones dripping with cheese. It was another recipe I had taught him. "Well, how did Nikki get you into the idea?"

I reflected on the early parts of the night that I could recall. A hazy mess, I couldn't tell what was true and what I might have been imagining. "She kept pointing out attractive women and remarking on their bodies."

"Then try that," he suggested. "If it worked to get you in the mood, it might work on her too."

"Yeah, except women do that all the time. It wasn't anything out of the ordinary until she started saying stuff like, 'I bet she has perfect tits' and other more explicit comments. I'm not sure I could do that at the gym—or anywhere really."

"You could tell her about the bachelorette party, and how Nikki kissed you. Then you could ask her if she's ever had an encounter with a woman or if she's ever thought about it. I think it would be a good way to feel her out."

"That's actually not a bad idea," I said. "I bet she'd love it if you came over and asked her to have dinner with us."

"Tomorrow?" He dumped a calzone on a plate for me at the table. "I'm interviewing for another bodyguard in the afternoon, but I can stop by around four?"

"That's about when we get done, so I'll try and stall her if you're late." We worked out our strategy to seduce her over dinner, though I didn't think she would require that much convincing with how she'd talked about Vince in the past. Time would tell all.

"LOOKS LIKE YOU'VE BEEN here a while," Emma said, hopping onto the stair stepper next to me. Nerves actually caused the sweat dribbling down my forehead, not training. My throat tightened at the sight of her. I let out a nervous laugh. "Did you want to hit the weight machines?"

"Yeah, let's go another fifteen first." I had only been there five minutes and was still warming up. A fit, attractive girl was running on the treadmill in front of us. She was the whole reason I had chosen to start on the stair stepper, hoping to use her as a segue into the bachelorette story.

Emma nodded. "Sure." After a few minutes, she surprised me by saying, "God, look at that ass." She nodded at the girl in front of us. "She must work out, like, three hours a day to maintain that figure."

I didn't know if she could sense my anxiety, or if she was just talking normally, but her words put me at ease. "I'd say your ass is just as toned," I said, taking her lead.

"I don't know about that, but thanks," she laughed. "I've been trying to get more time in on the stair steppers."

"It's definitely working." I figured the more compliments thrown her way, the better. We continued the conversation on techniques to firm up our lower bodies until the timer rang. "I had a lesbian make a pass at me two weeks ago," I said, as we headed downstairs for the weight machines.

"Really? Where?"

"At Dirty Nightlife, a club downtown. And I guess she was bi, not a lesbian."

"Still," Emma said. "That's always exciting. Was she ugly?"

"No," I answered. "She was very pretty. She looked a lot like you, except she had to use more makeup." My heart pounded in my chest. The time had come to divulge the secret and gauge her reaction. "She actually kissed me." My heart was pumping so wildly, I was afraid I might faint.

Emma stopped me, grabbing my wrist. "What? No way!"

"Yeah, and I was so drunk, I kissed her back."

"You're kidding. Really?" The excitement in her voice pushed me on with confidence.

"No, it's true. My friend had to break us apart before it went any further."

"Wow," she said, stunned. I guess she considered me the type of girl who'd never do such a thing. Her assumption had been correct up until the point it happened. "Well, how was it?" she asked in the same eager tone that Vince had used when he found out.

"It was exciting, and different," I said with frankness that couldn't be misjudged.

"So you liked it?" Emma didn't possess the personality that held back, and she showed her interest plainly.

I nodded, and the heat on my cheeks intensified by ten, my sexual shyness on display. "I did," I rasped, taking a drink of water afterward. With the adduction/abduction machines open, we started on them, sitting side by side.

"I've always wondered what it'd be like to kiss a woman," she said, staring ahead at the pulleys. "I've never had the courage or the opportunity, though."

Baited.

But kissing was different from sex. I had to know how deep her curiosity went. "Have you ever wondered what it tastes like, you know, down _there?_ " I asked. If her curiosity only went as far as some necking, then she probably wasn't the candidate I thought she was.

Emma paused and looked over at me. She regarded my expression for a second before answering. "Hasn't every woman? Just like I bet every man wonders what it's like to suck on a cock once in his life . . . but, I'll admit, I've thought about it more than once . . ."

The thought of tasting her set a dark, hidden lust on fire in my veins. I bet she tasted sweet like how Vince said I tasted. Before I could respond, Vince walked into the gym from the parking lot, earlier than expected. He immediately jogged over to us, and he had a certain bounce to his step, the same thoughts probably running through his head that were consuming mine.

He leaned in for a kiss. "Hey, this is Emma," I introduced her. "Emma, this is my boyfriend, Vince Forte."

She practically jumped up to meet him, shaking his hand for a prolonged minute, but I didn't mind the contact. I tried to picture the three of us naked on Vince's bed, his hard cock waiting for us as we pleased each other.

"Everything go well with the interview?" I asked.

"Very smooth," he said. "I actually hired him. His name is Avery Havill. I'll be giving him a tour, and showing him the ins and outs the rest of the day, so you can meet him tonight."

I nodded, and then gave him two quick winks, the signal that Emma was interested. "If you don't have plans, Emma, would you like to join us for dinner?"

Her mouth exploded open in surprise. "Uh—tonight? No—no, I don't have plans. Uh—"

"Perfect," Vince said, taking that as a yes. "I'll see you tonight. Maci will give you the details." He seemed just as nervous as I had been before our conversation started flowing. Quickly, he leaned over and kissed me goodbye before hurrying up to the second floor.

"You two really want me over for dinner?"

"We do," I replied, a bit hoarse from the sinful images playing in my mind. "It will give us a chance to get to know each other in a more intimate atmosphere." Terrible at innuendo, I tried making it as clear as possible without blurting "threesome." I was sure she got the hints. After we did a few more weight machines, she left, with Vince's address saved in her phone.

Sitting on the row machine, I glanced around, checking for peepers. No eyes were looking my way. I reached between my legs and felt the thrilling wetness, biting my lip as I watched her walk away. Letting out a long exhale, I wiped my hands on my towel.

The anticipation for the deviant, naughty, and solely delicious thought aroused me in a completely different way, and I found it hard to believe the intensity of it, so new, so conflicting with all my previous feelings toward women. With all the questions about what would happen next, one thing was certain—I couldn't wait for dinner.

"OH YEAH, SHE'S DEFINITELY into it," I answered, taking out the lasagna I had prepared for tonight. Emma was due any minute, and we both had butterflies, asking the same questions, repeating the same conversations about how we'd approach the subject of her inclusion in our bedroom activities.

"Everything is running smoothly, Mr. Forte," Avery Havill reported, strolling into the kitchen. "I'll be downstairs if you need me."

"Thank you, Mr. Havill," Vince said. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight, sir." The big burly black man headed for the elevator. Vince's new bodyguard stood worlds apart from Terrance, his disposition and humor as antithetical to his predecessor as possible. Soft-spoken, with a kind, approachable look, Avery even had the reverse hairstyle, with five o'clock stubble and short tight curls on his head. So far, in the twenty minutes that I had known him, he had shown me more civility and warmth than Terrance ever had.

"Mr. Havill?" I said after the bodyguard had departed. "Why the cold formality? That's not like you."

"I thought it would be better to keep some distance between us. I let Terrance become my friend. I can't do that again."

"Hello?" I heard a voice shout around the corner before I could reply. We had left the door propped open to the elevator so she could enter without knocking. Cameras had been installed, and security monitored who pressed the penthouse button, keeping an eye out for the elusive Luke.

I poked my head around the corner. "In here, Emma."

She hurried into the kitchen. A deep V-neck dress clung to her body, the sheath ruched bodice twisting in the front and open in the back, ending in a short, fitted miniskirt. The red of the fabric made her blond hair and fair skin pop. "This place is amazing," she gasped.

Next to her in my light sundress, I felt a little less sexy, as I half-expected her to show up in running gear. Boy, was I wrong. "It takes a while to get used to," I admitted, pulling her in for a hug. Vince took his turn, his embrace quick and uncomfortable. "The view, the luxury, the space—it's all a lot to take in."

"I love it," she said, setting her purse down on the island. "Thank you so much for having me over . . . and you made lasagna!" Her eyes lit up. "I love lasagna."

"It's a secret chef recipe that I learned from a cook while in school," I said. "I've never had one better."

"Sounds delectable."

"It tastes even better than it sounds," Vince added. "How about a tour?"

She couldn't pass on the opportunity. Back in the kitchen after the tour, with the lasagna now cool, Vince waved toward the table. He took the head of the table while Emma and I sat across from each other. "Wine, beer, champagne? Or perhaps something a little harder?"

"Any red wine will be fine," she answered. I had already poured a glass of smoky Scottish-style ale. Tipsy, my tongue prepared to loosen, gearing up for the big question later on. Vince poured her a glass of red wine from his selection stored in the utility room. "I know nothing about wine, so sorry if it's poor." He had a glass of exorbitant whiskey, neat, which he only drank when battling severe nerves.

Emma took a sip and smiled. "It's good. Most red wine tastes the same to me, so it doesn't matter."

"So tell me about yourself, Emma?" Vince asked. "I only know that you like to work out as much as Maci, if not more." That began a series of get-to-know-you questions, which lasted through the meal, as we shared little things about us with her. By the end of the meal, knots had formed in my stomach—twisting and twisting—yet curiosity motivated me more, mixed with the temptation of something foreign and forbidden.

We moved to the library, off from the dining area. Emma sat next to me on a loveseat, with Vince across from us in an armchair. "So we had an ulterior motive for asking you here tonight," I said, glancing at Vince for his encouragement. He gave it with a slight nod. "We wanted—"

"To ask if I'd sleep with you," she cut in, grinning.

"Uh—was it that obvious?"

"Yes and no," she answered. "This isn't the first time a couple has propositioned me for a threesome."

"It isn't?"

She ignored the evident surprise in my voice. "No . . . But this is the first time I'm saying yes." Her eyes flicked at Vince, her grin growing seductive with those full lips. "Tonight?"

My heart leapt at her acceptance.

"Um," Vince nearly choked. "We were thinking Friday, to give you some time to think about it."

"I'm already feeling it," she said in a heady voice that flared the fire in my blood. "We don't have to wait." She slid her hand from the couch to my thigh. Her touch surprised and exhilarated me: a strange, warm tingle crawled up my spine. "We can do it tonight, if you want."

I stared at her, frozen. This was the moment to let go of inhibition, to fall into the sexual act and explore a new realm, but my heart grew aware of the reality—what it meant to go through with the act. I'd be sharing the man I loved with another woman. But the question that tortured me still burned inside: was his heart only for me?

I had to trust that it was.

If I didn't trust that it was, then our relationship stood on the weakest pillar—one that could crumble at any time, tonight or years from now. If I didn't trust that it was, then one night of carnal satisfaction meant nothing, and our relationship was doomed regardless of any fantasy indulgence. Without trust, we had nothing.

My heart was only for him, and I decided right then that his was only for me. This was about sex and trying something outside our normal comfort zone. Leaning into Emma as her lips parted, wet and luscious, I kissed her receptive mouth. The first kiss was light, barely a peck. I opened my mouth more for the second.

My lust bloomed into a wild passion, and we pulled each other closer, our hands roaming. I felt her soft breasts, cupping each, exploring their perkiness. My fingers dove into her cleavage, her skin electrifying my senses. My dress covered more, so her hand only grazed the top of my breasts. Still the idea of her—a woman—touching the skin reserved only for men, sent a jolt of pure arousal to my pussy. I pulled back, opening my eyes, inhaling deeply, my heart running hard with desire.

Vince was staring at us with rapt attention. His cock bulged in his pants. I waved him over. "Your turn," I said. Emma moved the pillows on the other side of her to make room for him. He sat down and it seemed that the alcohol had consumed all of his nervousness.

Emma turned her attention to him, making the first move, rubbing his hard-on. "That's more than I've ever had," she purred.

Vince returned her gesture by fondling her breasts, sliding under her braless cup, rubbing her nipple between his fingers like he did mine. The sight turned me on, and I crossed over his arm, slipping under her other cup. Her nipple hardened between my fingers. She gasped from the delicate assault.

Removing my hand from her breast, I slid down her arm to her hand stroking Vince's pent-up cock. I ran a finger around her wrist as she worked.

"Maybe we should take this into the bedroom," Vince said in a deep, confident voice.

"I'd like that," she said.

"I'll bring more wine," he added, as we got to our feet. He uncorked a bottle of white and brought the rest of the red with him.

"I'm going to slip into something more accessible," I said once we reached the bedroom. I ducked into the walk-in closet and found a set of lingerie I had hidden. The black satin cupless bra top featured a big bow in the middle, two small ribbons connecting under my breast, with two bigger ribbons covering my nipples. The lacy thong featured a bow in the back and a window in the pussy. I was saving the outfit for a special occasion, and I couldn't think of a better time. It afforded me the confidence to be openly sexual without displaying everything all at once. I covered myself in a black silk robe to conceal the show.

When I came out into the bedroom, Emma was signing a piece of paper. "It's an NDA," Vince said when I asked him. "For legal purposes."

"I fully understand," Emma said, setting down the pen. "I've read enough romance novels to know the reasons." She picked up her glass of wine and knocked back all that remained. The glass rang as she planted it on the nightstand. "Now, where were we?"

Vince tucked the NDA into his blazer pocket. "In the middle of some very hot fondling, I believe." His cock was still hard, fighting his pants for air. She reached over and stroked it over his slacks.

"What are you hiding under that robe, Maci?" she said in a honey-sweet voice.

"How about we find out," Vince added, waving me over.

I strode over, revealing most of my legs. Standing before them like a runway model, I let the robe drop to the floor, and I could see the hunger in both of their eyes. I twirled, showing off my ass and the pretty bow. "Damn, that's a finer ass than even that girl on the treadmill we saw today." Her compliment heated up my blood again. "May I?" She put out her hand for my skin.

"Of course," I spoke softly. Her warm hands grazed my ass, then squeezed it in a firm grip. A hard slap came a second later, and I gasped, surprised by her bold act.

"Did you like that?" she asked, biting her lip.

I nodded. "Yes."

She did it again. "How about that?"

"Yes." I turned around to face them. "Now it's my turn." She didn't hesitate as she spun, leaned over the bed, and stuck out her ass. Her nightclub dress was practically lingerie, accentuating her small curves with tantalizing effect. It made her body accessible, while bolstering her breasts to create maximum cleavage. She knew what she was doing when she chose it for the night, that much was clear.

Vince quietly folded up her short skirt, squeezing both cheeks when they greeted our eyes. He stepped back and gave me room. I ran my hands down her back to her hips, brushing the sides of her legs, then up the curves of her ass. Her smooth skin in my hands felt wonderful, different and familiar at the same time. I raked her skin from her ass down to her heels, kissing her flawless skin as I did.

I noticed that Vince struggled to watch any more of the tantalizing view, his cock aching in his pants. To draw out the suspense, I raked her again and again, and each time Emma released a soft groan of pleasure. "I think it's time to release that cock," I said, pulling my lips away from her ass as I stared at Vince, his eyes smoldering with seduction.

"I agree," Emma said, dropping to her knees beside me. I stood up and removed his jacket, throwing it into the corner on the far side, then his shirt, revealing his beautifully carved body. Her hands quickly went to his belt buckle, whisking the leather out of the loops with the slick, rough sound leather made, slapping the last few loops in noisy pops. Her proficient fingers undid the inner button, and then unhooked the metal clasp, tugging down his pants.

A thin layer of cotton now lay between his cock and our mouths. This was it—once those boxer-briefs dropped, there was no turning back. Instead of letting jealousy stand in my way, I focused on the urges in the moment, and let them fuel me, dropping to my knees. I looked at Emma. "Ready?" She nodded, and together we pulled down the last obstacle, freeing Vince's thick cock.

I gazed at her as she took in the view. Cleanly shaven for the most part, Vince's erection pulsed, the veins bulging, his skin yearning for our touch. One of Vince's main fantasies involved two tongues playing with his cock. That fantasy was about to come true.

With my right hand, I slid my palm up the back of his leg, gripping his ass. With my left hand, I held the base of his cock and pointed it at Emma's salivating mouth. She opened wide as I pushed him forward. His head found her lips, burying deep into her throat. His breath hitched in response. She bobbed her head back and forth while Vince stared down at us, his eyes half-closed and rolling back. "Play with my balls," he instructed me, gasping and moaning.

My fingers inched down to his dangling balls and I began fondling them together. I watched as they twitched up and down in reaction to the strokes. Emma began hitting my hand with her mouth, getting into the action, losing herself in the blow job. Vince looked like he was dying of pleasure, his knees bent and barely able to hold him up.

"You like her sucking on your cock while I stroke your balls?" I asked, my voice husky and horny.

"I love it," he said, his words barely coherent. His fingers weaved through our hair, each hand gripping us tight for balance. The slight pressure felt good.

"I'm going to make you come now, okay?" I said, not really asking. I spread his legs wider so that I could get between them. I tilted my head back and probed his balls with my tongue, and he roared in response, his legs shaking. His hips were rocking back, instinctively penetrating Emma's mouth. As his body tensed, his growl quieted into a restrained squeak: the signals that he was about to come. I sped up with my tongue.

A second later, I saw Emma's head jerk back as Vince screamed in orgasm. She maintained her motion, never letting up until Vince slowed her with his hand. She eased off his cock, her mouth open, full of sticky white come. A strange, dark desire drove me forward, and I kissed her hard, our tongues swirling in Vince's semen. The kiss was so incredibly hot, I felt like I was gushing between my legs. We both swallowed what we had in our mouths, our breathing rapid, sweating from the intoxicating effort.

We gave Vince time to descend from his sexual high, and Emma brushed aside the straps that crossed over her breasts, releasing them. I pushed her breasts together like Vince did mine and sucked on each nipple, my pulse zipping with bliss.

Emma pushed me back. "My turn," she said, stroking the skin exposed from the ribbon bra. With her tongue, she lifted the satin, her tongue twirling around my nipple. A shudder screamed through my body.

Recovered, Vince lifted me up, propelling me onto the bed. He flattened me across the king mattress. Vince always made sure to give as much as he received—and to give it just as well. His eyes told me that I better get ready to explode. My panties were already soaked before his tongue even touched me, and the moment it connected with my clit, my entire body contracted in a huge crunch, and then released in a powerful wave of delicious delight.

Emma climbed onto the bed, naked, her breasts hovering over my face. She bent over my stomach, planting delicate kisses down to my hipbone; all the while, Vince's tongue swirled around my clit and pussy. She leaned back and I followed her eyes to Vince between my legs. "You said before you wanted to know what it tastes like. Do you want to find out now?" she asked.

I nodded, a bit reluctantly. "Yes," I said, licking my lips. She straddled my chest, slowly inching forward, my tongue encouraging her to scoot closer. My hands wrapped around her legs, and I brought her the rest of the way to my mouth. At first it just tasted like skin, a little salty. When her lips began to spread, her sweet wetness flooded my mouth, and I imagined what Vince was doing and tried to mimic his movements. He explored my whole region, though his focus stayed on my clit, always going back to that bundle of nerves that shot ripples of ecstasy through my body and up to my neck. The pressure building there, coiling like a spring—a spring that always erupted.

He was devouring me like it was the best thing he'd ever tasted, and his deep-throated rumbles told me he enjoyed it as much as me playing with his balls. I followed his lead, and soon Emma threw her head back, yelling at the heavens. She angled her hips closer to my mouth, just as I ground mine closer to Vince's face. It was an unstoppable reflex: our bodies' way of showing we wanted more—more—more.

Her body rocked as she came, her thighs crushing my head. But I didn't mind; I embraced her orgasm, and only quit when she fell off of me.

Without her sweetness distracting me, the pressure swiftly reached its limit, the spring about to release all its tension—and suddenly a wave of red slammed into me, again and again. I lost myself in the moment, the extraordinary sensation that wrapped me up in a tight cocoon of euphoria, and only the feeling existed. It flooded every little corner of my writhing body.

We took a short break after that, recharging on water and wine. My legs dripped with sweet juice—juice I wanted to watch Emma lick up. "It's your turn, Emma," Vince said, as we crawled onto the bed. "My tongue is just getting warmed up. Now lay down."

She quickly obeyed, spreading her silky legs. Vince dipped his head between them and I studied what his tongue did. He pressed his tongue flat against her lips and parted them slowly, deliberately, running along the edges of her sensitive folds. He swirled around her clit, and then bit down with a gentle touch.

I watched for a few minutes as he continued to change up his routine, eventually sucking on her clit for long intervals.

Emma waved me to her. "You've tasted me, now I want to see how sweet you are." Her heady tone brought my leg over her breast, and I straddled her the way she had straddled me. She wasted no time, her arms locking around my legs, drawing me to her mouth and the ravenous lust within.

Her hands massaged my ass as she circled my clit with her tongue. Moans escaped into my pussy as Emma reacted to Vince. I responded with heavy, uncontrolled breaths.

Sex growls and grunts, along with faint gasps and long groans filled the room. The thought of Emma between my legs cranked up my heart rate, and I entangled my hands in her hair, pulling gently, listening to her beautiful noises.

Emma came for the second time—a thunderstorm of intensity, her whole body convulsing, as wave after wave crashed into every nerve inside her. Veins throbbed all over her face and neck, her eyes rolling back into her head.

I climbed off of her as she came down, still craving my second orgasm. When I looked back, I saw Vince standing up as he withdrew two fingers from Emma, his cock now fully erect. It glistened under the light, begging to do its job—beckoning to the pool between my legs. Our eyes locked, and without a word, I knew it was time to start his second main three-way fantasy: having sex while his face was buried between another pair of legs.

Beforehand, the three of us had agreed that he wouldn't penetrate Emma, to keep things simpler: Vince was perfectly happy getting off with only oral love from her. He lay across the bed, his cock defying gravity, and instructed me to slide onto his cock so that we faced each other. Emma swung her leg over his shoulder, putting her clit right in his face while she faced me.

Emma raised her hips so that Vince could see me fuck his cock if he wanted. "Kiss," he said, after a minute. Emma and I leaned into each other while I continued to grind against Vince. Her mouth tasted like candy.

"Do you like what you taste like?" she asked.

"I still have you in my mouth," I said, licking my lips. Our lips met again.

Vince's hands roamed over Emma's body, gliding up her back, around her ribs, squeezing her breasts, then back down to her thighs. His hands never settled, and I could see the delicious shivers shooting through her.

The need to thrust took over, and Vince repositioned us, with me on my back and Emma next to him. Red lights lit up in my head every time he slammed into me, pulling all the way out, then plowing hard, again and again.

Emma stroked his sweat-sheened abs, running her fingers all over his hard body, before she dipped under to his swinging balls. Vince went into overdrive as she massaged them.

His eyes locked with hers as he pounded away. Suddenly he was crying out, coming inside me, still with his eyes lost in hers, and I could see the burning passion in them—the same storm of lust that was there when he looked at me in the intense, true moment when he released himself.

I watched in horror as our love shattered in those seconds.

# 25

### CRUMBLING WALLS

I had fooled myself into believing that Vince and I shared real love. Despite all of the tenderness and sweet words, it was all just carnal lust in the end. I realized this the moment he came inside me while staring into Emma's eyes with the same look I had thought meant love—the love he bore for me.

As soon as he pulled out, I grabbed my clothes and sprinted for the elevator, dressing on the way down, tears streaming down my face. A blubbering mess, I drove around the city, not wanting to go home. It wasn't until the next day that my mind settled and I could form the coherent thoughts I wanted to express. I hadn't slept. Fueled by the need to relieve my chest, I headed back to Vince's to explain what had happened, taking a circuitous route.

My phone died earlier in the morning, with over forty voicemails and a hundred texts from Vince. I knew it was childish to keep him in the dark. Grown people talked through their problems—at least hypothetically.

The elevator doors opened and I stepped inside Vince's condo. He jumped up, sitting on the couch in the solarium. "Jesus, Maci!" He ran over and threw his arms around me. "What happened? You just left without saying anything. I called you a hundred times. Why didn't you answer?" His sentences were all strung together in one long breath.

"It was all fake," I said quietly, my voice raw. "I see that now."

"Fake? What do you mean? What does that mean?" His voice was frantic, hysterical.

"Last night—" Tears were streaming down my face, but I steeled my nerves and fought through the flood, my voice quivering. "Last night I realized that I'm still the same stupid girl I was a year ago, kidding myself that I was in love, that someone else loved me the same way."

"What are you talking about? I do love you, Maci," he declared. "I fell for you the moment you crashed into me."

I shook my head. "Last night—" I choked up again. "When you were coming inside me last night, you were looking straight into her eyes like you do mine, with the same passion, the same affection—and then I realized: it's only lust, not love."

He stood there, his mouth open, dumbstruck. "I was having an orgasm. That's all it was, an orgasm. I always have the same orgasm face, you should know that."

"It was more than an orgasm, Vince," I shouted. "It was truth. It told me everything about our relationship in those few seconds. I can't do this, Vince. I thought I could be open and experimental, so that we could grow and be closer—more intimate—but last night I saw it was all a lie. We're not closer. You just want to fuck. It doesn't matter who."

"How can you say that after everything we've been through? There's no logic, no reason behind those words."

"I can't live a sham for another six months like I did with Ryan. I'm sorry, Vince"—I pressed the elevator door and it pinged, opening—"I can't—can't do it." In the elevator, I tossed him his keys to the EverGo. "Don't call me."

The doors slammed him into my past, and my life blurred, devoid of reality. I felt all my walls crumbling around me, burying me with all the lies, all the pain, and all the love I had once believed existed.

OVER A MONTH WENT by and everything in my life had changed. Danielle had moved out, a married woman now. She pleaded with me to work it out with Vince, promising that what we had was worth breaking through whatever wall separated us. She believed I had overreacted, that I had misconstrued his expression. I argued that I had misjudged his character, and my own.

Crosswords became my best friend, and I spent most nights filling one in with Colby-Jack beside me. I had found a new job at a bakery, too. It wasn't anything like owning your own place, but I had little to complain about—except the pay. My coworkers were nice and considerate, for the most part. I even had a new clunker. A beautiful ninety-three Elantra named Ernie.

Vince hadn't texted or called, or tried any form of contact. Given the time to think the night through, as well as the months spent together, it became a jumbled mess that my brain either couldn't—or refused to—sort out. Worn, I eventually gave up, on the verge of an emotional breakdown.

Life dulled, colors faded, and I experienced it all on autopilot, getting up, going to work, coming home, sleeping. Day in and day out: it was all the same.

I had increased the frequency of calls to my mother from once to twice a week, sometimes up to four. She poked and poked me to get the dirt on what had happened between Vince and me, but I sealed that vault tight. She regularly told me to give him a call and to fight for him, since "men like him didn't grow on trees."

In mid-July, my phone rang during my lunch break on a Thursday. My brother, frantic, yelled at me to get to Providence Hospital down in Oregon City. "Her neighbors called nine-one-one," he mumbled. "She's in the ER right now, and I'm just now leaving work. You need to get here as fast as you can." He hung up without much more than that.

My boss gave me the afternoon off. The drive tore at my stomach. I found my brother in the ER waiting room. "They haven't told me anything. All I know is that Mrs. Davis found her passed out in the kitchen when she came over for lunch, and she called for the ambulance."

I tried to find out more from the nurses after my brother's failed attempts, but no one seemed to know anything. About twenty minutes later, a woman approached us and asked if we were related to Nora Goodwin. "She's fine," the woman said. "We've moved her out of the ER and we have her under observation. She should be released in a few hours."

"What was wrong with her?" Donny asked.

"She had minor respiratory difficulties, but she's fine now," the nurse assured us. "You can see her now if you want." She gave us directions to her room. Lying in her bed, my mother looked weaker than I'd ever seen her, her eyes sunken in and tired.

"These damn doctors don't know what happened," she snapped when I asked her. "They keep repeating I had minor respiratory difficulties like that means something. I guess I can go home after a few hours . . ."

Donny eyed me with worry. "You need to be more careful, mom," he said flatly, like he had rehearsed the line a hundred times in his head.

"Be more careful? Be more careful of what?" Her fiery strength flared like her red hair. "I don't even know what to worry about or how to prevent it from happening again."

"Just be more careful," he echoed. After half an hour, he got up to leave, heading back to the brewery. "You'll be fine driving her home?" he asked me before he left.

"Yes, Donny. I know how to drive a fucking car."

"Whoa, where did the attitude come from? I was just making sure, all right? I just want mom to be safe, that's all."

"She'll be fine, I promise."

"I know . . . I'll stop by around six, okay?" He hugged us goodbye and left.

A nurse came in a short time after that, notifying us that my mother had been discharged. I helped her out of bed. "You okay to walk on your own?"

"For Christ's sake, I'm fifty-eight, not ninety. I don't need to be treated like a fossil."

"You're at the hospital, mom. An ambulance drove you here. That's serious."

She waved me off. "I'm fine. I feel fine—the doctors say I'm fine . . . I'm fine, all right?"

"All right already, I get it. Let's get you home." Stubborn and persistent, she walked to the car on her own, though I stood right beside her in case she needed extra support.

"Are you still fighting with Vince?" she asked, as I pulled out of the hospital parking lot.

"No, we're not fighting, mom. We're through." I hoped my tone ended the conversation there. It didn't.

I desperately tried to ignore her intense gaze, but she had a knack for perseverance, and I finally broke, glancing over at her. "Whatever it is that caused the rift, just remember there's no gap big enough that love can't bridge. You just have to take the chance to build it."

"That's very wise, but I think that in this case you're wrong."

"You're still young, darling, and you regard love as something wholly pure, but it's not. There are mistakes with love just like everything else in life." Her eyes shifted to the floor. "You have to remember that love has its good days and its bad days. It's a give and take." I could sense she was driving at something, but I didn't know what.

"What are you saying? That I should go crawling back to Vince?"

"In love, you're both on your knees. You're both crawling, Maci." There was still something inside her, on the edge of her tongue, afraid to come out. "I know this because I cheated on your father."

I almost slammed on the brakes in reaction. "What? On dad? Why? When?"

"Before you and Donny were born," she answered with deep regret in her voice. She stared out the window, or maybe at her own reflection. "I used to ask myself that question a hundred times a day. A part of me wanted to know if I was only with your father because he was the only man who paid much attention to me. Another part of me said I was foolish and young and not really in love. But God only knows the real reasons why . . . I got lost in a moment, a moment without love or connection. But your father, he built the bridge and crossed it on his knees with forgiveness and trust, and I met him on my knees with remorse and grief—grief that I had caused him so much pain . . .

"What I'm trying to say is that you don't look for love in a man's eyes; you look for it in his heart, you understand?"

Devastation and shock controlled me. I could barely focus on her point. A storm of mixed emotions swamped me—drowned me. How could my own mother have cheated? I knew their love. I remembered their connection—their affection for each other—it had been real, solid, unbreakable.

"Maci?" she prompted me after a long silence.

"I don't get it. How did dad ever forgive you? How did you ever forgive yourself?"

"Because we broke down our insecurities," she said. "You can only know true love when you face each other with bared souls, and you can only bare your soul after you've broken down the walls you've made to keep from being hurt."

"I never knew you could be so philosophical." I could tell she didn't appreciate my sarcasm. "What do you want me to say, mom? You tell me you had an affair and then go on to give me relationship advice?"

"You're right. I made a mistake in my life—I'm human, like you, like Vince. Look, all I'm saying is that just because you were hurt, doesn't mean it's over. Just because there was a wrong done, doesn't mean it's over. I'm not saying to forget whatever happened. I'm saying to forgive it, to give it one big push before you decide it's truly the end. Your father made the same kind of push and we had two kids and twenty blissful years together before he died."

I turned into her driveway and parked the car. "Vince and I aren't you and dad, mom. You can talk about building bridges all you want, but sometimes the gap is from the Earth to the moon."

"Darling, one day you'll understand what I'm saying . . . I just hope it's not too late when you do."

"Sure," I said, nodding, disregarding her fairy-tale advice. "Whatever you say, mom." I opened my door and walked around the car in case she needed any assistance. Still processing her confession, and conflicted about whether I should be mad about her affair, I studied her face as she slowly swung herself out of the car. A small part of me wanted to drop her off and leave, fuming. Another, larger part of me fell into silence, the shock of her tale overwhelming my brain. How could I be mad at something she did that seemed to have so little bearing on her life now, since she and my father had worked through it and come out together? And she looked so frail—it was hard to be angry with someone so feeble, especially my own mother, who had given me everything I could have asked for in life—from childhood until now.

A swarm of memories streaked through my head, memories that washed away the rage. The memory of her comforting me after Todd—my high school sweetheart—broke up with me before we went off to college, stood out amongst the thousands of times she had been there. On that night, over a carton of cookie dough ice cream, she had told me that I would find a man who was good for me, who would treat me right, and that there were only a few relationships worth fighting for. She had said I would know those, not by the pace of my heart, but by the dimples in my smile. If just the sight of that other person made me smile every time I saw them, then I'd know there was something worth the pain, something worth putting myself out there to bare my faults as well as my strengths.

My cheeks had never known what she meant until Vince. No other man had made me smile so much at his mere presence. Clinging to that memory, to those words of support, I realized I had unreasonably dismissed her advice this time, without considering the validity of her guidance. I had been too focused on the ache inside.

I offered her my arm as she grabbed the top of the doorframe. "Fifty-eight, Maci," she muttered. It was easy to tell where I'd inherited my stubbornness. She heaved herself up, her back bent, her knees shaking.

"Everyone needs help every once in a while—even us Goodwins," I said, extending my arm. "You taught me that."

"Yes, but I also taught you the importance of independence, and right now I need to know I still have that." She made her way for the side door from the detached garage. I followed behind her a couple of steps, worried that she might fall. Inside, I charged for the bathroom as she lumbered into the kitchen for a glass of water.

With the weight of stress, I hadn't peed the entire time at the hospital, and now my bladder threatened to explode if I waited any longer. Examining the car ride and our conversation, I decided to apologize for shrugging off her advice the way I did. It was rude and disrespectful, as she had only wanted to share her life experience and impart the gift of wisdom. We didn't argue like that; it just wasn't us.

I turned the corner into the kitchen with the apology on the tip of my tongue ready to be fired, when I found her on the floor, the glass cup shattered, water pooling near her outstretched arms. "Mom?" I cried out, rushing to her side, forgetting the shards. "Mom?"

Panic quickly struck. I fought through it and pulled out my phone, calling nine-one-one. The woman on the end gave me instructions to place her in the recovery position, so that her airway remained open. Waiting for the ambulance, I showered her with tears, begging for her to wake up. I swept away the glass, and cleaned her hand and arm, barely able to breathe.

By the time the ambulance arrived, her chest had stopped rising. The EMTs tried to revive her in the back as they sped for the hospital, but they forced me to ride up front.

They pronounced her dead when we pulled in front of the emergency room doors. The world shrank, sounds dulled, and every part of me went numb. Then it all went black.

MY EYES FELT LIKE bricks weighed them down. I opened them slowly, squinting into a soft yellow glow. Donny sat in a chair, his head slumped back and to the left, asleep against the wall. Even with cloudy vision, I could see his puffy, red-rimmed eyes. "Don—" I rasped. A fit of coughing broke out as I tried to talk.

He woke instantly, his eyes half-open and groggy. "You're awake," he said, smiling. "You remember what happened?"

I shook my head. He handed me a small paper cup of water.

"You fainted. You were out for a couple of minutes. I got here as soon as I could. Do you remember that? Remember talking to me?"

"No," I answered.

He got up and squeezed my hand in his strong grip. "You were feeling dizzy, so they admitted you, and you fell asleep not long after that. They told me you might not remember what happened for a few hours."

As I gazed at his exhausted face, the reason for his tears hit me. "Mom died, didn't she?"

He inhaled a deep breath and nodded. "Yeah," he croaked. "Doctors say she had a stroke near her brain stem, which I guess affected her breathing, and her lungs couldn't remove the carbon from her blood. They called it acute—acute something failure. I can't recall it right now . . ." He was holding back a lake of tears as he talked with a lump in his throat.

"I dreamed about it," I said after a few minutes, letting the tears flow, as I looked up at him. "I dreamed I saw her on the kitchen floor . . . I can't believe it was real." My voice trembled. "How could it be real? She was only fifty-eight?"

"They told me, but I don't remember now. Something to do with one of her blood vessels rupturing." He fought a sputtering spell to get the words out. He blew his nose, but it quickly clogged again. He shook his head. "I don't know." After a long pause of silent weeping, he said, "I want you to come stay with us tonight. I'm not going to argue with you about it either. I'll go let the nurse know you're awake."

I made no attempt to defy him, glad to have him at my side.

I STOOD IN FRONT of the casket, my hair swaying in the warm, gentle breeze. The sun beat down on my face as the Tuesday afternoon warmed up from an overcast morning. Donny and his family mourned at my right, Danielle at my left. Other friends and family members were gathered around as we put flowers atop the thick oak coffin. My mom's plot lay beside my dad's. Nana and Pop Pop—my mom's parents—were only a few plots away.

Both my brother and I gave eulogies at the church. I endured through the speech, even though my voice locked up more than once. Only her pastor spoke at the cemetery though. I buried my eyes into Danielle's shoulder as the funeral ended.

Distant relatives I'd only met once or twice came up to me and gave their condolences; I barely recognized their faces. A bunch of staff members from the middle school where she worked paid their respects. Old friends attended—people I'd only heard about through childhood stories.

In the distance, through the sea of faces, I recognized one I never thought I'd see again and my face lit up for an instant. Vince laid a bouquet of vibrant mums, lilies, and roses down by a dozen others. When I first saw him, my stomach knotted and twisted, but then my mother's voice entered my head. _He's a keeper_. My feet carried me toward him, my mind unsure about the idea.

But before I could reach him, Donny grabbed my arm and stopped me. "We need to talk." He pulled me away from the crowd. "I wanted to talk about mom's will."

"Mom's will, really? We're at her funeral, Donny. Don't you think it can wait? And since when have you cared about money and inheritance?"

"Since I talked it over with Evelyn, and even though we're supposed to split everything, we decided that you should take all the money from selling the house." That came as a shock. He had two kids to support and a business to run. "We want you to start up your business again. We want to see Friends Bakery and Brunch House alive and thriving." He put up his hands before my tongue could react. "Look, I know the case against the inspector isn't going to end any time soon, and I know you are going through some hard times—with Vince, the fire, and Danielle moving out. We want this for you, Maci. You deserve it."

Tears had never really left my eyes, but they began streaming once more, a horrible mix of emotion overwhelming me. It was a terrible price to pay for my dreams to live on, and I would gladly sacrifice those dreams for ten more minutes with my mother, but Donny's sentiment wasn't lost on me. I hugged my big brother with all the strength I had.

"It's what mom would've wanted, Maci," he said, as if he knew what I was about to say, the words of rejection on the verge of slipping out. He made me choke them back down. "We can talk about it more later. I just wanted to tell you that we made that decision." He hugged me again, and then returned to the crowd.

Donny's news didn't make me any happier. No, it was devoured by despair, tainted by the way in which the money would come. I sat alone on a bench in front of a random tombstone: I couldn't read it as the tears blurred my surroundings.

By the time I remembered Vince and my mission to reach him, the sun had sunk a bit, and people were heading off to my mother's church for the post-funeral reception. I surveyed the cemetery and found no trace of Vince. He was gone, and the words that had once risen into my mouth, I now swallowed and hid in the back of my mind.

Despite the warmth on my skin, a deep cold settled inside me, and chilled me like a winter night. My nose failed to take in all the scents the flowers provided, that sense now deadened. The whole world dulled. Listless, my head slumped into my hands.

The wood creaked and my weight shifted as someone sat beside me. "Nora was like a second mother to me," Danielle said, her words thick with grief. She wrapped an arm around me. "She was always there when you needed her." She let out a heavy breath filled with pain. "You know what she said to me when I came out?" She didn't wait for a response. "She said, 'Danielle, don't you ever be afraid to be yourself. I love you like you're one of my own, and I will always love you no matter what.' She gave me the support and confidence to come out to my parents . . ." Her voice died after that, her words already hard to hear as she battled the onslaught of tears.

We hugged each other for a long while in silence, with only the sounds of sniffling, labored breathing, and our nose-blowing filling the dreadful vacancy that hung in the air. "We should get going," I said at last. Before we departed, I said goodbye one last time—alone—and kissed my mother's picture that stood beside her casket. "I'm so sorry, mom. I'm sorry for how our last conversation went. I'm sorry I ignored your advice when you were revealing yourself like you did. And I promise, mom—I promise to try. I promise to build the bridge as far as I can . . . because you were right, mom—Vince is the only man who makes me smile every time I see him. You knew it before I did . . .

"I just hope it's not too late."

IT TOOK FOUR DAYS for me to somewhat recover after the funeral. I tried going for a run to invigorate me, but it didn't work like usual, and I ended up crawling into bed with Colby-Jack. My sleep patterns altered into a lethargic cat's habits, taking extensive naps, spending most of the days asleep.

Every day I talked myself out of calling Vince, for one reason or another, my resolve weakening with the phone in my hand. The promise to my mother couldn't even give me the strength.

Then my phone rang on Saturday. The nightstand vibrated so violently that in my sluggish state, I thought it was an earthquake. "Hello?" I answered without looking at the screen to see who was calling.

"Hi, Maci, it's Alma," Alma said quickly and loudly into my ear, as if shouting one of her commands. "I know, I know, you never expected to hear from me again, and I feel terrible that things ended between you and Vince." Alma had been rather pleasant since the wedding night when she hooked up with Ashley's coworker, Eric Dresker. The way Ashley told it, their relationship went beyond the intended one-night stand, and the two had been inseparable ever since. I hadn't talked to her for over a month though, and had no clue why she'd be calling me.

"Everything all right, Alma?" I asked, drowsily.

"Well, that's why I'm calling you," she started, then paused to yell at someone in her office. Her voice split my head in two. "As you can guess, Vince has been severely depressed lately, and has stopped going to his NA meetings."

"And?"

"And I'm worried about him, Maci. Look, I don't know what happened between you two, but whatever it was, I'm afraid it will drive him to start using again. He hasn't picked up my calls for two days now. He's shutting me out."

"What do you want me to do about it?"

"I want you to go and talk to him. I know you're miserable, too. I've been getting updates through the grapevine. Please, as a friend . . ."

_Friend?_ She thought we were friends? She had been terrible to me for months and months. She certainly had an odd way of showing her friendship. As far as her request, I had attempted several times since the funeral to gather up the courage to call him. I guess this was the push I needed because I agreed. "Fine. I'll call him—"

"You won't regret it, Maci. Talk to you later." She hung up before I could say goodbye.

My hands shook as my finger hovered over Vince's number. After fifteen minutes of talking myself up, I hit the green call button. With each ring, my stomach knotted more and more, and I could feel the impending vomit in my throat. Relief filled me at first when it went to voicemail. I gave it a second thought and called again. His voicemail answered again. Alma had made it sound like he was desperate for my call, but I guess that wasn't the case.

Despite the computerized rebuff, something felt wrong about the calls. Why would Vince show up at my mother's funeral if he didn't want to talk? Digging through my closet for something to wear, my fingers came across the marble that had truly started it all, sending me into Vince's arms all those months ago. I had stared for so many hours at that marble, playing with it on my desk, day in and day out, and for what? Why? The swirl inside it bewitched me to some degree, like magic, and in an instant, I replayed all the memories, all the awkwardness that faded into warmth and tenderness, even love. I could see Vince's charming smile in my mind as if he were there, sitting in my room with me, composing the list that brought us closer and closer together, creating a connection from the purely physical to the intensely intimate and emotional. The marble reminded me of our bond—our love.

I pocketed the marble and hardened my nerves, with the decision made to pay Vince a face-to-face visit. The marble gave me the courage to fulfill the promise to my mother.

I almost turned back twice during the drive to his condo. Afraid his security staff would stop me in the elevator, I paced the cramped box, talking to myself. They'd definitely think I was crazy if they overheard me. As the elevator halted at the penthouse level, the doors slid open, revealing the mirrored door. I had never given back my key, so I tried it.

To my luck, it opened; he hadn't changed the locks. Inside, stale air greeted my lungs. "Vince?" I cried out. "Hello?"

No one answered. I hurried into the game room but found nothing except a mess of dishes and dirty clothes. The bedroom door lay cracked. I pushed it open and saw Vince lying on the bed. His skin was ice blue. When I touched it, it froze my fingers.

I glanced at his nightstand and the glass of water next to the bottle of pills, and let out a glass-shattering scream as I gazed at his pale blue face in horror.

# 26

### THE PRICE OF HAPPINESS

"No, no, no, no, no! Vince!" I tapped him on the cheek. "Vince, wake up." He was out cold. "Wake up! Vince! Vince!" Hysterical, I ran around the room, searching for the radio, then into the kitchen, where I found it on the counter. "Avery, are you there? Avery! Hello, anyone?"

"Who is this?" a resonant voice asked.

I instantly recognized the voice as Vince's new bodyguard. "Maci Goodwin," I squawked, and started running back to Vince's bedroom. "It's Vince, Avery, he's dying—there's a bottle of pills—bedroom—he's dying!"

He didn't fool around. I heard him yell at another guy to call nine-one-one. "Hold on, I'll be up in a sec." And a second later the elevator doors opened and I could hear his feet pounding the floor as he sprinted. He rushed into the room with an emergency medical kit. "What happened?"

"I don't know. I think he took these." I handed him the half-empty unlabeled pill bottle. He plucked one of the capsules from the bottle and broke it over the nightstand. The white powder smelled vaguely like vinegar.

"Heroin," Avery concluded. He went to the medical kit and extracted a box labeled NALOXONE HYDROCHLORIDE. Dumping out a syringe, he applied an odd foam tip to it, and then inserted a tube of medicine into the syringe. He stuck the foam tip into Vince's nose and pushed down on the syringe. When it was all gone, he fiddled with his watch, making it beep several times. "It should take two to five minutes to work. If it doesn't, I'll give him a second dose. Stand back, I have to give him rescue breathing." He waved me back, so I bolted around to the other side of the bed and watched, going out of my mind with worry.

Avery tilted Vince's head back and checked if his airways were blocked. He pinched Vince's nose closed, grabbed his chin, then blew a breath into Vince's lungs. His chest rose as Avery gave a second breath. He started breathing into Vince in routine as a minute passed.

Two minutes.

Nothing.

Every second killed me.

Three minutes and still no response.

Four minutes.

Suddenly Vince came to life, his body ejecting a stream of vomit. Avery rolled him over and let him get it all out. "Get a towel," he ordered. I darted for the bathroom linen closet and hustled back with a handful of towels.

Vince stared at me through a fog. Avery wiped off the vomit as Vince spit into a towel. His breaths were ragged and shallow, but he was breathing. Color and warmth eventually returned to his skin as he recovered on his side.

More tears came. It seemed like all I did lately was cry. Avery left us alone, getting a fresh glass of water from the kitchen.

"You scared me so much," I said, kissing his forehead. "Why? Why did you do it?"

"I don't know," he rasped. "After one, more just seemed right. It made me forget, and I liked that."

"I'm so sorry," I cried. "For everything."

He sat up with his back against the wall. "No," he said. "You've nothing to apologize for. It was me—I pushed us into that situation. It was my fault."

I shook my head, holding his hand. "It was my insecurities. I made myself believe that you didn't love me all because of a look . . . I love you, Vince. I want to be with you."

He rubbed my face with the back of his hand. "I love you, Maci, more than I could ever show . . . I'd do anything for you, you have to know that." Both our sob engines were full bore by that point.

When Avery returned, he found us in a strong embrace, tears soaking the sheets and our clothes. He cleared his throat, and we parted as he handed Vince the cup of water. "Sorry about the puke reaction. I've never been able to give the right amount of air—always too hard, goes right to the stomach."

"It's okay," Vince laughed. "You saved my life, Avery, and I don't know if I can ever repay you for that. But I can start with a new car, or anything. You name it and it's yours."

Avery smiled. "If I said something like, 'Doing my job is its own reward,' I'd sound pretty cliché, so I'll, yeah, I'll take a car. A damn nice one, too." Vince choked from laughter. "Easy now, we don't need to go through the process again."

When the paramedics arrived, Vince apologized for their unnecessary aid, and tipped them even though I was pretty sure that wasn't normal or exactly legal. Avery drove us to the hospital, where Vince requested admittance for a night of observation. He made a sizable donation in the process.

I stayed with Vince through the night, sleeping in the chair beside his bed, but only after several hours of admitting our wrongs and talking through what happened. In the end, we came out all the stronger, and I silently thanked my mother—and the marble—for her wise guidance. Without it, I could have been lost forever, and Vince might have been cold and six feet under instead of warm and wrapped in my arms.

"SO, TELL US HOW it happened," Danielle begged. A week had passed since Vince OD'd. Vince and I—together with my closest friends, my brother and his family, and Alma and Eric—sat on Vince's terrace, sipping champagne in celebration of our engagement. "Did he get on one knee? You know I did when I proposed."

"I would've done it if I'd known you were ready," Ashley said, already two glasses deep, and completely thrilled.

Bridgett waved for silence. "So?"

"Well, I'll start at the beginning," I said, squealing in delight. I was on cloud nine and buzzing with love, sunshine, and champagne. "This morning I woke up with a note beside me, instructing me to be at the spot where we had a picnic in the Rose Garden, near the amphitheater. Anyway, the note was a riddle, and I had to figure it out. When I got there, I found Vince with a picnic basket filled with breakfast. Then he gave me a chocolate coin—you know, the ones wrapped in gold foil. He also gave me a second riddle. That began a full-day scavenger's hunt. Every place we went I found a new clue and a chocolate coin. And we went practically everywhere in town—parks, breweries, you name it.

"Anyway, after touring the city, we eventually arrived down at my brother's brewery in Oregon City. After that, I ended up in a huge field that Vince rented just for today. I dug in six different locations before I found the last clue. On the last one, I dug and dug and dug, until I finally hit the lid of a plastic storage container. When I opened it, I was staring at gallons of chocolate coins." I hefted the container onto the patio table. "The riddle told me to dig through the coins, so I did, until my hands pulled this out." I removed a small ornate treasure chest, made from assorted wood, with a dome top, and brass corners, hinges, straps, and fasteners.

Everybody oooh'd and ahhh'd at the chest's marvelous beauty. I unlatched the fastener and opened the top to reveal the green velvet lining. Inside were more gold coins and a wooden heart-shaped ring box. I started crying when I saw it. "My father—" I paused, checking my emotions. "My father proposed to my mother with that box thirty-six years ago. Donny—" I stopped, unable to continue.

"I remembered it when I was going through our parents' house on Monday," Donny said. "I decided Vince would have a better use for it after he told me about his plan to propose."

"To answer your question, Danielle, yes, I did get down on one knee. I didn't have any heirlooms of my own, so I bought the ring from a little jeweler down in Milwaukie. I actually also bought a ring box, but when Donny offered me such a precious and sentimental gift, it really completed everything." He hugged me with tenderness and kissed my forehead the way he always did.

Danielle shared my tears, and the others were moved by the sentiment as well. "To finding Mr. Right," Danielle toasted, and everyone had a laugh, raising their glasses in the air and clinking them. That was one of many toasts that night; the party lasted long after sundown, ultimately switching to Vince's fresh taps of beer. With fine food and endless laughs, I didn't want the night to end. I showed off the ring to everyone about a million times, struck by disbelief, awe, and joy.

All in all, it was the happiest day of my life.

AFTER OUR ENGAGEMENT, VINCE started addiction therapy, and returned to his regular NA meetings again. We had also celebrated his twenty-seventh birthday on the sixth. I quit my job and started getting my mom's house ready for the market, which was no easy task for me. The appraisal for the house and land ended up around six hundred and fifty thousand—about a hundred grand more than any of us had estimated.

I also scouted out new locations for the bakery during this time, planning to use the money from the sale like my brother wanted, though I didn't plan on accepting it all. He needed it much more than I did, after all, without a billionaire fiancé.

Nearly two weeks after Vince proposed, I decided to hit the gym for the first time since we broke up and reunited. I went later in the evening to avoid Emma, who Vince said had begun stalking him after our night together. He now had a restraining order against her because it got so intense. And even though her gym membership had been revoked, she still prowled the area, waiting for Vince.

On the way there, my hackles stood on edge; I had a bad premonition of bumping into her. My nerves only settled halfway through the workout. I looked at my watch and saw that it was 8:23, and I cursed the number, heading back to my car. The apprehensive feeling returned in the parking garage. With the key turning the car lock, I felt a thick cord suddenly wrap around my neck.

I struggled to get free, thrashing my elbows back, hitting whoever trapped me. My efforts were in vain. My lungs burned as I fought for air. Black spots appeared in my vision before the darkness swallowed me whole.

WHEN I WOKE NEXT, my lungs filled with a burst of air, and my world returned suddenly, shockingly. Crammed, and surrounded by black, I couldn't make out anything until my eyes adjusted. That took a while. I figured out where I was long before I could see: I heard the hum of an engine, and felt the abrupt bumps that sent me up and down. With my hands and legs bound, tape over my mouth, and no room to maneuver, I was trapped in a car trunk.

A nightmare any way you looked at it.

I had once seen an episode of "Psych" where the main character was kidnapped in the same situation and kicked out the taillight to get his bearings. When I tried, my foot nearly broke, so either that was a lie, or it was bolted in its socket better than the standard vehicle.

For every actual minute that passed, I swore it was a year, the endless journey suffocating my confidence. The longer it took, the more I told myself everything wasn't going to work out okay.

Either from the lack of oxygen, or from hysteria, I nodded off after a while, my head swimming and delirious. My forehead smacked the back of the trunk when the car rolled to its final stop. The trunk opened all of a sudden to a black night and dim porch lights.

"Wakey-wakey, sleepy head," a soft voice said. It was familiar—too familiar. A pair of hands grabbed at my arms and legs, and I wiggled to get free as Emma's face popped into view. "Already awake, I see. I thought I heard you kicking around back there. I bolted everything in extra secure for you. I did my research on ways people escape from abductions. I think we covered all our bases."

"WE?" I screamed into the tape.

I heard what sounded like a screen door opening. Another figure stepped behind the trunk, a silhouette of a lanky man. The jean jacket confirmed my worst nightmare. "She giving you any trouble?" Luke asked. His throaty voice shot jolts of terror down my spine.

"Her? Are you kidding? What about yours?" She latched onto just my arms, while he gripped my legs, both hauling me out of the confining trunk. _They had someone else? Oh God, they have Vince too! They're going to kill us both._

"I've got the other one downstairs," he said. "She fought me, so I had to beat her up some. She got the message real quick." _She? Who else were they planning on torturing tonight? Who would they kidnap besides Vince?_

The air smelled like salt—like the ocean. I could hear the crashing of the surf not far away. All the clues pointed to Emma's beach house that she'd once offered for the Hood to Coast race. So we were in Cannon Beach. What little good that information did me, my limbs bound and useless.

As they carried me inside, Luke kicked the prop out of the screen door and it slammed shut. "The neighbors are gone. There was a family renting the other one yesterday, but they're gone. We're alone for tonight."

"Tonight is all we need," she said sweetly, a joyous smile spread across her face. They lugged me through an ancient house. The walls and carpet even smelled old. The entire trip I couldn't believe what was happening. _Luke and Emma? How did they even know each other?_ It was too unreal to wrap my mind around.

I struggled against them as much as I could, earning a slap to my back from Luke. "Don't take too much of the fight out of her, love," Emma urged. "Tonight won't be much fun if she's broken."

"Yeah, I guess you're right," he agreed. A large unfinished living room lay at the bottom of the stairs. I saw a bathroom as they dragged me into a musty bedroom, where loud whimpering drowned out the silence.

"You can scream and cry all you want. No one's going to hear you through these walls. I've had them soundproofed," Emma said to the woman in the corner. She was tied to a chair, now tipped over in an effort to escape.

The two sat me down, and Luke brought the other captive upright, revealing her face. "Alma!" I shouted into the tape. They bound me to an old wooden chair that looked on the verge of disintegrating, angling me so that I faced her. Luke hadn't lied when he said he had beat her up. She had a bluish-purple eye, and bruises marked her body along her arms.

They simultaneously ripped off the tape covering our mouths. I wasn't sure which of us screamed louder, as we pierced each other's ears like a knife stabbing flesh, and the pain rung on after the screams faded.

"Go ahead and scream, sweetie," Luke laughed. He slapped Alma hard across the face. She bit back any response besides a mild whine. "No?" He waved the back of his hand at her face and stopped before he sent her reeling. She flinched. Emma and Luke both laughed. "How disappointing, Alma. I thought you had more in you. I thought you were one of those strong, I-don't-need-a-man types. Oh, wait, you _do_ need a man, but he rejected you over and over and over, just like you rejected me."

"Why?" I blurted.

Luke knelt between us, staring at me with the craziest look I'd ever seen in real life. He made Crazy Eyes from "Orange is the New Black" look sane. Taking out a switchblade from his pocket, he flicked it open. "You think Vince is so goddamn perfect, don't you?" His harsh laugh was starting to nauseate me. "Don't you? Well, he's not. Oh no, Mr. Perfect is really Mr. I'll-fuck-you-over-the-first-chance-I-get. He charms you one moment, then swindles you the next. He took everything from me. I mean, we were partners for fuck's sake, and he took all my money, my future—even my girl."

"I was never your girl, Luke," Alma hissed.

"The fuck you weren't," he growled back. He tapped her knee with the flat of the blade. "How does that cold steel feel on your soft skin, sweetie? Hmm? Does it make you remember how it really was?"

"You're delusional. You're sick, you know that? Fucking sick," she responded, her voice scathing.

He rotated the knife so that the cutting edge lay against her skin, peeling into her knee. Alma winced and screamed, trying to kick him, but the ropes held her in check. Blood ran down her leg to the floor. "Sick? I'll tell you what's sick, sweetie—it was sick watching you swoon over Vince when I was right there in front of you. A great guy, just as smart, just as good-looking as that prick, and yet you tell me it will never happen? Really? REALLY? I mean, come on." He stood up and paced behind her.

"I loved you, Alma." He licked his lips. "Loved you like no man ever has. But you missed out. Now I've got a new chick." He grabbed Emma's ass and squeezed.

"That's right," she said, putting her tongue down his throat. "And I have to say, having fucked both of them, Vince was nothing with that limp cock of his." Standing before us, she seemed so normal, except for the strange glint in her eye that foretold my death.

My mind was racing, my heart pounding out of control, and the worst of it all, I had no idea what to do. Even after swallowing the panic that threatened to crush me, still no course of action struck me. My only idea, and it seemed silly enough, was to keep them talking instead of whatever else they planned for us.

"That's all well and good," I said, "but that wasn't the 'why' I meant. I meant, why do you always wear that same silly jacket? Don't you have any other clothes?"

"Oh, I like this one," Luke said to Emma. "She's got some wit." He straightened out the dirty jacket. "It's lucky, and look what my luck has brought me tonight." He smiled at me, eyeing my breasts.

"How is it that you're together?" I asked, stalling. "And why'd you kidnap us? What could you possibly gain from this?"

"Funny enough, our paths crossed while stalking Vince," Emma said, "and what can I say? True love is true love. Isn't that right, Luke?"

He squeezed her ass in response, and then slapped it, and she stumbled forward a step. "As for you two, you were the next best choices for revenge after I failed to kill Vince at the wedding. He became too well guarded. He had men crawling all over the place, babysitting him when he went to the grocery store, holding his hand at restaurants."

"But you two," Emma picked up where Luke left off. "You two were easier targets. Ms. Sweetie here"—she tapped Alma on the shoulder, who instantly shrugged off the touch—"had her men, sure, but only a handful compared to Vince's army." Vince had upped his security, that was sure enough, but her exaggeration went into the arena of hyperbole. "And you, my sweet cupcake, well, you're a nobody, and snatching a nobody is easier than taking candy from a baby."

_Did she really just say that?_ I forced my face into a stern expression to hide my gawking. "I learned everything from reading Dexter Morgan," she continued. "Take a bit of thick fishing line and sneak up on someone. That's how I got you." She showed me the clear fishing line and pulled it tight a few times, smirking. "We have a kill room and everything, all for you. Anyway, we planned to only take Alma since you'd run out on Vince. We knew her death would crush him, plus Luke would finally get some satisfaction after so many years of being spit on by the two of them.

"But when we found out about your engagement, well, we changed our plans to include you. I wanted Vince like Luke wanted Alma. Before I met Luke, Vince and I were meant for each other. You could see that, couldn't you?" She didn't give me time to answer. "But once you took off, he tossed me out like a piece of trash, like I was fucking nothing to him."

"With both of you out of the picture," Luke said, "he'll be wrecked beyond recovery. It'll be just as good, if not better, than if we slit his own throat. He'll probably fucking off himself, thanks to us."

"I think that's enough talk, love," Emma said to Luke. "She thinks she's stalling, but we have lots of time: all night in fact. And we were going to tell you all that anyway. After all, what's the point of doing all this work and not letting you in on the plan, right? Now, though, it's time for the real fun to begin."

Luke picked up Alma with her still attached to the chair. She began screaming again, trying desperately to free her legs and kick him. "I'm going to enjoy this so much." He kissed her cheek and she gagged.

"We both are," Emma added. "We're going to have us a _real_ three-way, where the stupid bitch doesn't run away just because her man wants to fuck me more than her. Start setting her up—I'll be in in a moment."

Luke carried Alma out of the room. Her screams grew muffled when Emma closed the door. She picked up a duffel bag from the floor, unzipped it, and took out a huge black dildo. "See what I have for you." She smacked my face with the sex toy. I moved my head to avoid it, but there was no escaping her taunts. She lifted up a harness out of the bag. "I'm going to fuck you raw. Just like Vince wanted to fuck me that night. You saw it in his eyes."

"But he never did, did he?" I said, compelling my voice to a deep, grim level. _Be calm. Be calm. That's the only way out of here,_ I told myself as I stared down Emma.

Her lip curled up, furious. "What the fuck do you know, you stupid cunt? Just for that, I'm going to fuck you until you bleed." She slapped me again with the fake cock, and then tossed the toy and harness into the bag before leaving me alone.

With the door closed, I could only make out faint cries coming from the bedroom across the basement. _Be calm. Be calm_ , I repeated to myself. I scanned the room for something to cut the rope, wiggling my wrists. There was nothing but an old metal bedframe, a dusty desk stacked with newspapers, and a collection of dolls. Then I remembered that the rooms were soundproofed, which meant I had the freedom to make as much noise as I wanted.

Only one idea came to mind, and I knew it would hurt, but I had to brave the risk, not just for my own sake, but for Alma's as well. I drew in a few deep breaths. Then, I started rocking back and forth until my feet were able to touch the concrete floor, pushing off when they connected. As I fell backward, I tucked my head to my chest to avoid knocking myself out. The slats that made up the back of the chair splintered from the impact. Fragments dug sharply into my skin. I grit my teeth as pain shot up my arms.

The chair's seat and back fell away when I rolled over, leaving only the pegs that bound my legs. I swung my arms out from under my butt and over the pegs, until they were in front of me. The cuts on my arms were minor enough, or so I hoped as I got to my knees.

Crawling to the desk, I opened the drawer, searching through old school supplies. I found a pair of old shears like what my grandma had once used in her garden. Biting down on the handle with the blades on their sides, I rubbed the thin rope across the still-sharp cutting edge. The rope began shaving away as sweat beaded into my eyes. My heartbeat thudded in my ear.

The shears trimmed away enough of the rope that I could yank my hands apart in one violent action to free them. The knots weren't as amateur as I could have hoped for, so I had to cut my legs free as well. With every second that passed, I knew Alma was in that much more peril.

My hands and feet unbound, I slid out of the rope that had secured my chest to the chair. Shears in hand, I cracked open the door, spying out into the vacant living room. I crept out into the room, noting that the bathroom door was closed, with a thin band of light shining under the door.

Someone was in there. My guess was Emma. And then I was seized by an impulse to fight or flight. Save Alma or save myself and get help? I knew I wouldn't find help from any immediate neighbors. The houses were empty, if Luke was to be believed. A voice inside me was also saying that I couldn't leave her behind, not while I knew what Luke was about to do to her.

I could hear her muted whimpers on the other side of the door across from the first bedroom—the barely-audible noises as soft as whispers. My stomach knotted, but my resolve only grew stronger. Looking down at the coffee table in the center of the room, I noticed the remains of some powder coating the furniture. _Drugs_ , I guessed, since Luke had never stopped using. So he was amped up, which would make him all the more dangerous. But he was nothing compared to Terrance in size and didn't inspire the same terror in my heart. _I can do it. I can save her_ , I told myself, banishing the fear to the back of my mind.

To my left, on the shelves, I spotted a bunch of old hardware, mostly work tools left to rust in storage. Among the hammers and screwdrivers, a hatchet stood out, its blade dulled, but I thought it looked way more dangerous than a pair of shears.

I clenched my fingers around the handle and snuck to the door, wrapping my free hand around the knob. Sucking in a few big breaths, I charged into the room.

Luke lay over Alma, who was tied—naked—in the middle of a four-post bed. She was yelling with full body convulsions. It looked as if he had been running the knife across her legs, slicing up her smooth skin. He glanced over at me before he turned suddenly and stabbed Alma in the stomach. She let out a blood-curdling scream that made me wince.

A murderous wrath gripped me, and without thinking, I swept across the room.

He jumped off the bed, knife in hand, darting at me like a hyper cat, and then lunged. I dodged right, the blade just missing my ribs. Swinging the hatchet, I buried the steel into his chest, the motion throwing me off balance. I caught myself before I hit the floor. Luke was not so lucky. His shins slammed into an ottoman and he toppled over, chest first, his hands out and flailing. The ax sunk deeper into his body with a sickening thud.

I gagged as blood pooled around Luke's lifeless figure. Alma's screams brought my attention back to her. I tossed sheets over her naked breasts and crotch, aware of the humiliation she felt. Blood seeped through the fabric along her legs from the minor cuts, but the stab wound in her stomach looked gruesomely serious, and I told her to apply pressure with the bundled up sheet. I rushed to cut the rope with the shears I'd dropped by the door. One by one, the nylon lines snapped.

Free, Alma hid her face in my shoulder, sobbing in pain and trauma. "I'm going to get you out of here. You're going to be all right, Alma. I'm going to save you. I promise," I said, looking her straight in the eyes. I embraced her in a comforting hold for as long as I dared—

—Too long, as fate would have it. Emma appeared in the door wearing a leather costume. "Look what I have," she intoned, swinging the dildo now strapped to her in the harness. Her eyes grew wide when she saw Luke sprawled out on the floor, a puddle of blood expanding around the corpse. "What the—"

I gave her no time to think, sprinting at her, and decking her to the floor. But she was quick and fit, kneeing me in the stomach, forcing me to curl up in pain. I cursed myself for not doing more ab workouts at the gym. Rolling out of her arms, I clambered to my feet using an old armchair, raising my fist to fight her just as we'd learned in the kickboxing class we'd taken together. Only she wasn't a punching bag.

No, she was a crazy, spirited, toned woman who could fight back—and worst of all, she knew how to fight, probably better than I did. She stepped in closer and threw a punch. I blocked it with my forearm, but I wasn't ready for the kick to my shin. I hopped around on one leg, crying out. My jaw tightened up as I clenched my teeth, my anger only rising.

"I bet you never thought we'd be doing this, huh?" Emma asked, laughing. "That's the difference between you and me. I have thought about it. Many times, in fact."

"Well, you're completely psycho," I said, leaning back as she struck at my shoulder, connecting. I jumped back, putting more distance between us. "So it makes sense."

"You know, I felt kind of sorry for you when you ran out," she said, circling the living room. "After how much we enjoyed each other's sweet pussies, I thought I'd miss it. It almost made me sad that Vince wanted to fuck me instead of you."

"Emma," I huffed, "I think you might want to take a look in the mirror and play back what actually happened. Vince chose me, not you. He wants to be with me, not you. You kidnapped me to kill me so that you could get revenge for him throwing you out on your ass." I evaded a hard swing to my chest, spinning around the coffee table. "I'm the one who should feel sorry, Emma. You're fucking out of your mind."

She took hold of the strap-on and started wiggling it around. "This is for you, Maci, remember? I'm going to fuck you even after all the blood drains from your rotting corpse." She jabbed at my stomach again, the blows blocked by my elbows. "You're mine," she growled, diving at me.

We fell to the concrete floor in front of the second bedroom. I crawled for the shears on the bed. Alma was lying flat on the mattress, howling in agony. "Alma!" I croaked. "The scissors!"

Emma scrambled up my back, winding my hair in her hand, yanking my head back. I shouted in pain. Alma glanced over at us, feeling blindly for the shears. She found them and tossed the pair a few feet in front of us. They landed near Luke's dead body, splashing in his blood.

I kicked and kicked until I broke away from Emma's strong grip, clawing my way to the shears. When I got to them, I jumped up, and spun around, seeing Emma sprint for the tools in the living room. Out of breath, I raced after her with everything I had in me, leaping for her feet.

I caught a shoe and drove the shears into her calf. She kicked me hard with her other leg, bending over to withdraw the rusted steel. Dizzy, blood ran into my eye, stinging it with sweat. I tried to focus, but the world grew warm and fuzzy—and then I found Emma on top of me, holding the shears' lethal tip over my neck.

My strength struggled against hers as she inched the point closer and closer toward my skin. She was unbelievably strong.

"STOP! POLICE!" someone shouted by the stairs.

Emma ignored the order.

I gritted my teeth as our arms battled. We were both shaking, one of us about to give. In one last surge of desperation, I shoved her fists up, smacking her face. Quickly, I rolled out from under her, and didn't stop until I hit the wall.

"Maci!" I looked up and there was Vince, crouching over me.

"DON'T MOVE," someone else shouted. Vince and I glanced over at Emma, who was now surrounded by cops, her eyes bloodshot and crazed. "THIS IS YOUR LAST WARNING. DROP THE SCISSORS OR YOU WILL BE STUNNED." Emma charged at an officer.

An officer shot the stun gun right at her chest. Tased, her entire body convulsed while she released a high whine, then dropped to the floor like a brick, incapacitated. Three officers closed in: one cuffed her, while the other two pinned her down and retrieved the shears. They read her her rights as they hauled her upstairs. I stared her down with hatred boiling in the pit of my stomach.

Vince wrapped his arms around me. "Are you all right? Are you hurt?"

I nodded, pointing at the bedroom with tears streaming down my face. "Alma—she's hurt bad, really bad." More cops and EMTs rushed downstairs. Vince directed the EMTs to the bedroom where Alma lay. Her screams had dwindled to weak groans, and by the time they removed her on a gurney, she was completely silent, her eyes distant. Vince talked with the EMTs caring for Alma as another EMT checked me over outside the house.

"How bad is it?" I asked when Vince walked over, his worried lips curled in that funny way they did.

"They're flying her to Portland. The stab wound—" he faltered, drawing in a long breath, letting it out with a quiver of fear. "It's serious," he continued. "She's lost a lot of blood . . ." he trailed off.

We held each other for a long time after that, crying in each other's arms, though most of the tears were mine. "How—how did you know we'd been taken?" I asked.

"The first clue came when the security guard at the gym came on duty and noticed that the cameras in the parking garage were offline," Vince explained. "He called me and we went through the footage together, and moments before the first camera went out, guess whose car should arrive? Somehow, Emma got a working pass, probably stolen from another member. I reported it to the police shortly after, but they said it was circumstantial, so I had one of my guys track your phone, and once I saw where you were, I knew it was serious. They dug up everything on Emma, including her land holdings, and voila, we found this place to connect your abduction with her. The police fell in line at that point. I took a chopper here as fast as I could."

I fell back into his arms. "You saved my life, Vince." I lost my words after that.

Before we left, an officer took my statement, which was quick and horrible, and then we rushed to the tiny airport in Seaside, and took a helicopter straight to the hospital in Portland. Vince's money played a factor in dropping us off at the restricted access of the hospital heliport. They stuck us in a waiting room after that, and we heard no update for so many hours that I nearly suffocated from anxiety.

DANIELLE AND ASHLEY ARRIVED first. Eric came next, then Bridgett, and last, my brother, all worried sick and wanting the story. Gathered in the waiting room, eager for a word on Alma's condition, I provided the tale to them all as they showered me with comfort.

Then the doctor finally arrived. He was short, with slim shoulders and snowy hair, cool gray eyes, and that warm grandpa look. After introductions, he said, "I'm sorry for the long wait, but we could only notify those related to Ms. Perez about her condition, as I'm sure you know and understand."

Vince ground his teeth with a look that said he was about to strangle the man. "Is she all right?" he chose to say instead.

"She was stabbed in her left kidney, which had to be removed immediately. There's no threat of renal failure . . ." His words echoed in my head as he elaborated. "Surgery went as well as one could hope, and given time, she should recover with no lasting physical limitations."

"Can we see her?" Vince asked, a little snappish.

The doctor handled Vince's tone, keeping his calm attitude, his gentle voice never wavering. "I'm afraid she's still too fragile for visitors. We'll let you know as soon as you can see her." He left soon after that.

My friends and Donny trickled out of the waiting room after they knew I was all right, leaving only Eric, Vince, and me.

We waited all morning with our stomachs tied in torturous, apprehensive knots.

# 27

### HERE COMES THE BRIDE

"Are you ready?" Alma asked, adjusting my train. Wearing her purple bridesmaid dress, she looked fantastic. In fact, all of my bridesmaids looked great, as they sat waiting for the wedding to start, tucked away in a dressing room. One of the photographers was there, too, snapping shots of us getting ready. The photographers had already taken a million pictures of the wedding party, the family, and us. The June sky proved too perfect: cloudless, blue, and sunny. It couldn't get much better. The vineyard setting worked out better than expected, too. The grounds were pristine, the colors all flowing together.

"She looks amazing," Ashley said in her yellow dress.

"Of course she's ready," Danielle answered for me, fixing the cups of her red dress.

"I can't believe you're about to get married," Bridgett said, her misty eyes on the verge of letting it all go, which was rare for her. Her green dress didn't fit as well as the others, but she looked just as elegant.

I was trying to hold it all in before I walked down the aisle, but my bridesmaids were as emotional as I was, and this didn't help the situation. "I'm the luckiest woman in the world," I said, gazing at myself in the full-length mirror, touching my chest and the dangling marble that I had made into a good luck necklace, which gave me a boost of courage whenever I needed it. My fingers grazed the purple sash around my waist and the ornamental flower attached to it. Beading ran the length of the sweetheart bodice, with patches of detail in the gathering of the full skirt. The dress made me feel like a princess: something I hadn't dreamed about since I was ten.

"I think Danielle is a contender for that," Ashley laughed, eyeing her wife.

I got lost in the mirror, reflecting on the past ten months since Emma and Luke nearly killed Alma and me. Weeks after the horrifying scene, I had seen images of the kill room, the plastic lining the walls . . . the table, the knives. They were prepared to butcher us. Emma even had a boat docked in Astoria that the police were confident the two were going to use to dump us into the ocean, apparently just like Dexter Morgan. It made me sick to think about.

Despite the trauma and its proximity to the Hood to Coast, I decided to still run it, and I felt accomplished afterward. All that training had paid off.

Alma had recovered just fine, and a month later, the four of us—including her now-fiancé—took a trip to Hawaii for two weeks. It was as beautiful as ever.

Bridgett and I started up Friends Bakery and Brunch House in December for a grand re-opening, a whole year after our first opening. Our class-action lawsuit against the Inspection Engineer ended in court, the jury finding him guilty as hell. I gave a sizable chunk of my money to charity.

Vince and I grew closer and closer in the following months, moving in together shortly after the abduction—something Colby-Jack enjoyed quite a bit, with the space to roam and sleep in over five thousand square feet. It seemed like every day we learned something new about each other. I wondered how long that would go on or if it was something that would last a lifetime. We had crossed everything off our fantasy sex list, so we made a new one. The experiments were never-ending, the passion never expiring.

"It's time, girls," Becky said, entering the room. Her voice snapped me back to the present. I smiled at her and she beamed back at me. She had graciously agreed to fill the spot as our wedding coordinator. The role was a hobby of hers, and she was damn good at it, telling people where to be and when. "I have your brother here to walk you down the aisle." As soon as my bridesmaids filed out, Donny offered me his arm.

"You look beautiful," he whispered into my ear, as I linked my arm in his. "Mom and Dad would be so proud of you, Maci. To see what kind of woman you turned out to be. I am." On the threshold of tears, I kissed him on the cheek, holding it all together by a fraying string, the emotion of the day intense.

As we exited the building to the aisle outside, the Ben Harper ballad reached my ears, and I gazed upon an audience of friends and family, who all stood up when they saw me. Ahead of them, under a wooden arch in a sharp, light-gray tux, Vince stood, and I could see my future before my eyes. I could see our kids playing in the backyard, our family vacations, movie nights with pizza and popcorn, and all the nights of passionate sex.

Our eyes locked, and the biggest smile spread across his face. My cheeks ached as I smiled back at him, as big as I ever had in my life. I cherished the moment, but at the same time, I also couldn't wait to see a lifetime of those smiles.

You didn't really think the story would end like that, did you?

### THE WEDDING NIGHT

I drove us to our destination in Vince's wedding gift to me. A nineteen ninety-five purple Escort, retrofitted like his Mustang, now an electric vehicle that could go over a thousand miles on a single charge. I called him Eddie, Jr.

Instead of staying in a fancy hotel in downtown Portland, which all looked similar to our condo, we decided on a B&B not far from the winery. The Catbird Seat sat near Fern Ridge Lake, tucked away on a hill, off the road, and surrounded by the quiet of the countryside. Vince had booked both available rooms for the night so that no one would disturb us. It was late, and the owners had left the door unlocked for us, but she got out of bed and greeted us anyway.

Vince carried a large suitcase upstairs to the suite. As I lugged the travel bag and a smaller suitcase to our room, I realized I hadn't seen the number twenty-three all day, and laughed at how perfect it all was. I aimed to keep up the perfection until sleep claimed us. In the room, Vince turned on the electric fireplace, making the flames bright and the heat low, since June at night was sometimes still cool in Oregon.

We were going to work with a different sex book tonight—one I was excited to try—and I took out the gift from Danielle: _The Cosmo Kama Sutra_ , filled with sex positions and instructions. Despite the fact that it was given as a joke, I thought to put it to good use, with pages already bookmarked. I pointed to the one I wanted to try.

"The _Pinwheel_ , eh? Sounds like fun," Vince said, reading over the instructions. "To get us warmed up, anyway."

"Warmed up?"

"I have a few surprises," he said, unzipping the large suitcase. The sex pillow lay inside, along with other accessories, including two pairs of fuzzy purple handcuffs.

"Two pairs?" I asked, holding up the cuffs.

"You'll just have to wait and see." He put them down and took me in his arms, showering me with soft kisses, up and down my neck, across my chin, and between my breasts.

"Hold on there," I said, pushing him back. "I have my own surprises." I picked up my bag and stepped into the master bathroom. It had taken me a while to find the perfect wedding-night outfit, but when I finally stumbled upon it, I knew it was _the one_ before I even tried it on. The brocade corset laced up in the front and on both sides with satin ribbons. Luckily, I had already pre-looped the ribbons. Otherwise it would have taken half an hour to put it on with the garters. I adjusted all the straps and tied the ribbons into cute bows, attaching the garters to the corset last. The matching thong completed the outfit, but I didn't expect to keep it on long.

When I opened the bathroom door, Vince's mouth watered as his jaw hung open, his crotch swelling. "Wow," was all he said.

I grabbed his ivory bowtie. "Let's do something about these clothes." Unzipping his pants, I stroked his cock over his boxers. It hardened, stretching the underwear. His cock sprung up as I freed it. I slowly unbuttoned his shirt while he ran his fingers all over my hips and breasts. He dove into my cleavage, inhaling as deeply as he could.

"You smell so good."

"I taste even better," I said, pointing his cock between my legs. "But you should already know that." I stretched out on the bed and spread my legs, waiting for him to climb beside me. He kicked off his shoes and socks, then his pants and underwear. He tightened up his bowtie on his naked neck. Our tongues met, wet and hot, sliding around each other, making my heart race. Vince gently rubbed the lips between my legs, his fingers grazing the smooth skin of my thighs. After a minute, he flipped around so that our mouths faced each others' crotches, slipping off my thong.

He handed me a bottle of flavored lube from the bag, then began kissing up and down my thighs. His nose brushed my clit as he made his way from my left to my right leg. I moaned at the fleeting touch. The anticipation had been building since last night, and I wanted to come badly. Well, really, the anticipation had begun building two weeks ago when we agreed on no sex for the period until our wedding night.

With that in mind, I poured the lube all over his balls, up his shaft and around his head. Sixty-nine's ignited a delicious lust inside me, and the more times we did it, the more I wanted to do it. It was the best foreplay, and even better when Vince added a vibrator to the mix. Tonight he added two fingers into my tightness instead. I was extra tight from the two weeks of abstinence.

Our noises filled the room. Before long, with Vince's cock halfway down my throat, he stopped his motions, yelling into my thigh. I braced with the audio queue. He exploded into my mouth seconds later while I quickened my pumping hand until he fell into quiet gasps. He was squeezing my ass with one hand, and the sheets with the other, trembling.

He kissed me hard after I swallowed all of his semen. "Magical," he said, lying beside me. "Just magical."

"We're just getting warmed up, remember?" I said, cuddling into his chest. I could fall asleep to his heartbeat if I weren't so hungry for sex. We took a break for ten minutes before Vince continued what he had started with his tongue.

As the pressure built under my skull, Vince's cock slowly came to life, and after minutes of his sweet tongue assault, he was throbbing once again. Hard and wanting, Vince lay on his back, propped up by his elbows, as I read him the instructions for the _pinwheel_. I did the same, my feet facing his head; I then slid onto his cock, wrapping my legs around his torso. He positioned his left leg behind my back and his right leg across my stomach, a feat in flexibility. He thrust slowly with shallow penetration, one hand on my hip, the other resting across my thigh, with his thumb massaging my clit.

It was slow, sensual, and purely delectable. "Okay," he said, pushing me off him after a few minutes. "I can't wait any longer." He rolled off the bed, peeking into a closet, and lit up when he found what he wanted. He dragged out a body mirror with a floor stand and positioned it in front of the bed. Then he dug around in the suitcase and retrieved a purple leather cock ring with a bullet vibrator attached to it.

"Surprise, surprise," he intoned, unsnapping the adjustable snaps.

"Sexy," I said. "What else is in this bag of yours?"

"You'll find out by the end of the night or tomorrow morning—however long you last." He wrapped the base of his cock in the leather, forcing the blood to his tip, engorging it to the point that it probably wouldn't have fit in my mouth. He made the vibrator face down, against his balls. "Lie down." He pointed to the middle of the California king. My arms and head hung over the side of the bed. "Lift." I lifted my hips so that the wedge angled my ass up. He grabbed one of the fuzzy purple handcuffs and locked it around one of my wrists.

"Don't worry. I have the key." He smiled, producing the key from the suitcase, and rested it atop the electric fireplace. Taking my hand, he cuffed the other end to the bedframe. He copied the action with my left hand. I couldn't move, bound to the bed with my ass in the air.

He walked on his knees behind me. With the mirror in front of me, I could see his sexy abs as he played with my pussy, using his massive head. My heart beat faster as I waited and he teased. Finally, he eased into my wet, tight pussy, and I moaned as he filled me up. The deep penetration felt like he was close to my breasts, pushing everything out of the way, to reach my heart.

He turned on the vibrator. As he thrust, it smacked my clit, sending a jolt of pleasure to the back of my neck. He thrust harder and harder, his breaths erratic, and with each pound, I lost more control, falling into the wild rhythm of his hips.

And then I was lost in a world of surging red, but I fought closing my eyes, and looked up into the mirror. Screaming at the top of my lungs, I stared into Vince's eyes as I climaxed for the first time as Mrs. Forte.

### The End

**Note from the author:** Reviews to an author's career are as important as orgasms to a person's sex life—we need them! If you enjoyed this book, please leave a review at your favorite eTailer!

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# Acknowledgements

Where would I be without all those tragically funny stories about bad dates? Not writing very realistic fiction, that's where. Thanks to all my friends sharing their experiences with moronic guys and allowing me to write about them. A big thanks to editor Rachel Guerin who made this story what it is. Thanks to all the Portlanders who make the City of Roses so special. Thanks to my family for all their support in my life. The BIGGEST and last thanks goes to my husband. This book would not be possible without you!

# About the Author

Lorelai was born in 1989. She is a bookworm who loves writing erotic contemporary works that push boundaries and have a touch of mystery/suspense. She also enjoys writing paranormal and dystopian when the mood strikes her. She lives in Portland, Oregon with her husband, their chubby cat, and two birds. In her spare time she likes to bike, hike, and drink craft brews, like many Portlanders do, and watch movies in the dark.

