Love on the Lake (Lakeside #2)(37)
Every time I do something correctly, I get another kiss and more words of praise. By the time we’re done with the chandelier in the main living area and the ceiling fan over the bed, I’m ramped right up, like I’ve consumed a four-pack of energy drinks after a pot of coffee.
“You did good, babe.” Aaron’s arm wraps around my waist, and he drops his head, lips moving against my neck. “And you were sexy as hell doing it.”
That term of endearment is growing on me. “Thanks for being so patient.” I tip my head to the side.
“No thanks needed. You’re boss-level sexy when you’re handling my tools.”
“Such a bad line.” I laugh and then sigh as his lips part and I feel the warm, wet swipe of his tongue on my skin. I reach up and wrap my arm around the back of his neck, back arching with the stretch until I can feel the nudge against my butt, telling me exactly how sexy he thinks I am. “Is it time for that orgasm now?”
“Absolutely. Maybe even more than one if we’re both lucky.”
Over the weeks that follow, I begin to settle into life in Pearl Lake. Sometimes I find it hard to toe the line between the locals and the McMansion owners. I used to be them, but now I’m working all these very different jobs, and I feel as though I’m learning new things about myself every day. I see now that I took my comfortable life for granted, and I try to appreciate the little things more than I used to.
What makes the transition easier is the fact that I have a very gorgeous, very talented man showing me his skill set in the bedroom several times a week. We haven’t put a label on it, but whatever it is we’re doing, it’s fun and I enjoy his company.
At first Aaron’s visits are planned around finishing up stuff in the loft. It truly is the small things that need taking care of. He shows me how to install door hardware and teaches me tricks about screwing on plate covers, like that I need to use a flathead screwdriver, and that I want the slot to be vertical on both screws to give it a neat, finished look.
But even the final touches don’t take long, so I keep trying to find things that I need help with, and Aaron keeps on coming over to give me a hand. I don’t want it to stop, but I also don’t want to turn this into something bigger than it is. It feels like more than just sleeping together, but I don’t know if I’d go so far as to consider it dating, since we generally hang out at my place, work on projects, and have sex.
After about two weeks I’ve exhausted all the interior projects, and still Aaron finds reasons to stop by. He needs to check the electrical panel. There’s a squeaky floorboard; he wants to tighten the screws on my bed frame. Usually whatever it is takes all of five minutes, and then we’re tearing each other’s clothes off.
He doesn’t stay the night, but he always makes time for pillow talk. Mostly it’s about the projects across the lake and funny stories about the families over there. At ten he gets dressed, gives me a long, lingering kiss, and tells me he’ll see me again soon.
It makes me anxious that I don’t know if soon is going to be a couple of days or the next night. But we’re having fun and I don’t want that to change, so I try to go with the flow, which I’m admittedly not very good at.
I realize fairly quickly that I need to find things to do with my time other than ogle Aaron and have mind-blowing sex with him. So a few weeks into our arrangement, I make myself unavailable and agree to go out with Dillion and her friends for drinks at the pub after my Wednesday shift at Harry’s.
As I’m getting ready, which looks very different from my old routine—I’m not used to leaving the house with a naked face, but I’ve toned it way down—my phone rings as I’m applying a coat of clear mascara. I automatically assume it’s Aaron. He favors phone calls over any other type of messaging, even if they’re only thirty seconds long. I hit the answer button without checking the number and nearly poke myself in the eye when I get a woman’s voice rather than Aaron’s telling me I have a collect call from Chicago Penitentiary and to press one if I’d like to accept the charges.
I take a deep breath, waiting for the call to connect.
“Hey, sis.” Bradley’s voice comes through the line.
“Hey, how are you hanging in there? You doing okay?” Bradley has reached out to me a number of times since his incarceration, but his calls always catch me off guard, since they’re unpredictable.
From what my dad has said, he talks to Bradley almost every week, and when I’m around, I’ll jump on the call too. Van is still struggling to get over what Bradley did and having a much harder time forgiving him, which I can understand.
“It’s boring as hell here and their library sucks the D, but I’ve made a friend named Moose in the kitchen, and he sneaks me extra bacon on Saturdays, so that’s a plus, right?”
“Can you get in trouble for that?” I ask, putting my mascara wand back in the holder.
“Only if someone finds out.”
I roll my eyes. Leave it to Bradley to try to game the system while in jail.
“How are things going for you? Any new gossip on your ex-asshole? Give me the dirt.”
“Um, there isn’t any dirt to dish, to be honest. Or if there is, I don’t know about it.”
Bradley sighs. “Well, that’s too bad. You know I’m living vicariously through you, since the only drama around here involves dudes shanking each other over dessert.”