Speakeasy (True North #5)(33)

“Duh.” I actually roll my eyes. “I’m your rebound lay. Relationships aren’t my style, and I’m allergic to commitment. So we’ll have exactly the same expectations—some very athletic sex.”

Her lips part on an dreamy expression, but then she snaps them closed again.

“Don’t overthink it, counselor. The judge orders you to his chambers at ten.” Yeah, I just moved our sexfest up by one hour. I’ll have to let Smitty close. That means extra pay for him. Which is irresponsible of me.

Fuck.

But then May surprises me by saying, “Okay. Ten.”

“Yay! Sweet.” I kiss her palm again, irresponsibility already forgotten. And here I thought she’d turn me down. “That gets three snaps in a circular motion.” I snap my fingers in a circle while she stares.

“It has to be our little secret,” she whispers.

“I can be discreet, babydoll. The code to the exterior door is 0507. You know where that door is?”

She nods.

“Cool. That code is Nicole’s birthday. May seventh. I’ll leave my apartment door open, just in case you get there first.”

“Okay.” She swallows, looking a little uncertain.

So I do what needs doing. I take her perfect chin in hand and give her one more kiss—short and hot. “Ten o’clock, Shipley.” Then I nudge her toward the door to the ski shop. “Go. Do your errand. Have your Sunday. I’ll be waiting later. Naked. With a rose between my teeth.”

She laughs.

I give her a cheesy wink, then I walk away, feeling a whole lot more optimistic than I did an hour ago.





Chapter Eleven





May


“May? Hello? Are you with me?”

“Hmm?” I look up just as my younger brother Dylan snaps his fingers in front of my face.

“Is there something you want to share with the class?” he asks. “It’s not nice to just zone out in the middle of a conversation. Gonna give me a complex.”

Whoops. “I’m just thinking about work.”

“Really?” He grins down at me. Dylan is six-two, because we’re a freakishly tall family. “That’s funny. Because when I think about work I do not do this…” He puts on a cheesy smile, melts against the butcher-block worktable and then lets out a dreamy sigh.

“I did no such thing.” I hope. “Now will you please bring me three eggs?”

Smiling evilly, Dylan points. There are three eggs on the surface of the table. Right in front of me. Damn it. I really was zoning out. “Thank you,” I grunt. “Now would you help me slice all these potatoes?”

“I’ve got a paper to write,” he says, as I knew he would. It’s the perfect excuse, since Dylan is chipping away at undergrad courses at the University of Vermont.

“I’ll bet.”

He disappears, and I have the kitchen to myself again. I volunteered to make dinner because I needed a task to keep my hands busy. The weekend had been a drag so far—too much togetherness punctuated by flashes of embarrassment and doubt. I’ve spent a lot of time knitting row upon row of Alec’s sweater and feeling claustrophobic.

Also, Lark called, and I let it go to voicemail. She sent a text afterward. Just checking in to see how you’re doing. A pity text. She’s checking in on her poor little friend who just got dumped. The same poor little friend who’s been on the wrong side of Lark’s unrequited love for, oh, much of a decade.

I know I’ll have to look her in the eye again soon. But not this weekend.

That’s why earlier today I’d volunteered to get everyone’s skis sharpened before the snowfall. I’d been too cooped up at home, and too deep inside my own head. Dylan had gleefully loaded everyone’s skis into my brother’s truck, and I’d driven into Montpelier just for a moment of freedom.

Running into Alec had been a complete surprise. Not that it was statistically improbable—the whole county was sharpening up its skis and snowboards for the start of winter. But then I’d ducked him like a coward until he called me out on it.

I grab one of the eggs Dylan brought me and crack it into a bowl. It’s five o’clock already. In a few hours Alec is expecting me to show up at his apartment for some very meaningless naked fun.

And I’m absolutely going for it.

My family would not approve. Alec is a player. They’ll think I’ve lost my mind. They’ll look at it as self-destructive behavior.

That’s why they aren’t going to know.

Alec takes me out of my head, and that’s like therapy. I totally forgot myself today outside that store. His kisses are dangerous, and it’s been a long time since I felt like that—reckless in a fun way. Like the fun-loving party girl I once was.

Granted, my party-girl persona was retired for good reason. I don’t want to go back to the days of drinking and lying to myself about my problem. But there are other kinds of fun. Harmless fun. I can be a party girl with Alec for a few hours. I miss the feeling of letting go and just seeing where the night takes me.

This one is taking me to a loft over the Gin Mill.





A few hours later I feel sheepish, though. Putting this plan into action is trickier than I thought.

“I’m heading out for a couple hours,” I say after watching a comedy in the den with my family.