Man Card

“You do? Will I get to take some more photos?”

  “No.” I shake my head.

  “Why not? Didn’t you say you were putting it on the market?”

  “I am. But these photos need to suck. So I’m taking them with my phone.”

  He recoils. “Let me get this straight. You want me to go and watch while you take a bunch of shitty pics with your phone? Why would I do that?”

  “You’re just the bodyguard in this situation. And I’ll still compensate you for your time and try to find you more clients.”

  He chews his aristocratic lip. “Okay, fine. But I have two conditions.”

  “Which are?” I can’t wait to hear this.

  “One”—he holds up a finger—“you don’t use any cheesy Instagram filters on your shots. My stomach couldn’t take it. And, two, I pick out something for you to wear from your closet, and you let me take a picture of you when the sun is setting. At the beach. Christmas is coming and I want to give my brother something special.”

  “A picture of me is something special?”

  “You’re all he’s ever wanted.” Bramly smiles.

  Then where is he? my heart wonders.

  After our photo shoot at the cabin, I ask Bramly to take me back to Braht’s house.

  “I thought you were staying at Tom’s?”

  “That’s what your brother said, but it’s not what I want. Ergo, take me to Casa Braht.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Bramly chuckles. “I like it when you boss my brother around.”

  “Why?”

  “Because somebody should.”

  “Well, it’s my pleasure.” You know, I like Bramly. He’s a weird bird. Then again so is his brother.

  Apparently I have a thing for weird men.

  When Bramly pulls up in front of my man’s house, it’s suppertime. I pay Bramly in cash for his time, and he’s smiling when he drives away.

  As I approach Casa Braht, the door swings open. My man is standing there, looking down his aristocratic nose at me. “You’re supposed to be with Brynn and Tom,” he says.

  “Hey.” I pull up short. “In the first place, that’s no way to greet a lady. And in the second place, you told me to stay at Brynn and Tom’s. But I didn’t agree.”

  His jaw hardens. “Well, you should. It’s for your own good.”

  And just like that I’m back to remembering every off-putting thing Braht ever said. Every irritating detail of our past conflicts rises up in me like a bad case of hives. “Do you even hear yourself right now? It’s my life, you big mansplainer. I can walk around without the protection of a male chromosome if I damn well feel like it.” I climb the steps and open the screen door.

  He jumps back to let me in, but his eyes are an extra-chilly shade of blue. And I feel the cold like a snake of worry down my spine.

  “Did you have a bad day or something?” I prompt. Maybe there’s a simple explanation for his shitty reaction to me showing up at his front door.

  “The worst,” he admits with a sigh.

  Ah, well then. I’m thinking we could fight some more and then have makeup sex. Or maybe just skip right to the sex. “Can I make it better?”

  His face softens. “The thing is, you really can’t.” I wait for him to elaborate, but he doesn’t. “Let’s eat. I’ll make dinner.” He turns away.

  I’m still so very confused. Also, I haven’t been kissed hello. That’s disturbing. But I follow him to the kitchen and sit on a bar stool while he begins to pull things out of the refrigerator. He puts on an apron and begins to shred chicken onto a plate.

  So I tell him about my big plan to buy the cottage. And about the listing I wrote for my little house, too.

  He drops a pan roughly onto the stove, then curses.

  “What’s the matter?” It’s pretty unusual to see him lose his cool.

  “Just, uh.” He sighs. “I don’t think you should put your house on the market.” His long fingers lay tortillas onto a skillet.

  “Why not? I have to sell. Quickly, too.”

  “Just…don’t, okay?”

  All the hairs stand up on the back of my neck. “I wasn’t asking to move in with you, I swear.”

  I meant it as a joke, but he looks up from the pan and our eyes meet. His are troubled. And now there’s a little pain in my belly where there wasn’t before. He thinks I was angling to move in with him. I totally wasn’t. It’s too soon.

  And good thing, right? Because I just learned that Braht hates this idea. A lot.

  Now I feel hurt for no reason at all.

  And he’s on the other side of the bar, making some kind of chicken lime tacos with crumbled cheese. “Would you crack open a couple of beers?” he asks.

  “Sure,” I whisper. But then I just sit there and stare at him for a minute longer.

  “They’re in the door,” he prompts.

  I want to kick him. But instead I cross to the fridge and remove two beers. They’re Mexican, so I find a lime to cut up, too. Those are in the fruit drawer. Everything is perfect at Casa Braht. Except he isn’t looking at me like he wants to jump me anymore. And I don’t know what to do with that.

  I set the beers and the lime down on the counter. “Sebastian?”

  “What?” The sound of his real name brings his gaze around to mine.

  “Are you mad at me for some reason? Did I do something wrong?”

  He blinks. “No, Ash. Not a thing.” He flips a tortilla with a shiny spatula. “You’re perfect.”

  “Then why are you all the way over there when I’m over here?”

  Braht sighs. He turns off the heat under the griddle and walks slowly around to stand beside me. I can smell his aftershave. His sweater looks soft, and I want to run my hand over his chest. I want to lay my face on his shoulder and be held.

  But I don’t. There’s an invisible force field separating us right now, and I don’t know how it got there.

  He leans in and places his forehead against mine. “I just have a lot on my mind, okay?”

  “Okay,” I whisper. But it’s not okay. “I think something is bothering you, and you won’t tell me what.”

  He straightens up again, then heads for the cabinet with the plates inside. “I think you’re very astute.”

  “So lay it on me, okay? I can take it.”

  He turns around looking sadder than I’ve ever seen him look. “Two tacos or three?”

  “Braht,” I demand. “Tell me your feelings.”

  “I wouldn’t want to lose my man card,” he says, tossing warmed tortillas onto each plate.

  “Hey. I was wrong about that,” I say.

  “Maybe not,” he says quietly.

  We eat dinner together, but it’s strained. I want to cry. I want to rage. But I don’t do either one. You can’t make a man confide in you. You can’t make a man love you.

  I’ve tried.

  Later, after some TV watching that isn’t as cuddly as I wished, I decide to turn in first. “I’ll be reading,” I announce. “It’s an erotica book. It’s teaching me things.”

  His face gives a twitch.

  I start to head up the stairs, trailing my hand on the banister like it’s oh so hard and firm. Up and down. Silently hoping it doesn’t give me a splinter because it’s really hard to be sexy when you’re screaming, “OH MY GOD I HAVE A SPLINTER.”

  I sex up my voice a little. Make it lower. A little like Lauren Bacall. I say: “This book is downright inspirational. It’s made me see the possibilities. You know, of handing over the reins to you in the bedroom. I was going to let you earn your man card back. And I’m pretty sure licking will be involved. Also, a ping-pong paddle. Maybe.”

  I glide up the stairs and don’t turn around to see if Braht is watching me.

  Of course he is. I can hear him panting from a mile away.

  24 Pedicures and Plans

  Braht

  I will not have sex with Ash.

  I will not make love to Ash.

  I can’t. Not without telling
her that I wrecked her parents’ retirement. Well, my parents did. But I actually aided and abetted them.

  My parents prevented me from telling anyone that they’d left town, and I went along with it. They were able to transfer all their ill-gotten gains into an account in the Caymans, and all because I did just what they asked.

  If not for my silence, every bilked investor would have gotten at least a small percentage of his investment back.

  Ash will never forgive me.

  That’s why I will not allow myself to imagine Ash on her hands in knees on the bed, naked, looking back at me, her long blonde hair cascading to the bed, her beautiful ass all round and firm, waiting for me to lick and taste and thrust into gently at first, and then with more force until I’m balls deep and she’s crying out my name, my real name, and I lean over and grab her tits…

  And…

  I am up those stairs before I can connect my brain to my body. My body has its own mind right now and it’s yelling “ASH!” She spins around to look at me and I push her up against the wall.

  When did she put this silky nightgown on? Wait—who cares? All I care about is kissing her and running my tongue all over her body. Pinning her arms above her head and just tasting her everywhere. Her nipples are so hard. I can see them through the silky fabric and I don’t even brush the fabric away, I just suck one nipple into my mouth, wetting the silk around her until it’s see-through. Then I move to the other one because lefty will be jealous. But also because I have to have my mouth on every part of her.

  She tugs my head upward, trying to kiss me. “Don’t move, honey bear.” It comes out sounding gruffer than I mean it to. We take a second to look at each other and she—I don’t know how to explain it. I see a shift in her eyes. She trusts me. She knows I have only her pleasure on my mind, and she actually waits patiently for me to instruct her on what to do next.

  “Turn around,” I say. The control she’s given me is heady stuff. I’ll make sure not to take advantage of it.

  She turns, and I run my hands down her curves, to the bottom of her silky chemise. In one long pull I’ve got that thing off her, and Ash is naked in my hallway, save for the heels she’s wearing. Goddamn. She’s beautiful. Her body is a sleek hourglass. She’s shaped like a violin, and I want to play her.

  I skim my hands down again, this time over bare skin. She lets out a whimper as I pull her close to me. My hard cock lines up against her ass. I reach around and just embrace her while I kiss the side of her neck. Then I turn her around again.

  It’s sort of like a dance. I lead with a little pressure of my hand, and she follows. And I realize that this isn’t about me being in control in the bedroom. It never has been. It’s just about her trusting me. No—strike that. It’s us trusting each other.

  I drop to my knees.

  That’s what you do when you worship someone. Or you’re, you know, Elvis and you’ve reached a dramatic part in your song. Whatever.

  She leans against the wall and I nudge her legs apart. I tenderly lift her foot and place it over my shoulder so that I can have better access to the very core of her.

  She moans and that’s all I need. I press my tongue between her legs. She shifts a little, giving me a deeper angle while I lick and probe. I am all lips and tongue and I am insatiable. “Oh,” she gasps. “Oh, fuck.” Her heel scratches my back, and her hand threads through my hair and tugs. Her panting alone is almost enough to make me come, but I hold back because I want to be deep inside her before I let go.

  I want her to let go with me. “Are you close?” I ask.

  “Very,” she breathes.

  So I pull away. I will never get enough of her. I need hours and days and years. “On the bed,” I say.

  She ducks past me and into the bedroom. By the time I clear the corner a moment later, she’s on the bed on her knees, just like I’d envisioned. I let out an “Ungh.” The view is even more perfect than I thought possible.

  Just…wow. She waits, facing away from me. And somehow that’s even sexier than a hot stare.

  As I approach I can see the remnant of an old tattoo on her bum. I just cover it with the palm of my hand. I use my other hand to nudge her thighs apart. “Honey bear, I want you so bad right now.” I ease my hand between her legs.

  She’s wet and ready for me, and she moans as I dip a finger inside. “Too many words,” she pants. “Too many clothes.”

  It takes me ten seconds to fix the clothes issue, but even that feels like too long to be away from her. While I’m undressing, she grabs a condom from my side table and rips it open with her teeth. Then I take a step toward her, my dick at full mast, ready to be sheathed. “You do it,” I bark.

  She turns and sheathes me with eager hands and hungry eyes.

  “Good girl,” I whisper. “Turn around now.”

  She hurries to comply. She’s on all fours, her ass tilted at just the right angle.

  I want to go slow. I do. I want to savor every second, but once I’ve got the head of my cock inside her, I’m lost. I slide all the way home.

  For a moment time stops. Sound stops. The earth stops spinning. We’re breathing at the same time, our bodies one and in unison. I break out in a sweat because it’s so good and I’m so damned eager for her. But I hold firmly to her hips for one more beat. The anticipation is killing us both.

  “Please,” she whispers. It’s just one word, but it does me in. I rock back and then thrust inside her.

  Her moan is everything.

  And that’s all the patience I have. Yanking her hips back against me, I begin to fuck her in earnest. I don’t stop until we’re sweat covered, slippery, trembling with need. Then I feel her shivering, and the sound of her climax pushes me over the edge.

  Is it the best orgasm of my life?

  Fuck, yes.

  Especially because we cry out at the same time. I really feel like we should get an award for that. A ribbon. A plaque maybe. Something we can hang on the wall and marvel at later.

  But I’m too tired to do anything but crawl under the blankets with her and fall into a deep sleep. Our limbs are tangled together, like we’re meant to be here. As if this were meant to be an everyday thing, and not the last time.

  When I wake up, she’s still wrapped around me and I give her a little snuggle. Then it hits me all at once. This is the last time. How could Ash ever forgive me? My father took everything from her parents. And I helped.

  My sudden attack of loneliness is like getting kicked in the balls. Have you ever been kicked in the nuts? No? Well, when it happens, your balls get hoovered back into your body to protect them and your stomach turns inside out because man, that shit hurts. It’s a terrible feeling, but it does pass eventually.

  What I’m feeling now? It’s much worse.

  The kick I’ve taken is mental, not physical. And I’m afraid the pain will never pass. I know Ash needs me to smile at her and be the same fashionably dressed goofball I always show her. But I just can’t. I’m still mentally rolling on the floor, holding a hand over my crotch.

  Reality makes it impossible to stay in bed. I get up to make us a nice Western omelet and make the coffee.

  When Ash comes downstairs, my greeting is tepid. I know this, but I can’t seem to do better. Ash spends our breakfast time giving me sideways glances and biting her lip.

  Then I drive her to the office. Before she gets out of the car, I take care to extract a promise that she won’t wander the city unaccompanied. She rolls her eyes, but says she’ll stay with people.

  “Take care of yourself,” I try to say, but it feels like there’s something stuck in my throat.

  She looks me over with worried eyes. “You do the same, okay?” She reaches across the car and cups my cheek.

  And suddenly there’s nowhere to run. The heat of her hand melts a little of this crusty exterior I’m trying so hard to maintain. And when I look back at her, I can’t hold back what I’m feeling. I manage to keep my mouth shut, but I’m sure my face tells
everything. I love her and we’re never going to be a couple. Not in the way I want. I can’t shut down my expression. I just gaze at her and let that shit fly.

  Ash leans closer and I kiss her. Just one, nice, slow one. My eyes burn because it might be the last kiss I ever get. Once she learns the truth about who I am, she won’t want a thing to do with me.

  She pulls away on a sigh. “Will I see you tonight?”

  “No,” I say, clearing my throat. “I promised Bramly I’d go to some art opening of his friend’s.” This is actually true, but I’m probably going to bail. Instead, I’ll spend the night with a bottle of Scotch, playing the Jeff Buckley version of “Hallelujah.”

  Real men cry sometimes. You just have to let that shit out, you know?

  Ash bites her lip again. Then she gets out of my car, shuts the door, and disappears inside the office.

  I spend the morning working from home. Like Ash, I too have a plan for how to fix her family’s financial woes. She shouldn’t have to do it herself.

  It takes some setting up, but I’m almost ready to move on it.

  Around noon I fix myself an avocado toast and eat it standing up at the counter, like a heathen. Then I wander my house with my teacup trying to decide which furniture I’ll keep and which I’ll probably give away.

  This place is too big for me anyway. Now that Bramly lives on his own, and Ash will soon know the truth, I just don’t need three bedrooms, a den and a giant garage with a man cave overhead.

  Maybe I’ll leave Michigan altogether. This town has been causing me various kinds of heartache for years. I don’t want to live in a place where I’ll always be glancing around for Ash, wondering whether she’ll turn up at Bistro Bella Vita with her new boyfriend on her arm.

  Man, am I broody or what? Clearly I need to get out of the house and get out of my own head. So I hightail it to the one place I go when I need some instant therapy: Nailed It, my favorite pedicure spot.

  People laugh at me for coming here. But what they don’t realize is how many clients I pick up in nail salons. This place should be crawling with realtors. Where else can you relax, take excellent care of your feet and hear the latest gossip about who’s getting divorced and who’s died?