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“There was a problem with the plumbing,” Kayley explains, probably thinking I’m staring at Liam with curiosity and not earth-shattering need. “So he closed for the weekend. But it’ll be ready for Sunday.”
“Problems stacked upon problems,” Liam murmurs. “It’s like the universe is trying to tell me that Valentine’s day is a complete waste of time.”
“Well, you’ve sold all the tickets now. You’re making a week’s worth of revenue in one night, you told me. So stop your complaining and get down there and do it.”
Liam smirks, chuckling.
“Can you believe she talks to me like this?” he says, his eyes glinting into me.
I swallow, a shiver moving through me when I meet his eyes.
Then another look creeps in, almost mischievous.
“Lola, could I be terribly rude and ask you to help me?”
“Yes,” Kayley says, seizing on it, smirking, a mirror of her father. “That would make me feel so much better, knowing you’ve got company for the day. I’m afraid I’m going to be with Ryan for quite a bit, you know, reconnecting and everything. Please say yes, Lola.”
Kayley grins and Liam smirks at me.
I know I should say no. I know that Kayley wouldn’t be urging me to say yes if she knew what was happening inside of me, the turbulent way my womb pulsed inside of me, the crazy need swirling through me.
I’m sure I mean to say no when I open my mouth.
And yet I hear, almost as if somebody else speaks the words, “Okay, yeah. That sounds fun.”
“Fun?” Liam smirks. “Oh no, Miss Fitzgerald, I’m going to put you to work.”
Chapter Six
Liam
Here I am again, squeezing the steering wheel so hard my knuckles protrude and turn white. The tension working its way through me is like a tsunami, each wave getting bigger, hitting me with more impact.
Lola sits beside me in jeans and a hoodie, clothes that should make me want her less. The only skin on display is her hands and her neck and her face, and yet the baggy fabric just makes her all the more alive to me.
I can’t stop imagining tearing off her clothes, shredding it like a fanged monster, so that through the shredded clothes I can see glimpses of her skin.
My cock pulses along with my crescendo heartbeat when I remember how she twitched and twerked for me last night, how soaked she got.
I wonder if she’s wet right now. I wonder if that’s why she keeps rubbing her legs together.
Does she even know she’s doing that?
The only thing that stops me from pulling the car over is Hunter lying in the backseat.
“This place is beautiful,” she murmurs, in a voice, I can so easily imagine turning into a song, high and full of naivety and hope.
I glance at the surrounding pine forest, blanketed in snow, and then the long snow-bordered road that snakes into the valley down toward Crest Fall. The town glitters in the snowfall, the sunlight peering through the white clouds, making it light up like a snow globe.
“Yeah,” I agree. “It is.”
“You don’t have to sound so angry about it,” she giggles.
Inviting her was a mistake. Her laughter is like a magnetic force to me. Now we’re going to spend all morning and much of the afternoon together, just us in the club, locked away from the rest of the world.
My manhood twinges at the prospect, a thick snake trying to escape its lair.
“Maybe that’s just my voice,” I tell her.
“What, like resting bitch face?” she says. “I guess you have resting bitch voice, then?”
I smirk. “Is that a millennial term I’m not familiar with?”
“Oh, using the M-word, are we?” she laughs. “What are you, then? An OAP?”
I shrug. “If you want.”
“Hey, I was only joking,” she says. “How old are you, forty-two? I think that’s a wonderful age. You’ve got so much experience. You’ve got so much life. And yet you’re still young enough to live a second life and … And I don’t really know what I’m saying. I’m sorry. I’m rambling.”
I glance at her briefly, her cheeks twin blossom rose petals of shyness.
“Don’t be sorry,” I say. “I like listening to you ramble.”
She turns away, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
That gesture alone does a thousand things to my insides, twisting me up, making me want to pull the car over right here.
I shouldn’t, but I find myself relieved that she doesn’t care about my age. Because I certainly don’t care about hers.
It’s perfect, in fact.
The twenty-year gap makes it so I’ll be able to take care of her, help her grow and flourish, protect her without the confusion of a man’s youth interfering with it.
I’m the old gnarled lion ready to settle down with his lioness, not the over-excited pup yapping at every damn noise.
But I shouldn’t care.
Because this can never work.
