I didn’t even know how long. Six months? No, longer. I definitely hadn’t been with anyone since my sister died. So it was sometime before that.
I remembered who it had been.
A divorced mom at Charlotte’s school pickup who’d been eye-fucking me well before that ring came off her finger. And the only reason I’d agreed to meet up with her was because that was the week I’d been making funeral plans for my mother, and my stress and grief made me desperate for something that felt good.
It’d been kind of detached on both our sides, and neither felt the need for a repeat.
Still, it would have made more sense for me to fantasize about her, since I had actual memories to pull up.
But, no.
It was the hazel-eyed firecracker that I was desperate to bend over her pawnshop counter and fuck from behind until she was hoarse from moaning and my orgasm was strong enough to make my legs go weak.
“Fuck it,” I grumbled, reaching down and closing my hand around my length, a hiss escaping me at the sensation.
I’d been fighting this exact urge, not wanting to reinforce the idea that I could have thoughts like that about her. A woman who was very much off-limits to me.
But I wasn’t going to be able to think straight if I didn’t get some relief.
So I imagined her in that makeshift kitchen in those ridiculous polka dot panties and a white tee that got more and more see-through as her wet hair dripped on it.
But in the fantasy, instead of keeping my hands to myself, I reached for her, grabbed her, pulled her back against my chest, then reached around to palm her through her shirt, teasing, rolling, and twisting her nipples until her ass was rocking back against my erection and she was begging for me to fuck her.
I came so hard my vision went spotty for a second.
Even after that, I couldn’t seem to get her off my damn mind as I finished my shower, toweled off, and changed into a fresh suit.
It was another family dinner night.
Charlotte was excited.
Liam was… Liam.
And I was racked with guilt for having sexual thoughts about Ezmeray’s little sister when I was about to sit across the table from her and eat her food.
Oh, well.
I had to suck it up.
“That’s what you’re wearing?” Charlotte asked her brother when he walked out of his room in a wrinkled Midwest emo band tee from the ‘90s and a pair of ripped jeans.
She took the words right out of my mouth.
I was glad not to have to be the bad guy all the time with the kid.
“Shouldn’t have to get dressed up for family.”
He wasn’t wrong there. Back in their hometown, no one got dressed if I was coming over for dinner. If I showed up on a weekend, there was a good chance that all three of them would be in their pajamas at three in the afternoon.
It never bothered me.
And it wouldn’t bother me if this was the second or third time we were going to dinner. I just wanted them to look like they gave a shit the first time they met all these people.
Charlotte rolled her eyes.
“It’s about good first impressions,” she insisted.
She’d hemmed and hawed over her outfit for over an hour when she came home from school, bringing out outfit after outfit to ask me what I thought.
