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I couldn’t resist bringing my palm down, and smacking that ass hard with one big hand.
“Now I’m ready for that shower!” I boomed lustily.
Thirty-Seven
SERENA
They say success begets more success, and that couldn’t be more true for my little side business. And that’s because the bride and groom were so happy with the proofs I provided from their wedding, that they’d already recommended me to three of their friends.
Two of them were weddings, due to take place within the year. Another was a maternity shoot, which I’d gotten based off the portfolio of a previous one I’d done for a friend of mine, which was up on my website.
And yes, I had a website now. It wasn’t the best one in the world, but I’d scraped together enough money to register my own URL and hire someone to do a few rudimentary webpages that introduced myself, gave my contact information, and of course displayed examples of my work.
Another week went by, and Cole moved in. Having him in the basement was handy, not only for the company but for little emergencies like the water company shutting off service to the house. Within five minutes he’d pulled a tool from his truck — some sort of long staff, with a handle at the end — and used it to turn the water main back on at the street.
“That should buy you another month or two,” he’d chuckled, “before they figure out what happened.”
I’d hugged him and given his ass a promising squeeze, before heading back into the house to go over the bills. And yes, the bills sucked. Eventually I’d get income from having Cole in the basement, but not for several months. Until then I’d be moving money around and backdating checks — an old trick my mother had taught me. Anything I could do to keep the lights, the heat, and the cable TV on — in that order.
Down at the restaurant I asked for more hours, and despite consistently paying me overtime the management accommodated me with an extra shift. Most of my take home pay was cash tips anyway, so it wasn’t cutting too far into their bottom line.
Besides, I was a kickass server. Probably even the best they had. I was both proud and angry at the title, because while it meant I took my job seriously and was good at what I did, it also meant I’d probably been there for too long.
Way, way too long.
I thought back to the origins of my position, back when I was married to Eric. I’d taken the job as a temporary measure, to make some additional money at a time when my husband was just becoming successful. It hadn’t been a career choice. It wasn’t something I expected to do anywhere near this long.
And now here you are.
I tried to look on the bright side: at least I was working toward something else. And I was happier than I’d been in years. I’d improved the house in more ways than one, and I’d improved my romantic life by a factor of a thousand.
There was barely a moment that went by when I wasn’t thinking of the boys. I thought about Tate’s smoldering green eyes and big arms, or Jacob’s tan, sun-bronzed stomach. I thought about all the dirty things Cole and I had done in the basement so far, and how many times he’d come upstairs without knocking. Sometimes he just came to say goodbye before work. To take hold of me with those impossibly strong hands, and kiss me until my panties were drenched through.
Other times though, I thought about our future together. That part was murky, because as amazing as things were between us, I just couldn’t see the situation going on forever. One or more of the guys would inevitably want a real relationship; a one-on-one with a girlfriend they could build a future with. Someone they didn’t have to share with their friends, as fun as they could actually be.
I could lose one or two of them. I could lose all of them…
“Serena!”
I looked down and realized my hand was covered in Diet Pepsi. I’d been holding the same glass against the soda machine for at least twenty seconds.
“Sorry!” I apologized to the busboy who’d invariably have to clean up my mess. The foamy liquid had run down my hand, dripped off my wrist. It formed a small pool in front of the beverage area, which would have to be mopped up.
But yes, it hurt to think about the end game. What we had right now was amazing, and seemed to make all four of us happy. But the operative words there were obvious: right now.
An hour and a half later the last of the customers had packed it in, and the tables had all been wiped down. I split off the busboy portion of my tips and changed out the bills at the register for larger ones. After saying my goodbyes, I reached for my phone — only to have it suddenly go off in my hand.
“Hello?”
“Hey sexy.” Tate’s voice was as deep and sexy as always, but there was a playfulness to it also. “You done?”
“Just finished,” I said happily.
“Did you call your Uber yet?”
“No,” I said, slinging my bag over my shoulder. “But I was just about to—”
“Look outside.”
