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10
Oliver
What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas—unless you happen to live in the same town as your new lover.
I’d failed to realize exactly what keeping to Sage’s agreement would entail. Returning home and resuming regular life while she was part of mine in a much different way was more difficult than I’d anticipated.
I didn’t like pretending we weren’t more to each other than what we’d been when we left for vacation. Sniping over nothing was natural and entertaining. Hiding the moments that came after wasn’t nearly as simple. When I glimpsed her rubbing her aching lower back at the diner and longed to draw her against me, I had to stop myself.
That wasn’t what we were about. In public anyway.
In private, she was eager moans and an adventurous spirit and so many needs wrapped up in laughter and smoky sensuality that was a joy to witness.
At night, she was mine.
All mine.
During the day, I shared her with the world and pretended that was enough.
But she’d set the parameters. Defined her boundaries. As much as I hated the subterfuge, I agreed that it was less bothersome to keep our relationship private. There were far fewer questions to deal with. Much less so-called helpful advice to wade through.
I still didn’t like it. At all.
Before we left for Vegas, I would’ve considered this the ideal setup. Easy—and frequent—access to sex with a gorgeous, inventive woman who required discretion. Not even just from Ally and Seth and the rest of the far too curious townspeople, though they were snoopy enough. But Sage’s parents were coming for a visit soon, hoping to be local for when Ally had her baby.
Much as I rued the secrecy, I didn’t have any desire to meet the parents. Of course, I already had, many times. Sleeping with their daughter was a different scenario altogether, and I didn’t have a clue how to be…whatever this was. I never stuck around long enough to meet the parents of women I dated. Probably by choice. That smacked too much of permanency, and I was always one foot out the door.
As I was now too. Right?
Wrong.
Rather than looking for my escape, I seemed to be seeking ways to entrench myself deeper. Not just in her sweet pussy night after night, though that was one of my favorite occupations as well.
No, this was something far more dangerous. As was my need to goad her
under the guise of keeping to her agreement. It was as if I wanted to see if I could break her. If she would finally let the secret out…and then what?
I didn’t know, yet I still kept testing the limits. Testing her.
Testing myself.
“You’re sure you’re able to keep Laurie while Ally is in the hospital?” my brother asked, twirling his spoon through his coffee. “I can probably manage, and she won’t be in there long. They ship them out pretty much as soon as they squeeze out the kids these days.”
There was an image I didn’t need while I finished lunch. I glanced across the diner booth at Ally, who seemed preoccupied and was staring off in the distance. Could be she wasn’t excited to hear about being shoved out of the hospital the moment after giving birth. Or else she was depressed over her life choices that had led to her becoming impregnated by and marrying my oaf of a brother.
I still wasn’t happy with the asshole, considering everything that had gone down in Vegas. Knowing Seth had Sage’s best interest at heart didn’t change that he’d hurt her feelings with the way he’d phrased things.
Things I’d unwisely repeated to Sage just to assuage my own concerns about her using me as a handy virginity destroyer. I wasn’t proud of it.
Then again, I had shared a womb with the jerk who’d spoken out of turn. What could I expect? We were, quite literally, cut from the same tattered cloth.
“I said I could do it. You’ll have enough to deal with.” I shook my head and picked up my black coffee. I’d gotten three refills so far, and it wasn’t because I’d developed a sudden love of the diner’s burnt roast.
I did have a rather new fixation on the hot-as-fuck waitress, however.
We’d invited Sage to take her break and eat with us. I didn’t doubt if I hadn’t been with Seth and Ally, she would’ve taken them up on the offer. Having to crowd into the booth on my side and deal with my leading comments and questions—usually intended to try to slip her up in some way about our relationship—probably wasn’t the most relaxing way she could spend her precious few moments off the clock.
I didn’t blame her. I also couldn’t stop. What I hoped to gain from my obnoxious behavior, I didn’t even know.
