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I can barely keep my dick in my pants at this point. And I shouldn't ask.
I really shouldn't ask.
Ah, hell with it.
"So what would you not want your husband to tell you?"
She's quiet a minute, still running one hand over her skirt. "I would not want my husband to tell me he was in love with someone else, no. But that would be more that I wouldn't want it to be true, not that I wouldn't want to know."
"Fair enough."
"And I would not," she says, her voice getting shaky, "want my husband to make terrible investment decisions that would lead to my parents losing everything."
I dart a quick look at her. "Shit. Shit. Is that what's going on?"
"Fucking Matthew Whitfield," she says bitterly. "I would especially not want my husband to lose my parents' money and livelihood and property, and then blithely say that they can just declare bankruptcy."
"He did that?"
"He did that. According to Sara."
"That smug Ivy Leaguefucker."
"She's leaving him." She heaves a sigh, and I reach a hand over to squeeze hers. "Not so much for the bad investment, but because he's not willing to do anything to help save Dock Holiday."
"Bastard."
We're quiet for several minutes. "I'm really sorry it happened," I tell her. "I know you're worried." Then I ask something I'd always wanted to ask. "So why aren't you more involved in Dock Holiday? Looks to me like you've done management all over town. Why not there?"
She sighs. "Because Mom doesn't want to listen to my ideas. I think she's stuck in the 1970s, businesswise, because that's how my grandparents ran things. The place needs a full renovation, not just fresh paint; they need to offer high-speed internet to guests; they need to offer streaming services on the TVs in the rooms; they need to freshen up the breakfast menu; they need to offer more services, and they need to charge more. A lot more." She sighs again. "But now it'll never happen. I'll never get the chance to prove myself. It'll have to be sold, just for Mom and Dad to have enough to live on.FuckMatthew."
I blow out my breath. "Look. I don't have a lot of savings--it's pretty much tied up in my cabin--but I can chip in a little."
"Please don't tell anyone," she says quickly. "We're going to try to save it."
"I have faith in you." Because I do.
"I just..." She trails off, takes a deep breath, and starts again. "I just wanted to feel normal this evening."
I squeeze her hand again.
"No, not normal," she adds, her voice quieter. "Better than normal, exciting. I wanted to savor this time with you. Because Holt? I've had a thing for you for a long time. I wanted you to notice me."
"I noticed you all right." I can't help smiling.
"Why didn't you ask before now? Really?"
"I told you: you were too young. And then by the time the age gap didn't matter so much, I was married to Lisa. And then I was pretty fucked up by her choosing alcohol instead of wanting to make things work with me. It's nobody's fault, I guess."
I pull onto the long gravel drive that leads up to my cabin. "This is it. This is home." I pull up to the cabin, a wood-and-stone construction with big windows. "Merrick Dumont built this for me."
"Oh, Holt," she says, peering out the windshield. "It's so beautiful!"
"It's not as beautiful as you," I say with perfect honesty.
And then she's in my lap, kissing me. Getting red lipstick all over me, and I fucking like it. I love it. I love the feel of her groin lined up with mine, her legs straddling my hips. I forget that I'm hungry. I forget the food on the floor of the truck.
I forget everything but the taste of Sage's mouth, the feel of her skin, the swell of her tits against my hands, the heat of her core against my jeans.
