14. Philip
Philip
I haven’t seen Ophie for over a week and it’s slowly driving me insane. Working at Sunshine has been a great distraction, but I keep comparing every woman who comes in to Ophie. Not even spending hours every morning submitting job applications to every place I can find has been enough to stop me from wondering what she’s doing all day.
And missing our usual constant texting. My phone has been suspiciously silent for the last few days, and I suspect it has to do with her having second thoughts about our marital relations the other night. And the night after.
The couple I’ve been pouring for decides on a bottle and takes it outside on the patio to drink as the sun dips toward golden hour. I have to admit that I’m having fun working here. Pouring wine for people looking to relax and enjoy their afternoon is the opposite of high stress. And the view doesn’t suck either.
Nate slips in the back door with a case balanced on his shoulder and a scowl on his face. “I saw we were running low on the Estate Pinot. You doing okay with the POS?”
I take the case from him and set it on the floor so we can both reach inside. Pulling out two bottles, I slide them into the rack beside Nate’s two. “Yeah, man, the till is good. Thanks for bringing those in. The Amelia has also been popular today, so we’ll probably need to bring up some more tonight.”
“I heard you telling people it was named after my grandmother. You know it was named after a cat, right?” Nate grumbles the words before giving me a testy look.
“You guys had a cat?” I raise my eyebrow and grab another pair of bottles. “I’ve heard of winery dogs, but not cats.”
A soft smile I’ve never seen before graces his face. “It was Kel and Sydney’s cat. Sydney’s, really, but since her mom is allergic, it lived here.” His smile drops as soon as he notices me watching. “It would cuddle with just about anyone. And it was good at killing snakes.”
From the way he doesn’t make any more conversation or eye contact, I get the feeling there’s more to this story than he’s letting on. But anytime I even open my mouth about anything other than the fucking POS system, he clams up.
“If it doesn’t bother you, I think I’ll stick to my story about your grandmother. It’s a little more poetic than a snake-killing cat.” I pause, then give Nate a grin. “Okay, well, I’ll save the killer-cat stories for the people who look like they might enjoy it.”
Shaking his head, he stacks the empty box with the rest of the ones we keep on hand for customers. “You do you. Just sell the wine.”
He turns to leave but stops in the empty doorway. “Hey, you’re going to help us with the winery tour event next week, right?”
I lean back against the bar, arms crossed, and one foot kicked over the other. “Yup.”
“I’ll give you a tour tomorrow morning so you only have to bullshit your way through half of it. Meet me outside at seven.”
He’s gone before I have a chance to negotiate for a later start time, disappearing out the door with a wave of heat. A second wave drifts in from the opposite side as a group of women and a pair of dogs enter the tasting room.
They span a motley of ages, the youngest looking about twenty and the oldest in the “I don’t dare ask, but I’ll card her to make her smile” range. The pair of corgis with them have their noses stuck in the air to sniff. I swear one of them is already eyeing the salami hidden in the fridge.
“Ladies, welcome. And who are these adorable pups with you?”
I’m busy with customers until well after we’re supposed to close—the group of women lingering by the bar as I close out. There’s a scuffle between two of the ones who have been fairly quiet—a curvier woman with long brown hair and a shorter, slender woman with red hair who pushes her toward the bar.
When she doesn’t do anything except smile at me, the slender one makes an exasperated noise and joins her. “We’ve been debating where your accent is from all afternoon. My friend thinks it’s Cape Town, but I think it’s Durban. Care to help us settle a bet?”
I grin, setting down the glass in my hand. “It’s not often people even get the country right without asking me. How come you’re both so well-versed in the colonial English accent? And what’s the prize for the winner?”
The women look at each other, the shorter one grinning when the other one’s eyes go wide and panicked. Then, her grin turning flirtatious, she turns to me, setting her elbows on the counter and pressing her boobs together.
Now I understand the game they’re playing.
“Winner gets to give you her number.” She winks, keeping that smile aimed at me.
A vision of Ophie flirting with me like that flashes across my mind, sending a wave of warmth through my belly and softening my shoulders. The short one mistakes the change in my posture for reciprocal flirting and starts to twirl a piece of hair around her finger.
“So? Is either of us right?” Again, she shifts her shoulders, but I keep my eyes away from her cleavage.
I lean forward, then shift to my left so I’m facing her friend. “Cape Town, born and raised.” Her bright blue eyes flare impossibly wider, but before she can say anything, I keep talking. “And while I appreciate your appreciation, I’m a married man and thus, must politely decline your kind offer.”
I finish with a little flourish and a bow, sliding their empty glasses off the counter as I straighten, then turning to put them in the collection bin. When I turn back, the shy friend is smiling and looking relieved, while the spicy one has her hands on her hips, glaring at me.
“You don’t have a wedding ring on,” Spicy Spice points out, lips pursed.
I hold up my left hand. “Doesn’t make me any less married.”
She humphs and flounces away to the other women, throwing me one last annoyed look over her shoulder as she goes. I chuckle to myself as she walks away, dimly aware of the click of the back door closing.
“Your wife’s a lucky girl.” The shy one finally speaks. “And don’t mind my friend, she flirts for sport.”
I pause in my tidying to chat. “I would say that I’m the lucky one. She deserves the world and somehow ended up with me.”
“How did you guys meet?” She taps her fingers on the bar as she speaks—maybe it’s a nervous tic, maybe just a habit. Either way, it reminds me of Ophie and her pens. “Seriously, because you seem like a genuinely good guy, and they seem to be impossible to find these days. I’m pretty sure between us”—she points at Spicy—“we’ve swiped through every available man in a fifty-mile radius on every dating app.”
“We met on the first day of grad school, and she’s been my best friend ever since. We only got married a couple months ago, right before graduation.”
I’m startled by the tinkling of glasses toppling. With a jerk, I turn around, expecting to find a disaster, maybe a wild corgi behind the bar, but it’s just Nate. He hoists the bin of dirty glasses to his shoulder and walks away without a word.
I turn back to my conversation companion, who’s watching Nate leave, her eyes glued to his ass, her bottom lip caught between her teeth.
I chuckle. “Don’t even think about it. He makes a piranha look friendly.”
She doesn’t take her eyes off him until he disappears into the tiny kitchen area. “But I like them tall, dark, and broody. Unfortunately,” she adds with a shake of her head.
“He’s not broody, he’s just mean,” I counter. “But I shouldn’t say that since, technically, he’s my boss.”
“Your wife is a lucky woman.” Her friends call from the doorway, and she steps away from the bar to join them, waving goodbye as she leaves.
I follow behind to lock the door and finish cleaning up. As nice as they were, talking about Ophie with those women made the niggle in my chest that misses her worse.
I’m still thinking about her when I finish up and walk down to the cabin I’m staying in. Greg and Jackie’s little one-bedroom place is cozy and overrun with chickens. Not real chickens, but rooster statues. There’s rooster dinner wear, roosters on the throw pillows, and even roosters on the very nineties-looking border wallpaper. I was stunned when Nate said the three cabins down here had only been built six years ago. I thought they had just renovated a much older place.
When I step inside, I know I must really be losing it because I swear I can smell my wife’s shampoo.
“Kel came home with a giant tub of whipped cream and a look in his eye that said I wasn’t going to get any sleep tonight, so I hope you don’t mind that I’m here,” the source of the scent calls from the rooster-covered kitchen. “And just in case you are annoyed about it…I already started cooking dinner, so you can’t kick me out.”
I clear the entryway and spy Ophie in the kitchen, stirring something in a pot. “If that’s tomato soup I smell, then you can stay as long as there are grilled cheese sandwiches to go with it. And please don’t put Kel and whipped cream together in a sentence ever again.”
“Trust me,” Ophie says, looking back over her shoulder, “they are not words I wanted to put together in my mind either.”
Her tone is teasing, but her shoulders are stiff, and she keeps dropping her eyes to the floor. A strange tension hangs in the air between us, the echo of a conversation we never had after the other night.
I wrap one hand around her waist to hug her from the side. She keeps stirring, attention glued to the soup. “I didn’t think you liked grilled cheese and tomato soup, but either way, I can’t make it with you holding me.” She drawls out “to- mah -to” with a terrible impression of my accent, making me grin despite the awkwardness.
“Hi to you too. It’s one of the weird American combinations that you’ve tricked me into appreciating. I still stand firm that peanut butter and chocolate is an atrocity against food.” I dodge the elbow she jabs at me, still holding on. “My day was fine, by the way. Flirted with a few women, met a couple of corgis. Got some juicy gossip on Nate and Sydney. How was yours?”
Ophie twists until she’s facing me, the tomato soup-covered wooden spoon in her hand dangerously close to smacking me in the face. “Carb, tomato, and cheese. It’s a classic combination that is always good, so don’t make it into some weird American thing.” She starts counting off on her fingers. “Pizza, lasagna, enchiladas—should I go on?”
I laugh and let go so I can take the spoon from her. “Okay, okay. I concede the point. Go make me a sammich, Mrs. van der Merwe.”
“Ahem.”
My heart picks up speed when Ophie doesn’t react to the name like she usually does.
“Please?” I add when she doesn’t move.
She waves her hand away. “You said you had gossip. I want to know.”
She’s not even going to acknowledge that I called her Mrs.? Have I entered the Twilight Zone? My heart and stomach are flipping between racing and dropping at her non-reaction.
I grab the wooden spoon and stir the soup, needing something to do with my hands while she pulls cheese out of the fridge and starts assembling sandwiches.
“Um, yeah.” I have to tear my eyes away from the long line of her neck as she bends over her task. She’s wearing a yellow sundress that hits her mid-thighs, with short sleeves that flutter around her arms as she spreads butter on the bread.
She bought it last summer for Cassie’s birthday party. I remember because I went shopping with her to pick it out. At the time, I’d thought it looked amazing on her but hadn’t really noticed just how low the front dipped between her breasts because I’d been too busy lusting over a leather jacket for myself that I could never afford.
Now, the dress is screaming at me to see how easily I can get my hands beneath it.
Clearing my throat, I refocus on stirring the bubbling red liquid in the pot. “So, you know the Amelia? The riesling?”
“Oh, I like that one. What does that have to do with Nate and Sydney and their weird tension?”
I reach into the cupboard beside me and set a pan on the burner next to mine, turning it on to heat for the sandwiches. “He overheard me telling some guests that it was named after his grandmother and corrected me that it was actually named after Sydney’s cat.”
“He named a wine after her cat?”
“That’s what he said. And he almost smiled.”
Ophie turns to face me, the assembled sandwiches forgotten on the counter behind her. “He smiled ?”
“Well, it was more like he ceased scowling for a moment. Which, for Nate, is a downright cheerful expression.”
Laughing at my joke, she brings the sandwiches over and sets them in the sizzling pan. Any lingering awkwardness fades with the sound. Even though all I want to do is get my hands under that dress, the annoying pinch in my chest from missing her all week eases. And the tension in my spine fades away at the sound of my best friend’s laugh.
Ophie’s shoulders are relaxed as she moves to stand beside me. Her hip bumps mine and our elbows clash. Dropping my spoon into the pot, I step back to make more space for her, unable to resist gripping her hips as I do.
But right then, she leans forward, her ass grazing my crotch, and I suck in a breath at the contact, tightening my hold on her hips. The fabric of her dress bunches under my fingers as I pull myself together. A different kind of tension rockets through my body, and now I’m afraid to breathe wrong in case it breaks something precious.
Instead of straightening her ramrod spine like I expect, her body goes soft. “I don’t want to burn dinner,” she murmurs while leaning back, her weight settling against me with a sigh. My brain short-circuits, any conversation I thought we needed cut off at the knees by her body language.
Slowly, I gather more of the fabric in my fingers, pulling the dress higher and higher on her thighs. I dip my head down to speak low in her ear. “Who said anything about burning dinner?”
My lips are so close, I can’t tell if the taste of her in my mouth is real or from my memories of the other night. The warmth of her skin tickles my lips at her neck and my fingertips on her thighs. My thumbs brush the edge of her panties, and I hesitate to go further.
We stay like that—my mouth millimeters from her skin, my fingers brushing the crease of her hip, the only sounds her hitched breathing—for an agonizing collection of heartbeats.
I want more than anything to hook my fingers in her underwear and pull them down to her knees, but I have no idea if that’s what she wants. Her body is telling me yes, but just because she was okay with this while we were living together doesn’t mean she’s okay with it now.
I would be lying to myself if I didn’t want some reassurance that she missed me as much as I missed her. That I’m not the only one overwhelmed by the idea of an us that means more than just a platonic partnership.
“I can hear you thinking from here,” Ophie huffs.
“I—”
“How am I the one who’s not overthinking this? Overthinking is my specialty, not yours.” She bends her head to the side, giving me more access to her neck and shoulder. Slowly, not breaking the contact between us, she reaches out and turns off the burners on the stove. Her hands drift back and settle on top of mine, pressing my fingertips deeper into her skin.
I want to melt from her warmth, sink to my knees and taste her, but the smooth expanse of her shoulder calls to me just as loudly. Leaning down, I drag my lips across the shell of her ear, into the space behind it, then along her neck to bite down on the tendon where her shoulder joins.
Ophie moans as I press my teeth into her skin, the sound bypassing the rational part of my brain and arrowing straight to the animal bit that’s been chanting “mine, mine, mine” since the day we met.
“Fuck, Ophie. Are you—”
Flipping around, she slaps a hand across my mouth. “Don’t.”
Our bodies are pressed together, her breasts crushed against my chest, her hips lined up against mine, the sundress caught between us. Without breaking eye contact, I wrap my fingers around her wrist and pull her hand away from my mouth. Twisting her arm behind her back, I pin it there with my hand. The motion pulls at the soft fabric of her dress, the deep V in front exposing half of her breast.
“For the last time, Philip. We’re both adults. I already told you I wanted this. What else is there to discuss?”
There is so much more to discuss. Is this just casual to her? Or does it mean more? As close as we’ve been for the last two years, the one topic we never discussed was how we feel about sex. Maybe because it would have meant admitting we were ignoring something vital between us in the name of safety.
But right now, my beautiful best friend is staring up at me, her eyes dilated with lust, her lips parted and begging for me to nibble on them. Any remnants of self-control I’ve been holding on to snap. I push all my overthinking aside and scoop her up, wrapping her legs around my hips.
“Couch or bedroom?” I slide my hands beneath her ass, backing us out of the kitchen and away from the heat still coming off the range.
“Couch is closer.” Ophie points behind me before diving in and capturing my lips with hers.
“God, I missed your mouth.” I walk us to the couch, a giant L-shaped thing that’s too big for this place but obviously well-loved. She doesn’t stop kissing me as I release her legs and ease us down into the corner. Instead, her tongue invades my mouth and her hands attack my shirt.
Pulling it over my head breaks our frantic kiss. Immediately, Ophie’s hands roam over my chest as I toss it to the side. “How are you so tan?” Her question ends in a squeak as I pull her hips toward me. Her feet are planted on the floor, her knees draped over my shoulders, that dress just barely covering her sweet pussy.
“It’s summer.” I shrug, then hook my fingers in the edge of her panties and pull. I take a moment to admire the smooth skin of her inner thighs, the pink lips of her core peeking out. “Mmm, I’ve been missing this tasty treat.”
Ophie lies back with a little laugh. “It’s so hard to take you seriously when you dirty talk…”
I ignore her and dive in, running the tip of my nose between her folds. “You were saying?” I follow with my tongue, laying the flat of it against her pussy and licking up her length, slow and firm.
“I’m going to be quiet now,” she whispers to the ceiling. “Just don’t stop doing that.”
“But I like it when you talk.” I squeeze her thighs as I repeat the action, slowing down when her legs finally relax. “And don’t worry, I remember all the spots that made you scream last time.”
“You’re like an elephant.” Ophie giggles as she settles into the couch, talking to the ceiling as I go to work, licking and sucking, listening for the same sounds she made before. “And I didn’t scream last time. I was being quiet so we didn’t wake up Sydney.”
I don’t answer, too busy using my teeth to nibble along the inside of her thigh while my finger takes the place of my tongue.
Ophie keeps up a litany of nonsense as I work her body. “I can’t believe we broke the bed. Although, I suppose the frame was pretty old. It was Daisy’s from our parents’ house. Maggie took it when she moved in with me after Frank broke off their—”
“Liefling?” I finally pull myself away from her hot center. “If you’re still talking about your sister’s bed frame, I am obviously not doing this right.”
Lifting her head, she gives me a guilty smile. “Sorry. You are definitely doing it right. I got…”
“Nervous?”
“Not exactly. It’s just easier not to think about the fact that you’re…you.”
I sit back on my heels. “Ophie, we don’t have to do this.”
My cock will never forgive me for saying that.
“That’s kind of what I came over for, though. I don’t know, Philip. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” She tucks her feet under her and sits up. “When you’re not with me, all I can think about is how great the sex was and how much I want to do it again. But when you’re actually here and, well, doing it, I get all up in my head about if this is a good idea or not.”
She crisscrosses her legs on the couch, which is painfully tempting, but I force my eyes to stay locked on her face. “I don’t want to just fuck,” she adds in a voice so quiet it’s only audible because there is zero ambient noise out here.
I pinch her chin and pull her head down so I can press a kiss to her forehead. “I don’t really know what we’re doing, but I know it’s not just fucking.”
Ophie looks up at me as I pull back, a calculating look in her eye. “What happens at Sunshine stays at Sunshine?”
I tip my head to the side. “What does that mean?”
“This doesn’t change the fact that we have no idea where we’re going to end up in a few months—you might get a job anywhere. But for now, anything that we do here, well…it just means that we’re both here and it feels good, and there’s nothing long-term to it.”
“Just marriage.”
Ophie shakes her head. “That’s insurance.” She waves a hand, but I catch her wrist.
“No fucking anyone else, though.”
Her tinkling laugh fills the room as she takes an exaggerated look around the cabin. “Who else is there? Nate?” She makes a face. “No fucking anyone else.”
It’s not the conversation I really wanted, but it will do for now. Enough to stop me from second-guessing if she wants this or not. My dick goes hard at the idea of finally getting to claim Ophie without constantly worrying about the consequences.
Instead of letting my brain take over again, I scoop her up and carry her to the bedroom, our lips tangled and her legs wrapped tight around my hips. Her dress and my clothes are on the floor moments later. It takes only seconds for me to grab a condom from the pack in my bag, sheath myself, and climb over her.
Ophie blinks up at me, her eyes soft, her body stretched out beneath me. “Come here.”
She reaches up and pulls me into a kiss. Her hands slide into my hair, holding me in place as her hips rock against mine. Matching her rhythm, I nestle my dick between her thighs and deepen the kiss, pulling on her bottom lip with my teeth.
I release her lip before pressing kisses across her cheek to her jaw. Holding myself up on one elbow, I guide myself to her entrance and push in, groaning as her warmth envelops me.
“That feels so good,” Ophie says to the ceiling while I continue exploring her neck and chest with my mouth.
Running my hand along the side of her body, I marvel at the softness of my best friend. She presents herself as so put together, as someone who always knows what they’re doing and how. It’s not surprising I’ve felt a need to make her a little messy since the day we met. But now, I don’t just want to see her a little frazzled. Now, I have a burning need to watch her unravel beneath me. To make her feel so good, she couldn’t hold on to her self-control no matter how much she wanted to.
If her stream of consciousness as I massage her breast and drag myself in and out of her is anything to go by, I think I might be pretty close to making her lose control. “God, I love how vocal you are,” I murmur into her ear, taking her earlobe between my teeth.
Her only response is a gasp as I piston my hips a little faster, letting the friction between us build, and the tingle of an orgasm travels up from my toes.
“Is that good? Do I feel as good for you as you feel for me?” I ask more questions, urging her to keep talking. For once, her words tumble free without being checked by her filter or needing to say the right thing. I set a steady pace, digging my pelvis down into her clit at the bottom of each thrust.
“Do that again,” she moans when I pinch her nipple. “Please, Philip.”
Hearing her say my name is the reassurance my soul needed—knowing that she was here by choice, on purpose—and my body takes over. I throw one of her legs over my shoulder, using my knees and the new angle to slide deeper and deeper inside her. Branding her from the inside, and knowing I’ve loved her since the day I met her, even if I didn’t realize it.
My pending explosion gathers in my spine, all the muscles in my back screaming that we’re close, so close. I’m holding off my orgasm by a thread, needing her to fall over the edge with me as I keep the pace.
“Come on, baby. Come for me.” I need her to fall apart soon, or else I’m going to have to go back to tasting her sweet pussy so I don’t disgrace myself.
Ophie tightens around me, her nails clawing at my back and arms as she arches against me, her head thrown back while she cries out. I keep going, not slowing down as she rides out her orgasm. With a groan, I bite down on the muscle between her neck and shoulder. My vision goes black for a second, the unstoppable wave of my release hitting me.
Both of us gasping for breath, I roll off and flop beside her so I can remove the condom and tie it off, dropping it into the small trash can beside the bed. She reaches up to stroke my cheek with the tips of her fingers. “That was…” She pauses and takes two deep breaths. “Good. So good.”
She’s grinning, so I’m pretty sure that good really means great, but I scrunch my face anyway, feigning hurt. “Just good? Pretty sure Nate heard you all the way in his cabin.”
Ophie laughs and smacks my chest. “Talking about Nate, or anyone else, within ninety seconds of orgasm is against the rules. Now you’ve ruined my high.”
I laugh, pulling her against my chest. My stomach rumbles, but I ignore it so I can enjoy the sensation of holding my Ophie without worrying about where my hands are. “I won’t do it again, I promise, my liefling.”
“I’ve always wondered what that means.” As she wiggles, her ass presses against me.
“It means something nice.” I dodge giving her a straight answer by kissing the back of her neck and running my fingers down the outside of her thigh. She’s going to jerk away in a second when I hit her ticklish spot.
Right on cue, Ophie shrieks and flails, and I roll off the bed behind her and dart away before she can retaliate. “Where’s the dinner I was promised? You taste delicious, but I’m still hungry.”