Chapter 3
Three
Fuck.
Sweat beads on the back of my neck as I stare at Jace’s house from his driveway.
Why am I so goddamn nervous?
Sure, I don’t socialize much, but we’ve known each other for years. He isn’t a stranger, even if his wife is. I’m sure she’s lovely. I can’t imagine Jace marrying a bitch.
Their house is beautiful.
Far nicer than I expected.
It’s an older, two-story, well-maintained colonial, as white as the snow covering the sidewalk, with navy blue accents.
Jace throws open the front door and leans his shoulder against the frame.
The wind whips his face, forcing him to squint as he stares into the yard, patiently waiting.
He doesn’t beckon me to get my ass in gear, but he doesn’t have to.
His presence is enough to get me moving.
Chiding myself for being such a pussy, I collect my duffel and the five bags of shit I bought from the store before I get out.
He meets me at the top step to help carry my stuff inside.
“What the hell is all this?” he asks as I follow him through the front door, down a hardwood hallway, and into a stunning, updated kitchen with pristine travertine floors. He sets the bags on the island.
Sliding my duffle off my shoulder, I gently set it on the floor and whistle, impressed at the sheer size of this room—tall ceilings, intricate moldings, a historian lover’s dream. “This is fuckin’ amazing,” I praise, and there goes Jace’s blush again as he unpacks the groceries.
“It’s been a lot of work. It’s mostly Gracie.”
“Mostly Gracie, how?” I ask, resting my hands on the cool stone counter as I soak up every inch of this space—from the floral pictures on the wall to the blue cabinets.
“My firefighter salary could never afford any of this.” He sweeps his hand toward the top-of-the-line gas five-burner stove and pot faucet tucked against the wall.
They look like something straight out of HGTV.
“Civil service, while it might be the right thing to do, the pay is shit. Gracie got into social media a few years ago when we bought this place, and she’s been sharing part of our lives and the renovations on her social media since.
The more followers and views we get, the more we can afford to do. ”
“So, you’re the gold digger?” I tease, wagging my eyebrows and grinning.
Jace’s middle finger appears as his lips split into a grin.
“Fuck you.” He huffs a laugh and dumps the apples I bought into a basket with similar fruit.
“We were both dirt poor growing up. We’re the first in our families to go to college and do something with our lives.
Gracie uses some of her social media income to help others in need, and she bought a trailer for her older sister last year.
She’s a single mom of two, and Gracie wanted to help.
It’s her money. I don’t care what she does with it.
I’m not fond of her sister, but she’s family. ”
Not knowing what to say to that, since I ain’t got any family or social media, I nod along as I listen.
Sliding behind the island with Jace, I help him put the rest of what I brought away. He skids my new jar of protein powder to me and nods toward the corner by the fridge full of supplements. “You’re welcome to use whatever you want.”
I pat my tiny pecs compared to his. “I don’t think I’ll be bulking up like you anytime soon.”
He smirks. “You shouldn’t. Lean looks good on you.”
There he goes again with the compliments. I’m not used to compliments. I don’t know how to read them.
Jace doesn’t seem to care that I don’t reply when he pulls two meal-prepped containers from the fridge, pops them into the microwave, and keeps talking. “Gracie should be home in a few hours. She’s volunteering at the local women’s shelter today.”
I tap my fingertips on the counter to keep my hands busy. “When do you work?”
“I’m off for the next two and a half days. I work twenty-four-hour shifts, sometimes a day and a half if someone needs me to work over, and then I have three days off. How about you?”
“You know I can’t discuss club business.” Not that there’s much to share. They call. I ride. Or, in this case, drive. It could be today, tomorrow, or two weeks from now. I never know.
“I get it, but you can’t blame a guy for tryin’.” Jace winks and sets a reheated meal in front of me, along with a fork. It’s chicken, rice, and broccoli, a far cry from the can of chili I ate last night.
“Thanks.” Sliding my food across the island, I claim a stool on the opposite side. Jace joins me, choosing to sit his massive body on the seat beside me. Our legs touch, and I shiver.
My cock takes notice, too, as Jace’s fresh, clean scent hits my nose from a shower he must have taken when he got home from the gym.
I go from kinda hard to full-on stiffy as I attempt to eat my lunch and not pay attention to him, which is damn near impossible.
He makes noises of the sexual variety when he eats, and his leg bounces so it rubs mine.
Listen, let’s talk about the rainbow elephant in the room.
I’m not gay. I’m not even sure what I am.
Labels mean fuck-all to me, but I’ve fooled around with a few men.
Submissive men. All of them happened to be petite twink-type guys.
While that didn’t do it for me, as I prefer my partners thicker, both men and women, I made do with what I had at the time.
It’s been at least fifteen years since I’ve fooled around with anything with a cock.
Hell, up until today, I wasn’t sure I was even attracted to them anymore.
I usually go for women. Plus-size women.
Women with thick asses and big tits, and curves everywhere.
You got a round tummy? I wanna come all over it.
Do your ass and thighs jiggle when you walk?
Sign me the fuck up. There’s nothing wrong with thin women.
I love all women, their softness, their scents, and their sweet, breathy moans.
But this wolf prefers a lot of meat on the bones.
Even in school, I used to get made fun of for bein’ the scrawny stereotype who loved big girls.
These muscles came later, once I learned about protein and nutrition, and started lifting.
Once we finish our meals in companionable silence, Jace collects the containers, rinses them in the sink, and stacks them in the dishwasher. Grabbing two bottles of water from the fridge, he hands me one and asks, “You wanna watch a movie?”
“What kinda movie?” I eye him suspiciously, knowin’ I’m a picky fuck when it comes to anything I watch.
Cracking open his bottle, Jace chugs half the contents before he speaks, and I watch his thick throat move, hypnotized. “I’ve been in the mood for some John Wick. You wanna marathon it?”
“I’ve only seen the first one,” I admit, and Jace cringes.
“Your man card has been revoked,” he announces as he play punches me in the shoulder.
I snort. “Can I have it back once we watch them? How many are there, anyhow?”
“Four.”
Damn. That’s more than I thought.
“We’re watching four movies today?”
“Do you have anything better to do when it’s storming outside and neither of us has to work?”
“No.” I shrug and crack open my water. “I guess not.”
“You want more coffee first?” He gestures to the fridge.
“Is that even a question?”
Laughing light and carefree, Jace rounds the island, pulls out a glass, fills it halfway with ice from the fridge door, pours cold brew from a carafe inside the fridge into the cup along with a splash of cream, and finishes it with a thick drizzle of caramel around the edge.
I lick my lips, watching him the entire time. I’m not sure if it’s the coffee that’s got me salivating or someone making me coffee just the way I like.
When he hands me the drink of the gods, our eyes meet for half a beat too long, and something sparks there.
I feel it in my gut, low and hot. Swallowing thickly, I look away so he doesn’t think anything of it.
We’re friends. We’ve been friends for ages.
That’s all this has ever been and will ever be.
He’s also married. Very married. Very. Very. Very married.
Berating myself for bein’ an idiot, I follow Jace to the edge of the living room, where I toe off my boots before I step onto the fluffy gray carpet.
A sectional curves around a fireplace with a television mounted above.
He turns on the flames as I take a seat, and once he’s got the remotes, Jace sits right down next to me.
Right next. As in, too fuckin’ close, given the massive size of this couch.
He pulls a coaster out of a holder on the coffee table and nods toward it.
“You can use that. Gracie hates water stains on the furniture.”
I hum and set my glass where it belongs, and my water bottle beside it on another coaster I pull from the stack.
Within seconds, John Wick flares to life, and we immerse ourselves in the badassery of all that is Keanu Reeves.
Movie one flows into two, and the fact that Jace is sitting beside me doesn’t matter anymore as we comment and laugh.
I couldn’t tell you the last time I watched a movie with someone, let alone had this much fun doing it.
Everything is perfect until the front door opens, and our friendship bubble bursts when a certain wife enters the room.
“Hey, babe, you’re home.” Jace turns on the couch and waves for his wife to join us. I hold my breath as she sits right on Jace’s lap, and I damn near jizz in my jeans.
Well, fuck me.
Gracie isn’t blonde. She’s brunette.
Gracie also isn’t skinny.
Gracie is goddamn perfect, with luscious curves, a round belly, and big tits pressing against her green sweater. Her eyes are a honeyed hazel, and her ass—I can’t fully see it—but it’s thick and round, taking up a large section of Jace’s already wide lap.
Damn.