Chapter 21
After another stressful week of working late at the understaffed library, I eagerly accept Sammy’s invite to attend a poolside gathering at Damien’s house. The Squid asked me out, leaving the day open ended for me to choose. But I was too exhausted to do anything more than ask him to swing by my place to check on Kraken when I had to go straight from the library to The Jewelry Box. He’s still working on the other side of the street anyway.
It wasn’t until I was strolling out onto the stage—eyes immediately scanning the VIP section—that I considered how easily Sammy chose helping me with cat care over watching me make love to a pole. When I got home that night, the Squid was passed out on my couch, Kraken curled up on his chest with her green eyes focused on the TV screen. Apparently, my cat is a fan of action movies about prehistoric sharks the size of skyscrapers.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to stay so long,” Sammy had rasped when I nudged his shoulder to wake him up.
“Kraken appreciated the company.” The kitten leaped off him to attack the strap on my duffle bag.
“I’ll get going,” he said, sitting up and rubbing sleep from his eyes.
But I had a leftover buzz from performing and a strong craving for a taste of him.
Sammy reconsidered leaving right away when I kneeled between his legs, unzipped his pants, and took him in my mouth.
“Fuck, Ava,” he panted my name, staring down at me with an expression of lust and disbelief. “I’ll cat sit whenever you want.”
That had me chuckling, which must’ve felt nice on his dick because he let out a guttural groan and only lasted another minute.
That was the only night this week we kind of spent together. Maybe Sammy didn’t want me to think he expected a blow job for checking in on Kraken, because he never stayed late after that first time. What he did do was stock my fridge with some delicious, easy-to-reheat food. I would’ve thought the guy was hiring a personal chef to stop by my place, but the cat spy cam I installed showed him arriving in my home with bags of groceries and leaving the place spotless after cooking and wearing out my cat. If I didn’t have to work, I might’ve watched him all evening.
When the weekend rolled around, and I examined the slight aching discomfort in my chest, I realized something odd.
I missed him.
I missed Sammy Reyes with his teasing grins, and earnest affection, and strong hands, and dirty jokes. Missed the way my kitchen looked with him standing shirtless, cradling my cat. There were times in the morning and evening I’d see Kraken sitting at the window, gazing across the street toward the build site, as if she wanted to catch a glimpse of the Squid, too.
I saw his texts Thursday during the few minutes I had to scarf down my lunch.
Damien is having a get together Saturday, wanna go?
With me?
Some of your JB coworkers will probably be there too.
My thumbs typed out an immediate Yes, and now I’m trying not to stare out my front window as I wait for my ride to arrive.
That’s right, I agreed to carpool.
This is not keeping things casual, the self-preserving part of my brain points out. Wasn’t this just supposed to be a hot hook-up?
But that’s the thing. I don’t know that I figured out what I wanted this to be in the beginning, and I don’t think I know now. All that I’m sure of is I don’t want to fall into the habit of relying on Sammy. Not for my supply of lust. Because if I do, he has the power to take it away.
Though I have trouble imagining him doing that.
There’s a knock on my front door, and I definitely don’t sprint to open it. Kraken is at my heels, and I scoop her up before she can sneak out, then I turn the knob.
Temptation per-Squid-ified stands on my front stoop.
Sammy really is conventionally good looking. Tall, tan, defined muscles, and a head of golden-brown hair. But all of that could sour if he was the douche bag I originally assumed he was. Instead, he wears an eager smile and leans down to plant a kiss on Kraken’s fuzzy head.
“My ladies,” he says, tilting his chin up to meet my eyes from under his beat-up baseball hat. Our faces are inches from each other, and he could easily claim a kiss.
But he waits for my move.
I tilt my head, so I don’t bonk myself on the rim of his cap, then give him the kiss I know he craves. The same one I want.
Sammy rumbles a pleased noise in the back of his throat when I swipe my tongue along his lower lip, but just as he steps closer to deepen the contact, Kraken lets out a pitiful meow.
I huff a laugh and step back, leading Sammy into my apartment. “Let me hide some treats for her and then we can go.”
“Do you have a bag? I can put it in my car.”
I point to a bulky tote where I stuck my towel and sunscreen, then proceed to hide a handful of cat treats around my living area, hoping the hunt will entertain Kraken for a little while. After locking up and turning toward the small parking lot in front of my home, I pause and gape.
Sammy leans against a beautiful, royal blue Mustang convertible.
I wouldn’t call myself a car fanatic, but after years living among outrageous stage performers, I’ve come to love colorful, outrageous things.
Like gorgeous blue cars that promise to mess up my hair and make my pulse pound.
“What do you think?” He rests a hand on the door. “I can put the roof up if you’d prefer.”
“No way.” I stroll up to the beauty and realize the sunshine on the paint job gives the car an almost rainbow sheen. “Can I drive?”
Some guys—most guys—get protective of their precious, expensive cars.
Meanwhile, Sammy holds out the keys and says, “Fuck yeah.”
But when I go to grab them, he holds them up, just out of my reach. I scowl and consider giving him a purple nurple through his T-shirt. But then he wraps an arm around my waist and pulls my body flush against his. “Sorry. To get these keys, you gotta pay the kissing toll.”
“Oh really?” I press my lips into a firm line to keep from smiling at his corny seduction technique.
“Yep. It’s a steep toll. Government issued. I don’t make the laws. But I do follow them as a standup citizen.”
“I’m going to kiss you,” I tell him. “But mainly to shut you up.”
“I’ll take it!” Sammy slips the keys into my hand the same time he claims my mouth, tasting like fresh rain and lust.
My skin tingles, my nipples tighten, and I try not to fall into the deep end of the infatuation pool.
When Sammy deems the toll has been paid, he opens the driver’s side door and points out how to adjust the seat for my slightly shorter legs.
The drive to Damien’s place is invigorating, with the sun on my skin and the wind tugging at my ponytail and the loose fabric of my sun dress. I feel Sammy’s eyes on me, especially when I’m shifting gears. I guess he likes watching me handle the stick shift.
When I park on the street outside of Damien’s house, the air feels too hot without the constant wind and because my body is flush with magic from the Squid beside me. I need to submerge myself in some cool water.
Luckily, this is the perfect place to do that.
“I can carry my stuff,” I tell Sammy when he drapes the strap of the floral print bag over his shoulder.
“I put my towel in here, too. How about you carry this?”
He hands me a massive reusable Yeti mug. The cup is cute, light blue with a handle and a straw. There are some stickers on the side, and I study them closer.
An image of Evelyn from the movie The Mummy with the quote “I am a librarian.”
A cat wearing a witch’s hat sitting on a stack of books.
One that simply says Easily distracted by cats and books.
“Is this yours?” The cup looks more like something I’d have. In fact, I kind of want to steal it from him.
“It’s yours. I got it for you.”
“You did?” I blink between him and the cup that is perfect for me. “Is there booze in it?”
Sammy’s teeth shine bright against his sun-kissed skin as he grins wide. “Damien will provide plenty of alcohol. That’s full of ice water. Hydration is important. Here, you can also carry this.” He slips his hand into my free one and laces our fingers together, then tows me and my fancy new mug toward the pool party.
And I try not to let my brain melt into happy, grateful goo. But it’s really hard because he got me this small, yet wildly thoughtful gift, and he even took the time to put stickers I’d like on it. Goddess, I can see in my mind him cradling the cup in his long fingers as he carefully places each one.
Damn it. Sammy Reyes is one suave Squid.
I let my eyes drag over him as we walk a stone path toward the gated yard. He has on a set of flower-patterned swim shorts that sit low on his hips and hug his round ass. A loose tank top shows off his lean, muscular arms, and I find the golden fuzz of hair on his forearms tantalizing. Especially when the muscles beneath flex as he rubs his thumb over my knuckles.
When we’re done with this gathering, he’s totally getting laid.
As if hearing the thought, Sammy glances back at me when his free hand settles on the latch. Luckily, I have my sunglasses on, and the large, tinted frames should be hiding my ravenous eyes.
Still, he smiles again, then tugs me inside, and I follow willingly. Eagerly. And I take a long drag from the straw of my mug, hoping the chill water will put my libido on ice.
No luck. Especially not when we claim two lounge chairs and Sammy tugs off his shirt. The move reveals more sun-drenched skin with a light coating of golden-brown hair I want to rake my fingers through.
“You need to put sunscreen on me,” I tell him, my voice coming out in a stern demand. There are too many people here for me to mount the Squid, so I need another—more socially acceptable—reason to feel his hands all over my body.
Sammy’s face glows with eagerness, and he digs through my bag until he locates the bottle of SPF 70.
Yes, I have the skin of a ghost.
Sammy makes no comment, only squirts a large amount into his palms as I tug my ankle-length, flowy dress over my head and give him my back.
“Gods,” he groans, probably at the sight of my black string bikini, then mutters more curses and compliments under his breath as he rubs the lotion into my back. I shiver when he slips his warm fingers under my straps to cover every bit of my back. Eventually, his touch drops away. “You’re good. Perfect. Fucking perfection,” he tells me.
I turn to face him. “Good? That wasn’t even fifty percent of my body.”
Sammy gapes at me, then swallows. “Do you want me to put it on all of you?”
There’s no legitimate reason for him to put the SPF on the front of my body, which I can reach perfectly well on my own. But again, I’m feeling needy.
“I think that’s best.” I nod. “You’re an architect, after all.”
Sammy’s brows raise so high they almost disappear under his baseball hat. “That’s…true.”
“And as an architect,” I say, bullshitting like a pro, “you know how to account for every part of a structure. Therefore, you won’t miss any spots. And I won’t get sunburned.”
When Sammy smiles this time, the curve of his lips is slow and so satisfied I feel a clench in my lower belly. “That is irrefutable logic. I will be thorough.”
And bless the Goddess of Darkness, he is. Sammy coats his broad palms in the white cream and makes sure to massage the protection into every inch of exposed skin I have. He pays particularly close attention to the vulnerable skin of the inner thighs, leaving my legs so shaky I have to plop down on my lounge chair. A position he takes advantage of, insisting—as an architect— he needs to cover me even to the tip of my pinky toe.
By the time he finishes, I’m not sure I’ll ever need to dance at The Jewelry Box again, I’m so full of magic. Sammy has to arrange a balled-up towel on his lap so no one else sees the rigid shape of him in his swim shorts.
“I don’t know if I can get this to go down,” he mutters. “Not when you’re wearing that.”
Sammy tips his head toward the swimsuit I chose, the black bottoms cut high on my hips and the strings of the top straining to hold two triangles of fabric over my boobs.
“I’m too hot to cover up,” I tell him before pursing my lips around the thick straw of my mug and sucking hard.
Sammy presses knuckles against his mouth and lets out a muffled, pained sound.
“What if I give you a moment to yourself?” I ask, setting my drink to the side. “This heat is brutal. I need to get wet.”
“Fuck, Ava,” he mutters, burying his face in his hands.
“Sorry.” I slip off my chair. “I honestly didn’t mean that to sound suggestive.” Leaning down, I kiss his sweat-damp neck, then let my lips brush his ear. “Thank you for the sunscreen. Why don’t you relax here, think about unsexy things for a bit, then join me in the pool when you’re not about to bust a hole in your swim trunks.”
“Okay,” he mutters, sounding pouty, which makes me smile as I give his neck another kiss. The stretch of skin is one of my favorite spots. It tastes good, and I enjoy the jump of his pulse against the sensitive skin of my lips.
As Sammy tries to redirect the blood flow in his body, I stroll over the textured concrete toward the pool steps. Normally, I enjoy cannonballing in, but this suit is not built for athletic endeavors. It was fashioned to bring a certain Squid to his knees. Mission accomplished.
At the first brush of cool water against my toes, I let out a happy hum. Last time I was here, I didn’t get a chance to swim before the drama went down. Now I ease into the pool and sigh happily as the water surrounds me in a gentle embrace, gifting me with weightlessness and a refreshing chill. Reaching up, I tug the hair band out of my ponytail and slip my sunglasses off to hold as I dunk my head under water.
The sounds of the gathering disappear, replaced by the soothing noise of water against my ear drums. Resurfacing, I slip my sunglasses into place and ease through the water toward what I realize is a pool bar, equipped with submerged seats.
Damien has a nice setup.
And as I think of the Squid, he appears on the other side of the bar just as I take a seat.
“Ava!” He greets me with a grin and passes over a sweating can of hard seltzer. “I’m glad you came back.”
Damien could rival Sammy for the devilish smile and sultry voice, but this Squid doesn’t affect me the same way his friend does. I also like the fact that I get the barest flicker of magic fuel from him. Only enough to indicate he thinks I’m attractive, but not that he’s having active horny fantasies about me as we share smiles.
“Sammy won me over. Don’t tell him that. It might go to his head.”
The guy smirks. “Never. I love seeing him squirm on your hook.” Damien braces his elbows on the bar top, leaning toward me, his head close enough that we could have a private conversation.
The man is bronze as sand at sunset with midnight eyes and messy dark hair to match. Yasmin has started to hire male performers, and I bet she’d love to get a man like Damien on the stage. He moves in a way that you know he’s a good dancer.
“Cheers to torturing Sammy with love.” I raise my can and take a sip, only realizing the heavy word I spoke once I swallow the mango-flavored drink.
He knows I was joking, right? I don’t love Sammy.
I don’t.
Whatever Damien thinks, he keeps to himself. But his topic change isn’t much better.
“So, you’re a healing witch?”
My stomach drops.