Chapter 13
Four days later…
Come Friday night,our Halloween book club is even more festive than usual.
Elaina made creepy sugar cookies to go along with the Young Adult horror novel she consented to read—even though it didn’t have any sex and relatively little romance compared to our usual selections—and Sydney joins us via Zoom for the first part of the evening. She just visited ten days ago, so she couldn’t make it back to town for the party, but having her here via laptop is better than nothing.
Her boyfriend, Gideon, also makes an appearance at the end to share his thoughts on the story. He read it because Sydney was reading it, and he wanted to be able to discuss it with her.
How adorable is that?
Very adorable. And Gideon makes Sydney so happy. She’s glowing with excitement for the new chapter in her life and already loving her new job at Gideon’s real estate development firm in Burlington. I can’t imagine most of the couples I know wanting to work together and live together, but Gideon and Sydney are clearly loving every second of their twenty-four seven life together.
After book talk and saying goodbye to the lovebirds, we dress the cats in their costumes and I take hundreds of pictures, while Maya and Elaina giggle and the cats shoot us looks that would foretell our doom if they had opposable thumbs and the ability to hold a weapon.
Maybe is the only feline who seems to enjoy his costume, a cozy lobster suit complete with giant claws bobbing around in the front. He dashes around the closed café, pouncing on the pinchers and rolling over to bat at them with his paws, purring the entire time.
“Get a shot of Pudge and me, will you, Gertie?” Maya asks, cuddling the giant orange tabby she finally adopted last month, after being in love with him for ages.
Pudge is dressed as a bat, and Maya is Lady Dracula, complete with fangs she pops in to grin for the camera as they cuddle on the couch. Pudge, as usual, is a sweet beast. Though he clearly isn’t happy with his bat wings—he’s been trying to rub them off against the wall for the past ten minutes—he adores Maya. He consents to several portrait shots, including one where he’s perched on Maya’s shoulder, before wiggling to be set free.
Maya sighs happily as she watches him waddle toward the catnip toys, her cheeks pink from the warmth in the café and two Imaginary Fiend cocktails. Elaina invented the rum-based drink to go along with the book about killer imaginary friends, but I stuck to cinnamon tea with my cookies.
Weaver made plans for us in Saint Mary at eight, and I want to be sure I’m still awake for our first night out on the town. I convinced Gramps to leave at five a.m. this morning instead of four, since I had plans for Halloween night and wanted to stay up late, but I’ll still be asleep by nine if I start drinking too soon. I’m not a lightweight, but alcohol makes me way sleepier than it used to.
It’s another sign that I’m a full-blown adult…along with the suitcase waiting by the back door.
I’m going on a romantic weekend getaway for the first time in my entire life!
Weaver seems as excited about it as I am. Last night, while we were eating strawberries and whipped cream after working up an appetite in his bed, he expressed how pleased he was to be the first man to take me on a trip, even if it is only to a hotel a few towns over.
The exact details of what we’re doing are a surprise, but he insisted he was going to give me “a weekend you’ll never forget,” and then he did things with the whipped cream and his tongue that I’ll also never forget.
I’m never going to forget a second of my time with Weaver. A part of me is already dreading our inevitable “goodbye” in a few weeks. But I push that voice to the back of my mind and enjoy my last few minutes with my girls.
When Weaver pulls up behind the café—the better for us to sneak away without being seen together—I hug Maya and Elaina, track down the lint roller to tidy up my dress, and dash out to the car, suitcase in one hand and a sugar cookie in the other.
“Wow.” Weaver’s lips part as he takes in the sexy black dress I found at the resale shop, my borrowed jacket, and shiny high heels. “You look…”
“Like I don’t work on a lobster boat?” I ask with a laugh, the heat in his gaze assuring me the outfit is as “fire” as Elaina promised me it was.
I needed to bring the fire tonight. Weaver looks even more striking than usual in a dark gray three-piece suit with a silver shirt that brings out the steely color in his eyes. His dark hair is brushed back, showcasing the salt and pepper at his temples that I love, and he smells as divine as ever as he pulls me close.
“Like you’ve never been close to one.” He bends, pressing a kiss to my cheek. “I’ll have to beat the other men off you with a stick.”
Shivering at the feel of his breath warm on my neck and his lips so close to my ear that they kiss my skin as he speaks, I say, “Nah, I’m tough, I can beat them off myself.” Then I realize how that sounded and add as he laughs, “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”
He grins—that big, easy smile I’ve only ever seen when we’re alone, the one that makes him even sexier—and winks. “You’d better be. I’m not in the mood to share you with anyone, let alone other men.”
Ignoring the fizzy bubbles his words send rushing through my blood—I can’t take the romantic things he says too seriously, or I’ll really be in trouble when he leaves—I let him take my suitcase and follow him around to the back of the Subaru.
Weaver pops the trunk and slides my bag in beside his much fancier leather one in the slightly funky-smelling storage area.
Someone dumped bait on his car Wednesday night, the one night I wasn’t on his boat this week. We got lucky with that, and with no one seeing me leaving his place while they were trashing his rental, but Weaver had a hell of a time finding someone willing to detail the car.
Not only was the mess gross, but people in town seem to be taking sides between Weaver and Mark. Both auto mechanics in easy driving distance are Mark’s friends.
But a few hundred dollars over the usual detail price convinced one of them to switch loyalties, and Weaver had a security system installed on the dock with a view of both his parking spot and the yacht earlier today. The next time someone comes to deface his property, he’ll be able to see who’s behind it and take the footage to the sheriff’s department.
I would say I can’t believe people are being so petty, but trashing Rodger Tripp’s car was practically a town pastime. It got so bad in the past few years that he spent most of his time at his vacation home in South Carolina and only came to town for important meetings or family celebrations.
But Weaver isn’t Rodger, a fact he proves by smiling as I present him with his cookie. Rodger hardly ever smiled and never over something as simple as a sugar cookie decorated to look like a dragon with giant teeth.
“And what’s this?” he asks, holding it up to the light streaming from the bare bulb above the back door.
“It’s a killer imaginary friend,” I say. “That’s what our club pick was about this time. Elaina always makes cookies to match the book on Halloween and Christmas. She made extra this time to be sure I had one to share.”
His expression softens. At first, he wasn’t sure about sharing our secret with both Elaina and Maya, but he came around.
Maybe because he trusts my judgement and taste in friends.
Or maybe because he doesn’t care if we get caught as much as I do.
Yes, Weaver is a discreet person, but I’m the one whose entire family will turn against her if we’re found out. Dad’s disappointment, I could handle—it’s not like he hasn’t disappointed me more times than I can count—but I don’t want to lose the respect of my extended family, and this could literally kill Gramps.
His cholesterol is high and he’s been short of breath lately on more than one occasion. He needs to watch his diet, exercise more, and avoid flipping his lid because his granddaughter betrayed the family with a member of the evil Tripp clan.
Gramps now has multiple t-shirts he’s had specially printed to express his ire with the Tripp family at dock meetings. “Tripp Lobsters Taste Like Oppression” was the first one, but I personally prefer, “Don’t Tripp and Fail at Dinnertime. Get your lobster from a real indie fisherman!” The illustrated lobster giving a claws-up on the front is pretty darned cute, and I like the sketch of our family boat in the background.
“Should I eat it on the way or save it for later?” Weaver asks, circling around to open the passenger’s door for me—another first.
I stop, staring at the open door, my stomach flipping.
He’s changing everything. Pretty soon I won’t be able to live my life without reminders of Weaver around every corner.
“What’s wrong?” he asks. “Does the car still smell like herring?”
I shake my head and force a smile. “No. I just…” I lift my chin to meet his gaze. “No one’s ever opened a car door for me before. Or any door, I don’t think.”
He rests his hand on my waist, fingers molding to the curve of my hip beneath my slinky black dress. Technically, I opted out of a costume for our Halloween party this year, since I had to be dressed for a fancy dinner right after, but these clothes feel as much like a costume as my Bigfoot suit from last year.
I’ve never worn anything like this before. The silky cotton of the dress hugs my every curve, with a deep V in the front that reveals a scandalous amount of cleavage and a slit up the right side, all the way to the thigh. Paired with a fake fur coat from Elaina’s well-stocked closet and a pair of relatively sensible high heels from Maya’s—she’s seven inches shorter, but we wear the same size shoe—and I look like a completely different person.
I look glamorous, posh, expensive…
Staring at my reflection in the mirror earlier, I knew I should feel confident as hell in these clothes, but…I don’t. This is just a costume, a disguise. The real me is the girl in oilskin pants and a waterproof slicker, with her hair up in a knot and Carmex caked on her lips to keep the worst of the chapping at bay.
He knows that. And he likes her, too, the inner voice whispers as Weaver bends to kiss me again, making my head spin.
The kiss is firm, but also careful. He’s doing his best not to smear my lipstick, I realize, and for some reason that makes me feel better.
Weaver sees me, he really does, and so far, he seems to like every side of me— from the goofy girl who made him watch cartoons in bed, to the kinky woman who relishes making love like we’re locked in a wrestling match between the sheets.
When he pulls away from the kiss, he murmurs, “I’m just getting started, woman. Tonight, I’m going to treat you the way you deserve to be treated.”
I rest my hands on his strong chest and tilt my head back. In my best flirty voice, the one I’ve only brought out for him, I ask, “Does that mean you won’t be tying me to the headboard and spanking me if I come too soon?”
His gaze takes on that predatory quality I’ve come to love. “Oh no, I’ll definitely be doing that. You deserve to be tied up for making me wait five extra minutes out here by the dumpster.”
I smile. “It was Elaina’s fault. It took a while to find the lint roller to get all the cat hair off my dress.”
He shakes his head and mutters, “Excuses, excuses.”
My grin widens. “You’re right. And I promise to accept my punishment with a positive attitude.” I pinch the taut skin at the side of his waist before adding in a whisper, “And plenty of screaming.”
He laughs and swats my bottom before putting a hand to my elbow and helping me into the passenger’s seat. I don’t need the help—I’m steady on my feet, even in borrowed heels—but I enjoy it.
It’s sort of like men in general. I don’t need a boyfriend, but after this past week with Weaver…I really want one.
I want someone to talk to at the end of a long day, someone who makes me laugh, challenges my assumptions, and enjoys snacks at midnight as much as I do. I want orgasms and pleasure and the perfect ease I feel when I’m lying on Weaver’s chest after we’ve made love.
I want someone to hold me the way he holds me, like I’m his favorite person in the world.
But I’m not his favorite person. Not really.
I’m a temporary distraction, a fuck buddy, and I can’t forget that for a moment. If I do, I’m going to lose my heart to this man.
Glancing at his sexy profile as he guides the car out of the alley and onto the main road leading out of town, I fear it might already be too late. But I’m not going to let that ruin our night.
There will be plenty of time to regret falling head over heels for the wrong man when Weaver is gone.
But for now, he’s here.
And he’s mine.
I reach out, slipping my hand into his, loving the way he squeezes my palm tight as we gain speed, zooming past the city limits into the cool, starry night.