Chapter Eighteen
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“So, as you can see, Pooch Park II is slightly bigger, but I managed to squeeze in elements I always wished we had at our first location. The dogs can be indoors or out based on the weather, and we have this fun outdoor turf space with misters, wading pools, and lots of shade when it’s hot.”
Marisol scans the outdoor area from where we stand behind a fence. “This is so adorable, so perfect,” she says with a wide smile. “Hey, what kind of dog is that?”
I follow her gaze and grin, watching the one she’s pointing to hop around, attacking a hose as one of my employees tries to refill a pool. “That’s actually my Akita mix, Heartthrob.”
“Heartthrob?” She chuckles. “How did he get that name?”
I smile at the memory. “When we first adopted him, he was so young, I got him this little pillow that made comforting heartbeat sounds. My husband used to tease that I was more in love with the puppy than with him, so I started calling him my little Heartthrob.” I shrug. “It just stuck.”
Marisol arches a brow at me, and it seems like she’s about to ask another question, but then a bloodhound in the corner starts baying at two wrestling puppies, which sets a cattle dog barking for the sake of hearing his own voice, and the chorus of noise makes it impossible to have further conversation. I gesture toward the door back inside.
As we reenter reception, we peek back through the window into the little dog area to check on Marisol’s terrier, Biscochito.
“Looks like he’s found a friend in Carmelita,” I say.
Marisol joins me at the window, watching her pup chase around with Henry’s fawn French bulldog. Her smile is wide. “Thank you so much for inviting me today. I’ve loved seeing your Pooches. My hands have been full with Paloma since my separation, but I’m going to sign up for a weekly package. Poor Bizkit hasn’t had enough exercise.”
“Did you ever find a kid daycare you like?” I ask, mostly for conversation. She doesn’t have her little girl with her today.
“We’re on waitlists for a couple.” She exhales. “She’s with her dad today.”
Her face is pinched, and I wish I had something to offer. I liked Marisol the first time we met, but after spending an afternoon together, I definitely feel like we could be friends. She knows hundreds of interesting little business hacks, and I appreciate her quick sense of humor. But I definitely don’t know her well enough to comment on something so personal just yet.
Before I can think how to respond, Henry blusters in, making a beeline for the desk.
“Francie, may I have the tape roller? Thank you.”
My green-haired employee ducks behind the desk, popping back up to hand it to him, twirling her curls in her other hand. Henry rolls the device over the lower parts of his dress pants in a practiced motion without noticing her heart eyes, then finally straightens, noticing us.
“Henry, this is Marisol Lopez,” I say, making introductions. “She owns the subscription box company I told you about.”
“Oh, yes.” His eyes sharpen on her. “Good to meet you. Henry Hill.”
“It’s a pleasure,” she says, shaking his hand. I tease Henry all the time for his three-piece suits, but Marisol’s wearing a smart-looking wrap blouse and linen slacks, and it strikes me how professional they look. I have no real reason to feel insecure, but just for a second, it’s like my mom is in the room. Eyeballing my Life Goal: Pet All The Dogs T- shirt and asking if I really wore it to work. I pull my gray hoodie off the back of the reception chair and zip it up, trying not to feel like a little kid watching the adults.
“Can’t stay,” Henry says, distracted by his phone. “Scarlet’s bellyaching about the new point of sale system. Again.”
I knit my brow. Normally, Scarlet channels all her complaints directly to me, at full volume. “Huh. Marisol and I were just there and she didn’t say anything.”
Henry shrugs, though he keeps smoothing his hair and inspecting his clothes. “I’ll uh... I’ll just run through it quickly with her again. Then I’ve got that meeting with the bank I was telling you about. Nice to meet you.” He nods at Marisol, and then he’s out the door.
“What I would give for a man to talk to the banks for me,” she says, rolling her eyes.
I raise my brows in surprise. “Really? It doesn’t seem like you need one.” As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I wince, wondering if it sounded like a personal comment.
She shrugs. “You’re in such a great position, Lydia. Your branding is on point, and The Pooch Park is very clearly meeting major demand. I see now why Henry couldn’t resist dipping his toes in. I would’ve done the same in his position.”
“Thanks. I don’t know, sometimes I feel like such an accidental success.”
“Sounds like a case of imposter syndrome,” she says gently.
I frown. “Where do you see your business going next?” It’s a polite question, but I’m genuinely curious. She follows me into Henry’s conference room and I grab us each a water bottle from the fridge.
“I’m conducting market research for some new subscription concepts. In addition to WoofCrate, I also have a crafting box, a home brewing box, and an ‘intimate pleasures’ box.” She glances at me and rolls her eyes. “That last one was my ex’s idea. I hate giving him credit for it, but it’s been a massive success.”
“Oh.” I wish my face didn’t redden at the mere mention of sex. I might be getting more comfortable in my bedroom, but definitely not outside of it. “Were the two of you in business together?”
She barks a laugh. “Thankfully not. I just get to profit off his deviant ideas. But to answer your question, what I’d love more than anything is to grow my company to the point I can actually step back and have more time with my daughter.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Really? It seems like you already balance everything so well.”
“Thanks.” An expression I can’t quite identify crosses her face. “I’m glad that’s what it looks like. Being a massive success will be part of my revenge plan post-divorce.”
I twist the hem of my T-shirt. I don’t want to pry. But I like Marisol a lot, and she doesn’t seem shy about her personal life. “You said it was a recent breakup?”
“Yep. Just a few months ago. Erik—that’s my ex—was outed in this article about married people cheating. It came out right after Paloma and I moved here to be with him.”
A hot prickle travels up the back of my neck. “Really?”
“When I first found out, I was devastated. Embarrassed. Disappointed in myself for not seeing it.” She sighs. “But now I’m just pissed.”
I meet her eyes, my stomach somewhere on the floor. There is so much I could say—want to say. I know exactly what she went through because it also happened to me. I went through all the devastation, felt all the same things.
But I stop before any of this reaches my mouth when I realize... I actually didn’t.
Unmatched brought her relationship to an end. But in the most backward way, it became a beginning for Anton and me.
Or at least, it felt that way until this week.
“That... that sounds like a lot to go through,” I whisper.
She exhales. “Trust me, I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. But when I’m feeling less sorry for myself, I know it’s the best thing that could’ve happened. I don’t think Erik’s that into being a dad. If I’m careful, I think I can win sole custody.”
She checks her phone again, this time straightening at whatever she sees. “Speak of the damn devil. Looks like he’s already done with her today.” She grits her teeth. “Guess I need to take off. Thanks, Lydia. Could we do this again, maybe get lunch or something sometime?”
“Of course. This was fun,” I say, and I mean it.
Francie brings Biscochito back out to reception, and Marisol makes for the door, leash in hand, but before she gets there, a thought occurs to me and I clear my throat.
“Hey, I’ve been bouncing around some ideas for expansion and could really use an objective opinion. Could I shoot you an email?”
Marisol grins. “Only if I can hit you up with subscription box concepts.”
I wave as she heads out the door. “It’s a deal.”
By the time I lock up Pooch Park II, everything outside is freshly soaked from an afternoon thunderstorm. We got super busy with deliveries after Marisol left, and it isn’t until I’m climbing in my SUV with Heartthrob that I realize I haven’t heard from Anton since lunch. I glance around the parking lot, half hoping to see his truck, thinking with a deep blush it wouldn’t be the first time I worked late and he came looking for me.
But there’s no sign of him.
I frown, checking my phone again, and that’s when I notice a missed text about a Vesper work dinner. It’s polite and matter-of-fact. Deferential. Gentlemanly. Exactly how he’s been treating me all week.
And for a few days, it was nice. I didn’t think at all about sex, or babies, or much of anything. I ate ice cream, wore my big, comfy underpants, and he just... gave me the space. But it’s started to feel like ages since I got a suggestive text, or received more than a chaste kiss on the cheek. And I have to admit I’m a little restless.
The irony of this feeling is not lost on me. There was a time, very recently, when Anton keeping his distance would’ve filled me with relief. It used to be second nature for me, working late, avoiding him physically. But things have shifted.
And... I don’t know. I get the sense he’s waiting for me.
Going off birth control must have messed with my cycle because it felt like I bled forever. My period finally ended three days ago, and I have had plenty of chances to make a move, but... I just don’t know how to start. I could ask Caprice for suggestions, though I can guess what she’d say. Which is how I find myself pulling into the parking lot of Playful Pleasures on my way home.
“I’ll be ten minutes, tops,” I say, cracking the windows for Heartthrob, grateful the rain cooled everything down. But as I force my feet toward the entrance of the sensual superstore for the second time in my life, checking over my shoulder for anyone who might recognize me, I can see why someone might subscribe to one of Marisol’s intimate boxes. Sex and kinks delivered directly to your home—no embarrassing store purchase necessary.
The beep of the front door startles me when I walk inside, but not as much as the sudden tightness in my chest. So many things in my life were still uncertain the last time I was here. I force myself to take a breath.
“Hi! Welcome to Playful Pleasures,” a woman calls from behind the counter. I recognize her Bettie Page hair and septum nose ring with a flood of relief and head straight to where she’s putting sale stickers on what looks like a large quantity of alien-like dildos.
“Hi.” I glance around the store, which is more crowded than the last time I was in here. “You um... I think you helped me before?”
She sets down her pricing gun. “I’m always happy to hear that. What can I do for you today?”
I glance at her name tag. Daphne , that’s right.
“I think you’d... well, my husband and I were still kind of... learning the basics last time I was in.” I swallow, too aware of my face turning red. “I guess now I’m looking for...” My voice trails off. What? What do I ask for? Something kinky? A flag that says period complete ?
Daphne tilts her head, studying me. “Maybe you’re ready to take things to the next level?”
“ Sure ,” I blurt. I don’t even know what she means, but I’m dying for someone else to take the lead.
She looks at me, tapping her deep mauve lip. “Is there anything specific you two are into? Or maybe a direction you’re leaning? Role play? S&M?”
If my face gets any hotter, it’s going to burst into flames. There’s only one specific thing I can think of. One Anton mentioned on Unmatched when he thought I was someone else, but I’m not sure I can bring myself to say it out loud. Someone comes up beside me to check out at the next register, and I pivot away from them, ducking as close as I can get to Daphne across the counter.
“Um... I am pretty sure he wants to try butt play,” I say, barely above a whisper.
“Fun!” Her brows shoot up initially, but then she gives me an assessing look. “Is that something you’re interested in?”
My shoulders slump. I close my eyes, wondering if she asks everyone that question or if I am just that easy to read. “Not... really?”
“Okay, fair.” She gives me a reassuring smile. “Don’t get me wrong, there’s tons of fun to be had there. But not if you aren’t into it.”
I let out a relieved breath and glance over at the next register, surprised to see a petite elderly lady paying for her purchases. She takes her black plastic bag and gives me a warm smile. “I never let my husband in the back way either, honey.”
I look at Daphne, who waves and chuckles as the woman leaves. “Nice to see you, Arlene.”
I am ready to bolt for the parking lot and call it a night, but Daphne comes around to my side of the counter, placing a gentle hand on my arm. “How about this? Just remind me what you bought last time you came in.”
“Okay,” I say, collecting myself. All I have to do is recite a list. “It was... a rabbit, some lube, and a blindfold.”
“Excellent newlywed starter kit.” She looks pleased with herself. I don’t tell her we’ve been married almost eight years. “And since then you’ve had a chance to use all of those things?”
I hesitate. “Well, no. We haven’t tried the blindfold.”
She taps a finger to her lips, stares at the ceiling a moment, then looks back at me with a smile. “I have some ideas. Give me a moment.”
After several minutes flitting around the store, she returns to the counter and presents me with a selection of different products.
“Okay, you can take or leave any of these based on your comfort level, of course. But you can definitely have some fun here without getting too intense.” She picks up a set of long black satin ribbons first. “These can be used to play around tying each other up. They’re a little gentler than like, rope or handcuffs. And you can try them with that blindfold you have.”
I stop breathing when she hands the package to me, brain flooding with images of stern-looking men wearing leather and holding whips, standing over cowering, tied-up women.
“Bondage isn’t necessarily about pain,” Daphne says quickly, reading the look on my face. “It’s just the ‘B’ in ‘BDSM.’ You don’t have to do the whole master and slave thing. But even a little restraint, like your partner immobilizing your hands while they touch you, can heighten pleasurable sensations.”
I give her a skeptical glance, but when I turn the package over, there’s a picture of a woman with her hands wrapped in ribbons above her head while a man leans in worshipfully with his lips on her stomach. Their surroundings look perfectly tame, not unlike my own bedroom. And she doesn’t look scared at all, she looks... like she’s luxuriating in it. I keep the package in my hand and look at Daphne. “What else have you got?”
Her mouth quirks. “If you choose to go with the ribbons, they might pair nicely with these,” she says, dropping a pair of red multi-sided dice into my palm. The sides say things like, blow, nipple, lick, and thighs . “Some people call them foreplay dice. They present lots of creative options, but obviously you and your partner can opt out of anything you’re uncomfortable with.”
I look between the ribbons in one hand and the dice in the other, connecting the two almost embarrassingly fast in my mind.
“What else?” I say, shifting my weight to unclench my thighs.
“Nipple suckers,” she says with a playful twinkle, handing me a package containing two small, pink, rubbery lightbulb-shaped objects. “They’re not for everyone, but they can be a fun way to spice things up.”
I examine the package. “Do they um . . .”
“You squeeze them, and they suction onto your nipple,” she explains, matter-of-fact. “It feels like a little pinch, but definitely tamer than some of the more hardcore clamps.”
I glance at one of the nearby mannequins with metal accessories dangling from its chest, feeling the heat drain from my face. I slide the pink things back to her across the counter.
“Let’s save those for next time,” I say.
Daphne nods, understanding. “I do love a repeat customer.”
As she rings up my purchases, the cat tattoo on her shoulder seems to swish its tail in my direction, and I stare at my brand-new bondage ribbons and sex dice, wondering if it might be a little overkill. I mean, I could just say: Anton, let’s go to bed.
That just seems . . . hard.
“Thanks so much for your help. Again,” I say, as Daphne hands over one of the store’s black plastic bags.
“I like to keep my customers happy.” She grins.
“I’ll um . . . let you know what happens.”
I turn for the door, but she stops me. “If you and your hub try these and still think you want more, come back and see me.” She winks. “Actually, next time, you might try coming in together.”