Chapter 23 Fitz
FITZ
They’re hosting it in one of my hotels—the dating event.
I pace around Winnie’s empty living room. I snuck back in when her entire family left earlier in the day to retrieve the stuff I left. The panties are shoved under the couch with the sex toy.
I run the fabric of the panties along my mouth, under my nose, tasting it with my tongue.
It calms me down slightly.
After she willingly spread that soaking-wet pussy for me—just for me—now she’s going to go find some other guy.
She’s a slut. My little slut. No one else’s.
Winnie has a hidden side.
She’ll spread her legs for any stranger.
Literally.
I think about her greedy pussy taking that toy, how slick it was with her juices after she came all over it.
If she didn’t have half the town living in her house, I would have come in and fucked her rabid into the carpet. Used her over and over again until she gave in, begged me to stop.
I just gave her a taste.
Got her pussy ready for cock.
And now what? She’s going to my hotel to pick up some basement-dwelling reject just because she needs something in her pussy?
No.
Fuck no.
“Do you have a parent?” the check-in lady asks me.
“Well, it’s a little complicated…”
“I’ll say,” Whitman huffs.
“You can have a guardian, right?” I point to Crawford.
“This is what you needed security for?” Crawford demands.
“He was a teen father. We’re emotionally enmeshed. Think Gilmore Girls.”
“You’re paying him to be here?” Whitman asks as we enter the small ballroom set up with tables and chairs for the speed dating.
“Crawford is giving me a sibling discount,” I tell Whitman.
“No. Crawford will be paid full price.”
“Take your ticket.” I hand him the scrap of paper.
The parents call out directions to their dissociating children.
“Smile!”
“Sit up straight!”
“Honey, don’t forget to show her that video of you playing the piano!”
“We just really sheltered her too much,” one woman tells me as her daughter sits across from me, typing out an email on her phone.
“This is what my mom wanted for her birthday,” the young woman informs me, rolling her eyes. “Damn.” She looks over to where Crawford is talking to a giggling woman in a blue dress. “Guess they do have hot guys here.” She tucks the phone away and checks her makeup.
“Hey, what about me?” I demand.
“You have ‘I’m taken’ written all over your face,” the girl snorts. “You might as well have a wedding ring on. When is this going to switch?” She cranes around me. “I need to bribe someone here to take my spot so I can get that thick blond brownie in front of me.”
Her mom is aghast. “Is he even employed?” she demands.
“Barely.” I snort.
A bell rings, and all the men get up and switch places. I have been shoved in front of Carolina.
“Long time no—”
Carolina grabs the front of my suit jacket. “You need to up your game if you really want Winnie,” she whispers to me. “Because she’s probably—maybe—falling for a man who’s really bad for her.”
I can’t help the scowl.
“Also”—Carolina leans back—“this town is worse than Minneapolis. You just see the same people over and over again.” She glares out over the crowd.
“Get it together, Svensson,” she warns. “I just heard that the guy Winnie crushed on hard for years is back in town. You have a lot of competition for my friend.”
Ding!
We switch seats.
I’m next to Crawford… who is sitting across from Winnie.
“…have some land out there. It’s just gorgeous,” Crawford drawls, putting way more Wyoming in his accent than is authentic.
“No, he doesn’t have land. I have land, and he camps on my land,” I interject, annoyed at my family.
“I perform free maintenance. City boy.” He shakes his head and gives Winnie a slow smile.
She giggles up at him.
Enjoy your last day on earth, motherfucker.
“You ever been horseback riding, Winnie?” Crawford asks smoothly.
“No, but do you like riding motorcycles?”
“Yeah, but I have a special interest in watching women ride motorcycles. Really does it for me.”
“Ooh, he’s sexy and a feminist.” Her grandmother cackles from the peanut gallery of parents and other extended family.
“Really? Where do you like to ride?” Winnie presses.
“Anywhere…”
“Yes, but where in Seattle specifically? Also, what were you doing in the military? Recon?”
It suddenly dawns on me that she thinks Crawford is the stalker. She’s in love with the stalker, and she hopes it’s Crawford.
When is that fucking bell going to ring?
Ding!
Fucking finally.
“Crawford, move.”
“You.” Winnie gasps.
“Why is this a family event, Creampuff?” I slide into the seat across from her.
“I don’t know,” she hisses back. “Why is this a family event? You brought your hot brother.”
“Hot? He’s not hot. He’s barely employed.”
“Women like a fixer-upper. It makes us feel useful.”
“I have unresolved childhood trauma. How’s that for a never-ending relationship project?” I cross my arms.
“Kathy didn’t come. She’s at the café.” Winnie sighs. “Probably tearing up my espresso machine.”
“As someone who employs younger family members, you have my sympathies.”
“How many siblings do you have?”
“Too many. They steal my stuff and eat my food. One of them, unbeknownst to me, moved in and was living there for days before I realized it.”
“Well, there’s no way I’m not noticing my family lives with me.” She wrinkles her nose.
“Your parents are nice,” I tell her, and it’s the truth. “My dad is in jail, and my mom fucked off when I was a kid, so I was raised by resentful older brothers.”
Her face drops in sympathy.
“Hey.” I change the subject. “You didn’t bring food, did you? Some more of that mushroom pasta? Those brownies you made yesterday? Honestly, you need to sell those in the shop.”
“They aren’t that popular.”
“Guess you’ll have to move in with me and bake them on demand.”
“You’re already entitled. You don’t need someone living in your house, feeding you butter and sugar in inventive combinations all day long. Maybe you should bring me food,” she teases. “Or did you already?” She’s reaching for my bag.
Shit.
The dildo is in there.
She’ll find it.
Then she’ll know.
She yelps when I grab her wrist in a vise grip before she can touch the bag.
“Don’t,” I snarl softly, “touch my stuff.”
I release her wrist.
She rubs it. “Okay, jeez. You definitely were either an only child or you had way too many siblings.”
“Or could be option number three—I’m a sexual deviant.” I kiss her hand.“Let’s ditch this place. Come out to dinner with me.”
“I—”
I haven’t let go of her hand.
I’m not sure if I want her sweating and pleading beneath me or if I want her curled up next to me while we eat takeout and read books while our favorite shows play on a TV neither of us is watching.
Maybe both.
Her phone beeps, breaking the spell.
“Great. Olive has apparently shit the bed.”
“I’ll drive you,” I offer.
“Um.” Her face goes flat. “I think there are other people here who don’t want to miss their chance at snagging a billionaire. Don’t want to deprive some girl of her one true love.”