37. Zara
ZARA
I open the front door to Garrett’s house. Peony’s delighted giggles greet me, the sound coming from the living room. I slip off my shoes and walk toward the back of the house, carrying my yoga mat with me.
Garrett is sitting on the couch with Peony on his lap, a board book open in his hand. “‘Where is my shoe?’ Lucy Mouse squeaks.” Garrett says the dialogue in an adorable, high-pitched voice that has Peony giggling again.
Damn. The two of them together are too cute for words.
I lean the yoga mat against the couch and sit next to Garrett, close enough that our shoulders almost touch. Garrett tosses me a quick smile without missing a beat and continues reading the story.
This is the life I once dreamed of. A life with Garrett as my husband, reading to our children. But then I discovered he and Kenda were secretly hooking up and had inadvertently fallen in love, and the dream ruptured, its spiraling death long and painful.
And now here I am, the dream almost reality.
Except Kenda is Peony’s mother, and Garrett will never love me the way he loved her.
But Kenda is dead, and you’re the one he’s kissing .
Yes, for the dopamine rush and stress release.
With everything going on—the spondyloarthritis diagnosis, the expansion, the delays because of the burst water pipe, planning the grand reopening, talking to local women-owned small businesses about possible partnerships—anything that reduces my stress level is greatly appreciated.
Especially when stress is the trigger that causes my SpA symptoms to worsen.
And worsening symptoms will screw up my ability to function.
Further adding to my stress…
It’s a never-ending cycle. One I’m trying not to get caught up in—a tornado that never dies. Always spinning, spinning, spinning.
Athena walks into the living room. Her gaze falls on me and a small frown wrinkles her forehead. I can’t tell if she’s jealous I’m sitting next to Garrett, or if she’s frustrated with me for some other reason.
“Hi, Athena,” I say a little too brightly.
She nods like she’s been doing since we first met.
Resigned. No doubt wishful I would just flutter away like a bug caught in a stiff breeze, even though I’ve given her no reason to feel that way.
A small smile tilts on her mouth, but I can’t tell if it’s genuine or if it took effort to plaster it onto her face.
Garrett is busy reading the book to Peony and doesn’t notice Athena’s reaction to me.
There’s nothing I can do about the situation.
She’s Peony’s nanny, and Garrett needs her if he plans to finish his book on time.
It’s not like she’s done anything wrong.
So, hell if I’m rocking the boat. Not at the risk of capsizing it.
She adores Peony and Peony adores her back, and that’s the most important thing.
I dunno. Does she have a thing for Garrett? Does she see me as competition?
I almost snort a laugh at that. The last thing I am is competition. Sure, Garrett and I are kissing, but we’re not a couple. We’re just friends—and that’s all he sees me as. His friend.
Garrett finishes the story and closes the book. “Bedtime, little flower. Say good night to Zara.”
Peony waves at me. “Night-night, Za-wa! ”
“Good night, sweetheart.” I wave at her, and while Garrett and Athena put her to bed, I check my social medias.
Garrett, Peony, and I usually go for a walk in the evenings, but I went for a walk on my own earlier, since they were at his parents’ place for dinner.
He returns to the living room alone. “It’s nice out. I thought we could go in the backyard.”
Guilt and shame thicken in my throat, making it difficult to swallow. I’m not the only one stretched well beyond their limit. Yet here he is, taking time from his busy writing schedule to help me because my body is at war with itself. “You sure you have time for this?”
“I’m sure. Besides, it benefits me too, after spending the day with my ass in the chair. It wouldn’t hurt to learn a few yoga poses.”
Garrett grabs a bath towel to use as a yoga mat, and we head outside.
We walk down the stone path to the section of the garden that’s out of view of the house.
The grassy spot is peaceful, with a wooden bench to one side, currently in shadow from the nearby trees.
Flower beds skirt the rest of the area, other than where the tall hedge separates this part of the garden from the one closest to the house.
Quiet and secluded, it’s the perfect spot for practicing yoga.
I slowly inhale a lungful of crisp mountain air, clearing out some of the cobwebs that have made themselves at home in my body with the spondyloarthritis.
I’m releasing the air when Garrett turns to me. His mouth is on mine before I can register what’s going on.
My lips part, welcoming him in. I’m vaguely aware of dropping my yoga mat onto the grass, of my arms looping around his neck, of my body pressing into his, hungry for his heat, his touch.
Hungry for his everything.
Our kiss deepens, and our tongues wrestle and stroke, taste and devour. Every part of me tingles with need. Want. Desire. I moan softly into his mouth, never wanting the kiss to end. Desperate to stay in this bubble forever.
This kiss and the other ones from him are exactly like I had dreamed about all those years ago, when the yearning for my best friend became as real as the sunset, as real as the mountains gazing down at us.
The kiss starts out frantic, an unquenchable thirst. But after a few moments, it settles into slow sips of an intoxicating beverage that can be felt all the way to my toes.
We eventually come up for air, our breathing ragged, foreheads kissing.
“I needed that.” Garrett’s growled words breeze over my lips. He straightens, our body’s shifting but still touching.
I loosen my hold but don’t let go of him. “Bad dinner at your parents?”
“Peony started crying when I tried to introduce her to Troy. And things didn’t improve when she saw Dad, Lucas, and Kellan.”
My heart breaks for Garrett. He was so hoping Peony would accept the men in his family now that she has accepted him as her father.
“Things did eventually get better after I distracted her, but she wanted nothing to do with them.” His lips press in a defeated line. “If not for the dogs, my mom, Simone, and Jess, we would have left. She wasn’t scared of them. She was only scared of my father and my brothers.”
Like she was at first—after arriving in Maple Ridge—afraid of Garrett.
The question is why? Why is she so scared of them when they have done nothing to warrant that level of fear?
“I’m so sorry, Garrett. I know you were hoping things would go differently.
I thought maybe they would too.” I lower my arms from around his neck.
“I wonder why she’s having a hard time trusting your father and brothers.
Did the shooting really mess her up that much?
Or has she always had trouble trusting men?
” From the sounds of it, she hasn’t had any interactions with men since arriving in Maple Ridge, other than Garrett’s family.
“I know. It’s not like her mother was leery—unless someone did something to give her a reason to be that way.”
“You’re right. Kenda was a social butterfly, always happy to interact with everyone, no matter the gender they associated with.
” It was why she was such a great journalist. She had a way of getting people to open up to her.
“So what would cause Peony to not trust men when Kenda wasn’t like that?
Do you think it’s the shooting? Have you asked Athena? ”
“I haven’t.” He scoffs out a humorless half laugh. “I’m not sure she would even give me a straight answer if I did. She’s super private. About everything. But it makes sense that Peony doesn’t trust men because of the shooting.”
“Maybe Peony’s therapist will figure it out. Eventually.”
“I hope so.” Garrett bends to retrieve the towel he dropped on the grass. “Ready to show me some yoga poses?”
I unroll my mat next to Garrett’s towel on the grass, and I show him a few of the moves I learned from a video I found online. The chirping of birds, the scampering of a squirrel in a tree, and the occasional rustle of leaves are the only sounds entering our peaceful cocoon.
“So, I found a video on the Spondyloarthritis website yesterday,” Garrett says as we’re coming out of the final pose.
The way he stresses “So” snags my attention, like a big fat highlighter squiggle on a page.
“The presenter on the video mentioned that orgasms increase the pain threshold by a hundred percent.”
I splutter out a laugh and sit on my mat. This should be interesting. “They did?”
Garrett drops his ass next to me on my yoga mat. “She did. Whatever that means.”
I hold out my hand so it’s level, my science background geeking into high gear.
“Okay, say this is the pain threshold.” I wiggle my hand.
“If the pain stimulus from the injury or disease is below this threshold, the person doesn’t experience pain.
But once the amount of stimulus is enough to reach this threshold”—I wiggle my hand again—“then you feel pain. The more neurons activated, the greater the pain.” That’s the simple explanation.
The only explanation he needs to know for the sake of this discussion.
“So if the video is right and orgasms increase the pain threshold”—I move my hand up—“the amount of pain I’ll feel will be less…or nonexistent.” Sounds good to me.
“That’s not a bad deal. Plus, who doesn’t love a good orgasm?” Garrett’s rough, rumbled chuckle hits my girl parts in all the right ways. Or maybe that was due to how the word orgasm rolled from his mouth, like melted chocolate.
I grin. “Right? But unlike painkillers, orgasms are side-effect free. You can’t go wrong with them.” Side-effect free, other than they can be highly addictive. But I don’t bother mentioning that.
“True. The only downside is the benefit supposedly only lasts twenty-four hours.”
I snicker like a fourteen-year-old boy in sex-ed class. “Well, that’s disappointing.”
Another low, sexy laugh rumbles through Garrett, and heat flickers in my belly.
“Isn’t it? But that’s no different than with painkillers.” He lifts his shoulders in a slight shrug. “I’m guessing from your initial reaction, orgasms don’t give you any sort of pain relief? So maybe the info in the video was theoretical.”
I lie back down onto my side, my elbow propping up my head. “Maybe it is theoretical and maybe there’s truth to it. I wouldn’t know. I haven’t been given an orgasm in…” One. Two. Three years? That can’t be right. “…in a very long time.”
Garrett’s eyebrows shoot up, the surprise on his face downplayed by the one-sided twitch of his lips. “Are you telling me that what’s-his-name never gave you an orgasm?”
“You mean Joseph?” I almost snort the last part out.
“Yeah, him.”
“He…um…well…we never had sex. He wasn’t in a rush to take our relationship to the next level.” Probably because he was in love with his ex-wife.
Garrett mutters something that could have been, “Christ, he really was an idiot.” He shakes his head as if unable to comprehend my ex’s reaction to sex. “So you haven’t had orgasm-inducing sex in a while.”
“More like no sex in a while. Period.”
“What about orgasms from your own hand. Or have you never touched yourself?”
I snicker again. I can’t believe we’re having this conversation.
“I have. Both my hand and vibrator have given me orgasms, but the orgasms weren’t strong enough to impact the pain.
Or maybe what you saw in the video is fake news.
” A challenge, unexpected and seductive, sits in my tone.
At the thought of Garrett touching me, of him giving me an orgasm so earth-shattering the impact is felt throughout my body… I swallow.
My pussy tightens in a wave of need, and wetness rushes to between my legs. Lord, if this is how my body responds to the mere thought of Garrett touching me, what would it be like if he actually did?
The air in my lungs whooshes out on a shaky breath.
My gaze searches his, probing the depths of his warm brown eyes, the silent questions humming in my brain.
His breath softly hitches. “Zara.” The low, rough rumble of his voice hits me in all the right places, cranks up my need for sweet relief. A different relief than what my painkillers bring me. “Do you want me to give you an orgasm? So we can see if the video has any truth behind it?”
“Like a scientific experiment?”
The kissing we’ve been doing is one thing; what he’s suggesting is in another stratosphere. I love our friendship, the way we’re always there for each other. The way he knows how to make my day brighter when it feels like I’m stuck in a never-ending storm.
He is my heart.
My soul…even if he doesn’t realize it.
But what he’s proposing isn’t the typical friends-with-benefits arrangement. He’s talking about a side-effect-free, adjunct painkiller. How can I argue against that?
“Exactly like a scientific experiment,” Garrett says, looking genuinely earnest.
“Okay.” The word is drawn out as all kinds of questions and scenarios spin in my head, snagging on the possibilities. Stumbling on how it could all go wrong, on what it could do to our friendship. “Just so we’re on the same wavelength, what are you proposing?”