Chapter Seven #3
“No sense blurring those lines,” he said cheerfully, and punctuated the words with a decisive nod. “We’re agreed, then. No more sex.”
“No more sex,” she echoed faintly, then raised a finger. “Except the gang bang.”
“Except the gang bang.” He angled his head. “Unless you want me to bow out.”
“No!”
“I can still set it up,” he continued, and thought he should probably feel a little guilty about how much he was enjoying the panic in her voice. But he was only human. “Just not participate. You know, to keep those lines clear.”
She shook her head, and there was real distress on her face. “I need you there.”
A spreading warmth that he recognized as hope bloomed in his chest. “Then I’ll be there.”
She stared at him for a moment, then nodded. “Thank you.”
“It’s my pleasure,” he said quietly.
The tension in her body eased, and her lips curled into a smirk. “Yes, it will be.”
There she is, he thought, and chuckled. “Speaking of the gang bang, I have a question.”
“Shoot,” she said, picking up her coffee.
“You mentioned hiring a sex worker.”
“That was my backup plan, if you didn’t want to do it.”
“Did you have anyone specific in mind?”
She set her coffee down to eye him with curious interest. “Yeah, actually. Chloe has a friend.”
He was glad he’d already finished his coffee, or he’d be choking on it again. “Chloe is friends with a sex worker?”
She snorted. “He’s not a Nazi, Nash.”
“I didn’t mean it like that. I was just surprised, that’s all. Chloe’s pretty straight-laced.”
“Chloe’s in a polyamorous relationship with two bisexual men,” Bailey reminded him. “People change.”
He raked a hand through his hair. “I guess so.”
“And anyway, Sawyer’s more their friend than hers.”
“The boyfriends’?” he clarified.
She nodded. “Although she did almost hire him for a threesome.”
He just stared for five full seconds. “I don’t know what to do with that information.”
She laughed, beautiful and vibrant and so goddamn alive it almost hurt to look at her. He ordered himself to focus. “Have you met him?”
“Sawyer?” She shook her head. “I’ve seen his picture, but we haven’t met.”
“Any objections to me getting his contact from Chloe?”
She blinked. “You want to hire Sawyer for my gang bang?”
“You seem surprised.”
“I am, a little. I thought you’d tag a couple of your bike riding pals for this.”
“They’re bike riding pals, not fuck-my-ex-girlfriend pals,” he said drily.
She laughed again, pleasing him.
“I did consider them,” he admitted. “But if they break the rules I’d have to kick their asses, and then I’ll have to find new friends, and who has time for that? Less complicated to go with a professional.”
“But expensive,” she warned, still chuckling. “We were going to crowd fund his fee for Chloe.”
Now he grinned. “Seriously?”
“She didn’t have a couple of grand lying around to spend on dick, so yeah.”
That was steeper than he’d expected, but not by much. “Was that for just him, or him plus whoever was going to be the third in the threesome?”
“That was the ballpark estimate for two.” She angled her head. “Just so you know, I don’t have a couple of grand lying around to spend on dick, either.”
“My treat,” he said and risked a wink. “I owe you, remember?”
Her lips curved in amusement. “How do you plan to claim that expense on your taxes?”
He thought about that for a second. “Entertainment?”
She rose from the table on a laugh. “If you can get it past your accountant, more power to you. Do you need anything while I’m out?”
He watched her carry her coffee cup to the sink, resigned to suffering. “No, I’m good.”
“Then I’ll see you later.”
“Later,” he echoed, keeping the easy smile on his face until the door had closed behind her. Then he let out a slow, careful breath, and looked down at his lap. “Looks like we’re on our own, buddy.”
Bailey closed the front door behind her on a curse. She’d just shot herself in the foot. Or the pussy, as it were.
She’d slept like shit, tossing and turning until finally, with the early morning sunlight peeking through the curtains and her mood somewhere between sleep-deprived-grumpy and stepped-on-Legos-barefoot-mad, she’d made a decision.
If sleeping with Nash was going to disrupt her life to this extent, it wasn’t worth it.
So she’d tell him that sex was off the table—with a gang bang exception—and if he didn’t like it, well, that was just too damn bad.
She walked down the front steps to her car, bouncing her keys in her hand as her thoughts swirled.
She hadn’t been worried that he’d get pissy about it—that just wasn’t Nash’s style—but she had expected him to be disappointed.
It was sex, after all—really good sex—and she knew damn well he wanted more of it.
That he’d accepted being cut off with such easy cheer had thrown her off her stride, and when he’d offered to bow out of the gang bang she’d reacted without thinking.
She unlocked the car, wincing at the memory. So much for her play-it-cool-and-breezy plan. But she needed Nash for this, not just for the planning and execution, but as an anchor. Whoever he found to participate would be strangers, unknown to her, and she would be vulnerable.
Which was what she wanted, of course. Embracing the lack of control, the lack of power was the whole point of the fantasy—but she couldn’t do it without an anchor. Someone to keep her not just physically safe but emotionally grounded and centered in the experience.
There were only three people in the world she could imagine trusting to that degree. But since neither Chloe nor Gwen was an option, that left Nash as her only choice.
It was almost poetic, she thought as she climbed into the car, that the man who’d broken her heart was the only one she trusted to keep her safe.
The muggy heat that had built up in the vehicle slapped her in the face, disrupting her thoughts.
Grateful for the distraction, she started the engine and cranked the air conditioning up to full blast. Then she turned up the radio to drown out any more uncomfortable thoughts and got on with her day.
* * * *
Nash took advantage of his flexible schedule to take a long lunch, and walked into The Wild Orchid just before one. He’d wanted to time his visit while there were still plenty of customers around, figuring Chloe would be less likely to stab him with a cocktail umbrella if there were witnesses.
He slipped his sunglasses off, letting his eyes adjust to the dim interior, and looked around. Most of the tables were full, but there were a handful of empty barstools. Tucking his shades in the neck of his T-shirt, he made his way over.
Chloe was busy with a customer at the other end of the bar and hadn’t noticed him yet, so he settled onto the stool and eyed the specials menu scrawled on the chalkboard. He was considering the pasta when he caught movement in the corner of his eye and turned to see Chloe bearing down on him.
Her hair was shorter than it had been in college, and he thought idly that the sleek blonde cap suited her pretty, pixie-like features and big blue eyes. Combined with her slim, delicate build, she looked like a woodland fairy—one that was currently contemplating murder.
No, that wasn’t quite right, he mused as he watched her approach. There was more disgust than anger in her expression, like he was something slimy she’d stepped in and had to scrape off her shoe.
Since it was exactly the reception he’d expected, he waited until she was standing in front of him to smile. “Hello, Chloe.”
“Nash,” she replied, the word short and clipped.
“How are you?”
“Fine.”
He waited a beat. “I’m also fine, in case you were wondering.”
“I wasn’t.”
He smothered a laugh and decided since friendly wasn’t working, he’d try the direct approach. “Still mad at me, huh?”
She bared her teeth in what he assumed was supposed to be a smile. He’d seen friendlier crocodiles. “How could you tell?”
“Lucky guess.” He glanced down at the pen she held, much in the way like the killer had held the knife in Psycho. “Are you going to stab me with that?”
“I haven’t decided yet.”
He nodded, appreciating the honesty. “Can I order some lunch while you decide?”
“Oh, sure,” she said with a wide smile and a gleam in her eye that told him whatever he ordered would come with the addition of spit. “What can I get you?”
“On second thought, I’ll just have a beer. In a bottle. Leave the top on.”
“Babe? Everything okay?”
Chloe glanced up, and everything about her went soft. He wanted to turn, to see who had put that dreamy look on her face, but he wasn’t at all sure her pen wouldn’t end up in his ear. “Yeah. I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine.”
“I will be,” she said, looking at Nash again, murderous glare firmly back in place. “When this customer—” she spat the word out—“leaves.”
“Yeah?” There was a rustle as the newcomer sat on the stool next to Nash. “What’d he do?”
Nash risked a glance to his right. The man was looking at him with suspicion, brown eyes narrowed and scruffy jaw clenched. He had the tough build of a laborer, was almost comically handsome, and when he looked at Chloe it was clear he’d fight a grizzly bear if she asked him to.
One of the boyfriends, he decided, and began to calculate his chances of leaving this bar with all his teeth.
“He dumped my best friend.”
The boyfriend blinked and, to Nash’s surprise, let out a rumbling laugh. “Really?”
“Yes, so don’t be nice to him,” Chloe ordered.
“Okay.” Boyfriend turned his smile on Chloe. “You gonna kiss me hello or what?”
“I’ll give you or what,” she muttered, but she was smiling when she leaned over the bar and pressed her lips to his.
“That’s all I get?” he complained when she eased back.
“You were nice to him,” Chloe said tartly and turned on her heel to sail into the kitchen.
“Sorry.” Nash kept one eye on the swinging door. He wasn’t altogether sure she wouldn’t come back with a knife.
“You should be,” Boyfriend said mournfully. “I’ve been looking forward to that kiss all morning.” He eyed Nash curiously. “Who’d you dump, Bailey or Gwen?”