26. The Taste Test
The Taste Test
C harlotte is gathering her things, her hands moving too quickly, and I hate how familiar this feels. Borrowed time. Always borrowed time.
Sadie just fell asleep, so I should have two to three hours before one of her nightmares wakes her up. The house is quiet. For once, there’s no chaos demanding my attention. Just her, and I’m not ready to let that go.
“Are you sure you have to leave right now?” I ask, knowing I sound pathetic but too far gone to care. “You wouldn’t believe how much I fucking missed you.”
“Well, I’ve taken the measurements and cut the dress. There isn’t much more I can do without my machine, and Sadie needs her dress in the morning.”
And she’s already doing this as a favor—I really can’t ask her to stay longer.
“Maybe another half hour?” I try, shamelessly. I don’t want her to go. Not yet. Not when the house is quiet and I finally have her all to myself.
“Half an hour, huh? Do you have any plans for it?”
My hands settle on her hips. I’d be happy to spend the next thirty minutes just kissing her. It feels like I could do that forever. Just kiss her, feed her, let her sleep. Take care of her the way she needs.
But I don’t want her thinking I’m trying to get her out of her clothes, so I offer the safe option.
“Wanna eat something?”
“Eat? That’s what you want to do?” She steps back, chuckling as she gives me a look. “You really are on a mission to fatten me up, huh?”
“I gotta make sure you’re taken care of when you go back to...” The words catch, twisting in my mouth. I hate the idea of her leaving. Of going back to that harpy, to a life that’s not large enough for her.
Her smile dims, like she feels it too, but then, in true Charlotte fashion, she flicks the mood away with a smirk, fingers tugging playfully at the tape measure draped around her neck like it’s some kind of warning.
“I think I’d like to…” she drawls, “take your measurements.”
“Take my what?”
“I’m creating a portfolio.” She waves a hand around. “You know, just in case.”
In case? In case she decides to pursue her design career instead of modeling and camming? “That’s...that’s amazing, Charlotte.” I straighten my arms at my sides. “Go ahead. Take measurements—whatever you want.”
Her eyes glint playfully. “Stand still, Chef.”
Her fingers brush the back of my neck as she loops the tape around it, her breath fanning against my jaw as she leans in. I swallow hard, my entire body locking tight.
Get your head out of the gutter for five minutes, Aaron.
“Relax,” she murmurs, the word rolling off her tongue.
I try to keep my body in check as she moves lower, measuring my shoulders, her knuckles grazing the fabric of my shirt. Then she hums, her lips quirking up at the corner as her eyes flick up to mine.
“Shirt off, please.”
Fuck.
I hesitate. This is about to be either very flattering for her or extremely embarrassing for me, because the moment her fingers graze my skin, I won’t be able to pretend that her touch doesn’t burn, that I don’t crave her the way a flower needs sunshine.
Still, I yank the shirt over my head and let it drop.
Her gaze skims over my chest, and when her tongue darts out to wet her lips, my dick twitches in response.
She loops the tape around my torso. The cool fabric barely registers, but her fingers dragging along my stomach steal all of my attention.
“Chest,” she says to herself. She pulls the tape a little tighter, her knuckles pressing against my abs, and I have to keep myself from making any sound.
“You good?” she asks.
No. No, I am absolutely not fucking good.
“Yeah,” I rasp.
Her fingers linger a second too long, then she moves lower. Waist. Hips. I don’t know much about taking measurements, but this feels like a hell of a lot of touching.
She kneels in front of me, the tape slipping around my waist. I guess this part is necessary, but my brain doesn’t care, because she’s on her knees looking up at me, eyes dark and mischievous. Because her breath is warm against my stomach.
“Almost done?” I ask.
She hums. “Do you not like me down here?”
Oh, fuck. She’s playing me.
Measurements, my ass .
“No, you look great down there. Perfect. Like you belong on your knees for me.”
She smirks—fuck, that smirk—as her fingers hook into the waistband of my jeans, and then the sound of my zipper being pulled down mixes with my heartbeat.
“Seven point one inches,” I offer, tucking some hair behind her ear.
“Hmm?”
“I took those measurements in the eighth grade.”
She presses a kiss to my stomach, then, holding the measuring tape to her cheek, she muses, “On a good day, I can take about...four in here.”
It’s like a dirty math problem. If I’d known this was one of its applications, I might’ve tried a lot harder in high school algebra.
My briefs are slowly pulled down, and, oh fuck. She’s going to touch me. Not just touch me—she’s going to suck me off. The thought makes my head spin like a carnival ride.
“I think I’ll have to handle the rest with my fist.”
Shit, I might come from the promise alone.
“You’re shaking,” she rasps. Her fingers finally brush against my cock and my hips jerk forward, desperate for more. “Nervous, Chef?”
“Bewitched,” I huff out.
She grins, then her hand wraps around my shaft, and I fucking choke on a breath as her fingers squeeze just right.
The second her mouth envelops me, the sound of keys rattling against the doorknob sends a jolt of panic straight to my chest.
Shit. Who the fuck is entering my house?
Charlotte freezes, her eyes widening as everything shifts from buzzing anticipation to a full-blown scramble. Her hand jerks back as I pull my briefs up, but it’s too late, because the door swings open and Logan steps inside, a look of mild confusion on his face.
“Oh, you’re...awake,” Logan says, looking at me. I see the moment he registers the bruise on my eye, then his gaze flicks to Charlotte, on her knees.
“Y-yeah. Hey,” I say. “What’s up?”
He hesitates. “Prim lost her keys last night and she’s got to leave early in the morning, so I came to grab the spare we left here.”
I gulp down air, zipping up my jeans as Charlotte stands, head tilted down to hide her chuckle.
“Oh, yeah.” I can feel my heart pounding in my throat as I cross then uncross my arms. “They’re in there. Top drawer to the right,” I say, pointing at the walk-in closet.
His eyes narrow ever so slightly, but he doesn’t comment before he walks to the closet and disappears inside.
I meet Charlotte’s amused gaze and mouth Fuck , but she just giggles into her hand, completely unfazed. But she knows this is a problem. My brother finding us like this? He’s going to have questions I won’t be able to answer. Not honestly, at least.
“Got it,” he says, coming out of the closet with the keys. “Sorry about this.”
Sweat drips down my back. “No, no problem.”
Logan crosses his arms, eyes finally settling on Charlotte. “So...you’re young .”
“Thanks?” Charlotte’s lips twitch. “I’m twenty-three.”
Logan hums. “Inappropriately young, but technically okay.” He turns his glare back to me. “So why are you keeping her a secret?”
“I...” I look anywhere but at him. “I didn’t really want this to be public.”
“That must be nice to hear,” Logan says dryly.
Charlotte shrugs. “I’m not here for the boyfriend experience.”
Logan nods, his suspicion not budging an inch. He sticks out his hand. “Well, I’m Logan. Nice to meet you...”
“Cherry,” I interject.
The second the word leaves my mouth, I feel Charlotte’s glare on me and know I will pay for this. And she’s got every fucking reason to be mad too—I have no right to use her alias to hide my sins.
Charlotte takes it, shaking firmly. “Nice to meet you too.”
“Cherry.” Logan takes in her outfit—her miniskirt, a low-cut top that can barely be called that held up by thin straps, and the high, strappy heels. Then, with all the casual brutality of an interrogator, he says, “You must be the reason my brother smiles at his phone then?”
Charlotte shrugs, though I see the pride in her eyes.
“And the reason his phone moans back at him, I assume.” When neither of us says a word, Logan’s eyes narrow. “So what’s with you, huh? Are you married? Sugar baby? Mob wife? Cult leader?”
“Seriously?” I say flatly. “You left out murderer on the run and prostitute.”
“Right.” Logan grins at Charlotte. “So which one is it?”
Charlotte doesn’t even flinch, eyes pinned on him. “I can be whatever you want,” she says smoothly. “How much are you paying?”
Oh my god.
Logan’s stare slices through me like a blade.
“She’s not a prostitute,” I rush out, horrified. “Or—any of that. I can’t believe you, Logan.”
“Can’t you?”
I don’t even know why I’m surprised after all this time. I don’t know how I still let his poorly veiled opinions of me hurt me. Yet I do.
“You know what—I’m tired of this, Logan. Yes, I fucked up— seven years ago. How long is my punishment going to last, huh? When will I have paid enough?” I bark. “Or does one mistake grant you the irrevocable right to come into my house and insult me and my?—”
Logan’s brows pull together.
“My guest ,” I say, Charlotte rolling her eyes beside me.
“Right. Well, I didn’t mean to insult you, Cherry.” He breathes sharply through his nose, refocusing on me. “I’ll see you.” He vaguely gestures at me and Charlotte. “Enjoy...whatever this is.”
Of course. When things get hard, Logan skedaddles. Some things never change, do they?
“You know, Josie should have chosen you,” I say as he turns his back on us. He flips around, lips twisted in a grimace. “’Cause you’re both so fucking good at leaving.”
He hesitates for a long moment before moving closer. “Fine. You wanna talk? Let’s talk about how it’s been seven fucking years, and you still think any of this is about Josie.”
“I know it’s not.”
“Yeah, you know it’s not,” he echoes, his voice eerily calm.
“What the fuck do you want me to say, Aaron? I still can’t look at you without seeing the guy who slept with my girlfriend and then married her.
You were my best friend and you betrayed me, and I don’t know how to get over it.
And you know the worst part? Every time I try to trust you, you go and prove why I shouldn’t. ”
“What the fuck does that mean?”
Logan gestures vaguely in Charlotte’s direction. “This.” His eyes are sharp, accusatory. “You sneaking around, lying. Hiding whatever this is.”
My chin jerks forward. “This has nothing to do with you.”
“The hell it doesn’t,” he snaps. “You’re my brother, Aaron.
You’re my daughters’ uncle and my mother’s son.
You work for my friends, for Christ’s sake.
And I know you. I know that when you keep secrets, it’s because you’re doing something you know is wrong.
” His eyes flick to Charlotte again. “Or maybe just something you’re ashamed of. ”
When I step forward, shoulders tensing, Charlotte places a calming hand on my chest and purrs, “Careful, Logan. I don’t like people talking about me like I’m not in the room.”
Logan, eyes on me, nods. “Then maybe you shouldn’t be involved with someone who’s too much of a coward to acknowledge you.”
Coward.
I feel it in my bones, in their marrow, in the places I don’t let anyone see. It’s not just an insult—it’s the truth. Because Logan isn’t wrong, is he? If he were, I would’ve come clean about Charlotte already. If he were, I wouldn’t be standing here, watching her take the hit for my decision.
Shame curdles in my gut, hot and corrosive. It climbs up my throat, twisting around my tongue, making me feel like I might choke on the weight of it.
I don’t look at Charlotte. I can’t. Because what if she’s looking at me differently now? What if she sees it too—the same thing Logan does? The same thing I do?
I swallow hard, forcing myself to stand my ground, to keep my face neutral. But inside, everything caves in.
Logan holds the keys up, then turns and heads for the door.
But I’ve got one more thing to say.
“I’ve been apologizing, trying to mend things, trying to get close to you for years. Again and again, I’ve proven myself as a good father, son, friend, and brother. So if you still have a problem with me, then it’s your fucking problem, Logan. I’m out.”
He hesitates, then leaves without another word, the door clicking behind him. In the silence, I don’t know what to say.
Charlotte shifts beside me, adjusting the strap of her top, and the sound of it—a quiet snap against her shoulder—somehow makes the moment even heavier.
She clears her throat. “I should probably go.”
“No, Charlotte, I—” I reach for her, gently coaxing her closer. “I have so much to apologize for, I don’t even know where to start.”
She waves me off, but the gesture is stiff, detached. She’s not even looking at me, chin tilted down. “Don’t worry about it.”
I do though.
“I shouldn’t have called you Cherry,” I insist. “That’s your alias. I had no right to use it without your permission.”
Her lips twitch. “I get why you did it.”
“I’m also sorry I said I didn’t want this to be public.”
That earns me a real reaction—a humorless laugh as she finally looking up at me. “You might be sorry for saying it, but it’s not like it isn’t true.”
“It’s not —” I start, but she’s right. I’m actively trying to keep this a secret from everyone. “I’m not ashamed of you, Charlotte. Shit—you’re so far out of my league I’d need a spaceship to get to your level. You know that, right? That this has nothing to do with you?”
She nods then. “Yes, Chef. I know.”
Shame makes me feel small and insignificant again. “He’s right, isn’t he?” I turn to the door. “I’m a coward.”
She doesn’t answer right away, but eventually, she cups my cheek. “It’s fine, Aaron. We’re just...hooking up—we don’t need announcements in the paper for that.”
Just hooking up.
It’s bullshit. We both know it is. She might not know how to ask for it, I might not know how to give it to her, but we both want more than that.
I do. I want to get out of this mess with her, want to reassure her that I’ll come clean with everyone and will face whatever consequences I deserve, because I’m not a coward.
Because she’s worth being fearless for.
I don’t say it though. I let the lie settle between us as she moves toward the door, grabbing her purse. “I need to finish Sadie’s dress.”
I nod. I don’t want her to go, but I don’t have any right to ask her to stay. So I let her leave, standing there in my too-quiet house, alone.
Like a fucking coward.