CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
K RU
“Somehow, it looks worse than it did ten minutes ago.”
Brady’s grim assessment of my face makes me wince.
I’ve stopped looking in the mirror. The black eye just reminds me of the piss-poor introduction I got to one of the Keegan Keepers, which is absolutely the hockey team Griffin should start playing for if his professional contract with the Cleveland Crushers ever ends.
Because Piper wasn’t kidding – her brothers mean business, and I can’t believe there’s three more of them I have to get through.
“If anyone wants to meet the chef tonight, I’m gonna have to send you out, okay?
” I say it like a joke, but I’m kind of serious.
I don’t want anyone meeting me like this, thinking I’m some sort of back-alley street fighter.
I don’t think the real reason—getting hazed by my girlfriend’s older brother—will sound like an acceptable excuse either.
I’m just glad the camera crew is gone. This would have been too embarrassing to immortalize in a new season of reality TV.
“You want any ice yet?” Rafael asks. I’ve been too busy to use any, but I made sure to use an ice pack before I went to bed last night. Not that it helped.
“I’m fine,” I say, wiping down my station even though it’s already sparkling clean after the lunch rush. “Let’s just focus on pumping out dinner.”
Since it’s Sunday, Piper’s not open, but she’s out in the barn working. I’ve gone out there to check on her a couple times today, but each time she’s been mysteriously missing. She’s apologized no fewer than twenty times since yesterday’s unfortunate ambush—I mean, family introduction.
She doesn’t know that I’d happily let all her brothers rough me up. She’s worth it. But the aftermath does sting a bit.
Work sweeps us up and away as usual. Today’s dinner service is brutal—quickly spiraling into three large parties and one particularly demanding table that sends back their lobster twice before finally accepting that it is, in fact, cooked perfectly.
But one of my later tables sends a note with Jackie that his lobster and marshmallow dish was so delicious he needs to speak with me urgently.
He sent his business card, which lists his company as Midwestern Restaurant Group.
Overall it’s a lucrative evening—one on top of many before it.
My business model is working. And the marshmallow touch to the dish has helped me slide into first place in the Bayshore Best competition—and probably helped keep the dining room full tonight.
I’m not sure how long I’ll retain it, but I’ve got my staff reminding our customers at every turn to go vote for us in the competition, so maybe we’ve got a shot.
As my crew and I work through the closing checklist, exhaustion sets in. These long days are getting to me. All I want is to go home, ice my face, and call Piper to see how she's handling the fallout with Griffin.
When I finally lock up and step into the cool October night, my breath is visible in small puffs. The parking lot is entirely empty except for my truck. That's when I notice the light spilling out of the barn on the far end of the lot.
I walk across the lot, my footsteps echoing in the quiet. As I get closer, I can hear music—some sort of upbeat pop song. It's nearly eleven. It can’t still be Piper in there…can it?
I already know the answer before I slide open the barn door.
Piper is perched on a ladder in the middle of the space, a paint roller in her hand, working on one of the massive support beams. She's set up some industrial lighting, illuminating the entire barn in harsh white light.
Paint cans, brushes, and drop cloths are scattered across the floor.
She's wearing paint-splattered overalls over a Cloud Nine hoodie, her hair pulled back in a messy bun with what appears to be white paint streaks in it.
She's also swaying slightly on the ladder, which makes my heart skip a beat.
"Piper? What the hell are you doing?"
She startles, nearly dropping the paint roller. "Kru! You scared me!"
"It's eleven o'clock," I say, stepping into the barn and looking around at the chaos. "Why are you up here painting? It's freezing, it's dark, and you've probably been up since six a.m."
She waves a dismissive hand, which makes the ladder wobble again. "I'm fine. Just trying to get some stuff done. I had all this energy after dinner, so I thought why not be productive?"
“Have you been working in here all day? I came out to check on you earlier and didn’t see you.”
“Not all day,” she clarifies. She dips the roller in the paint tray balanced precariously on the ladder's shelf.
“Don’t you want a break? Come home with me, Maven. I’ll make sure you relax.”
She sends me a coy look which has my cock jumping. I know that look.
“What kind of relaxation are we talking about?”
“The kind where I get you out of those paint-covered overalls and spend an hour making you forget all about this barn.”
Her breath catches. "Just an hour?"
"To start." I reach up and steady the ladder with one hand, my other hand trailing up her calf. "Come down here, Piper."
She sets the paint roller aside and climbs down slowly, deliberately, her body brushing against mine as she reaches the bottom rung. I don't step back, trapping her between the ladder and my chest.
"You're covered in paint," I murmur, brushing a streak of white from her cheek.
"So are you now," she whispers, her hands fisting in my shirt.
I dip my head, capturing her lips in a kiss that's anything but gentle. She melts against me immediately, all that manic energy transforming into something hotter, more desperate. Her paint-stained fingers work at the buttons of my shirt.
"Kru," she gasps when I move to her neck, finding that spot that makes her knees weak. "Someone could—"
"Nobody's coming out here now," I say against her skin, my hands making quick work of her overall straps. "It's just us, Maven. Let me take care of you."
The overalls pool at her feet, leaving her in just her hoodie and underwear. I lift her easily, settling her on one of the ladder rungs so we're at eye level.
"Better?" I ask, my hands spanning her waist.
Her answer is to pull my mouth back to hers, and I lose myself in the taste of her, in the way she wraps her legs around my hips and pulls me closer. I know I promised an hour, but it’s late, and we’re both tired, and fuck if I’m not hard as a rock already.
“Help me bless the barn,” she murmurs, bucking her hips toward me. “I need it.”
She doesn’t need to ask twice. I fish my cock out of my pants and guide myself toward her slick center. She’s gripping my shoulders like she’s afraid I’ll drift away, her fingernails digging into my skin. I scoop her closer by the small of her back.
She’s sugary and warm. Pure velvet and juice. A grunt escapes me as I sink into her, our kisses turning desperate, hungrier.
“Jesus, Piper,” I bite out. “You feel so incredible. Like you’re made for me.”
“Maybe I am,” she breathes, clenching around me. I thrust into her, wanting to go slow and relish this, but a desperate need overtakes me. She’s clawing at me, urging me deeper, faster. I can only obey. The ladder creaks as I push into her, her soft, girlish moans sending me higher.
“Best barn ever,” I grunt out just as my fingers find her swollen clit. I pinch and prod her, loving the way her moans get louder and she arches even harder against me. “That’s it. Come on, Piper. Give it to me.”
I massage her clit until she breaks. Her whole body goes rigid and her head rolls back. As her pussy turns into a vice grip around my cock, my own release bursts through. I bury my gruff cry into the hollow of her neck, and we sit there for a few moments, relishing the sticky aftermath.
“I think we can consider this barn blessed,” she says with a sleepy smile. She’s blinking slowly, and I can’t tell if it’s from sexual satisfaction or sleepiness.
“Happy to do my part.” I press a quick kiss to her lips as I adjust myself. I help her get cleaned up with a fresh rag nearby, then I pull her overalls back up. “You ready to go?”
Some of the fire returns to her gaze. "Go? How can I go when I’m on a roll? Look at all this progress! I got three beams done already."
I survey the barn, and she's right—there's definitely been progress. More than should be possible for one person working alone. Which means…
“Be real with me,” I say. “How many hours did you put into this barn today?”
"I ran a bunch of errands," she says quickly, climbing the ladder again. "I was in and out. So like, eight hours. Nine, maybe. Well, more like ten."
"Ten hours? Piper, this is supposed to be your day off.”
She looks down at me with confusion. "Huh. I guess you’re right."
That's when I know she's hit the wall. I've been there myself—so focused on a project, so driven by adrenaline and caffeine, that you lose track of time entirely. It's not sustainable, and it usually ends badly.
"Let's call it a night," I say gently.
"I can't," she says, already turning back to her painting. "I have so much to do. Jerrica’s going to open the shop tomorrow, so I can work a late night. Now’s my time. The whole space needs to be painted before I can move on to flooring, and then there's the electrical work and the plumbing and—"
“And you think you’re going to be able to do all that?” I ask with a laugh.
Her face hardens. “Excuse me?”
I need to reconfigure my approach. "Just come down. Please."
"I'm fine!" she insists, but her voice has a manic edge to it. "I can handle this. I can do it all."
"I know you can. But not in one night."
She finally looks down at me, and I can see the exhaustion beneath the frenetic energy. Dark circles under her eyes, a slight tremor in her hands that could be from cold or fatigue or both.