12. Jilted
Chapter twelve
Jilted
Brody
I’ve been hit by a truck. Railroaded. Pushed off a cliff, hitting every rock on my way down a hundred-foot drop.
With a groan, I roll onto my back, eyes flickering open. But none of it’s true. The sliver of dawn seeping through the blinds hits me like a reminder of what went down last night.
Chloe.
My cock stirs under the sheet. My back fucking burns. Scratches. Deep ones. It wasn’t a dream. Every second of last night? Real.
“She’s insatiable,” I murmur, sleep still heavy in my voice.
My hand lazily fumbles for my phone. The glare from the screen hits my eyes hard. No messages. No calls. It’s Sunday, so maybe she’s still asleep.
Somehow, though, disappointment churns in my gut.
It’s fine. I don’t do the whole “morning after” thing.
I never give out my number, and I’m not used to waking up to any ‘Hey handsome, had a good time?’ texts.
But I catch myself tapping the screen again, thinking maybe my notifications are on a break.
Nope. It’s okay. I’m used to this kind of wake-up.
"Get it together." I grumble, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed. My back twinges again, courtesy of Chloe.
And I’m sure as hell not going to text her first. Another stock standard in my book.
My cock is still (ahem) very much awake, but I have no plans to take care of it now. I’ll only be thinking of her when I do, and after giving me the cold shoulder, she doesn’t deserve it. No, I’ll take a shower while envisioning ducks on a pond and go about my day like I usually would.
Mason’s filled up the day with appointments. Perfect distraction. All work, no Chloe.
I stare down at my dick. Her hand's around it again. I swear I can feel her. That slick heat dragging my tip over her clit.
I clench my teeth. “ Ducks on a fucking pond.”
My cock strains, blood rushing to engorge me even more. I can’t get her out of my head, her smell, her taste, what she sounds like when she comes…
I push up from my bed with an agitated grunt and stomp off to the bathroom. No amount of ducks is going to get me out of this, but I’ll at least be pissed off while I jerk off. Yeah, that’ll show her.
An hour later, when I meet Mason, he's already holding out a steaming cup of coffee, his grin stretched wide and full of self-satisfaction.
The morning air is still brisk, and a soft mist lingers over the water.
A few local boats are docked, their hulls bobbing gently against the wooden posts, with several open docks meant for visitors.
“Dressing down today, huh?” Mason hands me my coffee as we walk down the pier.
“I wear jeans all the time,” I grumble, ignoring his playful jab.
One sip of the too-hot coffee burns my tongue and throat. Smart move. But I’m too irritated to care. Honestly, the pain helps. I deserve it for being an idiot last night. I’m beginning to think I should never have let it get that far with her. It was a bad idea. What was I thinking?
“What were you thinking?” Mason’s voice cuts through my thoughts.
“Huh?” I snap out of it, realizing I’ve been staring past the boats drifting lazily on the water.
“You never wear jeans, and you call them pedestrian, lacking any sense of true style. You’ve basically insulted every human that wears them. And now?”
“Okay, I get it. What’s your point?”
“We’re having breakfast with the mayor on his boat, and you, my friend, look like you’ve rolled straight out of a college frat house.”
I squint my eyes against the bright sunlight, feeling more than a little hungover, and see Mayor Dawson, Miles, waving to us from the deck of his boat the Breezy Dreamer, and beside him... Chloe’s dad. Fantastic.
Mason claps my back reassuringly. “Don’t sweat it. I’m sure you’ll be fine.”
“Sorry if I forgot to pack my Speedo,” I grumble. “I was under the mistaken impression this was a business breakfast.”
“And yet, the jeans.” Mason chides, and his laughter grates my last nerve. “If you thought it was business, why didn’t you wear your usual…”
“Did I fall asleep and wake up in an alternate reality where you’ve become the fashion police?” I snap.
I know he’s being his usual self, and I’m projecting my annoyance with Chloe onto him, but still.
“Why are we talking about this? It’s of no consequence.
It has nothing to do with anything, and yet you’re going on and on about it.
Jesus, Mason. Why do you always have to be a child about everything? ”
My outburst causes him to stop and stare at me. I’m out of breath and in no particular hurry to make nice with the mayor, so I stop too.
“What crawled up your ass this morning?” he asks.
“Nothing. Can we go?”
He doesn’t move. “We’re about to sit down with the top guy in this place, and you’re picking a fight with me, the person who’s running the show on your big project? Are you for real?”
“Drop it, Mason. We have work to do.”
“That’s what I was trying to do when you showed up and decided to be a giant dickhead,” he says, tossing his coffee cup into a trash can. He’s clearly pissed, must be bad if he’s ditching half a cup of caffeine.
“I’m sorry, okay?” It sounds more like I’m scolding him than apologizing. It’s a little of both.
The mayor’s still standing there, watching us. The last thing I want is for him to pick up on this tension. He doesn’t strike me as the type to use it against us, but my dad always said—never trust that people will be what you expect. Especially in business .
“Screw you and your sorry.” Mason grumbles, marching toward the mayor’s boat with determined strides.
I break into a jog to catch up, blurting out the only thing I can think of to salvage this mess, “It’s Chloe.”
Mason halts, whipping around to glare at me.
“You’re giving me shit over a girl? Are you kidding me?”
“No. I mean, yes,” I admit, running a hand through my hair. “But I’ll explain later. Let’s get through this breakfast first, deal?”
He stretches out the silence like he’s enjoying it, finally nodding with a wry grin. “Something happened, didn’t it?”
We’re almost at the boarding ramp, and I need this conversation dead and buried before we get any closer. The mayor’s beaming up at us, and…
“Yes.” I breathe through clenched teeth.
Mason snickers under his breath. “I knew it.”
“Mr. Stirling, Mr. Steele.” Miles holds out his arms to welcome us as we walk up the ramp. “Hope it’s not too early for you?”
We exchange handshakes, slapping backs, doing the whole routine. I’m so over it. Especially with this unexpected guest in tow.
“Too early?” Norman Adams chuckles. “These city guys? They’re up at dawn for board meetings for who knows what.”
His tone is light, but there’s that unmistakable undercurrent of disdain. Chloe’s dad. I should’ve seen it coming. The mayor’s advisor, of course, he’d be here.
“Work hard, play harder!” Mason laughs, flipping into full business mode. Rule one: butter up the big shots. Get the signature.
I find it harder to get into the groove of things because the only thing worse than this situation is if Chloe showed up too.
“Come on board.” Miles gestures for us to follow. “My wife packed us a champion’s breakfast. Let’s dig in before it turns into lunch.”
There’s more emphatic laughter, ringing hollow in my ears. But I force myself to join in, following the mayor and Norman toward the bow.
When I say ‘decked out,’ I mean there are two wicker benches and a teak garden set with four chairs around a small square table. I assume correctly that it’s our breakfast table when Miles gestures for us to take a seat.
He pulls a bottle of orange juice from a red ice box on one of the benches and sets it in the middle of the table.
“Solo cups are in that crate next to Mr. Steele,” he says. “You boys grab yourselves a drink while my first mate helps me raise anchor so we can get this baby going.”
“Going?” I try not to sound alarmed. The idea of being stuck on this boat? Yeah, no thanks.
“Just around the bay,” Miles replies. “Thought I’d give you the royal tour.”
“Sounds great.” Mason cuts in, eager to please.
I don’t need a tour. Not of this bay. The same bay I got banned from after wrecking a tourist’s jet ski and crashing it into the east pier.
High-speed chases in real life? Not quite like the movies.
The bruises were worth it, though, especially since I got eighth-grader Emma Harmon’s attention.
For a twelve-year-old, that was basically the pinnacle.
“Okay, they’re out of earshot. Now spill it,” Mason says, leaning in as soon as the mayor and Norman head to the back.
I hadn’t noticed him pouring juice. My cup’s nearly overflowing with the boat’s sway. I grab it, downing a huge gulp to avoid the inevitable disaster. Bitter, still mixed with the taste of coffee.
Mason taps the table impatiently. “I’m waiting…”
I glance around. Clear. The old guys are still fussing with the anchor.
“Chloe and I had sex last night,” the words spill out before I can stop them. It’s a damn relief, honestly.
Mason’s eyebrows shoot up. He slaps his knee and grins. “I knew it! I knew something went down. But why the hell aren’t you floating? You bagged the small-town sweetheart. That’s a new one for the books.”
“Because…” I sigh, dropping my arms to the table. “She hasn’t texted. Or called.”
I brace for the inevitable.
Mason leans back, slow and dramatic. “ Oooohhhhh shiiiiit .”
He gets it. He always does. He knows I don’t do this—whatever this is.
“I don’t know.” I mutter. “I’d hook-up, then move on. No big deal. But her? I can’t shake it. There’s something about her.”
His smirk returns. “It’s the good girl thing, right? You like that. She’s all rules and fighting for what she thinks is right? Won’t just go along with whatever you say.”
“Can you stop with the jokes?” I snap. “I’m actually trying to talk here.”
His expression shifts, more serious now, giving me the space to continue.
I glance over to make sure Miles and Norman are still out of earshot. The boat hasn’t done more than its usual swaying, so they’re probably still figuring things out back there.
“When I was with her—I mean, sure, it was hot as fuck. Really hot. She’s…
” I trail off, trying to find the right words as I let out a delectable moaning sound despite myself, but it’s one Mason fully understands.
“Anyway, it was more. I was feeling—I don’t know.
Then this morning when I saw she hadn’t texted me, I also had… ”
“Feelings?” Mason offers, thankfully, his tone is finally more understanding.
“ I’m losing it ,” I admit, rubbing my temples in frustration. “She’s all I think about. Her face pops into my head, or her voice in my ear…”
“Whoa, there, buddy.” Mason raises his hand. “You just met her. You know nothing about her except that she’s insanely attractive and loves the environment. You can’t be falling for her.”
“How do you know?” I shoot back, a little skeptical. Mason is thirty-four and chronically single. Hardly an expert on the topic of love. “My parents got married two weeks after their first date, and they’re still together. My mom always says, ‘When you know, you know’.”
“And what is it you think you know, exactly?” he asks, studying me closely. “Take this slow. You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into with her.”
“Getting into?” I toss back the rest of my juice, sharp and tangy, like my morning.
He shrugs. “This could all be part of her plan to derail the project.”
Laughter drifts closer from the back of the boat, our private moment slipping away as the boat edges into the water.
“Don’t think that hasn’t crossed my mind,” I mutter.
“Good.” Mason gives me a stiff nod. “Don’t forget why we’re here.”
I sink deeper into my chair. The footsteps of the mayor and Norman approach, and the weight of reality settles back in.
“Hey.” Mason slaps my arm lightly. “Don’t let this mess you up. You’ve never let a woman derail you before, right?”
I chuckle, but it’s half-hearted. The truth? I’ve never felt this way before. And when it comes to Chloe, I’m not sure I have a choice.
“Besides,” Mason adds as Norman and Miles rejoin us, “her dad might as well be in bed with the mayor. You can’t afford to catch feelings now.”
As the men sit down and start chatting about conservation efforts, I force myself to smile and nod. I can get through this without letting my feelings get in the way.
I’ve done it before. And this time? It won’t be any different.