Chapter 13
Asher
Shit. Shit. Shit. One minute I’m telling Claire about my dead wife, and then the next, I’m telling her I might kiss her. What the fuck is wrong with me?
“Sorry. I—” Quick as lightning, I dart to my feet and rush to my room, beer bottle still glued to my hand.
The door swings closed too quickly, but I catch it with my foot so it doesn’t slam and disturb Bea.
I stride into the bathroom, splash water on my face, and pick up my phone, searching for a distraction.
There’s a new text in the group chat with Ezra and Cam. Millie named it “The Good Guys” after claiming we were the three remaining good men on the planet.
Cam
Have you fired my sister yet?
Ezra
How’s it going?
I hang my head and squeeze my eyes shut. If they only knew. I’ll reply later.
Instead, I pull up the group chat between Benji, Raymond, Zion, and me.
It’s currently labeled “The Mourning Club,” but Benji and Zion like to compete for the wittiest name.
At one point it was “Dead Wives Society” but Raymond vetoed it.
He doesn’t quite have the same sense of humor as the other guys.
Personally, I don’t care what the chat is called.
In fact, it’s annoying as shit that it keeps changing, but it brings Benji and Zion joy, so I keep my mouth shut.
Me
I almost kissed the camp doc
Benji’s the first to reply.
Benji
You kissed Dr. Parsons?!
Me
No, asshole. Dr. Parsons retired. We have a new doc. A female one.
Benji
Is she hot?
Normally this would make me laugh. That’s always Benji’s first question. He’s great about alleviating tension with sarcasm or comedy.
Me
She’s attractive, but that’s not the point. She’s living with me for the summer, and we started talking about Daisy, and I was feeling vulnerable and
Me
Oops. Hit send too soon
The other guys chime in before I have a chance to finish typing.
Zion
WHAT?
Raymond
Why is she living with you?
I delete my text and type out a response to Ray.
Me
Long story. My in-laws decided to stay for the summer, and with the cabin next door still damaged, my house was the only option.
Zion
What’s her name?
Me
Claire
Me
She’s friends with my sister and my cousin
Zion
What’s wrong with kissing Claire?
With a long breath out, I consider the question.
Benji
***
That son of a bitch can be so impatient. But I get to typing, knowing he’ll continue hounding me until I respond.
Me
I don’t know? It felt strange to be talking about Daisy one second and then wanting to kiss another woman the next.
Raymond
Did she think it was strange?
Me
No idea. I ran off before we had a chance to talk
Benji
Idiot
Me
Thanks a lot
Benji
You know we love you, man, but your nervous system response is flight. You always run. Just be honest with her
Zion
Do you like her?
Me
She’s the camp doctor
Zion
Not what I asked
I’m still considering how to answer when Raymond jumps in again.
Raymond
It’s okay if you do. We’d never judge you.
I give myself another moment to sit with the question. Do I like Claire?
She’s beautiful, that much is obvious. I smile and laugh every time I’m around her; plus, she’s been nothing but wonderful to Bea. And I find it so fucking endearing that she loves to eat the folded potato chips because they “feel better.”
Benji
***
Benji changed the name to The Grief Guys
Me
Maybe?
Zion
That’s a yes
Raymond
Go talk to her. She’s a doctor. It’s her job to be sensitive and understanding.
He’s got a point. I guess it wouldn’t be so bad to feel out the situation.
Benji
You’ve been here before. Two things can be true: You can miss Daisy and still move forward with someone new
Zion
What he said
Raymond
Ditto. Don’t forget: Being with another woman does not erase Daisy. Moving forward with your life honors hers.
My chest tightens as I reread their responses.
My boys are right.
I splash water on my face once more, then pad into the hall. It’s dark, but a sliver of light shines from beneath Claire’s door.
If I don’t knock now, I may lose momentum.
“Claire?” I whisper.
When she opens the door, I nearly swallow my tongue. She’s removed her leggings, and her oversized tee hits her at mid-thigh.
“Yes?” she asks, halting me from envisioning those bronzed legs wrapped around my waist.
“Can we talk?”
She steps to the side and welcomes me in. Her bed is messy, like maybe she was already settled in for the night. I take a seat on the wooden bench at the foot of her bed, and she leans a hip on the side of the mattress, her hands pulling at the hem of her shirt like she’s trying to make it longer.
“I want to apologize,” I begin.
She peers at me from behind her glasses, but she doesn’t say anything in return.
So I continue. “I shouldn’t have darted off like that. It’s just—I…”
“Hey.” Claire lays a calming hand on my forearm. “I’m not here to judge you. You can talk to me. As a friend.”
The tightness in my chest dissipates a tad, and is replaced by a flutter in my stomach.
“It’s awkward to talk about.”
“I’m a doctor.” She laughs softly. “I’ve dealt with my fair share of awkwardness. I promise it’s nothing I can’t handle.”
The bench creaks beneath me when I rotate to face her.
Even as I move, her hand never leaves my arm. Her fingers are delicate, and the red paint Bea applied to her nails has chipped.
“I have a lot of baggage. Being a widower and a single dad.”
Her only response is a nod.
“I’ve been through one of the worst things imaginable. In the beginning, I didn’t handle it well,” I admit. “I made poor choices I wasn’t ready for, and I paid the price with guilt.”
Her face remains neutral, her eyes kind and relaxed. Inviting. “That’s understandable. Grief’s a bitch. There’s no one right way to handle it. You don’t love Daisy any less because of the choices you’ve made.”
“I know that now. And I know the grief will always be there, but I’ve worked through the major stuff at least. I was even in a relationship for a short while.”
“Oh?” She tilts her head. “How was that?”
“It’s what I needed at the time,” I reply.
“And what do you need now? What do you want?”
Her face is still open, without a shred of judgment or expectation in her expression.
And damn is it comforting.
My attention drifts to her mouth, plush and supple. “I—I want—”
Her tongue darts out to lick her lips. “Do you still want to kiss me?”
“Hmm?” My eyes jerk up.
“Do you still want to kiss me?”
“I heard you.” I clear my throat, once again mesmerized by her, by the way her teeth trap her bottom lip. God, how I want to reach out and release it.
How I want to release… many things.
“It’s a yes or no question, Greer. Either you—”
“Yes.”
My heart takes off at a gallop, and I suddenly wish I’d brushed my teeth.
Too late now.
Claire crawls onto the bed, and I join her. Her shirt rides up her thighs when she tucks her legs beneath her, but I can’t look away from her eyes.
I glide a hand up her arm and rest it at her jaw, my fingers threading through her soft hair.
On her next inhale, I angle forward and press my lips against hers. When she exhales through her nose, her breath tickles my mustache.
There’s a decision to be made: pull away or part my lips.
Claire makes the choice for me.
She licks at my lips, her tongue seeking entrance, and I gladly invite her in, welcome mat and all.
She’s tentative, but I let her lead.
The kiss is so tender it makes my throat tighten.
When she pulls away slightly, the scent of beer and wine lingers, and I frown.
“We can take things slow,” she whispers, her eyes clear. “No expectations on my end. I promise.”
I drop my hand from her throat to her forearm. “You sure? Bea’s observant, and I don’t want to confuse her. Plus—”
“Listen. Clearly, we have sexual chemistry.”
I nearly choke over her bluntness, but she isn’t the least bit fazed.
Focus still locked on my face, not an ounce of embarrassment on hers, she says, “Let’s agree to keep it simple.”
Borrowing a little of her boldness, I ask outright, “Are you suggesting a friends-with-benefits situation?”
She shrugs with a playful smile. “I’m cool with that. Lord knows I could use a respectful man in my life for once.”
“And what makes you so sure I’m respectful?” I smirk.
She removes her glasses and leans back to toss them onto the nightstand. When she sits upright again, she says, “I see the way you treat the guests, personally carrying their luggage to their rooms.”
Tugging her by the waist so she straddles my lap, I growl into her ear. “But I don’t fuck the guests, Claire.”
She rolls her hips in response to my words, and my dick swells. A sigh escapes her, but I suffocate it with my mouth, my lips locked with hers in a rough kiss. I snake my hands around her hips and dig my fingers into her ass over her shirt.
“This okay?”
She nods fervently, her nose brushing against mine.
With her arms around my neck, she grinds against me again, wanton, her shirt riding up as she picks up the pace. The damp heat trapped between us makes me wonder whether I’m leaking or she’s just that wet. I’m desperate to find out.
I slip one hand under her shirt—fuck, she’s not wearing a bra—while I use my free hand to adjust my dick between us.
She moans into my mouth and grinds deeper against my hard length, her movements causing my crown to escape from the elastic of my pants.
Stars dance in my vision. Fuck, I don’t know how much more I can take of this dry-humping shit.
I rub my thumb over her nipple, and she tips her head back, moaning, so damn responsive. When I pinch the hardened peak, I’m rewarded with a gasp.
Releasing my lips, she pulls back. “Wait, wait, wait,” she pants, placing a hand on my chest. “We said we’d go slow.”
I let go of her breast. Reluctantly. “Did we? I don’t remember.”
“Ash,” she huffs. She gives me a small smile, but her hand remains sturdy against me.
Bowing my head, I sigh. “No, you’re right.”
She hops off my lap, and when she notices the tip of my cock, she covers her eyes. “Oh my god. Put that thing back where it came from.”
Chuckling, I stand and stuff myself back into my pants. “Good night, Doc.” I press a chaste kiss to her forehead before turning to leave.
“Night, Greer.”
When I return to my room, I press my back against the closed door and exhale deeply, emptying all the oxygen trapped inside my lungs.
Damn, that was one hell of a kiss.
Even after a long fucking day of work, I’m full of pent-up energy. I haven’t felt this invigorated in a long time.
Without a second thought, I tug my pants down, the waistband catching under my balls.
I spit into my palm and pull my cock toward my abdomen.
With the memory of Claire’s breathy moans fresh in my mind, along with the sensation of her thrusting against me, I stroke myself.
I focus on how her nipple felt between my fingers and imagine what she’d do if it were my mouth.
Before I know it, my orgasm coalesces like a wave of exquisite pleasure through my shaft and straight to the taint.
“Fuck,” I grunt, catching my release in my hand.
After a cold shower and a new pair of pants, I open my messages and type out, “Literally had the hottest fucking kiss with Claire just now.” Then I silence my phone and crash for the night.