3
Freeze!
The morning sun baked the back of Lach’s neck and he cursed, having forgotten the sunscreen in the room. The farmer’s tan would clear up either way. Nothing sexier than tan lines on your biceps because you spent your days shoveling horse shit and tossing hay bales in the sun. At least during the winter his skin all looked like a blank canvas.
Lach tossed back the last of his bubbly, ice-cold soda and looked around the pool. Swimming didn’t appeal to him. Lachlan loved the water and swimming but something about all these strangers in the pool made him nauseous. The hot tub looked even less appealing. Like a boiling bowl of old people soup in the sweltering heat.
Lach scanned the pool area. He located Shawna across the pool. Some time last night, during the after-after-party following a fun little stand-up comedy dinner, a woman built like an MMA fighter showed up at their table. Dark skin, tattooed chin, and long curly hair braided tight and tied back, wearing a fucking sexy-as-sin button up and pale-yellow business slacks.
Shawna was a goner when the woman flexed, the dainty white shirt screaming in agony. Hearts formed in his friend’s eyes when that same woman— a cut jawline Lach could only dream of— smiled at Shawna and told her she did kickboxing outside her regular job. The fact she was participating in the pudding wrestling later today? Icing on the cake that Shawna couldn’t take her eyes off of.
That twerp touched every inch of her body to the woman as they bathed in the sunlight on a pair of lounging deck chairs. Shawna ran her nails down the woman’s chest and Lach had to roll his eyes.
Happy for Shawna, he didn’t need to watch her fawn over the woman.
He wasn’t jealous.
Lach wasn’t lonely.
He was barren.
A cold hand hit his neck and he flinched, Shawna still in his peripheral vision. He turned to the strange woman smiling down at him. Her bright blue hair looked immaculate for being by the pool. Dry, even. Her body, which her bikini barely covered, shimmered and smelled of that tropical tanning lotion his mom used in the nineties.
Lach hated coconut.
In an attempt to be gentle, he brushed her hand away and scooted his chair back towards his table. “Can I help you?”
“Just trying to keep you cool, handsome. You looked overheated and lonely.“
She had a thick accent, something that reminded him of those New York detective shows he liked to binge with an entire box of cookies.
“Thanks… I suppose, but I’m not interested.”
“That’s fine,“
the woman chirped. She moved around the table and leaned down, cleavage on full display. So close he could smell the fruity gum she chomped on. “How about a swim? I mean, I’m already pretty damn wet looking at you.”
The wink she tossed him didn’t soften the wave of disgust that struck. He really didn’t like women like that. In fact, he didn’t like women much at all, if he were to be honest. One or two women caught his eye or his heart, but for the most part, Lach preferred verse men. Nothing better than sharing pleasure.
“Come on, good-looking,“
the woman prodded. She grabbed his wrist and tugged at him.
“I’m not interested in getting in the pool.“
Lach wanted to bash his head off a wall for that passive rejection, but the panic bubbled up his throat like acid.
“It’s not that big a deal!“
The insistent woman reached her hands down and before Lach registered what was going on, she’d ran her hands up his abs under the shirt, moving to pull it off.
He stiffened, snatching at the sides of his shirt to keep it just below his chest. Air grew thick in his lungs, his chest heaving with each intake, like pushing clay through his windpipe. His heart thundered so hard he couldn’t breathe. He barely got a word out.
“L-let go,“
he managed to whisper, feeling small, his feet stuck to the ground. “P-please. I—“
The woman, her face inches from his, clicked her tongue and ripped her hands away. She looked at Lachlan like he’d smeared dog shit all over his face. Her eyes rolled and she chomped down on her gum, hands coming up to her hips.
“What’s your deal?”
Words failed him a second time. This woman wasn’t safe. He wasn’t safe around her. The comfortable bubble of his appearance burst and he felt backed into a corner without an escape.
“The deal,“
a familiar voice barked out. “Is that you don’t put your hands on other peoples’ men, sweetheart.” The endearment came out thick with a viper’s bite.
Clinking jewelry pulled Lach from the blotchy darkness. He stared at Champagne, bright green bikini top holding her modest shape, and the most billowy, sheer pants clinging to her hips for dear life.
“Could have said you had a woman,“
the blue-haired menace snarled.
Heat left the back of Lach’s body, a giant body pressing up close, only a breeze between them. Excitement rolled through him like a chill.
“A woman and a man. He doesn’t have time for you, I’m afraid.”
That velvet-deep voice sent a shiver down Lach’s spine, like a zap to his insides. He stiffened when he felt large hands on his shirt, relaxing when they paused to brush knuckles against his. Jorge’s hands unrolled his shirt and pulled it down before stepping back to leave his body starved and desperate for that gentle touch.
With the antagonizing woman storming off— having spun on her toes and left in a symphony of muttered curses— Champagne moved in front of Lach, her face set in a frown. Brows knitted down over the bridge of her nose. “How about we sit down in the reading nook? Jorge can get you some water, Sugar. You look ready to faint.”
“I-I’m sorry.“
He couldn’t think straight but the air felt breathable again and his heart calmed.
“Nope. We aren’t apologizing, we’re walking.“
Champagne shooed Jorge off and wrapped an arm around Lach’s body, pulling him indoors and out of the sun.
The cold air hit him like tiny needles and it brought his mind back to reality. That woman tried to pull his shirt off. Expose him. Unwanted physical contact. His space invaded. He hadn’t dealt with that sort of thing in years.
“That woman should be reported,“
Champagne growled. She took the water from Jorge who, for a huge man, moved too quietly. Champagne handed the drink to Lach and sat on the table across from him, her face pinched. “Lachlan. You okay? That kind of shit is scary.”
“I… I’m fine,“
he muttered, taking a sip of the water. Then another. And another. He didn’t realize how thirsty he’d been. “I fucking froze…”
Champagne rolled her eyes, her fingers twitching against her thighs like she wanted to touch him. “Yeah, that can happen when people grab our bodies without permission.”
His eyes grew transfixed on those fingers, the long manicure gorgeous against the forest green pants, and smiled. “That’s not new,“
he whispered, extending his own fingers to Champagne. “I don’t tape. I don’t want—“
Lachlan snapped his mouth shut and clenched his eyes, a long sigh of resignation bursting out of him in a groan. He didn’t want to be outed by strangers, and outing himself to strangers wasn’t on his bucket list. But here they were.
Champagne hooked her fingers with his, her other hand cupping his hand. “It’s okay. You’re safe with us, Lachlan. You’re safe.”
He wanted to cry but thankfully, the testosterone put an end to that months ago.