31. Under One Condition
31
UNDER ONE CONDITION
Gage
“And in this room, my uncle Zane has a popcorn machine,” Eliza says, going full tour guide as she tugs Amanda by the hand down the hallway on the garden level that leads to the home movie theater.
“Dude! No!” Amanda says, her gaze briefly meeting Elodie’s as if to say is this for real?
“Dude! Yes,” Eliza confirms. The kid is practically strutting her way to the room where she’s spent many a night convincing Uncle Zane and Maddox to let her watch just one more . “And the seats go all the way back. It’s pretty much the best.”
“We should watch something tonight,” Amanda declares. Not can we but we should . It’s a school night—Wednesday now—and we’ve all brought our suitcases to the palatial three-story in Pacific Heights. Zane bought this place a few years ago when he renewed his contract with the San Francisco Dragons.
Elodie and I hang back in the hall as my daughter shows Amanda into the state-of-the-art home theater, complete with four chairs you can swim in, surround sound, and the aforementioned popcorn maker.
The hallway is adorned with artsy, moody black-and-white photos of London, Tokyo, Prague, and other cosmopolitan cities around the world. Elodie gestures to the framed prints. “No baseball photos? Awards? Trophies?”
I squint, picturing Zane’s home gym, which we haven’t checked out yet since the girls aren’t that interested in bench presses. “Pretty sure those are in the gym. But Eliza would know. She spends a lot of time here,” I say.
“I can tell.”
“Dad! Can I make popcorn?” Eliza pokes her head out the door, fastening on her please, pretty please grin that I know so well. “Amanda says she knows how to make cinnamon popcorn, and I think I might die if I don’t have some right now.”
“That sounds dramatic,” I say dryly.
“It’s a need,” Eliza insists.
Amanda presses her palms together, batting her big blue eyes. “It’s so good. You can have some too, Mr. Archer.”
I laugh at the name, but then I stop laughing. What the hell is she supposed to call me? Stepdad? I cringe at the last one. Before I can spiral down that rabbit hole, I say, “Sounds great.”
The girls rush past us in a blur of ripped jeans, friendship bracelets, and long hair, racing up the stairs to the gleaming new kitchen, leaving Elodie and me alone.
I turn to the photos again, answering her in more depth. “They like to travel a lot. My brother and Maddox. They take pics of all the places they go. They’re in London right now, which is kind of like their second home. They have some friends who spend time there too.”
Elodie gazes at the images one by one, softness in her eyes as she slowly checks them all out. The River Thames at night. A tea garden in the afternoon. A castle in Prague, enrobed in fog. “It’s like a wall of memories. All their favorite places,” she says, and why the hell is my heart beating faster from that?
She’s talking about my brother and his dude, and their lives.
But really, it’s the simple and real understanding of what matters to someone. It’s the easy way she sees people and knows their minds. She’s a woman who can get along with anyone, even people she’s never even met—like my brother.
“I want you to meet him,” I say immediately.
“You do?”
“Of course I do,” I say, and the idea takes hold of me. I can picture a dinner, a night out, a mini golf game with the four of us. This has to happen. “You already met my grandma. Many times. You need to meet my brother.”
“Well, I am playing house in his house,” she says, then furrows her brow. “He really didn’t mind us converging on his place?”
I’ve already reassured her a few times, but I’ll do it again. I tuck a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. “It was his idea,” I say, reminding her. When I called him Sunday evening to tell him about the wedding and to ask if we could hang out in his empty home while he was traveling, he beat me to it. “He offered it up before I could ask.”
“That’s family for you,” she says.
“He’s great,” I say, looking around at his gorgeous home. There are five bedrooms, a couple living rooms, a private gym, and a pool. Sure, sometimes I’ve been jealous of him, especially because we started our adult lives the same way—on the baseball field. But the funny thing is I haven’t felt that way lately. Haven’t experienced those pangs of envy over the last few years. “Maybe when he returns we can all go out? Have dinner?”
“Isn’t that in the new year?”
Translation: we won’t be together then. Like we discussed on the way to Vegas a few days ago, our marriage will end when the lease ends. When the year ends. That’s in less than two months. For now, we’ve neutralized the threat to her business and our business.
“Yes,” I say darkly, but then I try to shake off that cloud. I drop a kiss to her nose. I don’t want to linger on the end. Some topics are best avoided. “Let me show you the rest of the house.”
The herd of elephants known as teenage girls race back downstairs on their way to the popcorn machine, with a bowl of, presumably, cinnamon and sugar in hand, and Amanda shouting, “Want some, Mr. Archer?”
Before I answer, I lift a brow Elodie’s way. “What should she call me?”
With a you’re so cute smile, she pats me on the arm. “Your name, Gage. Your name.”
Well, duh.
“Call me Gage,” I call out. “And maybe later.”
“Okay, Gage,” she says, and we head upstairs where I show Elodie the pinball room, the rooftop pool, then the bedrooms on the third floor.
Except…
Shit.
As we’re standing in front of two guest rooms, I’m kicking myself. This basic detail slipped by me.
Elodie shoots me a curious look. “Are we…sharing a room?”
“That’s the question, isn’t it?”
We’re not lying to the girls about our relationship ruse…but they don’t need to know we’re actually sleeping together.
I drag a hand through my hair, thinking, messing it up. “We should have separate rooms,” I say, turning to her. “Since they don’t need to know I’m a little addicted to my wife.”
She slides into my arms and kisses me. And later that night, when the kids are asleep, I slip into her bed.
We’re both quiet as I cover her soft body, kissing her till she’s writhing and moaning, arching and gasping, then pushing my head down. “Please,” she whispers.
“Please what?”
“Please…go down on me,” she says, desperate and needy.
I palm her breasts, teasing at the peaks of her nipples. “I will under one condition.”
“Anything,” she whimpers.
“Be quiet,” I say, even though the house is big and we’re not on the same floor as the girls.
“I will.”
I settle between her thighs, my hands on her soft flesh, and I lick a long, lingering line up her sweet, hot pussy.
She shudders. Then lets out the neediest little moan as I flick my tongue on her clit, then suck on it.
“Shh, baby.”
She nods, then obeys.
Her desperate little noises guide me on, and under the covers, I worship her pussy, kissing her like I’ll go crazy if I don’t, then stopping right when she’s getting close.
“Gage,” she urges, tugging my head back.
But I’m a tease tonight, here in the dark as we play house in San Francisco, and I drive my wife a little wild under the covers over and over as I bring her to the brink, then stop. Then do it again.
No, make that a lot wild judging from the way she grips my head with her thighs when I finally let her come quietly on my mouth.
In seconds, I flop to my back. She climbs over me, sitting on my dick, and riding me like I’m her bucking bronco.
I think I’m going to enjoy the next several weeks very much.
* * *
The next night, a couple of friends amble up to the bar at Sticks and Stones. Before I can even say a proper hello to the pair of hockey players, the guy with the beard blinks at my wedding band.
“Wait. Let me see that .” Hayes Armstrong is a longtime friend of mine and a star winger on one of the city’s two hockey teams. He’s at the bar with the team captain, Stefan Christiansen. They’re both married to the same woman—the team mascot. That makes the three of them one of the city’s handful of hockey throuples. Something is definitely in the water there in the arenas. Or the ice.
“Oh. This?” I deadpan, showing off my ring, raising my hand for the whole world to see.
“When the fuck did you get married?” Hayes asks.
Stefan rolls his eyes and pats his teammate on the shoulder. “Do you seriously never look at social media?”
Hayes jerks his head to his buddy. “Do I look like I enjoy pointless arguments with strangers along with photos of lunch?”
“Kind of,” I joke.
“Also, what does social media have to do with it?” Hayes asks, grabbing a stool and parking his burly frame on it.
Stefan, who is known as The Viking, thanks to his Scandinavian looks, takes the seat next to him then tips his forehead to me. “Gage and Elodie posted their wedding pics on social. Our friend and his bride said I do in Vegas last week. And the groom wore…velvet,” he adds, in a gossipy TV announcer voice.
“Correction: it was velour,” I say, having too much fun with the tale. Well, it was a damn good day in Vegas. Best day I’ve had with a woman in a good, long time.
“Nothing but top-shelf for our friend,” Stefan says.
Hayes is a dog with a bone though. “Can we back it up to you being married? What’s up with that?”
Since they were out of town for a long stretch of away games, they haven’t been around for more than a week. I glance around the bar, checking for, well, Sebastian and his spies, but seeing only familiar faces. Still, I lean in and lower my voice. “It’s an arrangement. We needed to do it for this business thing,” I say, explaining a few more details.
“A marriage of convenience,” Hayes confirms when I’m done.
“Yes. It is.” I run my finger absently over my wedding band.
Hayes chuckles, shaking his head in amusement. “And you gave me a hard time when I accidentally married Ivy in Vegas once upon a time, then told the team owner we were happy newlyweds.”
Stefan clears his throat. “Now, now, Hayes. That was you putting your foot in your mouth with the owner when you and Ivy were on the way to get an annulment.” Stefan will probably never stop teasing Hayes about how the fake real marriage transpired.
Hayes arches an eyebrow at Stefan. “And we all enjoyed the benefits of my wife. Now, our wife .” He spins his focus back to me. “But also, you gave me a hard time.”
I nod, owning it. “I did.”
“I guess it’s payback time.”
“Sure, give me hell about how a smarmy, oily, man threatened her business because she wouldn’t sell it to him, and I stepped up and married her to protect our families,” I say, bring it on style.
Hayes lifts a finger, parts his lips, then says, “Well played, sir. And on that note, I’ll take a pale ale.”
I turn to Stefan. “Stout for you, Viking?”
“That’d be great.”
After I pour their beers and set them down, Hayes shoots me a quizzical look. “But is this really just a business deal? You’re into this woman, aren’t you?”
More than I ever expected to be. But I’m curious how he figured that out so quickly. “How can you tell?”
Hayes swallows some beer, then sets the glass down. “The way you’re showing off your ring. You’re proud of it. Proud of her.”
Stefan whistles. “Damn, that’s some serious emotional intelligence,” he says to Hayes.
I’m a little floored myself. I peer down at the gold on my finger, then rub my thumb over it once more. I do like it. I am proud of it. He’s not wrong. I meet his gaze. “Yes, but a deal’s a deal.”
I have to say it for myself more than them. To remind myself that we made a business deal. To grow Sticks and Stones. To help Elodie’s Chocolates. To gain financial security for our kids. We’re just two single parents trying to stay ahead.
The other reminders come all night in a packed bar. Business has been slowly but steadily picking up since Elodie and I opened Special Edition a couple weeks ago. I can’t complain about the increase in revenue.
And I can’t complain about the email that arrives from Celeste the next time I check my phone. It’s short and to the point.
I am impressed with Special Edition. Keep it up.
I can’t wait to tell Elodie. When I head home a little later, eager to sneak into bed and let her know, I pass The Chocolate Connoisseur on the way.
A new sign in the window reads Half Off Everything .
I groan. That guy can’t leave well enough alone.