3. Chapter 3
Chapter 3
Rina
What the fuck am I doing?
My hand is still shoved down my pants, and I’m still panting as I recover from an orgasm that shouldn’t have been that good. My brain is having a tough time separating Arlo to just a hook-up, but that’s exactly what he is. Our history means nothing, and this is a distraction I’m desperately in need of. It’s not like there are a ton of options for a hook-up here in town, not without the gossips knowing everything.
Between everything that happened with Lennox, Willow shacking up with Oakley, the fucking news vans every three feet, and this huge custom order, stress relief in the form of a few orgasms seemed like a great idea. If I’m honest, it still feels like a good idea. I just need to keep my hatred for the man front and center.
It’s not like it’ll be hard. He deserves every ounce of hate and more from me. When he decided to make a unilateral decision about both of our futures because he was scared, he went from the love of my life to lower than dirt in thirty seconds. Sure, I was heartbroken for a while, but then I took that feeling and turned it into anger. The anger has never really left me. It certainly got stronger when he showed up after five years, like nothing had happened.
And now, here I am, trying to have hate sex with the man in secret .
I’m not going to lie; he may be cocky, but he’s right about the orgasm. It’s the best I’ve had in years, and that’s just fucking sad. But it fuels my need to get to Friday sooner so I can get the real thing.
I’m just hoping he doesn’t open his mouth and talk the usual shit he does. That’s a sure-fire way to piss me off and kill my libido.
I rip my hand from my pants and walk over to the little sink I have in my workshop to wash up. Lord knows I don’t want the reminder of what just happened every time I use that hand to build this dresser.
Hands on the sink, I bow my head and take a deep breath. I know this is a terrible idea. I know having sex with the man who ripped my heart out of my chest and then stomped on it for good measure is bad news. I also know I’m barely being held together at the seams right now, and this is an escape I desperately need.
Sure, what could possibly go wrong?
It’s too late now. Friday feels like the lifeline I need to not fall apart. The thread that will keep me going when everything else feels like it’s falling around me.
I’m not sure there’s ever been a time in my life where I felt this out of control. Sure, when my parents died, and Ledger taking guardianship of Willow and Lennox when he and I were barely twenty was rough. But we both buckled down and did the damn thing. They’ve turned out pretty damn good. I didn’t even feel this out of control when, less than a month later, Arlo decided I was no longer a part of his future. I was no longer the person he wanted to live life with.
The pain in my chest that usually accompanies my thoughts of that time comes in waves, and I shake my head to stop this line of thinking.
Instead, I think about all the work I need to get done .
My custom furniture building business has blown up in the last six months. I’ve got a huge influx of orders with no end in sight. It’s a good thing, exactly what I’ve been working hard on since I was eighteen and decided to go to trade school. But holy shit are my nerves shot. I’ve taken on too many orders with a tight-as-fuck timeline that is borderline impossible.
A few days ago, when Lennox was brought to the hospital in Rosedale, I stopped taking new orders. I knew I couldn’t keep up this workload and be there for my baby brother when he needed me the most. I still have a ton to catch up on, but once I make it through my existing orders, I can re-evaluate how much work I take on.
I’m to the point now where I’m pretty sought after, so business isn’t hard to come by anymore. I can pick and choose when I open up commissions and then close them, with little effect on my overall business. It’s something I’m not used to at all. I’m used to hustling for every order, every small piece that costs more to make than I made on the back end. Scraping by and begging for a chance to show my furniture.
This newfound popularity has come at a great time, though, if I need to shut everything down to help Lennox. I’m reminded of the doctor saying that emotionally, he’ll have a lot to work through, and I know being more available is the only choice. Family is everything to me, and no obscenely expensive commission will change that.
I take one more deep breath, pushing down all my overwhelming emotions before turning around and making my way back to the dresser I was working on.
It’s finally Friday.
Thank whatever deity I need to thank, but I made it. The dresser got done as well as the two nightstands to match, and all I need to do is deliver them tomorrow.
I’ve been working sixteen-hour days all week to finish this order on time and now my brain can stop thinking. My body can get the release it so desperately wants, and then I can crash for ten hours.
My shoulders slump in relief as I drive the forty minutes to Rosedale to pick up Lennox. I’m breaking him out, and I think everyone is as relieved as he is. Ledger hosted family dinner last night so we could all be on the same page when we brought Lennox home, and it was so nice to get back to our normal routine. It felt like we hadn’t done family dinner in months, even though it had only been a couple of weeks. When you do something every single week since we were all babies, it’s difficult to not have it. It wasn’t quite the same without Lennox, but it was a step in the right direction.
By the time I get Lennox into my truck, he’s successfully pissed everyone off in the area. I know he’s the free spirit who basically lives in the wild, and being cooped up for so long is wearing on him, but damn. The boy did not need to be an ass to the poor nurse who wheeled him out. Even I know it’s hospital policy that you can’t just walk out by yourself. It wasn’t the nurse’s fault. But I know he feels helpless. And if there’s anything us Huttons hate, it’s being helpless in any way. It’s why we’ve all been so successful in our own careers.
“I know you’re dying to get home, but damn, Lenny, what did that poor nurse do to you?”
“I know.” He runs his hand over his face. “Fuck. Did you tell her sorry for me?”
“Of course I did. It’s not like anyone is blaming you anyway.”
“That’s not an excuse,” he mutters.
I choose not to compound his guilt. He has enough going on at the moment. I look at the clock and realize I’ll probably need to drop off Lennox so I can meet Arlo at our allotted time. I pull my phone out quickly and send a text to Willow, asking if she can come meet me at Lennox’s house so he isn’t alone when I drop him off. It’s more of a precaution, and I’m probably a huge bitch for ditching him for sex, but I need this.
The entire drive home, he talks about how we’re babying him. When I calmly try to tell him one of us was going to pick him up, he says he could have taken a rideshare. I almost lose what little shred of patience I have. I understand we’re all struggling with everything that happened, but shit, does he really think we’d let him take a rideshare home?
It honestly makes me glad Willow will be there when I drop him off. I think I’ll probably jump his shit if he keeps up this sullen teenager act, even if he has a good reason for it.
The drop-off is pretty seamless. Oakley is there with Willow, so they get Lennox inside, and I throw up a wave before peeling out of the driveway. I love my brother, and I will gladly drop by tomorrow and listen to him bitch all day long. But today? I’m at the end of my rope. I need sleep and sex—definitely not in that order—to put myself back on equal footing. To clear my head enough to be a good sister and not the asshole I feel like I’m being right now.
Arlo agreed to meet me at my place because it’s a little outside of town, with the benefit of no neighbors. I bought the land when my business started to kick off and I needed to make a workshop to house all the furniture I was building. Arlo lives near the center of town, right off of Main Street, so he’s close to the “action”, I assume. I’ll tell you whose house we won’t be using for these trysts.
Nope, it’ll be one time and nothing more. A one-time distraction, then I’ll go back to my normal routine. Go back to ignoring the asshole and actively avoiding him whenever he’s nearby.
I pull up to my little slice of Bluebell Falls and think about the last fifteen odd years. Sure, this isn’t where I thought my life would go, but as I look at my mid-sized cottage on the couple of acres of land, I feel good about it. I’ve created a business from scratch, and it may be killing me at the moment, but I’d call myself successful.
Success in business does not equal a fulfilling life.
God, I hate existential thinking. It’s not who I am. I’m a realist through and through, and thinking about how things could be or should be is not in my nature.
I’m happy with how my life has turned out. Sure, I’m thirty-six and single as fuck, but being single isn’t really the problem. I don’t see myself with the whole picket fence and perfect family anymore. The problem is, I need some damn sex once in a while. Sure, vibrators are great, but sometimes I just want the real thing. The intensity, not just the release.
Cue Arlo, hauling ass up my driveway and pulling in next to me. I roll down my window, waving at him to do the same.
“Park behind the barn,” I say blandly .
“Are you serious right now?” He sounds appalled, but I don’t give a shit. I will not be the talk of this town. I will not have people speculating that there’s even a remote chance of something going on between the two of us.
“Deadly. I’m not taking any chances of the meddlesome trio seeing anything.”
“Jim, Mabel, and Alice are at bingo right now,” he says calmly, but I can see the clench of his jaw.
“Don’t care.” I stare him down and arch an eyebrow at him that says he either parks behind my workshop or we don’t do this at all.
“Fucking pain in my ass,” he mumbles, just loud enough for me to hear as he throws his truck in reverse.
“We can just not do this,” I offer. I don’t need his shit. If he wants to be pissy about something this stupid, he can leave.
He doesn’t give me any inflection of what choice he’s making, so I watch him pull out of my driveway before taking the little side road that leads to the barn. My shoulders sag in relief. I would have accepted it if he left, but I’m glad he didn’t.
Not that I’ll ever say that out loud.
It’ll take him a minute to walk back up here, so I take that time to dig deep into my hatred for him. I’ll need it if I’ll ever be able to keep this to sex, as much as I hate myself for admitting that, even internally. It’s not that I think I’ll cave and just go back to the way things were. I know for a damn fact that’ll never happen, but not knowing exactly how my mind will react to being with him again freaks me out a little. I don’t want there to be any shred of hope for anything past orgasms.
Because I’ll never let him have anything more, ever again .
My wits successfully gathered, I climb out of my truck and head to my front door. By the time I’ve got it opened and my boots taken off, Arlo is standing just outside of the door.
I don’t say a word, not feeling awkward exactly, just wondering why he’s hesitating, but I do wave him in as I stand up.
Apparently, that was the password because he doesn’t walk in. He aggressively strides to me, sliding his hand into my hair before devouring my lips with his.
Fuck yes. No pussyfooting around, just straight to what I need.
The hand in my hair grips a little tighter, moving my head where he wants it as he rips his lips from mine and trails nips and licks down my neck. A whimper escapes me as the touch of pain from my scalp mixes with the pure pleasure of his mouth on me.
A growl reaches my ears, and I almost lose my footing. Melting into him more, I try to direct him where I want him, but he doesn’t relent. Holding my head in place, he continues his mission down my neck and onto my collarbone. He tries to pull down my T-shirt but realizes that won’t work, so he pulls away from me, letting go of my hair in the process. I whimper at the loss but immediately feel his hands on my side, dragging up my shirt with less than steady hands.
My hands take on a mind of their own, moving to his belt and undoing it before I lift my arms to help him with my shirt. He moves to my jeans, flicking the button open as I stumble with his. In a blur of movement, we both end up completely naked just inside of my front door.
Arlo steps back, and I watch his eyes leisurely trail down my body. In the fifteen years since he’s seen me naked, I’ve gained a lot of muscle. It’s a testament to how physical my job is, but I’m also damn proud of the fact that I can hold my own with most men. And judging by the lust in his eyes, he approves of my bulkier thighs and sculpted arms that lift solid wood furniture on the daily. Then, there are the tattoos that form a sleeve on my right arm and a half sleeve on my left. Multiple others dot my skin randomly. Colorful images that were definitely not there the last time he saw me naked paint a picture on my skin.
While he checks me out, I do the same to him. The years seem to have been even better to him. The height he grew into while he was in the Marines now fits nicely with all the muscle he built onto it. What catches my eye, though, is a scar on his hip. It’s just to the left of his impressive dick, distracting me from what we’re supposed to be doing.
He must see where I’m looking because, in a flash, he’s right up against me, pushing me against the door and ducking his head to take my nipple in his mouth.
It isn’t lost on me that we’ve yet to say a word to each other or that he chose to distract me when I found the prominent scar.