The world slowly swam back into focus as we slowed and stopped. Owen was behind me, holding me upright, and Kingston had his forehead buried in the crook of my neck.
It would be a little while before I wanted to move from this spot. The impulse was there to cover up. At least grab the apron Kingston said he wanted to see me naked under.
But it was easy to ignore the thought, nestled between them.
“So...” Kingston kissed along my shoulder. “You’ll take a look at the contract now?”
Ice raced through my veins, freezing my entire body.
Owen’s groan was a different one than he’d been making all day. This sound was less sexy and more disbelief.
I forced myself to move. To extract myself from the pile of limbs, and grabbed the apron. It wasn’t enough. I needed a dozen layers of clothing between me and them. “Get out.” I bit off the words.
They were both already on their feet, straightening their clothes. Buttoning and zipping up.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” Kingston sounded apologetic.
Which was bullshit. At least I could recognize that now.
“Please.” Owen studied me with... pity?
I didn’t want his fucking pity.
“Let me explain—”
“Listen to me.” I interrupted Kingston with bitten off words. “Don’t talk. We’re done. Get. Out.” I spoke through gritted teeth. I refused to break in front of them, no matter how desperately I wanted to shatter into a million pieces.
Chapter Seven
The catering for Digital Media consumed enough of my brain that I could ignore yesterday, and what happened with Kingston and Owen. But as the event wound down and exhaustion sank into my bones, my brain was free to skip along any path it wanted.
By the time I got back to my apartment above the shop, my thoughts were berating me full-force.
I fell for the guys’ bullshit, less than a day after they lied to me about who they were. It hurt from my toes to my hair follicles, that I’d let down my guard even a little. What was I thinking?
I was an idiot. Sex didn’t equal a connection and neither did good conversation. A lot of people knew how to get along.
But this was different.
Was it? If I hadn’t enjoyed their company, I wouldn’t have screwed them. The day was fun, the sex was good, and I got to try the whole two-guys-at-once thing. Honestly, I’d expected disappointment, but that was good—really good—so I could check that off my non-existent bucket list.
It was sorted then. I’d had fun, no one used anyone, even though apparently that was what they’d been trying for, and it was time for me to move on. I hadn’t been an idiot after all, just made a few naive assumptions.
My thoughts didn’t get the memo, though. Through the night and into the next morning, I was treated to replays of Kingston’s kisses and Owen’s touches and two skilled lovers savoring me like the most delicious delicacy.
As I made pastries for the shop, ghosts teased me with memories of them both working in my kitchen. Of the synchronicity we’d achieved. Of how good they looked in aprons, with their sleeves rolled up.
This wasn’t working for me. I didn’t swoon over one-night stands. Especially when they turned out to be assholes.
That must be why I couldn’t move on. I’d resigned myself to the fact that most guys I hooked up with were either desperate and horny, or looking to fulfill some fuck-a-fat-chick fantasy, though they rarely said so.
But Owen and Kingston did it to get at my shop, and they never tried to hide that fact. It made me feel like merchandise. The extra two dollars spent to get ten dollars in free shipping.
“Do you have a minute?” Violet startled me from my staring off into space.
I shook away the haze of thoughts, and caught sight of the clock. Shit, the pastries. “Yeah. What’s up?” I rushed for the oven, and pulled out the Danishes with plenty of time left to prevent another yesterday. I needed to stop spacing out.
“So, Anne is like a big deal over at Rinslet, right?” Violet asked.
I turned to face her. “She’d tell you not really, but she is.” I’d take any chance I could to brag about my friends’ accomplishments.
Violet lingered in the doorway, tangling and untangling her fingers. “I’ve got this friend, Luna, who’s an amazing programmer. She’s seriously top notch. But she’s having trouble breaking into... well... anything. Sorry, breaking into was a bad phrase. She can’t get anyone to take her seriously. I was wondering if Anne could give her some tips?”
“I’ll ask and let you know, but probably.” The answer would be yes. Anne loved to help other women get a foothold in development, but it wasn’t my place to speak for her.
Violet grinned. “Thank you. I’m gonna open shop.”
This was the life I’d built for myself—the life I wanted—with my café running smoothly, and friends who could count on me. I wouldn’t let a pair of pushy—sexy, talented, intelligent, incredible in bed—strangers occupy space in my mind
While I worked, I called Anne on speakerphone. I wasn’t in the mood to be on camera, even for her.
Her cheer when she answered made me smile a little, and the small talk helped more. I needed to get Owen and Kingston out of my head and telling her would help.
“Violet wants me to ask you a favor.” I explained the same thing Violet had told me. Business first, and then I could expose a portion of my gullible soul.
“I’d love to help.” Anne was cheerful. “Oh, idea. Would you be okay with them joining us Saturday night?”
“Of course.” My answer slipped out without thought, and then my brain caught up. I was absolutely happy to help Luna out, and it wasn’t as though we’d planned anything more than dinner. But I hadn’t seen Anne and Sadie alone for a couple of weeks. “If Sadie is okay with it.”
“She will be,” Anne said.
As okay with it as Anne was. Because co-opting our girls’ night out meant neither of them had to give up any more time with their men. I hated the bitter thought. “Cool. Let me know for sure, and I’ll tell Violet.”
“Are you okay? You sound... sad.” Anne’s tone shifted in an instant.
I smiled at my kitchen, to force the same feeling into my voice. “I’m great.”
“You sure?”
“Positive.”
“Okay. Call me if you need to talk, and we’ll see you Saturday night.”
My expression slipped the instant I disconnected. Anne was busy with work. Her shorter hours meant no weekend work, not that she had unlimited time.
Why was her time with me so much easier to surrender than her time with her guys?
Probably not a fair question—that wasn’t why Anne made the request.
Was I sure?
I WAS PRACTICED AT bottling my hurt and redirecting it into work. I didn’t quite have the same willpower when it came to other things, and the next morning, my order from my dairy distributor included a tub of cherry-chunk, brownie batter delight ice cream. Which I spent the next two nights making an unhealthy dent in, as a dinner replacement.
By Friday night, I’d eaten way more than I intended to, but that didn’t stop me from serving up another big bowl. I put a banana in there—that made it healthy, right?