It had been a while since the last time I saw her. It wasn’t just that I was trying to avoid seeing her but also because I did my best not to spend too much time in Frank’s company. He had a nasty habit of getting under my skin and trying to pick a fight whenever we were together. When I got word a few months back that they’d broken up, I knew I had to stay the hell away for the sake of my own sanity. Then last week I spotted her near the front of that damn cooking class, and all those feelings I’d tried to ignore for the past couple of years, the ones I’d managed to push to the back of my mind, reared up and refused to be ignored any longer.
I’d been failing epically at the first dish that pain-in-the-ass instructor was attempting to teach us to make when I caught a wave of familiar golden honey out of the corner of my eye that made my heartrate kick up. My pulse began to thrum beneath my skin when I saw her in profile, chewing on her lip as she squinted down at the sheet of printed instructions. Tunnel vision had kicked in, and she was all I could see.
Her hips moved ever so slightly like she was swaying to a beat only she could hear as she chopped and stirred, while I was rooted in place with a kitchen knife gripped in my hand.
I’d noticed a while ago that she always seemed to be in motion, even when it wasn’t required. It was as if there was always a song in her head she had to dance to. It was mesmerizing to watch, and made my dick strain behind the fly of my slacks.
With Marin as a constant distraction, I moved through the rest of that class in a fog of lust for her and annoyance at my lack of restraint. I’d ruined the meal I was trying to make, and made such a mess that it took me longer than everyone else to clean my station. Hell, it was a wonder I hadn’t chopped off a finger at some point.
By the time I finished getting everything back to rights, she was gone. I never thought of myself as a masochist, but I signed up for the next class simply because I liked the idea that I might see her again.
“Daddy, look! It’s Ms. Marin,” Eli exclaimed, ripping me from my thoughts and back into the present.
It might have made me pathetic—okay, it absolutely made me pathetic—but I felt a bit more capable of handling a run-in with her as long as I had my son as a buffer.
“Eli, don’t run—” I started, but of course he didn’t listen. Letting go of the cart, he sprinted down the aisle shouting, “Ms. Marin! Ms. Marin!” loud enough for the whole store to hear.
Her head whipped around at the sound of my boy shrieking her name. Her eyes were a shade of amber that always reminded me of the heat that followed that first sip of whiskey on a cold night and how it could warm you from the inside out. They landed on me first, growing wide with what looked a hell of a lot like panic just before she schooled her features and shifted her attention to my son.
Her lips curved up into the most spectacular smile just before my kid crashed into her waist, wrapping his arms as far around her as he could. She hugged him back, her giggle tinkling like bells.
“Well, if it isn’t Eli, Eli, the coolest guy.” She reached up to ruffle his dark hair, and I felt an annoying sense of jealousy that I wasn’t the one receiving that innocent touch, that I couldn’t hug her without giving it any thought like my boy could. For Christ’s sake, I was even jealous of the little moniker she’d given him the very first time they’d met. “How’s it going, buddy?”
“Good! We’re havin’ mac and cheese with hotdogs for dinner!” Eli informed her just as I closed the rest of the distance between us.
“Mmm, that’s one of my favorites.”
“Mine too!” my boy crowed, his little chest poking out like he was thrilled to have something in common with her. It had been like that every time they saw each other, to the point I was pretty sure Eli was just as enamored with the woman as I was. And I honestly couldn’t blame him one damn bit. He was like me in many ways, and being inexplicably drawn to Marin Grey was only one of the similarities we shared.
Her attention shifted to me, humor glinting in those tawny eyes of hers. “Guess that cooking class went about as well for you as it did for me, huh?”
Staring into those smiling eyes was like looking at the sun. Needing something else to focus on, I glanced into her cart, and the corners of my lips began to tremble at what I saw inside. There were several boxes of that very same macaroni and cheese I was just about to buy, as well as cans of instant soup, and packets of Ramen.
It took an insane amount of effort to bite back the grin that wanted to split my lips apart, but I somehow managed. “Guess so,” I said, my voice coming out much gruffer and more clipped than I’d intended.
Her smile faded, the humor in her eyes snuffed out, and she began to fidget. I felt like an asshole, knowing it was my harsh tone that instigated the change in her. I just couldn’t get my head straight whenever she was around.
“Who knows,” she continued, trying her hardest to be polite in light of my awkward behavior, “maybe the next class will be a little better.”
“Maybe.”
For Christ’s sake, Pierce. Use your goddamn words, I scolded silently.
She gave her head a shake, the small chuckle she let out dripping with disdain just before she said, “Well, I guess I’ll see you guys around.” That tightening in my chest returned. Only this time the panic came at the thought of her walking away.
She reached down to ruffle Eli’s hair again, giving him a much warmer goodbye, and started to push her cart when the words slipped past my lips before I could give them a thought.
“I heard you and Frank broke up.” She froze in place, jerking to a stop like her feet were suddenly encased in cement. “I’m sorry to hear it didn’t work out,” I offered when she looked back over her shoulder.
There was something in her gaze, something hard and frigidly cold. “Don’t be,” she said flatly. “Because I’m certainly not.”
And on that note, she disappeared, leaving me wondering what the hell had happened between her and my younger brother.
4
Marin
“I think you should try one of those dating apps.”
Covering my face with the washcloth I’d been using to clean off all the layers of stage makeup I’d been wearing, I let out a frustrated and somewhat dramatic groan.
Three nights a week I performed at the premier burlesque club in the state of Virginia. People came from all over and stood in a line that usually wrapped around the building nearly every night for a chance to get into Whiskey Dolls. The food and drinks were top-notch, the atmosphere was cool and classy, but it was the entertainment everyone came for.
The Whiskey Dolls put on a hell of a show night after night, keeping the patrons in their seats until our security team had to start ushering everyone out at closing time.
I loved my job, and normally I loved the girls I worked with. But lately they’d been getting on my damn nerves.
They’d all been in support of me tossing Frank to the curb, the majority of them turning slightly murderous when they’d found out what an abusive prick he actually was, but now that months had passed, they were all way too eager to see me get back on the horse—so to speak. They wouldn’t let up on how I needed to put myself back out there, find a nice guy, or—in my friend Alma’s opinion—have lots and lots or torrid, gymnastics-style sex with whatever guy floated my boat.