“Huxley, Lottie, over here,” Ellie says, waving her hand while she balances on an exercise ball.
I squeeze Lottie’s hand and guide her over to the jubilant pregnant woman.
I was worried I’d be encroaching on Lottie’s day with this request, I wasn’t sure what she was doing, but she didn’t seem to mind. She actually seems to be in good spirits today, which is throwing me off. Still has an edge to her, but it seems as though that edge has been smoothed out—slightly.
Lottie turns distinctively into my shoulder and whispers, “She looks as if she just busted out of the insane asylum.”
I chuckle and assess Ellie. Bouncing far too high on the ball, wearing leggings and a sports bra, her hair swishing back and forth, while a giant, unfaltering grin is plastered to her face. Lottie isn’t wrong.
Just then, Dave comes up behind Ellie and settles her down with his hands to her shoulders. He spots me and waves. “So glad you guys could make it.”
We walk up to them and Ellie immediately takes Lottie into a hug, while Dave gives me a firm handshake.
“You will absolutely love Heaven,” Ellie says. “She’s the best in the business.”
“Heaven?” Lottie asks, confused.
I place my hand on Lottie’s lower back and say, “The prenatal teacher. Remember I was telling you about her in the car?”
I told her nothing. Because her text, I think you’ve met your match, inspired me. Rather than discussing today’s outing, I went into great detail about how if she’d actually attend the pedicures I’d set up for her, her crusty feet wouldn’t scrape across our beautiful hardwood floors. And the murderous look on Lottie’s face when I said we had to get a contractor to come in and check out a spot on the floor where she’d left a gash was priceless.
“Oh, yes, sorry.” She taps her head. “Pregnancy brain.” Turning to Ellie, she asks, “You’re sure it’s not too early for us to do something like this?”
Ellie waves off Lottie’s concerns. “I think the more you can learn and practice the better.”
“That’s what I told her in the car,” I say.
Lottie adds, “We do love education, don’t we, Hux?”
I look down at her. “We do. We really love education.”
“Then you’re in the right spot,” Dave says. “Pull up a yoga mat, a ball, and one of those pillows. We should be getting started soon.”
“Great.”
I head toward the wall when Lottie takes my hand in hers, reminding me to be affectionate in the moment. Together we work our way to the wall where all of the “supplies” are. Out of earshot, she whispers, “What the hell are we supposed to do with an exercise ball, yoga mat, and pillows? I’m not very bendy, Huxley. I’m very stiff, and when I squat, my knees crack. I might be twenty-eight, but my body acts like a seventy-five-year-old arthritic woman.”
“I don’t think there’s a lot of bending in this class.”
“Have you been to one of these before?”
I give her a look. “Do you think I’ve been to one of these before?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know what you do in your spare time.”
“Not this,” I almost hiss. I really need to start thinking before I react to situations, aka, don’t say yes to everything Dave asks. “I don’t think we’re going to be required to be professionals. This is our first time.”
“What if we have to imitate sexual positions?” She glances behind her back.
“Why the fuck would we have to do that?”
“I don’t know,” she whispers. “We’re in LA and we’re in a birthing class. They like granola things here. Hip and trendy things. What if this class isn’t about breathing but more about the journey, the process? You know, we did this whole story on Angeloop where they talked about unique birthing classes and how you had to share your entire journey with the class. What if this is one of those?”
“We barely have a journey. You’re what, six weeks pregnant?”
Her eyes widen. “I don’t know, am I? I don’t remember what I said.”
“Jesus Christ.” I drag my hand over my face.
“Everything okay over there?” Dave asks. “Need help?”
“We’re good,” I say with a smile, while waving to him. I turn back to Lottie and say, “I think you said you were eight weeks pregnant.”
“Are you sure?”
“No,” I answer. “But it feels familiar.”
“You’re the brains of this operation, you’re supposed to catalogue these things,” she hisses at me. “What kind of mom am I going to look like if I can’t even remember how many weeks this little cashew in my belly is?” She pats her flat stomach.
“Then you should’ve remembered what you said.”
Her eyes narrow. “Excuse me for being put on the spot and not remembering. I’ll have you know, I often black out in stressful situations, so . . . good luck with that.”
“Great,” I mutter and then reach for a pillow. The easy camaraderie from the car is quickly evaporating between us. “Maybe avoid the question if asked.”
“You know the teacher is going to ask, everyone asks. Even when they’re not supposed to ask, they ask. It’s a common pregnancy small-talk specialty. ‘Oh, hey, Judy, you’re pregnant, look at that. How many weeks are you?’ ‘Thanks, Carolyn, yeah, this little banana in my belly is thirty-two weeks.’”
“Thirty-two weeks is a banana?”
“I have no freaking clue, Huxley, that was me babbling.”
“Well, for the love of God, don’t babble.”
With a smile on her face, because Ellie is starting to move toward us, Lottie says, “Babbling is what you get for plucking an amateur off the streets.”
“Are you two nervous?” Ellie asks when she reaches us. She places her hand on Lottie’s arm in a comforting way. “I get it. I was nervous our first time too. It can be embarrassing, having to do all of these things in front of people, but I promise, you’re in a safe zone. And starting when you’re only eight weeks pregnant gives you more and more time to be comfortable.” She takes a ball from the ball rack and says, “I’ll bring this over for you two.”
When Ellie is out of earshot, Lottie turns toward me and says, “Thanks to the modern-day Stepford wife, we now know I’m eight weeks pregnant.” She lets out a deep breath. “And what the hell kind of things are we going to have to do in front of people?”
“I don’t know,” I say, eyeing the people in the circle. “Can’t be that bad, right?”
“DEEP BREATH IN AND . . . deep breath out. That’s it, and when you’re ready, start to lightly pulse into your partner.” Lottie is beneath me, legs spread wide as can be, eyes a dangerous shade of bloodshed as she holds on to her knees and I press my jean-clad crotch against her pussy. “Connecting to that moment of conception will bring you closer and closer to the little seedling growing inside of you. Remember that night, the way you felt. Was it passionate? Was it seductive? What was involved? If you’re currently in the phases of trying to get pregnant, think about connecting with your partner. Eye contact. Always keep eye contact.”
Mouthing to me, Lottie says, “I want to die.”
I mouth back, “Right there with you.”
As we found out quickly, this is a class for everyone, not just people who are pregnant, but those who are trying as well. It’s not Lamaze, per se, it’s about learning to connect with your body and your partner, hence the sexual position I’m currently in.
“Dave, such a beautiful rhythm, and your eye contact with Ellie . . . I can feel your passion building up, your loins stirring as you prepare to give her your seed.”
Lottie bites down on her bottom lip as she attempts to keep it together.
“Such a beautiful image, Dave. Now, Ellie, please, with your head thrown back in passion, there has to be something you’re doing with your hands. Are you caressing your breasts? Reaching for Dave? The more you evolve this moment into the real thing, the more you will open your flower and receive all the love Dave has to give.”
Lottie whispers, “I’m going to throw up.”
Strained, I reply, “Shut the fuck up and look as if you’re enjoying my pulsing.”
“But I’m not. Your pulsing is anything but enjoyable.”
“Not what you said last night.”
Her eyes narrow. “You finger-fucked me, not pulsed with your pelvis. It’s different.”
I swallow wrong and start coughing, which of course brings the instructor’s attention to us. The jangling bracelets on her wrists announce her approach and I wince as I see her clogs come into view. Fuck.
“Our newest couple, Hanley and Lonnie. Now, you look uncomfortable.”
First of all, it’s Huxley and Lottie.
Second of all, we weren’t prepared for a goddamn orgy when coming to this class.
Third of all, yeah, we’re uncomfortable, because we’ve never conceived or attempted to, for fuck’s sake.
But I don’t say that. Instead, I smile and say, “I think we were drunk the night we conceived.”
“It’s why it took him so long to get it up,” Lottie says, and when I shoot her a scowl, she grins up at me.
“It didn’t take long, never takes long with her,” I say as I squeeze her sides, reminding her who we’re pulsing next to.
“Oh, a drunken night of debauchery. One of my favorite couplings, because nothing is off the table, right? Even going bareback, which I’m assuming is what happened?”
Kill.
Me.
Now.
“Yup,” Lottie says. “Totally. We’d been fornicating for quite some time before that, but all it took was one drunken night of Catch Phrase in the backyard with friends, and we were toast. Bumbling up the stairs, we made it all the way to our room completely clothed, and then, bam, I turned around and there was Huxley, standing naked, in all his glory. One look at his erection and I knew what I wanted. I remember saying ‘screw condoms’ and I threw them out the window before jumping this man. The lovely pool boy found them in the pool the next day. Said he had never fished out condoms before. He’s a nice lad.”
She’s babbling. Jesus Christ, she’s babbling.
“Oh, so you jumped him, then?” Heaven asks.
“Yes.”
There’s no point in stopping her.
“Therefore, would this have been the position you were in?”
“Actually, no,” Lottie says. “This isn’t the position we were in. I love being on top.”
Heaven laughs. “Well, that’s why this is awkward, because we aren’t thinking back to the actual day of conception. If you’re not re-creating it properly, then we aren’t connecting with our baby.” She motions at us with her hands. “Please, please, get up and try again. Really jump back to that night.”
“Should I get drunk?” I ask.
Heaven laughs again. “Wouldn’t that be a gas?”
Yes, it fucking would.
I roll to my back and rest my head on the pillow, while Lottie climbs on top of me, connecting her center to mine.
“I can already tell this is more comfortable for the both of you.” Heaven gets down on her knees and settles right next to us. The other couples are still pulsing, talking to each other—connecting—and I can’t help wonder, how the fuck is Dave okay with this? Not just okay, but a very active participant. Some might say the teacher’s pet. “Hanley, walk me through what you remember. Was she topless?”
So, we’re doing this . . . a step-by-step with the instructor?
Christ.
“Uh, yeah. She was completely naked.”
“Good. Good. And when you look up at her like this, her breasts bouncing in front of you, her nipples hard with arousal, would you say it’s in that moment where your loins knew you’d be impregnating her?”
Uh . . . what?
“I, uh, I really wasn’t thinking about getting her pregnant. It wasn’t planned.”
“Oh, I see.” Heaven nods. “So, purely a night of passion. That is something for the ages.” Moving in closer, she takes Lottie’s hands and puts one in her hair and the other on her breast. Then she assists Lottie by gripping her hips and moving her over my cock. Whoa, slow down there. “Would you say this feels familiar?”
“Yes,” Lottie says. “Very familiar.” Her hips grind down on mine and she nibbles her bottom lip as I watch her fingers glide over her hard nipple.
Fuck.
FUCK!
There’s no way in hell I’m about to get hard at a stupid pregnancy class with Dave right next to me.
But Lottie is making that a difficult task, especially since she’s wearing that crop top and I can see peeks of her bare skin, the same bare skin I touched and caressed last night.
“Hanley, I need you to be in the moment. You’re thinking too much. Pretend no one is here besides you and Lonnie.” Hard to do that with a Mother Hen yapping in my ear. “Watch the way Lonnie’s body undulates against yours. The passion in her expression, the way her fingers glide over her breasts, tug on her hair.”
Jesus, this isn’t helping at all.
My body tenses, my shoulders practically kissing my ears, and my hands fall to her thighs, trying to get her to slow down so I can catch my breath.
“That’s it,” Heaven says. “Just like that, Lonnie, keep pace.” Slowly, Heaven backs away and moves toward the center of the group. “Don’t falter, Lonnie, keep moving as you are.”
Lottie nods and then glances down at me. “Trying not to get hard?”
“You’re full of yourself,” I whisper.
“After last night, I’d have a hard time believing this right here isn’t getting you hard.” She continues her pace.
“I’m not a teenager. I know how to control myself.”
“Okay,” she says, then takes her hand that was in her hair and places it on my lower stomach. The shift in position angles her just enough to allow for better friction. She picks up the pace and grinds down on me after lifting, hitting my cock in just the right spot. A wave of heat spikes through me as my cock starts to stir.
My jaw clenches down, I try to attempt to blur her out, to not make eye contact, but every time she angles up, I catch a glimpse of the lacy, dark green bralette she’s wearing, and that’s not helping the cause.
“I don’t remember our conception,” Lottie says and makes eye contact with me. “But I sure as hell remember last night and how hard you made me come.”
Fuck.
I’m gone and she knows it, because she grins as she drives against me.
“Mmm, having your fingers deep inside me like that.” She wets her lips. “I wanted more.” She leans forward and, looking me dead in the eyes, she says, “I got off again with my vibrator, because that’s how much you turned me on.”
Fucking hell. My cock swells beneath her, and a satisfied smile crosses her face.
“There you are. Payback is a bitch, Hanley.”
I grind my teeth together, my cock begging for more from her.
“Remember that, because this isn’t over,” I say while she continues to pulse over me, making me harder and harder until . . .
“Okay, let’s get into another position.” Heaven claps her hands.
The tension in the room is palpable, and as everyone disengages from their partners, I realize very quickly from the shift in the room, I’m not the only one turned on.
But it’s the sight to my left that really has me rethinking all of my decisions. Standing tall and proud, hands on his hips, is Dave, with a massive erection poking against his pants.
Jesus. Christ.
An image I know I’ll never get out of my head.
Nope, Dave is apparently claiming his territory, letting everyone in the room know . . . he’s the boner champ.
I don’t know if I should clap, act horrified, or go wash my eyes out with bleach when I get home.
Most likely . . . the latter.
HUXLEY: I saw Dave’s boner.
Breaker: Uhh . . . what?
JP: Please tell me you aren’t the one who gave him a boner. I’m all about doing whatever it takes, but, man . . . come on.
Huxley: All I have to say is pregnancy class gone wrong. We had to simulate procreating. There was pulsing.
Breaker: You and Dave had to pretend to procreate? Dear fuck, who was pulsing?
JP: My guess is Dave was pulsing into Hux.
Huxley: No, JESUS. We were practicing with our respective pregnant women.
Breaker: Ohhh . . . does that mean you pulsed into Lottie?
JP: Things just got interesting.
Breaker: Uh, Dave having a boner is what made things interesting.
JP: Wait . . . did you have a boner, Hux?
Breaker: ^^^ This. Please answer this.
Huxley: I was fine until she climbed on top of me, gripped her tits, and dry-humped me.
Breaker: Holy fuck.
JP: This was a class? Sounds more like a good time. Where can I sign up?
Huxley: You have serious issues.
JP: Says the guy who was boning out during a pregnancy class next to a colleague.
Huxley: You weren’t there. You don’t know.
Breaker: Did you at least congratulate Dave on his boner?
Huxley: When does a guy ever congratulate another guy on his boner?
Breaker: Might be something nice to do. A solid pat on the back and then a compliment. “Nice bone, man.”
Huxley: Fuck knows why I talk to you two.
“WHAT A WONDERFUL CLASS, don’t you think?” Ellie asks as she licks her mint chocolate chip ice cream in a large waffle cone.
“Oh, quite lovely,” Lottie responds, even though I know her voice is full of sarcasm.
That was not a lovely fucking class. That was a nightmare, for many reasons.
“Isn’t Heaven a wonderful instructor?” Dave asks me. “She really helps me connect on another level. Ellie and I are so much stronger in our relationship because of Heaven.”
“Yeah.” I scoot in closer to Lottie, my hand on the back of her chair as we share an ice cream cone. And when I say share, I mean she’s eating the entire thing by herself. “Heaven was great. She made me think of things I’ve never considered before.” Truth. Heaven definitely brought me to a new level.
“Do you think you’ll continue with the class?” Ellie asks, so hopeful.
“Depends on Lottie’s schedule,” I answer. “She has a start-up business with her sister, so her time is limited.”
“Really?” Dave asks, looking interested. “What’s the—” He looks down at his phone, which buzzes on the table. “Crap.” With a sorrowful look, he says, “That’s Gregory. He’s been wanting to do a walk-through of one of our properties, and I told him to text me when he’s ready. Unfortunately, I have to cut this ice cream date short.”
“Totally understand,” I say, offering him a wave. “We should probably get going soon as well. After we finish this ice cream, of course.”
Dave stands and helps Ellie out of her chair. “Yes, enjoy the sunny day. Hopefully we’ll run into you again soon.”
“I’d love that,” Ellie coos. “Just love you two.”
Together, hand in hand, they say their goodbyes, and then they take off toward their parked car.
Instead of releasing myself from Lottie right away, I keep my arm firmly planted where it is and ask, “Are you going to share that?”
“Nope,” she says before taking a huge lick of the Rocky Road ice cream we decided to get together. “This is all mine. It’s the least you can do.”
“You know, you weren’t the only one who suffered through that black hole back there,” I hiss into her ear while keeping my posture and face neutral. Dave and Ellie could still see us.
“Are you talking about your blue balls?” Lottie asks, a devious smile on her lips.
Yeah, maybe a little.
Blue balls are in full force right now.
Doesn’t help that I keep picturing her above me, grinding down on my cock while she grabs her breast . . .
“Lottie . . . Lottie Bug, is that you?”
Instantly, Lottie goes stiff next to me as a leggy blonde approaches us. Decked out in a bubble-gum pink skirt and white top, the woman looks as if she was plucked from Legally Blonde.
Lottie sits up and casually places her hand on my thigh. That move right there, her hand claiming me, tells me one important thing: whoever this person is, she needs me to be in character.
“Angela,” Lottie says after swallowing her ice cream. “What, uh, what are you doing here?”
Angela? As in . . . the ex-friend who fired Lottie?
Angela glances my way and I know the minute she recognizes me, because she tilts her sunglasses down on the edge of her nose and her mouth falls open.
Ignoring Lottie entirely, she asks, “Huxley Cane, is that you?”
Am I supposed to know her? Because she’s making it seem as if we know each other.
I shift in my seat, moving closer to Lottie as my arm slips up to her shoulder rather than resting on her chair. “I’m sorry, have we met?” I ask.
Lottie leans in toward me. Her body language is screaming for help. I reassure her with a stroke of my hand over her shoulder.
Angela waves her hand and says, “You’re too funny. We met at the Stardom Gala last year. I was the gorgeous goddess in the purple floor-length dress.” She tosses her hair over her shoulder.
“Huh,” I say, tilting my head. “Can’t quite place you.”
The softest of snorts escapes Lottie’s nose, and I’m sure I’m the only one who heard it.
“Well, there were a lot of people there that night.” Angela sets her hand on her hip. “How crazy that we run into each other now.” She then looks at Lottie. I watch as her eyes fall on my arm around Lottie, the closeness of our bodies, and then . . . it clicks. “Oh my, Lottie, are you two . . . together?”
Lottie glances in my direction, so I take that moment to lift her hand that’s holding the ice cream, bring it to my mouth, and take a bite from it before winking at her. “Hiding me from your friends again, babe? What did I tell you? Stop keeping me a secret.”
“Wait,” Angela says, her mind whirling. “Are you serious? You two are dating?” She motions her manicured finger between us.
Lottie nods. Keeping her eyes on me, she says, “Yes, we’re dating.”
“Babe, we’re more than dating.” I take the ice cream from her and then lift her hand, showing off her massive engagement ring. I give it a kiss and say, “We’re getting married.”
“What?” Angela nearly shrieks. “Since when? You never said anything to me, Lottie.”
I turn toward Angela and, with a smile on my face, I say, “We’ve been busy. Isn’t that right, babe?” I lean over and kiss the side of her neck.
Lottie’s grip on my leg tightens as she says, “Yeah, very busy. But, yeah, we’re engaged.”
“I see, well . . . can’t say that I’m not hurt you didn’t tell me.”
Wow, she has some fucking nerve.
“That’s what happens when you sever ties with your best friend, Angela. They take that as a sign to move on.” Lottie smiles at me and offers me the ice cream again so I can take another mouthful. “I’ve moved on.”
Angela steps back, hand to her chest. “Lottie, you’re being so cruel. And here I was, coming over to see if you wanted to have lunch with me sometime.” Oh, what a load of bullshit. “We really miss you at the company. Maybe we can figure something out. Especially now that you’re dating Huxley Cane, we could partner up.”
From the corner of my eye, I see Lottie’s jaw clench. Her anger’s spiking, and I’m seeing another side of her. Sure, I’ve made her angry, but those conversations we’ve had almost seem superficial now, compared to this. This is true anger. This is from the pit of her stomach.
And I can see her wanting to jump down Angela’s throat, which will do nothing for Lottie, so I stop it before it can happen. “We’re actually late for a meeting, babe.” I slip my arm off her shoulder and instead take her hand. “I’m sure Angela doesn’t mind catching up with you some other time.” I give Angela a look.
“Oh, of course not,” she says easily. “Don’t let me keep you. But I’d love to chat at some point, Lottie. I miss you. And you know how busy I am. Give the reunion some thought. It needs a nice Lottie touch to it.” She twiddles her fingers at Lottie and then heads into the ice cream shop.
Lottie stays silent as she sits there, holding the ice cream, but not saying a thing. Not even moving.
Unsure of what to do, I say, “So, that’s Angela?”
Lottie stands and hands me the ice cream. “Can we leave now?”
“Yeah, if that’s what you want.”
“It is,” she says, and for the first time since I’ve known her, I take her hand in mine not because I’m putting on a show, but because I think she needs it.
THE CLANGING of spoons in our soup bowls is the only sound in the dining room. The silence is so deafening that if someone walked in, they’d think they were walking in on a funeral.
A funeral for my self-respect.
Lottie hasn’t really said anything to me since we left the ice cream shop. She doesn’t seem mad, more . . . contemplative. Probably regretting her decision-making, like I am.
I still don’t know what kind of class that was. I know Los Angeles is slightly different than other cities, but dry-humping in front of strangers while envisioning burying your seed . . . that’s a little much.
And because it was so weird, so off-base, I have no idea what to say to Lottie. Should I apologize? Should I ask her if she liked it? Should I sign us up for another class? Should I bring up Angela again?
“How is the soup?” Reign asks, coming in with a basket of biscuits.
“Delicious,” I say.
“Really good,” Lottie adds. “Are those homemade biscuits?”
“Yes,” Reign says. “Chive and cheddar.”
“Don’t mind if I do,” Lottie says as she plucks one from the basket, smiling. Okay. She’s in better spirits than when we left the ice cream store.
So, I decide to test my luck with her.
“Do you want to talk about what happened with Angela?”
Her eyes flash to mine. “No.”
“Because it seemed like—”
“I said no, Huxley,” she snaps at me.
Okay, noted. Doesn’t like talking about Angela. Got it. I try a different approach.
“Dave told me Ellie was hoping you’d go shopping with her sometime. For baby items.”
She doesn’t look at me, not even a small glance. “She said she wanted to get fitted for breast pumps.”
“Oh.” Shit, that doesn’t sound like fun. I have no idea what that entails but I can already sense it wouldn’t be something Lottie’s interested in. “Did she say when?”
“Sometime next week.” She breaks off a piece of her biscuit and plops it in her mouth.
“Are you going to go?”
“Do I really have a choice? After what happened this afternoon, I’m pretty sure we’re bonded to Ellie and Dave for life.” She adds another piece of biscuit to her mouth. “When we were putting away the yoga mats, Ellie told me she had an orgasm while Dave was pulsing into her.” Casually she dabs her mouth. “Do you understand the kind of damage that does to a person? Knowing someone only a few feet away had an O while their fiancé dry-humped them in a pregnancy class?” Her eyes finally meet mine. “I’m not doing well, Huxley.”
“Well, you’re in good company, because I’ll never be able to look at Dave the same, after he proudly stood with his boner for everyone to see.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t join him.” She scoops up more of her soup and sips on it. “You know, since you seem to like to be the best at everything. It would’ve been fun seeing who packed more heat.”
“What happened today was completely unprofessional and I have no intentions of repeating it.”
“I knew it.” She shakes her head.
“Knew what?” I ask.
“That a pole was being shoved farther and farther up your ass while we were there.”
“Are you telling me you’d enjoy going to another one of those classes?”
“Absolutely not, but chalk it up to a life experience. You don’t have to be so stiff all the time, no pun intended.”
“I’m not stiff all the time,” I say. “I just don’t enjoy getting dry-humped in front of a business associate, only to see said business associate’s erection after.”
“He didn’t get excited over you dry-humping.”
I pinch the brow of my nose. “I know that. I was just adding it on to the ‘experience’ of the day,” I say, using air quotes. “You yourself said you weren’t doing well. So why are you chastising me?”
“I’m not chastising you,” she shoots back and then takes a deep breath while leaning back in her chair. “You know, I don’t think this is working out.”
“Excuse me?” I say, panic in my voice.
“This.” She motions between us. “We can’t seem to get on the same wavelength, and frankly, I’m tired of fighting with you all the time.”
“You think I enjoy fighting with you?”
“I think you take pleasure in making me angry. That much is true from last night.”
“I take pleasure in other things,” I say, raising a brow, because I really fucking enjoyed having my fingers inside of her.
She rolls her eyes and sets her hands on the table. “I think this eating dinner together thing is too much. We’re forcing something we shouldn’t be forcing.”
I lean in and speak quietly when I say, “We’re not forcing anything. We’re putting on a goddamn show.” Keeping my voice at a whisper, I continue, “Dinners aren’t about spending time with you, they’re about keeping the illusion alive.”
“You really think Reign might say something? Like that we’re not eating dinner together? He seems like a nice, trustworthy guy. He hasn’t poisoned you yet, unfortunately.”
Cute.
“It’s not that he’d deliberately say something. He might casually comment on how we didn’t have dinner together, it might get out to someone else, who then spins it for an article to sell to all those bullshit gossip sites. When you’re in a position such as myself, you have to be aware of information getting out in any way, even if it is innocent.”
“Ugh,” she groans and crosses her arms over her chest. “I just don’t know how much longer I can do this, Huxley.”
Her eyes look drained when they connect with mine and I realize that maybe she’s right. This is really draining, putting on a show, making sure you’re saying the right thing all the time. I’m used to acting like someone else, it’s how I’ve acted around all my business associates. Professional, put together, thoughtful, focused. But in reality, I’m like every other guy who just wants to relax, who jokes around, teases, has a good time. For someone who might not be used to putting on a show, it is draining, especially when it isn’t just your livelihood at stake, but someone else’s.
“How much longer can you do this?” I ask her, growing serious.
Her eyes snap to mine. “What do you mean?”
“Give me a time frame. I can call Dave tomorrow, see if he wants to meet up. Talk about the deal. I wanted to massage the friendship some more before I brought up the deal, but I understand your need to be done with this.”
“Well, I don’t know.” Her eyes are confused.
I nod. “I’ll speak with my brothers tomorrow.” I scoop up some soup and take a sip, retreating back into myself.
She doesn’t move, she just sits there and stares at her soup, leaving it untouched.
After a few minutes of silence, she says, “Do you know what would help?”
“What?” I ask, turning my attention back to her.
“One of the reasons I said yes to this was because when we were having dinner at Chipotle, you seemed like someone I could get along with, but somewhere along the way, that all changed.”
“I can’t help who I am.”
“That’s the problem. I don’t know who you are. And you don’t know who I am.”
“I didn’t think you were interested in getting to know me on a personal level, given our relationship is strictly business.”
She groans. “God, you and your goddamn business. How about setting that business mindset to the side for a hot minute and getting to know me instead? Maybe it’ll make it easier to do these outings with you. To pretend, because it won’t feel as though I’m dry-humping a stranger in a pregnancy class.”
I consider what she’s asking of me, and it’s not much at all. But I do know I’ve put a wall up around her. If I get to know her more, I’m going to like her more. I can feel it. She’s the kind of girl who would easily capture my attention and keep me strung along. I’m not looking for that, to be captured, to start any sort of relationship. I don’t have the patience to focus on something like that, nor am I ready to give someone my time. I’m too selfish at the moment. Too focused on my career, on my goals.
But I need her.
Fuck do I need her.
I need her to help me secure this deal, and if that means switching gears and letting her get to know me better, then fuck, that’s what I’ll have to do.
“Fine,” I say. “Two questions during the day. Two questions at dinner. That should be sufficient.”
“Sufficient? You sound like Mary Poppins, all proper and shit.”
“Are you taking the deal?” I raise my brow.
“Are you saying these questions can happen every day?”
“Yes. Does that work?”
She shakes her head in amusement. “I wasn’t expecting it to be so formal, but I guess that will have to work. Who starts?”
I pat my mouth with my napkin. “You.”
“Right now?”
“Isn’t that what you want?” I ask as I try to hide my irritation.
“I mean, sure. I guess I wasn’t prepared for you to be so open.”
“I’m not a complete asshole, Lottie.”
Her lips quirk to the side, telling me she believes otherwise. “Okay, fine, I guess I’ll start with the questions.” Her eyes pin me. “Why is this deal with Dave so important to you that you’d go to such an extent to secure it?”
I should’ve known her questions weren’t going to be easy.
Shifting in my seat, I casually turn toward her and drape my arm over the back of my chair. “It’s pretty simple, actually. When I set my mind on something I want, I go after it, no matter the circumstances. Dave has three properties that would be extremely beneficial for our business. He’s not going to just sell them to make money, he wants to make sure they go to the right person. I want to be that person.”
“Just seems so . . . aggressive.”
“When you’re in commercial property development, you have to be aggressive. You can’t sleep on anything. You have to know what’s selling, where it’s selling, and the potential for the spot. Breaker, JP, and I always keep our eyes and ears open, while developing our existing properties to continue to make money for us. Dave’s properties would be a huge opportunity that I can’t just let slip by because he doesn’t know me as a person. That doesn’t sit well with me.”
She nods. “I can see how that might make sense. I wouldn’t go to the extent that you do, but I get it.”
The hostility in her voice has subsided and the pinch in her brow has loosened. I hate to admit it, but maybe this questions thing wasn’t a bad idea after all.
“Do you want me to ask a question now?”
She nods again. “Yeah, take a whack at it.”
Okay, if she’s going to come in hot with a hard question, so am I. “Why are you so ashamed of telling your mom and Jeff about being fired?”
“Should’ve expected that question, given what I asked you.” She sighs. “I grew up with Angela, the owner of Angeloop, the lifestyle blog. She’s giving Gwyneth Paltrow over at Goop a run for her money. We were on-again, off-again friends.”
“What’s that?” I ask. “As far as I’m concerned, you’re either friends or you’re not.”
Lottie shakes her head. “Not with Angela. She’d have a friend of the week, kind of like a flavor-of-the-week situation. She had no problem bouncing from friend to friend, and when she got tired of one, she’d move on to the next, and then they were her next best friend. Growing up in a rich city on a blue-collar income, Angela was exciting to me. I know it sounds ridiculous, but when you’re a kid, flashy things are fun. Angela had all the flashy things, and we had so much fun together. We’d roll into school in her BMW, spend weekends at her house having pool parties, and then one random day, I’d be dropped as the person she went to. It was torturous, toxic, and yet, I kept accepting her back because of the fun times we had together.”
“I see,” I say. “That’s the definition of toxic.”
“I know, and that’s what my mom said to me. My mom really hates Angela, actually. So, when I graduated from school with a master’s in business and Angela offered me a job at her growing start-up, my mom was extremely skeptical about me joining forces with someone who’s so hot and cold.”
“A natural feeling.”
“Yes, perhaps. Mom was so right. She once said something that hits me more now than it did at the time. ‘She’s treated you with disdain and relentless cruelty as a friend throughout your whole friendship, Lottie, so how do you think she believes she can treat you in business?’”
“The same way, right?”
“Yeah. But my options were slim. I could go work somewhere that had a hint of the field I wanted to be in, or I could work for Angela, grow a business, and take charge. She offered me a low starting salary and said after a year, if I helped grow the business, she’d give me the raise I deserved. I thought it was a solid situation. My mom, Jeff, and sister all said not to do it, that Angela couldn’t be trusted. But I did it anyway and I excelled. I grew that business to where it is now. I had a huge part in bringing Angela to the forefront of everyone’s eyes. And when the time came for my raise . . .”
“She fired you.” I shake my head. “I’m pretty ruthless when it comes to business, but there’s no way in hell I’d ever do something like that. I know a good employee when I see them, and instead of cutting them out, I make sure to develop them. They would do so much better under my wing, than with a competitor. My guess is Angela felt threatened by you and she wanted to get rid of you before everyone else in the company realized how valuable you were.”
“Probably.” She glances down at her linked hands. “Either way, I was too embarrassed to tell my mom and Jeff. I didn’t want to hear the I told you so’s, and that’s how I came to be sitting here, with you. Desperation to save face.”
“I understand the need to protect a reputation. I think it’s one of the reasons I’m being so aggressive in my approach with Dave. Everyone in the business knows I’m going after the properties, and everyone knows I get what I want, but Dave is giving me a run for my money, and that puts a blemish on my reputation.”
“You can’t win them all.”
“I do,” I tell her. “I always win.”
“Glad your perspective is forgiving.”
I let out a light chuckle. “What’s your second question?”
Tilting her head to the side, studying me, she asks, “You seem so stiff all the time, it’s hard for me to imagine you actually having fun, so I guess my question is, what do you like to do for fun?”
I rub my hand over my jaw. “When I get to take a second to breathe, I enjoy going to baseball games.”
“Let me guess—you sit in the cushioned seats.”
“I wouldn’t settle for anything less.”
“I know this is another question, but we’ll call it question 2a.”
“I’ll let it slide,” I answer.
“Do you have a favorite team?”
I shake my head. “Not really, actually, which seems odd. I like a few of the California teams here, I enjoy going to the different ballparks and seeing how they differ from others, and I follow my good friend from college. He’s retiring this year, on his farewell tour.”
“Ooo, question 2b, who’s your friend?”
I chuckle. “Penn Cutler. He pitches for the Chicago Bobbies, but we went to college together. He’s had a bumpy road in the majors, but he’s looking solid this last season.”
“I’m going to have to look him up. But . . . baseball, that’s it? That’s the only fun thing you like to do?”
“Nah, I like hanging with my brothers. Pool days. Simple games like ring toss, cornhole, going to the beach. I’m not a surfer, but the boys and I play football on the beach pretty often.” I shrug. “Just chilling when we get a chance.”
She blinks a few times and then chuckles as she shakes her head. “I never would’ve picked you as someone who’d play football on the beach. I figured you’re a man who likes to hang out in old smoke rooms, wearing a logoed smoking jacket, cigar in hand, talking about the stock market and how the Dow is fucking you over. You’re the kind of guy who goes to the opera and likes it. The kind of man who takes piano lessons in his spare time because he needs to be good at everything.”
“I learned to play when I was young.”
“Of course you did. But football on the beach, that’s a normal person’s activity. Next you’re going to tell me you enjoy going to concerts.”
“I do,” I say. “Has to be the right music, though. I’m not about to go to a Bruno Mars concert, but if let’s say Foreigner is in town, I’ll be sure to grab tickets.”
“Nope, no way, I don’t see that for you. I don’t see you at concerts. And if you do go to concerts, you’re probably the stiff guy, beer in hand, who doesn’t move, doesn’t sing, doesn’t crack a smile.”
“You’d be surprised.” She’s loosened me up with these questions, and I’m not really comfortable with that. I’m . . . cautious by nature, ruthless when necessary. But having two brothers as best friends, I’ve become reticent with others. And here’s Lottie, determined to know me more than I’m willing to give.
“Very interesting.” She has a smile on her face, an expression so genuine that I’m surprised this is all she needed. A conversation, something so simple. “Okay, your turn, ask your final question.”
Giving it some thought, I finally ask, “Dream concert to attend?”
“Dead or alive?”
“Both,” I answer.
“If I could resurrect Freddie Mercury, I’d pretty much give my soul to do so. To see him live, to watch him perform . . . God, it would be the ultimate dream. But to watch alive . . . hmm, right now . . . probably Fleetwood Mac.”
Surprised, I say, “I was not expecting that answer. From everything you’ve said, I would’ve thought you were going to say Foreigner.”
“I mean, they are on top of the list, but I’m obsessed with Stevie Nicks, and the new collabs she did with Miley Cyrus . . . ooo, so good. And they’re just chill music, you know? You can listen to them on a rainy day or when you’re at the beach. And ‘Dreams’ . . .” A smile crosses her face. “I think it would be the perfect make-out song. The tempo, the feel of it. It’s so good. Are you a fan of Fleetwood Mac?”
I nod. “I am. I’ll play them while working sometimes.”
She holds up her hand in surprise. “You listen to music while you’re working?”
“Every day.”
“Wow.” She pushes my shoulder. “See? This is what I needed. To see you act like a human.” She lets out a deep breath. “I feel better.” She picks up her spoon and digs back into her soup.
“You feel better? Just like that?”
“Yup. You should know, Huxley, I’m pretty easy.”
“Yeah . . . found that out last night.”
“And would you look at that—he jokes too. Amazing.”
