Tiel reappeared a minute later and paused in front of Will, who decided it was necessary to lean against the wall like he was shooting a goddamn cologne ad.
“Hi,” he said. “Will.”
“Tiel,” she replied with a wide-eyed glance in my direction.
“Scheduled sex,” I said, and her face morphed into a knowing—if not surprised—expression.
“That’s why you’ve been skipping the farmers’ market,” she said. “You’ve got enough eggplant here.”
“Aren’t you a bundle of hilarious today? I’ll meet you there,” I said, my words giving her a firm shove out the door. She waved goodbye, and Will let out a low chuckle. “‘Scheduled sex’?”
“Everyone gets a nickname around here,” I said, heading to my room to finish getting ready.
“Whatever happened to Captain America?” he asked, following close behind.
“I don’t think Captain America ever destroyed a pair of Wolford tights tying a girl up,” I said from inside my closet.
He braced his hands over the door, and that position shifted his towel lower until the imagination wanted for little. “Nice guys can’t enjoy some kink?”
I rummaged through a pile of jeans before I found the ones I wanted. “Are we talking about nice guys, or are talking about you?” I asked, snagging a pair of panties and a bra. “Because I recall you telling me that the last thing you were was nice.”
Will moved away from the door and stepped inside the closet. He ran his knuckles down the lapel of my robe, stopping when he reached the knot at my waist. It loosened, and he trailed his fingers up my belly and between my breasts.
“You don’t want nice,” he said, his thumbs stroking my nipples. “You kick the shit out of nice. You fight dirty and you fuck dirty, and you only want someone who can operate at that level, too.”
“And you’re saying you’re up for the challenge?”
“You still don’t know the answer to that?” His hands shifted to my face and he kissed me, fast and hard. It felt like a punishment and tasted like a promise.
*
There were tinybruises forming on my hips from Will’s fingertips, my closet was a disaster, and I was very late for lunch, but the orgasm was worth it. Will smacked my ass and promised to fix the wreckage while I scrambled out the door. My phone was loaded with texts inquiring into my whereabouts and providing detailed directions to the group’s table in the café, and it didn’t stop chirping with alerts while I drove to the farmers’ market.
I tugged my hair into a knot and hid the irritation on my neck—a gift from Will’s beard scruff—with scarf I found in the backseat, and hoped my appearance didn’t scream “well-fucked.”
The market was filled with slow-moving shoppers, and it drained every ounce of my remaining patience. When I found myself trapped behind a gaggle of hippie-stroller moms, I almost turned around and went home. If I wasn’t completely certain Lauren would come looking for me, I would have been back in my car by now.
They eventually broke formation, and I made my way to the café. I slipped past the people waiting for tables, and spotted the group in the far corner. Andy noticed me first, and waved me over.
“I hate lube,” Lauren said as I approached the table. “It’s gross and I hate it.”
“Hey, sorry I’m late,” I said, settling beside Andy. I frowned in Lauren’s direction. “And what the hell did you just say?”
“Why would anyone hate lube? It’s glorious,” Andy said. She handed me a mimosa. “We ordered for you.”
“Yes, it’s very useful, and I don’t have a problem asking for a helping hand when I need it or when things are getting alotof use, but…” Lauren held up her hands in frustration and wiggled in her seat. “Sometimes, it sticks around for too long. It feels slimy, like it needs to be power-washed off. Or worse, it dries everything out.”
I watched while Tiel guzzled her drink, and I knew she was probably dying of Walsh information overload. She didn’t realize that Lauren and Andy sharedeverythingwith each other, but that didn’t make her subject to the same expectations. And it wasn’t like this was easy for me, either. These conversations were only acceptable when I pretended these women weren’t having sex with my brothers. In my mind, different celebrities or athletes happily warmed my friends’ beds, and I didn’t have to think about my brothers’ penchants for growling or biting.
“Perhaps you’re using too much,” I said.
“Or the wrong kind,” Andy said. “We only use coconut oil.”
Tiel snort-laughed, then slapped a hand over her mouth. “Sorry, what the fuck did you just say?” she asked.
I watched while Andy turned a slow gaze in Tiel’s direction. She was intimidating as hell, and there were still times when I found her chilly expressions and fierce cheekbones disarming.
“Coconut oil,” Andy repeated. “It’s completely organic and edible, and it’s also antimicrobial and—”
