Текст книги "Sweet Obsession "

Автор книги: J. Daniels

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Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 21 страниц)

“Say something,” she pleads, moving her hands over her breasts.

I take a slow lick, my eyes nearly rolling closed in ecstasy. “Mi stai rovinando.”

You’re ruining me.

Her eyes widen ever so slightly. “What does that mean?”

I open my mouth to tell her but she silences me with her fingers against my lips.

“Don’t,” she whispers, slowly removing her hand and bringing it back to her breast. “Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.”

There it is; that quiet panic lingering, never too far away when she begins to feel something unfamiliar or different. The little protective shield she slides into place until she senses it’s okay and safe to let herself just fucking be with me.

I’ll wait. Stand still or move, I don’t care. I’ll go where she goes.

Keeping my eyes on hers, I lean forward again and press my mouth between her legs.

Brooke drops her head back with a sigh, quietly crying, “oh, God.” Her thighs tense in my hands while she openly gropes her breasts, her fingers twisting and pulling on her nipples.

I stay as unhurried as I can with my tongue, with my lips sucking gently on her clit. Teasing. Slow. Slower. Drawing this out, leisurely building her to the point of madness. I lick up one side and down the other, again and again. Ignoring where she is wettest until I can’t fucking think straight, until I need her coating my mouth more than I need to fucking breathe.

I slide my hand up her stomach and over her ribs to palm her breast, rolling her nipple between my fingers. She gasps and lifts her hips against my mouth, rocking into me, seeking out her release with gentle, pleading circles.

“Put money in,” I instruct.

Her eyes flash open, dark and cautious, but only for a second. Hurriedly, she grabs a dollar off the bench and leans over me to insert the bill into the slot. With a shaky breath she falls back and grabs my head, guiding me between her legs where I grin against her, moaning at the feel of her heels on my back.

Click.

“Mason,” she whispers through the shyest, sweetest smile, knowing what all is probably being captured right now by the lens behind me; my head between her legs, her hands sliding up her body, over her bare breasts where she lifts and squeezes them, blissfully unashamed.

I add my fingers, two inside, stretching and fucking her, my teeth toying with her clit. She bucks against my face, hands pulling my hair and roughly scraping along my scalp.

Click.

I can’t stop watching her; the smooth line of her body, her flat stomach quivering every time I dip my tongue inside to fuck her with it. Her perfect breasts, and the rapid heave of them as she slips closer to the edge.

Her whimpers turn into frantic words, begging me for more, for faster, to fuck her with my fingers again. To make her come. To tell her how she tastes and if I like it.

Click.

“So good,” I assure her before adding another finger and twisting my wrist.

“I told you I could live here. Die here. I meant it,” I don’t say, for fear she’ll pull back again, but I think it. I whisper it in my head as our eyes lock.

Hers, heavy-lidded and pleading for release.

Mine, so willing to give her this and anything. Everything.

I suck and suck on her skin. Her hands fall away from her body, slapping against the bench, and with a startled cry she falls, sweet and warm and perfectly. Lips parting with a gasp and a beg, one last word.

“Please.”

Click.

Her fingers thread through my hair, pacing me while I go on and roughly devour her. I can’t help it. Oral sex has never felt this intimate with a woman before, this profoundly carnal and I don’t want to let up. I don’t want to pull away and risk Brooke regretting any second of this. The haze of desire lifting and revealing how personal this moment was for her, allowing regrets and bloody protective shields to slip in and taint it.

“Mason,” Brooke whispers, touching my forehead with two fingers.

With a heavy blink, I press one last kiss between her legs, then lean back enough to rest my head on her thigh.

I ready myself for it, the pull away, but the eyes I meet are tender and content.

She smiles lazily. “Holy shit. That was so much fun.”

I suck in a burst of air, trapping it in my throat.

Goddamn. This one is full of surprises.

Tilting her head, Brooke laughs a little; a light, sweet sound.

“You are so fucking pretty.” I reach up and touch her cheek, running the back of my fingers over her flush.

“I thought I was beautiful,” she says, smirking.

“You are. There’s no denying that.” I kiss her thigh once more before standing and helping her to her feet, my hands smoothing down her skirt. I cup her face and bend to kiss her. “But after you come, you’re softer, Brooke. Sweeter even. I can’t explain it well, but I think you’re more pretty in those moments. I like seeing you like that with me.”

She turns and grabs her shirt and bra. “Make me come more often and you’ll see it all the time.”

A laugh rumbles in my chest as I help her, insisting on clasping her bra.

“These gorgeous fucking tits needs to be well secured. Here. Let me. I’m better suited for the job.”

She giggles against my neck, moving her hands over my waist and under my shirt. “Taken a good number of bras off, have you?”

“Don’t you worry about that.”

I look around the booth as she slips her shirt on, tucking the photos she took for me into my pocket and glancing behind her to check the bench. “Where are your undies?”

Her eyes widen with amusement. She smiles. “What undies?”

I feel my mouth fall open. The little minx. “You mean to tell me you were naked under that bloody skirt all night and didn’t tell me?”

Laughing, she draws the curtain back and steps out of the booth, retrieving the photos.

“Maybe.”

I scratch my jaw, moving to her. “Fucking hell, Brooke. Had I have known, I wouldn’t have shown that much restraint at the table. I probably would’ve gotten you off before our entrees were brought out. Why didn’t you tell me?”

I nearly curse for keeping my wits about myself earlier on the drive to the restaurant. She was trying to show me she wasn’t wearing anything underneath, hiking up her skirt like that, seeking my hand. I was too determined to keep her waiting and wanting.

Good on you, mate. Really fucked yourself with that one.

I touch her hip. She doesn’t respond, not with a look or a word. With parted lips she studies the photos in her hand for several silent seconds. I can feel the slow drag of air pulling into her lungs and I slide my hand up her back. She releases it quickly and bites her lip.

“Look at you,” I say against her temple, bending lower to see. I point at the shot of her coming. “Fucking perfect right there. Did you like it?”

She hesitates, then quietly replies. “Yes. I just . . . I wasn’t expecting to look like that.”

“Like what?” I can’t read her face, the implication she’s making. I step in front of her and run my hands down her arms, ducking to see her eyes.

She keeps them lowered for another few seconds, studying. With a flighty laugh, she brings the photo down between us and gazes up at me. “I don’t know. Pretty, I guess? You were right. I do look different.” She shakes her head, blinking several times, as if she can’t believe what she’s saying, or admitting. “It’s strange.”

I smile, wanting to kiss her, to talk to her more about what she’s seeing, but I don’t. Instead, I step beside her, my hand sliding to her back as I guide us through the room and toward the exit.

“Come on. Let’s get you home and into some undies.”

She laughs, curling against my side, giving me the okay to pull her closer.

And I do.

BROOKE

I press the number seven on the elevator panel a second before greedy hands tug me backwards and into Mason’s arms.

I go willingly with a squeak, tilting my head as his lips suck gently on my neck, as he whispers just beneath my ear how tight I am, “so fucking tight,” and how he nearly lost his mind in that photo booth. His fingers squeeze my hips, pinning me to him, to his rock-hard cock that’s pressing against my ass.

Fuck, I want to see it. Touch it. Drop to my knees and feel his hands in my hair. This elevator ride is driving me crazy.

I glare at the numbers slowly rising to my floor.

Two. Ridiculously long pause. Three.

I nearly pout. Could this shit take any longer?

“What are you doing next weekend?” Mason asks me, breaking my attention off the electronic panel, sliding his hand to my breast and pinching my nipple through my shirt.

I gasp, rolling my head back as he twists my hardened peak. “Jesus.”

His laugh rumbles against my back, sweet and cruel. He knows what he’s doing.

“Are you going to be attending church, Brooke? I honestly can’t imagine going to confess my sins and seeing you there. I think I’d end up just dragging you into the confessional with me and saying, ‘Here. She’s it. Give me my penance’.” He releases my breast and slides his hand back to my hip.

I’m his only sin?

Whoa . . . that might be the best compliment of my life.

I resume staring at the numbers above me as the ache in my breast slowly subsides. I bite back a smile, saying, “I haven’t attended church since I was a kid. Well, not regularly anyway. I go every Easter to appease my Nana but that’s it.”

“So, you’re free next weekend?”

“I think so. Why?”

“I’d like to steal you away if you’ll let me. Weather permitting.”

The elevator finally comes to a stop and I pull away, peering back at Mason over my shoulder as I step out onto the floor.

He looks content, and so sure of himself, like he already knows I’m going to say yes to this.

“For the entire weekend? What exactly do you have in mind?”

With a cocky smile, he steps off the elevator. “It’s a surprise.”

I spin around, staring at the man slowly advancing on me, and it all clicks in an instant as our conversation from the restaurant trips my subconscious.

“Oh, no you don’t.” I hold my free hand up as I continue my slow retreat backwards. “Weather permitting? Busted. I told you. I don’t do camping.”

He feigns seriousness. “Who said anything about camping?”

“I’m not going! I’m busy anyway.”

“No, you’re not.” Quickening his strides, he reaches out for me and grabs my arm. We both come to a stop inches from my door. “You just said you weren’t doing anything.”

“I said I think I’m free, but now that I really think about it, I remember I have plans. Ones that don’t involve nature or mosquitos carrying the West Nile virus.”

I wrench my arm away, ignoring his quiet laugh, and open my clutch to rustle out my keys.

Seriously? He is completely insane. You couldn’t pay me to go spend the night out in the wilderness. Naked sleeping bag sharing, or not. There is no fucking way I am agreeing to this.

When I look back up to give him more shit, Mason is watching me, his scorching gaze torn between my lips and everything lower.

I forget about camping, or suggestions of camping. I forget about bugs and wild animals as I slowly drink him in, from his unruly hair, still disheveled from my fingers to his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.

He’s holding back.

Why? There’s no need. Doesn’t he know how badly I want this?

Anticipation plucks in my belly as I stare at the erection pressing hard against his zipper. As I remember what it felt like minutes ago, sliding between the cheeks of my ass.

Well, if he’s not going to give it to me, I’ll just take it. No problems there.

I drop my keys back into my clutch and fist his shirt, urgently pulling him until my back hits the wall just beside the door and his body has no other choice but to crowd against mine.

He moves willingly with a moan, his hands bracing himself on either side of my head, boxing me in.

I arch my back and press my hips out away from the wall, grinding into his stiff length. “Mm. You know I never got to properly thank you for what you did earlier with that wicked mouth of yours. I’m also very sad to admit I can hardly remember what your cock looks like. Care to whip it out and kill two birds with one very hard stone?”

With shaky hands, he grabs my waist and drops his head beside mine. “Brooke,” he whispers, so faintly it’s as if he’s trying to resist everything at this moment, including words.

“My turn.” I slide my hand between us and cup his length.

He hisses a curse against my ear.

“God, I forgot how big you are. You might actually kill me.”

Turning my head, I claim his mouth, sucking on his lips, his tongue, pressing gentle kisses between ones that somehow feel more important or greater than any act of desperation. I lose my mind for a second, a stillness takes over and I allow myself to get lost in this kiss, forgetting about everything I want to come after and just giving in and giving up.

How does he do it? How does he make me want to just do this for hours and hours and hours? Sweetly surrender myself over to him and everything he makes me feel.

Shit. Snap out of it, Brooke. Remember why you reached for him.

I break away, panting against his mouth, watching him suck my taste off his bottom lip.

“Come inside, Mason, before I drop to my knees right here in this hallway. I want you on my bed while I suck your dick, but I’m not picky. Here is fine too.”

I press harder against his jeans and he groans, his fingers digging into my skin, his arms locking up and trembling.

I go in for the kill, planting a kiss to his jaw and whispering, “think how good it’ll feel fucking this pretty little mouth.”

“Jesus Christ.” He pushes against my waist and leans back, blue eyes blazing as he stares at me. His other hand comes around and grabs my wrist. “Baby, stop.”

“Why?”

“Because . . .” he trails off, pinching his eyes shut as he gently removes my hand, forcing it against my side. He exhales a rigid breath. “Because, I want this to be about you.” His eyes flash open, and there it is again, that struggle so obvious it’s as if it’s vibrating across his skin or flashing in neon letters above his head.

Please, Brooke. You’re killing me.

I stare up at him, confused. Why are you fighting this? I don’t understand.

His free hand glides up my arm, stopping just above my elbow where his thumb begins moving softly across my skin. “What I did earlier, it wasn’t just so you’d return the favor. I would never think like that, Brooke. When I touch you in any way, it’s because I want to touch you. Or I fucking need to. I’m not trying to get something in return.”

I wet my lips, feeling slightly awkward for even insinuating that Mason was fishing for his own release by getting me off. But honestly, what man is that selfless to not even consider his own needs?

His hand forms to my cheek. “Stop thinking so much. Let me enjoy you.”

“You can enjoy me but I can’t enjoy you? That hardly seems fair.”

“Brooke.”

“Mason.” I try to pull free from his grip, but his fingers wrap around me tighter, keeping my arm pinned where it is. I open my mouth, ready to argue, to ask nicely for the use of my hand when a thought settles over me.

Maybe Mason doesn’t want to risk the chance of getting caught by another tenant, and that’s why he’s keeping me from very publicly groping him. Maybe what we did earlier in the photo booth was all the thrill he can handle for one night.

He wants privacy for everything I’m offering? I’m good with that. I don’t need an audience to relish in every thick inch of this man.

I allow my arm to go limp, yielding to his hold. “All right. Fine, I get it. We don’t have to do this here. And I was half serious offering it anyway. I’d rather not get rug-burn.”

He watches me curiously as I lift my clutch between us.

“Come on. Joey and Billy won’t bother us. They’re most likely passed out already and they both sleep like the dead.”

I go to spin around but Mason slides his hand back to my waist and keeps me facing him.

“I’m going to go.”

“What?” I look up into his eyes, my entire body tensing. “You’re leaving?”

Is he serious? Why would he leave?

A hint of a smile touches his lips. He bends down, brushing his mouth against mine. “Yeah,” he mumbles, gently kissing me, barely even the feel of skin on skin.

It’s more like the promise of a kiss, or the idea of one, when you think of something hard enough or for long enough it almost starts to feel real, blurring the lines of reality and fantasy.

He stays that close to me, never pulling away, staring into my eyes for the longest, most intense second of my life. His breath is hot and heavy against my face, quickened, but I have no idea from what, and as I slide my hand to the center of his chest, I startle at the wild beating against my palm.

“Mason.” My voice sounds miles away, frantically chasing after him.

A growl rumbles in his throat. Then, as if something breaks inside of him, he cups my face and forces me against the wall, pinning me while his lips roughly take my mouth in a kiss that has me high and breathless and begging in incoherent words.

It’s violent and vital, exactly how a kiss should feel, with greedy hands and pounding hearts.

I drop my clutch and hold him against me, tilting my head to deepen this, to give him more as I plead for it through whispered words, but the second my fingers tighten in his hair he breaks away.

His hands slide to my neck as he moves his lips to my cheek and keeps them there. “Goddamn, Brooke. It’s really fucking hard not kissing you,” he pants through ragged breaths, leaning back to gaze at me.

I give him an odd look as his hands slip away, and an even odder look when he turns around and leaves me lightheaded against the wall.

What the fuck?

With quick strides, Mason takes his sexy ass in the direction of the elevators, a hand disappearing around the front of him to no doubt adjust the stiff dick I just so rightly earned.

“Um . . . where are you going?” I call out, stepping away from the wall to get a better view of him continuing down the long hallway, to watch in complete shock as he puts more and more distance between us.

He was serious about leaving? No . . . no, he’s . . . no, that’s impossible. He can’t just leave.

Hello! Massive erection! Get back here! I’m supposed to be handling you!

He smiles at me over his shoulder as he bypasses the elevators. “Goodnight.”

My mouth falls open. I bring my hands to my hips as I think of a reasonable explanation for his swift departure, and it comes to me at the sound of his keys jingling. “You’re just going to move your car, right? Then you’re coming back up? You’re not actually leaving . . .”

He pushes the door open that leads to the stairwell, making no attempt to tell me I’m correct or to ask me if I’ll wait for him here or leave my door unlocked.

He’s actually leaving. He’s taking his hard dick and he’s actually leaving.

I take a few steps to follow behind him. “Is this a joke? Is this strictly an Australian thing, because here, in America, we don’t kiss the fuck out of someone and then haul ass in the opposite direction.”

I hear the faint sounds of a laugh echoing down the hall.

Before I can think to speak again, to yell out something else to possibly change his mind and end this madness, Mason steps out onto the stairwell.

“I’ll see you later, gorgeous,” he calls out before the door slams closed, and I know, I just fucking know that gorgeous bastard is smiling as he says it.

“What the hell?” I ask myself, God, if he’s listening. Maybe he can shine some imperial light on this situation.

I snatch my clutch off the floor and fish out my keys, jamming them all too aggressively into the keyhole while I mumble every curse word I know into the deserted hallway. I shove the door open and toss my things onto the table behind the couch, kicking off my heels and moving like a bat out of hell across the room.

With a closed fist, I pound against the bedroom door until my skin grows hot.

“I need you both to put something on and get out here. Now. You will not believe what . . .” I cut myself off, shaking my head as I try and wrap my own mind around what just happened, but I have absolutely no idea what to think. I can’t even begin to make sense of this.

Mason passes on a Brooke style blow-job? NOBODY passes on that. Is he fucking mental?

With a very aggressive grunt, I drop my hand and stare at the door. “Just hurry up and get out here. Please. I need both of you.”

Muffled voices and the creak of a mattress sound before I feel satisfied enough to cross the room again.

I step into the kitchen and open the refrigerator, pulling out a bottle of wine and digging the container of ice cream I keep hidden under bags of frozen vegetables out of the freezer.

Joey likes to eat his feelings also. If I don’t hide my snacks, they go missing.

I fill a glass and grab a spoon just as the bedroom door swings open.

Joey emerges first, his fingers snapping the waistband of his boxers. He looks half-asleep, digging the heel of his hand into his eye. “What the fuck is it? You interrupted cuddle time.”

I shove a spoonful of Neapolitan ice cream into my mouth to prevent myself from stating the obvious response, that every time Joey and Billy are within twenty miles of each other, I run the risk of interrupting cuddle time.

Assholes. Their perfect relationship is a little hard to swallow at the moment. I’m sure neither one of them keep their dicks to themselves.

Billy files out of the bedroom next with his T-shirt in his hand. He eyes me warily once he takes notice of the wine and the container I have a death-grip on.

“Uh oh. What happened?” he asks, slipping his shirt over his head and sliding his arms through. “Bad date?”

I watch him and Joey each grab a stool and sit at the kitchen island across from me. Boosting myself up onto the counter, I place the container on my lap and dip my spoon in, scraping out the rest of the chocolate.

“No. The actual date was fine,” I mumble around the spoon.

Joey drops his chin onto his fist. “Just fine?” He looks doubtful.

I roll my eyes before lowering them to the container. “More than fine,” I confess, jamming my spoon into the vanilla. “He took me to this really nice restaurant where he had to order in Italian, which he fucking did, so just go ahead and tack on a few more ‘how hot can this guy possibly get’ points.”

“Damn,” Billy comments appreciatively. “I bet that sounds amazing with his accent.”

“Mm hmm. Boyfriend is full of surprises,” Joey adds.

I don’t even bother looking up. “Yeah. Tons. So, we had dinner, and he mentioned wanting to stick his head between my legs and taste me in his throat.”

I glance up at the sound of the wine bottle being slid across the counter.

Billy brings it to his lips and tips it back, his eyes round as he swallows a mouthful.

It’s funny how squeamish he gets around any sort of graphic sex talk, when his husband is basically a walking advertisement for it.

I shift my eyes when Joey motions with a quick hand for me to continue on with my story. He suddenly appears wide awake and eager for conversation.

“You want details?”

“Yes,” Joey says at the same time as Billy’s, “Not really.”

I split the difference. “He did more than just taste me, okay? I took him to this photo booth I found a couple months ago, and that man worked me out like his life depended on it. His mouth is fucking ridiculous.”

A shiver runs down my spine as that familiar ache settles between my hips. I press the back of the spoon to my mouth, hoping to conceal the smile I can’t seem to control.

“It was hands-down the best sexual experience of my life,” I admit against the cold silver. “And that includes all the times I’ve actually had sex.”

Straightening on his stool, Billy scratches his jaw, his other hand still clutching the neck of the bottle. “Photo booth? Did you two actually . . .” he pauses, his eyes searching my face.

Joey slaps the counter with exuberance. He looks practically giddy. “You little slut. Did you get pictures of this?”

I glance across the room at my clutch, remembering how reckless and exciting it felt being in that moment with Mason, not knowing who, if anyone, was on the other side of that curtain and if they were listening and waiting for those photos.

If they would see me, and how I looked at him. With him.

I return my gaze to the two men staring intently at me. “I gave Mason his own set of solo’s to keep. That seemed to go over smashingly well. Then, while he was down there, going at it, he told me to put money in.” I shrug. “I did.”

“Where is this photo booth exactly?” Joey grabs the small pad of paper and the pen we keep by the phone, ready to jot down the address.

“Joey,” Billy starts, waiting for his husband to look over at him. He jerks his chin. “No.”

Joey shoots him a pleading look. “Oh, come on. You know you’d love it.” He leans in for a kiss, hovering a breath away from Billy’s mouth. “Just think of how cramped it probably is in there. How tight it would be. Mm. I bet there’s hardly any room for you to move, but you like that, right? You like tight things, don’t you, baby?”

Holy shit.

I shove a massive bite of strawberry into my mouth as Billy groans, pinching his eyes shut and dropping a hand to his lap.

“Brat,” he murmurs, adjusting himself while he tries to look annoyed but only succeeds at looking immensely turned-on and on the brink of dragging his husband back to the bedroom.

Joey leans away, grinning and tapping his pen on the paper. “See? Do I know my man, or what?”

“You do. But let’s get addresses later.” Billy covers Joey’s hand with his, forcing Joey to release the pen. He then turns his dissecting attention onto me. “Brooke, what are we missing here? Why are you binge-eating and nearly breaking down doors? What else is going on?”

I drop my spoon into the container and set it on the counter, exchanging it for my glass of wine. I lift it in the air, toasting. “Mason is withholding the dick.”

“This is news?” Billy raises an eyebrow. “I thought he made it clear when you two first met that he wanted to wait to have sex. Get to know you and all.”

“He did. But apparently, he wasn’t just referring to sex.”

Joey grabs the bottle of wine. “What else was he referring to?”

“Oh, you know.” I sweep my hand through the air. “Everything. Touching it. Sucking it. Anything I could possibly do to get him off. The entire thing is a no-go apparently.”

The bottle hovers in the air an inch away from Joey’s mouth. He leans to the side to see me around it. “I’m sorry. What?”

I bring my glass to my lips, swallowing a generous amount of wine. “You heard me. After kissing my fucking brains out at the door, he walked away, refusing my offer to come inside . . . pun intended, and left, taking his glorious erection with him. He told me he wants this to be about me. That he didn’t get me off just so I would return the favor.”

“That’s actually kind of sweet, Brooke. Unconventional, but sweet,” Billy remarks, laughing quietly at Joey as he mirrors my reaction to this discovery and goes immediately for alcohol. Running a hand through his short blonde hair, Billy turns back to me with a gentle smile. “Name one other guy who has ever done that for you.”

I let my eyes roam the condo, pretending to think, but I don’t need to.

The truth is, I can’t name anyone. I can’t think of any man who has ever done half of the things Mason has insisted on or offered. If I could, this might not seem so completely baffling to me.

Why is he putting himself through all of this? He’s taken every sexual release I have to give him off the table, and yet he’s still fixated on me.

Why?

“Okay.” Joey sets the bottle down and wipes the back of his hand across his mouth. “First of all, this wine is terrible. Let’s never buy it again.”

I quietly chuckle as I lift my head.

“Second, I can see this being a problem if you weren’t getting off, Brooke, but you are. And although you refuse to admit this, I think you like this guy.”

“But I don’t understand him.”

And for the first time in my life, I feel completely out of my league.

Joey crosses his arms against his chest, sitting up a little straighter, showing off his proud smile.

“What?” I ask, confused by his sudden disposition.

“You didn’t argue with me that time. You like him.”

“I like a lot of men who get me off. It doesn’t mean anything.”

Joey loses the smile and levels me with a skeptical glare. I look to Billy, only to find him mirroring his partner’s demeanor.

Fuck this. I’ve had enough girl talk for one night.

With a heavy head and an exhausted mind, I hop off the counter, polishing off the rest of my wine and setting the glass in the sink. “I’m going to take a shower and go to bed. I can’t think about this anymore tonight.”

I wave a limp hand in the direction of my two roommates as I pad across the condo.

Billy starts to say something but I shake my head, cutting him off before I escape into my room.

Morning comes too soon after I close my eyes, and because of the restless night’s sleep I’m suffering from, I arrive late to work for the first time in three years. Luckily, having chatty Cathy as my roommate pays off for me and I don’t get much of an earful from Dylan when I step inside the bakery.

I’m sure she has been adequately filled in on the night I had.

“Sorry. Sorry. It won’t happen again. I promise,” I say, reemerging from the kitchen after setting my purse down. I secure my unruly hair up into a pony and step behind the counter. “I don’t think you want me doing any detailed piping work today. I’m running on about five minutes of sleep.”

Dylan drops her head into a nod as Joey finishes up with a customer. “That’s fine. Man the front with Joey. I need to be off my feet today anyway so I’m going to stay in the back. I can work from a stool.”

“Are you feeling okay?” I watch her close her eyes through several slow, deep breaths.

My gaze shifts to the shop phone hanging on the wall.

Even though I’ve never had a reason to call it, I was forced to memorize Reese’s work number when Dylan was first pregnant with Ryan. I wonder how quickly he could get over here if I called him right now.

I imagine before I have the chance to hang up.

The door chimes as the customer exits the bakery, and Joey comes to stand beside Dylan, resting a hand on her shoulder.

“I’m fine. It’s not contractions or anything,” she reassures, looking back at him and then pressing two fingers to the inside of her wrist. “I’m just feeling anxious for some reason. I think I should take it easy today.”