Fall Hard (Dating Season Book 3) Read online

  My breath curls and wafts in the cold air as our foreplay progresses to pants and moans.

  “Knock. Knock,” he whispers in my ear as he fingers me.

  An orgasm is up ahead, and I cling to his suspenders, wanting to ignore the interruption. “Who’s there?” I finally get out.

  He peers down at me with hooded eyes. “Annie.”

  Annie? Sexy times are not the time for guessing games but dammit, now I’m intrigued and it would be rude to not answer the door.

  “Annie who?”

  “Annie one this wet needs a good fucking.”

  His finger hooks inside me, hitting a magical spot that causes my knees to sag. I groan. Both at his corny joke and the sensation of his thumb pressing against my clit.

  It’s a good thing we don’t have a relationship anymore because lies no longer matter. “Good one.”

  To prevent further jokes, I press my lips to his and occupy his tongue with mine. Without the beard, the sparks between us don’t ignite in an inferno, but they are hot enough to smolder in a sizzling slow burn. We kiss, slow and sensual, until I’m pawing at his zipper to free his thick length.

  “Ah, feels so good,” he says, rocking into my hand as I stroke from base to tip, running my thumb through his pre-cum. Stubble rasps against my skin as he buries his face in my neck, nibbling and sucking. While I give him a hand job, I imagine we didn’t break up and everything in this clown world is right. That beard is back and there is no Austin or Bud preventing what could’ve been twin perfectly lovely flames.

  “I’m going to come in your hand, if you don’t stop,” Ryan says, jerking his hips.

  “Same,” I murmur, trying unsuccessfully to hook a leg around his hip to give him better access to all of my bits. “I’m so close.”

  “I feel like we need to fuck on the door.”

  “We’d be fools not to,” I pant out.

  Within a few seconds, we’re stretched out on the plywood. After Ryan shows me they would have both fit, he rolls on top of me, and braces on one hand.

  “Knock. Knock.”

  He runs his fingers through my wetness, teasing me. The motion of his hand compels me to ask, “Who’s there?”

  “Anita.”

  Our bodies grind together. “Anita who?”

  “Anita my dick in you.”

  “Do it.”

  Once the condom is on, I flip to my hands and knees and he hoists my skirt onto my back. Brrr. It’s cold out here. Things to be thankful for—at least we’re not in icy water.

  “I’m going to take my time and savor you.” He removes my panties and covers each cheek with love-bites. The sting disappears when he follows up with an ass massage. “I really like your ass. If you ever change your mind, I will do it right.”

  Is it bad I get turned on imagining him with another man? Yes, it is. I scrub my brain of the image of Ryan with anyone else, even if it is hot as hell.

  He slides in on a moan, to the hilt, and I grip the door as he pumps in and out. Our bodies bump together, and I’m dazed and on the edge, waiting to take the leap, but he ruins it with...

  “Knock. Knock.”

  This time, I tell him to shut up. He doesn’t argue.

  He rams into me, pulling my hips back against him until I’m soaring, arms spread, Queen of the world, rushing through time and space…with a bearded chef behind me. Nooooo. Get out of my head.

  “Oh, fuck,” Ryan grits. “I won’t last long. It’s too good.”

  His fingers find their way to my clit and circle the aching spot until I come so hard my knees sag. He pumps twice more, then a shudder racks his body as he orgasms.

  His head drops to my back. “One good thing about breakup sex, it’s amazing.”

  “Yeah,” I say, hiding my face beneath a curtain of curls, out of shame from the image of Austin as I came.

  “I’m glad we’ll still see each other.”

  “Me too.”

  We truly do enjoy each other’s company (seeing as it’s basically just like hanging out with ourselves), so there’s certainly no reason we can’t be friends. We rise from the ground, fix our clothes, and make our way back to the party where Ryan mingles for a little while. I call Roger to pick me up. It’s time to let go and head home to have a private pity party.

  I say goodbye to Ruth and on the way out of the building, stuff a couple not-bears in my pocket.

  This certainly wasn’t the night I envisioned, but I’m learning to expect the unexpected.

  It’ll be okay.

  One door closes, another opens.

  Twelve

  “Charlotte, you were correct.” Making up with my best friend feels better than sex. The truth has finally set me free.

  “I never tire of hearing that,” she says. “Now what are you going to do?”

  “I already did it. Ryan’s rock is in my rearview.”

  She props her feet on the coffee table. “That…wasn’t what I was saying.”

  “No, I know.” I’m well aware of the real problem that still needs fixing. “But it was the right thing to do with Ryan.”

  She laughs. “I cannot believe you made a door.”

  “I can’t believe he shaved his beard.”

  “Yeah. Such a shame. Are you sad about it ending?”

  “Well, no. Is that bad? I mean, I’m sad I may never get my dream cabin in the woods with a bearded prince, but I’ll be okay. My heart will go on.”

  She cringe-laughs. “You’re as bad as him with his knock-knock jokes.”

  “See, too much alike.”

  She listens as I tell her about the Uber ride home, and how Roger and I both agreed this was for the best. Excluding the Bud issue, sometimes, it’s a bad thing to be with someone so much like yourself. After all, an important part of a healthy relationship is learning from the other person and gaining fresh perspectives. Other than gummy highs and learning the finer domestic arts, I’m not sure what Ryan can offer me outside of friendship.

  When I started doubting my decision, Roger had an excellent point—so excellent, I emailed the company to tell them what a gem of an employee they have in him—if we were to ever get stuck in a rut, we’d stay stuck. Because those similarities that seemed so lucky to find would prevent either of us from escaping the rut. Enabling bad behavior, if you will.

  “Roger sounds super smart and intuitive. Maybe I need to Uber with him and discuss my problems.”

  “You should. I highly recommend him. But you’re super smart and intuitive too.”

  She sinks into the cushions of the couch and stares at the ceiling. “Like, I have a degree in psychology, so I know all the right things to say to other people’s problems, but when it’s you, it’s not so easy to follow the advice. I want what I want and the fact I can’t have it is depressing.”

  “Preaching to the choir,” I murmur.

  We sit in comfortable silence for a moment, in the way best friends do, and then I look over at her. “I’m sorry you’re so stressed about the wedding and that I didn’t seem to grasp how upsetting the whole venue thing is for you. I finally understood the depth of what you’re going through when Ryan’s mom got the final say in our sex-painting location.”

  She smiles. “You know what upset me more than the wedding stuff?”

  “What?”

  “That you thought I thought you were slutting around. Like I’ve got any history of slut-shaming? I am the girl who had sex in a church, in case you forgot.”

  “You’re Jewish. It wasn’t quite as forbidden for you.”

  “It’s the principle! Anyway. How could you think I’d judge you like that?”

  “Maybe because I was judging me like that?”

  “You shouldn’t, though. Sex isn’t shameful.” She stares at her toes. “It’s not about the guys you’re dating. My main issue is how can you ever move on when he’s in your face daily? I love Austin, obviously, but it’s like you’re putting a Band-Aid on a gaping wound and hoping it will heal.”

&n
bsp; She’s right, of course. “I know. After the wedding, and the winter craft fair, maybe I’ll look for another place.”

  This was stupid of me to think I could live here and not be affected by glimpses of Austin’s bod leaving the bathroom with only a towel slung around his hips. Or having dinner, laughing and talking about his day. On a friend level, it’s all fine. But it doesn’t help end a crush you’re trying to get over when you see him walk in the kitchen for morning coffee, hair mussed, still semi-sporting morning wood.

  “So Ryan handled it well, huh?”

  “Yeah, we’re still going to bang if needed, and that was the best part, so.”

  She laughs. “My God. The grasshopper has become the master.”

  It cuts our conversation short when Austin shows up with an amazing bottle of something that he got from the owner in exchange for catering a private party. With renewed effort, I keep my eyes above his beard, which is filling out at a rapid pace.

  “It’s good to see you two back on the couch together. We need to celebrate.”

  “Bless you,” Charlotte says. “I could use a drink. Um, you have a beard?”

  “Yep.”

  “What does Lucy think about that?”

  “Don’t know. Haven’t talked to her.”

  I can’t imagine she won’t love it. I’m sure she’ll hug it with her toned legs around his face. Lucky girl.

  “It looks good on you,” Charlotte says.

  “Thanks. I might keep it after this whole No-Shave-November thing.”

  He touches it! Fondles it! It’s too much to bear, and I bound from the couch to grab glasses from the cabinet while Austin opens the bottle. We decide it’s going to be an old-fashioned getting hammered with your friends’ night. Since Charlotte and I are on opposite ends of the couch, Austin sits between us. I wedge myself in the corner, practically hanging over the arm. He pours each of us a generous amount, and we cheers before slugging the tasty liquid back.

  Charlotte, after pounding her first drink proclaims, “You know, I’m sorry for being a bitch about the venue, and sort of furious Chloe is also right about talking about my feelings.”

  “I knew you’d come around,” Austin says, leaning back and splaying his thighs, so he’s encroaching on my safe zone in the far recesses of the sofa.

  “Maybe I’ve done more talking over them instead of talking to them. The truth must come out, and I need to go talk to Mr. Charlotte-to-be about the parents and the wedding. And then I’m going to talk to the parents.”

  “I never tire of hearing I’m an inspiration,” I say.

  “Ah, yes. You are the inspiration for truth-tellers everywhere,” Austin teases.

  “Let me practice first,” she says. “Austin, sit closer to Chloe. Pretend you’re the parents. Like, really pretend. And push back on me, because they will, and I need to be on top of my game.”

  Austin scoots much too close to me. “Hi, dear.”

  “Hi, honey.”

  This is why I need to pack my things and go, because this game of pretend gave me a brief twinge of wanting it to be real. If you envision a different house, the princess-cut diamond on your finger, and beanie-wearing babies eating fresh prepared food, it’s really time to pack your bags and head to your hill.

  “Bonus Mom and Dad,” Charlotte starts and then holds up a finger in response to my raised brows. “Pause. I call them that because his mother insists. Which has made it infinitely harder to be passive-aggressive in my dealings. Unpause.” She takes a deep breath. “I need to express my feelings to you.” We wait for her to continue, but she doesn’t.

  “Go ahead, Charlotte,” I say. “I’m here to listen to whatever you have to tell me. My ears are open. Tell us what’s troubling you.”

  She huffs. “Pause. She’d never say that, but okay. Unpause.”

  “Charlotte,” Austin says, “your bonus mother and I have places to go. Spit it out, woman.”

  “That’s actually a really good impression,” Charlotte whispers. She takes a seat across from us and leans forward, hands clasped. “As you know, I want a mountain wedding and you don’t. I love you both, and understand your arthritis concerns, but this is more than just a place to get married. It’s where I’m starting my future with your son, and the place we’ll remember when we’re old and don’t remember much else. It’s the place we start our lives. And I’m sorry, but I get final say.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Austin says.

  “I don’t know,” I say. “I did raise him so you could have him on this special day, so seems like I get some sort of say? That’s my baby boy I’m giving to you. Did you change his diapers? Seems like you get the reward of all my work and sleepless nights, and I get swollen hands in the mountains.”

  Charlotte’s eyes widen. She told me to push back, though. “How about we compromise, Bonus Mom? I’ll agree to the traditional vanilla cake you want instead of the red velvet that matches the theme. And I’m willing to get rid of the hot chocolate bar and have the fruit bar you want.”

  I gasp. “Pause,” I say. “Really? I’ll need to update the Pinterest board because that just threw everything off. The hot chocolate bar had peppermint stick stirrers. I don’t know if I’d compromise that far,” I mutter. “Unpause.”

  Charlotte bites her lip and then rushes out, “And I’ll go with the wreaths you liked instead of the red and white roses.”

  Oh.

  My.

  God.

  The entire Pinterest board is useless. I’ll have to delete Five Fantastic Flowers You’ll Fall For and start over.

  “Sounds like an excellent compromise,” Austin says. I give him a death stare. “Make sure to tell that handsome man that catering is what we compromised on tonight. He needs to prepare.”

  Charlotte smiles. “I will.” She claps her hands and stands. “Hopefully they’re as easy as you two.” She gathers her things. “Wish me luck.”

  “Good luck. Let me know how it goes,” I call out to her hustling back. “And make sure to log into Pinterest to see the changes to the wedding board.”

  “You know I will.”

  Once she’s gone, I look over at Austin.

  Lucy is still out of town, so it’s just the two of us and the rest of this bottle.

  “So, it’s just the two of us.”

  “I guess it is.” He pours us both another drink. “I think our future daughter-in-law is going to finally get what she wants.”

  “Not really. She’s giving up the hot chocolate bar. No one wants fruit instead of whipped cream and candy cane sprinkles. Fruit is not festive. If this is what marrying a family is like, I don’t know if I can do it.”

  “You will,” he says. “I know you and you’ll get it. Charlotte gets it. She just needed nudging.”

  Warmth from the whiskey heats my veins. Yes, it’s the whiskey. We’re sitting awfully close on the couch. It didn’t seem too close when there was a third person with us. Why haven’t either of us moved since Charlotte left?

  “Get what?”

  “That it’s a unit. And just because they have a say doesn’t mean it’s the final say, but you do need to listen.”

  “Yeah. I don’t think I’ll have to worry about that in this lifetime.”

  “You know, don’t take this wrong, but I knew you and Ryan weren’t going to last.”

  I brave a glance over at him. “How so? I didn’t even know.”

  “You don’t usually start lying until you’re near the end. Plus, he didn’t carry the door for you.”

  So chivalrous. He’s definitely a Jack and would sacrifice his spot for Lucy. I don’t like myself much when I think I’m a Jack too and would sacrifice my spot...for him.

  He stares at the liquid in his glass, swirling it. “Now I don’t have to share your history facts anymore.”

  But I’ll always have to share you, I don’t say.

  “Wonder if I’ll ever find someone?”

  He looks over at me, and I can’t look away from his da
rk gaze. “Maybe you need to stop looking.”

  And then, I reach for the bottle, and he reaches for my glass, and the stars align, and Aquarius is in the seventh sun, and every moral Granny Mae instilled in me dies while the devil prepares my seat in hell.

  And then…

  We accidentally on-purpose kiss.

  Chloe’s dating adventures continue in

  Winter Bloom

  They say winter is coming… and thanks to Logan, I am too.

  If the past year has taught me anything, it’s that I am an idiot. Nearly murdering the lead singer of my favorite local band really should have been on everyone’s bingo card.

  Their drummer going from medic to love interest was a surprise, but love this journey for me!

  Logan has all the things I’ve been looking for--the newness of spring, the heat of summer, comfort of fall. Best of all, he loves my favorite winter sport: indoorsing. It may not be the traditional third date, but I’m bringing him to my best friend’s wedding anyway.

  Charlotte’s not the only one who can lock a good time down.

  Get Winter Bloom

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  Dating Season