Well Hung (17 page)

“Funny, isn’t it?”

“What’s funny?”

“How you can tell just by looking how he feels about her.”

I stumble, losing my footing on a crack in the sidewalk. I grab onto a stoop.

“You okay?” she asks, alarmed.

I nod and brush a hand over my shirt as if I’m oh-so-cool. “Yeah. Fine.”

“You sure?”

“Absolutely.”

“I wonder, though,” she says, as if she’s musing on something.

“Wonder what?”

“How he’s going to deal with the fact that he’s falling in love with his daughter’s nanny.”

I turn to her, meet her eyes, and shrug helplessly. Because I know why his tone felt so familiar. Why his gaze gave me a sense of déjà vu. It was like looking in a mirror, seeing myself.

I speak from the most honest part of me. “I don’t have a clue.”

I
wake
up the next morning to several messages on my phone.

The first is from the bank. A huge deposit has been made in my business account. I do like dollar signs, and this one has lots of zeros with it. Scratching my head, I’m not quite sure what to make of it until I see the next message.

From Lila.

I don’t mean to be presumptuous, but the job is back on so I took the liberty of paying you the deposit. Let me know when you can get back to Vegas to work on the penthouse.

My eyes widen as I start to process what this means.

Then, I find a text from Natalie.

W
ell
, a man can dream. I scroll over to my news app as I wait, but before I can open it, her reply arrives. Hope rises in me. Hope that she feels the same.

N
atalie
: We can get annulled properly.

I
swallow
and scrub a hand over my jaw. Sitting up in bed, I toss off the covers and swing my feet to the floor.

This is good, right?

It’s what we’ve both wanted. Hell, it’s what I pretty much demanded from the second I woke up in Vegas. But now it seems like we want different things. She’s insanely excited to split, while the prospect of it feels like some kind of rabid animal is gnawing a hole in my chest.

* * *

T
hat hole deepens
over the next few days as I take care of a few odds and ends for clients. It persists as I work out at the gym, as I grab a beer with Chase and he tells me the leasing agent is now making him jump through more hoops for the apartment, as I volunteer with Nick at the rescue, and especially as Natalie and I prep for Lila’s job in the city of sin. It’s a gaping maw when we rescind the New York divorce paperwork, since it’ll be easier to deal with our annulment in Vegas and we don’t want the two sets of paperwork to cause confusion.

As we board the plane late one afternoon to fly to the city where we were married—the same goddamn place where we’re supposed to untie that knot—that ache tunnels through my chest, leaving my organs raw and shredded.

Even with my partner-in-fun-and-work in the seat next to me, I don’t want to tell jokes or share stories. I don’t want to laugh. All I want is for this shitty sensation to end.

Natalie is upbeat every second, though. Somewhere over the middle of the country, she reminds me of the plan for the first day on the job.

“Okay,” I say, halfheartedly.

Then she lets me know which materials will be waiting for me.

“That’s fine.”

And she mentions the schedule once more, including a lunch break at the courthouse on day one.

“Sounds doable,” I say, my tone lackluster.

She taps her finger to her chin, regarding me from her leather seat next to mine. “You okay there, Hammer?”

I nod. “Yeah. I’m great.”

She narrows her eyes and pats my leg. “Are you sure? Because it seems like you’re in a funk.”

I wave a hand in the air, like this is nothing.

Out of nowhere, Natalie opens her mouth wide and moos like a mad fucking cow—a long, persistent noise that makes me feel as if I’ve landed in a farm.

Startled, I stare with bugged out eyes. “What the . . .?”

She fixes on a sweet-and-innocent smile and says with a straight face, even as other passengers glance her way, “I’ve been working on my repertoire. Do you like my cow?”

And it hits me what she did and why. A laugh works its way through me, and for the first time in days, that ulcerous feeling fades momentarily. Because of her. Trying to get me out of my funk. With a farm animal sound.

Fuck, I think I’m in . . .

“But don’t forget, I’m still waiting to hear the roar that you promised me,” she says with a wink.

And I know precisely why I feel so crummy. Because the closer we get to Vegas, the nearer I come to losing her. She’s slipping through my fingers, this woman tangled up with me in the mess we made one crazy night. Now, I want all those entanglements. I crave them. Judging from this emptiness in my chest, I fucking
need
them, because this moment with her—her sweetness, her zaniness, her upside-down sense of humor that matches mine—is the only balm to that ache.

I don’t
think
anymore.

I
know
.

I’m in love with my wife.

And the thought of her becoming my ex-wife seems horribly wrong. Like philandering termites. Or a cat that won’t meow. It goes against nature.

The woman I want is the woman I married. Just a few days ago I thought we shouldn’t be tied like this, that we should have a fresh start. But now that I’m certain of how I feel, I don’t want the two of us to end. I want us to keep going.

The only problem is she desperately wants me to be her ex-husband by tomorrow at noon.

I
can fix a broken sink
. I can hang a gorgeous set of kitchen cabinets. I can build a goddamn house.

These are my skills.

But knowing how to deal with sticky situations involving the opposite sex? Let’s just say that’s never been my stock in trade.

That’s putting it mildly, right?

I suck at making the right choices when it comes to the ladies.

After a night at the Bellagio—during which I toss and turn and weigh a million options, some of which include knocking on the door to Natalie’s room, saying nothing and just fucking her instead—I’m still in the same vexing spot as I was the day before.

I’m no closer to knowing the right words to speak, in the right order, at the right time. Words that won’t result in me winding up in a stew of bad-luck broth.

After I shower, I pull on jeans and a button-down. I don’t normally dress up in my line of work, and this is as fancy as I get. I figure, though, a man should dress with respect when he goes to the courthouse during his lunch break.

I picture a looming concrete structure with men and women in black robes doling out your fate, and I shudder. All things being equal, I’d rather avoid the courts. And if I can figure out what to say to Natalie, maybe we won’t have to go. 

Hey, Nat. How’d you like to date me now?

Sweetheart, I know this might sound crazy, but any chance you’d be up for staying married? 

Sooooo, I was wondering . . . what would you say to just giving this a whirl? Having dinner tonight, moving in with me, and being my woman?

Yeah, like I said, my ideas all suck. 

Note to self: Try to find clarity in the next few hours.

That task would be a whole lot easier if I could trust my gut when it comes to women. All I know is I love Natalie, and I need to figure out how to keep her. Ending this marriage seems like the wrong way to go about it.

I call the one woman I’ve always relied on—my sister. She answers on the second ring, and speaks like an auctioneer—with extreme speed. “I’m up to my elbows in red velvet cupcake batter, but I always have time for you. Just, you know, make it quick.” I can hear the familiar sounds of her bakery in the background.

Pacing across the plush carpet, I spill my heart. But, you know, quickly. “Here’s the thing. I’m in love with Natalie, and I don’t know what to do about anything.”

Josie doesn’t miss a beat. “Have you told her?”

“No. What if she doesn’t feel the same way?”

“That’s a chance you have to take.”

“But what if—”

No need to finish—Josie knows what I’m thinking. “What if she’s going to screw you over? Stab you in the back? Mess with your business?”

I scowl and am about to deny that all those too scary and too real possibilities have entered my mind, when there’s a loud, wet plop on the phone line. I hear the muffled voice of my sister, then silence reigns.

I have the distinct feeling Josie’s phone is bathing in a cake tub right now.

* * *

* * *

I
knock
on Natalie’s door with something not quite like butterflies flapping in my chest. Not exactly hummingbirds flying around, either. It’s more like crazed black crows swarming me from the inside out.

I inhale, trying to center myself, but the breath flees my lungs when she answers.

Jesus Christ, why does she have to be so gorgeous?

She wears an orange sundress with slim straps, one of those little croppy-sweater things, and a pair of beige strappy sandals. It’s bright, cheery, and beautiful without being provocative.

It’s so her. Sunshine and all-American apple pie dreams.

She gestures to her summery outfit. “It’s my annulment dress. What do you think?”

I hate it
.

I hate that she has one, that she calls it that, and most of all, that she’s so damn excited to sever ties. But she’s fucking stunning as she looks at me with a smile that slays me, and all I can say is the cold, hard truth. “I love it. You look gorgeous.”

She taps her finger against a button on my white dress shirt. “And you look handsome.” She hikes her bag up her shoulder and says in a playful tone, “What do you say we go to work, take a lunch break to split up, and maybe, if you play your cards right, we can have dinner tonight?”

That was one of my options, but now that she’s given it voice, it barely seems enough. We’re beyond that. We’re already more. I just need to convince her.

But I’m not so pig-headed that I’m turning down a date with Natalie, so I say yes.

Beaming, she taps her watch. “We need to be at Lila’s in thirty minutes, and I bet we’ll be early if we leave now. We’ve got time to stop for a cup of coffee on the way. Like a starter date, maybe,” she says, jutting up her shoulder and looking thoroughly adorable as she flirts with me.

And that’s it. I snap. I can’t just date her. I can’t flirt with her right now.

“I don’t want coffee,” I say roughly.

“What do you want then?”

“You.”

A naughty smile tugs at her lips. “For old times’ sake?”

“No.” My tone is serious. “For new times’ sake, Natalie.” My heart races like a cheetah. I swallow and push past the nerves and the wild crows. “I want you. I want to be with you. I’m crazy about you,” I say, starting with what’s in my heart, even though there’s so much more to say.

But before I can tell her more, she swallows, and tears well in her eyes. She presses her fingers to my lips.

“Shh. Don’t say it.”

I furrow my brow. “Don’t say what?”

“Don’t say anything. Not now.” Her voice breaks. “Please.”

She shakes her head as a tear slips down her cheek, and maybe this is why I don’t understand women. Because I’m thoroughly fucking confused. She was flirty and sweet a few minutes ago, and I was sure she wanted to have a go at a relationship. Now, she’s sad after I’ve told her I’m mad about her. I don’t have a clue what to do next, but all I know is I’m not the kind of man who can stand by and watch a woman cry. “What can I do to make you happy?”

She steps closer and whispers, “Make love to me.”

Now that . . . that I can do.

I cup her cheeks in my hands, push her to the wall by the door, and rake my gaze over her from head to toe, memorizing every curve, every muscle, every dip and valley. I don’t know the blueprint to how we’ll come together. I don’t know what happens next. But I’m crazy for her.

Running my hands from her shoulders down her arms to her waist, I imprint the feel of her. She’s mine, and she’s the one I can’t let get away.

Even though I have no answers, at this moment, I’m certain Natalie and I are on the same page. This is where we’ve never had any questions. I kiss her earlobe, tugging it between my teeth. She wraps her arms around my neck, pulling me closer. “You feel like mine,” I whisper.

She bites her lip, as if she’s holding in her words. I nuzzle her neck, kissing the column of her throat, winding her up. Her moans grow louder, higher, and I lift her skirt while her busy hands yank down my jeans. This is all I need this second—nothing more, nothing less than this connection.

She wraps her hands around my cock, and I tremble. God, she feels so fucking good. She strokes me, and I close my eyes, rocking my hips into her soft hand. “Nat,” I groan, but I say no more. The lady has spoken. She wants me speechless, and she can have me speechless.

As long as she’ll have me.

Her nimble hands tighten around my shaft, and she brings me closer to her. I tug down her panties and glide my fingers across her slick heat. She’s ready for me. So fucking wet and lush. “Look how turned on you get,” I groan, because it’s too hard to stay silent.

“Wyatt. You need to stop talking and start fu—” But she stops herself, bringing her face close, her forehead touching mine, and she whispers once more, “Making love to me.”

There it is again. Those two words. She’s never said them to me before today—
make love
—and they let me believe she might feel the same.

I rub the head of my cock against her, and in one fast motion, I push inside. She’s so wet and tight and snug, and I love the way we fit. Like we’re meant to be. Like everything that happened before has led to
this.

I want to tell her everything, how I feel, and what I want—her in my life as so much more.

“Sweetheart,” I whisper in her ear, and she shudders.

“Oh, Wyatt.” Her sweet voice is a bare whimper, and that sound touches down deep in my heart.

She clutches my shoulders as I make love to her. Even though the clock is ticking, even though this won’t last long, I take my time in my own way. I savor every sound she makes, every sweet, sexy noise, every murmur, and every sigh. I hike her leg higher around my waist and swivel my hips deeper into her. With my touch, I want to erase whatever sadness she feels.

I might have made some bad choices. I might have made some mistakes. But this isn’t one of them. She’s not going to be my checkered past. She’s my present, and she’s my future, I know that. I believe that.

Because there’s sex, there’s fucking, there’s lust.

And then, there’s
this
. Right now. And it’s everything, because I’m so in love with her.

In mere seconds, she grabs my ass and calls my name, and I’m right there with her. Our sounds are white-hot noises, wild groans, and intense cries of pleasure as she comes, and I join her in what I hope is the start of something new.

* * *

W
hile she’s
in the bathroom cleaning up, I flop down on her bed, thumbing through my phone, and see that my sister texted me.

J
osie
:
Sorry. Phone took a swan dive into the batter. Anyway, listen . . . love is all about taking a chance. It’s not rocket science. Just speak from the heart, and tell her she’s the one.

I
smile
, and a sense of calm floods my body.

I
put
my phone in my pocket, take a deep breath, and wait for the woman I love. The sink is running, so she’s still in the bathroom. As I stand up, I wander past the TV console. Her phone buzzes on the wood. Glancing down, I see a 917 number on her screen. Someone from New York is calling her. It’s not my job to answer it, so I leave it alone and the buzzing stops.