Page 57 of Until August
The key was to stay focused on work so my thoughts wouldn’t wander…
To Nicola’s bee-stung lips that I wanted to sink my teeth into. I wanted to hear the little sounds she made when I was buried deep inside her.
Would she like it rough? Dirty? Would she beg if I asked her to?
Her body was fucking perfect. All lush curves and silky skin. Those mile-long legs that I imagined wrapped around me as I drove into her. Relentless. Punishing.
Her scent. Heady and sweet. Intoxicating.
Just the thought of it made my dick stir.
Keep it in check, asshole.
I remembered how she broke last night—her sorrow and grief—and I shoved the other thoughts out of my head and focused on that instead.
I poured a cup of coffee from the freshly brewed pot on the burner and carried it into the dining room along with my clipboard.
Mornings, I preferred to sit at the velvet banquette in the back to do my paperwork. It was quiet and peaceful in the empty dining room with a view of the beach.
But as soon as I sat down, I realized I wasn’t alone. Female voices, one of which was Nicola’s, drifted from the terrace through the open door. Their backs were to me, and they were sitting on striped deck chairs with their feet propped on the railing.
I had no intention of eavesdropping, so I half-stood, ready to go back into the kitchen to give them their privacy.
Until I heard my name and the word porn used in the same sentence. Not my actual name, but it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that I was ‘Pistachio Guy.’
My ass hit the seat. I wasn’t going anywhere.
CHAPTERTWENTY-ONE
Nicola
“Maybe Pistachio Guyis into trauma porn,” Scarlett mused. “It’s a thing.”
I stared at her. “I don’t even want to know why you know that.” I took a sip of my coffee and watched the waves roll in. It was early, and the sun was still behind us, but sunglasses shielded my eyes because… hangover from hell. It was a wonder I could even form a coherent sentence. “It wasn’t my story that got him hard. I was sitting in his lap.”
“Okay, well, you could have mentioned that part.” She flicked my arm like we were twelve again. Sometimes when Scarlett and I hung out, we regressed.
“How else would I have noticed that his dick was hard?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t realize you actuallyfeltit. I thought you just saw it. Gray sweatpants don’t exactly hide much.” She knew this because I’d relayed every detail of August’s visit, including what he wore. “That’s why I keep buying them for Dylan. He has about a dozen pairs in his closet. But he’s not allowed to leave the house in them.”
A laugh burst out of me. “You’re crazy,” I said, but my tone was affectionate.
I didn’t know what I would do without Scarlett. We’d been together through thick and thin, good times and bad, and all the in-between.
When Cruz asked me to marry him, he asked if he needed Scarlett’s blessing. He was joking. Kind of. Our bond was unbreakable and had stood the test of time.
“Just protecting my assets,” she said. “I don’t want all the housewives of Costa del Rey drooling over my husband.”
“I can honestly tell you I haveneverdrooled over Dylan.” It probably helped that Scarlett had been crushing on him since she was eleven. By virtue of my best friend status, that automatically declared Dylan off-limits for all of eternity. He’d always belonged to Scarlett and always would, so I’d never looked at him that way.
“You’re practically the only one. You should see how the mothers at school act around him. You would think they’d never seen a hot guy before,” she huffed. “Although he is in a league of his own.”
I couldn’t argue with that. I wondered if Scarlett knew about my conversation with Dylan yesterday. She hadn’t mentioned it, so I assumed she didn’t.
“Anyway, back to Pistachio Guy. When do I get to meet him?”
“You act like we’re dating. We haven’t even kissed yet. And I don’t even know if he wants to,” I admitted. After the way he’d charged out of my house last night, it was doubtful.
