Page 39 of Better When Shared
"What?"
"He’s the one who suggested the hall pass." Her voice dropped to a husky whisper, her eyes locked on mine with an intensity that made my skin burn. “And, he’s been telling me some stories about you.”
"I—that was in college. I haven’t done anything like that since."
She shrugged, going back to her menu. “Still, it's hot as hell.”
Before I could respond, Julian returned, sliding back into the booth. I braced myself for the awkward dance of pretending we hadn't met, prepared to follow Nisha's lead on whatever story she wanted to spin.
I wasn't prepared for her to turn to Julian and boldly announce, "So, funny coincidence—remember the sexy British guy from yoga class."
Julian looked around, frowning. “What? Is he here?” Then, he froze, and I could see realization dawning on his face. “Fuck. It was Caleb?”
“Yeah." Nisha said. "Small world, right? That’s Portland for you."
Julian's eyes met mine, and I prepared for a punch, a drink in my face, something vengeful. Instead, his lips curled into a slow smile that sent an electric current straight to my groin.
"Interesting," he said, setting his beer down. "When did you two meet? I thought you just got into town."
My mouth was desert-dry. "Um, I consult with hotels on marketing and sales strategy, so the project has a few phases. This is my third visit to Portland.” I fiddled with the rim of my drink, smiling a little. “Took me a few tries to work up the courage to email you.”
"And you happened to take a yoga class at Zenith?" Julian pressed, his tone more curious than accusatory.
"Hotel recommendation," I explained. "It’s just a block away. Since I travel so much for work, I find it helps with the stiffness after hours in a plane."
Julian nodded, his eyes never leaving mine. There was something in his expression I couldn't quite read—something that reminded me of those nights in our apartment, when we'd lock eyes over the writhing body between us.
"How long are you in Portland?" he asked.
"A week for now," I said, trying to push the dirty thoughts away. "Then I'm back in three weeks for follow-up. Depending on what the client wants, I do several more trips over the course of a few months or more, until we can do a hand-off with the strategy and let them handle it."
Nisha hummed, leaning just a little against me. I shifted, and the curve of her breast brushed my forearm. Was that on purpose? I couldn’t tell, and for a heart-pounding moment, I waited for her to pull away.
“Makes sense,” she said. “Funny coincidence, though. Now, what’s good here, Mr. Hotel Guru?”
She leaned in closer, resting a hand on my thigh as she peered at my menu. Julian’s eyes darted down to where she was touching me, and he shot me a knowing look. Shouldn’t he want to murder me? This was his wife.
“Is touching you still okay?” she whispered, her fingers moving higher.
I choked out a yes, casting a wary glance Julian’s way. Julian busied himself with his own menu, his lips twitching as he pretended to ignore his wife’s antics.
The waiter appeared to take our dinner orders. Julian ordered the halibut special and appetizers for all of us, adding a bottle of white wine. Nisha picked a vegetarian dish, holding eye contact with Julian as she touched me in a way she shouldn’t.
“I’ll—shit—sorry.” Under the tablecloth, her hand cupped my shaft, and my brain froze before I could remember what I’d intended to order. “I’ll have what he’s having,” I squeaked out.
Both Nisha and Julian remained infuriatingly composed.
As the waiter departed, Julian leaned forward, elbows on the table. "So, Caleb. Tell me more about this yoga class. Did my wife impress you with her... flexibility?"
There it was—the Julian I remembered. Watching, calculating, orchestrating. The conductor of pleasure, always with another wicked plan. My body responded with Pavlovian immediacy, cock hard now beneath Nisha's wandering fingers.
"She did," I confirmed, voice low. "She has the most beautiful form."
"He was pretty impressive himself," Nisha added, her thumb tracing small circles on my thigh. "All the women were staring."
“Not likely,” I muttered.
Julian's smile turned predatory. "Nah, I bet they were. If my wife noticed you, other women did, too. She called you the hot British guy."
