Hammered Read online

  “Fuck,” I whisper.

  “Yeah. And something tells me that Jesse could be the best thing that ever happened to you.”

  “He already is,” I say.

  “He brought you to his home. It’s a big deal for me, so I’m guessing it is for him.”

  “So that guy, Price—”

  “This isn’t about me.”

  “Audra.”

  “Fine. I really liked him. But he’s too young, too broke, and too emotionally needy. I’d end up momming him as much as I fucked him, and I’m not here for that. So he had to go. But he really was sweet and cute and great in bed, and if I was fifteen years younger and a lot less jaded and fucked up, I’d have let him stay…for who knows how long.”

  “Audra—”

  “We can talk about me another time, okay? Forget Price. My point is, taking someone home when that’s way outside how you do something—that’s a big deal. He wouldn’t do that lightly. He wouldn’t have done that if he was expecting to make a getaway after a quick fuck. You only bring someone into your own home if you’re willing to deal with the next day awkwardness.”

  “How do you deal with next day awkwardness?” I ask, honestly curious.

  “If I bring a guy home and I’m ready for him to go? Usually I suggest we go out to breakfast separately. Or I blow him and then make excuses about work.”

  “Why blow him first?”

  She shrugs, grinning. “Because a guy will do pretty much anything you want after you’ve sucked him off. It softens the blow of asking him to leave. Also, I just like giving head.”

  I shake my head. “You do? Like, you actually enjoy it?”

  She wrinkles her nose and grins at me. “Well, yeah.” She frowns at me. “I mean, do I enjoy it like I enjoy getting eaten out? No, but it’s a different kind of enjoyment. Just being honest about it, I like the power of it. I like the manipulation of it. I get off knowing just my hands and mouth can make a guy desperate and willing to do whatever I want. And, under the right circumstances, I like making a guy feel good. But that’s a different kind of BJ.”

  “It is?” I’ve given them, of course, but only as foreplay, and usually in a quid-pro-quo sort of scenario, so I’ve never thought about giving oral in the way Audra’s talking about it.

  She laughs. “I mean, of course. ” She sighs and waves a hand. “You’re distracting me from the topic. Get me talking about giving head and I lose my train of thought.”

  I roll my eyes at her, laughing. “Audra, you’re too much.”

  “So say all the men,” she quips, and I don’t think she’s joking. “My point is, I don’t think you gave Jesse a fair shot.”

  “He sent me texts and left voicemails, but I’ve been avoiding them—and him.”

  “You came straight here from the airport, I’m guessing?”

  I nod. “Yeah.”

  She shakes her head, sighing. “This time, I’m not gonna tell you what I think you should do. This one is all on you. What I will end my rant with is this—it doesn’t have to be love, as in True Love, capital T, capital L, with hearts and bubbles and glitter and a mushy happily-ever-after ending. It can be something real for both of you without being that. You can have your cake and eat it too, in this case, Imogen—there is something between casual no-strings sex and diamond rings and wedding vows.”

  I sigh. “Maybe you’re right.”

  “You know I’m right.” She holds out her hand flat, palm up. “Your phone.”

  I hesitate, but then hand her my phone—she knows my passcode, of course, and uses it to open up my thread with Jesse. We read his messages together—there are seven.

  Jesse: Can we talk? Even on the phone?

  Jesse: Imogen? I don’t like how we left things, and I want to say a few things.

  Jesse: I don’t like trusting important things to text messages. There’s too much chance of things getting misunderstood. Call me. Or tell me you’re home and I’ll come over.

  Jesse: Screw it. It’s been two days and you’re not answering your phone. So if you don’t answer this message, I’m coming over, and I’ll wait until you’re home to say what I have to say.

  Jesse: You’re not home. I waited twelve hours and you never showed up. And since you know how I am, you know I didn’t spend those twelve hours idle. So…your welcome.

  Jesse: *you’re*, because when your mother is a retired English teacher, you’re required to have proper grammar even via text.

  Jesse: Still not saying everything, but I’ll say at least this much, in case you ever read these. Or maybe you’re reading them and ignoring me, I’m not sure. Whatever. Here it is. I told you I had something like a serious relationship once, and that’s true. There’s a lot more to the story, and it’s a very, very hard thing for me to talk about. But it’s made me approach relationships hesitantly, to say the least. I tend to clam up when I’m overwhelmed or feeling emotions I’m not comfortable with, and all I’ll say is that I definitely felt things with you that made me clam up, because of that long and hard to talk about story. I’ve always been bad about that, and I’m sorry. Call me if you want.

  The voicemails are just him saying “Call me” in a gruff, terse tone.

  I click the phone back to sleep and look at Audra. “I fucked up.”

  “Yeah, babe, you did.”

  “What do I do?”

  “I mean, if it was me, I’d show up where he worked, tell him I was sorry, and then blow him. And maybe bring food with me, because men think with their stomachs as much as their dicks.” Audra shrugs. “But that’s just me.”

  I consider.

  And actually, she may be on to something.

  She sees the speculative look in my eye. “Imogen, I was joking.”

  I frown at her. “No, you weren’t.”

  “Okay, no, I wasn’t. But that’s not the kind of thing you do.”

  “No, but you also told me this is a chance in my life to become someone I’ve never been. Reinvent myself. And god knows after the way Jesse treated me the other night, I probably owe him a little something.”

  Audra leans closer to me and, on cue, we both grab our wine. “Is it finally time for details?” she asks, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.

  And so, I give her details. Every last little one.

  When I’m done, Audra sinks against the couch, dramatically fanning her face. “Whooooo boy! And he has three friends, you say? Each sexier than the last?”

  I shrug. “I mean, I personally think Jesse is the sexiest, but something tells me you’d find Franco pretty damn jaw-dropping.”

  She quirks an eyebrow. “Franco? Is that first name or last?”

  I laugh, frowning. “Actually, I don’t know. It’s the only name I’ve heard for him.”

  She eyes me speculatively. “I have an idea, if you’re serious about doing what I said.”

  “And what’s your idea?” I ask, wary.

  She just grins lasciviously. “Let’s just say it’ll let you make your move, Jesse’s girl, and give me a chance to check out this allegedly jaw-dropping Mr. Franco.”

  I cackle when I hear her plan. “You know what? Let’s do it,” I say.

  Chapter 15

  “This was stupid,” I hiss to Audra, as we approach the Waverley job site. “I’m not doing this.”

  Audra grabs my arm and keeps me walking. “It’s very stupid, which is why you’re doing it. You never do anything dumb and reckless. And this is calculated recklessness.” She speaks casually, not whispering. “It’s to a purpose.”

  “Remind me what that purpose is, again?”

  “Apologize for running from him, not giving him a chance to say anything, and then avoiding him, and not answering his calls or messages. And to then communicate that you’re still into him. And, as a side bonus, you try something new, even if it’s a little scary at first. Because trust me, it is. But it’s exhilarating and fun and a hell of a rush. And he’ll love it. Which means, if he’s half the lover you say he is, he
’ll repay you a million times over, because to him, giving you multiple orgasms during sex is what he’s supposed to do, and to him, you don’t owe him anything because he doesn’t keep score. Or if he does, it’s one for him for every three for you. Either way, you win.”

  “What if someone sees?”

  “It’ll be his buddies, and they won’t care.”

  “I’ll care if they see me doing that. I know them. I’ve drunk beer with them.”

  “Then don’t get caught.” She grins, tosses her hair, sucks in a deep breath, and tugs her top down a little bit. “Showtime. Do I look okay?”

  “Audra, you look as incredible as ever. What about me?”

  She glances at me. “Bitch, please. He’ll get hard at first sight.” She shoots me a look. “Promise me you’re not kidding about Franco being hot.”

  I laugh. “You won’t believe me until you see him.”

  “Because I need something jaw-dropping in my life. I’ve had a streak of guys that have been, at best, decently hot.” She grins salaciously. “And my jaw needs a little workout, anyway.”

  I don’t say anything because I’m pretty sure if anyone can give Audra a run for her money, it’d be Franco.

  The house is…incredible. Done in the French Manor style, it’s three stories, royal blue with slate gray roof tiles, surrounded by two acres of pristine grass—the area directly around the house itself is dirt still, because the landscaping hasn’t been done yet, according to Jesse. The house looks mostly done, which jives with Jesse’s reports that it’s down to finishing details. The front door is standing open, and I hear a radio blaring something unintelligible; more of Jesse’s screamy, thrashy, headache-inducing heavy metal. Overlapped around the music are the voices of the guys, each distinct, with a few others thrown in. I see a plumber’s van, someone that appears to specialize in renewable energy, and outside the house a crew of three young men are laying bricks in the circular driveway—which features a marble fountain that isn’t flowing with water yet.

  Audra and I are each carrying giant bags full of carryout burgers and fries from a local pub and grill, and each of us has a twelve-pack of beer.

  The bricklayers stop and whistle at us. “Hey-yo, you got some of that for us?” one of them asks, grinning at us.

  Audra, always up for a little nonsense, hands her bag off to me, and cracks open the box of beer cans while sashaying sexily toward the three young men—who look to be barely out of high school, and probably hired to do the unskilled labor the more skilled crew doesn’t want to waste their time on.

  “Sure, boys.” She puts a little extra pop to her hips as sidles over to them, offering them the beer. “Go ahead,” she says, breathily, leaning over a bit more than necessary.

  They each take one, laughing and chattering. And then Audra sashays back to me, still putting on a show for them, just because. And she doesn’t look back as we enter the home itself, even though we both know all three are staring at us—Audra especially.

  “You’re shameless,” I whisper-laugh.

  She just smirks and shrugs as we enter the house. “It’s harmless fun. It’ll be a memorable part of the day for some young kids doing hard work on a hot day for probably shitty pay.”

  “Actually,” a voice says, surprising us both into startled gasps. “They get paid double what most would pay for that job.”

  I whirl, and see Franco at the window beside the open front door—he’d been in the process of painting the trim around the window. He’d seen the whole thing.

  “Hi, Franco.” I try for familiar and friendly, hoping Jesse hasn’t said too much.

  The wary hardness in his gaze tells me Jesse has definitely said something to his friends. “Imogen.” His gaze goes to Audra, looking her over. “Who’s your friend?”

  Normally, this is where Audra takes over. Her patented seduction routine goes into overdrive, and she has the guy eating out of her hand, if not somewhere else, within seconds. Only, she’s mute. Staring at Franco, jaw open. I swear she has a dot of drool at the corner of her mouth.

  I glance at Franco again, and understand: it’s a hot day and the other truck out front of the house is an HVAC technician, so the A/C in the house isn’t hooked up yet—meaning it’s hot in here, since it’s easily over ninety outside today. Which means Franco is shirtless, in the Sexy Contractor look—dirty, ripped, paint-spattered, faded jeans, heavy work boots, and a tool belt slung low around his hard, narrow hips. And Franco is, as I’ve said…jaw-dropping. A man with the dedication to his body that Franco shows…well, that’s like catnip to a fitness addict like Audra.

  Franco frowns at me. “You both lose your voice?”

  I start. “Oh. Sorry. This is my best friend, Audra.” I elbow her. “Audra, this is Franco. That friend of Jesse’s I was telling you about?”

  “Abs!” Audra bursts out, apropos of nothing. She blinks, shakes her head, drags her wrist across the corner of her mouth, glancing at me worriedly, and then back at Franco. “Um. I mean. Audra. My name is—my name is Audra.”

  A slow, amused smile spreads over Franco’s face. “Tits. I mean, Franco. My name is Franco.”

  Audra, in a rare fit of extended dumbfounded speechlessness, glances down at her chest. Which, admittedly, she has put on rather obvious display: a “sports bra” that’s more lingerie than sports bra, and tight white form-fitting workout shorts that barely cover her ass. I’m pretty sure her sports bra has push-up technology, and god knows Audra’s monster tits don’t need any help in that department.

  “Oh.” Audra shifts her glance up to Franco, her gaze slowly traveling the length of his body. “You’re jaw-dropping. I mean, Franco. You’re Franco.”

  He just smolders at her even harder. “Yep. That’s me.”

  I hand Audra the bag she’d given to me. “Well, umm…I need to talk to Jesse.”

  Franco’s gaze, when he shoots a look at me, tells me he’s not thrilled with me. “Upstairs. Master bathroom.”

  “Franco, I—”

  He shakes his head. “Save it for him, Imogen.”

  “Thanks.” I gesture at Audra. “I’ll just leave you two to your awkwardness competition.”

  She’s just staring at him, very much like a cartoon character. I snap my fingers in front of her eyes. “What?” She jerks her eyes to me. “What’s up?”

  I laugh. “I’m going to go find Jesse. You’ve got this, yes?”

  Audra nods, slowly, not taking her eyes off Franco. “Yes. I’m good. Oh, I’m so good.”

  I carry my bag of food and case of beer in search of the stairs; on my way, I pass an entry to the kitchen, where I see James and Ryder engaged in conversation—judging by the quick way they clam up, they were talking about me. I pause, and James just jerks his thumb in the direction of the stairs. Yeah, I’ve not made any friends.

  I wander upstairs, following the music. As Franco said, I find Jesse in the master bathroom, on his knees caulking around the base of a huge clawfoot tub big enough for three people.

  He doesn’t hear me.

  I glance at my reflection in the mirror, and tease my hair a little, and plump my cleavage. I’m dressed casually, in my most flattering pair of skinny jeans and a cream shirt with a daring V-neck, just translucent enough to give hints of my black bra underneath. I suck in a deep breath, and say a word of thanks that he’s in here, alone, and that I don’t have to try and lure him anywhere. This way, I can just…

  Lock the door.

  He hears that, turns, and sees me. His brows lower, and he takes in the sight and smell of the food, the case of beer, and then my outfit. “Hi, Imogen.”

  I don’t smile; I can’t, not yet. “Hi.”

  “You’re alive. I was wondering.”

  Apologize, and then make my move; I take a deep breath, preparing myself. My nerves jangle, adrenaline races. I’m nervous, but excited.

  “Did you just lock the door?” he asks, looking past me at the door.

  I nod. “Yeah.”

&n
bsp; “Why?” He’s suspicious. Wary. Confused, maybe.

  I set the food and beer on the counter nearby, and then turn back to him. As I approach, he stands up, setting the caulking gun on the floor.

  “I just…I—” I owe him the truth. “I panicked. I ran off, and I didn’t give you a chance to—I don’t know…say anything.”

  He frowns harder. “I was trying to figure out what to say. And then you just shut down and I was—” He shrugs, as inarticulate as I am.

  “I thought you were trying to figure out how to get rid of me,” I admit. “And I was scared. Because I was feeling things, but I assumed you didn’t and couldn’t possibly feel the same. So I just—yeah, I shut down.”

  “I wasn’t trying to get rid of you, Imogen,” he murmurs. “The opposite, if anything.”

  I step closer to him. “I came to say I’m sorry.”

  He nods. “I get it. After what you’ve been through, and with how I said I usually am about relationships—”

  I touch his mouth. “I came to say I’m sorry,” I say again. “And to bring you something to show you that I’m still interested in…whatever this is, or…or whatever it could be.”

  He eyes the items on the counter. “Burgers and beer certainly helps.”

  I sink to my knees in front of him. “That’s just because it’s lunchtime and I thought you might like lunch. That’s not what I brought.”

  He quirks an eyebrow. “Oh no?”

  I shake my head. “Nope.”

  His eyes roam over me. “What’d you bring, then?”

  God, I can’t believe I’m about to do this. I’m tempted to go double-check that I locked the door, but I don’t. I shift closer to him, sitting on my heels in front of him, and reach up to unbuckle his tool belt. I set it carefully on the floor nearby; it’s a lot heavier than it looks. He’s breathing very slowly, very carefully, his eyes following my every move as if not quite willing to believe I’m about to do what he thinks (hopes?) I’m about to do.