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This is for all the thirty-somethings trapped in marriages, friendships, and family dynamics you’ve outgrown. Set yourself free. Watch how you fly. Oh, and give pegging a try.
She can’t help but be who she is, and Rachel Price is lightning in a bottle. I’ve heard the little nicknames the guys use for her. Hurricane. It’s perfect.
She thinks she can hide in the shadows. She thinks people don’t notice her. Like, if she stays quiet and does her job and doesn’t make waves, she can avoid the spotlight forever. But who can ignore a hurricane? I saw that just today down on the beach. All the guys are pulled to her, even the married guys. And it’s not in a creepy way or a sexual way. You just can’t not notice Rachel Price.
Sand up my ass crack, crusty shells on my boobs. How does Ariel make this look so glamorous?
I don’t strut around talking about claiming women and fighting off the affections of other men like some brute caveman. But right now, with this beautiful naked woman standing in front of me, I feel ready to go looking for a club. Me Ryan. You pretty. Make fire and baby.
“Because it fits. You’re like a lost little puppy looking for a home, all sweet and sensitive. What’s your pleasure?”
“I want to know what you taste like.” Fuck, did I just say those words out loud? It had to be me because she’s looking at me like I’m crazy. “Ryan—” “A kiss,” I say, breathless. “That’s my secret. I want a kiss. One kiss. From you.” Her full lips tip on one side, flashing me a sexy little half-smile. “And what would a guy like you do with one kiss from a girl like me?” “Savor it,” I reply. “Cherish it. Save it for a rainy day.”
“No matter where we are, when the clouds roll in on those dark and rainy days, we can pull out this moment and sit inside it. We can remember what it feels like to be windswept and sun-kissed and free.”
Now I’m standing here, alone in Jake Compton’s kitchen, with one thought echoing in my mind: This is only the beginning. Because there is no way I’m letting her just walk away. Tess Owens is my dream girl…she just doesn’t know it yet.
“I love healing what’s broken in others. Each time I think it heals a little something in me too.”
“And then Jake found me in Seattle,” she says with a smile. “And when he found me, I found me too. I’m who I’m meant to be now. With them, I’m me. Jake, Caleb, and Ilmari, they’re my reason. So, I’m not walking down that aisle tonight. I’m running. I’m running to them, Tess. I’m going home.”
God, this man is too damn precious. He’s like if a golden retriever came to life and started wearing bespoke Armani suits. And here I was grilling Rachel about needing an exit. What’s the point? No matter where I might take her, this man will just follow us. Jake Compton Price is Rachel’s end game. I have absolutely nothing to worry about by putting her happiness in his hands.
Inside my own chest, the dull thumping of my jaded heart echoes in its loneliness. Battered and broken, she beats in survivor mode. It pulses to the cadence of a single word. It’s a harsh reality. A life sentence. Alone. Alone. Alone.
“Am I crazy, or does Compton make a very hot girl?”
I smile. Suddenly this doesn’t feel so weird. They all look happy. They all want Doc, and they’re willing to share her. It’s kind of beautiful, actually. Life’s too short to go through it settling for a life you don’t want.
“The Fearsome Foursome,” Compton says with a smile. “Don’t call us that,” Sanford mutters at John Jay.
“Jake, I love you,” he declares, loud enough for the whole room to hear. “I’ve loved you for ten fucking years. I loved you in secret,” he admits. “I loved you like a coward. I didn’t deserve to be loved by you in return—not until I got out of my own damn way. But I needed a little help. I needed a push.”
“Four months ago, I got a shove. A hurricane on two legs swept into our lives and knocked us both off our feet. She was my push to love you out loud. To love you as you always should have been loved. So, here’s my vow: The coward who loved you in secret is gone. Rachel remade us both into something stronger. I’m here now, Jake. I’m right fucking here, and I’m saying it out loud.”
“You’ve always been my friend,” Sanford goes on. “Then you became my lover. Tonight, I make you my husband. You’re mine, Jake Price. You’re mine, and I’m never letting go.”
“So, umm…playing hockey has always been about putting myself first—my training, my diet, and my travel and game schedules. Everyone in my life just learned to orbit me. And if my life was too much for them, they flung themselves out of my orbit as fast as possible.” It’s like he’s describing the personal lives of half the men in this room, myself included. “Over time,” Compton goes on, “I realized I was a sun with no planets, the center of my own universe. I had everything I ever wanted, but I was alone, just me and my career. You were the only one who stayed, Cay. You stuck it out. You let me
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No, it didn’t. In fact, it sounded pretty fucking perfect. It sounded like Compton and Sanford share the kind of love that all of us search for…and so few of us ever find.
The caveman in me sits up and beats his chest at being complimented by her. Not that I need her praise to know I’m talented.
“I see a woman who’s bold and fearless. A woman who loves to laugh. You’ve got a great laugh, Tess.”
“I see someone who loves her friends,” I go on. “Someone who puts others first. Maybe I like the idea of being the one who gets to put you first. I like taking care of people, Tess. And I take excellent care of what’s mine.”
“There was nothing hasty in my decision to make them mine. If you would stop talking, and let me speak, I will explain myself. Christ, you’re worse than Jake.”
Bea Owens has long been like my guardian angel. My own mother never cared about me. She was always chasing her next boyfriend and hopping from job to job. I lived with whichever family member was willing to take me in for a few days or weeks at a time. But I was always just an inconvenience. Always in the way.
It’s about to be David versus Goliath, and I left my slingshot in my other pencil skirt.
I used to be happy all the time. I used to laugh and love out loud. I was wild once. I was free. I’ve been trying to find my way back to that girl who danced in her underwear. Rachel was helping me find her. I miss her. I miss me.
“He’s trying the whole ‘domestic wedded bliss’ thing. It’s adorable, like watching a chimp on roller-skates.”
He goes stiff, muttering something in Finnish. I don’t know which he’s hating worse: the hug or the tears.
“We’re not,” Mars and I say at the same time. “Go make yourself useful and get her a towel,” he adds, shoving his bag of pistachios at Jake’s chest. Jake takes them with a huff. “Sure, I’ll go get a towel. Want me to go fuck myself while I’m at it?” “Now, Jake,” Mars orders.
“Exactly. That’s what I’ve been saying for three years. You are a goddess, and you deserve to be worshipped and adored. Altars, burning of incense…maybe some ritual orgies.”
This all happened because I lost focus for a split second. I saw a pretty face, and my brain skipped like a scratched vinyl record.
“I think I should know what I call Mars in our own marriage.”
But Morrow has no such reserve. He just looks at Jake and shakes his head in stunned disbelief. “You must give the best fucking blowjobs of all time.”
“You can’t call me Mr. Metamour,” says Jake with a glare. “Only Mars gets to call me that.” “I have a feeling hell will freeze over before Mars Kinnunen calls you Mr. Metamour,” Morrow says with a laugh, scooping his soccer ball up off the floor.
I glance over my shoulder, waiting for whatever hotshot she’s here with to come strolling in from the bedrooms looking full of himself and satisfied. I hate him.
I’m done with possessive men who think they get to own me. If Ryan keeps up this attitude, he’ll see me fly before he ever sees me naked again.
“Ohmygod, it’s metamour,” Rachel cries. “We can’t keep correcting you—” “Fuck! I hate that fucking word.” He glares at Mars. “I hate calling you a metamour, Mars. It’s weird and confusing and I just—I fucking hate it.” “I never asked you to call me that,” Ilmari replies. “We gotta pick something better,” Jake presses. “Why can’t I just call you my husband?” “I never said you couldn’t,” he says softly.
What can I say? I’m an extroverted introvert with truly impressive trust and abandonment issues. But man, do I know how to pick a quality cheese.
“It’s a queen-sized bed, Tess. There’s room for both of us. What if I promise to keep my hands to myself?” “Do I have to promise the same?”
“In my mind I was calling it piña colada. It’s coconut. My coconutty dream girl.”
I close my eyes, breathing deep. I know with a surety marrow-deep that this is why I got on a plane to Jacksonville. I wanted to be close to Rachel as I made this leap. I wanted to freefall knowing someone would brave any element to catch me. Rachel will do anything for the ones she loves, just like me.
I turn to face Ilmari. It feels oddly right that it be him. My quiet protector. I want to stand now in the shadow of his strength.
“Through every stage of our relationship, I was always the one changing. I changed to please him so many times. I changed my habits and my likes, my sense of humor. Hell, I even changed my coffee order. I’m not even convinced I like coffee. I drink it because he does,”
“Not everyone is meant to thrive, Ilmari. Some of us are born merely to endure. It took falling in love with Troy and falling back out again to realize how adept I am at survival. And I want it, Mars,” I whisper, heart in my throat. “I want to survive on my terms and by my strength. Troy wanted me to think I was weak. He wanted me to be malleable clay he could make and remake in his image.”
“No way. If you’re about to ask me to cover up in my own damn bedroom, I’m gonna have to insist that you go fuck yourself with your hockey stick. Just because you think I’m not home, you think it’s okay to waltz in here? What were you looking for?”
“I don’t need a fucking toy. I can make you see stars all on my own.”
“I have no problem with toys. But I’m not giving away my first shot with Tess Owens. I’m not taking the assist. This orgasm is mine. Now, get on the fucking bed.”
Gorgeous. Fuckable. Goddamn desirable.
