Preservation (The Walshes, #7)

by Kate Canterbary

Erin, the baby of the family and the only one who didn't work at the firm, had schooled me in the ways of not giving a fuck—while actually giving all the fucks—from an early age.

Oh my fucking god. I hadn't even gotten face to face with this chick yet, and all I could think was Is there anything you don't know? She was straight out of the Tracy Flick and Hermione Granger School for Smarty Pantsing.

I resorted to my default pose, the one my male colleagues could pull off all damn day but screamed "raging bitch" on me—hands on the hips. If the broomstick fits, ride it.

I reminded myself that he was a player man-child who passed out drunk in bathtubs. Just a gorgeous, growly player man-child.

It left my skin feeling hot and tight, and my pulse racing to catch up with these notions of Alex, naked, sex, now. My cock shook off its slumber and glanced around for some indication that it was time to get up and go to work.

Beer. Soul food for sad fools.

Being around her was like my favorite flannel pajama pants—easy and comfortable, and roomy enough for unexpected erections.

"Oh, my god," I said, cringing at the thought. No one brought clean fish hooks to a rave.

I stared at her, waiting for the realization to hit that we'd be sharing a bedroom. A bedroom. The type with beds. Which, when mixed with consenting adults, were intended for sex. And we were those adults.

She was lovely, just lovely. My cock wasn't the most disciplined creature in existence. There were times when it would stir to life with every warm breeze and short skirt, and others when it would perk up for no discernible reason. It was an attention whore like that. And now, with the knowledge that it would be sleeping an arm's length away from the pretty girl who kept saying and doing things that brought to mind sex, my cock was like Lassie. All hopped up on adrenaline and bouncing again because this is go time! There was trouble in the pretty girl's dark, wet cave and we had to save the damn day.

I wanted to touch every inch, memorize his skin in this moment, absorb his scent, and stow it all away for the day when I wasn't the source of his pleasure anymore.

If we didn't have a fuck-ton of mutual respect, we wouldn't be able to run a business together. We didn't have to top it off with polite exchanges when our salty shorthand worked just as well.

Alex gave me a lopsided grin as her gaze pinged between me and the rumpled bed. "You're clumsy in the streets but you're a beast in the sheets."

"I thought I had a fantasy like this one," I started, reaching for my phone, "but that wasn't even close to what I really wanted." I stepped between her legs, dragging my cock through her folds. "I didn't know what I needed until I met you."

"It's like there's a Bat Signal only Riley can see," Andy mused. "But instead of Gotham needing a hero, his siblings are having sex and he needs to interrupt."

"Your sisters and sisters-in-law," I started after a long silence, "they're all so nice. They invited me to join them for brunch." He shook his head against my back. "Don't let them fool you," he said. "They're little devil women. They do yoga and eat berries and cast crazy spells on their husbands."

"Hey," I said, raising a hand in greeting. "Everyone, this is Alex. Alex, these are some hooligans."

"That night put a lot of things in perspective for me. It forced me to see that all of my issues were bullshit." I barked out a laugh. "Does that make my issues bullshit, too?" She hummed as she went for more croissant. "Maybe. Do they feel like bullshit?" "I've put a lot of fucking energy into these issues," I argued. "If they are bullshit, I've wasted a fuck-ton of time."

Except I didn't want a nice guy. I wanted the man who was kind and loving, quirky as all hell, and an absolute fucking beast.

"I'm not good at too many things," he said. "Don't say that—" He waved me off. "Let me finish. It's true. I can't speak eloquently and I knock shit over all the fucking time. I have a narrow subset of skills that mostly involves reciting song lyrics, knowing which sandwiches are best with chips in the middle, redesigning old homes, and giving people nicknames." He took a step closer, right into my space, and the absence of that distance crushed the last of my resolve. "I'm not good at many things. But I'll always be good to you."

"Promise to keep me for always, and I'll give you everything I have to give, and then I'll find a way to give you more. I love you, and I want you and I need you."