Fifteen. Hurt So Good

FIFTEEN

Hurt So Good

Joe

I probably should have ordered takeout for one back at my place, but I couldn't help myself. Besides, this is a thing friends-slash-brothers do. Liam would want me to make sure Maren's good after such a long and arduous day of work, and he'd expect me to pay for her dinner. If he were here, he would do it himself. Since he's not, it's up to me.

And anyway, my house is empty, and my kids are with my parents. I like my privacy, but the house is too quiet with them gone. So I take a quick shower and head over to Maren's cabin.

I'm reaching out to knock on the door right as the headlights of the pizza delivery person pull down the resort drive. So I wait them out and pay while accepting the pizza before knocking on her door. Rogers barks as she said he would, but she pulls open the door in an instant. She's dressed in white cotton short-shorts with a blue floral pattern that reveal her yards of tanned legs and a matching cami with lace around the edges. In other words, she's in her pajamas.

Fuck. I did not need to know what her pajamas look like. Or that they'd be so fucking cute.

"Sorry," she says breathlessly, stepping back and letting me in. "I'll be right back. Just gotta grab something."

Thirty seconds later, she's draped a giant cardigan over her pajamas and pulled on thick fleecy socks. She's twisting her wet hair on top of her head as she walks back in and takes a long sniff, her eyes closed and her lips pressed together. "Mmm. That smells delicious," she says. "I have beer and water. What'll it be?"

"Beer."

She grabs two bottles, removing the caps. "Mind if we eat over the box? I don't think I can reach over my head to the cabinets right now. My muscles are deader than dead. Washing my hair was a mistake. I didn't even bother with conditioning, which means I might have to cut it all off tomorrow. The knots will be atrocious."

It's on the tip of my tongue to tease that I could have conditioned it for her before I mentally punch myself in the dick. Liam. Remember Liam. Her brother. My brother, for all intents and purposes.

Maren turns on the TV and we eat the entire pizza in one sitting, sipping our beers side by side on the couch, the box between us. When we finish, Maren drops the box onto the floor and pulls her legs up on the couch, her side pressing closer to mine from the action.

I lift my leg, crossing my ankle over my knee, and stretch my stiff arm over the back of the couch, my fingers accidentally brushing the hair at the nape of her neck. If she notices, she doesn't show it.

"Baseball okay?" she asks. "The Tigers are up for a wild card."

Neither of us mentions me leaving. I should leave. Instead I nod and Maren lowers the volume and grabs a pillow. She tucks it against the back of the couch, but I grab it from her, place it against my thigh, and pat it. "This will be more comfortable. I won't bite," I tell her casually, without taking my eyes off the screen. As if my heart wasn't thumping in my chest. Because it shouldn't be.

But still. Older brother types can cuddle.

"Thanks," she says softly and immediately drops her head on the pillow. This close, the mouth-watering scent of her still-damp hair wafts up and I close my eyes, savoring it. It's been so long since I've smelled a woman straight from the shower. Eventually, I relax, too, sinking further into the couch and slipping a little to the side.

I wake up to full dark and it takes me a moment to remember where I am. I don't remember lying down, but I'm stretched out full length on a couch in Maren's cabin. Her smaller form is tucked into mine, and mine is curled around hers. Her hair is smoothed under my chin, her warm breaths pulsing against my collarbone. The TV is off, but I can't remember turning it off.

I'm pinned into the cushion by her body and it's barely a beat before all of me realizes it. Maren makes a soft noise and turns in my arms, her back settling against my front, pressing tightly against me.

Oh fuck .

She wiggles her hips, her perfect ass sliding against the place where I am straining hard against the zipper of my jeans, and she gasps. Then she tenses and her breathing stops and she's definitely awake now.

"Oh god," she whispers and instantly starts to pull away. Without thinking, my hand darts out and captures her hip.

"Don't."

If possible, she tenses further. "Don't what?" she asks, still on a whisper.

I squeeze her hip gently, then rub a soothing circle over her side, hip, and butt. Reflexively, I press against her again.

"Don't leave."

She hesitates and I can hear both our hearts thudding between us, waiting to see what she's going to say. She should kick me out. I should get up and let her go to bed. I should drive my ass home.

She reaches back for my hand and pulls it to her front, granting permission. Or maybe making a request. Either way, I'm gone.

I slide my fingers upward, over her midriff, teasing her rib cage and up in between her breasts before finally curling around one, cupping and palming it before circling a fingertip around her stiff nipple. I pinch it between my thumb and forefinger and she gasps, arching into my hand, which has the fortunate benefit of once again pressing her into my groin. She bucks against me, and I press a kiss to her neck.

It's been so long since I held a woman like this, I know I won't last. I'm this close to blowing my load in my jeans. I can't do that. I move the hand that's been trapped between us underneath her, curling up and capturing her other breast, doing my best to distract her, rolling and pinching and massaging until she's bucking wildly against me.

All this and I haven't even gotten into her underwear.

I move to remedy that immediately. "Can I?" I whisper directly into her ear, even though we're alone, trailing my fingertips under her waistband.

"God, yes."

I slip in and cup her hard, finding her soaked and ready for me. She spreads her knees, pushing off the cushion and I slip my finger inside of her, coating it, and then drag it out slowly, circling her clit once, twice, before diving in again. I add a finger and she thrusts against my hand, her insides clenching against me. With my other hand, I squeeze and roll and tug at her nipple.

I swallow my groan, tightening against her and licking against the strained tendons of her neck, tasting her. Kissing her. Sucking her and marking her. I twist my fingers inside of her, curling them and rubbing rhythmically against the inner wall where I know it will feel the best. My thumb is circling her clit, my fingers are rolling her nipple, and my mouth is working just below her ear. I've never wanted anything in my entire life as much as I want to make this woman come apart in my hands. She's thrashing and bucking and her nails are digging into my thighs so hard I can feel them through the denim and it feels fucking miraculous. The way she's rubbing against me, I know I'm going to be driving home sticky and I can't seem to care. Can't seem to even process it. All I feel, all I know, is her .

And then she seizes up, her thighs clamping on my hand, her insides clenching powerfully against my fingers over and over and over, but I don't stop thrusting my fingers until she's done riding it out, fucking my hand and stealing my soul in the process.

She comes down and so do I and there's only breath and racing heartbeats between us. I slip my fingers out of her, and she lets out a soft whimper at the absence. That sound imprints on my brain in echoes—echoes that will haunt my sleep.

We lie there in stunned silence until our breaths even out and our heartbeats steady and I pull my hand away from her warm skin, and for the first time I feel the uncomfortably cold, wet stickiness in my pants.

Fucking hell, it's like sophomore year all over again. Liam would give me such shit if he…

Fucking hell.

Maren seems to come to her senses at the same time and sits up, then gets to her feet and walks to the bathroom without a word.

I sit up and rub my hands down my thighs, smelling her on me. All over me. I'm practically hard again, just from that.

I get up, walk to her kitchen, and run the faucet. I wash my hands and dry them, retrieve a glass from above the sink and fill it. Drink it. Fill it again, and drink that. Still, she hasn't come out. I put the glass in the sink and make my way to the bathroom door and tap a knuckle on it.

"Maren. You can't stay in there forever."

"Just watch me."

"Who will take care of Rogers?"

"Anders can." I hear her murmur and it sounds a lot like "Holy shit, Anders ."

"Maren, come out here, please. I'm going to leave, but I need to see your face so I know you're okay."

A beat, two, and the door swings open. "Of course I'm okay. I'm way more than okay. I'm thoroughly… okay ." In the dim light of the bathroom, I can see her flushed cheeks and messy hair. She looks thoroughly fucked, actually, but I doubt that's helpful to anyone but my ego.

"I don't know what to say," I confess with a wry grin. "I didn't expect that to happen, but I'm… I'm not upset it happened, either."

"Obviously, me neither. Though I feel like I owe you—"

I shake my head. "Believe me, you don't."

"But—" she starts.

"Nope. No. Let's just say… you don't. Okay? Trust me. I'm good."

"You're goo—" And then her eyes get wide and her lips form an understanding "oh" and her cheeks grow an even deeper pink.

"Yeah, so. I'm good. But I don't think we can do that again."

"Absolutely not!" she agrees. "My brother—and your kids! And, god, your parents. And my parents! And the job in Arizona—and I just got out of a relationship and—"

"Okay, okay," I cut her off. "Clearly we have more than enough reason to never do that again."

"Right."

"Right."

"Well. That was, um, exceptional."

I blink. "Really?"

Her brows scrunch together. "I thought so—didn't you?"

"Absolutely."

She beams, her shoulders relaxing. "Good. And we don't need to tell anyone about this. Like ever."

"Fuck no. Just between us."

"Great. Awesome. Phew!" she says, adorably pretending to wipe her brow.

I lean in, ducking close, and press a kiss to her forehead, holding it a half second longer than necessary and inhaling her scent into my lungs one last time.

When I pull away, her eyes are closed as though she's savoring the moment, too. I feel a twinge in my chest at the sight, but step back and break the connection, drawing the lines once more.

"Good night, Mare."

"'Night, Joe. See you when I see you."

I leave then, waiting to hear the deadbolt click into place behind me before getting back into my truck. I don't hesitate in her driveway. I drive home, let myself in, strip down, and get into bed. But I don't fall asleep for a long while. Instead I lie awake thinking that none of what just happened was brotherly in the slightest.

Still, I can't find it in me to care.

If I'm honest, Cameron Riggs is a lot bigger than he seems on TV. I don't usually find other guys intimidating. After all, I was in the Marines and know my way around a bar fight. But that was before . Feels like another life altogether, even. Now I'm a single dad and I manage a vacation resort. I haven't done a bicep curl since before Lucy was born. My handyman skills start and stop at weekend warrior. I can at most fix a leaky pipe, but Cameron Riggs?

He can build an entire fucking house. From the ground up. And he learned to do it on the fly with cameras in his face.

Oh, and apparently he can sing and dance and was chosen as one of People 's Most Beautiful People the last two years running, along with his wife, Shelby Springfield, who was once America's pop princess and can rebuild a mid-century armoire with one hand tied behind her back. While six months pregnant.

At this point, I might as well assume Lorelai Jones cries diamonds and Craig Boseman has a literal Midas touch.

It shouldn't be a surprise. Maren has always been a knockout, even by knockout standards. Not that I'd have ever admitted it to Liam, but the fact remains. She could stop traffic. It's easy to forget up here, in the middle of the Northwoods, or at least compartmentalize, but she has her own version of magnetism. It's part of what made her YouTube channel so popular, and it's what drives the sales of her guided tours through the roof, even in the off season.

My point is, like attracts like and it's become absolutely, painstakingly clear to me in the last four hours that Maren belongs with a different kind of crowd. She fits in with Cameron and Shelby. She fits in with Lorelai Jones. She's one of them, even if she's not on TV or winning Grammys.

So what's she doing here? (Besides getting fingered on a couch by her older brother's best friend.)

She's fixing up her inheritance, selling it to the highest bidder, and then getting the fuck out of Dodge is what, and I need to remember that. This is temporary. She is temporary. (Even if the noises she made when she came apart on my fingers will remain branded in my memory until the day I die.)

I suddenly feel everyone's attention on me and realize they've asked me something.

"Sorry," I say, my face burning. "I was thinking of something else." Someone else. Get your head in the game, Cole. "Missed the question."

"Oh gosh," Maren asks, her auburn brows scrunched together. "Are we keeping you from something important?"

I glance at my watch. "Actually, I do need to run back to my place in about fifteen minutes to grab Anders off the bus. But we're good for a few," I explain, motioning to Lucy, not wanting to disturb her. Lucy is curled in Maren's lap, drawing on her tablet. She's designing a lure, of all things. I know. I can hardly believe it myself.

"You can leave her with me," Maren offers, easily. "I'm comfortable and she seems okay."

I hesitate, but slowly nod my consent. "Want me to drop by your place after I grab Anders and pick up your pup?"

"Sure. He's probably getting antsy, and Anders is the only one who can wear him out. He knows where the fetch dummy is," she says. "If he wants, he can bring that and throw it off the dock out back for Rogers."

"Dinner?" I ask.

Maren's lips scrunch to the side and she dips her head, her voice soft, to ask Lucy, "Hey, girl, are you getting hungry? What should we get for dinner?"

"Dinner?" Lucy says, her blue eyes raising to Maren's face, her small fingers pausing their talented sketching.

"Yeah, what should we get for dinner?"

"Hot dogs," Lucy says.

"Hot dogs," Maren confirms, and then looks to Shelby and Cameron, who are watching our interaction with interest. Cameron is speculative, as if he's eyeing up a big project and wondering if the budget fits. Shelby is smiling, giving nothing away. "Do hot dogs sound okay to you guys?"

"Can we get cheddar dogs?" Shelby asks, rubbing a circle over her growing belly.

At this Maren laughs. "This is Wisconsin. You can get anything with cheese."

"No cheese, please," Lucy speaks up, her small lips in a pout.

"No cheese for you," I agree. "But we can get cheese for our friends."

"Okay," she says, still frowning. "No cheese, please," she whispers to herself and returns her attention to her drawing.

"You sure you're okay? This might take me a bit," I tell Maren. "If she gets upset, there's a bunch of PBS episodes downloaded on her tablet already so she doesn't need to stream anything. I keep her off YouTube. It's pretty unpredictable. There's an extra water bottle, too. She doesn't like tap water, even though I fill her bottle from the tap. Oh, and a snack," I continue, just remembering. "I packed her Goldfish crackers, but if she doesn't want them today, I am pretty sure there is an emergency Fruit Snacks in the inside zipped pocket. Oh, and an extra set of clothes in case she has an accident. She shouldn't, but new bathrooms sometimes intimidate her. She doesn't like the noise from the flush, so she'll ask you to flush it after she plugs her ears…

"Actually, Luce, let's go potty now. Before I leave." I hold out a hand and Lucy scowls at me, shaking her head.

"Joe," Maren whispers. "She just went. Remember?" Her smile is gentle, and so is her tone. "We'll be fine. There will be three grown-ups here. If you count Cameron, which I barely do, because he's basically a giant kid. Regardless, we outnumber her."

"Two of those grown-ups are practically strangers to her."

"I won't leave her side," Maren promises.

"She's fine, now," I tell her, trying to find the right words, "but earlier—"

Maren shakes her head. "It wasn't a big deal."

My eyes widen in disbelief. It was a massive deal, actually. Maren came over this morning, like usual, to help with An ders, and Lucy was in the midst of a sensory overload. Maren made the mistake of unzipping her coat while approaching my daughter and ended up with a glass of orange juice in her face and a kick to the stomach.

I've never been more horrified in my entire life. Even if Maren comes over often enough that she's gotten to witness plenty of calm mornings, I can't keep myself from worrying we'll eventually scare her away.

"Okay," she admits. "It was a big deal, but I didn't take it personally, and as you can see"—she gestures to my daughter in her lap—"all's forgotten."

"How are you real?" I blurt, before shaking my head and scratching at my neck. "Sorry, it's just… she could've really hurt you over a zipper ." In fact, I wasn't convinced she didn't hurt her, but Maren insisted she was fine.

"One, she didn't, I swear. Two, you already addressed it. It won't be the last time something like this happens, but I will do my best to remember her triggers. It's the best we can do."

I hesitate, but she's right. There's no secret cure for that kind of reaction. We can only do our best.

" Joe ," she presses. "You've thought of everything. We'll be okay. Take your time. In fact, take a little extra. Maybe take Anders out for a cone or something special. It's still early. We don't need dinner yet. I swear I'll text you if there's an emergency."

I like the idea of taking Anders out for a little guy time. We haven't done that in… well, maybe ever? Lucy is okay with my parents, but only just recently and never without her big brother there.

"Okay," I agree, trying not to sound as reluctant as I feel. Maren raises a brow, and I know I'm caught. "It's not you," I insist. "It's just—"

"I know," she cuts me off. "But she's okay right now. She might not be another day, and that's all right. But for the moment, she is happy right where she is. So go."

I get out of my chair and then crouch to the ground, planning my words carefully. I don't want to make a big deal out of this and scare Lucy into realizing I'm leaving just in case she decides to care, but I don't want to sneak out, either. That can have other consequences. "Hey, Luce, I'm gonna go grab Anders off the bus. I'll be back soon."

"Okay, Daddy."

I stand before checking one last time. "Okay?"

Maren grins up at me, Lucy's attention back on her drawing. "Okay."

I grab my wallet and keys and try not to look back. This time it's not because I'm worried over my daughter. She's in good hands.

This time it's because I don't want to collect another piece of Maren's "temporary" and add it to my "forever."