13. Nessa

Nessa

“ Y ou’re early.” I huffed from my spot on the porch swing.

“Angel, I’m starting to believe that you’ve been dating the wrong people.”

The porch steps creaked under his heavy feet. Mom would have scolded me for not getting up to greet a guest, but I was too cozy, buried beneath my favorite knit blanket. Plus, things were just starting to heat up in the book I was reading, an enemies-to-lovers romance set on a submarine. Talk about forced proximity.

Pink tucked his hands into the pockets of his denim jacket and rocked forward on his toes. He looked . . . different. Stripped down, like an average guy I might bump into at the coffee shop or grocery store. He’d traded out his usual athleisure wear for a pair of forest-green pants and a horror movie T-shirt that hugged his sculpted pecs. A crocheted beanie and denim jacket completed the outfit, making him look like a walking, talking advertisement for the Pacific Northwest.

Columbia Sportswear had nothing on Jared Pink.

“Generally,” he said, drawing my attention away from his crotch. Oops. “My dates tend to like it when I pick them up on time. It’s called good etiquette.”

“Oo, is that a big word for Elmo?”

He pursed his lips. I had the sudden urge to lick the crease forming between his brows, but I chalked that up to the spicy blow job scene I was reading. I was just . . . projecting my horniness onto him, and that was the story I was committed to sticking to.

“Do you mind?” I gestured to the open book in my hands. “I’m almost done with this chapter.”

“What are you reading?” His eyes widened when I flashed the cover at him. “Is that a submarine?”

“Yes, and the captain is about to go down on his brother’s best friend, so I’m going to need you to shush.”

“Fair enough. Far be it for me to stand in the way of queer love.” He pointed toward the empty chair next to mine. “Do you mind if I sit?”

“Just so long as you—”

“Shush. Yup, got it.” I rolled my eyes when he mimed zipping his lips.

Pink dropped down into the seat and pulled out his phone. For the next ten minutes, we sat together in comfortable silence—me with my nose buried in my paperback and him scrolling on his phone.

It took me fifteen minutes to get through five pages, twice as long as my usual reading pace. Even then, I was too distracted by the warmth radiating off his body to really pay attention to the words on the page. That and the delicious waft of cinnamon sugar.

He smelled like freshly baked snickerdoodles.

My eyes drifted over the edge of my book to the gingerbread man in question. He was too enthralled by whatever he was reading on his phone to notice. My thighs clenched together beneath the blanket, a side effect of Pink’s spicy scent and the spicier scene I had just finished reading. I had already gotten myself off once this morning, but I was suddenly regretting not having a second go with my vibrator.

This was going to be a long day.

“Finish your chapter?”

I jumped in my seat. “Yup,” I squeaked.

“And?” He wagged his eyebrows. “Was it hot?”

“Mm-hmm.”

I could have left it at that, but what fun would that be? No, I was a glutton for punishment, and as much as I didn’t want to admit it, my inner brat craved a spanking from Jared Pink.

“There’s nothing like a good face fucking scene.”

I bit back a smile and brushed past him, leaving my blanket behind. The crisp air nipped at the exposed strip of skin between my leggings and ankle boots. “C’mon, I’m driving,” I called over my shoulder.

If I was going to be trapped in close quarters with him and his delicious cinnamon-scented skin, I was going to do it on my terms, in my rusty P.O.S. So long as he could squeeze his long legs into the passenger seat.

My boots crunched across the gravel driveway. A gust of wind whooshed through my hair, sending a wave of shivers shooting down my spine. We couldn’t have picked a better day to visit a pumpkin patch; autumn had officially arrived. Not to be confused with “false fall” and “second summer,” the two seasons that preceded autumn in Oregon.

I turned back toward the house, intent on grabbing a scarf, but came to a screeching halt when I saw Pink standing exactly where I’d left him, watching me walk away, eyes glued to my ass.

“Are you coming?” I asked, my voice tinged with irritation. His eyes lifted to meet mine, fixing me with a hungry stare. “What?”

“You know what.”

He crossed the gravel drive like an animal stalking his prey. Forget the scarf; I needed a red, hooded cloak. This was what happened when my brat mode overrode common sense.

“You can’t just talk about sucking dick and not expect it to affect me, Nessa .” It wasn’t the explicitness of his words that made my knees buckle, so much as the way he said my name.

“Who are you, the big bad wolf?”

A, dare I say, wolfish grin spread across his face. “All the better to eat you with, angel.”

I sucked in a breath, swallowing the saliva pooling in my mouth. He wasn’t the only one hungering for a mouthful. This harmless teasing had taken a dangerous turn; it was time to get off the ride.

“You wish.” I gently shoved at his chest, attempting to lighten the tone. “We really should get going—”

He captured my hand in his, holding it to his chest. “How do you want me to touch you?”

I blinked, taken aback by his question. “Wha— What?”

“When we go out on dates.” His rough fingers danced over my pulse. “When we’re at the festival or in front of your friends, how do you want me to touch you?”

“Er, I don’t think—”

“People aren’t going to believe that we’re together if you keep pulling away from me. You’ve already nixed kissing, so please, tell me . . .” He rolled my hand over in his, threading our finger together. His tender touch surprised me, a stark contrast to his gravelly tone, thick with desire. “ Show me . I assume handholding is okay?”

My head bobbed up and down. He had held my hand on more than one occasion, so there was no reason to go back now. Plus, I liked Pink’s hands.

A lot.

I had a feeling those thick calluses could wreak havoc on my clit—in the best way possible.

“How about this?” He wrapped our interlocked hands around my waist before resting them at the base of my spine. The new position thrust my breasts forward, closing the gap between us.

“So long as you stay above the waist,” I answered, finally finding my words.

“Noted. And this?”

He sliced his opposite hand through my hair, down and around until he cupped the back of my neck. His hold was both aggressive and gentle, a dominant caress that let me know it was up to me what came next and that he would be more than willing to deliver on whatever I asked for.

So long as I used my voice to ask for it.

I swallowed harshly. “F-fine, I suppose. Maybe a bit excessive.”

I was a horny bitch, but my stubbornness far outweighed my libido. That and my mother’s nagging voice in the back of my head shouting, “ Consequences, Nessa. ”

With my left hand clenched in his, held hostage behind my back, my right aimlessly sought out something to cling to and landed on his bicep. His throwing arm.

“Oh, angel.” He leaned down, nudging the curtain of copper curls away from my neck to carve out a space for his face. “We’re just getting started.”

Without missing a beat, he returned me to my feet and stepped away. I struggled to catch my breath, my head still spinning. “What—”

“We’re going to be late. Still want to drive?”

Drive? I could barely breathe.

“What do you think?”

Clarke modeled the crown of flowers and twigs on her head.

“You look like autumnal, pumpkin spice royalty,” Kaylani told her. Whereas she had opted for a witchy mixture of deep purple blooms, black netting, and small crystals, Clarke had gone with a fusion of fall colors and flavors—sage, rosemary, burnt-orange marigolds, and a few sprigs of berries.

I put my high school theatrical skills to use—something I had done often as of late—and bowed my head. “All hail the most basic of bitches.”

Our laughter was cut abruptly short when Ryan raced up behind Kaylani, swinging her into his arms. At the same time, Soren settled a hand on Clarke’s waist and dropped a kiss on her upturned nose.

“I made you something, angel.”

I whipped around, coming face to chest with my faux boyfriend and the bouquet in his outstretched hands.

“You made this?”

“Hell yeah, I did.” He winked. “Peep the mums. Do you think they’re hiring?”

I pressed my lips together, trying—and failing—to suppress a smile. Of course, he knew what mums were; he had them tattooed on his chest.

“Thank you.” He handed over the bouquet, which I promptly lifted to my nose, closing my eyes to inhale the delicious scent. It was better than any bath bomb I’d ever used. Hm, there’s a thought.

“We should use any leftover or discarded flower petals to make bath bombs or potpourri.”

“Ooh, I love that,” Kaylani said.

“Me, too,” Pink echoed.

I waited until the rest of the group had moved on before asking him, “You a bubble bath guy, Pink?”

An amusing vision of him gloriously naked and surrounded by bubbles popped into my head. It would take one hell of a bathtub to fit his tall frame.

“Depends.”

I quirked a brow. “On?”

He opened the door to the farm’s store for me. “On who’s in the bath with me.”

I should have seen that one coming. Pink left me speechless in a way that nobody else had before.

For the next fifteen minutes, we browsed the store, sampling various jams and nut butters while I caught them up on the latest festival gossip. Allegedly, DJ Dan’s wife had caught him, pants down and ass up, with the bouncy castle guy.

Allegedly.

“Look!” Clarke shouted.

I nearly choked on my spoonful of jalapeno marionberry jam when she raced across the shop, making a beeline for the small collection of homewares.

“This would be perfect for your collection, Ness,” she said, holding up a lemon-colored teapot with a bumblebee on top.

I smiled but shook my head. “Nero might kill me if I bring home another one.”

“But it’s soooo cute.”

She started humming some country song about sweet tea and honeybees as she set it back down on the table where she’d found it. I resisted the urge to pick it up again. There was only so much space left in my teapot display, so I had to reserve it for something special.

“You a teapot girl, angel?”

My chest shook with laughter at the way Pink parroted my question.

“Depends.”

“On?”

I glanced over my shoulder to meet his gaze. “On available shelf space.”

The six of us visited two more vendors after that, one of which had offered up a dozen of their largest pumpkins for the Giant Pumpkin Regatta. Because fuck yachts. Boats made from oversized gourds were so much better.

During our final stop, we enjoyed a tasting menu of tempura-battered squash blossoms, BLT salad with heirloom tomatoes, summer corn lasagna, and peach bars with brown butter crumble, all of which had been made with farm fresh ingredients.

One of the new additions to this year’s Buns and Roses festival was a ticketed farm-to-table dinner event. It was something that had been suggested in years past—usually by me—but had always been pooh-poohed by the rest of the committee, mostly because of a lack of resources to make it happen. The Roasters’ generous donation to our festival had changed that, and after today’s tasting, I could safely say that this year’s event was shaping up to be our most delicious yet.

All proceeds raised from the dinner’s ticket sales would go to our nearest food pantry, so it was important we fill all fifty seats. I just hadn’t found the right hook yet to sell people on it. Sadly, local, farm fresh food and feeding the hungry just weren’t cutting it.

“What about an auction?” Pink chirped from the seat next to me.

Clarke snatched her finger back from Soren. “Auction?” she squeaked.

“For the farm-to-table dinner. What if you did an auction?”

“We did do a silent auction years ago,” Kaylani mused.

Ryan laughed. “I remember that. My mom nearly kicked my dad out of the house when he bid on a speedboat.”

Rich people problems. Spare me.

I looked up from my spiced apple cider cocktail to find Clarke licking her fingers. “Girl,” I said around a chuckle. “Are you going to lick the plate, too?”

Kaylani giggled. “Yeah, I feel like we’ve interrupted an intimate moment between you and those peaches.”

“Don’t come between a Southern girl and her butter.”

Soren wrapped his hand around hers and brought her brown butter drenched finger to his lips. My cheeks warmed when he licked it clean.

“No, I meant auction the Roasters.”

Five sets of eyes turned in Pink’s direction.

“Come again?” I asked.

“That’s what she said.” I barely resisted the urge to smack the cheeky smile off his face. Those dimples of his would be the downfall of society.

“Yeah, what does that mean?” Soren asked, arching a brow.

“Growing up, I used to go to a lot of bigwig events.” He leaned forward on his elbows. “One of the crowd pleasers that always racked in donations was a bachelor auction. So, maybe we do some kind of dinner date thing with the farm-to-table event, where ticket holders can bid on the . . . company of a Roasters player?”

“Bid on a Baller,” I finished for him, the wheels already churning. “Oh my gosh, I love that.”

“Really?” An out of character hesitation rang through his voice.

That was probably my fault. Throughout our faux relationship—and even before then—I had never given Pink the benefit of the doubt. It wasn’t personal; I didn’t trust anyone until they gave me a reason to. That had backfired on me too many times in the past.

“Yes.” I was stubborn, but I could acknowledge a clever idea when I heard one. Even if it wasn’t mine. “It’s a great idea, Jared.”

His eyes sparkled with glee. Does Jared Pink have a praise kink? I shook that dangerous thought clean out of my head.

“Um, hello,” Soren interrupted, thrusting his hand in the air. “Some of us are in committed relationships and would prefer not to be auctioned off to strangers like cattle.”

“Oh, honey,” Clarke said, swatting at his chest. “It’s for charity. Besides, you’re still coming home with me at the end of the night.”

The look they shared was enough to make the scarecrows blush.

A possessive hand landed on my leg. Heat radiated through the thin material of my leggings when Pink’s thick fingers stroked my inner thigh with a featherlight touch. My hand clamped down on his, not to remove it, but rather to keep it from wandering.

My panties were soaked—had been from the moment he’d demanded I show him how to touch me—but I didn’t want him to know that. We had already complicated the hell out of this situation. A finger-banging session behind the Twisted Misters Farm would only make things stickier. Literally.

That didn’t stop me from reaching for my toy drawer later that night though.

After a long shower and my even longer one-on-one session with my favorite vibrator, I dropped back against my mountain of pillows, still trying to catch my breath. Fuck, I hadn’t come that hard in weeks, and it had nothing to do with my sex ban and everything to do with Jared Pink.

If that was what he gave on a first date—a fake first date, no less—I couldn’t imagine what date ten might look like. Not that there would be ten dates. Between our equally busy schedules and his upcoming on-the-road series, it would be almost another week before we saw each other again.

Hopefully, that would be enough time to get ahold of my raging hormones.

I slid deeper under my mountain of blankets, shivering when the cool bamboo sheet rasped against my overly sensitive nipples. I replayed today’s date for the umpteenth time, marveling over how much fun we’d had together, how natural it had felt to have Pink by my side—or at my back, which he seemed to prefer.

In fact, as far as I could tell, and as much as I didn’t want to admit it, the only thing that could have made it any better was Jared’s magnificent cock tunneling in and out of my pussy instead of the silicone one lying limp in my hand.

Hell, for all I knew, his vibrated, too. The man was full of surprises, each one more potent than the next.

And I feared my pussy—and heart—might not survive another.