Swap Out (18 page)

“Come on, man!”
he calls from inside the room.
“Don’t be such an overprotective baby!”

I wait until I know he’s going to pull again before I release the door, and it flies open as Scott stumbles back and into the dresser. I laugh at his dumbass sprawled awkwardly on the floor, and Zoe goes back in her room, taking off her robe and muttering, “This is insane.”

I pull Scott’s door closed again and then jog after Zoe, kicking her door shut and snagging her hand before she can reach for the comforter and sheets. I spin her around and pick her up in a low hug, and she giggles when I start walking backwards into the master bathroom.

“You two are completely crazy,” she says, and I grin widely.

“And you’re pretty,” I drawl, then whisper, “come take a shower with me.”

“No.”

I pout.

And I’m pretty sure I’m cleared for access to the Promised Land when she rolls her eyes with a smile, then cradles my jaw and kisses me once. Except that she then says, “It’s not going to work, Luca.”

I narrow my eyes at her playfully, then lightly jostle her. “Give it up.”

She laughs, her head thrown back, and I set her down on the bathroom counter so her legs are wrapped around my waist. I pull off my shirt and then slide my hands up the outside of her thighs, tugging her forward with a growl as her cheeks flush.

“Not happening.”

“Just take a shower with me,” I whine as adorably as possible, batting my eyelashes to achieve the full effect, and she shakes her head.

“I’m tired and going to sleep. But you are definitely due for a shower and aren’t permitted to come to bed without one. You stink like cognac. And oddly…cinnamon. And something else I can’t identify and don’t really want to.”

“Yeah, but it’s your cognac,” I drawl huskily and lean forward, nuzzling her nose with mine and placing teasing kisses from her cheek to her neck. “Just two minutes,” I breathe, and she groans as her legs slip higher around my waist.

“Two minutes in your world means an hour and a half in mine.”

A rumble ripples up from my throat and I nip at her exposed shoulder. “Like you’ve ever complained about that before.”

Her body softens in a hushed moan, her head falling to the side to give me the access I’m seeking. And I’m just hooking my fingers into the waistband of her silk pajama pants when I’m interrupted by the sound of Scott calling from his room,
“Um, Zoe? Is there not a TV in here? Because I could sure go for some adult entertainment… Unless you two want to keep providing it for me.”

She straightens and arches a smug eyebrow, and I slap my hand harshly against the wall. “Shut up and go to sleep!”

“Have a nice shower,” she whispers, then grins and pushes me far enough back that she can hop down before sauntering from the bathroom.

“Zoe…”

“Keep dreaming,” she says, then gets in bed, and my hands curl into fists as I wordlessly roar.

But it doesn’t stay silent for long because that’s twice he’s done that to me, and I can’t help but to shout, “Scott! I fucking hate you!”

“Then soundproof her walls, dipshit!”

*              *              *

I stop in Zoe’s office, shutting the door purely out of habit since everyone is already gone for the night, then take my usual seat across from her.

“How’s Scott?” she asks, and I groan.

“Whining like a baby. Finally got a date with his doctor though.”

Zoe looks up at me, then returns to writing on some sheet and scoffs as she shakes her head.

Scott has decided over the last three weeks that his brand new favorite way to spend his evenings is by coming over to Zoe’s and eating dinner with us. Read: flirting shamelessly with her until I get pissed and things get physical. And on Saturdays Zoe always says she has shopping and work stuff to do, but that argument lasts for about two seconds until Scott and I push her out the door and make her come hang out with us.

Light hiking, swimming, and one disastrous attempt at trying to teach her to throw knives—fail, all the fail—or she’ll just chill at the LZ with a book while Scott and I do a jump to keep us sane since we’ve all but stopped climbing. But that’s only because there’s no way we’re letting Zoe do it while she’s…yeah. Sometimes she’ll drag us along on shopping excursions, but those typically get cut short when she starts getting pissed about us screwing around more than helping. Then it’s the laundry list of chores she hands out as retribution, and Scott and I are graced with the opportunity to spend the rest of our day mowing her lawn or repainting the interior of her garage or reinsulating her attic and other boring, life-draining tasks.

But mostly it’s been an endless string of her giggling while he and I make bets that should probably be videoed and then sent in to
Tosh.0
. Or we’ll just recreate the ones from the show we think look like fun. A habit that is getting a little out of control whenever Zoe is with us because her laugh is a damn drug and we’re total show offs, absolute attention whores.

She swears she doesn’t know why she let her life be invaded by a couple of boys who think tackling with no warning equals a hug and who would rather juggle dishes than wash them, but I don’t know what she’s complaining about because we only broke one cup and we replaced it. We always replace what we break.

Even her thousand dollar coffee table after I was arguing with Zoe—who was shouting at me from the kitchen about a fumbled stage while Scott and I were having a wrestling match in the living room—and he decided to contribute by picking me up in a fireman hold and then body slamming me backwards onto the table. Which he claimed was done on her behalf, but she didn’t exactly see it that way.

All I have to say is: thank God she gave me a raise. And that Scott and I stashed first aid kits all over her house.

“She actually agreed to go out with him?” Zoe shakes her head, scribbling her signature before going to the next sheet in a stack and beginning to fill out endless boxes on some unknown form. “That’s some reward after trying to make squirrel stew,” she says, and I roll my eyes.

“The whole point was to see who could climb the tree and catch the squirrel first, which you knew since you were the official referee. It wasn’t about making squirrel stew.”

“Yeah, remind me who won again?”

I chew the inside of my lip, then mumble, “The squirrel.”

“And what did we learn?” she says teasingly, still filling out paperwork, and I snort.

“That rabies shots are a bitch.”

“There we go,” she says, flashing a quick smile at me before she sets down her pen. “Okay, now to be serious for a second—”

“Hold on, I’m not prepared.” I sit up straighter, my hands on the armrests and my feet flat on the floor as I make a mocking serious face. “Okay, go.”

“I have a friend coming in town tomorrow morning, one that miraculously didn’t get bitten by a woodland creature—”

“Hey! Don’t start the My Friends Are Better Than Yours game, because all my friends know how to—”

“Attack a woodland creature?”

“
Scout
,” I correct. “Scout woodland creatures. Not attack. We would’ve been fine but I’m pretty sure you shrieking that it was illegal to corner a defenseless animal made it mad, and that’s what caused it to attack.”

“So it’s
my fault
Scott is getting vaccinated for rabies?”

“I didn’t say that,” I singsong, and she hurls a peppermint at me. I catch it and unwrap it, popping it smoothly into my mouth with a grin.

“You suck.”

“Mm-hmm,” I hum huskily. “So, your friend is coming into town?”

“Yeah,” she says, then shrugs. “You and your boyfriend giggling like teenage girls all the time kind of made me miss her, so she’s going to get here tomorrow morning and stay for the night. Maybe Sunday too, depends on her work schedule.”

I smile. “Does that mean I’m banned from Casa de Pearce so I won’t have to suffer the sight of pillow fights in your underwear? Because I can take it if you can.”

“God, you’re so…”

“Handsome, enigmatic?”

“Incorrigible.”

I shrug. “I can live with that.”

Zoe chuckles, then leans back and crosses her arms. “You don’t have to stay away. I mean, I’d kind of like her to meet you. I just didn’t want you to blow through the front door in nothing more than your dog tags and be surprised when there’s someone else there.”

I arch my eyebrow, my grin growing along with it. “This is a test, isn’t it?”

“No, it’s not a test. She’s just…she was my roommate in college, and she knows me better than anyone.”

“Is that right?”

Zoe nods. “She knows everything.”

“Like, including
recent
everythings?”

Zoe nods again.

“Does that mean you told her how you seduced me by doing that little thing with your tongue that makes me—”

“Luca!”

“What? You said everything.” I laugh and Zoe blushes. “It’s fine to admit it, you know.”

“Admit what?” she asks sharply, and I shrug.

“That you would’ve missed me if I wasn’t there this weekend.” I wink and get up, then grab another peppermint from her jar while she narrows her eyes at me.

I’ve been staying at her house at least four nights a week, always at her request, and the only reason I’m not sleeping there for the other three comes down to one of two options. A, we got into a fight and she either threw me out or I left. B, we
didn’t
get in a fight and the temptation is so much that I know I’ll never be able to keep my hands off of her when we get in bed.

There’s only so much sexual tension a guy can take before he has to do something about it, and she still has me on the Abstinence Action Plan for God knows what reason. Never fails: things heat up, and then she dumps a bucket of cold water on me. Sometimes with the excuse that she’s tired, or we’re in public, or Scott’s in the next room. Sometimes it’s just no. I honestly don’t see what all the hesitation is about.

It’s not like we weren’t sleeping together for four months before this started, and it’s been a month since. Knowing Zoe, it’s probably some test to see how long I’ll stick around without getting laid. I’d rather not take that challenge because I’d prefer to have her naked, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to forfeit her and everything else over sex.

Quitting—when it matters—is not something I know how to do
.

“Any requests for dinner tonight?” I ask, un-wrapping the peppermint and tossing it high into the air before catching it with my mouth.

“Only that you don’t eat like an animal.”

“No promises.” I grin. “I’m probably just gonna pick something up though because I really,
really
don’t feel like cooking, like, until the end of time. Unless you’re cool with going out but that means…” I gasp dramatically. “We’ll be seen in
public
.”

Zoe tilts her head worriedly because she knows as well as I do that this week was awful work-wise. Summer is on its way in and the city is flooding with people, and that means we’ve been booked solid with stages. And I swear all the property owners for the vacation homes we manage called on the same day and needed their houses ready by the next. Seems like I’ve barely seen Zoe because we’ve been running around at full speed and we get more done when I’m dispatched out. I haven’t even been able to bid some of the stages with her because we’re on opposite sides of the city or I’m in the boonies and she’s in another town entirely. Totally sucks.

“Luca, if you’re tired you don’t have to—”

“It’s fine.” I wave her off. “Let’s play Meet the Roommate Over Omelets.
Damn
—” I remember, then mutter, “I’m gonna have to go grocery shopping in the morning.” I wrinkle my nose, frustrated, because Zoe is either going to sleep in, or continue going crazy with the cleaning spree she’s been on, and that leaves me going to City Market by myself to restock her empty fridge and pantry because Scott’s been wolfing down her provisions. “Bestie isn’t a vegetarian or into one of the ‘free’ fads is she?”

Zoe chuckles. “What’s a ‘free’ fad?”

“Fat free, sugar free, gluten free,
taste
free…”

She shakes her head and I smirk.

“Sweet,” I say, then turn and start to head out of her office. “Squirrel stew it is.”

But I pause when I realize I don’t have to wait until I’m back at her house to kiss her, to touch her, and I peek back over my shoulder. Zoe is now standing, straightening some papers on her desk, and she glances up at me with an arched eyebrow.

“Forget something?” she asks coyly, and I roll back my shoulders before my weight shifts in her direction, and I take a step towards her.

“Yeah.”

I begin to make my way back towards her: Zoe pivoting when I get close so her back is against her desk and her hands are gripping the wood, her eyes wide and breaths quick with anticipation.

I come to a stop in front of her, but instead of rushing in and dipping her madly as my mouth seizes hers, I touch a fingertip under her chin. My thumb brushes the line of her jaw, letting my eyes search hers for a long, smooth moment before slowly, I lean in and kiss her. Her mouth curves into a half-smile and she fades into me, her hands settling on my chest and sliding up to my neck.

She whispers a delicate, “Hi…” and it unfurls my restraint, worry, hesitation.

This isn’t the woman who commands and beckons, who snaps and points and pushes for everything to be done better than before and completed five minutes ago.

This isn’t my boss, or my peril.

This is my
darling
, who blushes when I bring her flowers and giggles at my Arnold Schwarzenegger impression, who dances with me in the kitchen, even to Elvis. This is the feminine and delicate grace of slim fingers finding mine in the darkness, of slender arms hugged around me when I come home to a house that isn’t mine. She is old movies on late Saturday nights and sleepy Sunday mornings, whispered secrets and kissed promises. And I’ve missed her.

I slide an arm around her waist as my other cradles her cheek, the slip of my tongue against hers teasing and asking, begging and assuring and her smile brightens.

“Don’t you want to go home?” she whispers with a chuckle, and I grin as I shake my head no, then kiss her a little deeper.

My arm tightens around her and when her first moan sneaks out, sweet and slow suddenly sounds incredibly overrated. Her nails glide through my hair as a low growl rumbles up from my throat, and I nudge my knee between hers.

But instead of sinking further into me, she jumps, breaking our kiss with narrowed eyes and a starkly whispered, “No.”

I sigh and she lifts her chin, but her eyes look a little guilty.

I search for words I don’t know how to say without sounding like a douche, because frustration makes my brain scream that her cheeky, sarcastic insults and endless rounds of rejection wouldn’t be so bad, except she’s adopted the sexual appetite of a nun and that was the not-so-fond farewell to any sort of checks and balance system. But I can’t say that, and she doesn’t seem to get it, and it’s starting to wear on me.

Because she’ll kiss me, but it’s usually followed by a quip and a reminder that this is barely happening; to not get attached to the idea of us together since she can pull the plug any time she pleases. And whenever I touch her, I have to be extremely careful that it’s only to her hip or the side of her waist. Never her stomach or she smacks my hand away with a glare. If I treated her that way she would lose her shit faster than when I find blue ink on a white leather couch. And yeah, I may lose my temper sometimes, but I’m trying as hard as possible to be patient; to let the bullshit slide off my back since there’s more at stake and I know this isn’t easy for her.

The thing is…I know she cares about me. She just doesn’t like that occasionally it shows because that makes her feel less in control, as though she’s giving me more leverage, more ammunition to hurt her if I choose to. Since I’m ninety-nine percent convinced that’s what she’s doing, I try to take the high road and be understanding about it. But the only reassurance I receive that I’m not the only one with stock in us is in the ways she can’t conceal it: because her kiss is warm, even if her voice is cold. And at night she’s always moving closer, burrowing into my side and her fingers clenched around my dog tags like she’s afraid I’m going to disappear.

So it’s not just that I’m starved for sex and half-crazy with how much her body taunts me, it’s that I need to feel she’s with me. And she’s silenced the biggest way of telling me that in the only way I can get her to say it.

“Zoe,” I say carefully, “what’s the problem here?”

“You…” she starts, her tone sharp and incredulous even as she stutters, “you don’t get to complain about this.”

I shrug one shoulder. “Sure I do.”

“Do you have any idea how insulting and insensitive and just plain rude you’re being right now?” she snaps, and I arch my eyebrow.

“You want to talk rude? How about every other word coming out of your mouth?” I say, and I try to make my voice teasing, but she’s starting to piss me off and my track record with a brain-to-mouth filter isn’t the greatest. “You’re supposed to be
trying
to be nice to me.”

She stays silent and I tilt my head, telling myself to relax and not to fight with her. We had a good day, and I’m not looking to ruin our whole night and weekend.

“Explain it to me,” I say more patiently, a little proud of myself for holding it together. Maybe I’m growing. “I’m not trying to pressure you. I just want to know why you’re uncomfortable exploring the physical aspects of our relationship.”

“One: we’re not in a relationship,” she bites off and I exhale tightly through my nose. “And two: by asking me that you
are
pressuring me.”

I grit my teeth, then uncurl my fists after counting to five.

Not going to take the bait.

Nope. Not gonna.

“Zoe,” I say softly, “what changed?”

She glares at me for a good long while, and when I keep waiting she finally takes a breath, then looks down and mumbles, “Everything.”

“So?”

“
So
it’s too complicated now.”

I look her over, then remind myself that this version of her is not the same one from a month ago. Her whole world has been turned upside down, and I get that, but so has mine and we’re supposed to be righting them together. It seems like to me, a confirmation of that partnership would be best expressed by going back to our roots, the place she first felt safe with me. Where she trusted me. Which happens to be sex.

“Yeah, but complicated feels good,” I drawl as I lightly squeeze her hips. I lean in closer and dip my head to her neck, and she shivers as I trail my mouth up to her ear. “You don’t miss it? Not even a little?”

Her breaths speed up, but in true Zoe fashion she shakes her head no.

I smooth my palm over her hip and down the back of her skirt, kissing my way along the line of her jaw until my mouth hovers over hers. “I miss
you
…”

Her whole body sort of melts on an exhale because she wants to give in, I know she does, and right now I don’t care where we are. I need to touch her, to let her feel through my hands and body what she doesn’t trust from my voice.

It’s go big or go home.

“Kiss me,” I breathe into her lips, and she hesitates, and hesitates, and then the clouds part and gold falls from the sky because she actually fucking goes for it. Hoo-Yah.

Her mouth seems to be starving for mine and when her teeth scrape my bottom lip, I growl and boost her up onto her desk. She sucks in a breath and then kisses me deeper, her nails clawing through the back of my hair and I don’t even think before I sweep my hand over her desk to clear a space to lay her down, papers and her phone and business cards and I think a stapler falling onto the floor. But it’s still too slow, need Zoe naked, need inside. Now.

I slide my fingertips under the hem of her skirt and push it up until it’s bunched around her waist, Zoe getting rid of my shirt before I can finish wrapping her legs around me and one, two, three seconds and then I’ve got her shirt unbuttoned, and off, moaning at the sight of soft skin and black lace and there’s a sharp, thin line tugging at the back of my neck and then her tongue is in my mouth.

My hips drop and cock searches as it presses against her, but it can’t get there and I don’t understand so I push harder. She moans but it doesn’t solve it and when my hand slips up the inside of her thigh, there are silky, damp panties and the faded cotton of my cargo shorts and it’s the seventh level of hell. I rip the button on my shorts open without bothering to unhook it because buttons are stupid, and she gasps.

“You ripped your pants!” she whispers with a giggle, and I shrug with a smirk.

“So?”

My thumb dips between her legs and teases her through the fabric still cock-blocking me, and she jolts but I hardly notice because I’m already kissing my way down her chest as I lay her back on the desk; feeling every curve of her breasts and waist as she cups the back of my head and holds me to her. My free hand moves to tug the edge of her panties down her legs, and I can’t believe it’s been a month since I’ve tasted her and I’m blind with—

Stomach. My lips are on her stomach.

Realization flashes through me and it’s warm, full and hazy, and when I kiss her skin once more it is devotion in its purest form, because she is the miracle.

Except my miracle is also temporary.

Right now we’re three not two, but that’s not for always and something curdles low in my stomach and my zipper isn’t as tight against me as it was before.

I don’t think I…

Zoe is beautiful, I tell myself. I move to her hip, concentrating on her moans as she runs her hands through my hair. She is soft and delicate and I know how good she feels, I know how much I want her. It’s been too long since we’ve been this close and she’s been on my mind constantly, my eyes following every move she makes and I want this. I want this.

I run my palm down her leg as my other caresses her breast through black lace, and I try to focus, try to get myself in the game, but I’m losing it and I can’t believe this is happening.

I remind myself it’s perfectly safe, that as long as I’m careful it’s not going to hurt her, but something is tweaking my brain because there’s someone else in this office and Zoe doesn’t want them here and she doesn’t care that I do. Well, maybe not while we’re doing this but just in general, and the knowledge that she can’t wait for this to be over, it
hurts
.

No, I can’t get all broody about it, not now. She rolls her hips up into me and I know she can tell I’m stalling and I just…I need to start over. Back to square one and repeat. I return to her lips, kissing her as her hands pull me closer, her thighs sliding to the outside of my hips and hugging me greedily and
what the fuck
? I haven’t been laid in a month and she’s ready to go, and no man in the world turns this down. But as I kiss her my stupid mind can only think how this is everything I’ve been wanting, and it’s not enough. Her estrogen-fueled hormones must have seeped into my body through her bed sheets because suddenly my whiny conscience is saying I need more from her than just sex, and I don’t even want it when she uses it as a tool, a weapon. A method of control.

Except it doesn’t feel like that’s what she’s doing and I need to concentrate on that. She’s kissing me, wants me, she’s not hesitating and I know she needs me to make her feel good, now more than ever. She’s been a little self-conscious, and I was the one who talked her into this. I can’t let her down. I’m the one who’s been pouting and teasing her about not having sex, and when I look at her all I see is how stunning she is. Yeah, I’ll think about that…

My hand slides under the small of her back and dips down, and I love stealing glances at her during the day when she’s in these tight white pencil skirts and knowing she’s carrying a secret that only belongs to us. It does the craziest warm flutter spasm thing to my chest and I constantly have to sneak a second to adjust myself because I’ve been hard for weeks. Weeks I’ve been fine, and now I’m…
fuck.

Because at the moment my dick can only think about proximity to progeny with a truncated life span and there’s nothing I can do to stop it, and she’s the reason. She’s the danger and the enemy and the possibility of salvation and no matter how much I’ve missed the pleasure and familiar comfort of Zoe’s body, it’s too much at once and I don’t get how three minutes ago I was ready to fuck her into oblivion and now I’m a poster child for erectile dysfunction. And that is a whole other level of humiliating and panic I don’t have the first clue how to combat. The worst part is I already know: she’ll never understand. She’ll never forgive me for this and I don’t have a chance in hell of faking it.

Dammit, I’m further from ready than I was even thirty seconds ago, and when her nails slide down my stomach and towards the zipper on my shorts, I pull her hand away. I wrench my mouth from hers and drop my forehead to her neck, my teeth gritted in frustration.

“What’s wrong?” she whispers, and yep, that’s the end of that. I may as well start wearing dresses and high heels and pink lipstick because I sure as fuck am not a man.

I shake my head, then admit, “I…can’t.”

She goes rigid beneath me, and when I look up at her she’s furious with embarrassment and her eyes are watering.

“Zoe…”

She scoots back, pulling her legs up and swinging around until she gets down from the opposite side of the desk. I rush around to her as she bends and grabs her shirt, threading her arms through the sleeves angrily and clutching it closed between her breasts.

“I’m so sorry,” I whisper, and she glares at me before bending down to pick up all the stuff from her desk that I knocked off. I snag her elbow and pull her back up to standing, and the first tears slip down her cheeks.