Fall In Love Again (Serendipitous Love Book 3) Read online

  Holy shit.

  Nixon was the only man I knew who could make a crude statement sound so… appealing. Logically, the last thing I wanted was to get myself enmeshed with him again, but… goodness, the thought of him wrapping me in those powerful arms, and getting — as he referred to it — lost inside me….

  Charlie, close your damned mouth girl.

  Rolling my eyes, I pressed my lips together, and squeezed my arms tighter over my chest in an effort to calm my steady-building arousal. “You’re disgusting, Nix. And you still haven’t told me why you’re in— or for that matter, how you got in — my apartment.”

  “Well,” Nixon said, punctuating with a chuckle before he continued, “I came to the building to holla’ at Carter about something. I mean… he and Viv are right next door to you, so when I was heading out, we saw that your boxes had been delivered, so he used his key for us to bring them in.”

  I lifted a hand. “Hold up, you expect me to believe my stuff got delivered this time of night?”

  “You see the boxes don’t you?” He gestured behind him into the kitchen, and then towards the living room, and sure enough, the boxes that were supposed to be here two days ago were waiting to be unpacked. “You’ll have to take the delivery time up with the shipping company, but we were just trying to help out. I didn’t even know you were gonna be back so early… I planned to get Viv’s cookware and stuff put away, and have your stuff unpacked and ready for you by the time you got home. Didn’t even plan to see you.”

  Pressing a hand to my cheek, I looked past him to see Viv’s things lined up neatly on the counter, while my open boxes peppered the floor. Now that I really looked at him, Nixon was actually holding my stainless steel measuring cups while we talked.

  “Oh.”

  Nixon grinned, then shook his head as he turned back to the kitchen. “Yeah, oh. And you’re welcome,” he tossed over his shoulder as he knelt to pull a set of mixing bowls from the box. “I’m gonna finish this for you, then head out… let you have your space to yourself.”

  “Thank you, Nix.” I laid a hand on his back as I stepped over the open boxes to get into the kitchen. “Not for the leaving, for helping me with this. I appreciate it. You know you’re the only person I would let do this for me, right?”

  He chuckled. “Yeah, I do. I figured you didn’t want me putting up your panties and stuff for you, so…”

  “You figured correctly.”

  Leaning against the counter, I watched as Nix delicately handled my things, taking care not to chip my bowls, or dent my pots, or blemish my knives as he unpacked and put them away. He didn’t have to look to me for guidance on where to put anything, he just… knew. Five years apart and … he still knew.

  I pressed my fingers to my lips, trying to keep them from spreading into a smile. When he and I first moved in together, when I joined him in the apartment over the restaurant, he rearranged the entire kitchen, for me. For a lot of men, that was no big sacrifice, but the kitchen was Nixon’s sanctuary. His man cave.

  That memory, of the moment I knew that Nixon really, really loved me — like, real ass love— made my eyes prick with tears.

  “Um, I’m gonna go change.” I cleared my throat, averting my eyes as he glanced back, in hopes that my little emotional episode would go unnoticed.

  “Change for what? You look good in what you have on.”

  “Thank you,” I said, as I carefully backed out of the kitchen. “But, this really isn’t the most comfortable thing to unpack in.”

  “Damn shame.”

  I shook my head, laughing at Nixon’s parting complaint about my lack of desire to empty boxes in my little black dress. I stopped to pour myself enough wine for two glasses, then headed for the back of the apartment. In the bedroom, I discovered that the aptly marked containers were already there, so I opened one and pulled out a set of more work-appropriate clothes.

  Tossing my change of clothes on the bed, I reached behind me to grab my zipper. That part wasn’t a problem, but getting it down — I let out a heavy sigh — it wouldn’t budge.

  Probably because you have your size twelve ass squeezed into a size ten dress.

  I downed my big-ass glass of wine, then sighed again as I picked up my phone to call Viv, who of course didn’t answer. I tried everything I could think of to get out of that dress before I flopped back on the bed, out of breath from the effort.

  And then I remembered — Nixon.

  Sitting up, I ran a hand through my hair, not caring about the destruction of my carefully defined curls. Just the thought of asking him to “unzip my dress for me” felt like the beginning of a bad movie on Cinemax. Who the hell gets themselves in that kind of situation in real life?

  Uh… you do.

  Yeah. Apparently so.

  “Friend,” I called out, keeping my tone light. It didn’t have to turn into something inappropriate if we didn’t want it to. But… what if we wanted it to?

  What if he wanted it to?

  “What’s up?”

  My hand flew to my chest, clutching the front of my dress as Nixon appeared at the door.

  “Jesus, Nixon. You scared me!”

  He lifted an eyebrow. “You… called me… right?” He stepped into the room, bringing his mouth-watering male energy with him and my heart started to gallop.

  “Oh. Um… yeah. I did.”

  “So… did you need something?” He cocked his head to the side, a look of confusion on his face as he took another step closer to where I was perched at the end of the bed.

  Swallowing hard, I nodded. “Yeah… I… um… I need you to help me get out of this dress.” I let those words spill out in a blur, in an effort to get it over. The shameless smile that spread across his mouth told me he’d understood my jumbled words, and was happy — eager, even — to help.

  “Stand up.”

  My body reacted before my mind even processed the words. I turned around, and Nixon’s hands were already at my zipper before the wave of arousal set off by the authority in his command to “stand up” settled as a throb between my legs.

  Nixon took his time undoing me. He pulled the zipper down excruciatingly slow, and then instead of stepping back, he slipped a hand inside my dress. My lips parted in a gasp as his warm, strong hand glided over the soft skin of my waist until he reached my belly button, then slipped out again. His breath was warm and sweet against my neck as he pushed the dress away from my arms, down my body, and let it hit the floor.

  My eyelids fluttered closed as Nixon circled me with his arms, pulling me tight against him. His thumbs skimmed the underside of my breasts making my already hard nipples ache to be touched.

  Hell, all of me was aching to be touched.

  I don’t know what kind of jedi mind trick he was pulling on me, but I turned to face him, and parted my lips willingly as his mouth crashed down to mine. He brought his hands back to their previous position of almost touching my breasts as our tongues danced, slow and sweet. Way too soon, he pulled back, resting his forehead against mine.

  “Honeybun…”

  I whimpered, biting my lip at Nixon’s use of a private nickname only he called me. He was hard against my stomach, and even though his voice was thick with restraint, it was still edged with need.

  “Yeah?” I managed to choke out, covering his hands with mine and giving them a gentle tug. I needed him to move those thumbs just a little bit further—

  “We can’t do this.”

  His reluctance was palpable as he stepped back, putting a good amount of distance between us. He turned his back to me, facing out of the bedroom door as he spoke.

  “You just got home from a date.”

  I did?

  Oh, crap. I did.

  Guilt hit me like a bucket full of cold water. Here I was, naked from the waist up, in damp panties, and Trent probably hadn’t even made it home yet.

  “I mean… as flattered as I am that you obviously weren’t even thinking about old boy…” — I roll
ed my eyes — “It would be kinda fucked up for me to… take it further than I already have.”

  “So… you’re concerned about respecting … Trent?”

  “What?” Nixon sucked his teeth, his expression twisting into a scowl as he turned to face me again. “Hell no. Fuck him. I’m worried about respecting you. I want you, bad. But, I don’t want something to happen between us just because you’re confused, and overwhelmed with everything. I’m trying to do the right thing and give you some room to breathe.”

  He took a deep breath, groaning as his gaze swept over me again. “I’m gonna step out and let you get dressed.”

  “Get… dressed?” Moving on pure impulse, I closed the distance between us. “I… I’m pretty comfortable like this.” Biting my lip, I grabbed the waistband of his sweats. “I think I’ll skip the clothes.”

  Nostrils flared, Nixon inhaled another deep breath. I moved closer, his erection pressing against my stomach again, my breasts pushed against his chest as I stared up to meet his eyes. Lifting a hand, I cupped his chin.

  “Nix,” I whispered, sticking out my tongue to wet my lips before I continued, “It’s not nice to get someone hot and bothered and then change your mind.”

  “Is this payback?”

  Grinning, I nodded. “Yep.”

  Nixon chuckled, then leaned forward to speak into my ear. “Charlie… baby, stop playing. I want you bad enough right now to rip those pretty little lace panties off you and bend you over right here in this door.”

  Those two glasses of wine wanted me to yell do it, do it please, and my kitty was wet and ready for the same, but my brain and heart reeled me in. I took a step back, crossing my arms to cover my breasts.

  “Is this the kinda thing you do with all of your friends?” Nixon teased, as I grabbed my shirt and pulled it over my head.

  Giggling, I sat down on the bed to pull on my shorts. “I could ask you the same thing.”

  And just like that, we were back to being… whatever we were being. Long after we spent hours talking, laughing, and reminiscing as we put the kitchen in order, I lay back in my bed, freshly showered and thinking over my day. Everything up to the point of asking Nix for help with my dress made sense. The moment he showed up in the bedroom door was where things went left.

  Would I have slept with him, if he hadn’t had the sense to pump his brakes? Nixon was obvious about his desire to reclaim a place in my life, but in what capacity? His former role — fiancé— certainly wasn’t available, not to him. Not ever again to him. But, if I slept with him… where would that lead? To more confusing feelings that I didn’t need.

  Then there was Trent. I touched the corner of my mouth, where he’d kissed me at the end of our date. That place tingled on contact, and I smiled. Now Trent… that was a man that I could have a future with — assuming forthcoming dates went well. He was intelligent, kind, successful, sexy… I just hoped the next time he kissed me would leave behind more than a tingle. Something like the hum of awakening I felt when I imagined Nixon’s hands on me, skirting over my skin. Gripping and kneading my breasts. Inside of me.

  Holy shit.

  I shook my head.

  Don’t think of Nixon… or Adrian.

  Shit.

  Adrian.

  I wished that I could just take a towel and wipe away the men of my past, to keep them from dominating my thoughts as I tried to move forward. I searched my mind, trying to imagine what that future looked like. A loving marriage, beautiful kids, and a happy home. I could see it, right in front of me, clear and vivid.

  The only problem was… when I turned to my husband… it wasn’t Trent.

  Or Adrian.

  You’ve gotta be kidding me.

  six.

  nixon.

  “You’re leaving me hanging?”

  It was mid-day break time at Pot Liquor, and as usual, Charlie and I were the only two people still there. We were done with the prep work, and she’d escaped to the office, which is where I found her after a quick run up to my apartment. At the sound of my voice, Charlie looked up from her task of strapping her feet into her sandals and smiled.

  “Leaving you hanging, no. Using my free time before dinner service to go and get my haircut cleaned up, yes.”

  Shaking her head, she stood, brushing the front of her pants as she approached me at the door. She’d already taken off her chef’s coat, revealing a figure-hugging tee shirt underneath.

  “Damn, you’re going to Fresh Cuts in that?”

  She lifted an eyebrow, then glanced down at her V-neck top. “Is there something wrong with me wearing a tee shirt and pants, Nix?”

  “I mean… I guess not.” I shrugged. “You just look quite… edible.”

  “Oh God,” she said, slapping me on the arm as she slipped past me in the door. “If I didn’t know any better… I’d think you just don’t like the idea of other men looking at me.”

  Damn right.

  I watched her for a moment as she headed through the kitchen, my eyes magnetized to the swell of her ass and sway of her hips. Not even two weeks ago, she’d refreshed my memory of that glorious body without clothes, and that picture had been implanted in my mind since then.

  I shrugged out of my own coat, tossing it across the desk before I jogged out of the kitchen to catch up to her at the front of the restaurant. She’d stopped to look at her phone, and the grin on her face made me wonder if she was exchanging messages with Trent. A little flash of anger rushed over me at the thought of that lame-ass dude.

  He’d come in the restaurant the other day looking for Charlie, obviously not knowing that when she got in her zone in the kitchen, she was in there, and didn’t respond well to interruptions. As far as I was concerned, his entire existence was an interruption.

  He had the nerve to walk into the kitchen like he belonged there, and it took more restraint than I knew I had not to address him myself. But… Charlie handled him in a way that satisfied me way more than kicking him out would have.

  Trent approached her while she was at the stove, carefully preparing the béchamel for her macaroni and cheese. He put his hand at her waist, moving to kiss her, but she leaned away, hitting him with a “who are you and what the hell do you want?” face.

  I really thought he might melt right through the floor, and it was…. damn, it was beautiful, seeing that smug expression wiped off his face, without her even saying anything. She went right back to stirring her sauce, mumbling under her breath that she was putting somebody’s face through the grill if it didn’t turn out right, and he slinked back through the kitchen doors.

  About an hour later, things were calmer, and I spotted the two of them in a quiet corner of the restaurant. She looked apologetic, he looked... like his little feelings were hurt and he needed a hug from mommy.

  Damn.

  She hugged him. Not one of those “church hugs” either, it was a hug. Like, a real ass hug, and he got a little more grabby than I thought was acceptable for two weeks of dating. He glanced up and caught me looking, and had the nerve to shoot me a smug grin. As if I hadn’t been a panty-tug away from making Charlie forget he even existed.

  But, back to today.

  Charlie looked up from her phone, giving me a curious smile when she realized I was there. “What’s up, Nix? You heading out too?”

  “Yeah,” I said, pulling the door open. “I thought I’d walk you down to the shop. I could use a little touch up myself.”

  “Mmhmm.” She gave me a knowing look as she stepped past me out the door, then waited for me to lock up before we started down the street. “Sooo,” she said, reaching up to gently tug my beard, then dodging my attempted smack of her backside in retaliation. “The beard… that’s a new look for you.”

  I chuckled. “What, you don’t like it?”

  “I didn’t say that. I think it looks good on you. Makes you look grown up.”

  “Makes me look grown up?”

  She nodded. “Mmhm. Just look.”

 
“Ohhh, you’ve got jokes today.”

  “Oh I’ve got jokes every day. What made you decide to grow a beard though?”

  Shrugging, I stopped at the crosswalk in front of Urban Grind to press the button to give us the signal to walk across the street. Somebody, probably a customer, honked their horn as they passed, and I threw my hand up to wave before I turned back to Charlie.

  So damned gorgeous.

  It was a sunny day, borderline hot, and Charlie had propped her hand against her forehead to shield her eyes from the sun. Even with a little sweat building as she fanned herself with the other hand… she seemed so serene, although I knew she had a lot going on in her head. Just this morning, she’d shown up with red, puffy eyes that she claimed were from mishandled soap, but she wasn’t fooling anybody. She’d been crying, and if I had to give it one good guess, her ex-husband was the reason for her tears.

  Now though, she pulled her hand away from her head and smiled, tilting her head to the side. “Nix, are you gonna answer my question, or are you just gonna stare?”

  I gave a slight shake of my head, then returned her smile. “Stare.”

  “Whatever,” she said, wrinkling her nose at me as the traffic signal approved our trip across the street, away from the subtle coffee aroma of UG.

  When we were safely on the other side, I caught her by the hand, not caring if — honestly kinda hoping that — Trent might pop up and see the implied intimacy of such a gesture.

  Fuck him.

  “I just got tired of shaving, really. So… I grew the beard out of laziness more than anything else. Easier maintenance.”

  “But you have to do something to keep it feeling that soft, right?” she asked, still allowing me to hold her hand as we continued down the street.

  “Just a little beard oil. Nothing major.” I chuckled a little, then turned to her with a smile. “You think my beard is soft, huh?”

  She raised an eyebrow, looking a little confused. “Um… yeah… why?”

  I shrugged. “No reason, really. I was just gonna ask if you wanted to test it out.”

  Her eyebrow drifted a little higher. “… Test it out?”