Junk Mail Page 10
One thing at a time, Hanson.
First, I have a favor to return. Remembering all the things that drove her crazy the first time, I thumb her sensitive clit while sinking two fingers inside her.
She shudders and groans out my name.
Wrapping one arm securely around her waist, I walk us backward toward the bed.
“Where are we going?” she asks, breathless.
“Let’s get you onto the bed where you can be more comfortable.”
But rather than move onto the bed like I imagined, Peyton freezes, her leggings around her thighs. She inhales sharply, holding it for a moment like she’s trying to decide on the best call. When she finally exhales, she shakes her head and tugs up her panties and leggings.
“God, I want that so bad, Josh. But I know where that leads. And we can’t sleep together. We both know that.”
Fucking hell. She’s probably right. But that doesn’t make me want her any less.
“I can’t just leave you hanging,” I say, meeting her eyes and touching her cheek softly.
She shakes her head. “You’re not. It’s my choice. Tomorrow is quite possibly the biggest day of my career. I don’t want to lose focus.”
She sounds pretty damn certain, and a hollow ache forms in my chest at the thought of not touching her again.
“Well,” I say, “just know it’s redeemable at any time. An IOU, if you will.”
She laughs again, wrapping her arms around my waist. “Oh, I will. But for now, please tell me you’ll sleep up here and not in that certifiable death trap downstairs?”
“Only if you’re not going to make me sleep on the floor.”
“I think the bed’s big enough for us both. Don’t you?”
As Peyton claims the bathroom to get ready for bed, I strip down to my boxers and find my usual spot on the left side of the mattress.
It’s weird to think about all the nights I’ve spent alone in this same hotel room, this same hotel bed. I’m here at least once a month for either family or business, and I’ve never even had anyone else in the room with me. Hotel room 1875 has been my own personal space, my little bit of territory in a town so entirely different from New York City.
But when Peyton struts out of the bathroom, makeup-free and sleepy-eyed in an oversized T-shirt, I feel so fucking lucky that she’s going to be stealing my covers tonight.
Chapter Seventeen
Peyton
It may have taken a few glasses of wine and a trip upstate, but Josh and I finally talked things out. Well, we did a little more than talk last night. But the point is, the night in the hotel coat closet is no longer a big question mark in my brain anymore. And now that I don’t have to overanalyze every word out of his oh-so-delectable lips, I can prioritize the business part of this business trip.
At least, that’s what I told myself last night.
After Josh agreed that we shouldn’t take things any further, I brushed my teeth, washed my face, and fell asleep, promising myself that I’d start the next day with a fresh perspective. Yes, my crush on Josh is one hundred percent reciprocated, but he’s also one hundred percent my business partner, and it’s a relief that we both agreed to put the romance stuff on the back burner.
But now, in our third and final meeting of the day, I’m not sure if things are better or worse than before. As Josh reviews the timeline for the Wish Upon a Gift collaboration to a conference table of investors, I hardly catch every fifth or sixth word out of his mouth. That gorgeous mouth. When Josh speaks, he commands the attention of everyone in the room. Except for me. Because I know where that mouth really shines.
Shit. That’s the thing about the back burner—it still keeps things hot.
I hear the words “boutique personalization in a big-name store,” which I know is the cue for Brody to take the baton and wrap things up. It’s a pretty rehearsed process after three nearly identical pitches today. Like clockwork, Josh gives Brody the floor and takes his seat, his knee just barely brushing my thigh as he does.
And . . . cue the goose bumps.
Sheesh, Peyton. It’s just a knee. But it’s his knee. And that song from elementary school science class, the one that helped us learn the bones of the body, starts playing in my head.
The knee bone’s connected to the thigh bone. And between the thigh bones . . .
“Great work today, Peyton. Three pitches in a day can be a lot.”
Heat floods my cheeks as I stand to shake Brody’s hand. “Thanks,” I manage to say, blinking my way out of my fantasy. “Third time’s the charm, right?”
“I think you charmed them on all three.” Josh shoots me a wink, and the heat in my cheeks moves south.
“Well, the product really sells itself,” I say, shifting my attention to packing up my portfolio of samples. “But it seems like these investors were especially into how customizable the gifts can be. Don’t you agree?”
Nothing like a little business talk to bring the hormones back from the ledge.
Deep breaths, Peyton.
The last of the investors file out of the room, and Toby, Brody, Josh, and I are right behind them, headed toward our two rental cars. We’ve got a few hours before we need to head to the airport, but Toby and Brody have plans to grab a drink with an old coworker, leaving Josh and me with an afternoon to ourselves. And since checkout was at noon, we have no hotel room to return to. Which I’m slightly relieved by.
Josh ditches his suit jacket and tie, tossing both in the back seat of the rental with our luggage. He looks so incredibly sexy in just a button-up, his chiseled pecs on display through the fitted fabric. Sadly, I don’t get too much time to stare. He climbs into the car and I join him, although I have no idea where he’s planning to take us. But then Josh turns out of the parking lot and takes off on the highway, heading in the direction of the airport. Maybe we’re just going to kill time at the terminal.
“You really crushed it today, Peyton. We were all totally impressed. Brody wasn’t just saying that.”
“I’m flattered. But I don’t think I would’ve been half as good without you guys having my back.”
It’s the truth. As wildly distracting as Josh was during these meetings, he was also incredibly encouraging. All the guys were. Brody, Toby, and Josh couldn’t have been more supportive if they’d showed up at our meetings in cheerleader uniforms, shaking pom-poms as I pitched. I can’t help but giggle at the thought.
“What’s so funny?” Josh asks, shooting me a suspicious smile.
“Oh, nothing.” A satisfied grin lifts my lips as I redirect my attention to the road. “Just a funny thought.”
“Here’s another funny thought,” he says. “Since we have some time on our hands, want to pay a visit to some of the craziest kids I know?”
I scrunch my brow at him. “Um, further context needed, please.”
“My cousin Claire lives pretty close to here. She’s got four little ones, all under the age of six. They’re rowdy, but I love them. When I’m up here for work, I like to try to swing by for a quick visit, but I don’t want to drag you along if you don’t want. I can drop you at the—”
I cut in, interrupting perhaps a little too enthusiastically. “I’d love to meet them. I mean, it’d be a great change of pace from all the thrilling supply-chain talk we’ve had today,” I add, doing my best impersonation of a girl with any amount of chill.
“Sounds great.” Josh beams at me as he takes the next exit off the highway.
We’re both lucky I’m in the passenger’s seat. If he threw me a smile like that while I was behind the wheel, we would have majorly regretted not getting the extra insurance on the rental car.
Claire, who Josh tells me is a full-time mom with yet another baby on the way, and her husband, an eighty-hour-per-week engineer, live just a few minutes off the highway. We park in the driveway behind a big navy-blue van, and when we ring the doorbell, a series of bells chime in a light, twinkling melody. It’s a perfect portrait of suburbia.
The door flings open and three tiny humans come bounding outside, wrapping their arms around Josh’s legs and tugging at his sleeves. Behind them stands a brunette with a little girl propped on her hip. I’m guessing by the baby bump that this is Claire. She has pale purple marks under her eyes, just like the ones Josh gets after a late night at the office. If he hadn’t mentioned that she was his cousin, I would have assumed Claire and Josh were siblings.
“All right, all right, one at a time. I’ve got enough hugs for everyone.” Josh laughs, hoisting up the smallest of the group, a dark-haired toddler in denim overalls. “Connor, this is Peyton. Can you say, ‘Hi, Peyton’?”
“Hiii, Peytonn,” the whole group sings in unison. Even the little one on Claire’s hip joins in with a squeal of delight.
I smile and wave—two boys and two girls. I guess the new baby will be the tiebreaker.
“I’m sorry the house is a mess,” Claire says, tucking a loose strand of hair back into her messy bun. “I mean, the house is always a mess. But it’s a bit more so than usual. Connor just had his second birthday party a few days ago, right, Connor?”
Connor nods proudly, then buries his face into Josh’s shirt.
My heart flutters a bit at the sight of Josh with a little one in his arms. For a second, I even find myself imagining what our kids would look like. My hormones really need a reality check.
“C’mon, guys. Let’s go show Peyton the cool playset I got you.” Josh sets Connor down, and all three kids immediately take off running. “Last one there is a rotten egg!”
“No running in the house!” Claire half laughs, half shouts after her kids. She attempts a disapproving look at Josh, but it quickly turns into a smile. “So, am I the rotten egg this time, or are you?”
Josh nods at the door, indicating that Claire and I should go ahead. “I volunteer as rotten egg,” he says with a laugh. “It’s a tough job, but someone’s gotta do it.”
Claire leads us down the hall, giving me an abbreviated version of a tour before we step into the backyard. The sprawling grass and big, climbable trees are like something out of a dream to me. Having a yard—front or back—was never a possibility for someone like me who was raised in the city. Swing sets and makeshift kickball fields were reserved for public parks or, more commonly, movies about kids living in the suburbs.
The acre and a half behind Claire’s house could have been pulled right from one of those movies. In the center of the yard is a play structure with four swings, one for each kid, and a giant twisty slide the color of a school bus.
“Uncle Josh is a rotten egg!” One of the girls giggles from her place on a swing, which causes an outbreak of giggling among the three of them.
Josh pretends to smell himself and pinches his nose, fanning away an imaginary rotting smell. It’s enough for Claire and me to join in on the laughter. As the kids take turns on the slide, Claire tells me the story behind the playset, how Josh bought it for the kids and took a whole weekend to come upstate and assemble it.
“My husband has been working overtime to make up for his upcoming paternity leave.” Claire pats her belly with her free hand, acknowledging the little one cooking in there. “I’m so grateful that the kids have a great male role model around like Josh during this time.”
Josh’s gaze is cast downward, a slight smile on his lips as he unbuttons and rolls up the sleeves of his shirt. “I’m just doing what I can.” This has to be the humblest I’ve seen him since we met.
When Claire ducks back inside to put the baby down for her nap, the three little ones start vying for their uncle Josh’s attention.
“You don’t have to come play. I know you’re not exactly dressed for it.” Josh nods toward my red sheath dress and black blazer.
I squint my eyes at him. Is that a challenge? After kicking off my black pumps, I take off running toward the playset. “Race ya there, rotten egg.”
The next hour and a half is spent rotating between playground games. It’s been a long time since I’ve pretended that the ground is lava, but the kids seem to like teaching a grown-up how to play. During a round of hide-and-seek where Josh is ‘it,’ I give my hiding spot away early just so we can seek together, exaggerating how stumped we are as we turn blind eyes to the kids’ blatantly obvious hiding spots.
Josh is a natural with the kids, but I didn’t expect to take to them so quickly myself. When we say our good-byes before heading to catch our flight, Connor grabs my leg, begging his new aunt Peyton to stay. My heart is filled with something I can’t quite name.
“I’ve never seen the kids like that with someone new,” Josh says on the drive to the airport. “They really liked you.”
“I liked them too. If we’re in the area for business again, do you think we could go back?”
“Of course. Whatever you want.”
Whatever I want? I stare off into the rolling green hills of the wineries. What do I want? I want this deal to go off without a hitch. That would mean a guaranteed paycheck. A big one. It would mean a better life for Gram and me.
But I’ve never been the kind of woman to only want one thing. And this other thing I want, the most beautiful human being I’ve ever laid eyes on, is just ten inches away from me, the heel of his hand draped over the steering wheel, giving me the perfect view of his angular profile while he keeps his gaze glued to the road ahead.
And now I know he wants me too. Which just makes all these feelings harder to ignore.
Chapter Eighteen
Peyton
I wake up to the rattling of the plane as its wheels touch down on the runway.
I can’t believe I feel asleep. I never sleep on planes. But after Josh taught me his favorite card game, we shared a strong cocktail. I guess the combination of the alcohol and the swift relief I felt about the presentations being over were enough to send my body into total shutdown mode.
When the plane rolls to a gentle stop at the gate, I smile at how good I feel. Home sweet New York.
Well, technically, we never left New York, but the hour-and-a-half flight from upstate might as well be a return journey from Mars with how different upstate is from Manhattan. And that’s coming from someone whose home just barely falls within the NYC zip code.
That reminds me, I need to text Gram and let her know we landed.
I grab my phone and switch it out of airplane mode, then fire off a quick text. I want her to know I’m safe on the ground, but more importantly, I want to make sure no disasters took place while I was gone.
She responds right away that she’s fine, a message that she accompanies with an eye-rolling emoji and a prompt request for a ride to the senior center. I shoot back a slew of red hearts. Even though she insisted I go on this trip, I still feel like the world’s worst granddaughter for skipping town just days after her fall.
“That’s a lot of heart emojis,” Josh says. “Talking to someone special?”
I press my phone against my chest in defense. “Are you reading over my shoulder?”
“It’s hard not to,” he says coyly. “You’re lying on my lap.”
I jolt upright, my eyes nearly bulging out of my head. What the hell? How did I not notice I was practically snuggling with Josh?
“How long was I like that?” I sputter, making no effort to hide how flustered I am.
My head was inches away from his crotch, albeit through his dress pants, but still. What if he thinks I did that on purpose as an excuse to get more one-on-one time with the appendage that got me hooked on him in the first place? Embarrassment floods my cheeks, but Josh doesn’t seem to be bothered.
“Not that long,” he says with a quick shrug. “Those kids must have really done a number on you.” He unbuckles his seat belt and stands to pull both our bags from the overhead compartment. “No big deal. It was a short flight. And I didn’t want to wake you. You looked too comfortable.”
I breathe a shaky sigh of relief. Comfortable. That’s exactly the
right word to describe how I feel about Josh.
When we first met and he quickly realized I was his dirty-pic recipient, things were awkward for only a minute or two before we found a rhythm between us, a rhythm we’ve maintained ever since. Even when I didn’t know where we stood, I felt unsure, sometimes confused, but never uncomfortable or on edge. I don’t know what it is about him, but when we’re together, it seems natural, like everything is the way it’s supposed to be.
Josh is a seasoned pro at navigating LaGuardia with all the flying he does for work, so I let him navigate our way off the plane and toward the nearest coffee stand. Coming out of a thirty-minute nap, I could certainly use the caffeine boost to get me through the rest of the evening. Josh puts in my usual order for a hazelnut latte; for himself, black coffee. He puts it on the corporate card, reminding me we’re technically still traveling for work until we get home.
“Speaking of home, do you need a ride back?” Josh asks between sips of his coffee.
I have to physically bite my tongue to keep myself from piping up with a comment about the kind of ride I’m interested in.
Josh catches me fighting for a response and interrupts. “Before you tell me I don’t have to, let me say it’s not an entirely selfless offer. I’d love to swing by and say hi to Gram, especially since I’m the one who dragged her roommate away for the weekend.”
I can hardly believe how thoughtful he is. Coming to the rescue the night Gram fell was already above and beyond what I could ever ask, but checking in on her afterward is downright sweet. I keep a tight-lipped smile as I take a long sip of my latte, letting the milky hazelnut taste chase away my sleepiness.
“A ride home would be great. Gram would love to see you before I take her to the senior center.”
“Just don’t fall asleep on me during this trip, okay?”
I lift my pinkie finger into the air. “Pinkie swear.”