All or Nothing Page 7

  I wondered if he’d given me a second thought once he’d left, or if he was used to compartmentalizing his one-night stands until the urge for the next hookup struck him. I didn’t want to feel insecure, but a part of me couldn’t help but dwell on it.

  I breathed in a slow, measured breath. I needed to clear my head of all this Braydon Kincaid nonsense. He was a goddamn supermodel. I was a microbiologist who was too busy to take care of my split ends and didn’t mind having cellulite on my ass. Yes, we had great chemistry, but that was it. He wasn’t my happily ever after. Hell, he wasn’t even boyfriend material. He was a notorious playboy and his work made a real relationship difficult—two things that gave Emmy trouble when she first started dating Ben. And he was very clear about what he wanted: to fuck me. So why was I allowing myself to get so worked up over him?

  As much as I tried to deny it, I knew I wanted him. But I couldn’t sit around waiting around for him until he decided to call me again. I wouldn’t. I needed to man up. I rose from the bath, toweled off, and decided I’d go on my jog after all.

  6

  I couldn’t take it anymore. I broke down and upgraded my phone to an international calling plan just so I could call Emmy. I missed her terribly and needed to hear her sweet voice. That little southern accent made everything better. I needed a pep talk. I needed my bestie.

  She told me they were having a wonderful time and were getting ready to come home soon, though they’d considered just looking for properties in Tahiti and staying there permanently.

  “What’s going on with you? Had any dates lately?” she asked.

  “No,” I lied. “Nothing at all.”

  “Have you seen Braydon again?”

  “That was a one-time thing.” I had no clue why I was lying to my best friend, but something about my agreement with Braydon made me feel dirty. He was my little secret. “Can you come home early?” I begged, selfishly.

  Emmy laughed. “Three more days till we’re reunited, babe. You want to do lunch when I get home? Maybe get pedicures?”

  “Duh. Call me the second you land. I’m coming straight over. And I can’t be held responsible for dry-humping your leg like an overexcited lapdog when I see you.”

  She laughed and we ended the call that was probably costing me a fortune per minute. But the sad, lonely feeling came back the moment I said good-bye.

  How had it come to this? I felt pathetic. And I was sleeping with someone without any hope of commitment? Geez. How the mighty had fallen.

  Maybe I was being too hard on myself. Hadn’t I encouraged Emmy to just go for it when she’d been so torn over Ben? Perhaps this arrangement with Braydon was exactly what I needed. I was too in my damn head all the time. I worked in a demanding field, I lived alone, and I rarely made time for fun. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt that giddy butterfly feeling that I’d felt when Braydon and I had made love. Shit. I mean had sex. Fucked. That was definitely not making love. If I was going to survive this arrangement, I needed to keep my head in the game. This was about one megahot model with a huge, pierced schlong. Period. I could do this. I just needed to man up.

  Grabbing life by the balls, I pulled up Braydon’s number and began a new text, pacing the room while I typed.

  Me: Heyyy, it’s me. Wanna come over and play?

  Two seconds later my phone pinged. What a lovely little sound. I was thankful he didn’t make me wait. The sting of rejection would have been too much.

  Braydon: You sure you can handle me this time? ;)

  Me: Guess we’ll find out.

  Braydon: Guess we will.

  A few hours later, Braydon arrived. He grabbed a beer from my fridge and plopped down on my couch, kicking his feet up on the leather trunk, looking relaxed and happy.

  “Make yourself comfortable,” I said with a smirk, falling into the chair beside him.

  “Oh, I will.” He grinned at me. The one where his mouth pulled up crookedly and showed off his dimple. Sweet baby Jesus. I clamped my thighs together while he brought the bottle to his lips for another swig, seemingly unaware of the sexual yearnings he so easily produced within my body.

  “Have you had dinner?” he asked.

  “No,” I admitted. Food hadn’t really been on my mind when inviting him here.

  “I’m starving. You want to eat?”

  “Sure. Let me grab my purse.” I hopped up from the chair.

  “Nah. We’ll stay in, get something delivered,” he said, crossing his feet at the ankles and relaxing back into the sofa.

  “Oh. Sure. That works.” I couldn’t help but notice his reluctance to go out. Did he not want to be seen in public with me? I was certain I was being irrational, but something about the situation tugged at the back corner of my mind. He was hungry and it was easier to order in, I told myself. Except that I had a great deli just down the street from my building that he surely passed by every time he came to my apartment. It’d be quick and easy to just go down there. Maybe there was something about our arrangement that he wanted to keep hidden. I decided to test my theory.

  “You don’t always have to come here, I can go to your place sometimes, too,” I offered.

  “Nah, that’s okay.”

  “I’d like to. I mean, I don’t even know where you live.”

  The set of his jaw turned serious. “I don’t really have people over.”

  “Braydon, I don’t care if your place is a mess.”

  “No, it’s nothing like that. I’m just sort of private about my personal space.”

  I blew out a frustrated breath. He’d been inside me, yet I couldn’t see his apartment? God, men were confusing.

  Pushing away the thoughts, I wandered into the kitchen and grabbed the stack of takeout menus from my cupboard. “What are you in the mood for?” I asked, sitting next to him on the couch and dumping the papers into his lap.

  “Let’s order from Pow Thai Café. I’m craving their lemongrass shrimp.”

  “Poo Poo Café? Ew. No thanks.”

  He chuckled. “Poo Poo?”

  “Yeah, that place makes you poop.”

  His mouth twitched in a smile. “Newsflash, Ellie. All food makes you poop.”

  “Yes, but I’d rather not take a direct laxative right now. Seriously, that place and my stomach do not mix.”

  He shook his head at me, still smirking. “That was probably more information than I needed, but thanks for sharing. You pick the place then.”

  “The Eat Shop. And they deliver, too, since you’re so anti going out.”

  His mouth pulled down in a frown. “Fine. Get me whatever you recommend.”

  I ordered couscous salad and grilled salmon while Braydon continued quietly sitting on my couch, sipping his beer and watching me. This arrangement between us confused me. I had figured the majority of the time we’d spend together would be between the sheets. But this felt like more than just sex. This was different. Comfortably ordering delivery together, chatting casually, sipping beers on my couch . . . It felt like more.

  When our food arrived, we served ourselves then settled back onto the couch. He talked between bites of salmon and couscous and I listened, genuinely interested in learning more about him. He told me about his many passions—working out, good food, handcrafted beers, and sex. I almost choked when I heard that last one.

  “Care to tell me why you’re so antimen?” Braydon asked, taking a bite of his salmon.

  “Let’s see . . . my last boyfriend had a habit of filming the girls he slept with. He had over twenty videos of girls, and I was rumored to be one of them.” I poked at the salad on my plate.

  “Shit.” His eyebrows shot up. “But you weren’t?”

  “No, thank God. Then there was the guy who I thought was a car salesman but turned out to be just a car thief instead.” I waited for his judgment but none came. “Basically, my dating experiences the last few years have taught me one thing—that men are not to be trusted.”

  “I can’t argue with any
of that, so I won’t try. But I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

  “Yeah, thanks.” I picked at the hem of my shirt, plucking imaginary lint from it. “It was quite a string of bad luck. I was starting to think it was me.”

  His expression turned serious, his eyes darkening. “It’s not you. Trust me.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “You’re lovely. Quite a catch, kitten.” His words were too kind. Too sweet, considering the kind of arrangement we had. Being sweet to me only deepened my feelings for him. Which wasn’t good. He’d been very clear about our relationship. Or lack thereof. I needed to remember that.

  “What about you? No past relationships? Any ex-girlfriends I should be aware of?”

  His expression darkened further and he set down his plate on the ottoman in front of us. “Why do you ask?”

  “No reason. I just noticed in your pictures online that you never have a girl with you. There was even one blog claiming you were gay.”

  “I like pussy way too much to be gay. I guess you’re right, though, I do tend to fly solo, mostly. I don’t typically bring the girls I’m seeing to events with me.”

  I wasn’t talking about events. I never expected to be on his arm walking the red carpet. I was referring to simple things like meeting for breakfast or going to the movies, but I merely nodded. Something told me not to push him on this. I swallowed a lump of unease in my throat. He was so fun and easygoing one minute and then so guarded and closed off the next.

  Braydon Kincaid, my own little Rubik’s Cube to solve.

  After dinner we cuddled together on the couch, Braydon with his legs resting on the ottoman and me with my feet curled under me while I leaned against his shoulder.

  “Sooo . . . our arrangement . . . what happens when Ben and Emmy get home?” I asked.

  “What about them? What you and I have is no one’s business but our own.”

  I nodded, my heart silently pinching in my chest. After several minutes of silence, his eyes slowly raked over me, making me shiver. The longer he watched me, the further away thoughts of refusing him drifted. “Do you have any idea how fucking sexy you look right now?” he asked.

  I looked down at my yoga pants and comfy T-shirt, my brain struggling to comprehend if he was kidding or being serious.

  “Most girls want to impress me with their designer clothes, lingerie, accessories, makeup . . .” He leaned closer. “No one’s ever like this with me, you know? I like that you’re confident enough to just be you.”

  His words meant a lot to me, only I had no idea how to react to them. Were we good buddies? Something more? “Who else would I be?” I joked.

  The seriousness of the mood fell away as Braydon let out a chuckle. He set down his beer and turned to me with a playful smile. “Sooo . . .” he rubbed his hands together. “What shall we do to entertain ourselves?”

  I faked a yawn and stretched my arms over my head. “I’m exhausted. You’re welcome to stay and entertain yourself, though. There’s lube in my nightstand drawer if you need it.”

  He let out a snort and tackled me on the couch. “Get over here.” He pressed me to the sofa, careful not to crush me under his weight but making sure I felt his firm body covering mine. “Why would I take care of myself when you have two perfectly functioning hands?” He traced a single fingertip over my lips. “And this pretty mouth I’d like to fuck.”

  My insides went molten, sending a jab of lust through me. “You’re pretty confident there, mister.”

  “I always get what I want.”

  “And what do you want?” I challenged, finding that spark within myself once again as we bantered.

  “To lay you down in your bed and make you come.”

  His words melted me while bringing up all of my fears, despite the fact that I was trying to man up here. “After all of my dating mishaps, I don’t trust myself to make the right decisions about men.”

  “Then trust your body.” He curled a strong hand around my wrist, drawing me closer. “What does it tell you?”

  My pulse spiked, my breathing became labored, and my nipples hardened into points. Instead of making me feel cheap and used, Braydon made me feel vital and cherished. He could read my body so well, he seemed to know my hidden desires without me needing to voice them, but I realized I didn’t know much of what he desired.

  “What do you like?” I murmured.

  “I like an aggressive girl who goes after what she wants, when she wants it.”

  Normally I was that way. But not so much with him. I wasn’t sure why. Maybe because he was so confident and sure that my body chose to submit to him rather than compete for control. I wanted to hand him the reins and let him take over. And I hadn’t felt that way about a man, well . . . ever. I pushed him off me and Braydon frowned slightly as he sat up. But when I took his hand and tugged him to my bedroom, his sexy, playful smile was back in full force and my insides did a little flip-flop.

  We settled on the bed and Braydon pulled me close, kissing my neck and the ticklish spot behind my ear. I let out a soft moan. “You’re so sexual,” he breathed against my skin.

  “I’m sorry?”

  His mouth lifted in a smile as he chuckled softly. “It’s one of the things I love about you.”

  Hearing Braydon mention the word love in relation to me wasn’t healthy. I had to reel my brain in from barraging me with images of us dashing off into the sunset, me in a white poufy dress. “What is?” I asked.

  “You’re such a firecracker. So sassy, intelligent, and confident. You don’t take any shit. But then when we’re together, you turn yourself over to me fully. When I’m buried deep inside you, you submit to me completely.”

  I dropped my head and blushed. Oops. Maybe I was too obvious in my growing feelings for him.

  “It’s incredibly sexy, kitten. Trust me.”

  I did trust him. I trusted him with my body. I knew he’d make sure I was satisfied. I just didn’t trust him with my heart. But that feeling of mistrust had practically been conditioned into me from an early age. After years of infidelity, my dad had finally left my mom for his secretary. It had shown me that I needed to pick my mate carefully. I wouldn’t end up bitter and broken like my mother, thanks to an asshole disguised as Mr. Right. The jury was still out on the delicious man in front of me and I needed to play this game of cat and mouse carefully.

  7

  “God, you skinny bitch, you’re so tan,” I said enviously to Emmy. I was helping her shop for a new sofa, which was why we were currently in New Jersey, courtesy of Ben and Emmy’s driver, at a megahuge furniture store.

  She laughed at me and headed past the sectional sofas. “Of course I’m tan; we were on a tropical island for nearly a month. I swear, I don’t know how I lost weight on our honeymoon though. I ate very well—trust me.” She paused to look down critically at a bright orange couch, chewing on her lip. “We did go hiking and surfing, and we had plenty of sex.” She whispered the last part.

  “Sex is a great workout,” I agreed. We continued roaming the rows upon rows of couches and love seats. “Any of these standing out to you?”

  “What do you think about something like this?” Emmy stood back, admiring a steely gray modern-looking sofa.

  It suited her and Ben’s style perfectly. Simple yet classy. “I think that would look great in your place.”

  Her smile fell when she checked the price tag. “Never mind.”

  I reached down and flipped the tag over to see the price myself. “Emmy,” I chastised her. “It’s not that expensive. You forget you’re in a different income bracket now.”

  She picked at her fingernails, deciding what to do. After a few moments of thinking it over, she realized I was right. It was as if she were realizing, for the first time, that her life had really changed. She was no longer a single girl in the city struggling to make ends meet. For a moment, the thought struck me with a pang of sadness. I hated the idea that Emmy and I were changing, and the
possibility of us growing apart because of our differences. I vowed then and there that I wouldn’t let that happen. I grabbed her hand and gave it a squeeze. “I think you should get it, sweetie.”

  She nodded, fixing her mouth in a smile. “Yeah, I think I will. And maybe those matching chairs.” She pointed to two armchairs with a geometric pattern that contained splashes of gray and mustard yellow. They were funky and the perfect complement to the solid-colored sofa.

  “Definitely,” I confirmed. “And these.” I grabbed a couple of fluffy pillows in a pretty deep plum shade.

  Emmy smiled and followed me to the front to check out. “So what’s new with you?”

  My secret affair with Braydon had been at the tip of my tongue all day, and I wondered if now was the time to come clean. I summoned my courage while Emmy ordered the couch and chairs and arranged delivery. “I’ve been seeing someone,” I finally said.

  “Oh my God, who?” she demanded to know, whipping around to look at me after handing her platinum credit card—complete with her new name—to the sales clerk.

  “Um . . .” I swallowed a lump in my throat. “Braydon.”

  “Really?” She cocked her head to the side, her eyebrows darting up her forehead. “Braydon? Like, Braydon, Braydon?”

  Why was there such shock in her features and surprise in her voice? “The one and only.” I stood my ground, waiting to understand her reaction. “Why?”

  She signed the slip of paper and passed it back to the clerk. “Bray doesn’t do relationships. Ben says he’s always been more of a loner.”

  Hearing her nickname for him irked me. I wasn’t sure why, but I frowned. I never said anything about a relationship. “Well, we’re not, like, openly dating,” I said, dropping my voice so the sales clerk couldn’t overhear. “We sort of have an . . . arrangement.”

  Emmy’s mouth puckered in a grimace. “What kind of arrangement?”

  Shit. She was going to make me say it. We meet up for sex at my apartment. I accepted the shopping bag of pillows from the clerk and turned for the door. “Come on. I’ll explain over lunch.”