The Boyfriend Effect Page 9

  “Dove . . .” I rasp out the word, already breathless.

  I’m going to hell. That much is obvious. Because Maren is treating me to a hot, wet blow job, and it’s the closest I’ve ever been to heaven.

  I touch her hair, placing my thumb on the side of her throat to feel her accepting me, and Maren lets out a helpless little whimper. I can’t help but talk dirty to her, tell her how sexy she looks with her mouth full of my cock, how good she is at this. And I savor each of her reactions. The way she murmurs against me and squeezes her thighs together . . . it’s hot as hell.

  Before I come, I warn her, but Maren doesn’t stop, forcing even more of me into her throat just as I explode.

  “Hell, sweetheart.” I gasp as she sits back on her heels, looking pleased. Who would have known that that was one of Maren’s many talents? Not this guy.

  Pulling her up onto the bed and against my chest afterward is the most natural thing in the world. She lets out a small giggle and lays her head on my shoulder. Lying here with her, cuddled together in a warm, flushed heap, feels almost as good as the intimacy we just shared. This is all so unexpected, but at the same time, it feels right.

  As I hold her close and gently run my knuckles over the smooth skin of her spine, I try to convince myself that maybe my betrayal of Wolfie’s trust doesn’t count across state lines.

  It almost works.

  We cuddle until I fall asleep. At some point, Maren must have slipped out of bed. The next morning, I wake alone and full of guilt.

  What the fuck happened last night? Did I let things go too far? I’ve almost convinced myself that it was all just a wet dream, until I come downstairs for breakfast and find Maren and Wolfie sitting at the table, the smell of coffee hanging heavy in the air.

  Wolfie is glued to his phone, his hair sticking out at odd angles, his face screwed up in a scowl. We all know better than to talk to him before his third cup. Maren brings her mug to her lips and looks at me over the thin wisp of steam.

  “Morning, Hayes. Sleep well?” Her voice is like velvet, her lids heavy as she sips her coffee without taking her gaze from mine.

  All right. Definitely not a dream.

  It’s a good thing Wolfie is dead to the world right now, because it doesn’t take a psychic to interpret the vibes between us.

  “Uh . . . yeah,” I manage to say before I tear my gaze away from her and pour myself some coffee.

  I’m fucked. We’re fucked. I’m so going to hell. And it doesn’t help that just being in the same room as Maren is turning me on.

  One by one, the rest of the crew join us in the kitchen.

  Connor bounds down the stairs, slapping Wolfie on the shoulder with a loud, “Good morning!” Wolfie growls in response. Penelope and Scarlett arrive together and sit by Maren at the table, and Caleb starts cracking eggs into a bowl.

  Finally, Holly saunters down the stairs, the only one of us already dressed in a swimsuit and a lacy cover-up that looks more like lingerie than sleepwear. After last night, I’m about ready to slaughter Wolfie for inviting her.

  “Good morning, everyone,” she says in a singsong voice, flouncing around the kitchen island. “Sleep well? I certainly did. Maren, I hope I didn’t disturb you last night. I’ve been known to toss and turn and make a lot of noise in the night.” She curls a lock of her dark hair around her finger and bats her lashes apologetically Maren’s way.

  With every second I spend around this woman, it’s getting harder and harder to believe I was ever attracted to her.

  Maren glances at me, and her eyes tell me everything I need to know. She’s thinking of last night. Of how Holly’s little show drove us into the same room. Of what happened after . . . how I tasted her, made her moan and twitch with my tongue, how she took every last drop of me down her throat.

  Fuck. I’ve got to get a hold of myself.

  I look away and busy my hands by making another pot of coffee and trying to think of literally anything else. Connor and Caleb are chatting about our plans for the morning out on the water, so I nod along with their conversation and pretend I’m paying attention. But really, I’m listening to Maren, who’s coolly telling Holly that she didn’t disturb her at all, and that she slept in perfect bliss. I don’t have to see the look on Holly’s face to know that’s not the answer she was hoping for.

  After breakfast, we all change into our suits and meet out on the dock. Caleb, Connor, and Wolfie haul a few kayaks into the water and try to persuade the girls to get in with them. I grab a couple of paddleboards from the rack and nod to Maren.

  “Is your balance still as good as it was in high school?” I ask, holding a paddle out to her.

  She smiles and opens her mouth to answer, but Wolfie’s voice cuts her off.

  “Hayes! Would you get your ass over here and explain to Penelope that these kayaks are designed for two people?”

  I sigh and drop the boards. “Be right back.”

  Maren shrugs in understanding, and I make my way to the water, where something I can’t quite figure out is going on between Wolfie and Penelope. Are they . . . flirting?

  “I’m not getting in that thing with you, Wolfie!” she squeals, slapping his arm with the back of her hand.

  Wolfie’s mouth twists into a sideways grin.

  What the hell? Looks like I’m not the only one thinking things they shouldn’t these days.

  “What seems to be the problem here, folks?” I ask, clasping my hands together and giving Wolfie an easy smile.

  Penelope crosses her arms, and Wolfie holds his out by his sides.

  “I thought it’d be nice for the two of us to take a little trip around the lake, but Pen doesn’t seem so sure,” he says, his usual growl less angry and more playful than usual.

  “I just don’t think it’s safe,” Penelope says, looking worriedly at the kayak.

  “We take these bad boys out on the water all the time. If they weren’t safe, we wouldn’t have them,” I tell her with a reassuring nod.

  “Well, if they’re so safe, you two can take it. I’m going to go paddleboard with Maren,” Penelope says, tossing her hair over her shoulder and leaving in a huff.

  Wolfie grunts and watches her leave, a dumbfounded look on his face.

  “Smooth, bro,” I say, giving his arm a good-natured punch. Now both our plans for the day are ruined.

  “Shut up.”

  We spend the morning on the water, kayaking, paddleboarding, floating around in inner tubes, doing pretty much whatever activity we can get our hands on. Later that afternoon, we pack up and pile into the cars to head back into the city, worn out and a little sunburned from our weekend away.

  In the car, Wolfie turns the radio to the same station as always. He drums his fingers on the steering wheel along to some classic rock, and I do my best to avoid staring at Maren’s reflection in the rearview mirror every chance I get.

  She’s quiet, and that’s not like her. My plan to steal a few moments alone on the water was ruined by Penelope, so I have no idea where Maren’s head is at. I can only imagine what she must think of me now—her older brother’s best friend who took advantage of her when she was in a vulnerable situation. I never should have invited her into my bed last night. It was a mistake, and I’ll apologize the first chance I get.

  Or maybe that’s not the case. Maybe she’s quiet because she’s planning how to tell Wolfie. Or . . . maybe she’s planning when we’ll do it again. Either way, I have to know what she’s thinking. I need to talk to her and make sure she’s okay.

  My place is on the way to each of theirs, so Wolfie drops me off first. Outside my apartment, he salutes me from the driver’s side while Maren smiles from the passenger seat.

  “Thanks again for a fun weekend, Hayes. It was really sweet of you to have us all over,” she says.

  “Anytime.”

  “See you bright and early tomorrow,” Wolfie says and rolls up the window before driving away.

  I trudge myself and my duffel upstai
rs, wishing Maren had given me some kind of code to crack instead of a polite, generic thank-you. I still have no idea what she’s thinking, but I know now what I have to do.

  Wolfie will be dropping off Maren next. Her place isn’t far from mine, so I’d say I have a good ten minutes before she’s alone in her apartment. I catch up with Rosie for a few minutes, starting to fill her in on the weekend. When the time comes, I excuse myself to my bedroom and dial Maren’s number, unconsciously holding my breath while it rings.

  “Did you forget something?” Maren’s tone is teasing, playful. Too playful for her to still be with Wolfie.

  “Are you alone?”

  “He just dropped me off.”

  “I just, I wanted to make sure that you’re okay.”

  She doesn’t respond right away, and I can hear her keys jangling and the door closing behind her.

  “Are you okay?” I repeat.

  “What are you asking me, Hayes?”

  “I mean, did we—did I—I wanted to make sure I didn’t cross a line last night.”

  She giggles, but not the light, airy, girlish giggle I’m used to. This one comes from somewhere deep in her throat, somewhere sensual.

  “Of course I’m okay.” She laughs a little, and it sounds like she wants to say something else, but she doesn’t.

  I let out a relieved breath. “Good. I’m glad to hear that.”

  She giggles again. “You know, I’m glad you called, actually. I have something I wanted to talk to you about.”

  “Oh?”

  “I was wondering if you wanted to come to the fundraiser with me next weekend.”

  “Like as your date?”

  “No. I don’t know. I just figured since you were so important and instrumental in making it all happen, it’d be nice to have you there with us. But I totally understand if you—”

  “I’ll be there.”

  “Really?”

  “Of course. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

  We chat a little while longer about a few final details for the fundraiser before hanging up. When I walk out into the kitchen for a glass of water, I find Rosie sitting at the table, painting her fingernails a bright shade of pink.

  “You look like hell,” she says, glancing up at me over her glasses.

  “I missed you too.”

  “What’s wrong? Did something happen at the lake house? You know, sometimes too much sun can make people do things they don’t mean.”

  If you only knew.

  I take a sip of water, the liquid cool going down my throat. “I’m fine. Nothing happened. We all had a good time.”

  She narrows her eyes. “Well, make sure you drink two of those. You’re probably sunburned under that shirt. No one applies sunscreen properly these days.”

  I nod and refill my glass. “I’m exhausted. I’ll see you in the morning, okay? Love you.”

  “I love you too.”

  I trudge back to my room and shut the door behind me.

  That phone call with Maren should have made me feel better, so why do I feel like a piece of shit that’s just been run over by a dump truck? She might not think we crossed a line, but I’m starting to wonder if we’re both in the wrong here. I might want her, and she might want me, but that doesn’t make what we did right.

  Later, I fall asleep, huddled alone under the blankets. Just like I do every night.

  12

  * * *

  MAREN

  The morning of the fundraiser, I wake up with butterflies in my belly. It’s half excitement, half nervous energy, and my stomach churns because I need tonight to go well.

  I reflexively reach for my phone, scrolling through my social media feed in an effort to quiet my mind. Immediately, I land on a photo of Wolfie and Hayes at the beach last weekend, drenched in lake water and sunlight. My brother, ever the stoic one, is frowning. But the huge, genuine smile on Hayes’s face makes my heart swell with emotion.

  What happened at the lake house was . . . surreal. Ever since, I’ve spent every night tossing and turning between vivid memories and hazy dreams of Hayes’s lips on my skin, his tongue tracing sensual lines down my body, worshipping my most sensitive spots. When I close my eyes, I can still hear his moan as I fondled his length before coating it with hot, wet kisses.

  Are you okay?

  When he asked me that question so sincerely, I wanted to blurt, I’m better than okay. But we’re exploring entirely new territory now, terrain left untouched during years of platonic friendship and stolen glances. I have to curb my enthusiasm if I want to stay on Hayes’s radar as more than his best friend’s sister. But I’m not too worried . . . after all, I have a lot of practice at it.

  I open my messages and begin drafting a text to Hayes before I can psych myself out.

  Ready for tonight?

  Though I’m tempted to sit on my bed and wait for his response, I toss my phone back on the duvet and head for the bathroom.

  The hot water from the shower eases the stress in my shoulders and neck, a small relief that I don’t take for granted. Lathering up some shaving cream in my hands, I cover my legs one by one. I love the repetitive action of drawing a razor ever so gently over my skin. When I’m cleaning up my bikini line, the memory of Hayes’s eyes flashing up to mine from between my legs sends a shock straight to my core.

  I let the water turn cold before I get out of the shower, a rush of reality to remind me of my first priority—making nice with the rich friends of Riverside tonight. Not having life-altering sex with Hayes Ellison.

  When I return to my room wrapped in a damp towel, a buzz-buzz draws me back to my bed.

  I’ll pick you up at seven.

  His message is short and to the point. It does nothing to ease the anxiety stewing inside me.

  Sitting in Hayes’s Lexus that evening, I periodically check my phone to make sure the venue hasn’t burned to the ground or the caterers haven’t forgotten the vegan options.

  Since the fundraiser was my brainchild, Peggy insisted that I leave all the extra event prep to her and her team of student volunteers. When I called her just hours ago to suggest I could arrive early to coordinate the auction arrangements, she stopped me cold.

  “No, no, no, enough of that. We’ll take care of the setup. You take your time. Arrive in style!”

  This is about as stylish as I get, but it’s certainly not an outfit to be ignored. The fancy dresses in the back of my closet were looking a little worn from too many semi-formals and weddings, so I turned to my good friend the internet for some consignment designer options.

  My tanned legs peek out of the long slit along the side of the creamy silk gown. The gold accents around the bodice frame my neck and breasts perfectly, neither too subtle nor too gaudy. My long brown hair is pulled to the side, a waterfall of curls secured over one shoulder with an elegant clip my grandmother once gave me. My makeup is all natural except for a matte-nutmeg lipstick I bought on a whim during a downtown shopping spree. It may have taken three hours to get ready for tonight, but I look good.

  And my date, well, he looks like he belongs on the cover of GQ magazine, his hair slicked back into a natural wave, and his well-tailored tuxedo accentuating those broad, sexy shoulders. When Hayes’s impossibly sharp eyes meet mine, I have to remind my lungs to keep breathing.

  “What’s the game plan for tonight?” he asks, glancing between me and the road. “You’re courting some pretty big money, so does that make me your wingman?”

  “That’s the idea,” I say, pulling a binder from the very unstylish tote bag I plan to leave in the car. “I’ve memorized every guest’s name, vocation, and relationship to Riverside, but if you want to take a look before we go in, there should be time.”

  Eyeing the binder, Hayes chuckles. “I trust you. We’ve still got another forty minutes to go, so give me the SparkNotes version.”

  “Sure.”

  After a half hour of my describing each guest, from most influential to least, Hayes reaches
over and closes the binder with a firm hand.

  “You’re killing me,” he says with a groan. “I can’t hear about one more philanthropic entrepreneur who prefers the White Sox to the Cubs. How the hell did you find time to put all of this together?”

  “A few late nights,” I say with a shrug. “It’s all online if you know where to look.”

  He sighs, sounding bored already. “I bet.”

  I reach over to place a hand on his forearm. “This is going to be fun, okay? I don’t know about you, but I’m certainly having a glass of champagne.”

  “Or twelve,” he mutters with a smirk.

  “Or twelve. You can drink as much as you’d like. Just in case, I reserved a hotel room at the venue, in the event we don’t want to risk the drive home.”

  The air between us is suddenly charged, my fingertips on his jacket sleeve electrified. Neither of us has dared mention again what happened at the lake house, but I can feel our attraction in every heated look, in every tension-filled stare.

  Hayes finally grunts, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. “Probably a good idea.”

  I breathe out a soft sigh of relief.

  Reserving only one hotel room was a big move on my part, but he doesn’t seem upset or uncomfortable. Truthfully, my bank account would never recover from a purchase of two reservations this close to when rent’s due. Also truthfully, the idea of sharing a room with Hayes after a fancy night like this really excites me. More than it probably should.

  When we arrive, Hayes and I stride past the coat check and a gathering of young volunteers, straight through the double doors. The view is astonishing.

  The vaulted ceiling is dripping with tiny Edison bulbs, casting a deep glow upon all the arriving guests. Tall cabaret tables are decorated with simple, but eye-catching floral centerpieces. On the far side of the room sits an expansive table where the buffet will take place, all the catered food warming over wick fuel cans. Situated around the perimeter of the room are displays of the auction items—coveted Chicago memorabilia and collectibles, and experience packages from popular massage studios, luxury cruise lines, and prominent theater companies.