Chapter Eleven

Lincoln stepped into his apartment, sweat dripping down his forehead into his eyes. He swiped at the moisture with his forearm, tossing his keys into the small bowl on the kitchen table. One thing he’d learned in his few short weeks living in Denver: the city had some awesome running trails. Between the Cherry Creek Trail and the abundant parks, it was a runner’s dream city.

He shrugged off his soft-shell running jacket, stripping the long-sleeved thermal shirt underneath off as well. When the weather got really bad, he’d run on the small treadmill he bought a few years ago, but he hated running in place. He found it boring as hell. So barring below-zero temperatures or a few feet of snow, Lincoln headed outside every morning for a mind-clearing run.

And boy had he needed to clear his mind lately. After Lilly planted those sweet lips on him the other night—again—his brain hadn’t been able to stop thinking of the smart, sexy woman. Remembering their night together, imagining all the things he wanted to do again and all the things he wanted to do for the first time. If only she’d agree to another go-around.

He understood her need to keep their relationship professional. Okay, he didn’t. He wasn’t her client; his friends were. But he respected it. If she had a personal rule about comingling with members of her wedding parties, he could abide by that. And it was a personal rule, if her business partner Mo was anything to go by. Her other partner, Pru, might still be on the fence, judging by the hesitant looks he caught her giving him, but Mo had practically thrown them together the other day when he came over to fix their computer. She didn’t seem to have a problem with her dating someone involved in a wedding they were hired to plan, so why did Lilly?

Something he should ask but had held back from. The answer was sure to be a deep and personal one, most likely filled with pain and bad memories. He was still working through his own issues regarding a bad relationship experience; he wasn’t sure he was ready or able to help anyone else with theirs. Knowing why Lilly had a rule against dating client-adjacent people would take them from the playful, yet powerful, lust-driven connection they shared to something deeper. More real. Lincoln didn’t know if he was ready for that yet. Or ever again.

He hopped into the shower, sudsing and scrubbing the frozen sweat from his body. The hot water pounding on his back and shoulders loosened the tense muscles. Steam soon filled the tiny bathroom, creating a sauna-like atmosphere. Who needed the gym when he could enjoy a hot steam in the privacy of his own home?

He shut off the water, stepping out of the shower and toweling dry. Wiping the condensation from the mirror, he glanced at himself, raising a hand to rub at the dark scruff that had turned from the beginnings of a beard to a full-fledged face warmer. He hated shaving. No matter what he tried—creams, oils, the electric or manual razors—he always got razor burn. Damn sensitive skin. Luckily, his vocation didn’t care if he was clean-shaven or not. Score one for being a computer geek.

Maybe he’d let his beard grow out a little. He was in the land of hipsters and homebrews, after all. If he got himself a flannel shirt, he could fit right in with the other lumbersexuals he’d seen around town. But he drew the line at a man bun. He didn’t have the dedication long hair required.

Making his way out of the bathroom to his bedroom, he checked the time. He had a few hours before Kenneth’s bachelor party started. Marie and her bridesmaids were having their party at the same time. Everyone was meeting at the end of the night at some bar so the couple could go home together. He made a mental note to turn his music up extra loud tonight. Unfortunately, he’d discovered sound did indeed carry through the floors.

At least he knew his friends were happy.

Very happy.

…

Hey, what are you up to tonight?

Lilly glanced at her phone, reading the message lighting up the screen. She paused the show she’d been watching, brow furrowing as she glanced at the name of the sender.

Aren’t you supposed to be at Kenneth’s bachelor party right now?

I am, Lincoln’s text came back. Wanna see a picture of the strippers?

She’d chosen that unfortunate moment to take a sip of her soda. Liquid came out her nose as she choked on the sip. The bubbles popped, irritating her nostrils. Thank God Mo was out tonight. She didn’t want to have to explain why she just inhaled carbonated sugar water.

No! she texted back, swiping at her damp face with the back of her sleeve. I most certainly do not.

How the hell could he think she’d want to see some scantily clad women dancing for skeevy drunk pervs? She knew quite a few erotic dancers, and they were extremely talented. Mo had badgered her into taking a free intro pole-dancing class, and she fell flat on her face. Tweaked the heck out of her shoulder. Never went back. Those women had talent and deserved much more recognition than they received.

You sure?

Three tiny dots popped up, indicating he was about to send her something. She hoped it wasn’t a picture. Or maybe it’d be good if it was. If Lincoln turned out to be some misogynistic creep who thought women’s bodies only existed for his visual pleasure and that snapping pics in a strip club was okay, she could nip this weird lustful crush thing in the bud for sure.

A picture arrived on her phone, making her want to laugh and cry at the same time. The screen showed not a woman in pasties and a thong but a small silver can with the words Wood Stripper prominent on the label.

Dammit. How could she be happy and upset at the same time? He wasn’t a creep. Far from it. The man actually had a wicked sense of humor. Oh, she was in so much trouble.

Oh ha ha mister funny man.

I think so. ;)

He ended the text with a smiling winking face.

She knew she shouldn’t engage. The more time she spent with the man, the more she wanted to have him again. But they weren’t even in the same room. Texting wasn’t spending time together, right? It wasn’t even a phone call, just simple words on a screen. He could be anyone. She could resist that, right? What could be the harm in a little back-and-forth texting?

Wood stripping? What a wild party you guys are having.

She was in it now.

She held the phone tightly in her grip, staring at the three tiny dots until they turned into a message her eyes greedily devoured.

We started with lunch and a brewery tour of Wynkoop, then we headed to this shop that lets you make your own woodworking projects.

That sounded fun. If you were into beer and woodworking. She wasn’t, but it sounded a hell of a lot better than getting trashed and ogling half-naked women to celebrate finding the love of your life. Honestly, she never understood the whole stripper-for-your-bachelor/bachelorette-party thing. Wouldn’t it make more sense to have that for a breakup party?

The ladies hit up a spa and are doing a wine and painting party. Then we’re all meeting up later at some bar.

Now that sounded like something Lilly would totally be into. A nice massage and steam followed by delicious wine and creativity? Sign her up. She knew she liked Marie and Kenneth for a reason. The couple had good taste in recreational activities.

Sounds like fun. What are you making?

She took another sip of her soda, carefully, as she waited for his reply.

A birdhouse. At least it’s supposed to be.

Moments later, another text came through, and she once again choked on her drink. Thankfully, it was most of the way down her throat, so it didn’t shoot up her nose this time. The sad looking structure in no way resembled a birdhouse. The roof was askew, one side higher than the other. The walls were uneven, adding to the lopsided-roof issue. Tiny nails stuck out of the wood at dangerous angles, and glue oozed out of seams, dripping down the unevenly stained tiny wooden house. Any poor bird that tried to land on that thing would cut their wings to shreds.

Thank you, she texted.

For what?

For revealing one of your faults to me. She laughed as she typed. You may be a wiz at computers, a dynamite dancer, and amazing in bed, but you can’t woodwork to save a life.

There was a slight pause before his reply came.

You think I’m amazing in bed?

Crap! Had she really typed that? She scrolled up a bit—dammit, yes she had. Well, it wasn’t like the man didn’t already know. She was pretty sure she left scratch marks on his back after their night together. Bite marks, too.

Stop fishing for compliments and get back to your party.

He sent her a winking kissy face emoji with a heart. Lilly rolled her eyes, even if a part of her giggled in girlish glee. A ridiculous part. She needed to get a handle on this crush thing before it got out of control. Starting anything serious with Lincoln was a bad idea.

Why? She chided her inner voice for being a dope.

Lincoln made her feel far too much. He wasn’t just sexy and great in bed. He was also sweet and funny, kind and generous. He was someone she could see herself getting emotionally invested in, and that was bad. She knew all too well what happened when you emotionally invested in someone. They stomped on your heart and crushed your dreams. How many times had she held her mother as the woman sobbed over her latest disaster? How many times had the woman assured her daughter this next guy was different, the one, only to have her heart stomped on all over again?

No. Lilly knew the only successful relationship was one built on mutual understanding, compromise, and commonality. Sure, she wanted to like her future husband, but all that passionate-emotional-love stuff wouldn’t do. Not for her.

I don’t have to love him to have sex with him again.

An interesting thought. One she shouldn’t be entertaining but was. Blame it on the lateness of the evening, the loneliness she’d been feeling recently, or the memory of how exquisite he made her feel in bed. She could blame it on the full moon—that wouldn’t occur for another week—but in the end, it was only a thought. One she knew she couldn’t act on while he was a member of one of her wedding parties.

So why was she picking up her phone as she lay in bed? Bringing up their text exchange as the darkness of the night surrounded her? Sending him a text well after midnight when any normal person would be sleeping soundly?

You get home safe?

There. She was simply checking on him. Making sure he and the others got home safe. She waited, the glow of the tiny screen illuminating nothing but her hand in the dark room.

Home safe and sound with my stereo at full blast.

What an odd tidbit to include. Had they brought the party home to Lincoln’s place? She really shouldn’t ask. He’d made it home safe. That’s all she texted to say. But…

Still partying?

No. I live below Kenneth and Marie, and let’s just say the happy couple is very happy and very loud.

She laughed. Poor Lincoln. She, Mo, and Pru made a pact that all nookie would be held at the other party’s house or when roommates were not around.

Poor you. Can I do anything to distract you?

You can tell me what you’re wearing.

She hesitated, working through a checklist in her mind. She couldn’t get involved with Lincoln, not while he was technically part of her clientele. But then again, she had gotten involved with him. On the other hand, she hadn’t known he was the best man of her current wedding, so no one could fault her, and Marie seemed more than okay with her and Lincoln being together…ugh! Her head was hurting trying to sort all this out.

Bottom line, she couldn’t be physically involved with him while facilitating this wedding. But technically, there was no physicality in what they were currently doing. A few words on a screen wasn’t physical. Heck, it wasn’t even vocal. It was simply…words.

I’m kidding, Lilly.

She bit her lip, mind made up as she hurried to text him back before he turned off his phone and went to bed.

A nightshirt and panties.

There was a pause before those three tiny dots appeared, followed by the words, What color panties?

She laughed. Such a guy. She quickly typed back.

Black boy shorts. What are you wearing?

Don’t you remember? I sleep in the buff.

She did remember that, but she hadn’t realized it was an everyday occurrence for him. Another text from Lincoln appeared.

I wish I was there with you.

She licked her lips, boldness rising with each word she typed out.

What would you do?

First I’d kiss you until you couldn’t breathe.

She was having a hard time with that already.

Then I’d slowly strip your nightshirt off and work my way down to your amazing breasts. Giving each one the worship it deserves with my mouth.

Her nipples tightened, memories of Lincoln doing just that during their night together filling her mind. She remembered how soft his mouth was, the sharp sting of the tiny love bites he gave, the heavy ache that settled between her legs. It was there now, just from a few words and a memory.

Another line of text appeared.

I’d slowly work my way down your body, peeling those sexy panties off you so I could place my mouth on the heaven between your legs and taste your sweetness again.

A moan left her lips as she slipped her hand into her panties, stroking herself, wishing it was Lincoln there instead of her own hand.

Are you touching yourself, sweetheart?

One hand tending to her business, she texted with a single thumb. A bit awkward, but she managed.

Yes.

Good. The dots reappeared for a moment before more words came through. Imagine it’s me, touching you, pleasing you, filling you.

She didn’t have to imagine. She remembered. In vivid detail. He might think she’d forgotten or shrugged off that night, but it was always there in the back of her mind, screaming at her for more. More Lincoln.

Touch yourself, Lincoln, she typed out. Pretend it’s me wrapped around your cock.

With pleasure.

She continued to stroke herself, imagining it was Lincoln quickening her breath, raising her heartbeat. Another line of text appeared.

Damn, sweetheart, you set me off even when I can’t see or hear you. Just the thought of you, the memory has me close to exploding.

Fair enough. She was so close to the edge right now, all she had to do was imagine his sexy smile and she’d be done. Quickening her strokes, she texted back.

Do it. Come with me, Lincoln.

Yes, Lilly.

With those simple two words, an affirmation and her name, Lilly cried out, her body tightening with her release, pleasure exploding from deep within as she lay in bed alone but not truly alone. The words of the man she couldn’t get out of her mind flying from his small screen to hers. A part of him with her, though they were halfway across the city.

I have a confession, she texted. I’ve never sexted before.

She waited, a small amount of embarrassment now filling her at the brazenness of the act. His reply sent a whoosh of relief through her.

Neither have I, but I gotta say, it was hot as hell. You’re hot as hell.

She laughed, deciding not to worry about what had just happened. It was just phone sex. Not even that, really. Text sex. That didn’t break her rule. Everything was fine.

Thank you. Right back at you.

He sent her a winking emoji followed by the heart-eyes face. With a shake of her head, she decided to send the exact same combo back.

Good night, Lincoln.

Good night, Lilly.

Placing her phone on the nightstand, she settled against her pillow, sleep coming easy now that her body was sated. Tomorrow she might see deeper consequences to what occurred tonight, but for now she was going to slip off to sleep and enjoy the sweet dreams of a man who made her laugh, smile, and lose herself with nothing but a few typed words.