Introduction
Tiff hates her job, where her boss tears her down every chance he gets. Her mother always has something to say about how she lives her life. Running is her escape from her constant anxiety, until four hot landscapers howl at her from the side of the road and disrupt her only peace.
Leon, Jace, Quinn and Eli insist that she smells wonderful, and all four of them are inexplicably drawn to her... and they’re more than happy to share. Can Tiff really date more than one guy at a time?
But the brothers are hiding something, something big. Even worse, Tiff’s boss is meddling in dangerous business, and dragging her in along with him. What will she do when everyone’s secrets come to light?
Chapter 1
“Ms. Dockett, where’s my coffee?”
My head jerks up at the sound of Mr. Bosley’s irritated voice floating out from his office.
Shit. I completely forgot to stop at the coffee shop on my way into work today. My mind was on tonight’s dinner with Mom—specifically, how much I’m dreading it.
“It’s coming, Mr. Bosley,” I say as I hop out of my chair and grab my purse. He doesn’t have any meetings for twenty minutes, which should be enough time for me to run there and back.
“My coffee is supposed to be on my desk when I come in,” he growls, still not leaving his office.
“I promise I’ll have it soon!”
I sprint out the front door, hop into my car, and drive recklessly to the coffee shop. The line is long at the drive-thru, so I park and run inside instead. It’s busy this time of morning, and I stand there tapping my foot much too fast while the barista works. Then I’ve got the caramel crunch latte in my hand and I’m speeding back to the office.
I manage to get the cup onto Mr. Bosley’s desk moments before his first appointment is due to walk in. Mr. Bosley scowls at me as I leave. Back at my desk, I’m patting down my ruffled hair and straightening my skirt as a visitor enters.
“He’s expecting you,” I tell the woman, who looks even younger than I am, wearing a skintight dress with hair piled on top of her head in a severe bun.
She doesn’t even glance at me as she walks into Mr. Bosley’s office and closes the door. I sit back in my chair, breathing hard, trying to shake out my trembling hands. Sometimes this job makes me want to cry.
Actually, it does. Often.
I take a few calming breaths. Remember, you have health insurance and a steady paycheck. I can tolerate Mr. Bosley’s shit if it means I can afford food and rent. I just have to squeeze myself down small and do what he wants, and maybe someday I’ll get it all right.
Finally, when I feel composed again, the phone rings.
“Orland Bosley’s office,” I answer, pulling out a pad of paper and gripping my pen tight to still my shaking hand. “How can I help you?”
***
I only have a few minutes at home to clean up before meeting Mom for dinner at Red Robin. We try to see each other weekly, just to “catch up.” Usually it’s an hour or two of my mother telling me all the things she thinks are wrong with me and how she would fix them if she could just be me for a day. Then I receive a nice, thorough summary of all her work and friend drama, until my liquefied brain is nearly spilling out of my ears.
These weekly dinners are just another reminder that I don’t fit in this world, that I’m unacceptable the way I am.
When Mom and I sit down at a booth at the restaurant, I can already hear the words coming out of her mouth before she says them.
“How’s that diet going?” she asks predictably, surveying the menu.
She’s such a hypocrite, inviting me out for burgers and shakes while insisting I’m on a diet I never once expressed interest in. These days I’ve learned to wear baggy clothes around her so she won’t remark on how tight they are, how they show off too much of my big boobs, how my rounded tummy or my thick thighs are too pronounced.
“It’s not?” I don’t even look at the menu because I plan on ordering the bacon burger with barbecue sauce and fried onions.
“And what about the exercise plan?”
Again, a plan that doesn’t exist. I already jog every single morning and go hiking on the weekends. I’ve invited her along on hikes before, but she has no interest in “tromping through the woods.” I don’t even do it to lose weight—I just like the clarity of mind it gives me, how focusing on the steady beat of my feet and the thrum of my heart centers me in a world that’s so noisy and demanding. Plus, I have killer thighs.
“There is no ‘plan,’” I say evenly. “I’m just living my life, okay?”
My mom only sees me as a college dropout. And maybe she’s onto something, because it’s not like I’ve done much since I realized higher education wasn’t for me. I’m just not a book-learner, as hard as I try. I need to be on my feet, picking things up as I go. When I told her I wasn’t going back to college, Mom said I’d just end up working for someone higher up the food chain, doing their bidding like a dog.
She was absolutely right, of course, and she loves to hold that over my head.
Mom sighs like she’s running out of patience.
“You need to make a change,” she declares, setting the menu down. “You’re just a lackey for that Chad Bosley or whatever his name is. And you’re still single!”
I can’t even hold her gaze as she says this. Yeah, I am single. So what? I don’t need someone else’s validation to know my life is worth living.
I don’t say any of these things to my mom, of course.
“Yep,” I say, hoping the waiter will stop by soon. “That’s all true.”
“Aren’t you going to do something about it?” Mom asks, clearly annoyed that I’ve dodged her pointed insults.
I gave up on online dating a long time ago. I did my best to represent myself accurately in my photos, to be open and interesting in my profiles, but guys would still walk into the bar, see me waiting and turn right around. The ones who did show up—who did stick around—usually only wanted one thing: a hookup with a big-titty girl.
“No, I’m just going on like usual, Mom,” I say, turning my gaze on her. “And I’m doing fine.”
She lets out an impatient breath. It always goes this way: she aims barbs at me, and I do my best not to let them under my skin. But sometimes the burn gets so intense that I want to scream, to snap and let her know just how much it aches.
At last, the waiter arrives, and I ask Mom about her work instead. She can go on and on about her coworker gossip, and sure enough, once I open the floodgates, I spend the rest of the meal learning all about how Paula from accounting is sleeping around with the sales guys.
I’m mentally exhausted by the time I get back to my apartment. I drop my purse onto the floor and stumble to the couch, then flick on the television to watch something mindless before bed.
Despite what I said, there are times I wish I could come home to someone, a person who would kiss away all my mother baggage, all my anxiety about Mr. Bosley, and take me off to bed. But that person hasn’t appeared yet, and I doubt they will anytime soon. Not when this world doesn’t fit me. Not while it demands so much, while never truly letting me belong. No matter how hard I try, I just can’t seem to mold myself into a shape that’s acceptable to other people, not to my mother or Mr. Bosley. And I know it means I’ll be alone, maybe forever.
But I’d rather be alone than force myself to become someone I’m not.
***
Every morning before heading to work, I go on a two-mile jog to try to stuff down all my burgeoning uneasiness about the day ahead. What will Mr. Bosley have to say today to tear me down? Where will I fall short of his expectations again?
That’s what the run is for. I can forget, just for half an hour, that I’m a pig headed off to slaughter.
There’s a nice neighborhood up the street from my apartment where I like to run along the sidewalks toward the park. Rich people live on well-manicured streets in big, three-story houses with sprawling green lawns. Some even have automatic gates blocking their driveways, or big hedges to keep the riffraff out. Whenever I jog past the gated house with the big stone lions posted outside like sentries, I give them a friendly nod. I try to spot the koi fish in the pond someone put in their front yard. At a few homes, harried families load their kids into big SUVs, trying to get to work on time. I feel comfortable jogging here in my shorts and tight sports bra because nobody takes a second look at me. They’re too preoccupied with their own lives.
It’s hot out, even this early, so I feel bad when I spot a crew truck in front of a house, the workers already digging in the dirt. The side of the truck reads LUPINE LANDSCAPING, and there’s a wolf’s head in the logo. Four guys are hard at work in the front yard, making huge holes in perfectly good grass to put in who knows what there instead. Maybe another pond.
I slow down as I pass, because two of them already have their shirts off and it’s only eight in the morning. And boy, they are not difficult to look at. All four are tanned from working out in the sun all day, and the two shirtless ones—a tall guy and a guy with a baseball cap—are built like tractors. Then I see why when one of them goes to the truck to lift a bag of cement like it weighs nothing. The man’s biceps flex as he hefts it over his shoulder, and then when he bends down to drop it... my eyes are drawn to his ass where it strains his jeans.
I think it might very well be the nicest ass I’ve ever seen.
A gentle wind blows past me, pulling some of my hair free from my ponytail. As I reach up to retie it, the four men freeze. Their eyes shift toward me, their heads turning as if all of them are tied to a single puppet string.
Fuck. The last thing I need is four hotties jeering at me. That’s why I stay in this neighborhood—there’s less chance of strangers seeing me and deciding I need to hear their opinions about my body.
I turn and jog away as fast as I can, because after meeting with Mom last night, I don’t know if I can handle any more rejection. But as I book it in my squeaky sneakers, I hear a sound from behind me.
“Awoo!”
I glance over my shoulder to find all four of them calling out the same way. “Awoo! Awoo!”
What the fuck? My brain shorts out for a second. They’re howling? Who does that?
Oh, I get it. They’re teasing me. Mocking me.
My face burning, I run away as fast as I can, their howls echoing in the air behind me.
I still haven’t recovered from my run-in with the landscaping crew when I make it back home. My legs are trembling, and whether it’s from how hard I pushed them or from my anxiety, I don’t know.
I hop in the shower, change quickly and head off to work, still thinking about their huge, shirtless bodies, complete with curly, dark hair. They weren’t bus stop advertisement models. They were men.
My chest constricts. I’ve never had someone howl at me before, but leave it to the opposite sex to get creative about being shitty. Tomorrow, I’m going to find a different route. Who knows how long they’ll be there, working on that yard project? I’ll just avoid it until I’m sure they’re finished.
When I get to the office, Mr. Bosley is exceptionally irritated, though I did remember to pick up his coffee on my way into work. Around lunchtime, he comes out of his office, his cheeks red with fury.
“Did you take a call yesterday from Archie West?” he demands.
I blink. “No. No one by that name called.”
“He says he did, but no one answered. Where were you?”
I was at my desk all day, even during lunch. I usually pack some leftovers or order in so I don’t have to leave the phone, because Mr. Bosley despises it when I miss a call, even on my lunch break.
“I was here,” I answer meekly. Archie West must be lying, but there’s no way I can tell my boss that. “I promise, I was here for the entire day, and I checked voicemail as soon as I came in.”
Mr. Bosley sniffs the air like he’ll be able to smell my dishonesty, and I doubt myself. Did I walk away from the desk yesterday? I suppose I did use the restroom, once in the morning and once in the afternoon, but I didn’t see any missed calls.
“Now I have to call back and apologize,” he snaps, surveying me from top to bottom. “Your makeup is smudged. Go clean up and come back when you can look a little more professional.”
With that he returns to the office, and my face heats with shame. I must have been flustered this morning when I was getting ready for work. I run to the bathroom as fast as I can to fix it up, but when I get back to my desk, there’s a missed call: ARCHIE WEST.
“God damn it,” I whisper, ready to smash the phone into oblivion. Maybe I can still salvage this.
I quickly call back, and Archie’s assistant answers.
“I’m so sorry I missed Mr. West’s call,” I tell her frantically. “Can I connect him to Mr. Bosley right now?”
There’s a pause before she answers. “Yes. I’ll pretend the line got disconnected.”
I sigh with deep relief. “Thank you.” I announce to Mr. Bosley that Mr. West is on the line, and the assistant patches me through.
That afternoon, as badly as I have to use the restroom, I don’t leave my desk. I know it’s not healthy, but I can’t risk losing this job.
By the time it’s closing time, I snag my purse and sprint to the bathroom as fast as I can, clenching every muscle so I don’t pee myself.
I’ll have to start drinking less water, I guess.
Chapter 2
I pledged to spare myself the humiliation and avoid the landscapers, but the next morning, I’m simmering with frustration and ready to pick a fight. I may not be able to say what I really feel to Mr. Bosley, because he controls my paycheck, but I don’t owe those shirtless fuckers anything. I deserve to run wherever I want without fearing harassment. And if they howl at me again, I’ll call them out. Maybe, if I confront them, they’ll back off and shut up. Most men have big mouths but turn into weak little puppies when someone actually stands up to them.
Taking my usual route, I reach the house with the torn-up front yard and find the landscaping truck parked outside again. All four men are digging in the dirt. Once more, the tallest one is shirtless, his tanned body shining in the early morning light with sweat. In addition to the hair on his chest, today I notice he has thick, dark stubble on his chin, too.
Fuck me, he’s hot. It’s not fair that he’s also an asshole.
I focus my gaze straight ahead as I approach, maintaining my normal jogging speed. From the corner of my eye, though, I notice all four of them look up when I pass, and their mouths drop open.
Shit. Here it comes.
“Awoo!” one calls out. When I glance over, they’re all staring at me intently. Each of them howls again. “Awoo! Awoo!”
I halt as angry heat spreads from my chest into my head. How dare they? Don’t I get to exist in the world, to go for a simple jog, and not be afraid of some strangers making fun of me?
I turn around, letting that ferocity fill me up, and stalk over to them. The tallest of the landscapers smiles as I approach and drops his shovel.
“Hey!” I snap. “What the fuck is your problem?”
The grin falls from his face.
“Problem?” he asks, glancing over at the other three men with confusion. “We don’t have a problem.”
One of the other guys—shorter, with a wide, beefier chest—tips his baseball cap at me. “Well, we have one minor problem,” he chimes in with a sultry voice. “There’s a beautiful woman distracting us while we’re on a deadline.”
His gaze travels from my collar down to my waist, then my shoes and back up again. He looks almost... hungry.
I cover myself reflexively, realizing just how much of my big boobs my sports bra shows. Suddenly I feel incredibly exposed, which makes me angrier.
“You’re disgusting,” I tell him, and he flinches with surprise. “I’m out here just minding my own business, and you think it’s okay to harass me?”
The short one’s brow furrows. “I’m sorry,” he says to me, holding up his hands. “We didn’t mean to—”
“Then why the hell are you howling?” I interrupt. At the perplexed look on his face, though, my anger flags. He really doesn’t understand why I’m upset.
“Because we can smell you,” another guy says. He has a puka shell necklace hanging from his neck. “And, um... you smell incredible.”
At this, all of them nod at once, as if this is obvious.
For a moment, I don’t know what to say. They can smell me from that distance? Isn’t that worse? I sniff my armpits, and sure, I’m sweaty, but my deodorant is doing its job.
The tall one chuckles. “Not like that,” he says in a placating tone, but now all I can think about is how much I must reek.
I always take a shower after I run, but what if I smell like that in the office, too? Did I eat something I shouldn’t have? Now Mr. Bosley is going to have yet something else to jump on me about.
My breathing speeds up as I look around at their four faces. It’s horrifying that they could pick up my scent that far away. Surely they think I’m disgusting.
“I’m sorry,” says the one who’s remained silent until now. He’s skinnier than the others but just as hot, with low-hanging jeans that show off the sleek muscle winding down from his hip to his groin. “We didn’t mean to offend you, but you really do smell great.”
All of them nod in agreement. This conversation isn’t going how I expected. Here I am, surrounded by four incredibly hot guys who all seem to agree they like the way I smell.
The tall one, who has shockingly blue eyes, takes another tentative step forward. This time, though, I hold my ground. I’m not going to let these assholes intimidate me. But now, faced with someone so big, I’m breathing too fast—much too fast. The world is swimming.
“Are you all right?” he asks, leaning down to look in my face. I can barely bring air into my lungs, and my heart is racing so fast I think it might escape my chest.
“She clearly isn’t,” snaps the skinny guy. He appears at the front of the group and puts a gentle hand on my elbow. “You should sit down.” I shouldn’t be letting this strange man lead me anywhere, but all my focus is on trying to breathe. He guides me to the back of the truck, where the gate to the bed is down. “Here.”
I stumble back until I’m sitting on it, and he doesn’t let go of my hand—which I didn’t even realize he was holding. The other three guys all crowd around me, but the skinny guy waves them off.
“Give her some space,” he growls, and maybe it’s just the haze, but it sounds like a dog’s growl. “She’s having some kind of attack.”
“Asthma?” asks the younger man with the puka shell necklace.
“Heat stroke,” says the short guy in the baseball cap.
“Shut up!” The skinny one rubs the back of my hand with his thumb. “Try to take deep breaths rather than short ones, okay?”
I focus on the words. Deep rather than short. I try to bring the air all the way in, even though my throat is fighting it, and then let it back out again.
“I’m Eli,” the man says as I close my eyes, trying to focus. “And I’m right here, okay?”
Slowly my diaphragm relaxes, and I can almost breathe properly. When I look up, there are four huge, chiseled dudes hovering over me, all of them looking quite worried.
“I’m fine,” I squeak out, pulling my hand away out of the skinny guy’s grip and sliding off the truck bed. First they howled at me, and now I’m having one of those attacks in front of them. Great start to the day so far!
But they’re being so kind to me. No one has made fun of me, or told me to just get it together. Eli’s concerned face makes my heart beat faster again, but for a totally different reason.
I should probably go before anything else happens and I make an idiot of myself. When I get to my feet, the tallest guy lets out a heavy, charged breath.
“Damn,” he murmurs, almost like he’s drugged. “You really do smell good.”
“Leon,” snaps the shorter guy in the baseball cap. “You’re not helping our case.” He looks up at me. “I’m sorry about him. This doof really doesn’t know how to talk to women at all.”
“As if you do,” Leon shoots back.
“Ignore them,” Eli says. “We should have introduced ourselves properly before. We already met.”
He holds out his hand to me a second time in a more formal handshake. Against my better judgment, I reach out and accept it. Eli squeezes my fingers, and his grip is firmer than I expected. His eyes are brown, but heated and intense. Damn. He has a carved face, with broad cheekbones, a square jaw and a significant chin.
Finally, he releases me and gestures at the other two. They both have earnest, eager looks on their faces.
“That one’s Jace.” The short guy with the cap nods politely. “That’s Quinn.” The last one, with the puka necklace, gives me a wide grin. “And you met my idiot big brother, Leon.”
The tall guy with the blue eyes clasps his hands in front of him.
“It’s wonderful to meet you,” he says, without a trace of sarcasm. “I’m sorry for acting like an idiot. What’s your name?”
My mouth bobs open and closed. I think there’s a chance I misjudged these guys.
“Um,” I manage. “I’m Tiffany. Tiff for short. I hate being called Tiffany, actually.” My lack of oxygen has gone straight to my brain.
“Tiff,” Leon says, letting the word slide off his tongue. God, even the way he says my name is hot. “I’d like to apologize if we made you feel self-conscious. We just...”
“Are you seeing anyone?” The younger-looking one named Quinn interjects, stepping out in front of Leon. “Would you be interested in going on a date with me?”
I gape at him. What on earth? That came out of nowhere.
Then a creeping anger comes over me. Is that what this all boils down to after all? They just want a piece of ass?
I take a step back and put my hands up. “No. Absolutely not.” I give all four of them a dark look. They were never worried about me. They just see me as meat. “I have to get to work.”
Leon elbows Quinn hard in the side. “Asshole. You’re scaring her off.”
“You shouldn’t move so soon after—” Eli begins, trying to stop me from leaving.
I shove him away, furious. I don’t wait around for anything else to happen before I turn on my heel and take off at a jog back toward home, running much faster than my usual speed.
“Tiff!” one of the men calls to me. As gorgeous as they are, now I know that they’re also total creeps.
They don’t come after me as I head home, sweating profusely from how hard I’m pushing myself. I promise not to go down that street again tomorrow.
* * *
I’m still trembling in the shower, frantically cleaning off whatever those guys smelled on me.
I’ve had those kinds of attacks before, usually after work, thinking about things Mr. Bosley did that day or how I might disappoint him the next day. I hate the way my throat closes up so tight I can’t breathe and it feels like my heart is about to explode out of my chest.
Today might have been the first time, though, that someone has ever talked me through it. Usually I sit in the bathroom alone, desperately fighting for air as sobs wrack my body. But Eli’s hand had been so warm and comforting in mine, his voice so steady and reassuring, that I’d recovered much faster than I usually do.
I groan as I try to get my makeup right with my shaking hands. Finally, I head to the office, making sure I have enough time to stop off at the coffee shop on my way.
Mr. Bosley has nothing to say to me as I deposit it at his desk. Every once in a while, I think how nice it would be to hear a “thank you,” but there’s no chance I’d ever get that from him.
We’re placing new orders today, so I try to put all my attention on adding up wholesale costs. But I keep thinking about this morning instead.
It was so bizarre, I still feel like it was a dream. Why had all four of them looked like they were hypnotized? Am I emitting some kind of pheromone that only landscapers respond to?
Mr. Bosley can’t stand it when I’m idling for even a moment, so while he’s in the office, I try to look busy. But today he has a lunch meeting, so I finally get a moment to relax.
For the next hour, I think about asking the girls from accounting if what happened was as weird as I think it was, but they probably wouldn’t believe me. You got hit on by four smokin’ hot guys at once? Now that I say it to myself, it feels like the world’s tackiest humble-brag.
I have all the numbers ready to present when Mr. Bosley comes back from his lunch meeting, but he’s absolutely infuriated and waves me off dismissively. He’s pink all over, even down his neck. “Cancel my 1:30 appointment, Ms. Dockett. I have things I need to deal with.”
“Oh, of course—” But before I can even finish talking, he slams his door closed.
I blink at air. What happened at his lunch meeting?
After postponing his appointment, I hear Mr. Bosley’s raised voice booming inside his office. He runs his own small heating and plumbing empire, the “tri-county destination for your HVAC needs.” It’s working for him, given the Tesla he drives in to work every day, but the business isn’t usually so stressful.
After obsessing all afternoon, I text my friends Hannah and Aisling to meet me for drinks—if just to get my mind off of things. They usually have interesting stories to tell about their coworkers at their tech company, one of those places that has work-sanctioned beer nights and free kombucha on tap. We exchange a few messages, and they agree to meet up at our favorite place for chicken wings and beer. Maybe this is just the thing I need.
* * *
It’s always good to see my high school friends again, even if we’ve found ourselves in very different places in life. We met when we were fourteen, and they’ve been my support network ever since.
Once our hands are all covered in hot sauce and our first round is gone, I tell them the story of the landscapers.
“Ew,” Hannah says with a grimace. “They were working on a fancy house and howled at you? What the fuck does that mean?”
Aisling rolls her eyes. “Men are so gross. It doesn’t matter where, they’re still gonna be gross.”
“Then one of them asked me out,” I say. “And I knew what they wanted.”
My friends cringe at the same time.
“Disgusting,” Hannah says. “Can’t even leave a girl alone to exercise.”
Then we spend the rest of the night talking about all the nasty things men have done to us over the years. We’ve all given up on online dating. The last time I went out with someone, it was with Chris. He’d acted so sweet on our first date and was fabulous at pretending to care about my life. At the end of the night, we hooked up, and he didn’t even attempt to make me orgasm. Once he was finished, he put all his clothes back on and left my apartment before I could even get his number.
“They just want the T-and-A,” says Hannah, scowling. “One and done. Assholes.”
When it starts to get late, Aisling and Hannah say goodnight, but I decide to stick around for another drink and take an Uber home. I’ll just jog back this way in the morning to get my car, and then I can avoid the landscapers. Maybe I should start running in the evening, or pick another place farther from my apartment.
I’m plotting an alternative route while I toss back my drink, when I hear a familiar voice from down the bar.
“Tiff?”
Chapter 3
I look up to find one of the landscapers sitting at a bar stool, a foaming beer in his hand. It’s Jace, the short one with the baseball cap. Well, shorter than the others, who were all fucking giants. He’s got a shirt on this time, thankfully, not that it’s doing anything to disguise how his bulky chest stretches the fabric to its limits.
“Damn it,” I mutter. I just spent my day trying to forget about these dudes, and now there’s one sitting here next to me. “Seriously? I can’t get rid of you.”
I get up out of my seat, ready to go find a new table elsewhere. I don’t need one of these creeps making a move on me right now. Maybe this is my sign I should’ve gone home already.
“Shit, I’m sorry,” Jace says, standing up and grabbing his beer. He looks deeply apologetic as he backs away. “My bad. I didn’t even see you there until I sat down.” He gestures to the big restaurant behind him. “I’ll go find another place to sit.”
Jace adjusts his baseball cap to hide his eyes and walks away.
Great. Now I feel like a dickhead. This is a neighborhood bar, and he has every right to be here, too.
“Wait,” I call out. Jace pauses, then glances back at me, a tiny spark of hope on his face. “We can both sit at the bar. It’s not like I own it.”
He hovers uncertainly, like he’s trying to be polite by leaving but actually wants to sit.
“It’s fine,” I reiterate. If I’m uncomfortable, I can always go myself.
Finally, he acquiesces and returns to the bar top. As I take a sip of beer, Jace obediently keeps his own eyes straight ahead and doesn’t try to talk to me. He flips over the menu in his hands like he’s not really reading it.
The guy seems nice, if a little awkward. It’s endearing, actually, how much he’s trying to give me space.
Maybe I was too hard on them today.
“Hey,” I say eventually. Startled, Jace turns to me. “You seem, um, normal. Normal-ish. So maybe you can explain to me what happened this morning?”
His dark eyes are wide and bright, like I’ve made his day just by talking to him.
“Oh, yeah! I can try to explain, anyway.” He runs a hand through his hair. “We didn’t realize we were being creeps until you called us out. And Quinn’s the youngest, so he’s impulsive. He didn’t mean anything bad by it.”
“The youngest?” I ask. “Like the youngest guy at your company?”
Jace blinks. “Company? No. The youngest of the brothers.” He taps his chest. “I’m the second oldest. Leon’s the oldest. Eli is right below me, and Quinn is the baby.” With a snort, he adds, “And he acts like it.”
Suddenly, so much more makes sense. They look alike because all four of them are brothers. “So it’s a family business?” I ask, sipping the last of my drink.
“Yeah. We inherited it from our dad when he retired. I’m almost positive my parents had four sons on purpose so he wouldn’t have to keep hiring out for more guys.”
I chuckle at this. Maybe these brothers aren’t so bad. Just... very odd. “So do the four of you, uh, ever interact with women?”
Jace snorts. “Honestly, it’s a fair question after today.” He tilts his head and frowns apologetically. “I’m really, really sorry. I know that doesn’t change things, but I promise, I didn’t mean to be an asshole.”
I arch an eyebrow at him. “You could have just said hello instead of, I don’t know. Howling.” Not to mention all that weird shit about me smelling good.
Jace abruptly straightens, then holds out his hand.
“Hello,” he says. “I’m Jace. It’s good to meet you the way normal people meet each other.”
His expression is very serious, so I take his hand and shake it.
“Hi.” I try to hold in a laugh. “I’m Tiff.”
“Hi, Tiff.” Jace releases me but slides his fingers through mine on the way. “Can I buy you your next beer?”
I finally let out my giggle, because he’s making a sweet attempt. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to talk to him more. Jace is easy to look at, and I like his good humor so far. “All right. I’ll allow it.”
Jace calls over the bartender and I tell her what I want. While it’s being poured, Jace gives me his full attention.
“So, tell me everything,” he says. “I want to know who Tiff is.”
* * *
I appreciate that Jace doesn’t ask about the panic attack I had in the back of the Lupine Landscaping truck. We have a surprisingly comfortable chat about our parents and where we grew up. My childhood was very uninteresting, until Dad suddenly moved across the country to live with some woman he’d met online. Oh, and I was bullied in school for being on the bigger side, but I don’t tell him that part.
It sounds like Jace and his brothers come from a pretty average home. They broke a lot of stuff growing up, and they shared two bedrooms among them.
“Not to mention all of our toys, all of our clothes,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Poor Quinn always got the clothes last, and by then they were a mess.”
“It’s cute that you guys shared, though.”
Jace hums thoughtfully as he sips his beer. “What about your job?” he asks after a while. “What do you do for work, Tiff?”
It’s such a benign question, but it disrupts all the happy feelings I’d been having just chatting with him.
“I’m an assistant,” I say, trying to hide my resentment. “Personal assistant. I manage some guy’s appointments. Answer the phone. Bring him coffee. Take care of his finances.” I can’t help but laugh bitterly. “Everything you can think of, I do it.”
Jace is quiet at this. I know my job is boring, but he could at least pretend it’s not.
“Sounds like you don’t particularly love it,” he finally says. His dark eyes are inquisitive, not judgmental. I take another long sip of my beer. It’s my fourth one, so the alcohol’s starting to go to my head. Maybe that’s why I let the truth slip out.
“I hate it,” I admit. “I go home every day and wish I could quit. Then maybe pour some gasoline into Mr. Bosley’s coffee on my way out.”
Jace laughs in the middle of taking a drink and chokes on it. After a few coughs, he smiles at me. “You should quit, then.”
“I wish, but I don’t have a choice. I’m doing the only thing I’m good at: filing, keeping things organized, tracking vendors—you know, boring stuff.”
“Those are all pretty useful skills,” Jace says, brow furrowing. “You should see how we run our office. It’s a fucking disaster. None of us has any idea about filing or billing or whatever. We do everything in cash.”
My eyes bulge out of my head. “Do you record your payments? Are you even paying taxes on them?”
He looks at me blankly. Oh, no.
“This is what I’m saying,” Jace goes on. “People like you, who know how to run things, are really valuable.” He offers me a sympathetic smile. “I’m sorry you feel that way about your job.”
I shrug. “That’s life. I didn’t have these, um, attacks, until I started working for Mr. Bosley.”
I shiver at exposing this part of myself to a relative stranger. But talking with Jace tonight, well, he doesn’t feel like one.
“Like this morning?” There’s a dark frown on his face. “That’s messed up, Tiff. You shouldn’t have to feel that way about a job.”
I pull my shoulders protectively up to my neck. It’s not like I have a choice in the matter. I have no education, like Mom is always reminding me, and I get good healthcare. So I steer the conversation back to the landscaping company and ask Jace how he likes working outside all day.
“I love it,” he confesses. “The fresh air, the sun and the sweat? I could never function in an office.”
I have to admit the rest of my evening is enjoyable, and I stay much too late at the bar getting to know Jace better. He’s never inappropriate—not even his hand wanders when I pick up my purse and move to the barstool next to him.
Strangely, though, I wish he would make a move. He’s thick and stocky, like he could pick me up without trying too hard. His dark hair has a cute wave to it. When the bartender tells us it’s last call, Jace pays the bill, even for my wings earlier.
“It’s the least I can do for the way we all treated you. Plus, that job on Work Street is paying well enough.”
A warm feeling bubbles up inside me. “Thank you.”
When we get up, I almost expect him to invite me back to his place. Would I want that if he did?
I call an Uber, and Jace insists on waiting with me for it to show up. I think I like him. I think I’m disappointed he didn’t try to do more tonight. But maybe he’s not interested in me like that, and this was just a very kind apology.
Still, I can’t help but feel there’s more to it. Am I imagining that electric energy between us, something that feels bigger than just politeness?
The Uber finally pulls up, but I signal to the driver to hold on. I want to know if Jace is vibing with me the way I am with him.
“Jace?” I ask.
A grin lights up his face. “Yeah?”
“Do you want to, um... do this again?”
He has a hopeful look that reminds me of a puppy. “Yes! I mean, yes, if you do.” He takes my hand in his. “Tiff, would you go out on a date with me?”
A pulse of excitement radiates out from the place he’s holding my hand. “I would love to.”
There’s plenty of beer coursing through my veins right now, so I don’t think twice before I rise on my toes and kiss him. I probably should have asked first, but it suddenly doesn’t seem like a problem when Jace wraps his arms fiercely around my waist, pulling me against him.
He doesn’t try to stick his tongue down my throat like the last guy I went out with. Instead, he tastes my lower lip, taunting it, savoring it. His thick body, with that strong chest and taut belly, presses against mine, and it triggers a mountain of filthy thoughts. I wonder what he would feel like without clothes between us?
His hand travels down my back, pausing just above my ass, and I wish he’d venture even lower. Heat bubbles up inside me, ready to boil over the top. It feels like both forever and only a second passes before he pulls away. I’m breathing heavily, and I can feel the impatience rolling off my Uber driver.
Eventually, I slide into the car, but Jace takes out his phone.
“Number?” he asks. I hastily list it off to him through the open window, and he gives me his before the car drives off.
* * *
When I finally make it home, my whole body is buzzing. That was only a taste, a hint, of what could happen between us, and I’m intoxicated by the idea of what might happen next. I’d love to breathe in even more of that wonderful scent of his, to feel those hands wander over the rest of my body.
I wonder whether he’ll make an advance next time we go out. Would a guy as sweet, sexy, and smart as Jace want to go all the way with me?
By the time I get in bed, I can’t think about anything but Jace shirtless and sweating under the morning sun. I wonder what it would be like if he were on top of me, how his bare skin would feel under my hands. If his kiss was any indication, he knows what to do with his mouth and tongue—and that triggers even filthier daydreams. I imagine his lips wrapped around my nipple or, even better, around my clit.
My hips rock at the thought, and I know what I have to do if I’m going to get any sleep tonight. When I pull out my vibrator, I imagine the long shaft is Jace’s instead. What would his cock look like? While picturing him kneeling between my legs, I lube up the vibrator and gently work it through my swollen, wet folds. All it takes is closing my eyes to see Jace there, sliding inside me.
I’m halfway to my orgasm before I can blink, ripples of pleasure echoing across my body. In my fantasy, Jace leans down to kiss me, just like he did tonight. I push the vibrator deeper and stroke it in and out, just like I imagine Jace would fuck me. But where the toy is hard and unforgiving, he would be soft and thick in all the right ways.
Fuck. All my muscles go tight as a drawn string as I climb higher and higher until finally, I break. I’m glad I have my apartment to myself as I can’t hold in a sharp cry. This is better than any orgasm I’ve had in a long time.
I withdraw the vibrator, panting, and lie there boneless for a good few minutes. Jeez, I only kissed Jace and I’m already thinking about him like this? I’m hopeless. And maybe desperate.
Feeling a shadow of shame that I just masturbated while thinking about a guy I barely know, I clean the toy in the sink and put it away, then climb into bed, wondering what it would feel like to curl up next to him under the blankets after he fucked me silly.
I hope I get to find out.