August
"Hello." I balance my phone between my ear and shoulder and step into a pair of killer black heels.
"Hey, hold on a sec," Garrett says. "I need a number four with a Sprite, a number two with a Coke, and a hamburger Happy Meal with apples and apple juice."
"Pull around to the first window for your total," a voice says in the background.
"Sorry," my brother says to me.
"Don't let Mom find out you're feeding Maggie McDonald's," I say. "She will disown you."
"Then don't tell her. Fast Food Fridays are our favorite night of the week. You should come some time. We watch movies, pig out, fall asleep by nine…"
"Sounds exciting."
"It is." He laughs and tells me to hang on again so he can pay for their food and be on his way. "Listen," he says, pulling out into traffic. "Mom is already driving me nuts about your birthday next month. What day is good for you?"
"Ugh," I say. "What is she doing?"
"Nothing big," he says. "Just family."
"You promise?"
"Promise."
"Let me check my calendar, and I'll let you know."
"Sounds like a plan," he says. "You know you're welcome to get some fast food and watch Moana with us tonight if you want…"
"Can't," I say. "Tonight's the charity auction for the afterschool arts program. I want to make sure everything goes smoothly."
"Well, don't forget to text me," he says. "Love you."
"You, too."
I end the call and do a quick touchup on my makeup before hitting the door. The halls are empty and there's no wait for the elevator. Most of my neighbors started their Friday nights by not coming home at all. The ground floor is busier and a loud hum carries through the lobby.
People in various stages of Memphian scatter between the entrance and the hall that leads to Atrium 3. The bougie rich mingle with the artists, musicians, and thespians that pieced this initiative together to bring a touch of the arts to the afterschool programs in the city.
This has been on the books for months, and one of my favorite local bands is playing. I enjoy working with them almost as much as hearing them play. They handpicked their own opening act this time, instead of asking for recommendations from my team.
I'm intentionally late to the party and thrilled to find a seemingly happy room full of people. The dancefloor is crowded and people move freely around the tables that line the perimeter of the room and host the items up for bid tonight.
My assistant Marcus spots me immediately and makes his way over. "Well?" he asks, looking around the room with a wide smile on his face.
"Perfect," I say.
He flags down the nearest server and steals a glass of champagne. "Enjoy," he says, presenting it to me with a flourish.
I take it from him and glance around.
At the back of the room, on a small stage, a lone singer named Zafrina Smart cradles a mic and covers a B.B. song with the members of the man himself's old band sitting a few feet away from her in the audience.
Only in Memphis.
I smile and sway a little to the music.
Her band's amazing. Not bad at all, until I hone in on the piano player.
Well, well… if it isn't the funcle. My eyes narrow. Against my better judgement, I move closer and take an empty seat at the table closest to Edward's position on stage. There's an unobstructed view of his back and the muscles moving beneath his black dress shirt as he plays. Occasionally, his long, slender fingers caress keys at either end and his hands are just as perfect as the rest of him. His jaw is clean shaven and sharp when his head turns to examine the audience.
I finish my champagne and wave for another.
Zafrina wows the audience with a stunning final note held long enough for the applause to begin before she's even finished. I clap with everyone else she's enamored for the last half hour. The couples on the dancefloor respectfully request an encore. Ever gracious, she complies. The happy hum of appreciation spreads through the room like wildfire.
Zafrina covers her mic, leans over to the guitar player standing next to her, and whispers something. The guitar player walks over to Edward first. She rests a hand on the back of his neck and whispers in his ear. My lips press together, and my shoulders tense. But then he grins and nods, and my mouth curves, too.
The drummer taps out a beat with his hands. Edward joins him, patting the top of the wooden piano in time. Smiles break out across the room the second before Zafrina steps up to the mic and grinds out, "I can't stand the rain against my window…"
Bodies move. Even mine, in my seat. She demands it. Her band demands it. And in the middle of it all, Edward is having a blast swaying in his seat and playing his heart out.
Downing the second champagne does nothing to quell the heady combination of music and alcohol spreading through my veins and warming my limbs. It always starts in my knees.
When they take their final bows, Edward does a double take the moment he notices me in the crowd. A wide smile spreads slowly across his face, and he heads straight for my table.
"Hey," he says, breathless and flushed. "I'd wondered if you might be here."
"Tonight's kind of a big deal. I had to pop in and make sure things are going smoothly." I wave at the empty chair next to me. "Zafrina was amazing."
He finds her across the room and nods before taking the seat I offered. "I love playing with her and Siobhan. It's always a good time."
I take another champagne when a server walks by and stop him with a hand to the elbow. "Will you bring my friend a…" I pause, giving Edward a chance to respond.
"Broke Brothers."
"Sure," he says. "Be right back."
"Gotta support the family business," Edward says with a grin and shrug. "I thought you were working." He stares at the flute in my hand.
"I'm always working." I shrug. "But I'm not here in an official capacity tonight. I love Ornamental Blue, and I'm more than a little curious about the auction items."
The server returns with a bottle of my brother's finest lager, as promised.
Edward takes it from him and reaches for his wallet. I touch his arm and shake my head. "It's on the house," I say. I look over my shoulder at the tables lining the back of the room with auction items.
Edward stands and holds out a hand to me. "Let's go see what all the fuss is about."
His palm is fire against my skin and when I stand, I'm no longer sure it's the alcohol affecting my knees. Once I'm steadied, he leads the way over to the nearest table. Several local restaurants offered "date night" packages – dinner for two, drinks and dessert included. There are tickets for Playhouse on the Square, the Orpheum, and the Children's Museum.
We skip the Graceland table and skirt around the large group of people surrounding it.
"I'll have to thank Ang when I see her tomorrow," I say. "She works in PR at Graceland."
"That's where I know her from," Edward says. "I knew she looked familiar."
"Sorry?"
"Does she have a boyfriend named Ben?" he asks.
"They're married," I say. "For about a year now. How do you know them?"
"Ben and I worked together at Gibson for a while."
"Small world," I say. "When were you there?"
"Most of college, actually."
"I thought you worked at Buster's when you were in college."
He nods. "I did."
"What do you do, now?" I ask. "You have five jobs, right?"
The corner of his mouth turns up in amusement. "Three, but I'm good at all of them, so…" He lifts his beer for a drink, and I stare. At his fingers…his hands…the muscles in his neck as he swallows…"I'm a sound engineer at Sun Studios," he says.
"Wow."
"Yeah, I figured you'd consider that one a real job."
"What is that supposed to mean?"
He shrugs and looks around the room. "You're pretty easy to read."
"Well, what are your other jobs?"
"I do tours, downtown…haunted history type stuff. And I tend bar a few nights a week."
"So the band doesn't count?" I ask.
"Of course it counts, but I don't really think of it as a job."
"That's…" A dozen words float on the tip of my tongue. "A lot."
"It's fun," he says, glancing around at the suits and heels surrounding us. "All of it. I like what I do."
"The funcle," I say.
"That one's my favorite." He grins.
"Not fair, by the way." I give him a narrowed side-eye. "Giving Maggie a puppy for her birthday was not cool."
He laughs and stops short. "You don't like Sam?"
"Who's Sam?"
His brows furrow. "Maggie's puppy… Samantha."
"Oh, I didn't know she named it Samantha. And it's not that I dislike her, but really, Edward. A puppy?"
"I had permission from Garrett and Katie."
I shake my head. "How do the rest of us compete with that?"
He leans forward until his lips are almost touching my ear. "You can't," he says.
I push him away and he laughs again, catching my hand and holding onto it this time. We walk in silence for a few moments. Ornamental Blue takes the stage and starts sound check. Heads turn across the room and the buzz of anticipation swells around us.
I turn back to the table we've paused in front of and lean in for a closer look. "Is this you?" I ask, looking back over my shoulder at Edward.
It's a Haunted Pub tour package from Alchemy Lane, a popular metaphysical shop downtown.
Edward shrugs. "If you want it to be," he says.
I take a long sip from my champagne glass and then set it on the table next to the bid sheet. I glance at Edward again, starting with the mess of bronze curls on his head and pausing at his broad shoulders before going lower. My fingers fumble with the pen until the tip of it hits paper and I scrawl my name and a $100 promise to outbid the current high of $30.
"That's a lot of money," Edward says, leaning in and letting his chest rest against my exposed shoulder.
Our cheeks are close enough to touch, and I can almost taste the Broke Bothers beer in the air between us.
"It's for a good cause," I say with a shrug.
A microphone squeals from the stage, and Tyler Crowley takes a moment to introduce himself and the rest of Ornamental Blue.
"Thank y'all for coming out tonight," he says. "Drink up and throw away some money, okay? Let's help these Memphis kids show us what they can do."
With that, the band launches into their first number – a slow, jazzy song perfect for the end of summer and a night hot enough to melt tar.
"Would you like to dance?" Edward whispers against my hair.
I swallow and nod. Because I would. But before I let him lead me onto the floor, I throw back what's left of my champagne for courage.
Edward is flirting with me. And he's no baby. That much is clear.
He's a good dancer and takes the lead without hesitation. His hands settle on my hips, and he hums along with the music. We're in our own little world, inching closer and closer together so that three songs in, our bodies are pressed tightly and my head is on his shoulder.
We stay that way for most of the night, wordless and loaded, locked in each other's arms. I lean back without pulling away and wait for him to speak after the last note has sounded and the band has said goodnight.
The champagne has long worn off, so it's definitely Edward warming me, through and through. He studies my face and lets his gaze settle on my lips. I lick them in anticipation a moment before his press against them. It's a quick, soft peck. Then his lips part and draw me in the same moment his arms tighten around me.
"Come up," I say, pulling away just long enough to get the words out.
He nods and walks us backward toward the elevator.
The harsh arrival ping is what finally knocks some sense of propriety back into us. He lets go and takes a step back but keeps a tight grip on my hand. We step in together and stand in silence, waiting for the doors to close.
The silence is even more suffocating once they do.
"This is crazy," I say.
He looks over at me and smiles. "Maybe a little."
"What are we doing?"
The elevator eases to a stop and the doors open. Edward looks at the empty hall, then at me. "Whatever you want. We can say goodnight right now and chalk it up to good booze and good music." He smiles. "It's all up to you."
"And good company," I say, squeezing his hand.
"That, too."
The elevator doors start to close, but Edward steps forward and uses his forearm and hand to trigger the automatic warning that slides them open again.
I swallow and step out. Edward hesitates until I look over my shoulder and say, "Well, are you coming or not?"
He follows me down the hall, into my apartment, and through it to my bedroom. The moment the door closes behind him, he reaches for me and pins me against it. Then he kisses me with his tongue and his teeth, and I moan against his mouth because one of his hands is running down my body, splayed between my tits along the way to tease them both. His fingers tug the hem of my dress, pulling it up so it gathers between us.
"Fuck," he whispers, mouth still on mine. He doesn't bother with a single finger, pushing his whole hand past the waistband of my underwear.
My eyes close, and I rest my head against the solid oak behind it. His lips stay busy in tandem, ghosting across my lips, down my neck, and back up to my ear. And when my poor knees finally give out the same moment I come on his fingers, those muscles in his hand hold me up as his other arm snakes around my waist.
His cheeks are pink and his eyes nearly black when I finally open mine and take in his stare. His breath is shallow and he's taut from head-to-toe. I reach up and start with the top button of his dress shirt and work my way down.
His fingers slide through my flesh in farewell as he pulls his hand from my panties. He helps with the buttons of his sleeves and tosses his shirt on the floor behind him. I lick my lips and lower the zipper of his pants, waiting to see if he'll stop me.
He doesn't, so I push them down his hips along with the waistband of his boxer briefs.
Called it.
I smile and kiss his chest, running my lips and tongue over his skin. His fingers thread in my hair, gently following my lead. His other hand goes to work on my zipper, lowering it down my back. Cool air hits my skin, so I pause to straighten and let the dress hit the floor.
He stares. Eyes me from head to toe.
"What?" I ask.
"I don't know where to start," he says.
I smile and tilt my head glancing at the soft blue comforter a few feet away. "The bed."
He lifts me up and our naked chests touch and so do our lips. He follows me down onto the king-sized pillowtop in a blur of tongue and limbs.
Edward takes his time, kissing me in places no one's even seen in more than a year. And even though it's been a while, my body reignites with the simple gift of his touch.
Hours later, I wake to The Temptations crooning the chorus of "My Girl" across the room. Two seconds later, Edward bolts upright next to me in bed.
"Shit," he whispers, untangling himself from the sheets to walk across the room.
I swallow and stare at his naked ass.
"Hey," he says. "I'm late. I know. I'm sorry." He balances the phone between his head and shoulder and works his pants and underwear up his body. "I'll be there in ten. Yes, with coffee. Promise."
He drops the phone next to his keys on my dresser and searches in the muted sunlight for his shirt. I reach down and pluck it from the floor. If he's going to run out on me, he's going to look me in the eye as he does it.
I hold the shirt and clear my throat.
He turns, smiles, and walks around the bed to sit down next to me. He takes the shirt and pulls it on. "I've got to go," he says. "Maggie and I have a standing thing every Saturday at nine. I forgot to set an alarm last night." His cheeks go pink and he leans forward to brush his lips against mine.
He lingers, rubs my naked thigh with his full palm, and runs the fingers of his other hand through the tangles in my hair. Against my better judgement, I dare a taste of him before he pulls away.
"I have to go, but I'll call you," he says, grabbing his shoes and stuffing his wallet and phone in his pockets. He gets all the way to the bedroom door and stops. "Last night was…"
It's my turn to blush. "Yeah." I nod and touch my fingers to my lips.
The memory high lasts until my apartment door slams shut a few moments later.
Then the panic sets in.
I've only ever had one other one night stand, and it happened in Italy. With a guy whose name I could barely pronounce. I've never seen him since. I never will.
"Fuck." The word echoes in my empty apartment as the reality of last night sinks in. I reach for my phone and call Angela.
"Hello?" She's post-coffee chipper and out of breath.
"Can you come up?" I ask.
"Be there in five."
I have enough time to pee, scramble into homely pajamas, and run a brush through my hair before she knocks and lets herself in. She has a reusable tray with two lidded coffee cups resting in it.
"You're up early," she says, handing over one of the tumblers.
I take a sip and wave at the couch. "We should sit," I say. "This is going to take a minute."
"You're starting to freak me out." She takes a seat next to me, anyway.
"I slept with the funcle," I say, wincing when her mouth drops open.
"You. Did. Not."
"Yeah."
"Was it fabulous? Please tell me he's not just a pretty face. That would be such a shame." My fingers fly to my lips and my cheeks heat as memories of him under me and all over me flood my mind. She giggles and nods. "I knew it," she says. "I knew he'd be good in bed."
"Ang, you're missing the point. I slept with Maggie's uncle. I slept with Garrett's brother-in-law."
She nods. "He's not really family," she says. "Not yours, anyway, so it's okay."
"It's not okay."
"He's hot as fuck and he madeyoucome?" She rushes through the last part with eyebrows raised in question.
I nod. "Twice."
She tosses her head back and groans. "Dammit."
"It doesn't matter," I say. "Last night? It didn't happen, and it definitely isn't going to happen again."
She frowns and shakes her head. "You are no fun."
She leaves soon after to meet Ben for breakfast downstairs at Global Café. Normally I'd go with her, but the events of this morning have knocked me off kilter. And that's after last night already put me on my ass.
I slept with the funcle.
The cute, funny, piano-playing funcle with perfect dimples and a mouth that set my thighs on fire. I begged him for things and whimpered when he touched me.
And now I'll have to look at him and remember it on every holiday from now until eternity.
But that's not even what's bothering me.
My bedroom still smells like sex and Edward. I almost hate to wash him from my skin so soon, but I have a few questions for my brother, so I take a quick shower and head his way.
Garrett looks surprised to see me when I knock on his front door an hour later. "What's wrong?" he asks, inviting me inside with the sweep of his arm.
"Nothing, why?"
"You're out of Crosstown, that's all." He laughs and leads the way to the kitchen. "Hungry?" he asks. "I was about to make omelets."
"Kind of late for breakfast, isn't it?"
He runs his teeth over his bottom lip. "Not on a kid-free morning," he says with a satisfied grin.
"Ew." I hold up a hand and shake my head.
"I love Maggie," he says. "But I miss my wife. It's nice to go back to bed, for sleeping and other stuff. We live for Saturdays."
"About that… Why does Edward get Maggie-time every week?" I ask. "She's my niece, too."
Garrett closes the door of the fridge, and stops dead in his tracks to stare. "Because he asks." He shrugs. "You've never asked to spend time alone with your niece. You've never taken her anywhere, and you probably have no idea what her favorite color, or show, or song is. Edward does. He knows all of those things, because he's here all the time. He picks her up from pre-school and takes her for ice cream. Edward gets Maggie time because he wants it."
"I…"
"I'm proud of you, sis. I swear to God I am so damn proud of you. You're a big fucking deal. You got the job of your dreams. You're making bank."
"But?" I ask, because it's there – hanging unspoken at the end of every sentence.
"We never see you. You spend every waking moment in that building."
"It's where I live," I say through gritted teeth, already tired of this fight.
"You're right. It's also where you work, where you go to the gym…Hell, you grocery shop, there."
"That's kind of the point of a community like mine."
"That's exactly what I mean," he says, shaking his head. "When Jake left, you stayed. When was the last time you left your building? Before today."
I swallow.
Maggie's birthday party.
"I didn't mean to interrupt your Saturday time," I say.
"Don't be mad," he says. "We've missed you, okay?"
"I'm not mad." I turn for the door before the tears can slip out, but pause with my hand on the knob. My exact petty level turns out to be ratting on the funcle. "He gives her coffee," I say over my shoulder. "Edward gives Maggie coffee."
A/N – Happy hump day. ;)
Thanks for reading! See you soon.
MSC