Page 16 of Better When Shared (Kristin Lance Anthologies #2)

Caleb

My client’s laughter filled the private corner of the hotel restaurant as we wrapped up our afternoon meeting, the conversation turning more social and casual. The marketing plan was tucked away in its leather portfolio. I'd spent the last hour convincing Marco and his wife, Juniper, that the Bindery Hotel needed a more targeted social media strategy, and it seemed like they were sold on it.

The two of them were a lot of fun, and a kind of wacky in an over-the-top way, but it fit their hotel, which was in a renovated bookbinding factory and had all these quirky, unique touches. I was here to make sure guests craved that.

Though there was a reason I’d accepted a job in Portland. I took clients in the States occasionally, but not on the West Coast, not until my boss laid the Bindery’s portfolio on my desk, and I realized that I knew someone in Portland. My mind wandered to the impending reunion that had my stomach in knots.

It had been seven years since I'd last seen Julian. Seven years of avoiding his social media, of pretending those heated nights in our shared apartment had been nothing more than college experimentation.

And after a short email exchanged, I’d learned that during those seven years, Julian had fallen in love and gotten married. So tonight, I'd meet his wife, smile politely, and bury those memories even deeper. Professional Caleb, that's who I'd be. Not the man who still woke up hard from dreams of his college roommate's hands.

I shook that thought off and focused on Juniper, who was talking to her husband about something.

"I love it,"

Juniper was saying, tapping her nails against my proposal.

"That idea for the typewriter video series? Guests will eat that shit up."

Marco nodded, his smile warming his face.

"My wife has excellent instincts about these things. If she's excited, we're golden."

Juniper shot him a playful wink.

"Remember when I told you to buy that 1920s letterpress for the lobby? Instagram catnip."

The two of them were a little chaotic, but I enjoyed their banter and humor—in fact, if I could just keep them on track, they’d be some of my favorite clients.

"How could I forget?"

Marco turned back to me, extending his hand.

"You've done excellent work, Caleb. We'll implement your plan starting next week. And we promise to do a better job of sticking with it this time."

I shook his hand, appreciating the firm grip.

"Thank you for trusting my vision. The Bindery is a special property—you guys have worked wonders with the renovation. It deserves more attention than it's getting, and we’re here to help you with that."

"And more paying guests,"

Juniper added with a laugh, already standing and gathering her things. She adjusted the colorful wrap dress that complemented her light brown skin and wild curls.

"We should let you enjoy your dinner in peace. You have friends in Portland?"

"It’s my old college roommate and his wife,"

I replied, hoping my voice sounded neutral.

"Haven't seen him in years, but I knew he was in Portland, so I looked him up once we signed the contracts on this job."

"Well, Chef's doing the halibut special tonight—it's fucking transcendent,"

Juniper offered.

"And if Paulo's behind the bar, tell him to make you his mezcal negroni. It'll change your life."

Marco beamed at his wife.

"She's not wrong about the negroni."

He wrapped an arm around Juniper's waist.

"We'll leave you to it. Looking forward to your follow-up visit next month."

As they walked away, I sank back into the curved leather booth, alone with my thoughts for the moment. The restaurant maintained the literary theme of the hotel with bookcases along the walls and menus designed to look like vintage book covers.

I checked my watch—Julian would arrive any minute. My stomach twisted with a complicated blend of nostalgia, anxiety, and something darker and hungrier that I refused to name. Would I even recognize him? Would he have gone soft around the middle, lost that sharp jawline I used to watch while he fucked women we shared?

The waiter appeared with a fresh glass of water, breaking my dangerous train of thought.

While I waited, I pulled out my phone, scrolling absently through emails I'd already read. Anything to distract myself from memories better left buried.

That's when I felt it—that peculiar prickling awareness that makes the hairs on your neck stand up. I glanced toward the restaurant entrance, and there he was, scanning the room.

Julian Brooks.

I’d hoped to discover he’d not aged well, but, if anything, he looked better than he had at twenty-two. His lanky frame had filled out with lean muscle, shoulders broader under a tailored navy button-down. His rectangular glasses—stylish now, not the nerdy frames from college—somehow enhanced his angular features rather than hiding them.

My mouth went dry. Seven years evaporated like morning mist.

He spotted me, his face lighting with recognition. I stood on autopilot, my body remembering protocols my brain was too busy short-circuiting to recall. And then I noticed the woman beside him—petite, South Asian, curved in all the right places, with glossy black hair tumbling over shoulders. She turned toward me, and my heart stopped dead in my chest.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fucking fuck.

The yoga goddess from Zenith. The woman I'd pressed against a wall and kissed senseless two weeks ago. The woman whose tight little body had ground against mine while I'd imagined all the filthy things I wanted to do to her.

I’d dry humped Julian's wife.

Her eyes widened in recognition before she schooled her features into something resembling polite interest.

"Caleb!"

Julian's voice hadn't changed—that same warm baritone that used to narrate our escapades, commanding me to touch whatever woman we were sharing.

"Man, it's been too fucking long."

He pulled me into a hug, clapping my back with enough force to snap me out of my shocked stupor. I returned the embrace automatically, hyperaware of his cologne—something woodsy and expensive—and the solid feel of him. We separated, and I forced my face into what I hoped was a convincing smile.

"Julian. Good to see you, mate."

My voice wavered with nerves, and I hoped they couldn’t hear it.

Julian stepped back, hand sliding to the small of his wife's back.

"This is my wife, Nisha. Nish, this is Caleb—the roommate I told you about."

Her handshake was firm, her smile dazzling and devious.

"So nice to meet you, Caleb. Julian's told me so much about your... adventures together."

Jesus Christ. Had he told her everything? Did she know we used to tag-team women?

"All exaggerated, I'm sure,"

I managed, gesturing toward the booth.

"Please, sit."

I slid into the semicircular booth first, expecting them to sit together, but Nisha slipped in beside me, leaving Julian to take the outside position. The booth suddenly felt much smaller, her thigh a whisper away from mine.

Julian settled in, examining me with undisguised curiosity.

"You haven't changed a bit, man. Still the same pretty boy who got us into all that trouble."

I laughed, grateful for the server’s timing as he delivered waters to the table.

"Are we ordering drinks?"

"If you like,"

Julian said, scanning the cocktail menu. "Nisha?"

"Maybe a glass of wine,"

she replied.

"Nothing too strong."

The waiter took their orders—chardonnay for Nisha and a local IPA for Julian—and promised to return for dinner selections. An awkward silence threatened until Julian excused himself.

"Sorry, bathroom,"

he explained, sliding out of the booth.

"Be right back."

The moment he was out of earshot, Nisha turned to me, her expression a mixture of shock and amusement.

"What the actual fuck, Caleb? You're Julian's college roommate? The one he had threesomes with?"

I drained half my whiskey in one desperate gulp.

"And you're his wife. How?"

I lowered my voice to a harsh whisper.

"Did you know? Was this some kind of setup?"

"God, no!"

Her eyes widened.

"I had no idea. He never mentioned your name, just that his old roommate was in town."

She leaned closer, her perfume making my head swim.

"Fuck, this is insane. We need to tell him."

"Tell him what? That I had my tongue down his wife's throat two weeks ago?"

Panic clawed at my chest.

"He'll fucking kill me."

Nisha's lips curved into a slow, wicked smile that made my cock stir despite the catastrophic circumstances.

"Actually, he might not."

"What?"

"He’s the one who suggested the hall pass."

Her voice dropped to a husky whisper, her eyes locked on mine with an intensity that made my skin burn.

“And, he’s been telling me some stories about you.”

"I—that was in college. I haven’t done anything like that since."

She shrugged, going back to her menu.

“Still, it's hot as hell.”

Before I could respond, Julian returned, sliding back into the booth. I braced myself for the awkward dance of pretending we hadn't met, prepared to follow Nisha's lead on whatever story she wanted to spin.

I wasn't prepared for her to turn to Julian and boldly announce.

"So, funny coincidence—remember the sexy British guy from yoga class."

Julian looked around, frowning.

“What? Is he here?”

Then, he froze, and I could see realization dawning on his face.

“Fuck. It was Caleb?”

“Yeah."

Nisha said.

"Small world, right? That’s Portland for you."

Julian's eyes met mine, and I prepared for a punch, a drink in my face, something vengeful. Instead, his lips curled into a slow smile that sent an electric current straight to my groin.

"Interesting,"

he said, setting his beer down.

"When did you two meet? I thought you just got into town."

My mouth was desert-dry.

"Um, I consult with hotels on marketing and sales strategy, so the project has a few phases. This is my third visit to Portland.”

I fiddled with the rim of my drink, smiling a little.

“Took me a few tries to work up the courage to email you.”

"And you happened to take a yoga class at Zenith?"

Julian pressed, his tone more curious than accusatory.

"Hotel recommendation,"

I explained.

"It’s just a block away. Since I travel so much for work, I find it helps with the stiffness after hours in a plane."

Julian nodded, his eyes never leaving mine. There was something in his expression I couldn't quite read—something that reminded me of those nights in our apartment, when we'd lock eyes over the writhing body between us.

"How long are you in Portland?" he asked.

"A week for now,"

I said, trying to push the dirty thoughts away.

"Then I'm back in three weeks for follow-up. Depending on what the client wants, I do several more trips over the course of a few months or more, until we can do a hand-off with the strategy and let them handle it."

Nisha hummed, leaning just a little against me. I shifted, and the curve of her breast brushed my forearm. Was that on purpose? I couldn’t tell, and for a heart-pounding moment, I waited for her to pull away.

“Makes sense,”

she said.

“Funny coincidence, though. Now, what’s good here, Mr. Hotel Guru?”

She leaned in closer, resting a hand on my thigh as she peered at my menu. Julian’s eyes darted down to where she was touching me, and he shot me a knowing look. Shouldn’t he want to murder me? This was his wife.

“Is touching you still okay?”

she whispered, her fingers moving higher.

I choked out a yes, casting a wary glance Julian’s way. Julian busied himself with his own menu, his lips twitching as he pretended to ignore his wife’s antics.

The waiter appeared to take our dinner orders. Julian ordered the halibut special and appetizers for all of us, adding a bottle of white wine. Nisha picked a vegetarian dish, holding eye contact with Julian as she touched me in a way she shouldn’t.

“I’ll—shit—sorry.”

Under the tablecloth, her hand cupped my shaft, and my brain froze before I could remember what I’d intended to order.

“I’ll have what he’s having,”

I squeaked out.

Both Nisha and Julian remained infuriatingly composed.

As the waiter departed, Julian leaned forward, elbows on the table.

"So, Caleb. Tell me more about this yoga class. Did my wife impress you with her... flexibility?"

There it was—the Julian I remembered. Watching, calculating, orchestrating. The conductor of pleasure, always with another wicked plan. My body responded with Pavlovian immediacy, cock hard now beneath Nisha's wandering fingers.

"She did,"

I confirmed, voice low.

"She has the most beautiful form."

"He was pretty impressive himself,"

Nisha added, her thumb tracing small circles on my thigh.

"All the women were staring."

“Not likely,”

I muttered.

Julian's smile turned predatory.

"Nah, I bet they were. If my wife noticed you, other women did, too. She called you the hot British guy."

Nisha blushed, removing her hand from my crotch. I wanted it back.

“I figured since you were new in class, you were the perfect guy to fool around with. After all, how likely was it that you knew my husband and something awkward would happen later?”

“Pretty damn likely,”

Julian said, laughing.

The atmosphere shifted, charged with something beyond the standard reunion catch-up. Every glance, every innocent touch crackled with possibility. Julian's leg brushed mine under the table—accidental, perhaps, but he didn't move away. Nisha sat between us, touching both of us, creating a circuit of electricity that hummed with potential.

We ate dinner sharing college stories, professional updates, travel tales—normal conversation undercut by the current of want that flowed between us. Julian described their townhouse in the Pearl District. Nisha talked about her textile design work. I explained my consulting business, my escape from my family’s hotel empire, and my asshole of an older brother. All while, we were playing a dangerous game of tangled limbs beneath the table.

“We should do this again soon,”

Julian said, as I put the meal on my room tab.

“Over already?”

Nisha pouted, then flounced back against the seat with a sigh. She’d been groping my thigh again, but in this position, I could see that she had a hand on each of us. How had she found a hand to eat with?

I cleared my throat, panicked at the thought of them leaving.

"My suite's on the top floor,"

I said, the words tumbling out before I could second-guess them.

"Excellent view of the city. Would you both like to come up and er… see it?" Awkward.

Julian and Nisha exchanged a look loaded with silent communication, years of marriage distilled into a single glance. My heart hammered as I waited for their response, not daring to hope but unable to stop myself from wanting.

"We'd love to.”