Page 31

Chapter 31

Sawyer

“How long have you been bartending, Sloane?” Sawyer asked politely as McCoy navigated Tegan across the city. McCoy smiled, gratitude that Sawyer was trying to make conversation shone clear as day on her face as she reached for her bottle of water. Sawyer wasn’t used to purposely taking the bite out of her voice when speaking. Or striking up conversation with someone she had little choice but to know solely because Sloane was important to McCoy.

“Going on six years. Coy actually got me the job when she started fucking Frankie.”

McCoy choked on her water, bits of it spraying over the steering wheel. “What the fuck, Sloane?” she wheezed out, glaring in the rearview mirror at her sister. Sloane only smirked.

“Frankie is the owner, correct?”

Jealousy was futile—and juvenile—on so many levels, but Sawyer couldn’t deny the abrupt pang in her chest at the thought of McCoy caring for someone enough that they were still close today. When McCoy had brought Frankie up days before, she’d failed to mention they were still in contact.

“Coy didn’t tell you that your date was where her ex lives and works?” Sloane punched Coy’s arm good-naturedly. Either she was genuinely so dense that she didn’t know she was upsetting McCoy, or she was purposely being cruel. Sawyer wanted to slap her. Fuck her for trying to sabotage my first date in years.

“Sloane, stop it. Please .” McCoy darted a panicked look at Sawyer. “I am so sorry. I-I didn’t even think of that. I-I read that romancing someone should involve sharing your favorite place to eat. Somewhere you’re comfortable, you know? But that’s stupid, I guess, considering.”

“I think it’s sweet.” Sloane shrugged, wedging herself between the two front seats so she was facing them better. She was close enough for an elbow to the face should the need arise .

“Sweet?” Sawyer echoed, narrowing her eyes on McCoy’s lesser half. There was something off about Sloane; Sawyer had felt it the moment they’d crossed paths. She’d considered McCoy immature at first glance, but she didn’t hold a candle to her sister in that regard. Sloane was selfish, and her actions screamed of envy. Had she always been that way, or was she jealous that McCoy wasn’t as easily at her beck and call?

“Yeah, I mean, at least Coy is trying. She’s kind of throwing you to the wolves from the get-go with Frankie, though.” Sloane shrugged again and laughed. “Kudos for finally dating again! God, remember the last one you went on? When was that, like two days before prom or something?”

A horrified, almost sick expression turned McCoy’s cheeks ashen. “Sloane,” she gritted out, reaching back to try to swat her sister, but Sloane dodged her.

“What?” she chortled. “You’ve grown up. Surely you don’t plan on leaving Sawyer alone in the booth to hook up with some rando like you did back then?”

Sawyer’s whole body tensed. Her gaze slipped to the woman behind the wheel, taking in the hurt McCoy tried so hard to hide, but there were tells. The steady twitch in her jaw, as if she was grinding her molars into a fine dust. Or how her eyes closed to half mast, like if she opened them too wide, tears would funnel out. Two hands clutched the wheel when she only ever drove with one. One on the wheel and one on the gearshift or entwined with Sawyer’s. Anyone who knew McCoy should have seen how upset she was, but Sloane continued her useless monologue like an actress starved for a role.

“Honestly, that was crazy, even for you.” Sloane patted Sawyer’s arm, unbothered when Sawyer recoiled from the unwelcome touch. “Coy ever tell you about that? She’d gone to meet her girlfriend at the restaurant and ended up chatting with another girl we knew in the parking lot. Fucked her right there in the car and forgot about the one waiting inside.”

A low, anxious fire grew in Sawyer, starting from her toes and expanding, burning her up inside until she thought she’d die if it wasn’t unleashed.

“She wasn’t my girlfriend,” McCoy whispered over the roaring in Sawyer’s ears.

“It must be quite a change for you, Sloane, not having McCoy all to yourself,” Sawyer said, keeping her voice neutral even though she wanted to throw the girl from the moving vehicle. She shifted in her seat so they could speak face-to-face. “Are you lonely? Is that it? Not getting the attention you’re used to from the one who loves you the most?”

Sloane drew back in her seat, mouth agape and looking absolutely affronted. Sawyer could have laughed. “I-I … That’s not it at all. I—”

“Isn’t it, though?” Sawyer’s tone grew icier. From her peripheral vision, McCoy’s leg bounced, much like it’d done at her house over lunch the day Bree invited the twins in. Sawyer placed a comforting hand on her thigh and continued, “It’s why you’re seeking all this unwarranted attention. You’re afraid McCoy might fall in love and leave you behind. Instead of being happy for her, you’ve set out to humiliate her in front of me. Why? You’re being an esti de cave , Sloane, a fucking idiot, to risk your relationship with your sister.”

“Excuse me?” Sloane flushed, the rouge shade doing little for the bags set under her eyes. She spluttered, “Coy, are you gonna let her talk to me like that?”

“It doesn’t feel too good, does it?” Sawyer arched an eyebrow, her hand still on McCoy. She rubbed slow circles over her thigh. “My husband was a master manipulator. So, your antics? Nothing but child’s play.”

“You sure know how to pick them, Coy,” Sloane snapped, shoving the back door open the moment McCoy found parking. She grabbed her purse off the seat and shook it at her sister. “Maybe next time you can find a woman who isn’t a complete psycho?”

The door slammed, and then Sloane was hurrying up the sidewalk, quickly disappearing in the mass of pedestrians milling outside the collective restaurants.

How could twins be so identical and yet polar opposites? Sawyer looked at McCoy and saw new, frightening possibilities. A potential lover who could also be a friend. She was kind, funny, smart and handsome.

Sloane was … none of those things.

An uncomfortable, suffocatingly queasy feeling filled her chest and throat. “Are you okay?” she quietly asked. Any louder and she was sure her voice would break. “I will not apologize for what I said to your sister because it would be a lie.”

McCoy stared out the windshield, both hands gripping the steering wheel like Tegan was her lifeline. A tear slipped down her cheek. “All I wanted was to take you on a date. T-to prove to you …”

Sawyer brushed the tear away, tracing McCoy’s damp cheek with her thumb. “Is that no longer the case?”

“No, I still want to.” McCoy sniffled, turning to look at Sawyer. “But the pub is Frankie’s. I didn’t have a plan B.”

“Is she going to kick us out?”

“Well, no.”

“Okay, then let’s go in.” Sawyer sighed before admitting, “Part of dealing with your past is not to avoid it but to learn from it.”

McCoy huffed a laugh, stating dryly, “Honestly, I’d rather get a second date with you.”

Sawyer’s thumb drifted over McCoy’s bottom lip, tugging on it seductively with the tip of her nail. “Don’t wander off with someone else, and we should be fine, darling.”

“So what do you think?” McCoy gestured to the nachos on the table between them. “Pretty good, right?”

Sawyer raised another bite to her lips, crunching down on the chip coated in toppings and a generous helping of pico de gallo . She chewed slowly, thoroughly enjoying McCoy’s wide, eager eyes. It was as if she was a judge on her very own cooking show. She was so glad she’d insisted they share a tray of nachos rather than order the grilled chicken and salad McCoy had first suggested.

“Typical pub fare,” she deduced after swallowing. At McCoy’s crestfallen expression, Sawyer held back a smile, adding, “But absolutely delicious, as you claimed.”

“Right?” McCoy grinned, scooping up nachos as well. She seemed lighter than she’d been after the Sloane incident, like she was ready to push past whatever that was and enjoy Sawyer’s company. It would have been more convincing if she stopped looking toward the bar for her sister. “You sure you can eat this, though? I was talking to Bree and—”

“It’s fine,” Sawyer interrupted. “I’ve given up more than enough since the heart attack. I just won’t overindulge, alright?”

“Okay.” McCoy didn’t look convinced.

“I appreciate your concern, darling. Truly.” Sawyer reached across the table to pat her hand.

McCoy gave her a tentative smile before eyeing the tray of nachos again. Something else was on her mind, something that had been lingering since they’d walked into the pub. Sawyer wished she’d just spit it out already. Was it about Sloane? Sawyer admitted she could have used more tact with the younger woman, but hearing Sloane drudge up McCoy’s past in such a negative light had goaded her to no end. Of course, nothing about how McCoy had treated either of those girls in high school was attractive in Sawyer’s eyes, but how could she judge her for teenage foolishness? McCoy wasn’t that person now.

“What you said about Olivier.” McCoy’s index finger swiped over the condensation on her glass of ale. She licked her lips. “I had no idea.”

“Yes, well, Olivier was a lot of things,” Sawyer admitted, instinctively tensing up. “A class A narcissist being one of them.”

McCoy glanced at her then, those lovely green eyes brimming with empathy. “I’m sorry. That must have been awful for you and Bree.”

“Mm-hmm.” Sawyer cleared her throat. “But let’s not ruin the evening by talking about that. Tell me about you. What else did you research for this date you’ve somehow convinced me to go on?”

McCoy nodded, clearly accepting Sawyer’s desire to change the subject—just as Sawyer knew she would. “Um … first date questions? But some of them were awful. I’d never ask you what your retirement plans are. Hell, I’d count myself lucky if I can get that second date I’ve been dreaming about.”

Sawyer cracked a smile, McCoy’s playfulness growing on her. “I genuinely don’t know the answer to that. Ask me again in five years. If you’re lucky.”

McCoy laughed, taking another drink of beer. Sawyer studied her, surveying the outfit she’d chosen for the evening. She’d hardly been able to take her eyes off McCoy, loving how the short sleeves of her dress shirt showed off the definition in her arms. Or how the suspenders made her small breasts pop and the black eyeliner stand out. Or how that bowtie, even though it was brick red, made the green in her eyes sparkle like emeralds.

Oh, she recalled McCoy’s outfit well.

“You look good, darling. I especially like the bowtie.”

McCoy preened under Sawyer’s attention, a blush blossoming over her cheeks. She toyed with her thumb ring. “Thank you. So do you. You look incredible. I-I can't stop staring at your collarbones.” McCoy froze, her hand clamping over her mouth. A tense chuckle slipped out. “I can’t believe I just said that.”

“You have a thing for the clavicle, then?” Sawyer almost laughed, glad she’d chosen this top and not the blouse. It had been Bree who suggested it, saying Sawyer’s collarbones were one of her best features.

“I have a thing for you,” McCoy said simply, like it was the easiest thing she’d voiced all day. Sawyer wished she could be so free with her words, but in the past, each one had come with a price. It would take more than a few meals and conversation for her to trust McCoy with anything relating to her heart.

“So I’ve heard,” she teased just as a beautiful femme approached their booth. Sawyer pulled her shoulders back, eyeing the newcomer and somehow knowing this was Frankie. She had long brown hair with hints of red and blond throughout, a strong, prominent nose, pretty eyes the shade of nutmeg, and curves for days. Sawyer was immediately envious of her full figure. She’d always felt a bit lacking in the chest and hip department.

The strangest urge to protect McCoy hit her, and Sawyer reached across the table to lace their fingers together. God, I feel like I’m claiming her. Probably because that’s exactly what she was doing. Ugh. If Cindy could see her now, she’d be laughing her ass off.

“Hello, you must be Sawyer,” the woman said, setting down the beer she’d been holding in front of McCoy. She glanced between Sawyer and McCoy, noting the way Sawyer’s fingers gripped McCoy’s, before giving Sawyer a small smile. She held out her hand. “I’m Frankie O’Rourke. It’s good to meet you.”

“You as well,” Sawyer said slowly, not missing the way Frankie and McCoy watched each other.

“I was watching you two from the bar,” Frankie continued, only having eyes for McCoy now. Sawyer’s gaze narrowed when the other woman stroked McCoy’s loose strands of hair. “And I understand now. I’m happy for you, pet.”

“Frankie,” McCoy croaked, wrenching her hand from Sawyer’s. She jumped to her feet and threw her arms around Frankie, shocking her and Sawyer both, it seemed, as the other woman stumbled back a step before returning the hug. They held one another for far longer than Sawyer was comfortable with, and the embrace left her with more questions than she had answers. Who was Frankie? Her connection with McCoy seemed deeper than a mere ex-lover.

Sawyer was about to clear her throat— loudly —when the two women slowly separated. Both looked misty-eyed, but the biggest surprise of all was hearing McCoy whisper, “Thank you, Mistress.”

Followed by Frankie’s rough reply, “It’s just Frankie now, McCoy .”

“It’s just Frankie now, McCoy.”

Even hours later, after another appetizer and two games of pool, the precise way Frankie had said McCoy’s name clung to Sawyer like a fleece blanket in the dead heat of summer. It chafed her to know she wasn’t the only one using McCoy’s full name.

They were pulling into Sawyer’s driveway hours later when she couldn’t hold back another minute. “Who was Frankie to you?”

The sensor light on the garage came on as McCoy parked and turned off the ignition. She was quiet for so long that Sawyer’s hackles rose. “McCoy, the question wasn’t difficult.”

“Are you familiar with kink or BDSM?”

The response threw Sawyer off guard, and she faltered momentarily. “I … Yes. Some. Just from what Cindy has shared in conversation.”

McCoy watched her, indecision in her gaze. She reached up and unfastened her bowtie, whispering, “Frankie is a Dominant. She was … my Dominant.”

Sawyer’s eyebrows shot up, and McCoy rushed on. “I’m what they call a switch. I never wanted to submit to anyone full time. Frankie has … relationship hangups and no wish to be a submissive. So we just … worked, I guess. Part-time lovers with intense bedroom scenes.”

“I see.” She didn’t, not really. McCoy’s explanation left a lot to be desired. Sawyer would need to do some research at some point. Incognito so Bree couldn’t stumble upon anything newsworthy. She understood one thing, though. “So, you like being tied up? Gagged? Spanked?” A shiver ran down her spine. “Do you expect the same of me? To be a switch? Because you can zap the fantasy of spanking me right now.”

“Not at all, actually,” McCoy admitted with a faint blush. “Maybe I’m a poor switch. I’ve never done anything more with a lover than the occasional handcuffs and toys. But …” Her blush deepened, and she avoided Sawyer’s gaze. “As a sub, sometimes I crave all of those things you mentioned and more.”

“Is that right?” Hadn’t Sawyer dreamt weeks ago about tying McCoy up? She’d endured basic missionary sex for her entire marriage, and where had that gotten her? What would sex with McCoy be like?

Passionate. Intense. Sexy.

Ugh. She wanted to find out. She wanted nothing more than to throw caution to the wind with McCoy. Sawyer wanted, no, needed , to see what she’d been missing for the last twenty-seven years. The life, the sex she could have had if only she hadn’t been caught kissing Beth Li in the eleventh grade.

Beside her, McCoy chuckled. She was eyeing her rearview mirror. “Bree’s home.”

Sawyer looked out her window in time to see her daughter pull up in the Rover. Bree noticed them and waved. Sawyer returned the gesture, pushing past her disappointment over the night ending early. Perhaps it’s for the best, she thought. It hadn’t been as if she was seriously thinking about sex after she’d explicitly told McCoy it was off the table on the first date. Had she?

Throwing caution to the wind was great in theory. She could pretend she was younger or more experienced with attractive, unmarred skin. In reality, McCoy could finally get her wish of falling into bed together, only to discover Sawyer was as mediocre as Olivier had claimed.

She turned back to the woman in question, swallowing the lump now in her throat. “I guess this is where we say goodnight.”

“Are you kidding?” McCoy asked, incredulous. She unbuckled quickly and hopped out of Tegan, racing around the Jeep to Sawyer’s side. Before opening Sawyer’s door, she gave Bree a quick hug. Watching them together did strange, mushy things to Sawyer’s already heightened emotions. McCoy smiled up at her, oblivious to the swell of … of feeling lodged in her chest. Her sinuses burned in warning that she may very well cry if she didn’t soon get control.

McCoy held out her hand. “What kind of gentlewoman would I be if I didn’t at least walk you to your door?”

Sawyer took a deep breath. She didn’t trust herself to speak yet, so she silently placed her hand in McCoy’s and climbed out. Bree had already disappeared inside the house, no doubt giving them a moment alone. Sawyer almost wished she hadn’t. At least then Bree could be the buffer Sawyer needed to duck away before McCoy could see, well, her . The real her.

“I had a great time tonight, Sawyer,” McCoy said, lacing their fingers together. She raised them to her mouth, kissing the back of Sawyer’s hand, and whispered, “Thank you for taking a chance on me.”

“Mm-hmm.” McCoy was too much. Too sweet. Too doting. Too earnest in her intentions. Sawyer swallowed. Swallowed again, croaking out, “Of course.”

“Hey, are you okay?”

McCoy’s palm grazed Sawyer’s cheek, the side with the scar, and she wrenched free of the contact. “I-I have to go,” she said roughly, ignoring the flash of hurt in McCoy’s eyes as she took off into the house.