Page 20 of Lovetown, USA

Lane

I stare at my laptop as the little white light on my webcam blinks back at me. Feels like it’s mocking me.

“Morning, Britt,” I say, trying to sound cheerful.

“Morning!” she chirps. “Numbers are great so far.” Her face fills the screen, along with her perfectly coiffed hair, bright blue blazer, and tortoise shell glasses. “But—and this is a big one—the column feels a bit too cynical.”

“Hello, have we met?”

Britt snickers. “Just recalibrate. Give us more of a balance between edge and…hope.”

“Hope?”

“ Hope ,” she emphasizes. “Sprinkle it in there. Readers want to feel like love might still exist. That true love is possible for them, even if the town is trying a little too hard.”

I roll me eyes, tapping my pen on my notebook. “Got it. Sprinkle hope on my articles like salt bae.”

“Good girl.” She flashes me a smile.

“How…how’s it being received in the industry?” I say softly.

She shrugs. “Haven’t had time to ask around. But the readers like it, and that’s what matters.”

To you .

We talk a bit more, then wrap up our meeting. I close my laptop with a sigh, my eyes shifting to my flask. I haven’t refilled it yet, but I’m very tempted.

Instead, I pick up my phone.

Later that evening, I’m standing in Shayla’s entryway, gazing around her small ranch house in awe.

The eclectic art and decor draw me in immediately—paintings leaning casually against the walls, a vintage record player spinning softly, potted plants hanging from macrame hangers.

Every inch of this place feels curated, but lived-in. It’s cozy like a warm hug.

She hands me a glass of red wine, smoothing her hands down her jeans. “I can order dinner, or you could sit in the kitchen with me while I whip something up.”

I take the glass, laughing at myself. “This right here? It’s why I’m here.”

“What is?”

“This wine,” I say. “I think I need your help.”

She raises a brow. “I thought this was a social call.”

“It can be. But I’m interested in therapy. I think.”

“For…?” she says, her forehead creasing with concern.

“Alcohol. My…reliance on it.”

Her face relaxes in recognition. “Well, I’m not a miracle worker, hon.

Music therapy isn’t treatment for something like that.

The best I can do is maybe help you identify and express your emotions instead of dulling them.

” She takes the wine away gently, and I chuckle.

“I don’t have the tools for anything else. Have you considered rehab?”

“That’s more of a last resort.” I blow out a sigh. “So, I’m seeing this guy, and he’s concerned. I don’t normally care what men have to say about things, but he’s a doctor. His words have some weight.”

She nods, her eyes softening. “What do you think?”

I ponder that question for a second, then admit, “I’m not sure.”

“Well, being honest about that is a good start,” she says, her eyes fixed on mine. “I’m open to talk, or to work with you in a professional capacity. Whatever you need.”

Her voice has a gentle spark that makes my chest tighten.

“I appreciate that,” I say. “You’re so sweet.

“So are you.”

Electricity hums between us in the silence, subtle and teasing.

I clear my throat. “I love your place.”

“Thank you. Let me show you around.”

She leads me through the house, room by room, drinking my wine, pointing out art and decor, explaining the history behind each piece.

I notice the small details, like the imperfect lines, splashes of color, odd little trinkets…

and in them, I see a woman who is living life to the fullest. She’s just so… vibrant .

I used to be like that, too.

“You know, every room says something about you.”

She smirks. “You notice everything, huh?”

“I’m a journalist. That’s the way my mind works.”

When we reach her bedroom, she pauses. “What does this room say to you?”

I grin. “If these walls could talk.”

She swats my arm playfully.

“No, but I think it says…” I trail off, eyeing the bold colors and abstract prints. “Confident. Maybe a little dangerous and off the beaten path. And it’s sexy, too.” My eyes meet hers. “Like you.”

Her lips curve into a sly smile as she sets the empty glass on the dresser. “I could say the same about you.”

Before I can think, our lips meet. Slow. Soft. Teasing. Exciting. My heart pounds as the world around me falls away. I taste the wine on her tongue. I feel the urgency in her grip on my waist. I bring my arms up to encircle her neck as I allow myself to melt into her warmth.

This is good.

This is keeping an open mind. This is living life to the fullest like I used to do before I fucked it all up. Before I second guessed my every decision. Before I started filtering every moment of my existence through a different lens. A narrow, limiting lens.

But not today.

I pull away briefly, just long enough to sit on the bed. Shayla smiles, then walks up to me, pushing me gently until I’m lying on my back. Before I can react, she’s settling on top of me, soft and warm.

Her fingers tangle lazily in my hair as her tongue swirls in my mouth. I take the opportunity to touch her, running my hands up her back, then back down, inching my fingers past the waistband of her jeans.

With two handfuls of her soft ass, I feel that stirring again. The same heat. A gush of wetness. And now I’m writhing against her, as bewildered as I am aroused.

She’s kissing my neck now, her hands moving under my shirt. Her confident fingers find my nipples, rolling, tweaking, caressing. I let out a soft moan and spread my legs, desperate for relief.

She looks down at me with those eyes. “You know there’s no pressure, right?”

“I know.”

“Good.” She stares at my mouth, licking her lips. “I would love to taste you. Is that okay?”

“Yes,” I rush out, making her laugh. “I mean, if you want.”

“If you want.”

I nod.

She descends, kissing her way down my body until she reaches my thighs. She lifts my skirt and I lift my hips. Panties off. She’s quiet as I settle back onto the bed, breathing deeply before saying, “You’re very wet. You know that?”

“I felt it,” I admit as I lift my head to see her smiling. “You’re a good kisser.”

“I’m good at a lot of things. You’ll see in a minute.”

It’s true.

I feel it immediately.

It’s in the gentle but confident way she touches me.

Spreads me open. Dips two fingers inside while she kisses, licks, and sucks my clit.

It almost feels like she’s teasing me, the way she goes hard until I’m panting and moaning, then pulls back, letting me stabilize before she does it all over again.

It feels so good. Sounds good, too, the way she’s quietly slurping on my pussy, savoring the meal.

“Yessss…” I moan, bringing my hand to the top of her head. “Like that.”

“Yes, my love.” She curls her fingers inside me, tickling a spot that makes my back arch away from the bed.

“Fuck, you taste so good ,” she moans into my pussy before diving back in.

It’s so good, I don’t wanna cum yet. I’m dreading the moment the pleasure ends and I’m plunged right back into reality.

This right here is some other place, some other time, some other form of consciousness.

I’m levitating. Weightless. I’m not me right now, just a bundle of nerves.

And right now, every inch of that bundle is buzzing with pleasure.

As the pressure coils, one hand fists the sheets, the other grips her hair, and my back arches again. I’m close. So close. And then—

“Nooooooo! I was about to cum,” I whine as she lets up again.

“I know.” Her smirk is infuriating, but sexy. “I like edging you, my love. Watching you squirm turns me on.”

“I hate you.” My breathing is shallow. My pulse is still racing.

Her gaze sharpens. “Look into my eyes. Don’t look away.”

I’m at her mercy. I have to do what she says. It’s easy to look at her, as gorgeous as she is, but those eyes…that tongue . She’s showing out now, swirling slowly, flicking, licking, suckling. She must like it, because her eyes are rolling almost as much as mine.

I can’t help it, I roll my hips, grinding my pussy against her face. And when she moans, I explode out of nowhere, cumming hard on her tongue while I scream and claw at the sheets.

Static fills my ears as I pant through my release. I’m lying there, still, when she says, “Are you okay?”

“I’m good. Great. Never been better.”

She laughs softly, then stands to her feet.

“Wait. Come here for a minute.”

She moves on top of me again. I pull her in, getting a delicious taste of me. When I’m done, she moves to stand again, prompting me to sit up.

“I was gonna return the favor.”

“It’s fine,” she says as she pulls something out of her dresser drawer. “No pressure, love.”

I watch her light a blunt, shaking my head when she holds it out to me.

I’m a little relieved. It’s not that I wouldn’t have gone down on her, it’s just that I’ve never done it. I would want her to feel as good as I did, and I’m pretty sure that takes practice.

I lay back down, staring up at the ceiling, my body relaxed, my eyes heavy. And I find myself wondering what Trey is doing. Of all the thoughts I had swirling around in my mind, Shayla managed to relieve me of them all except him.