Page 42 of My Favorite Lost Cause (The Favorites #2)

CHARLIE

C alls are coming in now, fast and furious. It’s always like this, just before another round of funding begins. It’s mid-July, and I should already be in San Antonio, gearing up. Instead, I’m sending junior VCs out in my place, simply because…

I could tell myself I’m staying for the house—technically it could get demolished any day now, though fucking Andrew claims we’re safe for the time being— but even I am not that blind to my own motivations. I’m staying for the one reason I’ve stayed all along.

I’ll have to leave by the end of August. There’s no choice about that. And it looks bad that I’m not down there now. But days like this, with Maren, come once in a lifetime.

I’m getting these two months with her all to myself. It’ll somehow need to be enough.

We take the bikes out in the afternoon, weaving along the lane that carves its way around the cove. It’s hotter than hell, but the trees overhead provide enough shade.

I love everything about this: the breeze, the motion, the sight of Maren turning back to look at me over her shoulder with a grin on her face.

Her shorts riding up on the bike seat, revealing the lush curve of her ass every time she pedals.

I’m probably going to wreck, with the way it distracts me, but it’ll be worth the time I spend in traction.

When we’ve gone far enough, I lead her down toward the water and we spread out a blanket, drinking icy lemonade with chicken salad sandwiches for our dinner.

She stretches her long legs in front of her and leans back on her forearms, smiling in drowsy contentment. “I don’t know why everyone doesn’t live here,” she says. “Every single person in Manhattan should be throwing their possessions in a car and moving this way.”

“The need to earn a living might have something to do with it, trust fund princess.”

She laughs. “I guess if everyone from Manhattan moved here, this wouldn’t be what it is anyway, would it? It would be a million high rises and snarled traffic.”

“You make it sound like you don’t like New York, and I always got the impression that you did.”

She shields her eyes from the sun as she glances at me. “I do. I mean, I like parts of it. I think I just need…a break. Like, a handful of times a year, I need something like this. Silence, no people, no traffic, no rules about wearing shoes.”

“Lucky for you, I know a guy who owns this big fucking mansion he has no use for. You’re welcome anytime.”

She rolls toward me. “You really don’t think you’ll ever settle down? I mean, you said you don’t like the puppies, but you clearly do. You don’t think that you’ll eventually feel like that about kids too?”

I stiffen. There’s almost nothing I wouldn’t do for Maren, but I can’t give her false hope about this because my stance won’t be changing.

“I know I won’t.” I meet her eye to make sure she’s hearing me. “I know things haven’t been easy for you the past few months. But you really have no idea how much worse it can be when kids come into the picture.”

Her head tilts. “Then tell me. Make me understand it.”

How do you explain the kind of grief my mom felt over my sister? And not just when my sister died, but from the second she got diagnosed? It was bottomless, infinite. It would seem to have hit its lowest point, and then it would get worse.

“My sister really wanted to go to Universal,” I reply.

“Harry Potter World. And by the time we went she was so sick it was like—” I stop, clearing my throat.

“It was like she was doing it for us. She was so pale, sweating. And my mom was pushing her in a wheelchair and acting like it was the greatest day ever, but that night after Zoe fell asleep, she went into the parking lot, and I followed her because I knew something was wrong. She was on her knees. Begging God for help, saying she’d give up anything if He’d fix this.

I’ve never seen desperation like that. And I loved my sister, but in that moment, I wished she’d never been born, just so my mom wouldn’t have to suffer. ”

My mom was all smiles and optimism before Zoe got sick, just like Maren is now—trying to find the positive side to every equation.

And Zoe’s death stole that away. She still smiled at me, but there was no joy in it.

I don’t want that to happen to me. And I sure as hell don’t want to witness it happening to Maren, because I love the way that she sees the world.

I love the way she seems to reflect all its light back and make everything brighter.

“You don’t think you could just be happy with the dogs?” I ask.

Her smile is sad. “I don’t think I could.”

It’s a conversation I could have with anyone, but it also feels…like a bit more. As if we’ve both peeked through a door, surveyed what lays behind it, and are now acknowledging it’s best left closed. Though I sort of wanted to enter the room.

Okay, I really, really wanted to enter the room .

“It’s for the best,” she says. “You’d be a terrible father.”

“Worse than you can even imagine. I’ve been hiding my really bad side.”

She grins. “Worse? I’m not sure that’s possible. I already picture you feeding your newborns whiskey and testing their body fat by throwing them into the lake to see if they float.”

“That’s the first thing anyone’s said to make parenting sound fun. Perhaps I’ve been too hasty in writing it off.” I push her onto her back. I want her—I always want her—but mostly I want to forget the conversation we just had. I want to forget that we’ll eventually come to an end.

She gives way, exactly as I knew she would.

We could be in the middle of an argument for the ages and I’m pretty sure that if I kissed her and slid my hand between her legs, she’d be exactly like she is right now: pliant, willing, soaking through those little white cotton panties she’s got on beneath her shorts.

I climb above her and strip off the shorts. We’re on private property, sure, but we could still be seen if someone came by on a boat. I’m more than happy to risk it, and with the way she’s reaching for my zipper, I guess she is too.

“Goddammit,” I hiss. “I didn’t bring anything.”

She smiles. “There are other things we can do. Roll over.”

I could come just at the thought of the way Maren gives head—eager and hungry, getting so turned on as she does it that she’s dripping by the time I finish. But right now, I want to be inside her. “I’m dying to fuck you right now. Let’s just go back to the cottage.”

She bites her lip, flushing. “I got my test results.”

I frown. “Huh?”

“Just before we left to come down here, I got an STI screen. I sort of suspected Harvey was cheating, but I was fine.”

Oh. Fuck. What she’s saying is that she can’t get pregnant, and I can’t catch anything from her, so as long as she can’t catch anything from me …

It seems like a bad idea, but already I’m rock hard at the suggestion. I haven’t had sex without a condom in over a decade. “Yeah?” I ask, already pushing my shorts down.

I position myself between her legs. Goddamn, even this feels amazing. Even this—rubbing the tip of my cock against her wet, tight cunt—is insanely good. So fucking good I have to close my eyes and think of something else momentarily.

“Jesus, Maren,” I whisper.

Her legs spread wider. “Charlie,” she moans, that half beg of hers.

I’d like to force her to say the words. I love watching Maren blush as she begs for it, using the filthiest phrases I can convince her to say. But right now? Fuck.

I just need to.

I push inside of her with a wordless gasp and just hold. It’s so wet, so warm. Her walls cling to me, and Jesus Christ, I’m already close.

“This is going to be embarrassing, Mare. It’s too good. I just can’t…”

She smiles and pulls me down to her, wrapping her arms around me. “Then go ahead and come. And then do it again.”

I slide in, again and again, helpless to stop. I kiss her hard, channeling all the words I can’t say aloud into the motion. All too soon, heat bursts at the base of my spine and I am coming inside her, groaning her name.

She’s so perfect. So fucking perfect.

I’d give almost anything to keep her with me forever.

Just not the thing she wants.