Page 30 of Stick to the Deal (Friendship Springs Romance #3)

Painting the Walls Pink

G rease and hair of the dog helped, but after a few hours, I’m dragging again.

There’s still so much to do to transform the new space into an event hall.

Bree handed out tasks to everyone—crazy bitch even has an itemized to-do list and clipboard.

I got stuck with unpacking the cases of party supplies.

It’s a monotonous chore, opening plastic packets and pulling out the fabric within.

Anna walks up beside me. “Hey, how are the linens going?” We opened Pop almost six years ago, and it’s been a very profitable restaurant ever since, but this expansion is her brainchild.

The boxes of napkins I’m currently sorting don’t get any emptier. It may be because I’ve been quite distracted this whole time. I sneak another peak at the scene unfolding on the other side of the room. “Ok. Why did we need so many napkins, anyway? What about the ones from the restaurant?”

“Double the space means double the linens. Get to counting.”

I groan as I toss one of the cream napkins onto the pile. “I keep losing track.”

“Can’t imagine why.” Anna plants a fist on her cocked hip.

Bree steps up on my other side, baby Nora strapped to her chest. “Oh, I can.”

Across the room, five sets of bare shoulders bunch and bulge as the men in our lives paint a wall flamingo-pink. Besides our three significant others, Asher and Johnson have joined in on the painting party.

“Why are they all shirtless?” Anna asks .

“Beats me,” Bree quips, sounding not at all concerned.

“Are you really complaining?” I ask.

Anna’s chocolate eyes turn molten as she scans her fiancé‘s tattoo covered torso. He is an arguably impressive specimen, the tallest of the group with heavy muscle from years in the Marines.

There’s not an unfortunate one in the pack, and a man for every preference. Asher’s icy looks, man-bun, and gym-hardened muscles. Or Johnson’s superman pretty boy style. Even Irish is handsome with his toned body and dimples.

My eyes keep wandering back to the same set of pink-splattered shoulders. Unmarked skin stretches across a broad back. Dark hair sprinkles his chest and arms. Somehow there is not a hair out of place on his dark head.

The bass pumps with some rock music. The volume is turned way the fuck up but you can still hear the good-natured ribbing of the men echoing through the cavernous room.

When Reginald turns, I see a grin on his face.

He looks completely at ease with my friends. More so than even with his own brother.

The door to the restaurant opens behind us. “Chef, table five is…holy shit.” Vicky, one of the servers, joins us on Anna’s other side. “Are we now doing thirst traps for TikTok?” We laugh at her wide-eyed expression as a blush stains her cheeks. “Please tell me the dark-haired one is single.”

A flash of unexpected possessiveness flares through me.

Not an emotion I can say I’ve experienced much, and definitely not one I wish to repeat.

Or dig too deeply into. Reginald chooses that moment to turn.

He pulls his T-shirt from the back of his waistband and mops at his glistening brow, ignoring the beads of sweat trailing across his bare chest. Catching me staring, his lips spread into a grin and he shoots a wink my way before turning back to the wall.

“Unless you mean the one in jeans, you’re out of luck. Now what did you need, Vicky?” Anna looks amused as she talks to the younger girl.

“Huh?” Vicky turns glassy eyes to Anna, then shakes her head. “Oh. Table five is asking for you, Chef.”

“Problem?” Bree asks. Trust her to be business minded.

“Don’t think so. It’s a pretty big group and they’ve eaten pretty much everything on the menu.” Her eyes keep wandering back to the men.

“I better go see what’s up.” With a last look at her fiancé, Anna heads back to the kitchen doors. Pausing at the doorway, she turns back to the still frozen server. “Come on, Vicky. ”

Bree shifts her weight from foot to foot, gently swaying as her daughter sleeps contentedly. “I will admit, I was worried when you said you got married, expecting some uptight peer of the realm, but I like the guy.”

“Oh, yea?”

“He’s different, not like one of your usual puppies.”

I turn to her, keeping my face carefully blank. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She turns to me, brow raised as she continues her sway. “Come on, Nic. You collect men in every city like postcards. Each one absolutely mesmerized by you as they let you walk all over them.”

A pang goes through me. “Wow, did you seriously just call me a slut?”

“No. That’s not what I mean at all.” Bree sighs.

“You have this gift of attracting people to you. You see through them and change yourself to best blend in or influence them to do what you want—like a chameleon. It’s not a bad thing, Nic, it’s what makes you so good at your job.

But sometimes I think you use it to keep people from seeing the real you. ”

I do tend to take the easier path. If I give them what they want, they’ll leave me alone. If I distract someone with some glitter, they can’t get close enough to hurt me.

Bree absently kisses Nora’s head as she studies me.

“What I’m trying to say, badly, is that I see why you picked him.

He lets you be you without all the extra stuff.

The fact he came to help today tells me he cares.

” She holds up her hand as I open my mouth.

“As a partner and friend. I like him.” She grabs a bottle of water and walks off to the corner where her husband is studying his handiwork.

As she comes abreast of him, his face splits into the same goofy smile he gets every time he sees her.

Colin drops a kiss to the sleeping baby, then wraps his arm around his wife as they talk.

Napkins forgotten, I continue to watch the guys as my mind wanders.

So much of my time is spent alone in hotel rooms or flitting from party to party.

These in-between moments are rare, and I miss them more and more.

It wasn’t even two years ago that Bree introduced Colin to our lives.

He, in turn, brought Johnson around more often.

Then David showed up at the beginning of the summer, and now Reginald has rounded out the group.

I love my girl-time, but the guys bring a different dynamic. Laughter. Banter. Competition. Both of my best friends are lighter now. Happy. Confident. Chasing their dreams, all while cheered on by men who adore them .

Reginald approaches me, smiling. I hand him my water bottle and he guzzles half of it down in one go. “Thanks. Who knew painting was such good exercise?” My eyes sweep his glistening body again as I make a noncommittal noise. “When are you opening?”

“New Year’s Eve. We’re throwing a big party as our official opening.”

He nods and scans the room. “We’ll have to fly in right after Christmas. That gives a few days for final preparations.”

“We?”

“Of course. You need to be here, and I’m not spending New Year’s without my wife.”

A warmth spreads through my chest at the word wife. It still feels so foreign. I know it’s on paper only, but I can’t help it when his voice rumbles over the term.

My eyes lift to a shock of pink in his dark hair. Unthinking, my hand lifts as I finger the hard lump in the otherwise silky strands. His grin heats as a firm arm bands around my back, pulling me closer to his naked chest.

“You have paint in your hair,” I explain.

“You’ll have to wash it out for me. That shower of yours is big enough for two.”

“Oh, is that so?” I strive for aloof, but my lady bits are definitely not opposed to the suggestion.

“Do you have any idea how amazing your ass looks in those pants? I’ve been hard for hours watching you bend over that box.” His fingers glide down, grabbing a handful and pulling me to him.

I gasp as the proof of his statement presses against my clit. My thighs press together, trying to ease the ache, but only squeeze his cock harder into me.

Reginald groans in my ear. “Keep that up, Princess, and you’ll end up dragged into the supply closet. I’ll fuck you hard and leave my handprint on your ass as a reminder not to tease me.”

Heat floods my body at his words. No one’s talked to me before the way he does. Bree’s right, I easily dominate every man I meet. It’s thrilling to be on the other side for once—not that I’ll admit it to him.

Mistaking my stillness for compliance, he chuckles darkly. “That’s my good girl.” I struggle not to shudder as my core clenches. “Hurry up and finish this. Then I’ll take you home, rip these pants off you, and make you cum until you beg me to stop. ”

With one last squeeze, he heads over to where Asher and Johnson are hanging glass shelves, as if nothing happened. As I catch my breath, I enjoy the confident swagger of his hips.

The remaining three boxes of napkins are sorted and counted in record time. Which has absolutely nothing to do with the dark promises of my husband.

Nope, nothing at all.