Fortunate Encounters (The Sign Series Book 1) Page 10

  Under his breath, Clark says to me, “This event is hosted by Bruce, the guy walking toward us. He and his siblings lost their mom when she was 50 to multiple sclerosis. They’ve been doing annual events to raise money to find a cure since then.”

  I appreciate the quick update from him. He’s letting me into his world.

  “Clark! Good to see you, man,” Bruce exclaims before pulling him into an embrace. “This is Christine.”

  Clark shakes hands with the tall brunette and then turns toward me. “Bruce and Christine, this is Juliette.”

  I shake hands with them both. Bruce stares at me for a second too long and then gives Clark a nod.

  What’s that about?

  “Bruce is one of my best friends since we were kids,” Clark says, patting his bestie on the back. It’s cute to see two best guy buds in a bromance.

  “Your event looks spectacular,” I say as I wave my hand around the room that looks like a real life fairy tale. “I’m sorry to hear about the loss of your mother. I believe she’d be very proud about what you’re doing in her honor.”

  “Thank you, Juliette,” Bruce says with a smile as he pulls Christine into his side. “That means a lot to me.”

  Our conversation is cut short when another couple interrupts us to talk to Bruce and Christine.

  Clark and I walk around the room, looking at what each table has to offer. When we find one that looks good, we jump in the long line. Clark hands four tickets to the man behind the makeshift bar as he whips up two Pineapple Upside Down Cake cocktails—doubles, of course. This drink is dangerously delectable.

  The plastic cups are extremely small, and we down them entirely too quickly.

  “Want to try another drink or get back in this line?” Clark laughs when he sees my empty cup.

  “Why did you bring me to a drinking event? This isn’t going to end well,” I laugh, pulling on his arm to find a table with less appealing options so I don’t make a fool of myself so soon.

  “I thought this event would be fun,” he says, shrugging his shoulders, clearly missing that I was just teasing.

  “Why bring me to an event in the first place? You know we could have just had sex and called it a night,” I mumble under my breath. I don’t know why I can’t let this go. And why I’m being such a bitter bitch about it all.

  “You don’t want to go to any more events? Got it.” Clark’s words are short and clipped.

  Not going to events was not what I was hoping for, but I opened my big mouth and got myself into this predicament.

  We both drink another cocktail while a few people come up to greet Clark. He introduces me to everyone—including me in all conversations. I never feel like an outsider. Luckily, the easygoing banter lightens up the tension that was created between Clark and me.

  When we find ourselves alone again, we’re back in the line for cake cocktails. The music gets louder as more people trickle into the farmers’-market-turned-gala. Clark and I stand in the middle of the room surrounded by bodies. He’s moving his lips, but I can’t hear any of the words he’s saying.

  “You’re going to have to speak up!” I shout into his ear, holding onto his bicep to balance myself as more people surround us.

  “I asked if you’ve heard from that guy you were having that shit date with when we met at Jackie’s,” he shouts into my ear, pulling me by the waist closer to him. Now we are pressed together. Every cell in my body is on alert.

  “Who said the date was shit?” I giggle, remembering just how awful it truly was with Wes.

  He cocks his eyebrow without saying a word.

  “Fine,” I confess. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you the entire time. I wished you were my actual date.”

  He pulls me even tighter against his chest to shout into my ear, as it seems the music is only getting louder as the night goes on. “You were entirely wrong for him. I couldn’t believe you’d let a guy like that fuck you.”

  I pull myself back slightly to get a good look at his serious face.

  “What do you mean by that? And for the record, I never let that guy have sex with me.”

  “That guy was a fucking joke. He wasn’t man enough to be with you. You need a man who takes charge, supports you, and can claim your body in every way that you need.” He slams his alluring mouth onto mine. I think he’s drunk.

  Our mouths devour each other until I pull back for a gasp of air.

  “And what about you? You say you want to have a family. How are you going to find a good role model for your children if all of the women in your life are fuck buddies? You aren’t going to have the children you want with these women, unless you make a huge mistake.”

  The words drunkenly slip from my lips. It doesn’t escape me that I also agreed to these terms, but it’s eating away at my soul.

  “Those aren’t the type of women I’d bring to events,” Clark says.

  “You don’t bring all your fuck buddies out to meet your friends?” I shout into his ear.

  Clark squeezes a handful of my ass. “Not a chance. They’re lucky to get one or two texts a week, maybe a dinner here and there. No one has attended an event with me before.”

  Feeling his strong body pressed against mine, I’m turned on and I want him … right this minute. I want to do much more than kiss him. I’ve never had this overwhelming urge to ravish a man before.

  “Let’s go. I need you, now.” I pull his arm and head toward the exit.

  Walking outside, I search for his car and drag him behind me.

  Once inside the car, Clark jumps over the console as I lower my passenger seat as far back as it will go. He presses his sinful lips to mine as I stick my tongue out to trace the outline of his mouth. I unbutton his dress shirt and scratch my nails down his strong chest. He moves his mouth from my lips to my neck.

  Pushing the slit in my dress to the side, Clark sinks his fingers into my panties.

  “Yes,” I whimper, bucking my hips up toward his hand. His fingers work their magic around my clit. I reach for his pants and begin taking them off, but I’m lost in the desire of what he’s doing to my sex.

  When he can’t take much more, he pulls down his pants and boxer briefs and then rubs his cock along my entrance. I pant with need, feeling him pressing between my thighs.

  Clark looks me in the eye and then ever so slowly sinks inside of me with purpose. He’s so deep as I push myself up from my seat to get as close to him as I possibly can. He works his powerful hips as he thrusts into me repeatedly while emitting a low growl.

  My legs are up in the air, resting on his chest and over his shoulders. The car windows steam up from the heat coming off our slick bodies.

  While he continues to thrust, Clark pushes the halter straps down on my dress and then sucks one of my nipples into his mouth before biting down slightly.

  “Holy shit, Clark,” is all I can manage to pant as he takes my breath away.

  I grab onto the back of his head and pull hard on his hair. He palms my right breast, giving it a squeeze as he pulls himself up to get a good look at my face—all while continuing to pound into me.

  My back curves away from the leather seat as my body brings itself to the brink of an orgasm.

  Clark reads the expression on my face and then lowers his chest to lie against mine. He works his cock inside of me while dragging his hand down my body until it lands on my eager clit. He circles around it at the same time he pounds into me. It’s an overload of sensations, and when I don’t think I’ll be able to handle much more, his thrusts get harder.

  I drag my nails down his broad back until they land on his muscular ass.

  Both of our bodies grip in ecstasy.

  It takes me a while to slowly catch my breath. Clark lies on top of me, and we lazily kiss one another. After a few minutes and one last kiss to my forehead, he returns to his rightful seat.

  Pulling down the mirror, I take a long look at my reflection. My hair is all over the place and my lips are swollen
and plump. I’m still drunk.

  “Think anyone saw us?” Clark asks with a laugh, while we notice people leaving the event and walking in the parking lot.

  “Hope they enjoyed the show,” I laugh in return.

  And a show it was.

  After we called Clark’s private driver to get both of our drunken selves back to our rightful homes, I questioned my sanity and then drifted to sleep. I’m wide awake at 4 a.m. in disbelief, just staring at the ceiling. Now that I’m sober, everything seems much more grim.

  What am I doing with my life? I’m a respectable teacher frolicking in a car with a man clearly not interested in making me his wife.

  And I’m not sure if Clark is husband material. I want to be with a man who is at least headed in that direction.

  He did say he never took anyone to an event before. Maybe that’s promising?

  No, that doesn’t mean shit.

  I bet his other women weren’t the “lady in the streets” type. But I’m sure they were the “freak in the sheets” type. That makes me sick with jealousy.

  I toss and turn while Milo looks at me like I’m out of my mind. At 5 a.m. I decide I can’t take it much more and jump out of bed. Looking everywhere, I finally spot my laptop hiding right under my nose. I grab it and head out the door toward the only place I know is already open: a local bakery and café a few blocks away.

  The streets of New York City aren’t nearly as packed in the early morning hours. It’s the calm before the storm and I love it.

  As I approach the bakery, scrumptious buttery smells hit my nostrils. This must be what heaven smells like. Opening the door, the bells chime letting the bakers know I’m here.

  “Well, look who it is. Why are you awake so early?” my friend and the owner of this shop, Whitney, asks. She’s wearing an apron that’s covered in flour.

  “Couldn’t sleep. Do you need any help?”

  She laughs at my ridiculous question. I have no baking skills, and we both know that. There’s no possible way I can help her with anything, but I had to offer.

  “No, silly girl. Sit anywhere you like, and I’ll bring you some goodies when they’re ready.”

  I do as she instructs and take a seat at one of the round tables. Taking my laptop out of its carrier, I open up a blank Word document, and I type. I have no plan as to what I’m going to write, but I let the words flow without judgment.

  “What are you working on? Creating a final exam or something?” Whitney asks before taking a seat across from me. She places a plate of fresh-baked white chocolate macadamia nut cookies down beside me as well as a latte.

  “You are a saint,” I say, picking up the hot latte. “No, this isn’t a final exam. I don’t really know what this is.”

  “Can I see?”

  Sharing what I wrote gives me anxiety because I have no clue what it is, but she did come bearing baked goods, so it’s worth a shot.

  “Don’t judge me,” I say, turning the laptop around to face her.

  She takes her time reading over my random thoughts. “This is like a manifesto! A ‘Don’t Settle For Less’ Manifesto. I love it. And who the hell is the guy? Are you really going to kick his ass to the curb? Was he the bad date I needed to text you away from? Spill it.”

  “No, he wasn’t that guy but I did meet him that night.” I think back to when I sat down at the wrong table and met Clark. “No more questions, please. It was enough that I let you read it,” I say as I laugh.

  “Oh, come on. I can bring you some more goodies. Ashley is in the back making cherry cake with buttercream frosting. It’s going to be divine.” Whitney winks like she’s making some kind of sneaky deal.

  “You are going to bribe me with baked goods? That’s cold, real cold. I’m not giving up the name.”

  “Wow. That bad, huh?” She gets up from the table with a smile on her face. “I’ll still bring you some cake. You deserve it.”

  “And that’s why you’re my friend!” I say laughing, even though she’s giving me cake out of pure pity upon reading my “manifesto.” I’d like to think of it more so as a declaration. A declaration of no more friends with benefits. Ever again, for as long as I live.

  You’ve said that once before.

  15

  Clark

  This woman is driving me out of my mind.

  I’ve been staring at my computer screen for what feels like an hour, but I have no idea what I’m looking at. Could be mergers. Could be acquisitions. Beats me.

  All I can think about is kissing those rosy red lips. Gripping her creamy white breasts before licking those perky pink nipples. Thrusting my hips toward her tight pussy.

  Should I call her?

  When did I become this guy? This “should I call her?” loser. I never gave a shit about calling any of the other women. Stay, go, do whatever the fuck they want—I didn’t care.

  Karyn interrupts my thoughts while flying into my office.

  “Do you have those files checked yet? I’ve been waiting for your email for thirty minutes.” I don’t have a clue what she’s talking about. The blank look on my face must freak her out. “Are you sick? I’ve never seen your face look like that before. Is that … confusion? Should I call a doctor? Do you have a doctor? Why don’t I know this about you?”

  “Calm down, Karyn. I am not sick. I’ll have these signed in a minute.”

  She nods her head and leaves me in peace.

  I can’t let Juliette get under my skin like this. This is out of control.

  Distance—that’s what I need.

  And that’s what I’m going to put between us.

  Juliette

  I don’t know how to do a normal relationship, clearly. Clark hasn’t called in a week, and I keep looking at my phone to see if he has sent a text. What is wrong with me? This isn’t right. I wrote a manifesto casting him out of my life, for goodness sake.

  What has he done this week?

  Who is he talking to?

  What’s he eating for lunch?

  Who is he eating for lunch?

  I don’t know why I care about any of this. Loser after loser has come into my life and I never questioned if he was eating lunch. Why am I this pathetic?

  All of these questions swirl through my mind while I’m grinding away at the pedals on my bike.

  “You’re here for a reason!” The cycle instructor shouts, even though she’s wearing a headset with a microphone. “Use the bike as your therapy. Let it all out right now!”

  It’s easy for the perky blonde with the perfect bangs that haven’t moved once to say as she stands up on her bike and cycles.

  Huffing and puffing, I feel like I might pass out and fall off this bike. Which would be entirely embarrassing because my feet are clipped in to the pedals.

  Glancing over at Whitney, she gives me a thumbs up and smiles as she bobs her head along with the pop music blaring into the dark room. Just like our instructor, she makes this look effortless.

  While I try to get lost in the music, I can’t help but get caught up in more swirling thoughts of anxiety.

  Would my darling friend Whitney agree to a proposal like I did? Would any of my coworkers? I never thought I would be this kind of person. I guess you never know. Even though I’d hate to publicize it, I kind of wish more women talked openly about what was going on in their lives, instead of pretending to be perfect.

  When the spin class is over, I waddle my already sore booty into the locker room with Whitney.

  “You did great today! You were really letting your bike have it,” she says as we grab our zip up jackets from the lockers.

  “I was?” I felt like a sloppy mess on my bike. “I didn’t feel too good about today’s class.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Whitney pats me on the back. “You crushed it. Is everything okay? I only ever see you spin like that when you’re ready to kill someone.” She laughs. “That guy still bothering you?”

  “No, that guy is long gone.” Which I’m upset to admi
t. “You ever feel like you need to make changes in your life? When everything just feels like old news?”

  “You’re asking that to a woman who stopped practicing law to open a bakery. Yes, I know exactly what you are talking about.”

  Now that her huge transition is behind us, it’s laughable about how stressed she was to make that decision. It all turned out beautifully. But being a teacher is what I’ve always wanted to do; I don’t see a career change in my near future.

  Recommitting to exercise can’t be the only thing I have happening in my life. That’s just sad. Good for my booty but still sad in general.

  I need to go out and make a change. Right now.

  Just then my phone lights up with a text message from my cousin, Tara, asking if I want to meet up with her coworkers to bar hop tonight.

  Tara is known for being a good time. She’s older than me by a few years and always takes me under her wing. And by “under her wing,” I mean she’s a bad influence.

  I tell her I can meet her at 8 p.m. and hightail it back to my apartment to get ready.

  I take extra time pampering myself—giving myself a manicure, attempting to contour like the teenagers on YouTube, curling my hair, and slipping into a black dress.

  When it’s nearly time, I request a ride and wait until a notification that Debbie is at the curb. I grab my clutch and head down to her car. When she pulls up outside Toxic, I slip out of the car and look for my cousin.

  I spot her sitting at the bar.

  “Girl, look at you,” I say, taking the seat next to her. Tara is wearing a black leather skirt and a jeweled tank top. “You are lookin’ fierce.”

  She leans in to hug me. “You are looking fabulous yourself! Must run in our family.”

  The bartender slides two shots over to us. “On the house,” he says before winking.

  Tara and I pick up our shots of what must be tequila and lift them into the air.

  “Here’s to making change!” I shout.

  Tara shoots me a quizzical expression but doesn’t question me. She picks up her shot glass. “To change!”