Page 38 of Naked Coffee Guy
We stay connected once it’s over, our foreheads touching as we recover, breathing hot, steamy breath into the cold night air. My hand remains on her hip, the other tangled in her hair. Despite the wind, she’s covered in a thin sheen of sweat, and she grips my shoulders to keep herself upright.
I watch the transformation like I’m watching the seasons change color. For a moment, her face holds the hint of a smile as we both catch our breath. But then the realization slides over her. The expression on her face falls first, followed by the strength of her body. My spent cock is still inside her as she starts to pull away. But I keep a firm grip on her hip, preventing her from leaving. I can’t bear the thought of leaving her body. Not yet. But I also see the way her mind has wandered, already gone from what just happened.
“Hey,” I whisper, tilting her chin up so she’s looking at me.
“Hey,” she whispers back.
I don’t miss the tear that slides down her cheek. I catch it with my thumb, then I brush that same thumb over her lips as she gasps out a sigh. This time when she shifts, I let her go. She rolls off me, adjusting her skirt before she sits in the gravel. I wrap my arm around her. She leans into me, burying her head into my side. I say nothing as she shatters. All I can do is be here for her.
I hope it’s enough.
Chapter Fifteen
Maren
Whatever casual agreement we had before, tonight it’s broken. I know this as Mac punches the gate code in at a driveway just down the street from where we were. He doesn’t even ask to take me to his home, and I’m not arguing. Besides, I had no idea he lived this close. Ever since Nina introduced me to Naked Coffee Guy, the morning delight from our kitchen window, I thought he lived in her neighborhood. But of course he wouldn’t. Why would he? Nina’s house is nice, but it’s not McMansion nice. And once Mac’s house comes into view…
Fuck. The man is more loaded than I thought.
The house looks like it could have its own zip code with enough space to shelter a small school. For some reason, I think back to the days when I lived in my car as I’m about to enter this modern-day castle. My stomach does a slow roll as he parks in the driveway, and I’m not sure if it’s nerves, excitement, or a warning that I’m about to puke.
“I don’t feel so great,” I manage to groan before I open my car door and dry heave on the asphalt. Thank goddess nothing comes up. I’m struck by the irony that his fancy Jag has been the setting for two puke events this evening. “The Huerta girls really know how to party, don’t we?” I rasp out, capping it with a weak laugh as he reaches my side.
“You’re exhausted.” He takes my hand and helps me to my feet, then wraps an arm protectively around my waist. “And you’ve had an emotional evening. Let’s get you to bed, all right?”
The way he says it, I know he has no ulterior motives, and I’m embarrassed that it’s his wealth that’s giving me a mild panic attack. The walk to the front door in the fresh ocean air helps ease my nerves, and once he ushers me inside, I’m feeling more myself. Drained, but no longer ready to spill the contents of my stomach across his tile floors.
Which are beautiful, by the way. I momentarily forget my aversion to wealth, along with my exhaustion, as I take a look around. A great room with ceilings that reach two stories high. A chandelier that has got to be twice as tall as Mac. A fireplace that takes up one wall, and floor-to-ceiling windows on another, overlooking the dark ocean outside. A second story that, when I crane my neck, reveals a wall of books and several closed doors. And the kitchen…
“You cook in this thing?” I ask, taking in the dozens of copper pans hanging above a massive center island, the grills and stove that line one wall to wall counter, the two refrigerators, the copper farm sink, the cabinets and pantry…the unreal amount of space. “I think I could fit my whole apartment in here.” I say it before I have time to think, then I want to take back the words when I remember my apartment is probably reduced to dust by now.
Mac rubs the back of his neck, and I sense embarrassment. “What, you didn’t choose this place?” I ask, offering a crooked smile.
“No, I chose it. But now that I live here, it does seem like an insane amount of space for just one person, and you haven’t even seen the bedroom.”
He leads the way upstairs and opens the door at the end of the hall. The size of his kitchen has nothing on the bedroom. His bed alone is about the size of my bedroom at Nina’s house, which he sits on now, a smirk on his face.
“I know, it’s obscene,” he says.
“A little,” I laugh. But I’m also in awe, especially as I peek through double doors to what I think is another room but ends up being a goddamn bedroom for his clothes. “Your closet could house a small classroom,” I say, taking in the row of perfectly lined suits, the shelves of shoes, the dozens of drawers, with space to do a couple open arm spins in the center of the room.
Then there’s the bathroom. My jaw drops at the shower alone, with nozzles at varying heights to get every body part clean…or something. I think of what a shower like that would have been like during my dry spells. I’d never have need for a man.
“Drought, be damned,” I joke, not just referring to dry California. But something in my voice catches. I don’t belong here, and just that realization alone invites my exhaustion to return. I should go home, forget all about this night, forget about my family, and forget about Mac.
“It’s weird to me, too,” he says, and reaches around me to turn on the water. I face him, trying to think up something to say to hide all these uncomfortable feelings I’m having. It’s just money, I know this. But when you spent a whole year sleeping in your car, money has a different meaning to it.
“How is it weird for you? It’s all yours. You earned this.”
“Kind of.” He starts removing my jacket, then my boots, which I step out of while holding his shoulder. “I mean, I chose all of this, and I like it. But sometimes I feel like…”
“An imposter?” I guess. He smiles and nods.
“Yes, like an imposter.” He slips my shirt over my head, then kisses the tip of my nose. “My paycheck paid for this, and thanks to my brokerage, I can afford to keep this lifestyle. I’ve built my business from the ground up, and it’s very lucrative. But I never would have gotten here if it weren’t for Benji. It’s his name that helped bridge connections when I was first starting out. If it were just on my name, I’d…” He looks around, then laughs, “Well, I wouldn’t be here, that’s for sure.
I’m reminded once again that Mac isn’t some out of touch rich guy. He’s an orphan, much like I’m an addict. We may look different on the outside—him with his fancy suits and luxury car, me with my guitar and paid bills—but inside, that younger version of ourselves will always feel like the real truth.
Mac finishes undressing me, his hands sliding over my body like he knows me better than just a few days. His touch is gentle as he takes off each layer, then guides me under the spray. I feel water come at me from all directions, the scent of eucalyptus surrounding me as I close my eyes and lose myself to the therapeutic waters.