Page 113 of Give & Take
“No,” he says, and I see now how strained he is, how carefully he’s trying not to move too much. “Did you?”
I laugh so hard he does too.
But then I rock my hips and he grits his teeth. “Lana, I won’t last.”
“Good,” I say.
He narrows his eyes, but he can’t hold the ruse. His hand drops to my swollen clit again as he picks up his tempo, and it’s only a moment later, after he’s tugged down the top of my dress, groaning at the way I look bouncing for him as he thrusts into me, that we both come. We both cry out, shaking and pulsing and looking disbelievingly in each other’s eyes. As if this kind of feeling isn’t real. It can’t be real—it’s too good for this earth.
Eventually one of us checks the time, and we realize how late it is. Cursing and laughing and throwing brie unwrapped into his bag even as I protest that we have enough time, he’s soon tugging me back toward the path at a jog. “I’m always there early!” he insists. “I don’t want them to be worried.”
I’m not sure how to tell him that with him, I don’t think any kid has ever been less worried about how much they’re loved.
Chapter 31
Lana
Besides Chris, I haven’t told anyone at all about what’s going on between me and Raph. The only way this doesn’t turn into a whole thing is if we keep it as quiet as possible. Raph doesn’t worry at all—that’s his MO, after all, being worry-free. But he tells me he’ll do whatever it takes to make sure I’m comfortable. And when I remind him about how this might affect the girls, he nods, agreeing with me on that point at least.
Chris drops innuendos at work when no one’s around, but she doesn’t pry. In fact, she’s surprisingly subdued, but I think that’s just because she’s still dealing with the asshole on the track. She’s determined he’s not someone from Redbeard Cove, but the track’s owner won’t give her the guy’s name or address. “Privacy regulations,” she tells me. “Can you believe that?”
Things are going so smoothly that when Mac who corners me, two weeks after Raph and I crossed that line beyond return, I assume it’s something mundane.
“I need to talk to you in my office,”he tells me.
I’m not worried at all. Usually when Mac needs to talk to me or Chris, it’s to tell us he’s bringing on someone new and needs us to train them. Or he’s bought Shelby something and needs an opinion on whether she’s going to like it. He has a whole cupboard of items on his built-in bookcase with things he abandoned because we didn’t immediately express our enthusiasm.
He’s truly the gold standard in partners.
Or I thought he was, until I met Raph.
But today, he wants to see only me. Chris rolls her eyes, but appears unconcerned. So I remain so, too.
When I close the door, Mac’s pacing.
“Mac,” I say, frowning. “Everything okay?” Pacing usually means he’s got a problem he needs to work through. Mac’s like a brother to me, and we often take advice from one another.
Maybe it’s something parent-related. He started needing advice on that the moment he found out Shelby was pregnant.
But I don’t get the sense this is about him. Work, maybe? In the past, he’s offered to give me a floor manager role. Or assistant manager. Or any kind of manager, goddammit Lana! But I’ve always refused. “I’m a server, full-stop, until I decide to do something else.”
He stops his pacing, punching his hands on his hips. “You’re leaving, aren’t you?” Mac asks.
“What?” The question surprises me. It comes right out of left field, actually.
“If you’re going to give me your notice, just give it already. You can stay as long as you need to, I just need toknow. The baby’s coming and my house is a shit-show and I?—”
“I’m not leaving, Mac.”
I expect to see relief on his face. Instead, he frowns.
Maybe I shouldn’t be surprised. Mac’s got a resting frown face, except when Shelby’s around.
But I frown back. We’ve often said in another life we’d be siblings. “It’s funny,” I say. “I’d expect you to be happy about that.”
“I am,” he says, frowning harder.
“So why the face?”
