Lola in a white lace thong,an expanse of bronze skin over long legs and wide hips, her small, perky breasts uncovered and begging to be sucked.Thatis what dreams are made of.
Horny teenage dreams and some of my wildest fantasies as an adult, but dreams, nonetheless.
I hadn’t brought her out here to get her naked. I wanted to spend time with her, show her a place I’ve come to love. A place she can escape to with or without me. A place where no one else will find her if she doesn’t want to be found.
But I should’ve known better, because with Lola Lima, I could never get my fill.
She taps me on the shoulder when she’s dressed and ready to go back to the truck. I spin, my heart fluttering and my pulse bounding in a way I’m nearly certain it shouldn’t. Her long, curly strands hang in wet sheets down her back. The tiny baby hairs near her temple sprouts out, drying much faster than the rest.
I clear my throat, working my saliva around the dry lumpin my throat. “Ready to get out of here, darlin’?” I ask, swallowing thickly.
She nods, reaching out to grab my hand. The atmosphere is charged, and I can’t shake the feeling we’re being watched. The hair on the back of my neck stands straight, but I ignore it, focusing on Lola’s movements instead.
We make it through the heavy brush, and I lift her over a stump on instinct, pulling my hands away abruptly when she peers over her shoulder at me.
I drive us to the barn at the top of the hill, parking the front of the truck under a weeping willow. “What are we doing, Ry?” she asks, her voice small and hesitant.
I flick my gaze out the window, giving her a small smile. “Follow me and find out.” She grips the handle, pushing the door open. I meet her on her side, offering my hand, which she takes, twining her fingers in mine, warming me with the small touch.
We approach the freshly-stained, smooth barn doors, sliding them open with ease thanks to the new metal brackets we installed the other day.
I flick on the light, illuminating the room in the warmth offered by the chandelier and strings of cafe lights. The floors are nowhere near finished, but the concrete has been cleaned, and all the dust, dirt, and cobwebs are gone.
Lola stands beside me, unmoving as the corners of her lips quirk in a contented smile, her eyes crinkling as they roam over the room. “I know it doesn’t look like much,” she whispers, “but it’s mine.”
I squeeze her fingers, bringing her knuckles to my mouth to press a kiss to the back of her hand. “It’s all yours, Lols. No one’s going to take this from you.”
She bats away a tear, releasing a small laugh that gets caught on a silent sob. “There’s still so much to get done, and I know the medication is working, because if I’d tried to accomplish something like these renovations without it, I’d have beenon bed rest for a week after a single day. It’s just so frustrating to know I’m this close,” she says, holding up her thumbs and pointer finger a millimeter apart, “but it might not work out in the long run because of a million factors I can’t control.”
I shift our bodies so we’re facing each other, lifting my hands to cup her face. It’s an awkward position because I refuse to release her hand, but I manage. “Lola, if it’s not complete by the time we do the trial run, the town will understand. If there are days you need to cancel a class or you realize you need more help,we will hire someone to help.If the scheduling and marketing make it hard for you to enjoy yourself, we’ll find someone to take over that part. But what I need you to do is let go of all those fears for just a few minutes right now and bask in the fact that you’retwo weeksfrom making your dreams a reality.”
She nods slowly, clenching her eyes shut for a beat before meeting my gaze with her glossy cinnamon one. “I can do that.”
“Good, Lols,” I say, reluctantly dropping her hand to get my phone connected to the speakers. I open myFor Lola, With Loveplaylist, and ‘Levii’s Jeans’ by Beyoncé filters through the speakers.
Her eyes light up as I set my phone down, reaching out for her. She wraps her arms around my neck, swaying to the music with me, rolling her hips over mine. I go dizzy as all the blood from my brain rushes to my dick.
When the song ends, it transitions to one of her absolute favorites. “La Vida Es Un Carnival” is an upbeat song that has Lola cracking a smile so wide it rivals the moon outside.
She slides her hands down my arms, loosely taking my hands in hers. Her hips shimmy, feet moving as she takes control, reminding me of all the years we spent dancing together as kids.
I spin her out, pulling her back into my body with a little too much force. Her back knocks againstmy chest, and she lets out a little “oof” but quickly recovers. She grinds her ass against me as she slowly sinks down my body, nearly killing me, my eyes rolling back from the friction. She pops back up to shoot a smile over her shoulder at me.
“Little minx,” I tease and allow my hands to roam freely over her body.
We continue dancing until we’re both out of breath and Lola’s lightly flushed cheeks are quivering from smiling so much. My heart feels beyond full as we close up, exiting to head to my truck bed in blissful silence. I open the tailgate, revealing the blankets and pillows I’ve laid out for us. “I’ve got no ulterior motive here, Lols. I figured a night under the stars would be nice,” I tell her, carefully choosing my words so she doesn’t think this night was all a setup to get in her pants.
She steps into my arms, wrapping hers around my neck and pressing up onto her tiptoes. “It’s perfect. Thank you, Ry,” she whispers into my neck. The sound is so sweet it makes my teeth ache.
I help her up into the truck bed, closing the tailgate behind me, and lie out on the blankets, resting my head on my arms.
We spend hours staring up at the sky, recounting all the stories our moms used to tell us when we were kids, making up the most random fairy tales about the stars and the people living within them. For the night, we get to be a part of that, too, a world of our own making, free of Lola’s health problems, my panic attacks, Logan’s passing, and the exes who haunt us.
Crickets chirp in unison, and fireflies zoom by, flickering in and out as they pass. Lola has her head tucked under my arm as she peers up at me. “Thanks for being the best fake husband I could ask for.”
“Thanks for being the best fake wife I could ever want.” What I don’t say is how much better it’d be if she were myrealwife, but I think we’ve toed that line a bit too much tonight. I know that’s a tightrope I have to walk really slowly.
We pack the blankets and pillows up and drive over toMayte’s, walking hand-in-hand to her cottage, picking up Nugget. Lola carries him to the truck, Mayte pulling me aside. “I’m rooting for you,” she says with a wink, all but shoving me off her doorstep.
