HEAR ME OUT

A GRUMPY/SUNSHINE, FORCED PROXIMITY ROMANCE

HILLY KEEN

Copyright © 2024 by Hilly Keen

Editor: Karen Washo, Utterly Unashamed, LLC

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

HEAR ME OUT

After a reality-bending New Year’s kiss, can these coworkers figure out a way to collaborate without more fireworks?

Meredith

It was one meaningless kiss, so why can’t I stop thinking about it? Obviously, it was a mistake. A huge. Big. Mistake. But Stuart was right there, and I was sad and maybe a little lonely. Now I have to act like nothing happened while we work together. But thanks to his podcast ambitions, a tiny sound booth, and his weirdly hot suspenders, I’m not sure I could resist him even if I tried.

Stuart

Meredith might be the spikiest woman I know, but that won’t discourage me from trying to get closer to her. Being the youngest of a large family, I’m used to fighting for what I want, and not always playing fair. So no amount of black-cat attitude she throws my way will get me down.

Now, with the help of her audio expertise, a few late night recording sessions, and some meddling coworkers, I have a chance to show Meredith I’m more than the office manager who gets under her skin. She holds the future of my podcast in her hands, but what will she do with my heart when she figures out she has that too?

If you love a glasses-wearing golden-retriever hero, a strong, prickly woman, fun times in small spaces, and creative use of office supplies, you’ll adore this high-heat, low-drama office romance.

“Hear Me Out” is part of the Work For It series, where members of Wavecrest’s The Base become more than just coworkers. Each book in this series of small town, steamy, low angst, bite-sized stories can be read as a standalone and features a satisfying happy ever after.

For the grumps.

You are me.

I am you.

CONTENTS

Prologue

1.  Why Is He Like That?

2.  What Are You Doing?

3.  Why Does She Hate Me?

4.  Runt Says What?

5.  Why Me?

6.  Where’d You Come From?

7.  How Does This Work?

8.  Are You Okay?

9.  How Are We Related?

10.  Want To Come Over?

11.  Where Am I?

12.  What Are You Going To Do About It?

13.  How Do We Do This?

14.  Can We Talk?

15.  What The…?

16.  How Do You Feel About Me?

Epilogue

About the Author

PROLOGUE

MEREDITH - NEW YEAR’S EVE

Stuart Smyth’s lips are much firmer than you’d think for a guy who’s such an annoying golden retriever. This is the fifth thought that hits me after I grab him and kiss him at midnight. The first being that everybody else is doing it. Not kissing Stuart specifically but kissing somebody. There’s fireworks and sparklers. Not the metaphorical kind. Strike that, there’s definitely metaphorical fireworks happening as I press my lips to Stuart’s.

My second thought—he tastes like pineapple lip balm, and I love pineapple. It’s during the third that reality sets in, oh shit what have I done. He’s going to follow me around the office like a puppy now. Followed quickly by my fourth thought that the fireworks aren’t just in the sky and my head, they’re now in my body, firing off behind my belly button, spreading heat throughout my limbs.

But yeah, I’m currently stuck on his lips. Soft and wide, and moving with intent over mine. What have I started? His tongue glides over my lips, and I gasp. He dives in, and I’m trying to work up the tiniest bit of regret, but I just can’t. Not when his surprisingly strong arms band tightly around me, his hands just north of my ass. And the rumble in his throat sounds deeper than his already deep voice.

I’ll make excuses later, but right now I can’t be bothered. It’s New Year’s, we just witnessed a marriage proposal, and couples everywhere sway to the music with their lips locked in celebration. I’m lonely, that’s the simplest explanation. And Stuart was right there, standing next to me, yammering on about the greatness of New Year’s all night long. I could’ve walked away like I do at work. But I’d just spotted my ex-boyfriend in the crowd with his new girlfriend. I just...I just needed something or someone to make me feel a little less alone. And Stuart, in his ridiculous silver top hat and glow sticks, fits the bill. That’s all this is. Midnight loneliness. And Stuart’s lips are a fucking revelation.

I’ll worry about the consequences another time.

CHAPTER 1

WHY IS HE LIKE THAT?

MEREDITH - TWO WEEKS LATER

“Ilove you.” Stuart’s deep, booming voice rings out across the first floor of The Base. I almost spit out my coffee, grabbing a napkin to quickly catch the little bit that does escape. For a split second, my heart thumps like I touched a live wire before my brain reengages. Stuart loves everybody.

He says “I love you” at least three times a day to various people and things. This morning he told the copy machine he wanted to have its babies after it finished a difficult collating job.

Last week, I heard him say “I love you” to the coffeemaker. And to Joanie, a member here at The Base, when she helped him format a Word doc. And the guy who delivered the morning fruit plate. And the person who does maintenance on the printers and copiers.

It’s fine that he’s never said it to me, even after that one time I handed him a fork for his lunch when we happened to be in the kitchen at the same moment.

He stands next to Colin, another of The Base members, as they look down at a phone screen. “This app is going to save me so much time,” Stuart says as he slaps Colin on the shoulder. Colin smiles down at him and hands back the phone.

Next to me, Joanie sighs. But she’s always sighing because to her everything is a good start to a romance novel she’ll write in the future. I’m afraid to ask if the sigh is for Stuart or Colin or the new relationship the two have with the phone.

Joanie leans into my shoulder and whispers, “He’s so sweet.” I still don’t know if she’s talking about Colin or Stuart. “I saw you two at the New Year’s street party, you know.” Ah, that.

“It’s not what it looked like,” I grumble into my coffee. Have you ever tried to will a blush away? There’s no stopping it once it gets started. “This coffee’s too hot.” I take another sip.

“It’s not like what looked like?” Her dreamy smile turns predatory and frightening. “I didn’t say what I saw you two doing.” Fuck, does she play poker?

“Come on, it’s Stuart,” I protest. “He’s deeply unserious.”

Joanie snorts. “Like you need someone who’s serious, Little Miss ‘I read Heart of Darkness on my lunch break.’”

“It’s a classic,” I grumble.

She waggles two fingers in my face. “First, you’re a snob. B, Stuart’s a snack. I mean look at him, with his auburn hair and his glasses. And don’t get me started on his suspenders. You can’t tell me you’ve never thought about doing something filthy with the guy involving those elastic bands of naughtiness.” Jesus, she talks the same way she writes.

An unexplainable wave of...something...hits me when I listen to Joanie breaking down all the ways Stuart Smyth is attractive. I try to snuff out the proprietary anger, but it won’t die. I hate that she’s right. I hate that when you add up his sunshine personality, forearms that should be illegal in most states, and his firm lips that I haven’t stopped thinking about, Stuart is fiercely tempting. I’d bet most people don’t see it when they first meet him, but the draw of Stuart reveals itself when he turns his glittering brown eyes on you. Those eyes might be part of the reason I kissed him.

“If you like him so much you should ask him out,” I snap. I regret my tone as soon as it comes out and open my mouth to apologize, but Joanie’s grinning like she just made a meal of me.

“You’re exhausting.” The sigh comes from the bottom of my feet.

“You bet your Doc Martens I am.”

“How’s the new book coming?” Deflect, deflect, deflect. Joanie’s romance novels tend to be low drama and sweetly steamy. I may not admit it to her, but I love them. She’s under the impression I only read biographies of serial killers and depressing classics.

“I see you trying to distract me, but thanks for asking. It’s going great.” I’m not sure I believe her, the way her eyes narrow on Colin when she says it, like she’s trying to puzzle something out. Knowing Joanie, she’ll probably tell me what’s really going on when she’s ready.

I met Stuart, Joanie, and the rest of The Base group when the owner, Sylvie, hired me to be the in-house audio engineer. Stuart’s the office manager of this bustling, thriving coworking space.

Wavecrest locals come here when they need a place to take a budding business idea and turn it into a small company, or just a desk to park their laptop. Sylvie’s version of a coworking hub relies heavily on community and collaboration, not just printers and free coffee.

Some members approached her about needing some help with audio projects, so she converted a small upstairs conference room into a sound studio where members can record podcasts, audiobooks, or whatever they need for their business. Then she hired me. It’s my job to help them with recording and editing. In a few months she wants to add a video recording studio.

But for now, I get to do work I love. I stay locked away in my little audio studio upstairs, surrounded by all the toys that go along with the job. Joanie narrates her own audiobooks, so I’ve been lucky enough to work closely with her. Not that I ever let on how much I appreciate her sunshine presence in my little cave, even if she sees something between me and Stuart that isn’t there.

I try not to pay attention, but my eyes follow Stuart as he moves from person to person, checking in with Base members with an easy smile showing off his dimples. I press my hand against my throat, trying to calm my thudding pulse. There has to be a way to curb how inconveniently attracted to him I am. Not attracted, simply curious.

Joanie nudges me, and I take it as a hint to rein in my thoughts and head back upstairs

CHAPTER 2

WHAT ARE YOU DOING?

STUART

“...the wind beneath my wiiiiiings.” I love the acoustics inside the sound booth. My singing sounds crisp and clear, not a hint of an echo. I suck in a deep breath to start singing “The Rose,” but the door flies open, and I almost fall off the stool I’m perched on.

“What the hell are you doing in here?” Meredith rakes her gaze over me from shoes to glasses, and she makes a face like she doesn’t like what she sees. Wasn’t making that face when her lips were locked on mine.

I paste a smile on my face. “Testing the acoustics. It’s the one place in The Base I’ve never been.”

She folds her arms across her chest. If she could, she’d probably hiss at me. “The acoustics are perfect, and what would you know about it anyway?”

“Okay, you’re the resident sound boss. I defer to your expertise, but don’t you ever get the urge to step inside here and sing your lungs out in the middle of the workday?”

She straightens. “No.” It’s tentative, like maybe she’s not telling the truth.

“If you were to come in here and sing your lungs out, what would you sing? No, wait, let me guess. Leonard Cohen?” She starts to shake her head but stops. “Siouxsie and the Banshees?” That earns me the tiniest of lip quirks. “Opera?”

“What were you singing, if you’re so curious?”

“Your deflection game is next level.” She raises an eyebrow and flicks a piece of her silky black hair away from her lips. I’m temporarily distracted until I pull my eyes away from her mouth. “If you have to know, I was working my way through the Bette Midler songbook.”

She blinks at me like I’m an alien who teleported into her sound booth. “Bette Midler?”

“The Divine Miss M to us mere mortals. Maybe you’ve heard of her most popular hit...” I open my mouth to start singing.

“I swear to god if you try to explain who Bette Midler is I’m going to lock you in here and watch you starve. I didn’t grow up in a vacuum—of course I know who she is. What I don’t understand is why you’re singing her songs in my sound booth.”

“Because I don’t know enough Streisand to do her justice.” I resist the urge to snap my own suspenders.

Meredith’s lips disappear into a line. She’s either fighting a laugh or wondering how to hide my body. Either way, her deep brown eyes flash with something heated. Probably anger. Then she lets out a sigh.

“I have a lot of work to do, Stuart.” As much as I like hearing her say my name, there’s no mistaking the exasperation in her voice. It stings a little, but I smile anyway.

“Right, I’ll get out of your hair.” I brush by her, my shoulder skimming hers in the tight space of her office. I hear the intake of her breath as the first sparks of heat shoot through my body. It’s like the fireworks on New Year’s but spreading under my skin instead of across the sky.

I hum “Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy” as I leave her office. At least I’ll always have Bette.

CHAPTER 3

WHY DOES SHE HATE ME?

STUART

“Fuckity ouch. Goddammit,” I mutter to myself as I hold the thumb I just slammed in a drawer. This is the third time this week I’ve injured myself, each one because Meredith Lopez-McMillan walked by and gave me a cranky little eyebrow lift. Or because my mind trailed back to The Kiss to End All Kisses.

Her painfully lovely face is hard to read, but I think the small smirk means this is a game to her. Or she hates me. Or I annoy her, which is the most likely explanation. Not everyone can handle this much glowy awesomeness, although I don’t feel so awesome when my thumb isn’t the only thing that’s throbbing.

My friend and Base member, Colin, hands me an ice pack from the freezer. “Thanks, dude. I can’t believe I did it again.”

“I can.” He pats me on the shoulder and gives me a grin. “Ever since she started here you’ve been a danger to yourself and others. I honestly don’t know how you’re still functioning.” I want to argue, but he’s not wrong.

After I finished my master’s in rhetoric and communications from the local college, I landed this job. It’s perfect for the moment, allowing me to pay down my student loans, be close to my family, and give me the space to figure out what I want to do next.

Meredith started in December, and now that The Base has the resources, I’ve caught the podcasting bug.

Or maybe I have the podcasting bug because it would mean working closely with the slightly scary, very beautiful, always intimidating Meredith. Now if I could just convince her that I’m delightful, I’d be able to stop injuring myself. I’m not usually this distracted.

Everybody usually loves me, especially here at The Base. I keep them supplied in snacks and printer toner. There’s always fresh coffee, Friday Fun Day, and an ear to bend. Yesterday, one member told me I was a joy to be around.

News flash—it wasn’t Meredith.

“Yoo-hoo.” Colin snaps his fingers in front of my face. I blink out of my wandering thoughts and massage my aching thumb. Meredith’s talking to Carla, a member who’s been here since Sylvie opened the place. I watch Meredith take a bite of a cookie Carla gave her, and I restrain a groan. I wish this place had an oven. I’d bake everybody some cookies and watch Meredith eat one. Colin snaps again.

“Sorry, I was thinking about cookies.”

“Is that a euphemism for someone’s boobs?” His emphasis on ‘someone’ makes me want to tackle him to the ground. But that would be like a greyhound trying to take on a bear. My average height and lean build would be no match for him. I have muscle, just not brick shithouse muscle. Does Meredith like greyhounds? She’s a couple inches shorter than me, and that seemed to work perfectly for the kiss she laid on me New Year’s Eve. At least I think so.

That kiss...fuck it was the hottest thing I’ve ever experienced, and that’s saying something because I once saw Cher in concert. I turn to Colin. “How do I get Meredith to stop hating me?”

His face turns sympathetic, and he shrugs. “I don’t think she hates you. She’s like that with everyone.”

“Not with Sylvie. Or you. Or close-talker Tony.” I wave my hand around, gesturing at the open-plan work area where most people are focused on their laptops.

“I was trying to spare your feelings. Yeah, I don’t know why she hates you.” I deflate a little. I haven’t told Colin about The Kiss. That belongs to me and Meredith, even if dozens of people probably witnessed it. No one has mentioned it to me so sometimes I wonder if it really happened.

Meredith makes her way to the kitchen, and I resist the urge to duck behind the counter so she doesn’t catch me staring. The only thing stopping me is Colin standing next to me. She gives him a small smile in greeting and opens the cabinet containing the coffee mugs.

Instead of pulling down one mug she takes five out of the cabinet and lines them up on the counter. She takes a step back and crosses her arms over her chest, assessing the mugs like they’re contestants in a beauty pageant. Now I’m picturing the mugs with little tiny sashes and a snort leaves me.

Meredith gifts me with a scowl that I’ll cherish at least until this afternoon when she’ll probably honor me with another one. She turns back to the mugs. Each is a different color with its own cute or funny saying on it. I had more fun than I should have picking them out.

“Which will it be today, Meredith?” Colin asks with a hint of tease in his voice. She doesn’t turn around but hushes him with the raise of her hand. She hovers her hand back and forth over the selection until she picks up a purple one that says, “And yet, despite the look on my face you’re still talking,” fills it with black coffee and puts away the loser mugs.

“What do you think her selection criteria is?” Colin’s not even bothering to whisper. Our running commentary has become part of this near-daily ritual.

“I don’t know, man—I just trust the process.”

Meredith finally turns around, gives us both a mysterious smile, and steps out of the kitchen.

I grab my own coffee cup and head back to my desk on the other side of the first floor. I watch Meredith make her way up the stairs to her office, and I turn away before I’m caught staring at her ass.

MEREDITH

My shoulders relax as I close the door to the control room, and I collapse in my chair. It was one fucking kiss on New Year’s, but I can’t get Stuart and his firm lips out of my head. Every time I smell pineapple my panties get a little damp. Everybody kisses a stranger at some point in their life, especially on December thirty-first after watching the most romantic marriage proposal ever. It’s just fact. Not that Stuart’s a stranger, but he’s definitely not a friend.

He’s too much, with all his eager friendliness, over-the-top peppiness, considerate kindness, pineapple and fabric softener smell, and surprisingly strong arms. And the way he looks at me, like I’m a safe he wants to crack. It makes me itchy.

I open my laptop and get to work editing some audio for a member, but my focus is shot to hell. I glance down at my chipped dark blue nail polish which is a near-perfect match of Stuart’s blue and green plaid shirt and navy suspenders today.

What kind of twenty-something guy wears suspenders? And black-framed glasses that look like he stole them off Buddy Holly. And why is it so fucking cute? A tiny immature part of me wants to snap his suspenders to see how he reacts.

But he’d probably take that as flirting, and I would never flirt with Stuart. That one kiss doesn’t count. Except it kind of does, because it plays on repeat in my head and nothing I’ve tried quiets it.

My face flames when I think about how his arms wrapped around me after a split second of shock. Why does he have to be the perfect height for kissing? And what else are those rolled-up sleeves and plaid shirts hiding?

CHAPTER 4

RUNT SAYS WHAT?

STUART

“Pass the rolls, dipshit.” I don’t bother reacting as I pick up the basket in front of me and hand it to my brother, Mason. Greta, my favorite sister, intercepts it, grabs a roll, licks it, and puts it on Mason’s plate.

I’m so deep in my thoughts that all I manage is a snort at Mason’s horrified face. My brain is too busy puzzling over my future at The Base. I love it there, but I want to use my rhetoric degree and stretch my creative muscles beyond my office manager job.

Because I’m a full-time employee of The Base I can take advantage of all the coworking space’s benefits without having to pay a monthly membership fee. For a few years, I’ve wanted to start a podcast but hesitated because I don’t really have anything interesting to say. Nobody wants to listen to a straight white dude blather on about suspenders, or student loan debt, or how the waffles at the local diner are probably the best in California.

I mean, I could probably do an episode or two about what a good kisser Meredith is, but I don’t think she’d appreciate that. Maybe another on how she looks in the slouchy black sweater, cut-off shorts over fishnets, and Doc Martens she wore yesterday. It should be a national holiday whenever she wears those shorts and fishnets together. I had to go home at lunch yesterday so I could demonstrate my appreciation for them in the privacy of my apartment.

Each one of her thick thighs should be celebrated. They’d get their own day of the week. Saturday for the right, Sunday for the left. Mondays would be for the bra strap that sometimes peeks out of her slouchy sweater. Tuesdays for the dark, near magenta lipstick that highlights her plush, pouty lips. Lipstick that she left on my mouth when she kissed me. Wednesday—

Something splats against the side of my face, and I flinch. “What the fuck, Wesley?” I glower at my oldest brother sitting next to me at the family dinner table. All my brothers and sisters are older than me. I’m the baby of the family, so this is not the first time I’ve been hit in the face with a wet something.

“You were staring off into space. It was creepy.” Wesley plucks a used teabag off my shoulder and puts it on his plate. I lick my finger to give him a wet willie, but I notice my mother across the table with her face in her hands, shaking her head. My oldest sibling is eleven years older than my twenty-four years. I can’t imagine putting up with this bullshit for over thirty years.

Each of my five siblings has some form of smirk on their face, and my inner youngest child wants to pitch a fit. But I’m a college graduate, a mature, grown-up person with the debt to show for it. If I could just come up with an interesting podcast topic and find sponsors, I could move out of my crappy apartment and pay down some of my loans. Sylvie pays me well enough, but everybody needs a side hustle in this economy.

Greta turns to her twin Michelle and asks, “How was your date last weekend?” She and Michelle are the next youngest in the family, and Greta always runs interference for me. She gives me a subtle wink, letting me know she intentionally took the focus off me. It lets me go back to noodling on podcast topics as I watch my siblings interacting, each with a different dynamic between them.

“Holy shit, I’ve got it,” I say to myself. The table goes silent. My dad’s soup spoon is halfway to his mouth. “You guys are perfect.”

“When you say guys, does that include us?” Michelle motions between herself, Greta, and our mother.

“Sorry. Yes. Y’all are perfect.”

“For what?” my brother Clay asks with a curious lift of his eyebrow.

“My podcast. Be nice to me or I’ll dedicate a whole episode to how many times I ended up in the ER thanks to pranks gone wrong.”

My mom puts her head back in her hands.

CHAPTER 5

WHY ME?

MEREDITH

Iwon’t admit this to anybody, but Wednesday staff meetings in Sylvie’s office are one of my favorite parts of the week. She brings more than enough pastries for the three of us, letting us get first dibs before Base members get to pick over what’s left. Ever since Sylvie hired me a couple months ago, I’ve looked forward to sitting here and shooting the shit with her every week. And Stuart too…maybe more than Sylvie.

“Anything fun planned for the weekend?” Sylvie asks me, twirling a pen in her fingers.

“I might head up to San Francisco to visit my sister and her kids, or I might stay in bed and listen to some new podcasts. It’s a tough choice.” I smirk. I love my sister and her ankle biters, but they’re not the kind of noise I enjoy.

Sylvie laughs. “I’d opt for the podcast every time.”

Stuart bounds into the room like a puppy. “Speaking of podcasts, I wanted to talk to you both about something.” He sets a cup of water in front of Sylvie, and then hands me a mug filled with black coffee. “Here you go, Mugs.” The effort it takes to not show how much I like that nickname heats my cheeks.

“Thanks,” I murmur, suddenly feeling too big for my skin. He gives me a smile that would knock a lesser woman out of her seat. Sylvie clears her throat, and I realize Stuart and I have been staring at each other for more time than is appropriate for coworkers.

He grabs the seat next to me, across from Sylvie where she sits behind her desk. “Let’s go through our meeting agenda first, then you can tell me what you’re thinking.” He nods, but I can practically feel him vibrating in his seat, eager to talk about whatever’s on his squirrel brain.

We chat about some of The Base’s newest members, upgrading the Wi-Fi, and the schedule for the sound booth. Now Stuart is jiggling his knee and biting his thumb nail. Impatience coming off him in waves.

Sylvie folds her hands on her desk and pauses, the tiniest evil smile on her face. I wonder if part of the reason she hired Stuart is because he’s so easy to fuck with. As soon as she nods at him, he’s off like a shot. I can’t hide my smile at his eagerness.

“Okay, so you know I’ve been trying to figure out an interesting topic for a podcast.” Oh no... “I had dinner with my family last weekend, and it hit me. Runt of the Litter.” He moves his hand in the air like he’s reading an imaginary marquee.

Sylvie and I stare at him, waiting for him to explain. He scoots forward in his chair, and I’m hit with his pineapple and fabric softener scent. I uncross and recross my legs. “I’m the youngest of six.” My eyebrows shoot up. “And the dynamics of a family that size is like a plate of spaghetti.” He takes a quick breath and puts his hands flat on Sylvie’s desk. “But all family dynamics are complex. So I want to start a podcast about the relationships between siblings, and how birth order and other factors affect relationships inside and outside the family. What growing up in families of all sizes is like. I’ll start with mine—I’ll interview some of my siblings, and other people from families of all stripes. I want to focus on what it’s like to be an only child, or a youngest, or oldest, or in the middle.”

“That sounds so much better than that podcast on driftwood I listened to when I was high,” Sylvie says. A slow smile spreads across her impish face when she turns to me. “Can you get Stuart on your schedule?” I guess she likes fucking with me too.

No. No I can’t get Stuart the nice-smelling, firm-lipped, embodiment of the unicorn emoji on my schedule. It would mean—I suck in a breath—it would mean he and I working in close quarters whenever he records an episode. And knowing him, he’d want to hover over me when I edit it. That’s a lot of time together.

I glance at Stuart, and he looks at me with so much hope on his face, I can’t pull myself away. “Sure,” I answer, my lungs deflating on a sigh. He blinks at me, the kind of blink a puppy makes before it’s about to pounce. But now I’m the one who wants to crawl into his lap.

Sylvie claps her hands. “Fantastic. I can’t wait to hear the first episode.” I grab an eclair from the pastry plate and book it out of the office. I need to regroup in my studio.

Sitting in front of my laptop, I take a giant bite of the dreamy pastry, licking my lips just as the door to my cave opens. I know who it is before I turn around.

“Hey, do you have time to look at the schedule now?” Stuart asks as he approaches my desk. I stand up and turn around, wanting the ability to get out of his scent range. The corner of his mouth tips up as he approaches me, and I fight to breathe normally. But I suck in a breath when he ghosts a finger across my cheek. I wish I’d stayed sitting because my knees go rubbery and my skin heats.

“Chocolate,” he says in that unnaturally deep voice he has, his eyes glittering. Then he licks the tip of his finger, swirling his tongue more than a tiny bit of chocolate calls for.

I’d rather not talk about the sound that escapes my throat. He’s kind enough not to mention it. I plop down in my seat, not trusting my knees one bit. I quickly swipe a napkin across my lips and cheeks.

“Sure, let’s talk schedules.” I refuse to mention the tongue thing, trying not to focus on the tug behind my belly button. He sits in my spare office chair and leans forward, setting his elbows on his knees.

Why do I find everything Stuart Smyth does arousing? He’s just sitting, for fuck’s sake. Have I ever noticed other men doing this? Stuart’s forearms are shockingly sexy for a guy who looks like he stepped out of an Archie comic. Dark reddish hair can’t hide the freckles and veins that run up the length of his arms. Heaven help me if he flexes those puppies.

His eyes rake over me from head to toe then land on my shoulder. Is he blushing? I realize my bra strap is peaking out of my collar and quickly readjust my shirt to cover my shoulders, but that only makes the large neckline drape over my admittedly fantastic cleavage. Fuck it, let him look.

Stuart swallows hard then manages to drag his eyes back to mine. “The schedule...when can I start recording?”

I allow myself a moment to gather my thoughts and switch gears from queen of the dry spell to professional sound engineer. “Do you have a script ready for the first episode?” I fold my arms, and Stuart’s eyes go wide. He leans back in his chair, crosses his ankle over his knee and folds his hands in his lap. Smooth.

“I have a rough outline, but I guess I shouldn’t wing it.”

“Not if you don’t want to say ‘uh’ a ton. Write something and practice it out loud a few times, then I can get you on the schedule. Next week is pretty slammed with the audiobooks that Joanie’s recording. If you’re in a rush, we might be able to work in the evenings.” Professional me wants to smack horny me across the head. Why did I suggest spending evenings in this cramped office with Stuart?

A quick grin splits his freckled face, and his eyes sparkle behind his glasses, but he bites the smile back quickly. I want to laugh at how hard he’s trying to look serious. He’s a few years younger than me, and sometimes I can see the little boy inside of him wanting to break out and run around like a terror.

I clear my throat. “Do you plan to interview your siblings? The booth is just big enough for two people, but it’ll be tight.” My cheeks flame at the word ‘tight.’

Stuart’s face goes slack and pale. “Crap. That means bringing them here. I didn’t think this through.” He eyes the small sound booth behind me. It’s a tiny, enclosed room about two and a half times the size of a phone booth with one window, the interior walls and ceiling covered in dark gray acoustic tiles.

My sound engineering equipment is out here, but this room isn’t much bigger than the sound booth. If Stuart’s chair was a little closer, or his legs longer, our knees would be competing for space.

“Why don’t you want your siblings here? Afraid us Basers are going to embarrass you?”

A loud bark of laughter escapes his mouth. “I’m the youngest of four boys and two girls. I’m afraid of rubber tarantulas and being pantsed in public.” He sighs and leans his head back and stares at the ceiling. “I don’t know...my family makes me constantly feel like a little kid. And here I get to be a competent, mature version of myself.”

“Maybe you can interview them in the wild. The sound won’t be as good, but it’d make you feel better.”

“Thanks for the suggestion, but I’ll do it here. What’s the worst that could happen?” He moves to stand, and I want to smack myself for being greedy for his time. I want him to stay and keep talking to me about his family.

But that’s not who we are. We’re coworkers who made the mistake of kissing once. But mistake feels like too strong of a word since Stuart definitely, and with intent, kissed me back.

I’m still seated when he stands and bends at the waist, bringing his face within kissing range. I suck in a breath. “You in there, Meredith? Your peepers glazed over for a bit.”

A laugh bubbles out of me. “Peepers? When did you turn into a geriatric charmer?” He makes it difficult to maintain my disinterested mask. Stuart’s too...everything. Too young, too excitable, too enthusiastic.

Too magnetic.

A dimple pops on his smooth cheek, and his eyes dance behind his glasses. “Meredith Lopez-McMillan thinks I’m charming.” He mimes writing something down on the palm of his hand, the tip of his tongue peeking out of his lips like he’s concentrating too hard. “Noted.” With that, he turns and exits my control room, leaving behind his pineapple and fabric softener scent and a small smile on my face. There’s no way you’re going to survive this with your panties and sanity intact, Meredith.

STUART

I straighten the notebooks and pens on the metal shelves of the small storage room on the first floor. The notebooks were already straight, but this room is where I come to think, and I need to fidget and futz in order to do that. I don’t need a ton of quiet time—I like being around people. But even the most extroverted person needs time to think. And right now Meredith is all I’m thinking about. That purple bra strap...fuck me. And the way a little piece of her silky, straight black hair caught in her dark plum lipstick. I imagine that lipstick leaving marks on more than my mouth. I groan at the tightness in my jeans.

My little baby crush on Meredith was under control until she laid that kiss on me. Now all bets are off. I dream about the moment she grabbed my shirt and pulled me down to her. I dream about a lot of things where she’s concerned. My hands clench at the memory of how well we aligned chest to chest and mouth to mouth. At least I had enough presence of mind not to grind myself into her, but I really, really wanted to.

But today, in that small office, talking about recording my podcast after business hours...the back of my neck heats and my cock jumps. I restack the printer paper, wanting to beat myself over the head with a thick ream of it. We need an anonymous suggestion box so I can stuff it with notes about adding a cold shower to the office. Maybe attach the shower to the breastfeeding room where there’s a comfy couch. Fuck, now I’m thinking about Meredith laid out on the red couch in that quiet room tucked down the back hallway.

My dick needs readjusting in my pants, but the door to the storage room flies open before I can do anything. Mars, a new member of The Base pokes his head in. “I think I broke the coffee maker again.” I try to set thoughts of Meredith and her fishnets aside and get back to work. I need to focus on refining the script for my first podcast episode, not the sexy as hell sound engineer who kisses like a naughty goddess and smells like a flower garden at midnight.

CHAPTER 6

WHERE’D YOU COME FROM?

MEREDITH

Iblink at the sun punching through the clouds as I step outside into the brisk chill on Front Street. Early February in Wavecrest is beautiful but brutally cold, at least for California. Wrapping my Derby jacket around myself, I head to Curly’s Diner for a solo lunch. I’ve been cooped up in my control room this whole morning and need a little human contact.

An antsy, unsettled feeling has tightened my stomach and shoulders since this morning when I walked into The Base and didn’t see Stuart. I came downstairs twice to get water, and he still wasn’t there. Whatever, no big deal. Maybe he’s sick. I’ve only been employed here for a few months, but I’ve never noticed him taking a day off. Does Sylvie know he’s not here? Is she worried?

I pull open the diner door and step into the warmth, my senses immediately bombarded with the heavenly aroma of bacon and maple syrup. The place is packed but there’s a couple open spaces at the counter, next to local tea and tattoo shop owner, Betty, and her sister Angela.

Dana, one of the waitresses, catches my eye and nods towards the empty seat. Making my way over, a shock of blond hair catches my eye and my stomach drops. Aiden’s here, and he’s with his new girlfriend. There’s no avoiding my ex in a small town like Wavecrest, but I was hoping to go more than a few weeks without an asshole sighting.

I take a deep breath and focus on not tripping on my way to the stool at the counter. I give Betty and Angela a smile as I hook my bag under the counter. Dana sets a heavy stoneware mug in front of me and pours some of the blackest coffee I’ve ever seen. I hold the mug up to my nose and take a deep breath, trying to calm my rattling nerves.

I don’t miss Aiden. I don’t miss his little gibes at how I dress, laughed off as just joking. Or how he called me delusional when I suspected him of cheating, and then when I found him kissing someone else and he told me ‘it wasn’t what it looked like.’

I take a deep breath and scan the menu, trying to shake off the little dark cloud that forms anytime I’m within fifty feet of Aiden. I feel a nudge at my shoulder and turn to a smiling Betty. “Fuck him,” she whispers to me. The bark of laughter that escapes me turns heads.

“Thanks, Bets.” I nudge my shoulder against hers in response. Betty is among a cohort of town gossips, so she knows everything that went down between my ex and I. Hard to miss since I took a crowbar to his windshield in front of her shop where I’d just witnessed him canoodling with someone who was not me. Also, her sister might’ve been the one who handed me the crowbar. Aiden agreed not to press charges if I agreed not to call his mom and tell her what happened.

Seriously, his mom.

Dana takes my order for a grilled cheese sandwich and a banana milkshake, when I feel a dark presence behind me, and then a tap on my shoulder. I turn my head slightly, not giving Aiden the benefit of my full attention.

“What do you want, dickhead?”

“Real mature, Meredith. I just came over to say hi. And to remind you that you still owe me for the windshield.”

I catch Betty taking a sip of her coffee and shaking her head. “You’d think the boy would learn his lesson,” she mutters to her sister.

I snort. “Consider the year of my life I wasted on you as payment.” A gasp comes from beside Aiden, and I realize his new girlfriend is standing next to him. She’s not even the one I caught him kissing. I glance at her. “Get out while you can. He’s a cheater.”

“Meredith,” he sighs. “Ever the little ray of sunshine.” Angela starts to remove her earrings. She’s in her seventies and uses a cane, but I don’t think that’s ever stopped her. Betty lays a hand on her sister’s arm.

I feel his breath on the back of my neck, and I shudder. “Good luck finding—” He doesn’t finish the thought as someone sits down on my other side. Pineapple and fabric softener replacing even the strong scent of diner food.

I see Betty’s eyebrows wing up before I turn to my right. I can’t explain the sense of relief that rushes through me when I see Stuart’s smiling face. Except it’s not his usual jolly, friendly smile, and it’s not directed at me. His brown eyes are narrowed at Aiden, and he’s showing his teeth like he’s about to rip my ex’s throat out.

“Read the room, asshole. You don’t get to talk to her if she doesn’t want you to.” His voice is a definitely not-sexy combo of flinty and smooth. I’m not fooling anybody...that’s hot.

I turn to face Stuart completely, my mouth hanging open. My happy puppy has gone feral, and I don’t hate it. In fact, I’ve got some embarrassingly wet evidence in my underwear that I kinda love it.

“And who the fuck are you?” Aiden doesn’t sound so sure about this line of questioning, but if he’s got one consistent quality it’s that he hates being bested in anything. It’s why he stopped playing backgammon with me.

I expect Stuart to stand up and have a face off, but he leans back and props his elbows on the counter, looking relaxed and unbothered. I let an incredulous laugh escape when Stuart gives me a wink. “Oh, this is good,” Betty mutters behind me.

“Not really any of your business. All you need to know is that I’m a guy who can appreciate a smart, beautiful, capable woman like our Meredith here. I’m a guy who’d never be stupid enough to let her go if I was ever lucky enough to have her in the first place.” It comes out like a threat, and I hold my breath. A shiver of goosebumps race across my skin, and I fist my hands to keep them from grabbing Stuart by the suspenders and kissing him. Wouldn’t want to make it a habit.

How is he able to say any of this with a straight face? Not just a straight face, but that same benign smile. I can’t look away from him as he stares Aiden down. The sounds of the diner are muted, and I don’t know if it’s a trick of my heated brain or if people are gawking. I don’t care either way.

“Whatever, dude,” Aiden huffs out.

He turns on his heel and leaves with his date trailing behind him. “I’ll have what she’s having,” Angela whispers to Betty.

I remain frozen in place, staring at Stuart as he turns around on his stool, waves Dana down, and motions at the empty mug in front of him.

“What...” I can’t finish the thought. I don’t even know what I want to ask. My face flames when he turns his full attention to me. It’s like being hit with a concentrated beam of pure sunlight. “Why?” I point over my shoulder at the diner’s exit.

Before answering me, he leans forward and smiles at Betty and Angela. “Ladies.” He tips an imaginary cap at them. It’s the dorkiest, sexiest thing I’ve ever seen, and my brain trips over itself trying to make sense of it.

“Would someone please explain to me what the fuck just happened?” I splutter.

“Your dumpster fire of an ex just got served his misplaced ego on a platter by our lovely boy here,” Betty says like she’s narrating a nature documentary. A deep blush rushes up Stuart’s neck and cheeks. He taps his glasses back up his nose and my fingers twitch, wanting to snatch them off his face so I can mash mine to his.

“You looked like his presence was unwelcome. It made me cranky.” He shrugs as he sips his coffee. Like it’s no big deal that he publicly called me beautiful and slapped down a stuffed-shirt asshole without laying a finger on him.

“That was you cranky?”

“Yeah, I’m sorry you had to see that.” He grins at me. I know this smile...this is the one where he wants everybody to be in on the joke. He’s got a million different smiles. I’d never seen the one he aimed at Aiden before. Recently every single one of them sends shivers through me.

Dana sets a plate down in front of him. “You didn’t order anything.” Seriously, what is going on right now?

“It’s Tuesday. I always get the roast beef on Tuesday. Dana stopped asking months ago.” He puts the napkin on his lap, adjusts his glasses again, and takes a giant bite of the sandwich. The moan that escapes him...it’s pornographic. I hear a whispered oh my from next to me. I can’t tell if it was Betty or Angela because I’m too focused on Stuart’s mouth. But I have to agree with the sentiment.

Oh my, indeed.

CHAPTER 7

HOW DOES THIS WORK?

MEREDITH

Islide my headphones to my neck, breathing out a heavy sigh now that the final voiceover edit is done. Carla, a Base member who’s starting her own engineering firm, needed my help with a video for her website. People look at me and think I want to work in a music studio and engineer albums for big stars, and I used to want that. But in school, I discovered that I liked working with non-famous people. People who had goals and dreams, and just needed a little help getting them off the ground. It’s easy to joke that everybody and their aunt has a podcast, but the democratization of media means anybody can broadcast themselves. For better or worse.

When Stuart first mentioned he wanted to do a podcast, I almost laughed. Of course he did, he always has something to say, and he has the voice for radio. A shiver runs through me at the thought of his voice pumping through my headphones. He’s not the biggest guy around but he has a deep, resonating timber that hits me right in the throat and chest. It’s like he was touched by the divine finger of Rick Astley.

I want to rub my eyes because of the long day, then I remember I refreshed my eyeliner and mascara a few minutes ago. For no particular reason, of course. I get up to grab some more water from the kitchen downstairs. I open the door to my control room and gasp. Stuart stands there with his fist raised to knock. My hand flies to my chest to try to calm my suddenly racing heart. His eyes track the movement, and his smile tips wider. Always with the smiling. I know what would wipe that off his face. Stop it, Meredith. It’s not New Year’s.

“You heading downstairs?” Stuart nods at my water tumbler that’s covered in band stickers. I nod and try to slip past him. “Cool, I’ll come with you.” I don’t have a reason to say no, so I give him a shrug. I’ve felt weird and jumpy around him ever since he intervened at the diner a few days ago.

Stuart’s yammering used to annoy me, but when he starts telling me how excited he is to start recording this evening, I melt a little. “I polished this script to within an inch of its life. But you’ll have to tell me what you think.”

“I’m sure it’ll be great. You have the perfect voice for this, and it’s interesting subject matter,” I say absently, thinking about getting the recording session set up. I take a few more steps towards the stairs and realize Stuart’s no longer next to me. “What?”

“Did you just give me a compliment?” He rocks back on his heels and hooks his thumbs in his suspenders. I school my face, trying not to encourage him with the smile that wants to break free.

“It’s not a compliment when all I’m doing is stating fact.” I continue to the kitchen, too aware of him next to me. His usual clean smell is layered under something else, something a little spicier. In front of the water dispenser, I try to puzzle out what I’m smelling. “Did you put on cologne to record this episode? You know the listeners can’t smell you, right?”

Stuart’s face takes on a blush, and he looks down at his shoes. He mumbles something I can’t catch. “What?” I step closer to him. Big mistake. Huge. Because now I’m up close and personal with his fathomless brown eyes and the little crinkly lines around them. He’s young, but he smiles so much that he already has laugh lines.

He runs a thumb over his dark auburn eyebrow. “Nothing, just...nothing.” I tilt my head and narrow my eyes, hoping it breaks him. “Okay, fine,” he huffs out. The small hairs near my ear flutter. “I reapplied deodorant. No big deal. It’s been a long day, and I didn’t want to stink up the booth.”

“But it’s not your usual smell,” I say before I can stop myself.

My eyes go wide.

His eyes go wider.

Fuck.

I wonder if snapping his suspenders will be like one of those Men In Black memory erasers. I almost reach out to try it.

He takes a small step closer. “You notice what I smell like?” His smile is this side of smarmy, and I want to wipe it off his face. Preferably with my lips. Instead, I take a sip of water and skirt around him to head back upstairs.

“The store didn’t have my usual stuff, so I picked a back-up scent. I’m glad you approve.”

“Who said I approve?”

He slaps his hand over his chest like I’ve wounded him, but the smile never leaves his face.

I’m annoyed at how Stuart doesn’t annoy me anymore.

“Let’s get started on the episode. I don’t want to be here all night.” The Base closes in an hour, but the lights on the main floor have already been dimmed because the only other person here, Tien, likes to keep the lights low when he works.

In the control room, I open the door to the small sound booth motioning for Stuart to go in. He picked up his iPad from his desk that I assume has the script on it. Grabbing the headphones that hang on a hook by the booth’s window, he places them around his neck after setting the iPad on the stand. “You can choose to stand, but most people use the stool.” I motion to the seat and wonder why I sound so robotic. “This switch adjusts the lights, and you can put your water here.” Beep boop.

Stuart nods with every instruction, paying attention like it’s the first day of a new job. His hair flops forward with every nod, and it drives me up the wall. But as soon as he puts the headphones on, no more flop, and I miss it a little.

I step out of the booth, closing the door behind me. Heading to the mini sound board I have set up, I catch movement out of the corner of my eye. Stuart waves energetically, with his whole body, like if he had a tail he’d be wagging it. “Dork.” I shake my head at him, fighting yet another smile. He turns sideways and acts like he’s walking downstairs so he disappears below the bottom of the window, then pops back up.

I throw my head back and let out the laugh I’d been fighting. His eyes go wide, and he throws his arms up in the air like he just hit a home run, and then dances around in a circle getting himself tangled in the headphone cord.

I turn away, trying to put my super serious sound engineer face back on, but if Stuart and I are going to work together, I might have to get used to all this smiling.

STUART

My heart thrashes around in my chest, and the only reason is because I made Meredith laugh. Me. Made the empress of all things audio laugh. Not just crack a little smile or smirk. Her head tipped back, and she laughed. Fuck, I wish I heard it, but I had the pleasure of seeing the blunt edges of her black bob sweep across her jaw, and some of my favorite parts of her jiggle. Worth it.

I realize I can say anything in this tiny sound booth, and she can’t hear me until she puts her own headphones on. “I think you’re beautiful,” I shout at full volume. “Your hard outer shell is not as thick as you think it is.” She sits down at her desk and does something on her laptop. She has a goose-necked lamp that bounces light off the subtle curve of her cheekbones, and I can’t look away. Just as she reaches for her headphones, I say, “I want another kiss. I want more.”

The headphones slide onto her head, and she taps something on her laptop. I jump a little when her voice comes through. “Okay, we’re going to do some sound checks and then we can get right into it. What are we recording today?”

“An introduction, mostly. My sister Greta will be my first guest, but she can’t come in until next week. I have some filler content, like stats on families and a couple of anecdotes from friends.” I tilt my head at her, not liking the window that separates us. “Do you have any siblings?”

A soft smile I’ve never seen crosses her plum lips. “Yeah, a sister who lives in San Francisco. She’s got two daughters, and I can’t wait to see what their relationship will be like.”

“You two get along?”

Meredith fiddles with the sleeve of her sweater and nods. “She’s my best friend even though she’s five years older.” My eyes go wide. “What? What’d I say?”

“I didn’t even think about the age difference between siblings. Just birth order and how it affects how siblings interact with each other.” Meredith nods at my observation. “I smell a second season.”

She laughs and the sound travels straight from my ears to my cock, and I’m grateful that my lower half is hidden from view. Everything about her is raspy and textured. Her voice, her laughs, her personality. The only soft thing about her is her body, and I ache to get lost in it. In her. But her hard edges...they spike my heart rate. I think about that sandpaper personality rubbing up against my uncomplicated self. The marks and scuffs she would leave on me.

I’d welcome every one.

MEREDITH

We get through the first recording session with me only ruining one pair of panties. I can’t stop my thighs from clenching as Stuart’s deep as a crater voice flows through my headphones. It feels like being filled up with hot honey. It only takes a few tries to make it through the podcast’s intro. As soon as he said the words “I’m Stuart Smyth, and I’m the runt of the litter,” the warm honey feeling took over and it never left me. I did manage to keep the smile off my face though, because golden boy doesn’t need that kind of ego boost.

I laugh quietly when he describes his relationship to his five siblings, how he was picked on at home, but defended at school by his older brothers. How sometimes it felt like he had seven parents instead of two.

It’s eleven at night when we finally finish, and I’m practically shaking with a strange combination of exhaustion and exhilaration. Working with a voice like Stuart’s has my sound engineer’s brain cranking with all sorts of ideas.

The door to the booth flies open, and I almost jump out of my chair. Stuart breaks into a frenetic dance that looks like a combo of the running man and the cabbage patch. “That was so good. Holy shit, Meredith, that felt amazing.” His voice is loud, even with my headphones still on. His glasses are askew on this face, and there’s an indent in his hair from the headphones. This level of enthusiasm, coupled with my growing attraction to him, forces an awkward smile out of me.

“You did a great job. I’m looking forward to the next session.” There...not too excited, but he deserves some praise.

His dancing pauses for a second, his arms drop to his side as he stares at me. Then he breaks into another dance, and I’m afraid he’s going to throw out a hip. I can’t stop the laugh that explodes out of my chest. Stuart keeps swinging his hips, and he needs to stop. He’s too silly, too over the top, too full of...whatever he’s full of. I hop out of my chair and lay a hand on his arm, struck silent by the energy thrumming just under his sleeve when he immediately stops moving.

He looks down at my hand on his arm and goes still, his eyes widening like he feels it too. I try to snatch my hand back, but he’s faster and grabs it. Sweat breaks out in the crook of my elbows as I watch him watch me. With a thick swallow he says, “Thanks for your help, Meredith. You’re the best part of this whole thing.” Then he squeezes my hand and is out the door before I can respond.

Something’s wrong with my breathing. I can’t get my lungs to fully inflate and sweat has now spread to the backs of my knees. I flex my hand trying to keep the feeling of his skin on mine. What the fuck is wrong with me?

STUART

Outside, I can’t bring myself to get in my car just yet. I jump in place a few times trying to work the adrenaline out of my system. Every time I’m within a few feet of Meredith it’s like a shot of caffeine straight to the heart. My body buzzes with the need to touch her, like she’s a strong magnet and I’m a simple little paperclip that can’t help itself.

I do a couple of jumping jacks before I get in my car, wait for Meredith to get in hers and pull out, and head to my tiny studio apartment. As soon as I get inside, I drop my work bag by the door and head for the shower. I’m starving, but I need release more than I need food. I strip quickly, tossing my clothes in the hamper, and climb in the shower before the water’s even warmed up. The soap and my fist are a sad substitute for Meredith’s soft places, but my imagination is vivid.

The gentle slope of her pale neck. The line of earrings in her left ear. That fucking sweater she wore today. My hand moves faster, tightening when it reaches the head. When her sweater slipped off one shoulder, I almost lost my mind. In the shower, under the now-warm water, I picture myself nipping at the exposed skin of her collarbone. Tonguing the dip at the base of her throat. Sliding my hands under that sweater to get a handful of her warm, soft skin. In my vision, she moans my name as I unbutton her jeans and slide them down her curvy legs. My cock jerks in my hand, and my ragged breathing saws out of me.

Meredith telling me to get on my knees. Meredith slinging a leg over my shoulder. Meredith dripping wet for me as I tease her clit with my tongue and fingers. I come on a torn yell, painting the tile with my release.

One fucking kiss that happened weeks ago, and I’m still so tied up in knots that I can’t go one day without stroking myself to the thought of her. I crank the water back to cold for a minute in a futile attempt to calm myself down.

After toweling off and a dinner of leftover Thai food, I collapse on the couch, wincing when my tailbone hits the wood frame underneath the thin cushion. I inherited the couch from my brother Clay, who inherited it from Wesley, who I think got it from a roommate who left it behind when they moved out.

As much as I want this podcast to be a success and put a dent in my debt, I can’t help but get stuck on the process of making it. I close my eyes and let my mind drift to that small, dim studio and Meredith’s hard-earned smiles.

I might need another shower.

CHAPTER 8

ARE YOU OKAY?

MEREDITH

My coffee cup’s empty, and it’s too quiet in my cave. Solitude is how I recharge my social batteries, but I find myself craving...something. People? Chit chat? I usually avoid small talk, but today is too quiet.

I take off my headphones, grab my mug, and head downstairs. Maybe Joanie’s in the kitchen taking a break from her writing. Sometimes she likes to bounce ideas off me, and I think my non-reactions keep her ideas flowing.

My phone buzzes in my back pocket. It’s probably my sister asking if I’m coming up for the weekend. I pull the phone out but the sleeves on my sweater are too long and cover my hands so I don’t get a good grip on it. It starts to fall. Then I start to lose my coffee mug. Then my foot misses the next stair, and I pitch forward. I drop the mug and the phone and put my hands out to catch myself before I face-plant on the hardwood floor, but I land in a pair of plaid covered arms.

“Oof,” Stuart says as he stumbles back, bearing my weight against his chest. “I got you,” he breathes out.

Words escape me. One foot’s on the bottom stair and one’s twisted a little on the floor. My hip is pressed to his thigh, and his arms are still banded around me, holding me up.

I press my forehead to his chest, taking a second to ground myself. “Thank you. Fuck, that could’ve gone a lot worse.” For a tiny moment it feels like Stuart’s nose brushes the top of my head. I take my time straightening up, reluctant to step out of his arms. He doesn’t seem in a rush to let me go either.

His eyes rake over my face. “That was too close. I like you in one piece, please and thank you.” Stuart’s voice is low and shaky. My eyes hold his for a moment too long.

Joanie rushes over. “Oh my god, are you okay?” Stuart takes a step back, releasing me, and I don’t like it. I nod, turning to Joanie.

“I’m all right. Just need to be more careful.”

I know that glimmer in Joanie’s eye—I’ve seen it multiple times in the short months I’ve been here. She’s going to use this in one of her romance novels.

“Joanie...” I warn. Stuart bends down and picks up the three pieces of my broken mug and tosses them in the trash.

“That was so fucking hot,” she whispers to me. “The way he swooped in and saved your life.” I can’t argue with her, but I roll my eyes anyway.

“You’re going to use it in one of your books, aren’t you?” My voice wobbles, probably from the adrenaline still pumping through my veins. I raise trembling hands to run them through my hair. Joanie notices and grabs my arm, dragging me to the closest chair.

I lean forward, putting my head between my knees, willing my body to stop shaking. Feet covered in brown leather shoes and socks dotted with red hearts step into my line of vision. Stuart’s jeans are rolled to his ankle, and I don’t hate it. I snort at the thought of being scandalized because he’s showing a hint of ankle. Did I hit my head?

A warm hand settles on my shoulder, and then Stuart’s there, crouched in front of me, rubbing soothing circles. “I’m sorry about your third-favorite mug.”

I want to laugh at the sad, sincere look on his face. He’s beautiful, but I wish he was smiling. “Better the mug than my skull. Thanks for catching me.” Joanie ceases her hovering and backs up towards the kitchen. I’m afraid she’s going to start taking notes right in front of us.

“I’ll always catch you,” he whispers. The corners of his mouth twitch, and his eyes are wide like he’s fighting a smile.

I sit up straight and smack him on the shoulder. “You’re so cheesy. That was awful.” I try to wrestle down the laugh that wants to escape but it’s stronger than me. The buzzing, itchy adrenaline leaves my system in a rush and I’m suddenly warm and tired. I want to curl up under my desk. My thoughts are a little fuzzy, and I try to refocus.

“Are you ready for your next recording session? We can finish off the first episode and get it out into the world.” Work talk is easier than whatever I’m feeling right now.

“We?” He lifts an eyebrow at me.

“Yes, we. I’ll be making you sound good through the magic of editing. When you’re a big famous podcaster you better remember us peons.”

“Don’t worry, I have my family to keep me humble.” He stands up, offering me his hand. I hesitate for a moment, bracing for the electric shock I know is coming.

I grasp his hand and school my face against the instant heat that zips unchecked up my arm and settles in my chest.

Stuart doesn’t hide his reaction like I’d expect a guy to do. His auburn eyebrows shoot up his forehead and his eyes widen. A blush rushes from his neck to his hairline. We’re standing too close—his hand still in mine—and the voice in my head telling me to step back sounds muffled and faint.

The sound of the coffee maker spluttering has us both pulling away, the hazy little moment popping like a soap bubble.

I brush my blunt bangs out of my face and tuck my hair behind my ears, glancing down at the toes of my boots. “I’ll see you later. Thanks again for the save.” I book it back upstairs without getting coffee.

I faintly hear Stuart say behind me, “Always, Mugs.”

CHAPTER 9

HOW ARE WE RELATED?

STUART

“I’m not recording a fucking podcast with you. Why would you even ask me?” My brother Clay’s an asshole, and that’s exactly why I want him on my podcast. My mom always remarks on how different her six kids are, and Clay and I landed on opposite ends of the personality spectrum. He’s the second in birth order, and from how Wesley tells it, he came out with a frown and never lost it.

He’s not the worst guy—that honor goes to my brother Mason, who regularly eats all of dad’s homemade snickerdoodle cookies before anybody has a chance to grab one. But Clay’s the biggest grump I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing, and that’s saying something because I work with Meredith. The two of them would probably get along like those two Muppets who do the commentary from the balcony seats. I snort at the thought.

“What’s so funny, dork?” The name rolls off me—it’s probably the first word I ever heard. It’s been Clay’s favorite word since he was little. He even named the family dog Dork when he won the naming rights. My mom protested, but Clay pitched a fit until she finally relented. I remember her muttering “I’m not dying on this hill today.” It became her favorite phrase.

“Nothing, just imagining you as a Muppet.”

“The things that go on inside your brain. Does it hurt to be you?”

“Not even a little bit. Come on, Clay. A couple hours out of a day of your choosing. And you get to talk shit about growing up with me.” I’ll ask Meredith to edit most of it out.

Clay lets out the biggest, saddest, most put-upon sigh that’s ever been sighed. I want to laugh, but I’m afraid he’ll retreat back to absolute refusal. “Fine, I’ll do your stupid fucking podcast.”

“That’s the spirit.” I smack him on the shoulder and quickly step back before he can do the same but harder.

“What’s the spirit?” My sister, Greta, walks into the living room and cracks open a beer. I notice she didn’t offer me one.

“Clay’s going to do an episode with me.” A quiet grumble comes from his end of the couch.

“Why would you want Mr. Sourpuss on your podcast? Do you want to lose listeners before you even have any?”

“Hey,” the grump grumps.

“Doesn’t matter, because I’m the first one you’re interviewing, and that means I’m the first one who gets to meet Meredith.” Greta sings the name like she’s in third grade.

“Who the fuck is Meredith?” Clay asks.

“The producer.” I try to keep my voice even, but I can’t stop the blush that consumes my face. Clay and Greta point at me at the same time.

“What’s going on there?” Clay asks.

“Baby boy has a crush,” Greta laughs. She’s no longer my favorite.

“Do not,” says a very mature, grown-up me in a not at all petulant way.

“Hang on, you’re creeping on your producer? I gotta see this. When do I come in?” Clay cracks a rare smile, and that’s how I know I’m fucked.

CHAPTER 10

WANT TO COME OVER?

STUART

This was a huge mistake. The biggest. What the hell was I thinking? Greta and I are usually copacetic, but she’s about to send me over the deep end. We’re in the recording studio, and she’s smiling at everything like a goofball. She tends to be one of the more level-headed siblings, but today she looks like she’s about to dive headfirst into a giant vat of candy.

“Nice to meet you.” Meredith holds out her hand to my sister, her expression calm and welcoming.

Greta, on the other hand, is practically vibrating with barely restrained glee. “Oh my god, it’s finally happening.” I want to duct tape her mouth shut like she did to me when I was eight.

I sympathize with Meredith’s look of confusion. “You’re excited to record the episode with your brother?”

Greta waves her hand like me having a podcast is no big deal. “Yeah, sure. But I finally get to meet you. Stuart won’t shut up about you.” And there it is. My death sentence. Execution by mortification. I didn’t think Greta would be the one to push the plunger, but here we are.

Meredith’s eyes go wide, then she turns to me and narrows them. Cold dread slinks down my spine. “Oh really? That is...fascinating.” Her voice hasn’t lost its usual sharpness, but I’m gratified to see a lovely little blush on her cheeks. Maybe I’m not dead yet.

AFTER WORKING some of the wiggles out, Greta turns out to be a great podcast guest. We talk about our relationship in particular, hers with Michelle, what it’s like to be twins within a large family, and what it’s like to be the one of two girls with four brothers.

The conversation needs only a little steering, like when she started to go off on a tangent about the time I hid so well in our game of hide and seek that Mom ended up calling the cops because she thought I ran away.

Through the glass in the booth, I can see Meredith fighting a smile. Greta and I have always made a great comedy team within the family. It’s gratifying to see someone else appreciate our humor. Hopefully that bodes well for how an audience will enjoy the podcast.

I’ve been trying to get sponsors, but I need a few episodes out before anybody will show interest. Greta’s interview is the last bit I need for the first episode, and I can’t wait to see how Meredith edits it all together. But right now I need to focus on wrapping this up and not on the rare smile Meredith aims at us in the booth.

Greta takes off her headphones and places them on the hook next to the window and watches as Meredith takes her own off. “She likes you,” Greta mutters even though we’re in a soundproof room. I don’t expect the giant thump inside my chest.

“You’re deluded. She barely tolerates me.”

“If that’s what barely tolerates looks like, her crushing on you would, what, have her grinding on your lap in the break room? Wake up, baby brother. I know what crushes look like. She’s trying to hide it, but she likes you.”

Now I’m sweaty because half of me wants to believe every word Greta says, and half of me wants to rein in this stupid spark of hope.

Meredith tilts her head at us, probably wondering why we’re still in the booth when the recording session is over. I take another moment to calm my thundering heart before opening the door. I’m going to steal all of Greta’s forks next time I’m at her place, because this jumbled, fizzy feeling deserves revenge.

“That was so much fun,” Greta tells Meredith. “I can’t wait to hear the final product.”

“You were a natural. Both of you did a great job at keeping the conversation going. Really interesting stuff.” Meredith’s subtle smile is aimed at Greta, so naturally I want to shove my sister out of the way so Meredith can aim it my way instead. In the hierarchy and chaos of my family, I’m not usually the petty one. But Meredith makes me feel like I’m constantly on the edge of something, dancing along a tightrope. It’s exhilarating.

“I’ll walk you out,” I tell Greta. “You sticking around or heading home?” I ask Meredith. Our recording session lasted longer than expected, and it’s almost half past nine at night.

“I need to wrap some things up, and then I’m out of here. Have a good night.” She nods at Greta and folds her arms across her stomach. “See you tomorrow.” Her eyes don’t quite meet mine, and I notice a faint blush on her cheeks.

“Yeah, sure. Thanks for your help.”

I walk Greta to her car in the back lot. “I swear to our lord and savior Dolly Parton, if you don’t go back in there and wait for her, I’m going to tell Clay you’re the one who lost his favorite Hot Wheel.”

“Barely tolerates, remember?” I’m determined to keep my expectations low, which makes me uncomfortable because it’s not how I’m wired.

Greta scoffs. “Please, you two are so hot for each other, I have to go home and take a cold shower.”

I scoff, ignoring the little hopeful gremlin in my chest. “Whatever, get out of here.” I squeeze her in a tight hug. Me, Greta, and Michelle are the huggers of the family. The rest of them are shoulder squeezers. “Thanks for coming today.”

After she pulls away, I debate getting in my own car and going back to my small, crappy apartment, or going back inside to wait for Meredith so she’s not alone. Wavecrest is an extremely quiet town, and she can take care of herself. But I welcome any excuse to spend more time with her. Plus my mom would kick my ass up and down Front Street if I didn’t at least make sure Meredith got in her car safely.

There’s no way of knowing how long she’ll be up in the studio, so I sit down at my desk and start doing some work I’d originally put off until tomorrow. I love my job, Sylvie as a boss, and the members of The Base, but I especially love the spreadsheets I use to keep track of the running of the office.

“What are you still doing here?” Meredith’s suspicious voice has me jumping up, and my chair slams against the wall behind me.

“Fuck, you scared me.”

“What are you still doing here?” she asks again, a little softer. My palms start sweating, so I shove my hands in my pockets.

“I didn’t like the idea of leaving you alone here so late.”

She folds her arms across her chest, and I lose the ability to swallow. The dim lights overhead cast shadows on all her dips and curves. “I can take care of myself.”

“See! That’s what I said.”

“To Greta?”

“No, to myself, but I didn’t want you stealing Post-its if you were left here unsupervised.” I wink at her, which I think she hates. “I figured while you finished with whatever I could get a jump start on some of tomorrow’s tasks.” She nods and pulls the strap of her bag higher on her shoulder.

“Did you eat dinner?” I ask before we walk out the back door together.

There’s a long pause before she turns around, like she was debating something weighty. “I have leftovers at home I was planning on heating up.” Disappointment settles like a stone in my gut.

“Okay, well...have a good—”

“Do you like fried rice? I always order too much, and I have enough for at least two people. You know, if you’re hungry.” A mild gust of wind could knock me over and I wouldn’t even notice. I’m so shocked, I don’t answer right away.

“Never mind.” She starts to turn away.

“I love fried rice. So much it had to take out a restraining order because things got weird.” Shut up, for fuck’s sake.

Meredith raises her eyebrow at me, but I can see the corners of her mouth twitch. I’m determined to get more than a twitch out of her—a guy can dream. Earning a full-blown grin from her would probably feel better than beating Wesley at Scrabble.

“Okay then. You’re welcome to come over as long as you don’t make the rice feel uncomfortable.” Her dry delivery is the hottest fucking thing I’ve heard out of her sexy mouth.

Be cool, dude. Be cool. “Yep, I can control myself. I swear. Should I follow you?”

She holds out her hand, palm side up. My eyebrows draw together as I glance between her hand and her face.

“Give me your phone so I can text you the address in case we get separated.” Why am I so sweaty? Thank god I keep a stick of deodorant in the car. I unlock my phone and hand it to her.

Her lips quirk at the wallpaper image I have. It’s my brother Mason putting my brother Clay in a headlock at the dinner table while my mother takes a bite of chicken. “Nice,” she whispers.

Her phone buzzes when she sends a text to herself. She hands me back my phone, reaches for hers and then taps out a text. My phone buzzes.

Meredith: Here’s my address.

It’s a couple miles inland, in one of the older neighborhoods of Wavecrest. I scroll up to see what text she sent herself from my phone.

Me: This is Stuart’s phone.

Knowing me, I’ll spend hours decoding that later.

CHAPTER 11

WHERE AM I?

MEREDITH

What the hell was I thinking? Inviting Stuart to my house. Obviously, I wasn’t in my right mind. But nobody can blame me, what with him being all adorable and chivalrous. Seeing him interact with his sister, how he deferred to her during most of the interview, and the way they teased each other. He’s so soft for people—it’s intriguing.

He has this innate talent of putting people at ease, and maybe that’s why Sylvie hired him to be the face of The Base. All I know is that for some unfathomable reason I didn’t want our time together to end. When did Stuart go from mildly annoying eager coworker to fascinatingly attractive crush?

I wait in my driveway for Stuart to pull up behind me in his car. My house isn’t much to look at. I signed the lease just after starting at The Base a few months ago, so it doesn’t quite feel like home yet.

Stuart startles me out of my thoughts when he opens my car door and steps aside like he’s a chauffeur. Huh, I wonder what he’d look like in a black suit.

“Hey.” Why are words so hard right now? It’s just Stuart. The guy I kissed on New Year’s who shows up in my dreams at random moments. No big deal.

“Hey.” He aims his smile at me, and I blink. “Nice place.” Stuart nods at the front of the house where I recently strung some year-round fairy lights.

“Thanks.” The house is a pale yellow with white trim. Cute, but generic. I look down at my black jeans and thick-soled boots and consider asking the landlord to paint the trim black.

Stuart slips his shoes off just inside the front door. “You don’t need to do that if you don’t want to.”

“Habit. It was a heavily enforced rule in my house growing up. You should’ve seen the pile of shoes by the front door. Drove my mom nuts, but it was her own fault because it was her rule.” It all comes out in a rush. Is he nervous?

There’s an awkward moment where he aims his gaze down to his socked feet—dark purple with tacos and dolphins. Of course.

“Nice socks.” My chest hurts from holding back my laugh.

“Noticed those, did you?”

“Hard not to. Did you steal them off a toddler?” I immediately want to take it back. I love Stuart’s socks, and I still couldn’t restrain the snide comment. I want to do better. I need to do better.

“I had to fight my sister Michelle for them at our Christmas pile-on.”

I nod towards the kitchen. “Let me heat up the food and then you can tell me what the fuck a Christmas pile-on is.”

“Can I help with anything?”

“Nope.” I reach into the fridge to grab the plastic container of leftovers, transfer it to a couple of bowls and pop them in the microwave. “Want a beer? Water? Juice?”

“Is that a crack about how I’m closer to toddlerhood than you are?” I freeze, not knowing if I just pissed him off. When I turn to look at him, his eyes are twinkling.

“You really like to give people shit, don’t you?”

“It’s a survival mechanism. What kind of beer do you have?”

“Stout, pilsner, or IPA” His eyes light up and he points to a bottle of stout. “But no Christmas pile-on story, no beer. Pay up.”

“Okay, but you’re going to think my family’s weird.” I dangle a bottle in front of him, trying to get the story rolling. “There’s a theory among my siblings that our parents might be the tiniest bit sadistic. Once we were all grown my parents changed up the gift giving rules. We each have to buy one gift, not knowing who’s going to get it. My parents then buy six gifts, one for each of us. Then on Christmas morning the twelve gifts get thrown into one big pile on the living room floor, my mom blows a whistle, and we all dive for whatever we can grab. No more than two per kid.”

My bottle is paused on its way to my lips. “You’re joking. That can’t be real.”

He points to his socks. “These came with a bloody nose and an elbow to the ribs.”

I shake my head. “I’m almost sorry I asked. Your family…”

“Yeah, they’re great. I know.”

Stuart leans on the counter separating my tiny kitchen from my tiny living room, his hands clasped together and his suspenders digging into his shoulders.

“Why do you wear those?” I nod at the straps.

“You mean other than to look like a hipster cosplaying as an old-timey lumberjack?”

“You said it, not me.” I take another sip of beer.

“They’re sexier than a belt, obviously.” He waggles his eyebrows and I almost choke. He grins like he just scored a point. “My grandpa used to wear suspenders, and I wanted to be just like him when I was a kid. So I begged and begged my parents to get me some, and then I became the coolest kid on the playground. Nobody ever bullied me about it. Nope.” His eyebrow lifts with his wry smile. “In all seriousness, they became so much a part of my persona that I wouldn’t know what to do without them now.”

The smile that cracks across my face is almost painful. I bite my lip trying to stop it, but it’s no use. I cover my face with my hands as my shoulders shake with laughter.

“You’re picturing little kid Stuart wearing suspenders, aren’t you?” I peek out of my fingers at him. He’s blushing.

“I can’t help it. You must’ve been so stinking adorable.” It comes out as a shout. “Are there pictures?”

“I’m secure enough in myself to agree that I was very, very adorable. And you’d have to meet my parents if you want to get your hands on photographic proof.”

I turn around to retrieve the food from the microwave, partly because I’m starving and partly to hide my reaction to the idea of meeting Stuart’s parents. “Might be worth it.”

I open the utensils drawer. “Do you want a fork, spoon, spork, or chopsticks?” I hear a quick inhale behind me.

“You have sporks?” The excitement in his voice makes me smile. It’s getting harder and harder to fight it.

“Of course I have sporks—all the best food requires them. It’s science.” Stuart places a hand over his heart and sighs.

“I think I’m in love.” He says it to the ceiling like he’s talking to the universe instead of directly to me. That doesn’t stop the wild, heavy knocking inside my chest or the coked-up butterflies in my stomach.

WE END up eating on the couch in front of the television, watching YouTube videos of people crushing things with hydraulic presses. It’s weirdly soothing. I turn to Stuart.

“If you had a hydraulic press, what’s the first thing you’d crush?” I’m genuinely curious. Stuart scrunches his face up in thought, and I add it to the tally of strangely sexy things he does.

“I’m torn between my student debt or the patriarchy. You?” He looks so serious that I chuff out a laugh, covering my mouth so rice doesn’t go flying. His eyes glimmer when he catches me laughing.

“Nothing so lofty. I’d probably go the petty route. If I had a press big enough it would be my ex’s car. Or his golf clubs.”

“Nice.” Stuart leans over to give me a fist bump. “He deserves it, and I’d be selling tickets to the spectators.”

“Thanks for stepping in the other day at the diner. You made the whole thing a little less humiliating.”

Stuart sets his bowl on the coffee table and turns fully to face me. “He’s the dick who should be humiliated. What kind of person cheats on their significant other? And he earns extra stupid points because you’re...you. He’s an idiot for not realizing what he had.”

He holds my gaze for more beats than what should be comfortable, but I can’t look away. I fight the tingle in my nose and the lump forming in my throat. Months ago I vowed never to cry over the douche again, but Stuart’s sweetness unlocks something soft and squishy just beneath my skin.

“Yep, okay.” I clear my throat and turn back to the television. In the next video they’re crushing a bowling ball.

STUART

My mouth is dry and there’s a weight on my chest. This isn’t my bedroom—there’s no water stain on the popcorn ceiling. Shit, there’s no popcorn ceiling at all. I try to raise my arm to rub my eyes, but it’s stuck under something soft and warm. Something that smells like midnight flowers and snores like the cutest little freight train. Meredith.

We must’ve fallen asleep on her couch. Sunlight peaks through the curtains, turning her black hair almost blue. I fight the temptation to run my hand through it and wake her up by pressing my lips to her forehead. She’d probably stab me.

She stirs but doesn’t wake, and I’m suddenly very aware of how hard my cock is. She shifts and the situation turns dire. All her soft curves press me down into the couch, and her warm breath ghosts across my neck and chin. My right hand is tucked in the back pocket of her jeans, and my left is trapped under her and numb.

I don’t know what my right hand was thinking in the middle of the night, but I have to extract it from Meredith’s back pocket without waking her up or accidentally giving her ass a squish. She stirs again, her eyes blinking open as she lifts her head off my chest. I quickly pull my hand out of her pocket and rub it through my hair like I’m the smoothest smooth that ever smoothed.

“Were you squeezing my ass?” Her voice is raspy and morning-horny. My dick twitches, and I swear her eyes widen.

“Good morning.” It’s the weakest deflection, but I hope her pre-coffee brain hasn’t engaged yet.

“Ass, Stuart. I asked you a question about grabbing my ass.” Her lips are in a flat line but her eyes twinkle. I can’t tell if she wants to bury me in the backyard or laugh.

“I must’ve gotten cold last night.” It’s exceedingly difficult to carry on this conversation when she’s still on top of me, our lips are just a few inches apart, and I’m trying to will my dick into submission. I can’t think of toenail clippings and the crust around the opening of a ketchup bottle while getting lost in the deepest brown eyes.

“My hand was probably looking for a warm place to spend the night.” I’m a dead man.

She smirks at me and hums like she’s deciding my fate. Honestly, I could die right here, under her lush body, and I wouldn’t mind that much.

An oof escapes me when she presses herself up, her hands on my chest. Pins and needles immediately race down my left arm to my fingertips. I bet if I jerked off with my left hand right now it would feel like a stranger was giving me a handy.

She winds up straddling me, one of her feet planted on the floor, and my dick situation has ratcheted up to an emergency. “Bathroom,” I bite out, then grab her by the waist and set her on the other end of the couch. I want to spend a moment replaying the cute little squeak that escapes her, but things need dealing with.

I lock myself in the bathroom and resist the urge to stroke myself. Toenails and ketchup bottle crustiness. I splash cold water on my face, chanting crusty under my breath. It finally works, until I catch a whiff of Meredith’s scent on the collar of my shirt. And then I start the process all over again.

CHAPTER 12

WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO ABOUT IT?

MEREDITH

“Is there a particular reason you’re wearing a skirt today?” This is what I get for attempting to be nice to Joanie. I brought her a banana nut muffin this morning, and now I’m being interrogated.

“There’s nothing special about me wearing a skirt.” I take a bite of my apple cinnamon muffin. I want to coat myself in the streusel topping. Maybe order Stuart to lick it off. The blush on my cheeks is instant.

“That. What is that?” Joanie points to my face. I pretend like I don’t know what she’s talking about and wipe cinnamon sugar from my cheek. “I have literally never seen you, Ms. Office Tough Ass, wear a skirt. Or blush.”

“We’ve only known each other a few months. Maybe I have a whole closet full of skirts I’ve been dying to wear to work.” I don’t. This is my only skirt that isn’t meant for funerals and retirement parties. It’s a mystery to me why I chose to wear the purple and black plaid skater skirt the Monday after I woke up on top of Stuart Smyth. Why I took extra time with my cat-eye eyeliner. Why I was popping a breath mint after every cup of coffee. “I contain multitudes.”

“I call bullshit. You don’t think these old romance writer eyes don’t see all? I see everything,” she whispers, her eyes narrowed into suspicious little slits. I lean against the counter in The Base’s kitchenette and try to find a way to distract her. But Joanie is like a dog with a bone when it comes to anything with just a whiff of romance.

I glance over her shoulder and don’t try to hide my smile. “Payback’s a bitch,” I mutter.

“What...” Before she can finish, Colin enters the kitchenette. Colin, The Base’s resident teddy bear. The guy Joanie seems to avoid and gravitate to at the same time. And every time he’s within ten feet of her she short circuits. It’s a thing of beauty and the perfect distraction from my outfit.

“Hey, Colin. How’s business?” He grabs a mug from the highest shelf in the cabinet next to the coffeemaker, not needing to stretch too far. I’ve never been this chatty in my life, but the opportunity to torture Joanie is too tempting.

“No complaints. Loving the freelance life, aside from paying thousands for health insurance.” He glances between me and Joanie, his eyes lingering on her messy brown hair spilling out of a bun on the back of her head.

“Word,” she says and then squeezes her eyes shut like she can’t believe that came out of her mouth. It takes a miracle to not spit muffin crumbs all over the kitchen.

“You kids have a wonderful Monday morning,” I tease as I walk away in my completely not-special skirt.

STUART

Shoving my glasses up to my forehead, I rub my eyes in frustration. Words are hard today, and the script for the intro to my next podcast episode isn’t flowing. It’s supposed to be about the dynamic between older and younger brothers in a large family. I even have a family therapist lined up for an interview later this week. But I can’t think about anything other than how Meredith felt laying on top of me, her softness molding to me.

And then she went and wore a skirt today. She never wears skirts, and the riot of fantasies tripping through my brain makes it hard to focus on anything but the movement of her thighs as she goes up and down the stairs. Fucking torture. I’m a miscreant for ogling her. But I’m not sure it’s the skirt that’s fucking with me right now, because I once tried picturing Meredith in a burlap sack, and I still got hard. I’m a creep for obsessing over what she’s wearing, and I tap my pen against my skull several times trying to clear my thoughts.

The sandwich I had for lunch sits like a brick in my stomach, but I keep thinking about the episode intro I’m supposed to record this evening. Settling my glasses back on my nose, I try to dive back into Runt of the Litter. Meredith will kill me if I even attempt to do a recording session when I’m not prepared.

MEREDITH

Stuart’s being weird. Not his usual peppy, tail-wagging self. I want to ask him what’s wrong, but things are...awkward between us. Wobbly. Out of whack. Sylvie’s husband, Will, is in the office today, banging away at his laptop. And banging away at other things if Sylvie’s backwards shirt and mussed hair are any clue. Will’s wearing the smile that Stuart usually sports, and the contrast is upsetting.

And when I’m upset, I get spiky. I walk up to Stuart’s desk. “Are you done with that intro yet?” It comes out harsher than I intended, but his gray mood has me off kilter.

He looks up and his eyes flash with something I’ve never seen on him. Defiance, anger. Push back, Stuart. Fight me. “Don’t worry, I won’t waste your time, Meredith.” The bite in his voice is barely there, but I notice it. And I want to push him more. Especially when I notice his eyes slide down my body and land on my skirt where it hits midthigh. I paired it with fishnets and my usual black boots, and honestly, it’s longer than the shorts I sometimes wear over tights, but Stuart seems really stuck on the skirt. Which might’ve been my goal this morning when I put it on.

I take a step closer to him. “Make sure you don’t.” I want to say more but Sylvie pokes her head out of her office and asks Stuart about a furniture delivery. I blink out of the frustrated haze. “See you up there. Be prepared.”

“Like a fucking boy scout,” I hear him mutter behind me as I head back upstairs.

STUART

The words aren’t flowing, and the headphones are inexplicably tight. I finished writing the intro to the episode, but I hate it, and I hate wasting Meredith’s time. I hate the look of frustration on her face as I flub take after take. I don’t want to keep her here for hours. I mean, I do, but purely for selfish reasons.

“Fuck it,” I say after stumbling over a line I wrote only a couple of hours ago. It’s not like I have to memorize it—it’s on the iPad right in front of me. But these headphones are biting into my head and my suspenders might be too short, because it feels like the crotch of my jeans is tighter than normal. It’s not the suspenders, asshole.

I adjust the headphones for the millionth time and watch as Meredith rips hers off her head and storms towards the booth. She practically rips the door off its hinges. “What the fuck is going on? Why is it so hard?” Oh, honey.

“I don’t know. I’m just finding it difficult to focus.” Because you smell like deep red flowers and that skirt has been fucking with my head all day.

She steps closer to me, letting the door to the booth fall shut behind her. And then I’m aware. Aware of how small this booth is. How soundproof it is. How The Base is probably empty because it’s late in the evening. How her eyes won’t let me go and her body is right fucking there. The hand not holding the headphones fists at my side, otherwise I’d reach for her, and she hasn’t said she wants me to touch her. But this frustrating little dance we’ve been doing around each other is going to end one way or another.

She grabs the headphones from me and puts them on the hook next to the window. “We’ve been at this for an hour, Stuart, and we still don’t have a single usable take.” This booth is so small I can see the flash of frustration in her eyes.

“I’m sorry. I’m trying not to waste your time.”

“Don’t be sorry, just get it done.” She takes another step towards me and we’re almost chest to chest. She’s not that much shorter than me and I want to lean forward and nip her lips. Instead, I choose to push back.

“What are you going to do about it, Meredith? Kiss me again?” Even in the dim light of the booth I can see the instant blush on her face. I want to trace it down her neck to see how far it goes.

For a split second it looks like she’s considering it. I open my mouth to say, “Never mind,” but before anything comes out Meredith grabs me by the suspenders and pulls me down to her lips. Just like at New Year’s. But this is fiercer. I freeze for a split second, just long enough for her to start to pull away. Not fucking happening.

I grab her by the back of the neck and haul her closer, biting and licking her lower lip until she opens for me with a moan. And then the battle of the tongues is on. Her hands fist my suspenders and shirt, and I have a good grasp of her hair. We’re locked in this hot crash of lips, but I need more.

She presses her chest to mine, and I groan into her mouth, kissing her harder. Drawing my lips across hers in a fierce drag, exploring the field of battle. She moans when I nip at her lip again. The taste of mint and coffee and Meredith drives me mad. I band my arm around her waist and push her against the ridges of the acoustic tiles. She gasps into my mouth, lifts one leg, and wraps it around my hip.

Her fingers tug my hair, guiding me, pressing me to her. I want to feast on her mouth, but I won’t stop there. Can’t stop there.

“You taste like heaven.” My mouth drags across her cheek to her ear where I take her lobe between my teeth and tug. Her hands tighten in my hair as her panting breath turns into moans. I tug again and she tilts her head to give me better access.

And suddenly I’m starving. Famished. “Can’t wait to taste every part of you.” She pulls back, her eyes dancing between my own and my mouth. Her teeth chew at her swollen lips, and I punish them even more with a hard, bruising kiss.

“Don’t wait then.” She gives me a small shove backwards and then bends down to take off her boots. My cock weeps with joy at the idea of getting my mouth on her. A small laugh escapes her when she sees me standing there with my mouth hanging open.

“Take off your shirt.” I start to unbutton it as she watches, willing my fingers to move faster. “Leave the suspenders.”

“Fuck, I knew these would get me somewhere one day.” I tear my shirt off and pull my suspenders back up. Meredith stands there almost fully clothed, but I want to see her, touch her. I grab her around the waist and start to lift her sweater up.

But she grabs my hands, stopping my progress. “Uh-uh, not yet.” I’ve never seen her so wicked, but my cock thickens at the puckish little gleam in her eyes. “You have to earn it, like a good boy.” Oh fuck me sideways. Things just got deliciously more painful.

“Tell me what you want.” I punctuate it with a quick kiss. I pull back in time to see her blink out of a daze.

Meredith puts her hands on my shoulders, pushing me to my knees. On my way down I brush a hand below her sweater, across the soft skin of her stomach. Her breath hitches as I hit my knees. I look up at her and lick my lips.

My hands trace over the diamond pattern of the fishnets covering her lush thighs. She’s a woman of texture and patterns, soft and warm, hard and demanding. I want to discover all her facets. I start by drawing her stockings down slowly. I follow them down her legs with my tongue. Her inner thigh, her knee, her ankle. I lift her foot to strip off the stockings then give the arch a little nip.

A magic little moan escapes her, then her breaths grow shallow. I do the same with the other leg. “Stuart, fucking hell. What’s taking you so long?”

“I don’t want to neglect anything. Wouldn’t want an unsatisfied Meredith on my hands, would I?” I nudge my nose against the hem of her skirt, dragging it higher as I kiss and lick up her thighs. My fingers circle the backs of her thighs where they meet her ass, and I celebrate the tremors that I feel in her skin. I bunch up her skirt and look up at her. “Hold this.”

Instead she quickly unzips the skirt and drops it at her feet. “That’ll work too.” I sit back on my heels and take her in. Soft, inviting thighs meeting at her apex covered in pink cotton panties. Unexpected but sexy as fuck. I want to sink my fingers into her hips, her thighs, her wet pussy. The damp spot on her panties grows as I catalog the feast awaiting me. “Beautiful.”

“Stuart.” It sounds like a warning. Or a command. I glance up at her face and suck in a breath at the need I see there. Lips parted, eyes half closed, the tip of her little pink tongue caught between her teeth. I’m so turned on, I’m afraid I’ll come before I get a chance to taste her.

So I don’t waste another moment. The drag of her panties down her legs isn’t slow. I have a goal, a destination, and nothing short of her telling me to stop will deter me. I tap the inside of her knee and she widens her stance. She’s holding her sweater up, just below her belly button, giving me space to do some of my best work.

The black curls covering her cunt tickle my nose as I drag my tongue along her slit. The moan she rewards me with sends a pulse to my cock. I give it a quick squeeze before grabbing her thighs. Over and over, I lick and suck, drinking in her warm nectar while exploring her folds. Her clit is right there, but I’m working my way to it, trying to be patient. Meredith’s hands grasp my hair as she tries to steer me higher.

“Be patient. I’m getting the lay of the land here.” I pull back a bit and nip at her thigh. She rewards me with a growl and another tug on my hair. I love it.

I draw my fingers through her wetness, teasing her entrance, mesmerized by the glisten on her lips and my fingers. “Such a pretty cunt, Meredith.” Before she can protest, I lay my tongue on her clit and press hard. A choked sob escapes her, and I smile. I circle and tease and suck until my lips and chin are coated in her. She presses her hips against my face, chasing what I’m giving.

“God, Stuart. You’re so good at this. Such a good boy.” I almost come on that declaration. It spurs me on. My only goal is to please her, make her melt, put her back together, and make her melt again. I find her entrance with two fingers and ease inside, reveling in the feel of her silken walls. As I work her with my fingers I redouble my attention on her clit. My cock throbs in my jeans, but he’ll have to wait his turn.

Then I feel Meredith’s hands move from my hair to tangle in the suspenders on my shoulders. She pulls on them, snapping them against my skin. The sting feels like a reward. She’s using them like reins, pulling me even closer. I add a third finger, feeling for the spot on the front wall of her pussy. Meredith’s thighs quiver like her inner muscles, and then she’s there. Squeezing my fingers, her whole body shaking, tugging on my suspenders, and screaming “good boy” over and over.

I keep licking, keep pumping my fingers until she places a hand on my forehead and pushes me away. I finally relent, sitting back and wiping my chin on her discarded panties. Meredith’s chest heaves as she sinks to the floor. “Holy shit, Stuart. You’re full of surprises.”

I beam at her praise. “You taste like my favorite meal.” I lean in and kiss her. It’s meant to be a quick teasing peck, but she grabs me by suspenders again and pushes until I’m sprawled on my back. The booth is so small that I have to bend my knees to fit, giving Meredith just enough room to crawl between my legs.

Her eyes drag down my chest, raising goosebumps as they go. “Who knew you were hiding this under those cute little button up shirts?” Her fingers drag through the sparse hair on my chest then circle my nipples. Electricity shoots from where her fingers tease me down to my cock.

She follows with her lips, and now it’s my turn to have my hands in her hair. “You’re gorgeous,” I whisper as she swirls her tongue along my skin. She hums as she goes, then reaches the button of my jeans, popping it open.

“Meredith.” My voice is shaky, needy. I thunk my head against the floor when she drags my zipper down and takes my aching cock out of my boxers. I want her hands and her lips on me, and I want to come so hard that I lose the ability to speak.

She pumps me a few times before taking me into her mouth. I can’t name the sound that escapes me.

Meredith takes me to the back of her throat, sucking me until I feel my soul leaving my body. “Your mouth. Fuck me, your mouth.” Her hand works up and down, and my balls draw up even tighter to my body.

“Two second warning,” I garble out. I feel her giggle around my dick, and it’s almost lights out. But she pops off, grinning at me.

“Condom?” she demands.

“Take off your sweater first.” I’m already reaching for my wallet and pulling out the foil packet. She quickly complies, and I almost choke on my tongue when I get my first look at her tits in her bright blue lace bra. I hastily pull my suspenders down and shove my jeans down to my knees.

“Fucking grand prize,” I mutter as I roll on the condom. She crawls up my body and sinks down on me without ceremony. Everything stops. Her breathing. My breathing. All sound and movement. It all stops because it feels that good. We fit that well together. Then my brain reconnects, and I push up into her, holding her hips in my hands like she’s in danger of floating up to the ceiling.

Her nails dig into my chest, and she throws her head back, gifting me with the sight of her long neck. I want to plant my lips there and feel her rapid pulse while she squeezes around me. So I pull her down and do exactly that.

Salt and sweetness meet my tongue. My hands migrate to the lush globes of her ass, and I squeeze. Hard. Meredith’s breath hitches and her inner walls flutter. “I knew it,” she moans. “I knew you’d be a good fuck.” I smile into the curtain of her hair and thrust harder, lifting us both off the floor.

“You going to give me a gold star?” I’m holding on by a very thin thread, wanting her to get there before I lose it. We move like this is the last time we’ll ever have sex. Literally going out with a bang. Her hips roll and twist on me as I press and press and thrust up into her. “Come on, Mugs. Get there.”

“Give me more. I need more,” she commands, like a queen sitting on her throne. I bring my knees up so she moves a little higher up my body, so I can get close to her tits. I quickly unsnap her bra and fling it aside. Before I can get a good look, my mouth finds her nipple, and I suck hard. That earns me a scream. “Yes, just like that. More.”

“Touch your clit.” It comes out like a command, and she doesn’t hesitate. I quickly lick two of my fingers and then give my tongue to her other breast. Soft and perfect. I squeeze her ass one more time before dragging the two fingers through her crack and pressing on her tight little pucker.

“Oh, fuck,” she screams as I circle and press and tease. It’s like I’ve unlocked her. She clenches and trembles, her muscles squeezing me until I have no choice but to come. Fire shoots down my spine as I empty into the condom. With thunder in my ears and sparks behind my eyelids, I groan out her name.

Meredith slumps on top of me, sweaty and soft, her breath slowing. My heart thunders. This tiny sound booth has become a portal to another world, one where Meredith and I aren’t simply coworkers who sometimes butt heads and circle each other like an alligator and a bunny.

When our breathing finally steadies and I can’t hear my heart in my ears, Meredith props herself up on my chest. Her usually neat bob is a tousled mess and her cheeks pink. I smile up at her and brush a hand up her neck. Something flickers in her eyes, a stutter in the assessing stare.

“Hi,” I say, because I’m the master of words.

“Yeah, hi,” she whispers. I could be wrong, but I think she nuzzles into the palm of my hand on her cheek. It’s the subtlest of motions, but I feel it.

I open my mouth to say something. Not sure what, maybe you own my dick or be with me forever. Maybe something about love. But she stops me with a kiss that’s so tender, I wonder what happened to my prickly Meredith.

“Let’s not complicate things, okay?” she mutters against my lips.

I glance down to where we’re still connected, thinking about horses and barn doors. “Uh...”

“I’m not saying this was a one-time only thing,” she continues. Well, thank fuck for that. “But it doesn’t have to mean more than it does.” A boulder tumbles around in my stomach, but I smile.

“So we’re not getting married?” I figure while my dick’s still in her I can fuck with her a little. Part of me wants to laugh at the sudden look of horror on her face. Part of me wants to curl into a ball. “Don’t worry, cowgirl, we can do this however you want. Or not at all.” I buck my hips up into her, a reminder of how she just rode me into the sunset. In a sound booth.

“Right. Well.” She runs her hands through her hair, looking shy. She’s still sitting on me and my still semi-hard cock as she reaches for her bra and shirt. We both wince as she disentangles us. Even though I’m not ready to leave the booth, I make a quick trip down the hall to the bathroom to drop the condom in the trash and wash my hands.

When I get back to the studio I catch Meredith holding my shirt up to her nose, quickly lowering it when she spots me. Busted. Meredith obviously doesn’t want to be in a relationship with me, even if she enjoyed fucking me. I’ll have to accept that and keep my hope for something bigger to myself. If I push her on this, on wanting more of her, she’ll run the other way. So I guess I just acquired a new fuck buddy.

CHAPTER 13

HOW DO WE DO THIS?

MEREDITH

“You look like you just got fucked.” It’s the first thing my sister says when I FaceTime her later that night. She’s not a brilliant sleuth...she can probably tell by the still-present flush on my face and the fact that I can’t get my usually pin-neat hair to lay down flat.

I put my hands over my face and groan. “Stuart” is all I say.

“Oh my fucking granola, I knew it,” she shouts into the phone. I can see up her nostrils.

“How could you possibly know it was Stuart?”

“Because you talk about him constantly. Like he annoys you, like he’s gotten under your skin.”

“Yeah, well he got a lot more than under my skin tonight. In the sound booth.”

My sister groans. “My life is so boring. Tell me everything.”

I tell her how it started, how we left it, but leave out the juicy details, and I don’t know why. What happened in that sound booth between Stuart and I...it feels too private. Too fresh. The muscle aches I’ll have tomorrow will be delicious.

I snap out of my reverie when Maggie taps the phone with her fingernail trying to get my attention. “You drifted. Tell me, are there more sound booth shenanigans in the future? What’s next?”

“I don’t know, and I don’t know. We got dressed, and he walked me to my car.” I suppress a sigh at the memory of the lingering kiss he gave me before I got in the car and drove away. Damn Stuart and his firm lips. Maggie taps on the screen again.

“Meredith, you are a useless conversationalist tonight.” The joking admonishment feels familiar, sisterly. I wonder if Stuart would want to have us on the podcast.

“Sorry, I’m a little distracted,” I huff out. “I don’t know if there will be more sound booth, um, sessions.”

“But you’d like there to be.” It’s not a question.

I lay my head down on the table, giving Maggie a shot of the top of my head. “It was so good. He was so good. I don’t know how I knew he would be, but I’m not even surprised.”

“It’s that golden retriever energy you talk about. He’s eager to please.”

“Mission accomplished.”

“So why won’t you date him?”

“I never out and out said I wouldn’t date him.” The denial flies out of my mouth. In my mind, over the last few months I’d tried to ignore how...captivating Stuart is. How I secretly look forward to running into him in the kitchen, or how he doesn’t annoy me nearly as much as he thinks he does. How I want to follow him around all day just so I can play with his suspenders and hear his deep, resonant voice.

His voice is like a party trick. The idea that such a deep, velvety, sexy sound comes out of wiry, eager, office clown Stuart splits my brain in two.

“I know you don’t particularly like people, Meredith, but with the way you light up whenever Stuart comes up in conversation, I think it’s worth exploring.”

“But we work together,” I start to protest.

“Weak. Bobby and I met at work. Mom and Dad met at work. You’re mature enough to keep things from getting weird if it doesn’t work out. Plus, you’ve already experienced the man’s dick. At work. I’d say at this point things are going to be complex no matter what.”

“I hate it when you make a good point.”

“It’s because I’m smarter than you. Always have been.” She kisses the screen.

“Give the monsters a squeeze for me. Tell them that their Aunt Meredith hopes their future therapy bills aren’t too burdensome.”

We end the call on a laugh, and I feel lighter. And exhausted. The things Stuart did to my body...holy fuckballs. I fall asleep to memories of us in that sound booth.

RED SUSPENDERS. He’s wearing red suspenders today, and his glasses are extra...shiny? They look different. Or maybe he changed his hair. Whatever he did, I can’t take my eyes off him today. I’ve spent almost half of my morning down here in the kitchen, getting coffee, or grabbing a snack, or setting up my laptop here instead of working in my audio cave upstairs.

Red suspenders over a light blue shirt that has buttons I can’t help but think about ripping open. I cross one leg over the other as I sit on a stool at the kitchen counter facing the desks. Thoughts of Stuart’s mostly smooth, subtly muscled chest dance through my head. I bite my lip as he walks by while giving a potential new member a tour of The Base. I watch as he escorts them to the door, shaking their hand. I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear and catch Joanie looking at me from her desk. She makes the I’m watching you gesture with her fingers, and I flip her off. That makes her smile.

Stuart comes into the kitchen, and I straighten on my stool. “Hey, Meredith, how’s your day so far?” The smarmy little jerk gives me a guileless smile. I want to tackle him to the floor. I want to drag him under the counter and find out how stretchy his suspenders are today.

“Good,” I say. It sounds like I swallowed sandpaper.

“I’m glad.” He passes behind me, and I feel the tip of a finger brush so lightly against the exposed skin between my jeans and my sweater that I might have imagined it. I shiver either way. “Cold?” Who knew Stuart could be a cheeky asshole? It’s hot.

I shake my head as heat pools between my thighs. We’re at work, dammit.

He grabs a mug and pours himself some coffee. I watch him add his usual heap of sugar and creamer, shuddering a little at how tooth-destroyingly sweet it will be. He leans his hip against the counter, standing a little closer than two friendly coworkers would. The small smile he gives me before taking a sip of coffee flips a memory switch. Him on his knees, playing with my pussy. Me riding him in the cramped sound booth. I had to leave the door to the tiny room open this morning because it still smelled of sex.

I uncross and recross my legs, trying to ease the ache that’s been there since yesterday. His smile kicks up higher, then he goes back to his desk. My jaw drops open. We were having a moment, and he just...leaves?

Obviously, he’s not as worked up this morning as I am. He’s not suffering, unfocused, and jumpy like me.

He heads down the short hallway that leads to the room for nursing mothers and the storage closet. I don’t think, I just follow him.

I try to be nonchalant, but it’s no use. I could compete in a speed-walking race and place decently high the way I trail after him. It’s embarrassing. He’s in the storage room, where The Base keeps extra office supplies, with the door open. I don’t know why he’s in here, and I don’t care. I close and lock the door behind me.

He turns away from the shelf of printer toner and raises an eyebrow at me. How dare he. “Can I help you with something, Meredith?” It sounds like he’s laughing at me. Like he’s not burning alive, reliving the best sex of his life like I am. I want to smother him and wrap myself around him at the same time. My usually organized brain has shorted out and it’s all his fault.

“Shut up, Stuart.” His eyes widen. “And unzip your pants. Leave the suspenders.” His mouth drops open, but he complies almost without hesitation. The red on his face blooms instantly. Two quick steps bring me up against him, chest to chest. My nipples are already painfully hard. I’m aching.

“Meredith...” With hooded eyes he looks at my mouth, focused solely there. So I give it to him. I mean for the kiss to be quick, perfunctory. But then his lips remind me how great they are, and I get lost for a moment. Tasting the pineapple of his lip balm, I moan into him, and his arms wrap around me, drawing me closer, pressing me to him from chest to knees. He’s hard. So hard. For me.

Goosebumps cascade across my skin when his hand dives into my hair and grabs on tight. My gasp is an invitation for his tongue to explore my mouth. He’s so thorough, so insistent and eager, like he can’t get enough. His other hand finds its way under my sweater, and I jump a little at the contact of his cool hand against my bare stomach, but then I press closer. Getting lost.

“What is it with you and tight spaces?” he whispers against the sensitive skin behind my ear. I chuff out a laugh. That’s the thing about Stuart, nobody has ever made me smile or laugh so much, no matter how much I try to lock down my reactions to him. I plant my lips on the warm skin of his neck and dart my tongue out. Quickly unbuttoning the top two buttons of his fitted shirt, I suck hard just below his collar bone. A spot only he and I will see.

“Are you...are you giving me a hickey?” I nod without breaking suction. “Fuck, that’s so wrong. But I like the thought of you marking me.” I suck harder, hoping the bruise sticks around for a while. When I’m satisfied with my work I pull back and admire the mark. I brush my thumb over the bruise. I want to grab one of the Sharpies from the shelf behind Stuart and use it to sign my name.

I feel his eyes on me, and I get a little self-conscious under his scrutiny. I reach up and pull the glasses off his face, carefully fold them, and put them on a nearby shelf. Then I kiss him again because he’s right fucking there, and I can’t help myself.

I feel his hard cock against my belly, and my mouth starts to water. My mouth isn’t done with him. I’m not done with him. And I may not be for a long time.

I unbutton the rest of his shirt while his hands run through my hair and up and down my neck. His breathing gets harsher when my lips trail down his chest. “Anybody can walk by and hear us. Are you sure you want to do this here? Now?”

“Just be a good boy and keep quiet.”

“Anything you say, Mugs.” I palm the ridge of his cock through his boxers, and my core clenches when I feel it pulse against my hand.

His pants are already unzipped, so when I sink to my knees, I hook my fingers in the waistband of his boxers and tug them over the head of his cock, then lower.

He’s so hard, so perfectly sized. I hear a metallic thunk and look up. He’s pressing his head against the shelf behind him, his eyes closed and his lips moving in what looks like a silent prayer.

I can’t wait any more. With a quick flick of my tongue, I capture the growing bead of precum at his tip. Then I wrap my lips around him and play with my new favorite toy. He fists his hands at his sides, but I grab one and bring it to the back of my head. He gets the message and guides me further down his cock. I work him with my tongue, my cheeks, my throat.

His breathing is harsh, and he alternates between chanting my name and oh fuck, but he’s doing his best to keep it to a whisper. I pull off him and lick him from base to tip, then back again. I never stop looking up at his face. His brown eyes blaze with leashed lust. His hips pulse in small, controlled movements, and his hold on the back of my head is loose.

That won’t do. I dig my nails into his thigh with one hand and play with his balls with the other. Then I swallow him as far as I can. He goes past the back of my throat. My eyes water and I fight a gag, but I manage to relax my throat even more.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck. Meredith. I’m going to come. Honey. Sweetheart. Oh fuck.” I hum around him and that’s the end for him. He tries to pull me off him, but I stay where I am, taking everything he gives me. Warmth shoots down my throat and I swallow as much as I can. I feel triumphant, like I won this round, like I defeated something. Stuart’s cock? My own attraction to him? Nope, that’s still very much in place and isn’t heading anywhere but up. Are we doomed to give each other head in every room of The Base? I guess there are worse fates.

I drag him slowly out of my mouth and wipe my face on the closest thing, which happens to be the bottom of his shirt. A weak, tired laugh escapes him. His breathing is labored, and his face and neck are deep red. His chest rumbles in what sounds like a purr.

“You’re amazing,” he says, gliding his thumb over my lips. Whatever he gathers there he presses into my mouth. He grabs my hand, pulls me to my feet, and I stumble against him as the blood rushes back into my calves and feet. He catches me and seals his lips over mine. I can’t keep from smiling.

“I know.” I pull back a little. “Hungry?”

He reaches for the button of my jeans, but I pull back with a laugh. “No, I mean actually hungry. Want to grab some lunch?”

“Yeah, I could eat the entire Curly’s menu. It feels like I just ran a marathon, but you did all the work.” He reaches for my jeans again, but I slap his hand away.

“Later. I need a milkshake.” I start to button his shirt as he smooths my hair back into place.

“I just gave you one.” Oh, he looks so proud of himself. I tweak his nipple for that, and he lets loose with a yelp. That’s when I remember where we are. We stare at each other with wide eyes, then he loses his shit on a loud, guffawing laugh.

Joanie’s going to know exactly what we were doing in here—nothing gets past her. Hopefully nobody needed a stack of Post-it notes or staples, and the rest of The Base is happily ignorant to the fact that I just sucked Stuart’s dick.

STUART

We sit across from each other in a booth at Curly’s. I munch on a few fries as I watch Meredith happily moan whenever she takes a bite of her BLT. “Jesus, how does Bruno make the bacon so good?” I want to make a meat/penis joke, but I’m trying to show this woman that I’m not an immature doofus.

Bea, the diner owner, comes over to ask how our meal is good. “Orgasmic, apparently,” I tell her, throwing a pointed look at Meredith. She almost chokes on her sandwich.

“Not the first time I’ve heard that.” Bea smiles at us and tops up our water glasses.

Meredith leans across the table, wiping her mouth and hands on her napkin. “How do you do that?”

“Do what?” I have no idea what she’s asking about.

“Say whatever pops into your head with no fear of judgment or consequence.” She takes a sip of her milkshake and I can’t drag my eyes away from the way her lips wrap around the straw. Holy hell.

I take a sip of my coffee, contemplating her question while staring at her, cataloging her features. Her brown eyes that are darker than mine, her pointy little chin in an otherwise round face.

I shrug. “I don’t know. I think part of it is inherent personality and part is growing up with so many siblings. We all had to fight for attention, and because I was the smallest and youngest I had to be pretty loud and talkative. Having a filter is too much work. I mean, I never want to hurt or offend someone, but otherwise I give my tongue free range.”

Her eyes go wide, and I realize what I just said. “I stand by that comment.” I take a bite of my sandwich like it’s no big deal that I mentioned our...connection. God, I’m starving.

Her fingers fiddle with the spoon in front of her. “So yeah, about that...” She’s either about to tell me that we shouldn’t do what we’ve been doing or that...honestly, I don’t know. I won’t be able to take whatever rejection she’s about to hand out, so I cut her off.

“We’re having fun. There’s nothing wrong with that.” My preemptive attempt at protecting myself feels like thorns in my throat. Which is a shame because this sandwich is fantastic.

Meredith doesn’t say anything, but I watch the furrow between her brows deepen. “Fun,” she repeats, her tone flat.

Shit, did I over correct? “Unless you want more than fun?” I do nothing to keep the hopefulness out of my voice. She stares at me like she’s trying to figure something out. Then she lifts one shoulder the tiniest amount.

“I guess I’m good hanging out and having fun.” Disappointment rockets through me. It’s not a declaration of love or a marriage proposal, but I’ll take what I can get. Fuck it.

I lean across the table and lay my hand on hers. “But I want to make something very clear.” I lower my voice so she has to lean in to hear me. “If you want more...anything with me, sign me up.”

She squares her shoulders and sits back. “Nah, I’m good with fun.”

Crap.

CHAPTER 14

CAN WE TALK?

MEREDITH

Ineed a new definition of ‘fun’ because it’s starting to look a lot like ‘fixation.’ Or crush, or deep like. Over the course of the next few weeks, Stuart and I have ‘fun’ in the sound booth, the backseat of his car, a little-used conference room on the second floor that I’m pretty sure Sylvie and her husband Will have already christened, and the counter of the kitchenette after everybody at The Base has gone home.

We’ve hung out at my house or his apartment at least a few times each week, usually having dinner before we tear each other’s clothes off. I blush at the memory of the ways he used his suspenders on me, with me.

Every time is the new best sex of my life, and I don’t know why I’m surprised anymore. I saw an old man walk down the street yesterday wearing suspenders and I got instantly aroused. Stuart has rearranged my brain cells with the things he does with his hands, his tongue, and his cock. And the rub of it is, he’s still the happy, slightly goofy, eager Stuart that he’s always been, but there’s not one single thing annoying about him anymore.

This morning I’m sitting with Joanie as we discuss her audiobook schedule, but I can’t focus. Stuart is getting a new member settled in and I hear, “You watch Star Trek? I love...” Sudden and cold fury shocks the hell out of me. “...Star Trek too.”

“Oh, I don’t like angry Meredith face,” Joanie whispers to herself. I shoot up out of my chair and walk over to Stuart and the new member. Okay, maybe I stomp a little. Or a lot.

I hold my hand out to her. She’s gorgeous, and I start to sweat. “Hey, welcome to The Base. I’m Meredith.” I give her the best smile I can muster because none of these unfamiliar feelings are her fault. I’m sure she’s perfectly lovely.

“Hi, Meredith. I’m Ivy.”

“I love Star Trek, too,” I blurt out, and I can’t blame Stuart for the look he gives me. His mouth drops open a little and his eyebrows shoot up. Poor thing looks so confused. Join the club, lover.

“Um, cool.” Ivy’s smile turns questioning. “You’re a member here?” Bless her heart for wanting to keep talking to me.

Stuart straightens. “Meredith’s the in-house sound engineer. She helps all of us with whatever audio needs we have.” He gestures to Joanie. “Like audiobooks and podcasts.”

Ivy’s eyes light up. “My brother’s a sound engineer too. He went to school up in San Francisco...maybe you know him? Ash Lowenstein?”

“Yeah, I know Ash,” I say with a fond smile. The local audio engineer community is small and there’s only a couple of schools in this part of California, so of course I know her brother. “He’s a great guy. We helped each other out on a couple school projects.” I relax into my conversation with Ivy. Turns out she’s trying to start a software consulting business and just moved to Wavecrest.

During the whole conversation Stuart stands there staring at me. I can feel the heat of his eyes on the side of my face. I glance at him and am surprised to see his face a little pinched, his forehead wrinkled in thought. I hope he’s not spraining anything.

I sit back down to finish up my informal meeting with Joanie while Stuart shows Ivy the rest of The Base. “Fascinating,” Joanie says while scribbling in a notebook. At this point I wouldn’t be surprised if she had a conspiracy wall somewhere with pictures of Base members and red string connecting us all.

And because I’m feeling a little salty I ask, “Does Colin get his own notebook?” The man in question has his headphones on and is looking intently at his laptop screen. Joanie’s cheeks instantly go flame red.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she splutters.

“Sure.” I pat her arm and her expression turns murderous.

“Watch it, or I’ll turn you into one of my villains.”

“You don’t write villains.”

“Ah ha! I knew it. You do read my stuff.”

“Yeah, sure, and I can’t wait to read the one featuring Colin.”

She growls at me, and it’s possibly the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.

A few minutes later, I’m about to walk upstairs when a hand gently grabs my elbow, and Stuart pulls me down the hallway leading to the storage closet.

He locks the door behind us. “Little early in the day, but I’m game.” I unbutton my jeans with one hand and reach for the stash of condoms we hid behind the stacks of Post-its with the other.

Stuarts starts kissing my neck, his purring hum resonating deep in my chest. “Who’s Ash?” he murmurs before blowing a tiny raspberry into my skin. It tickles.

“Ivy’s brother. Weren’t you listening?” Fucking with him is my favorite pastime. He nips my neck and I yelp.

“Brat,” he says. He shoves his hand down the back of my pants and squeezes my ass. Hard. I don’t hate it.

“Are you jealous?” I laugh because it’s a ridiculous thought. His arms squeeze me a little tighter, but he doesn’t lift his head from my shoulder. “Wait, are you?” I give him a little shove.

There’s no smile on his face and the deep furrow between his eyebrows is new. “Maybe.” He plays it off with a shrug. “No more than you were. What was that about you loving Star Trek too?”

“Yeah, but you’re usually Mr. Nothing Bothers Me. Everything bothers me.”

He pulls back suddenly. “Wait, does that bug you? I mean, I know I’m not broody like one of Joanie’s heroes, and I’ve never read Dostoevsky.” He looks so unsure about himself, and I hate it. Did I do that to him?

Something uncomfortable squeezes in my chest, and all I can do is stare at him. He has to know how much I like how uncomplicated and golden retriever-like he is.

You more than like it, Meredith. Shit.

I open my mouth to tell him, but there’s a knock at the door.

“Stuart? You in there? I think I broke the microwave,” Mars says from the other side of the door.

“Be right there,” Stuart calls out, but his eyes say We have things to talk about. Fear slices through me as I zip my pants and smooth down my hair. I squeeze his forearm for a moment, hoping he knows I’m in this with him.

STUART

Later that night, I knock on Meredith’s door. I glance down at her “Go away” welcome mat and smile. She’s not expecting me, but I couldn’t get the conversation in the storage closet out of my head.

She opens the door with a gasp. “I hoped it was you.” She blushes and clamps her mouth shut, like she didn’t mean to be so forthcoming.

“You’re not too old for me.” That’s not how I wanted to start this conversation.

“Excuse me?” Her head tilts down and she looks at me with an expression that says I might murder you.

“Sorry, I mean, I’m not too young for you. And I’m the perfect amount of deep, thank you very much. I know you think about these things, so I want us to get it all out in the open. And I think we should date. Not just rip each other’s clothes off on the regular.” Why did I even bother rehearsing a speech on the way over here?

She stands there, gaping at me, her plump lips parted in what looks like confusion.

“Can I come in so I can tell you all the reasons I think you’re wonderful and perfect?” She snorts and shakes her head, but takes a step back to let me in. Her eyes flick to my suspenders, and I know exactly what she’s thinking. But the fun times will have to wait. I’m not willing to put this discussion off any longer.

The house smells like her. Darkly floral and filled with all things Meredith. Pictures of her nieces, her parents, and sister. Graffiti-style artwork on one wall and framed album covers on another. A schematic of the inner workings of a microphone hangs by the front door.

“Okay. All right. You can do this, Meredith,” she mutters to herself. I don’t know what she’s so nervous about—I’m the one about to open a vein. I sit on the couch, the one where we fell asleep all those weeks ago. We’ve had sex on it plenty of times, or maybe not enough, but it’s that first night where I woke up under her that plays on repeat.

“Come sit.” I pat the cushion next to me. She chooses to sit on the opposite end. “I’m sorry if I came on too strong,” I gesture at the front door, “but today made me realize that we should probably have a relationship check-in.”

“Relationship,” she repeats on a whoosh of a breath. Her hands twist in her lap, and she bites her lip, but her gaze is steady. A small ember of hope flares in my chest.

“You’re not seeing anybody else.” She nods. “I’m not seeing anybody else, and I don’t want to.” Her face softens and her hands still. “Mugs, sweetheart, I know Aiden did a number on you, and maybe our timing is all wrong, but I really want to date you. Maybe someday call you mine and have you call me yours. That day doesn’t have to be today, but I want you to know that’s what I’m working towards.”

She scoots forward and runs a finger under my suspenders. It’s become one of her favorite fidgets. “Okay,” she breathes out, like she’s been holding onto that one word for ages.

“Okay? Can you give me more words than that?” I rest one arm across the back of the couch, so close to toying with the ends of her hair.

She licks her lips, and my body heats, but now’s not the time. “I think...I think I can see things evolving. Some day. Soon. With you.” This might be Meredith’s version of a grand gesture, but I’m in so deep with her that I’ll take what I can get.

I draw my fingertip across her cheek until she looks at me. “I know I’m not perfect, Mugs. Maybe I’m too annoying, or too eager.” She starts shaking her head even before I’m done talking. “But I think we fit. I know we fit.”

“Holy hell, you’re intense and I kind of love it.” The way she looks at me, like I just handed her a puppy, makes my heart knock against my ribs.

“Yeah, well, don’t get used to it because being serious gives me a stomachache.” I give her a quick peck on the lips and pull back before she can respond. “So if we’re labeling this thing...” I motion between us.

“We’re in a relationship, we’ll see how it goes, and we’re exclusive. No Ivy’s or Ash’s.”

“I don’t know, they seem like really great people—” A laugh bursts out before I can finish the thought. She smacks my chest and crawls on my lap. Her face turns serious when she sets her hands on my cheeks, stroking with her thumbs.

“You’re not wrong, you know,” she says quietly. “We do fit.” She tilts her hips against my growing erection. “And I really appreciate how eager you are.”

MEREDITH

“Stuart, please. More. God, more.” As he rocks into me, my head bumps against the pillow he placed between me and the headboard of my bed. Goosebumps cover my body, and every nerve ending feels exposed. A scream has been building in my chest since he rolled on the condom and thrust into me.

But every time I’m close to going over the edge, he pulls back, slows down, dragging his cock out of me until he hovers at my entrance. And when I try to get myself off using my fingers, he smacks my hand away. This must be as much torture for him as it is for me, if the set of his jaw is anything to go by. But if Stuart’s anything, it’s determined.

“Look at you, Meredith. So beautiful, like a dream.” He drags his warm hand down the center of my chest and then back up to lavish attention on my breasts. He pinches my nipple, rolls it between his fingers, and I have to grit my teeth to keep from begging him to keep fucking me.

But he’s a mind reader, because he thrusts back in and sucks my peaked nipple into his mouth. “Please, I need to come.”

“Tell me I’m a good boy, and I might let you come.”

“You’re the best boy. So good. A good boy,” I babble. Because he is. He’s the absolute best at making me feel wanted. His thrusts speed up, then he grabs my hand and brings it down to where he moves in and out of me. Wet and filthy, the connection pushes me closer to the cliff’s edge.

“Help me,” he commands, guiding our joined hands to my clit. One touch, one rough caress, and I come with a throat-shredding scream. Every muscle in my body locks up, but I don’t look away from Stuart’s face. A face that I see every time I close my eyes.

He looks at me like I’m his favorite thing in the world, and then he throws his head back and lets go. He loses his rhythm as I keep squeezing around him and his breath comes out in ragged bursts. He’s beautiful when he comes.

Every time with Stuart is mind blowing, but there’s something new between us now. Something that’s becoming solid, like curing concrete. It binds us together, and it scares me a little, but my heart has never beat harder for anyone.

THIN MORNING LIGHT slides into my bedroom. I wake up on my stomach, naked and happily sore. There’s a warm weight on the base of my spine and a hand on my ass. Stuart’s head rests on me, just above my butt, where I can feel his snores. He’s curled into a ball, tucked against me. Something tingly and tight forms in my throat. I resolved to never cry over a man again, but this is different.

I’d be an idiot to keep fighting whatever this is between us. Stuart’s like if a unicorn and a puppy got together and formed a human, but he’s more complex than I first thought. I was wrong to write him off and keep him at arm’s length when we met. I missed out on so much time. I sniffle, the pressure behind my eyes too great.

Stuart’s arm moves, but not before he squeezes my ass. He tightens his hold on me, taking a deep breath in. “I got you,” he whispers into my skin. I fall asleep again with hopes that he keeps using me as a pillow.

CHAPTER 15

WHAT THE…?

MEREDITH

Ihear Stuart’s voice outside the open door of my office where I just finished some audiobook editing. It sounds like he’s talking to someone.

“Thanks so much. I look forward to working with you.” Aside from his podcast, it’s the most professional I’ve ever heard him. Curious, I poke my head out of my door and catch a glimpse of him standing at the top of the stairs, shoving his phone into his back pocket, staring at the ground with his mouth hanging open.

“Stuart?” I have no idea what’s going on but he’s starting to freak me out.

Seeming to snap out of his trance, the widest, shiniest, sparkliest smile breaks across his face as he takes three long strides towards me. I brace, but I don’t know what for.

“What’s going…?” Before I can finish my question his hands are on my cheeks and he lays a kiss on me that could register high on the Richter scale. I feel it in my toes, my knees, along my skin, between my legs. As I’m about to come up for air he breaks the kiss, squeezes me in a tight hug that has me gasping, then steps back.

Then he dances. All the dances.

He throws his arms up in the air, spins in a series of drunken circles, then runs up and down the hallway whooping at the top of his lungs. His smile never leaves his face. There’s no amount of armor I can put on to protect myself from this level of joy. I don’t even know what’s going on but I’m so fucking happy for him.

Stuart finally calms down, but his body still vibrates with energy. “We did it, Mugs. We fucking did it.” He presses me up against the hallway wall and buries his face in my neck. I could slide down this wall into a puddle and I’d thank him for it.

“We did what?” My voice is thick with emotion. It’s hard to be wrapped in this much happiness without cracking a little.

“Our first sponsor. I just got off the phone with a meal prep company and they’re going to sponsor Runt of the Litter for the whole season.” His voice is hoarse, its deep timbre even lower than usual. I squeeze him tight, absorbing the happiness that comes off of him in waves.

“I knew you could do it. I knew people would hear your show and fall in love with it. You deserve this, Stuart.” I pull back because I have to see his face. I need to swim in his smile.

His eyes gleam as he stares down at my lips, his hands now running through the hair on the back of my head. Goosebumps erupt all over my body. “We should celebrate,” he says just before he kisses me again.

“Smart boy.” I start to tug him into the studio, but he grabs my hand and pulls me down the hallway towards an empty conference room.

“I need a little more space to do the things I want to do to you.” My breath hitches at the thought of what’s coming for me.

He shuts the door behind us, locking it before he hoists me up onto the table. And then we celebrate.

STUART’S BEEN RECORDING his podcast like a pro. In the past few weeks he’s shed his nervousness, recording some of the smoothest audio I’ve ever had the pleasure of listening to. And it’s not simply his deep velvet voice, it’s how he talks to the listener and his guests, like they’re the most interesting people, and he wants to know them better.

Yesterday I did some paperwork with the sound of Stuart in my ears. His deep honey voice saying, “This is Stuart Smyth, and I’m the Runt of the Litter,” had me rubbing my thighs together until I nearly wore a hole in my jeans. Over the course of my schooling and career I’ve had the pleasure of working with some great voices, but Stuart’s hits a certain magic button in my brain. And my body.

I’ve met three of his siblings so far, all of them interesting in their own way. I see aspects of Stuart in all of them. Greta and Michelle, the twins, have been my favorite, but Greta is the most outgoing. Stuart’s oldest brother, Wesley, was polite if a little standoffish when we met. But Stuart was able to pry some of the deepest conversation out of him about what it’s like to be the oldest in the family of so many siblings, if he remembers being an only child, and if he still feels responsible for his younger siblings.

When their recording session wrapped up and before I took my own headphones off, I heard Wesley say, “I’m proud of you, Stuart. This is quite the thing you’re doing.” A lump formed in my throat, but I managed to swallow it down. Through the window of the booth I saw Stuart’s shoulders straighten before he gave his brother a solemn nod. I don’t know if I’d ever seen him that serious.

This evening his third-oldest brother, Mason, is coming in, and Stuart’s been a nervous wreck all day. I can’t figure out why Mason’s session is making him so jumpy, and the quick hand job I gave Stuart in the backseat of my car after lunch doesn’t seem to have calmed him down much. I heat at the memory of Stuart’s hand wrapped around mine as he guided it up and down his dick. I almost came when he begged me to grab his balls. I take a sip of room-temperature coffee, trying to banish the memory.

The door to the studio opens, and Stuart walks in with a man who has at least six inches on him and is about twice as wide. But that doesn’t matter because I’ve never seen Stuart look so tense. He meets my eyes but glances away quickly, and now my claws are primed.

“Meredith, this is my brother Mason. Mason, this is Meredith. She’ll be helping us out this evening.” This is Meredith, my regular hook-up. My lover. My...girlfriend? Whichever it really is, I don’t like the cold nugget that settles in my chest when he introduces me to Mason.

For his part, Mason holds his hand out. “You get hazard pay for having to work with this one?” He motions to Stuart with his thumb and lets out a good ol’ boy laugh that sets my teeth on edge.

I try to meet Stuart’s eyes, but he’s looking at his shoes. “Your brother’s a great podcaster. It’s a pleasure to work with him.” Mason’s eyebrows raise but then his face quickly settles into a smirk. I hate smirks, unless they come from Stuart.

“Sure.” Mason shrugs, and now I feel the need for a crowbar.

“Mason, why don’t you head into the booth and put the headphones on. I’m going to talk to Stuart for a second.” I use the same voice I use with my five-year-old niece.

When Mason’s inside the booth with the door shut, I step up close to Stuart. “You okay?” He finally—finally—looks me in the eye.

“Yeah, totally fine.” He’s not fine. I don’t know what his relationship with Mason is like, but I’m on high alert. Nobody fucks with Stuart except me. I don’t say anything when I lay my hand on his forearm. He glances between my hand and my face. “Don’t worry, Mugs. I got this.” His usually sweet smile doesn’t reach his eyes, and I hate it.

He joins his brother in the booth and puts his headphones on. He looks like a professional, like he’s been doing this for years. I give him a thumbs up when I sit at my desk that faces into the booth.

Their recording session starts off smoothly. Stuart gets Mason talking about what it’s like being a middle child, if he ever resented the twins for stealing his youngest child thunder.

Stuart asks, “What’s your favorite memory involving your siblings.” Mason glances between Stuart and me, and I don’t like the look on his face.

“Stewie, you remember that time Clay and I locked you in grandma’s bathroom and you freaked out so hard at the sight of her dentures that you peed your pants? You were, what, seven?”

“Eight.” Stuart’s shoulders have curled in again, and he glances my way without meeting my eyes.

I open my mic. “Try again,” I say into Mason’s headset.

“What? It was hysterical.”

“I said, pick another story.”

“Meredith, it’s fine,” Stuart says. He’s trying to act like it doesn’t bother him, but it’s so obvious to me that it does. His arms are crossed tightly across his chest, and his shoulders are up around his headphones.

Mason is smirking again, so I turn a few knobs, crank the volume and let a blast of high-pitched feedback hit his headphones. I’m not above being petty, and nobody gets to make Stuart look like a kicked puppy.

He grabs the cans off his head and squeals like any other bully that’s gotten a dose of his own medicine. I enjoy the little ripple of fear I see in his eyes.

“Ready to stop being an asshole?” I ask into the mic once he reluctantly puts the headphones back on.

I can see that he wants to say something, but he decides against it. Stuart stares at me with wide eyes, and I give him a wink. Mason sits back down and turns away from me. They resume the recording session, and I make a note to edit out Mason’s story.

“Do you have a favorite story from childhood that doesn’t involve torturing me?” Stuart gives Mason a cocked eyebrow, but his body language has opened up. He’s dropped his arms. I notice a piece of his hair sticking up just where the headphones rest on top of his head. It’s his signature podcast cowlick. Every time I see it, I want to run my hands through his hair.

Mason takes a deep breath and glances at me with a hint of fear. “Do you remember when Wes had to get his appendix out and we were all really scared because we didn’t understand what was happening? Mom was freaking out, Dad had gone more silent than usual, and Wes was in a shit-ton of pain.”

“I barely remember. He was a teenager, right?”

“Right. This is going to sound weird, but I remember how even as the youngest you did your best to keep us calm. Mom and Dad took Wes to the hospital and our old neighbor, Mrs. Carpenter, stayed with us. You asked us all to play Chutes and Ladders, you wanted to roast marshmallows and bake a cake, and you handed each of us our favorite stuffed animal. You were trying your hardest to make sure we were all okay and weren’t thinking about Wes in the hospital.

“It might not be my favorite memory...it’s definitely not the happiest, but it’s one of the clearest I have of you. You saw that each of us needed something, and you stepped in, and you weren’t even five years old. That kind of became your role in the family...the little court jester whose job it was to keep us entertained and happy.”

Stuart blinks at him. “I honestly don’t remember doing any of that. Thanks for that story.”

“I’d still like to tell the pee-your-pants story, but I’m afraid of your girlfriend.” Mason glances at me, but I ignore him because Stuart doesn’t correct him.

And neither do I.

AS SOON AS MASON LEAVES, giving me a tiny wave instead of a handshake, and skirting around me like I’ll bite him, Stuart grabs my hand and pulls me into the sound booth. My heart kicks, and I can’t stop the quiver in my stomach. The small two-person sound booth has become one of my favorite places on the planet.

Stuart lays a kiss on me that sets my blood on fire. Soft and gentle at first, then when I hook my hands in his suspenders, he deepens the kiss. Insistent and bossy, his firm lips begging mine to open up. I let him in, and the collective groan could probably be heard from outside the booth.

“Thank you,” he whispers against my lips.

“I didn’t do anything.”

“You stood up for me, and I want to show you how much I appreciate it.” He slides down the front of my body, settling on his knees. And then he shows me with his tongue on my clit and his hands gripping my ass like it’s a flotation device and he’s a drowning man.

“You didn’t correct him.” I run my fingers through Stuart’s hair and tug him away from this task. His lips glisten with my arousal, and his eyes are glazed, like he’s in a trance from getting too close to my pussy. I press my thumb to the furrow between his brows. “When he called me your girlfriend, you didn’t correct him.”

“Because I didn’t want to.” He says it like it’s the obvious answer, then goes back to fluttering his tongue over my clit. I tug on his hair again, and he sits back on his heels with an annoyed huff.

“So I’m your girlfriend because your idiot brother says I am?” I honestly don’t know why I’m arguing with him. I’ve wanted to be with Stuart since before our first time in the sound booth.

“Mugs, that’s how I think of you already. I know you don’t want to name what we have, but my brain fired up the label maker a long time ago.” His eyes hold mine while I process this. “While you think about it, do you mind if I finish up here?” He motions to my cunt like I’ve interrupted his dinner. I nod, speechless and breathless.

He hums, lighting up every nerve ending that meets in my clit. “Mmm, like a fine aged wine.” His shoulders shake with poorly-contained laughter. I flick his forehead with my finger.

“Listen, someone’s not getting a gold star if someone doesn’t make someone else come in the next thirty seconds. You may be my boyfriend, but that doesn’t mean you get to slack off.” I can’t maintain my mean face and start to crack when his eyes light up.

“Damn straight I’m your boyfriend.” Then he dives back in, this time without interruptions.

I close my eyes and lean my head against the acoustic tile. The words boyfriend and girlfriend run through my head on repeat. They feel inadequate. Oh fuck, his tongue is talented. I lose my concentration and ride the vibrations his humming sends through my lower body.

STUART

We’re laying on the carpeted floor of the sound booth, wrapped up in each other. I’m still riding the high of eating and fucking Meredith until she screamed my name. I try to shove the relationship conversation away so I can savor this moment. She’s warm and pliant, pressed into my side and lightly playing with my suspenders. I have no idea where my glasses are.

“You’re sure?” She looks at me. “That you want to do this with me?” I ask. I can feel her eyes on me, so I pull mine away from the acoustic tiles on the ceiling and focus on her when she doesn’t answer.

“Yeah, I think I do.” My heart rockets up to my throat and back into my chest then thuds against my ribs. She gives me a long, lingering kiss then snaps my suspenders. “I really, really do.”

“Wow, my first real girlfriend,” I say with a dramatic sigh. Her eyes go scary wide.

“Wait, what?”

“Kidding. I was not born with this kind of talent.” I waggle my tongue at her. She sags with relief.

“Oh thank fuck. I could not handle being your first girlfriend. I already feel like I’m a cougar corrupting a beloved Muppet.”

I laugh. “Okay, Betty White. You’re only four years older than me. If our ages were reversed, would you bat an eye? Don’t let some bullshit societal construct dictate who you fall in love with.” She sucks in a breath—I’ve gone too far. I must have, because she looks like a goth deer caught in the headlights. “Don’t freak out on me. I didn’t mean—”

She clamps her hand over my mouth. “It’s not outside the realm of possibility.” She removes her hand and gives me a lingering kiss that has me ready for round two.

“That is a ringing declaration if I ever heard one.”

CHAPTER 16

HOW DO YOU FEEL ABOUT ME?

MEREDITH

The only way to top Staff Meeting Wednesdays is Editing Stuart’s Podcast Thursdays. He wrapped up the final episode of his first season last night, and all it needs is a little polishing. I’m a tiny bit sad that he’ll be taking a few weeks off between seasons, but he needs the mental break, and I can always listen to his show on repeat. Or even better, have him whisper filthy things in my ear every night.

He managed to find three sponsors already, and his subscribers are growing with every episode. When he got his second sponsor our celebration went from champagne and dinner to late-night acrobatics on my kitchen floor involving sprinkles and whipped cream. My face turns flaming hot at the memory, and I take a moment to breathe.

I readjust the headphones on my head, thinking about how to edit together the separate interviews he did with his mom Caroline, and her cousin Katie, who is an only child raised by two moms.

I press play, ready to do some splicing and editing.

Stuart: After the twins were born, what kind of changes did you see in your three older boys?

Caroline: Honestly, I was so tired after the twins, I let your brothers go a little feral. I figured Wesley was levelheaded enough to keep the other two in check. And if not, we had good health insurance.

Stuart, laughing: So it wasn’t a conscious decision or you and dad subscribing to the Free-Range Child philosophy?

Caroline: Hell no. Absolutely zero decisions were being made at that point.

There’s a pause in their conversation. I think this is the point in the recording where I took a break to go to the restroom.

Caroline, whispering: She’s adorable. When are you going to bring her to dinner?

Stuart: She’s beautiful, and never. I love her too much to subject her to the full Smyth chaos tornado.

Caroline: Fine, if you’re not going to ask her, I will. I might like her better than I like Mason, and he was the quickest labor.

Stuart: Mom...

Holy sushi, did he say what I think he said? I rip the headphones off but quickly put them back on, my heart pounding so hard I have to turn the volume up.

I love her too much...

I rewind it again and again. A frantic giggle rips out of my throat. The headphones land on my desk with a clatter as I launch myself out of my chair, out the door, and down the stairs.

The Base is packed—it’s just after lunchtime on a Thursday. I spot Stuart’s magnificent ass first, where he stands in Sylvie’s doorway talking about something probably mundane. I pop my head around the other side of the doorway. “Sorry, Sylvie, I need to borrow him for a second. Okaythanksbye.” She blinks at me. Stuart blinks at me. Everybody’s blinking at me.

I grab his elbow and drag him upstairs. He stumbles after me, not resisting when I steer him around corners and through doorways. I shove him in the sound booth and shut the door after us.

He starts toeing his shoes off, but I press him against the far wall, accidentally knocking a pair of headphones to the ground. “You aren’t going to invite me to dinner at your family’s house?”

His eyebrows draw together in confusion. “What?”

I change tactics. “I was editing your mom’s interview...” Now his eyebrows head in a whole new direction. “And I heard something very, very interesting.” His throat moves with a thick swallow, and he parts his lips to say something but nothing comes out. That must be a first in the history of firsts.

“Did you mean it?” My voice shakes but I don’t let him go. I wrap my hands around his suspenders, one of their favorite places to be.

He stands up straighter, wrapping his own hands around mine. “Of course I fucking meant it. I love you, probably since the first time you snarled at me.” Pure, unfettered happiness tumbles through me. My vision blurs a little, but I manage to keep myself under control.

I huff out a laugh, then sniffle. “I don’t snarl.” I do, but whatever. “So were you ever going to tell me, or is your mom the only one privy to this information?”

“Come over tonight and I’ll do more than tell you.” I still have him pressed against the wall, but he ducks his head to try to capture a kiss. I pull back.

“Tell me now. Use lots of words.”

A huge grin splits his face, and my knees go a little weak. “You’re the boss.” I love that he thinks so. “Meredith, sweetheart who’s not sweet at all,” he begins. His chest rumbles with laughter when I scowl at him.

“Well, that is a fine start.”

“You’re making me do all the work here. I’m about to spill my guts—what do I get in return?”

“Depends on how good the speech is.” I nip his earlobe, and he lets out a little growl.

“Meredith, sweetheart,” he begins again, but the smile has dropped off his face. It’s replaced with a deep, warm look in his eyes, and I can’t catch my breath. “I love you because you’re you. Because you’re passionate and smart and strong and so fucking sexy that I might’ve chafed myself before we got together. I love that you don’t take anybody’s shit, that you hold people to high standards. Not a day goes by where I don’t want to kiss that furrow between your eyebrows or bury my face in your neck. Or pussy...whichever is more context appropriate. And I don’t ever see that changing. I love you because you let me love you.”

I sigh. He’s perfect, and I don’t think I’ve ever told him how perfect he is.

“That was a really good speech.” I try to swallow past the lump in my throat.

“Your turn. Leave nothing out.” He nuzzles his nose against mine and the sweetness of it brings a tingle to the bridge of my nose. He gently brushes his thumbs across my cheeks. Always gently.

“I love you because you’re Stuart Sunshine on the Worst Day Smyth. And I’m sorry that I was too much of a hard-ass to let you in at first. I love that you know who you are, and you’ve never tried to change. I love that you want to protect me from the chaos tornado of your family even though you don’t need to. I love that you take care of the people around you and that you love literally everyone and everything. But lord how I love that you love me.” I can barely get the words out past the tears threatening to spill.

“Ten out of ten. No notes,” he whispers against my lips, then kisses me like I’m his next breath.

EPILOGUE

STUART - TWO MONTHS LATER

“Mugs, you seen my spatula?” I could’ve sworn I had way more kitchen utensils than are in the drawer right now. “And the measuring cups?” Meredith opens the door to the bathroom coming out wrapped in a towel and a billow of steam. I want to make her some post-coital cookies, but I’m missing some key equipment. Not for the sex, for the cookies.

Her skin is dewy and pink, and I’m ready for round three, but she needs to refuel. So do I, and chocolate chip cookies are the best for shortening a refractory period. I’ve been experimenting.

I have some of the ingredients laid out on the counter and I’m still puzzling over the missing utensils when she comes up behind me and wraps her arms around my waist. “Nice outfit,” she says into the space between my shoulder blades. I hum with pleasure, and it looks like I don’t need the chocolate chip cookies to get back on the horse. My Lick the Chef apron tents—I’m only wearing boxers under it. My suspenders are hanging from the knob of my front door.

“What’d you say when I came out of the bathroom?”

I turn around and pull her close, huffing a deep breath of her shampoo. I get a little thrill that she keeps a bottle of it at my place. “Have you seen the spatula? And my other apron? And the measuring cups? It’s weird because I swear they were here last week.”

She ducks her head and presses her cheek to my shoulder. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“They might be in my bag.”

That takes me a minute. “Did you need to borrow them? My apartment might be crappy but the oven works. We don’t have to go to your place to make cookies.”

“You were making cookies?” Deflection.

Something dawns on me. “Wait, did that stack of T-shirts from my dresser also migrate to your bag?” She ducks her head again. “Meredith, what’s going on?” She’s so fucking adorable when she’s flustered. She opens and closes her mouth, avoids meeting my eyes so I duck down a little to get in her line of sight. I start laughing because the situation is so absurd. “Come on my little magpie, tell me why you’ve been stealing my things.”

“It’s not stealing. It’s relocating.” Oh, now she’s fierce. Love it. Love her.

“Relocating,” I say slowly, still not understanding.

“I was thinking...” She meets my eyes then glances away. My hands squeeze her hips, trying to encourage her to tell me.

“I’m listening.”

“I was thinking,” she starts again. “That maybe, possibly, hypothetically, that you would kinda want to sort of move in. With me.” My mouth drops open, and words catch in my throat. Heat rushes up my neck and face.

“You want me to move in?” This can’t be real.

“Never mind. It’s probably too soon. I mean, why would you even—”

“Fuck yes, I want to move in with you. Today. Whenever. Yes.” I wrap her in my arms and squeeze, maybe tighter than I should.

Her shoulders sag in relief. “Yeah? You’re sure?”

“Did you think I’d say no?” That earns me a mini shrug. “Mugs, I love you. More than cookies, more than Bette Midler, more the coffee maker at work, and probably more than you love me.” She shakes her head, but I continue. “Why the hell wouldn’t I want to spend more time with you? To merge our lives together? To hang my suspenders in your closet?”

“Our closet,” she corrects.

“Our closet,” I agree. “You’re the most brilliant girlfriend and this is the best idea you’ve ever had.”

“It ranks up there, but I think the best idea I ever had was kissing you on New Year’s.”

“Mmm, sounds familiar, but you’ll have to remind me.” She makes an adorable little growling sound and then kisses me like there are fireworks exploding overhead.

WHAT HAPPENS when a romance writer realizes the guy she's had a tiny crush on is not who he first seems? Read Joanie and Colin's office romance in the next Work For It story.

See how Stuart and Meredith celebrate landing another sponsor in this steamy bonus scene.

Meet Stuart and Meredith's boss in A Husband for the Holidays.

HELP other's discover Stuart's eager cinnamon roll charm. If you enjoyed Hear Me Out, let your friends know by leaving a review. You can also find me on Goodreads and BookBub.

Thank you for reading! Want more steamy, snarky, sweet stories about the people of Wavecrest and The Base? Visit hillykeen.com to sign up for my newsletter.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Hilly Keen is not a NYT bestseller, but sometimes she does the crossword in pen. Knowing that every childhood memory would someday be fodder for a story (or therapy), she spent her youth causing just a little bit of trouble. When she wasn’t watching classic Cary Grant movies, reading Judy Blume, or making friendship bracelets, she was out antagonizing the golfers on the course bordering her childhood home.

In the small moments she’s not yelling at her computer screen, she ponders the deeper meaning of the first Pixar Cars movie while watching fog roll across the hills of her Northern California town. She’s not above begging her two cats for affection. Leaving the house means either the fridge is empty or she’s hunting for vintage typewriters and boomboxes to add to her collection. Please send shelves.

Visit hillykeen.com to sign up for her newsletter, see a current list of her books, and find bonus content. Connect with her on Instagram (@hillykeen), Threads (@hillykeen), and Facebook (@hillykeen).