Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 87284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
“We’re gonna have a fantastic vacation together.” I kissed him again. “I’m gonna pretend I can get a tan.”
He chuckled and nuzzled his nose to mine. “I’ll pretend the same. That’s what I get for having some great-great-great-grandmother from Ireland or whatever.”
I knew the feeling. My mom was Danish and my dad English from way back. We were destined to turn red in the sun.
“We’ll be each other’s sunscreen buddies,” I decided. “I’m hoping we can spend a lot of time nekkid.”
He grinned. “Of-fucking-course. That’s how we’ll attract a hot Dom to play with us.”
Now we’re talking.
“What are our options?” I sat back a little, and my stomach tickled at some turbulence. “Is everyone open?”
“Far from it,” he replied. “Colt and Lucas are fairly closed with Kit. They opened up for a bit of play at their holiday party, but only with a select few they know very well.”
I smirked. “You were one of them, weren’t you?”
His smug grin confirmed it.
“And the sadistic twins and their boy?”
“Pretty closed too,” he said. “We’re gonna have to zero in on Ty. Colt told me he doesn’t do labels. He’s more of a hedonist and primal kinkster.”
Fuck me, that sounded perfect. For casual play, anyway. In a relationship, I’d want more structure.
Mack nudged me. “Maybe he can help me convince you to join our community.”
I snorted. If Corey—my own flesh and blood—and Macklin—someone I adored—couldn’t convince me, a random stranger sure as hell couldn’t either. No matter how hot he was.
2
Lane Sawyer
“Isn’t that your…” I trailed off when I realized Macklin wasn’t next to me. I couldn’t even spot him in the sea of people—but I was still fairly certain that was his luggage coming down the conveyor belt, so I squeezed through and grabbed it. Checking the luggage tag confirmed my guess.
I knew my way around the world, so I traveled light. Everything fit into my carry-on rollaboard and my backpack. Macklin, however… He was pretty well traveled too, but he went all out with a giant piece of checked luggage, one carry-on bag, one backpack, and one shopping bag with last-minute items from the airport.
Jesus, the wheels were gonna come off this damn thing if he kept stuffing more clothes in. I dragged the luggage away from the crowd and spotted Macklin near a bench, where he was talking on the phone.
He shot me an apologetic look when he saw me.
“What’s wrong?” I asked quietly.
He held up a finger and spoke. “Hi, Pen—it’s Mack. Tate texted and told me what’s happened. I’m so sorry. Call or text whenever if you wanna talk. Love you.” He ended the call, which must’ve been a voice message, and he sighed and rubbed his forehead, visibly troubled. “Sorry I bailed.”
“It’s okay.” I frowned and squeezed his hand. “What happened?”
“Two friends broke up yesterday,” he answered, frowning too. “I think I’ve mentioned Penelope…?”
I nodded hesitantly. “She’s, uh…one of the founders, right?”
“Yeah. She and her girlfriend broke up, and I guess it got pretty nasty. I’ll have to call Tate later. By the sound of things, Pen crashed at Tate and Kingsley’s place.”
I didn’t know who they were—or maybe I did. Macklin spoke of his friends as if everyone knew them. They were all an integral part of his life, but I wasn’t great with names before I’d met a person.
“I fucking hate taking sides,” Mack muttered. He grabbed his luggage and nodded toward the exit. “Let’s find a cab.”
“Do you have to take sides?” I wondered.
“I do if Ella cheated,” he grumbled. “Goddamn it. They were together for…hell, over ten years.”
Yeah, that sucked.
He was understandably not in a chatty mood as we made our way out, so I took the lead and followed the signs toward the cabstand. Then the heat smacked into me, and I had the giddiest fucking reaction. We were here. Fort Myers, Florida. In December. Holy fuck, this felt good. Freaking palm trees and blue sky.
It wasn’t too humid this time of year either.
While Macklin texted on his phone, I checked the distance from here to Marco Island, and I had to wonder if Mack had thought this through. The ride would take an hour and twenty minutes, so that had to cost a bit, huh?
“You sure you don’t wanna take the bus to Naples?” I asked. Because that was closer to our destination.
“No, fuck the bus and train and Uber.” He pocketed his phone and slid on a pair of shades. “I’m not gonna mope or fret. They can call me if they want to. Right now, we’re sitting our asses in a cab. Reese is picking us up on Marco Island. He sent an address. Ty’s house is about twenty minutes away from there—and it’s supposedly not the easiest to find.”
All right, then. He was going back to fun-loving and casual.