Les Be Honest, page 9
“That would be a cool account to have.” Tyler glanced at me and then looked at Isa. “Is it crisis management, public relations, or marketing that you do?”
“A little bit of everything,” Isa confirmed. “And, honestly, I don’t know that we’re even going to get the full five-year contract on that account yet. This is totally unrelated and nothing to do with that.”
“The lies!” Rachel laughed emphatically as she polished off her glass. “You’re one hundred percent dating him to secure this account.”
I shoved a large bite into my mouth so I could avoid being part of this conversation.
Isa shot Rachel an angry look. “Rachel, I would never. I mean, how would I even know I’d match with him? Or where he worked?”
“Was it in his bio?” Rachel pried further.
Isa was blustering now. “I can’t remember. I barely look at those things, you know.”
Another round of small plates was delivered to our table and the empty plates cleared away. The waitress was close behind and took our orders for more rounds of food, as well as dropping off another pitcher of mimosa for us all.
“Even I have to call bullshit on that one,” I finally interjected. “Don’t break the poor man’s heart for a business deal.”
“You’re one to talk.” Isa was now pointing between Tyler and me, and shit, this was exactly why I should have stayed out of that conversation entirely.
“Me?” Tyler’s eyes widened as the bite of food that had been on the way to her mouth was now suspended in the air in front of her. “No one is breaking my heart, I can promise you that.”
Don’t ask me why the first thought in my mind when she said that was challenge accepted.
“This is strictly business and friendship,” I repeated. “No one’s heart is getting involved here.”
Both Isa and Rachel rolled their eyes at the two of us.
“I’m serious!” I added. “Other body parts, maybe. But no hearts.”
Tyler jutted her elbow into my side. “Jesus, Yas.”
Her cheeks were tinged red again, and the freckles across her nose looked darker which only reminded me of when she was last writhing beneath me. Okay, I definitely needed to slow down on the mimosas before I crossed from tipsy-sociable to drunk-horny.
I gave her a wink anyway and let my hand drop below the table, finding her thigh and giving it a gentle squeeze. “I’m just teasing.”
“No, she’s not,” Rachel called me out as she chewed on a large bite of churro.
“Anyway.” I picked up my glass of water and chugged at least half of it. “When are we going to meet Eduardo?”
“I love Caps games,” Tyler added. “My father has a box, so if you guys ever want to go, we can. Sometimes I can even wrangle a press pass to get back to the locker rooms.”
“A press pass?” Isa’s brows lifted so high that they nearly touched her hairline. “Wait, how do you do that?”
“Podcast perks.” Tyler took another bite of her food and washed it down with her remaining mimosa, which I quickly refilled for her. “It depends on who you talk to over there though—and their age. If they’re over thirty-five, then good luck convincing them that podcasts are news sources at all.”
“That’s us,” Isa joked, now jabbing an elbow toward Rachel. “But I actually do listen to your podcast religiously. Not to sound like a weird stalker or anything. I’m even in your fan Facebook group.”
“That does sound like a weird stalker,” Rachel quipped.
Isa waved her off. “It’s just, the way you tell stories is very engaging. You really make me think about the cases from a different lens, you know?”
“Thanks,” Tyler replied. “That’s kind of the goal, so it’s nice to hear.”
“I do have a question though,” Isa continued, waving her fork toward Tyler as she continued eating. “People in your Facebook group speculate all the time about your sexuality, but you never address it on the pod.”
Tyler swallowed the food in her mouth and took a long sip of her mimosa before answering. “Well, people are always going to talk. That’s just the nature of any public-facing position.”
“Right,” Isa agreed. “But, why not just come out? It could be really meaningful for the queer community to have you as a public face or spokesperson—particularly given who your father is.”
“No one has to come out for other people,” I interjected, feeling a little defensive of Tyler. “I know you’re thinking from a marketing mind, Isa, but someone’s sexuality isn’t content fodder for their job unless they want it to be.”
I squeezed Tyler’s thigh again, this time letting my fingers stroke down the inside. She gave me an appreciative smile before turning back to look at Isa.
“I understand your point, though,” Tyler assured her. “No harm done. It’s just, my relationship with my father is complicated. His stances publicly are not always what line up with his beliefs at home. He does support me, despite how uncomfortable my sexuality makes him. Which, yeah, I get that doesn’t make much sense. It doesn’t make much sense to me either. But he has always been really honest with me about where he’s at and what he feels, and I have to appreciate that about him—even if I don’t always like the answers he lands on. He struggles with the dynamic as much as I do, and I can’t discount his experience.”
I hadn’t really considered how complicated it must be to have a father like Walter Adams, but as Tyler described their relationship dynamic, I felt a sad weight on my chest for the both of them. Despite my father’s frustrations with my employment history, his love and adoration and support for who I am as a person, and who I love has never once been a question. I’ve never had to even worry about not being fully accepted, or being able to openly be myself, and that’s a luxury that I know a lot of queer people don’t have.
Isa seemed quieter after that response. “I can’t imagine how difficult navigating that must be.”
Tyler didn’t respond, and instead took another bite of her food. Rachel did the same, and the table fell into silence for a few moments as we all focused on our food and probably reflected on the relationships we had with our own parents.
“Time for another round?” Tyler asked, breaking the silence as the waitress came over again.
Tension seemed to ease around the table as we perused the menu for more food to order, my eyes immediately being pulled to the churros.
Rachel grinned and lifted her flute in the air. “Fill’ er up!”
It wasn’t even noon yet, but I had a feeling today was going to be interesting…
Chapter Eleven
It’s a blessing that I don’t have an office I have to be at every Monday at nine o’clock, because otherwise I would have been calling out late today. Yesterday’s brunch lasted until dinner, and the aftereffects were still clinging to my dopamine-depleted brain today.
Hello, hangxiety.
“Are we really doing this today?” Tyler groaned from the other side of the bed where her naked body was still splayed across the sheets after last night.
I rolled onto my back as well and stared up at the ceiling, which wasn’t staying as still as I would have liked it to. The textures of the stucco decor in the paint were rolling around my eyes like a ship at sea, and I silently cursed myself for the previous day’s liquid indulgence.
“Do what?”
“We have a meeting at noon with my father, remember?” Tyler turned to her side to face me now, propping her head up in her hand as her elbow jutted against the mattress.
I groaned and closed my eyes. “That’s at noon. We can worry about that later.”
“It’s eleven fifteen,” she countered.
Despite my eyes being closed, she must have grabbed at the sheets covering me because I felt the woosh of the fabric run from my skin and a chill take its place.
“It’s what?” I asked again, curling into a ball to try to retrieve my warmth.
“We have to be at my father’s office in forty-five minutes,” Tyler said.
I shook my head but just managed to wedge it further into the pillows in my protest at daylight. “Never going to happen.”
She was already out of bed, however, and it didn’t appear she gave two shits about my hangover. “Up and at ’em!”
“How are you not hung over?” I asked, scrambling to find the sheets and blankets and abscond away into them again.
Tyler smacked her right hand against her upper left arm where there was a small tan patch adhered to her skin. “Hangover patch. I put it on yesterday before brunch. Works like a charm. Plus, I scheduled us for an intravenous hydration boost later today to replenish.”
Absolutely not was I getting an IV for a hangover. “All of those are a scam. They aren’t even FDA-approved. There’s no oversight on them at all.”
My logic didn’t seem to change her mind. “And yet, I’m out of bed and you’re turtling.”
“It’s called ‘cocooning,’” I clarified, but finally pulled myself out from the warmth of my bed.
Cocooning in bed was a valid and healthy coping skill, and I wouldn’t be convinced otherwise.
Pushing myself up to a standing position, I took inventory of Tyler’s bedroom around me. The clothes we’d been wearing yesterday were strewn about in random places across the floor and on furniture, and there was an open bottle of coconut oil on the nightstand.
Okay, so we had some fun last night. The bits and pieces of last night were returning to my memory—all of which had me as the aggressor of the evening. I had absolutely thrown myself at Tyler. And shamelessly, at that.
“I don’t have time to go home and change.” My feet hit the fuzzy carpet as I came to the realization that I’d probably have to wear yesterday’s wrinkled outfit to this business meeting with her father.
He’d spot my walk of shame a mile away.
“You can borrow something of mine,” Tyler replied.
I squinted at her. “Won’t he know that it’s yours?”
She shook her head, and the flash of hurt that crossed her face was wiped away just as quickly as it appeared. “No. He won’t notice. Go look in the closet for something you like.”
I stayed quiet after that, watching her puttering around the bedroom and bathroom for a few minutes instead. She’d changed into half a pantsuit and was flat ironing her hair in the bathroom mirror before I finally made my way over to her closet and scanned through the racks.
Christ, designer tags are still on half this shit.
“Have you even worn all of these?” I called out, fingering the material on a silver blazer. “Most of these look brand new.”
“Some of them,” she called back. “People tend to send me stuff out of nowhere. They want me to be photographed in it, ya know? It’s them trying to promote their own brands. It’s not about me.”
That seemed to be a common theme in her life, but I didn’t say that out loud. The whole rule-follower aspect of her made it easy to see why she’d struggled during her teenage years—why she probably still did—I couldn’t imagine having to keep so much inside like she did.
It felt like a special treat that I had any sort of insight into her real self at all, and my chest felt a warmth as I considered what a privilege that probably really was. It felt like we’d come a long way in a short period of time, and I didn’t even know what that meant, but I knew I didn’t dislike it.
I picked a pair of black trousers that fit me pretty snugly—unlike Tyler, I actually had an ass. I did some squats and lunges to try to get them to fit a bit better, but they were still pretty tight around my derriere. We might be similar sizes, but my ass was double the flat pancake Tyler had going on back there. Not that I didn’t like her pancake booty. Believe me when I say I’d lick syrup off those flapjacks all day long. I’m all for embracing the body you’ve got.
I found a silk black tank top in her dresser drawer to wear under the silver blazer, and then assessed myself in the bathroom mirror behind where Tyler was still straightening her hair.
“You look great,” she commented, even though I still felt like I could fall over at any moment due to the champagne rolling around in my guts like it owned the place. “That top is perfect on you, actually. You should keep it.”
I was pulling the price tag off the armpit as she said that and glanced up to look at her reflection. “You don’t have to ask me twice, but only the blazer.”
She placed the flat iron down on the counter and turned it off, then fluffed her fingers through her hair as it lay flat against her shoulders and chest. “You don’t like the pants?”
“I’m about to bust out of these pants,” I clarified, turning my lower half and popping out one hip. “My ass does not fit in these. There’s a good chance when I sit down, I will rip a hole right down the back.”
A smirk lifted the corners of her lips. “I mean, it’s not a bad look, though. As long as you stay standing. Very tight and accentuating all the most important features.”
Okay then.
“Well, well, well…someone is being extra flirtatious this morning.” I grinned at her reflection and let my hands wander across her back until they found a resting spot on her hips. I placed my lips against the top of her shoulder blade and kissed a soft trail up her neck to her hairline.
“I’m surprised you still have any energy left in you after last night,” she teased, but the way she jutted her butt back into my hips told me she knew exactly what she was trying to do.
I wiggled my eyebrows at her in my reflection in the mirror as one of my hands left her hip and slid to the front of her pants. My hand slid inside the waistband and then the top of the thin cotton undies I’d watched her slide on earlier.
Tyler loosened her stance and stepped one leg out further to allow me more access. “We’re going to be late…”
Her objection was barely above a murmur as my fingers found her core and began coaxing her toward climax.
“We’ll get there,” I replied, my mouth near her ear and my voice lower than before.
Her back was pressed against my chest as her head fell against my shoulder, and I kissed the soft spot on her neck below her ear. She groaned, and I hummed, letting the vibration in my chest tell her how much I was enjoying feeling her clench and tremble against my fingers.
I could see the expression on her face in the mirror in front of us—her eyes closed, and her mouth parted just enough to let out small gasps every few seconds as I changed my movements. These were the few moments I saw that look of carefree abandon on her face. The rest of the time, everything about Tyler was guarded and held close like a secret. But she didn’t really have any secrets—rather, her entire existence was a secret of sorts. Like she lived under the veil of expectations of others, and everything that made her who she was, actually was more of an afterthought.
But right here, right now, with my hand against her and my fingers sliding inside her as she began to climax against me…nothing was held back. She was bucking against my hand as I gripped my other hand around her waist and held her up, her knees already buckling as the wave of pleasure begins to subside.
When we were finished, she leaned against the bathroom counter to catch her breath as I washed my hands and then borrowed some of her lip gloss. She didn’t have anything I needed for my hair, but I combed my fingers through some of the springy curls until I was pleased with the outcome.
“My father’s car is probably out front already,” Tyler mentioned as she pushed herself back up to a standing position and did the same hair and lip check in the mirror. “Are we ready?”
I nodded and crossed my fingers between us. “Let’s go open a lesbian bar.”
Tyler grinned and dropped a small peck on my cheek before we both headed out of her penthouse and down the elevator to the lobby. Sure enough, a black Town Car was waiting at the curb out front, and a driver in a professional suit and cap stepped out to open the door for us.
“This is fancy,” I commented.
Tyler slid into the back seat of the car first. “It’s just protocol.”
“It’s still fancy.” I slid in after her.
She was quiet now, and I recognized that the mood had shifted for her. After we’d buckled ourselves in, I reached my hand across the space between us and took hers. She let me, and we just held hands quietly for the rest of the drive until we reached her father’s office.
An elevator ride and an awkward moment of standing in front of the receptionist as he finished a phone call later, we were ushered into a large office that was set up like it was part conference room, part lounge, and then someone had thrown a desk in the corner.
“Come in, come in,” Walter Adams called out to the two of us as we stepped inside.
Tyler’s face immediately split into an extra happy beam as she walked toward him with open arms. They embraced like two polite strangers might, with a small pat on the back and a quick step apart.
“Thanks for sitting down with us, Dad. I know how busy your schedule is.” Tyler was motioning for me to sit in the chair next to her as we congregated at a conference table that had several stacks of paper sitting on it, including what I recognized immediately as my business proposal and potential lease.
“Of course, sweetheart.” He sat diagonally from us around the table and picked up a fountain pen that was sitting on the pad of paper in front of him. “Let’s get right into it. I read over the proposal and lease terms this morning.”
I sat down slowly, mindful of not letting my ass vacate the seams of these pants.
“Everything is pretty standard,” I quipped, trying to ease the tingle of nerves that was beginning to bubble in my stomach. “I really appreciate your leniency with the rate. It’ll be really helpful for us to be able to give more back in the nonprofit side of things when we’re keeping our overhead lower like that.”
Walter nodded his head, but it was curt and stiff. “We’re going to have to increase by three percent annually, of course.”
“Of course,” I replied, because that was standard on most retail leases.
