Sexiled: an enemies-to-lovers standalone Read online

  “Okay. Thank you for that information.”

  She takes my hand again and looks at me for a minute or so before she finally speaks.

  “Oh my. Oh my.” Her voice is laced with expression.

  “What?” I can feel my anxiety rising from the way she’s looking at me.

  “Your color is clouded red. You are passionate, competitive, full of energy.”

  “That doesn’t sound bad,” I say. “I was worried with how you reacted at first.”

  “I’m not done, mi hija. You have a deep-seated anger that you can’t let go. This will eat at you if you let it. You must find an outlet for this energy, or it will start to come out in destructive ways.”

  “Oh, I’m not really a destructive person,” I say, feeling obliged to defend myself.

  “I am only telling you what the great spirit says through me. Once this feeling has been sparked in you, this red energy, there is no stopping it. There is only the choice of whether to stifle the energy or not. And to stifle this is akin to suicide of the spirit and the soul.”

  My chest wells up with tightness, and I feel a huge surge of emotion come on. I start to cry, not out of sadness, just out of a well of emotion that wants to come out.

  “After my mom died, I’ve never been the same,” I admit. “My dad is a superhero, but I’ve always felt like I’ve had a feminine void in my life.”

  “Do you have grandparents? Aunts? Female friends?”

  “My maternal grandmother is alive, yes. She lives in Arizona. I only see her about once a year. We’re not close. I have great friends back home at my university, though.”

  “Your mother was a great woman. Her spirit lives inside you. But there is something else. A very strange energy within you.” She flutters her eyes closed again. “I see…dancing. I see passion. I see a beautiful woman coming out of her shell like never before. Yet, there is dark energy available to you. You cut yourself off to the dark, but at the same time cut off your energy to true life.”

  Jesus. Is this like a Star Wars movie or something? She sounds like Yoda.

  “So I need to…open myself up to the dark side? No thanks. Sounds dangerous.”

  Not getting burned again, thank you very much.

  “Life isn’t as simple as dark and light.” She pauses for several beats. “The opportunity to find this life within you is still possible. But there is an obstacle in your path.”

  “What’s the obstacle?” I say, utterly curious.

  “You are jaded. Anxious. It’s coming from…hmm.” She trails off. “Are you afraid of something?”

  “I wouldn't say ‘afraid’. But I’m definitely dreading work now a little bit,” I say.

  “Why?”

  “Because I have to work with that man out there. He’s both irresistible and obscene at the same time!” I exclaim.

  Sandra nods. “The man…let’s use his name. What is his?”

  “Morgan.”

  “Morgan exudes a heavy swagger, and I sense the life force of many men coming from him. You work with him?”

  “I do. That’s the whole reason I’m here. I’m doing an internship that goes until March.”

  She sits back. “You play the part of a defensive, passive woman, waiting for life to come to you. Waiting for the forces of the world to come to your aid.”

  “I’m not passive,” I protest. “I…”

  I focus my gaze on the candle on the table between us. The flame is hypnotic.

  I continue. “I want to challenge you, but you’ve been correct so many times, now that I’m thinking about it. Am I passive? How would I be more ‘on the offense’ as you say?”

  “The woman has a weapon which the man does not. And the way that man was looking at you, it’s clear he has a weakness.”

  The hair on the back of my neck stands up. “A weakness?”

  “You are very beautiful. Big, tall, and strong, yet feminine. But don’t slump the shoulders.” She reaches across the table and pushes my shoulders back, straightening my posture. “You wear shoes that I myself would never wear.”

  I look down at the black flats I’m wearing today.

  “Why not use your beauty as a weapon?”

  “As a…weapon? Really?”

  She takes my hands. “Time is up, mi hija Abril. This is all I can tell you today. You may do with this what you will.”

  I move to stand up, but she squeezes my hand, then reaches behind her and pulls out a clear plastic bag with something blue inside it, and hands it to me. “Before you go, I am giving you these. Bathe with these Dead Sea salts three times a week. Soak for twenty minutes, minimum. And put these in your hand.” She gives me one jade stone, and one rose quartz.

  “What are these for?”

  “Your future is clouded because of the way you look at the past. The past does not equal the future. We must cleanse your mind of that way of thinking.”

  We head back into the store where Morgan is now seated across from the little girl at the counter, playing tic-tac-toe.

  “Aww, you beat me again!” he says loudly, then turns to us, grinning. “This girl is a bonafide tic-tac-toe genius. I swear. You guys get the energies all evened out?”

  I frown. Why does just seeing him being nice to a little girl hit me in the cockles of my heart? It’s a one-eighty from the dickishness I’ve been putting up with from him all week.

  Sandra folds her hands. “Next time I’m dealing with you too, mister.”

  I buy several candles and tuck the salts and stones into my purse.

  “What are those?” Morgan asks.

  “Rose quartz for love, jade stone for stress, and Dead Sea salt to cleanse me of my past.”

  “You’re totally crazy,” he says. “Do you believe in witchcraft, too?”

  “I actually am part witch. I figured you knew that.”

  Morgan gives me a strange look and we cross through the windchimes outside, and amble down the street as the sun is setting. We stumble past a kitschy little sign that says “bar”, with a sign pointing up.

  Even though Morgan seemed annoyed with me, and I with him, I have to admit there’s something magnetic in him that makes me want to stay around him just a little bit longer.

  It almost feels like he’s pushing me away and pulling me into him at the same time.

  “One drink?” I ask.

  He shrugs. “Famous last words. How can I say no to a drink to wrap up your tour?”

  11

  Morgan

  “I’ll have a Cuba Libre,” I say, then turn to April. “What’ll you have?”

  “What’s a Cuba Libre?” she asks. “Sounds fancy.”

  “It’s rum, Coke, and lime,” I say. “When do you turn twenty-one again?”

  “In April. Big surprise there, right?”

  We order the drinks, and while we’re waiting for them, I have a hard time not staring at April.

  My stomach feels queasy.

  This is not good.

  Once I saw that photo of April engaged to her fiancé last May, I backed way off and completely let her go in my mind. I didn't ask any personal questions whatsoever to Mr. Murphy about his daughter after that.

  I think maybe he respected that.

  I figured he knew I wasn’t trying to kiss his ass with any “How is your daughter doing today?” questions. We were all business.

  The real reason I never wanted to ask about April was that while I was working in the Chicago office through December, right under Mr. Murphy’s thumb, I didn’t want to be constantly reminded about how big of a chump I had been that night.

  I was transformed that night into a guy I didn’t even know. Pulling out romantic shit I never thought was in me. I even recall saying one line about Romeo and Juliet. Good grief. I even stayed up that night counting the freckles on her cheeks.

  All the while I had no idea I was playing with blue-eyed, freckled fire.

  Every head in the bar turned toward her when we walked in. She’s only got on a flow
y black dress. God forbid she decides to wear a skirt that actually shows her beautiful figure.

  The figure I was on top of. Underneath. The figure I knelt down to and tasted.

  I kiss her neck again, then run my hands up her stomach to her bare breasts. I slide my thumbs over her nipples, and she emits a soft moan, shutting her eyes.

  I watch how she responds to my every touch, reading her body. Her nipples are as hard as her pussy is wet.

  She’s beautiful, impressive, and confusing to me. She says no, she won’t be coming over, then comes by in a trench coat and lingerie.

  She tells me she’s not nervous, yet I can feel her shaking.

  I rub the flesh of her luscious breasts with both of my palms, then bend down to flick my tongue across her nipples. Her fingers dig into my hair, massaging me gently, carefully.

  Her nipples are warm against my tongue, and I can feel the vibrations of her vocal cords as she moans in pleasure. Her soft voice causes my cock to throb.

  “Your moans are making me hard, blue-eyes,” I whisper, dragging my lips across her ear. Maybe she can feel my smirk when I ask the next question. “Why do I feel like you're going to be my undoing?”

  Fuck. This is so bad. Today was a stretch to concentrate at work. It’s a big problem that I can personally imagine April, vividly, in the most flattering outfit of all—absolutely nothing.

  Well, that red lingerie she showed up to my hotel room in made her look damn sexy too.

  Just then, some guy comes up and makes conversation with April—big surprise, everyone wants to talk to the most beautiful girl in the room—and I stare into my drink. My dark humor comes out, and I chuckle as I ask myself the question I’ve been asking for a year and a half.

  Why, Michael? Why is this happening to me?

  I’m on the verge of earning a spot at the table I’ve worked all my life to be at, if everything goes well at the Puerto Rico office.

  And then my freaking boss’s daughter, whom I slept with, decides to do an internship at the Puerto Rico office of daddy’s company.

  Yeah, just when you think life can’t get any stranger, it does exactly that.

  So all I can do right now is laugh into my Cuba Libre, and undo one more button on my collared white shirt, loosen up a little bit, and feel the cool night breeze on my face.

  April turns her body back to me when the guy who was flirting with her finally walks off.

  “Cheers, Captain.” She grins. “To new beginnings.”

  I stare at the Claddagh ring on her finger, and the lyrics of a Beastie Boys song that I used to like float into my head about how crafty she is.

  Yes, crafty is a good word to describe April. I still can’t figure her out.

  “To forgetting the old,” I say through teeth I try not to clench. “Puerto Rico’s a new world, so it’s like the past never happened.”

  Hopefully she stops bringing it up.

  She reaches her hand onto the bar and takes hold of my forearm. “Except that it did happen, Morgan. Whether you like it or not. But that’s fine. I’m leaving the past behind after my energy reading with Sandra today. I already feel lighter.”

  “Oh yeah, I’m sure she gave you a great energy reading. How much did it cost?”

  She takes her hand off my forearm and pushes her hair behind her ear. I can still feel the heat of her hand from the imprint she left behind. “You don’t think it was a little odd that she specifically knew you had a brother who passed away? There’s not even a smidgen of you that believes there could have been something spiritual happening in that room?”

  I hold up my forearm and show her the black bracelet I’ve worn for the past year and a half.

  “Those people are expert body language and situation readers. She must have seen this and read the initials or something.”

  April smiles and shifts her body. She leans her head on her elbow. “So you don’t believe in magic?”

  I shake my head. “There’s no magic in this world, no.”

  Just then, her phone rings, and she picks it up. “Oh my gosh, yes! I would love to go shopping tonight, if you can…we’re at El Pollo que Bebe… Yes, come here now…I’m with Mr. Kennedy…okay, see you soon!”

  She hangs up. “That was Gabe. He’s on his way and we’re going shopping. I need some new clothes.”

  “That’s good. Because as willing as I am to show you around for your dad’s sake, shopping with you is where I draw the line.”

  She smiles. “It wouldn’t kill you to lighten up. Would it really be the end of the world to go shopping with someone?”

  “Yes, it would be a huge waste of time.”

  “Maybe you should go back to Sandra. You really do have a heavy energy thing happening.” She waves one hand in my vicinity in a sort of “wax on” motion.

  I fold my arms. “It’s all a bunch of bull, and I will most definitely not be participating in that.”

  “Well, what do you believe in, then?”

  I take a sip of my drink, then turn to her. “You really want to know?”

  “I do.”

  “I believe in nothing.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “April, you might think we had that night together and that now you know lots about me. But you don’t. So let me catch you up a little bit. When my brother was a baby, my father walked out on us. Since then, Mom had a revolving door of boyfriends. Meanwhile, she was a young mom trying to get her shit together for us kids. When I wasn’t worried about whether or not her latest man of the hour might hit me, I was wondering if the grumble in my stomach would ever go away from not having enough food to eat. The only thing that got me through it was my younger brother. We were closer than you can imagine. We looked after each other. Looking after him gave me a purpose. I’d stand up to the longest-running boyfriend, Ed, who also happened to be the biggest drunk. He’d come home all pissed off, looking for someone to go off on. I stood between him and my brother and my mother. It gave me purpose. It made me strong. And then Michael died. And there was precisely no reason for that. So yes, I believe in nothing. There’s no reason for anything that happens. It’s all just random.”

  April's face softens, and she lets a lone tear fall down her cheek without wiping it. It’s as if she’s unaware that we are in a crowded bar. As if I am the only person in the world who matters to her. That's what it feels like when April Murphy stares directly at me. I shouldn't hang onto this moment the way that I'm doing. I reach up and wipe the pad of my thumb across her heated tear. I watch her breath catch in her chest.

  “I’m sorry that happened to you,” she finally says in an even tone.

  I shake my head. “It’s not a big deal.”

  “Yes, it is. How’s your mom doing now? How often do you two talk?”

  “Everything I do is for her,” I say, blowing out a loud, frustrated exhale and turn my head toward the bar entrance. “So what about you, what do you believe in?” I ask.

  “I believe things happen for a reason. I believe that we can find good in the bad if we try.”

  I furrow my brow. “How do you keep up that façade?”

  “Façade? It’s just what I believe. As many times as you get knocked down, you have to get back up.” She narrows her eyes. “That’s how I play volleyball.”

  Ah, yes. Remind me that you’re not only sexy in work clothes, but also the strong, sexy type who looks amazing in athletic wear, too.

  “What happened with your career?” she asks.

  I point to my right arm. “After I blew out my arm, and I had to have surgery. They took the tendon from my left arm and put it in my right.”

  “That’s crazy that’s even possible!”

  “Yeah. It takes a full year to heal.”

  “And that really made you want to take a job at a firm? You just gave up on your dream that easily?”

  “Baseball was my dream,” I say. “And in a way I achieved it, although it didn’t have the longevity I wanted. But you know what el
se is my dream? Taking care of my mom. The first thing I did when I was fourteen years old was get a summer job working construction with one of my coach’s brother’s companies. I worked longer hours than anyone to get overtime that summer. When I got my first paycheck, I handed it over to my mom and I said, ‘Forget about depending on Ed for money anymore. We’re done with that.’ She nodded and teared up. And two days later, while Ed was out on business, Michael, my mom, and I packed up our shit and we were out of there. As we were leaving, I pointed at Ed’s big ass house and I said, ‘Mom, someday I’m going to get you a house that’s even bigger than this one.’”

  April fingers her ring, then flashes her eyes up to me. “So that’s why you want this job? For the money? You’re a World Series champion. Don’t you have enough to be comfortable?”

  “I rose to the top in the first year of my minimum wage contract, and then blew out my arm. So no, this is my shot, April. And my mom doesn’t have that house yet. See, some of us weren’t born with a silver spoon in their mouth.”

  The words come out before I can stop them.

  Damn, that could be over the line. April was acting so sensitive, so receptive to my grief, and here I am going off…

  “Excuse me, I’m going to use the ladies’ room,” she says, and rushes away.

  I finger my forehead with my thumb and forefinger, and a sinking feeling comes into my stomach, because what I just said violates the Michael rule.

  Would Michael call me an asshole for saying what I just said?

  Answer? Yes.

  Luckily, a distraction arrives.

  “Gabe!” I say. “Well, hello, my man.”

  He starts off smiling, but it fades when he notices my vibe. Damn him for being an expert at picking up on moods.

  “April’s in the bathroom,” I say. “I was just handing her off to you.” I glance at April walking back out before I toss some money on the bar with a healthy tip. “Keep her safe tonight. I mean that. And remind her I’ll be sending her an email tomorrow regarding another project I have for her.”

  I feel April’s eyes on me as I leave.

  12