Even seeing her waver for a second tonight broke me. Maybe because Riverside was the safe place she came after school to see her grandfather, back when he was still alive. Maybe because it’s where she works now, and I don’t want to see her laid off and suddenly thrust into the job market. But more than any of that, Maren wants this, plain and simple. So I want it for her too, and I’ll do whatever I can to make it happen.
Damn, if she doesn’t make all of this so complicated. Being with her tonight, just sitting there looking into her wide eyes and at her pretty little mouth was enough to drive me crazy. Add in the memory of how good she looked and felt curled next to me, and hello, fence post, my old friend.
I take a deep breath, fighting to get myself under control.
But then I remember her telling me about her pussy. That it’s almost healed, but still tender. The innocent blush that crept over her cheeks as she spoke.
It’s no use. She’s ruined me.
I can’t let myself commit the cardinal sin of fantasizing about my buddy’s sister.
So I do what any man would do.
I squeeze my eyes shut, bite the inside of my cheek, and jack my cock alone in the darkness of my bedroom, praying that karma doesn’t really exist.
6
MAREN
For the first time all week, I can’t wait to get out of bed.
After Hayes took off last night, I set my alarm early, for six a.m., so I could spend a little more time on the fundraiser before hightailing it up to Riverside. But sleeping isn’t easy when all you want to do is get started on a new day. I’m already wide awake by the time my alarm clock goes off.
As soon as my feet touch the floor, my mind is brimming with event details. The timeline is limited, and we can’t afford to use an event-planning service, so we’ll have to be creative. Good thing I’m always up for a challenge.
Once I’m showered, I wrap myself in my favorite fluffy towel and head from the bathroom to the kitchen, leaving a speckled trail of water in my wake. The nook adjacent to my kitchen houses my laundry machines, tucked away behind unfinished bifold doors.
Popping open the lid to the dryer, I mentally pat myself on the back for having the foresight to do a load of laundry last night before I crashed. My polo is fresh and fragrant with the smell of vanilla fabric softener. Back in the bathroom, I pull my hair up into a ponytail and apply my go-to natural makeup look. I’m feeling so reenergized that I even apply a little rosy lip color to accentuate my smile.
The Wi-Fi in my apartment is uncharacteristically fussy this morning, so I pack my personal laptop into a canvas bag and move my operation two blocks east to my favorite coffee shop, Early Bird. The café is nestled between a bank and an Italian restaurant, all sharing the same building complex. Trendy little coffee joints (that aren’t Starbucks) are hard to find in this neighborhood, but Early Bird beats the odds by transforming into a chic little cocktail bar called Night Owl after seven o’clock each night. I admire the versatility of small businesses, a trait I hope will rub off on me while I plan.
After I’ve situated myself at the window, seated with my laptop and a piping-hot latte, I get to work. By far, the process of securing auction items will be the most time-consuming, so I’m getting a head start.
When it’s time for me to hop on a train up north, I’ve drafted over a dozen donation requests to local businesses that have supported Riverside in the past—plus a few new spots I think we’d have a shot at winning over. Restaurants, theaters, breweries, and even a bowling alley made the list.
I consider adding Hayes’s company, Frisky Business, but I have a feeling a gift basket full of dildos might not go over well with this crowd. To my brother and his friends, their company is totally normal, and to me, it’s no longer as shocking as it once was. But I have to remember that not everyone is as open-minded.
My ponytail swings back and forth as I confidently walk up the stairs to the train platform. The biggest challenge in all of this will be convincing Peggy, who has already resigned herself to defeat, that this will work.
“I have a contact at a liquor supplier that would definitely be interested in providing the wine for the tasting, and I have all the donation requests for the auction ready to send. My friend even drafted a design concept . . .”
I flip my laptop around on my desk and slide it toward Peggy, whose eyebrows have been deeply furrowed in confusion since I began sharing with her the plans for the fundraiser to save Riverside. She pulls her reading glasses from their home in her shirt’s lapel and squints at the design.
Sometime between compiling a list of potential caterers and gorging himself on pizza, Hayes whipped together a beautiful logo for the event, using Riverside’s navy-blue and gray colors with accents of silver. “Riverside Gala” practically glows from my screen, shining in the reflection of Peggy’s glasses.
“What do you think?” I ask, waiting for her to say something for the first time since she sat down for this impromptu morning meeting. “Do you think the ticket price is too high? Have you had breakfast yet? We can go to the cafeteria to grab some coffee and talk it over? Peggy?”
Her eyes are brimming with tears. Crap. I’ve overwhelmed her with information. How can I backpedal?
I inhale, an apology perched on my tongue, but clamp my mouth shut when Peggy lifts one finger. I wait as she reads over the proposal once more.
“I think this is a wonderful idea,”
