Sweet Spot (Plaything Book 2) Read online

  I stared over at him, trying to decide if he was serious. It seemed he was.

  "Thank you, Chase. It's a tempting offer, but I feel like I need to do this on my own. I'm starting to get a big following on social media. I think once I build up enough of a loyal customer base, I'm going to head to the bank and beg for a loan."

  "I don't blame you. You're right. You need to do this all on your own. But I can help you get in front of the right banker when you're ready for a loan."

  "I will probably take you up on that." I sat back and stared out the passenger window. I had so many mixed feelings about Chase. I was trying my hardest not to let myself get carried away. He wasn't the type to settle down with a single girlfriend, and I was certainly not the type to want to be one of his special friends. My heart just couldn't deal with that. He seemed to sense what I was thinking.

  "Hey, Macy, I know you've read some stuff about my life, about my reputation. Probably most of it is true, but I just wanted you to know that—" His phone rang and the bluetooth turned on. The screen showed the name Zane. Chase touched the answer icon.

  "Hey, Zane, can I call you back later?"

  "No problem. Nothing important. I was just wondering if you ever popped the cherry on that sweet little virgin."

  Chase's hand shot out, and he hung up on his friend. He stared forward for a second. I could see his throat move as he swallowed hard. I kept my eyes trained on the road in front of us.

  "Macy," his voice broke through the cold cloud that had surrounded me.

  "Please, just take me home."

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chase

  Macy had sat so still in the passenger seat, looking so small and sad, that it made me feel as if I'd taken an ice cold fist to the gut. I got out to walk her up to the house, but she raced to the door, trying to avoid me. I pulled her bag out and set it on the porch as she shuffled through her purse for the keys.

  "Macy, that's just guy talk. We're a bunch of idiots, you know that."

  "Thank you, Chase," I heard a small sniffle, and the sound of it went straight into my chest.

  "Can't we at least talk about it?"

  She found her keys and stared down at them for a second. I saw her shoulders lift with a deep breath and braced myself as she turned around. Her brown eyes were glassy, and I wanted to kick myself. The last thing she needed was to be hurt again by a thoughtless asshole, and I'd stepped right into her ex's asshole sized shoes.

  "It's fine, Chase. I was under no illusion that I would ever fit into your world. And this is for the best. I'm busy trying to make a go of things with a business, and frankly, having you around was putting a wrench in things. Now I can get back to concentrating on Sweet Spot. Good luck with your version of Sweet Spot." With that, she picked up her bag and went inside.

  I stood on the front stoop staring at the faded paint on the front door for a good long minute.

  "Fuck."

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chase

  Zane knocked on my office door as he entered it. "Hey, you going to the club tonight?"

  "Nah, I'm not in the mood." I'd forgiven him for the stupid phone call mostly because he hadn't meant to fuck everything up. He was just being Zane, and he had no idea Macy was in the car with me. He'd also worked hard to make up for it by buying me lunch for the last two weeks. It still wasn't going to replace the hole that was now drilled into my heart, but I decided he at least owed me free burgers.

  He walked in and sat on the chair in front of my desk. "Hot date?" he asked with a hopeful tone.

  "Nope. Just me and Netflix and a six pack of beer."

  Zane dropped both feet to the ground. "Come on, man, you've got to get out of this funk."

  "Why?"

  "Cause you're dragging me down with it. I'm dealing with a whole shit load of guilt about that call."

  "Good. Hey, I was thinking about roast beef dips from that expensive bistro around the corner. And add in a dill pickle and two of those imported bottles of ale."

  He leaned forward and rested his arms on his thighs. "You know what I don't get is how the hell it’s possible that Chase England, the guy who used to find phone numbers, love notes and, as I recall, panties inside his high school locker can't woo the one woman who seems to have finally taken hold of his heart."

  I shrugged. "She doesn't want anything to do with me."

  "Ever think that might be the reason you're so broken up about this? Maybe it's because you finally met a woman who could walk away from you."

  "That crossed my mind for all of a second. That's not it. Macy just had that certain something. Just like when Trey met Georgie, and he knew he'd met his match. I've met mine with Macy, only my match doesn't want me."

  Zane stood up. "You'll get past this, buddy. So beef dips, huh?"

  I pulled out my wallet. "Yeah, but my treat this time. I think you've paid for your sins long enough."

  Zane picked up the money. "Think about going to the club tonight. Just isn't the same without you, and by that I mean, the women are more likely to swarm our table if we bring our shiny coin along."

  "I'll think about it."

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Macy

  I parked my car around the corner from the plaza and stared out at the sheets of water sliding down my windshield. Intermittent bursts of wind pelted the window with the same rain, only instead of sheets it came at me like small, clear bullets. The dark storm blocked out the early morning sun, giving the new day the look of a dark, dreary night.

  It had been the third rain storm in a month. And what a long month it had been. After the bad ending to my short relationship with Chase, I had to work hard not to run into him. I avoided looking toward his building, knowing that seeing him would only bring that aching thud back to my chest that I'd spent days trying to lose. Mostly, I didn't want to have to endure the hardship of seeing him walk in or out of his building with another woman. I'd even considered finding a new location for my stand, but George and Chuck insisted they would stand guard for me and keep me from any hardship.

  I was slowly learning how to protect my baked goods from rain during the journey to the kiosk. I had wrapped them in layers of plastic wrap and placed them in plastic tubs. But this morning's storm seemed extra menacing. The good news was that there would probably be very few customers. Unfortunately, that was the bad news too. I couldn't afford a day without revenue, and all the previous day's baking would be wasted.

  I pulled up the hood on my coat and stepped out into the deluge. The water in the gutter was already ankle deep. It swirled around my rain boots like an angry river. I stomped through it to my trunk and pulled out my foldable cart. It was a pain in the ass made an even a bigger pain by the terrible weather. Rain, wind and the stupid cart were all working against me.

  A good long string of cuss words and some determination helped me get everything out of the backseat. I rolled along the sidewalk, squinting into the rain and wind. The sidewalks were basically empty, which meant I was bound for an extremely slow morning. George and Chuck's stands were still closed. They never opened before nine, but something told me they might just sit today out.

  I pushed my cart across the plaza, barely able to open my eyes in the stinging rain. My hood dropped forward over my face, making it even harder. Water rushed over the brick paved plaza and splashed against my boots, soaking my pants. I still had a good twenty foot trek when the wheel of my cart hit a place where the brick had been broken out by an earlier rainstorm. The cart stopped short. I fell hard against the handle, and my pastry boxes flew to the ground.

  It took me a minute to recover from having the handle on the cart jammed into my stomach. Tears stung my eyes as I hurried to the plastic boxes. The lids were still sealed shut, but I was certain the pastries inside no longer looked like pastries. Just then, a burst of wind whistled around the plaza, and the giant stack of napkins I had stored in a plastic bag on the bottom of the cart took off, littering the entire plaza.
And since I'd boldly had the words Sweet Spot printed on the napkins there was no way to deny that they had come from my cart. I righted the pastry boxes and set out on a quest to retrieve all the stray napkins.

  I was chasing them like a kid chasing leaves, stomping on them and gathering them up in a wet, mushy bundle in my hands. I jumped on two particularly sneaky napkins and stooped down to pull them out from under my rain boot. As I straightened, a hand filled with napkins moved in front of me.

  "I saw you from my window. You looked like you could use some help."

  It seemed that I hadn't forgotten the sound of his voice because instantly my heart went into flutter mode. I took the napkins from his hand without looking up at him. I quickly took stock of just how terrible I looked drenched in rain and shrouded in a deep hood. I willed myself to look at him. He, of course, looked the opposite of terrible. Apparently, being wet did nothing to wash off his shine. In fact, with his dark hair slicked back and his shirt clinging to his wet skin, he looked ready for a magazine cover.

  "Thank you," I said. "Had a little cart mishap."

  Chase helped me collect the rest of my runaway napkins. Then he helped me get the cart safely to my stand.

  He lifted the plastic boxes off the cart and put them under the shelter of the kiosk. He combed his wet hair back with his fingers, and I couldn't help but notice that his pecs looked especially good under the wet fabric of his shirt.

  "Well, I'll head back inside." He looked out at the empty plaza. "Good luck today. Looks like you might need it."

  "Thanks. Yes, I'd say today I'll be finding out who my loyalist fans are."

  He smiled. Darn it, I missed that smile. He nodded and walked away. It took me a minute to remember how the hell to set up for the day. Chase's presence had thrown off my morning even more than the rain and the cart accident.

  Cold, wet and now emotionally stunned, I moved in slow motion to the coffee station and was about to get started when I heard footsteps slapping the wet cement.

  Chase was back. He stood in the rain, no hat, no coat, just his soaking wet clothes and hair. "It wasn't some game, Macy. I wasn't trying to put a notch in my belt with you. I liked you. A lot. And that hasn't changed. I still think about you all the time. Just wanted to make that clear."

  I stood frozen in place, watching him walk back across the plaza, and I wondered what the odds were that I would ever meet a man like Chase again. A billion to one. Those were the odds, give or take a few billion.

  I dashed around the edge of the cart and ran toward him, splashing rain water in every direction with each step. He heard me and spun around just in time for me to leap into his wet arms.

  "I like you too, Chase England. A lot."

  His arms held me tightly as I pressed my lips against his for a very rain soaked kiss.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chase

  Two months later

  I stood on Macy's stoop with a dozen red roses and a Sweet Spot box under my arm. I walked inside and handed her the roses. "Lovely flowers for the newly financed bakery owner."

  She took the flowers and breathed in their fragrance before scurrying off to the kitchen for a vase. "I still can't believe they gave me the loan. I went right over to the real estate office and signed the lease on the shop. It's perfectly set up since it used to house a bakery."

  I placed the box on the coffee table. "I'm excited for you, Macy. I know this is what you wanted more than anything."

  She returned to the living room with the vase of flowers and set them down on the coffee table next to the box. "Sweet Spot. How did it go over with the customers?"

  "They loved it. The chocolate was a hit too. We're thinking of adding a different treat in each box."

  "Good idea. Sweets and sex, doesn't get any better than that." She lifted the lid and looked inside. "Oh wow, so this is what comes in a Plaything box. What's this?"

  "That is our newest toy. It helps with your sweet spot." I walked over and took the clit vibrator from her hand. "I'll show you how it works. Turn around."

  She turned around. I walked up behind her, my cock already hard just thinking about using the toy on her. I reached around and unbuttoned her shorts, and they dropped to the ground. She flinched when I turned on the device. It was a palm sized vibrator that concentrated just on stimulating the clit. "The women in the office gave this high marks."

  I leaned down and kissed her neck as I reached down and pushed it between her legs. She sucked in a sharp breath and then slowly melted against me. "Uh huh, that's definitely a sweet spot."

  Macy rested her head back against me. "Gosh, a girl hardly even needs a man with these kinds of devices around."

  "That's what you think, darlin'." I turned it off and dropped it on the table. She laughed wildly as I picked her up, put her over my shoulder and carried her down the hall to the bedroom.

  COMING SOON

  More from Tess Oliver

  Loved Sweet Spot? Ready for more? Zane’s story is up next in In a Bind. Don’t miss Plaything Book 1, Easy Come ~Now Available.

  In the meantime, keep reading for a sneak peek at the first chapter of Tess’s new release, Brothers.

  Copyright © 2017 by Tess Oliver

  Cover Image: Lane Dorsey

  Cover Models: Josh Mario John & Taylor David

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  All Rights are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Chapter One

  Joelle

  The hum of the guitar and the song in my head were my escape, two to three minutes of time when I could pretend I was someone else, a singer on a stage, a voice in a choir.

  For a spring day, it was bitterly cold. The bright blue sky had fooled me into leaving our squalid little house without my sweatshirt. And as my tiny sidewalk audience peeled away, some leaving dollar bills in my guitar case, others just leaving with a polite nod, my human shield against the brisk air fell away too.

  The chilled breeze felt brittle against my skin as I quickly shoved the bulk of the money in the pocket of my shorts. I saved a few extra in my fist to hide in the secret pouch inside the case. Those extras would go into my secret stash, the stash that would eventually buy my freedom. All I needed was enough to rent a room for a month while I looked for a job, a room far away from here and far away from Bobby.

  I couldn't remember the day it happened, the day I became his possession rather than his significant other. Just like I couldn't remember the day when he had crossed that line from being a pleasant, almost loving human to being a hateful monster. It's entirely possible I'd just been blinded by his good looks and swagger and that the beast had been lurking there all along, just waiting to rear its ugliness. Now when I looked at Bobby, I couldn't imagine how I'd ever thought him handsome. He was far too mean to be anything but hideous.

  I stooped down to pack away my guitar, the one possession of mine that Bobby hadn't hauled off to the pawn shop to pay his bookie or his dealer. I stuffed my pick and the spare dollars into the velvet pouch on the side of the case. Behind me, tires crunched the asphalt. A loud blaring horn followed, startling me forward onto my knees.

  "Joelle, let's go. I don't have all fucking day."

  Even though I was just four feet from his jeep, he laid on the horn again. The young couple who had stopped to listen to my song looked back toward the clamor before disappearing into the coffee shop. Shep, the hyper, bug-eyed man who ran the corner market, popped his head out the door to see what the noise was about. He blanched and tucked his head back in the second he saw Bobby's black jeep. Most of the locals had the same reaction whenever Bo
bby or one of his equally hated friends showed their faces in town.

  I pushed to my feet, picked up my guitar case and willed myself to turn around. Bobby had his black cap pulled low over his head and his lips were pulled into a thin line under his moustache. The phrase 'oh, how the mighty have fallen' splashed through my mind. It had been one of many phrases my foster mom, Lolly, used to chant with her sing-song Jamaican accent, and it was extra fitting for the man in the jeep. I'd considered myself the luckiest girl at Branson High when I'd attracted the eye of Robert Dell, star athlete and most popular senior. I was only a sophomore, which made it an even bigger deal. My friends were nearly sick with envy when I was invited to sit at his lunch table, with all the senior big shots. I thought I'd won the golden ticket that year. But when Bobby's football career didn't pan out due to a bad knee injury and the glory days of high school had to be left behind for the harsh reality of adult life, popular, shiny Bobby Dell slowly morphed into the scowling, angry asshole sitting behind the jeep steering wheel. I supposed that was the reason I couldn't pinpoint a day when he'd crossed that line. It had been a slow transformation, one that had caught me off guard. Slow enough to allow myself a few delusional moments of thinking the charming, pleasant Bobby would return some day. But I knew now he was gone for good, and even if the high school hero miraculously appeared again, it was too late. Nothing could redeem him now.

  Bobby's black hat poked out the window as he leaned through it. He slapped the roof of the jeep. "Move it, slowpoke."