Perfectly Broken (22 page)

Peyton smiled at him. “You’re like my sexual handyman.”

“WAKE UP, SLEEPYHEAD!”
Quinn yelled, jumping up and down on Peyton’s bed like a trampoline. “I missed you!”

Peyton groaned then threw a pillow over her head. “How much coffee have you had?”

“I lost count around five cups.”

“Go away!” Peyton begged.

“I even shared one with Reed.” Peyton’s head shot up, finding a big smirk on Quinn’s face. “I caught him trying to sneak out of here real early!”

“He wasn’t sneaking,” Peyton said. “He needed to get to work.”

“He told me. He wanted to make sure I knew he wasn’t being a prick, trying to make a quick getaway.” She took a seat on the bed and cocked her head to the side, pondering some deep thought. “I think he’s a little scared of me. That’s actually a good thing for you. I know Bret is scared of me. I think all men should be a little scared of their women — keeps them in line.”

Peyton released a huge yawn. “What else did you two chat about?”

“He thanked me for the bikini I packed.”

“Yeah, he’ll love you forever for that.” Peyton knew she wasn’t getting any more sleep, not with Quinn as perky as ever. So she got up, stretched, and dumped her suitcase on the bed.

“Reed’s actually growing on me,” Quinn said. “He seems to take good care of you.” She held up a plastic bag of seashells on the bed.

“Oh, just throw those in my nightstand drawer for now.”

Quinn frowned and tossed them in. “You know the slut drawer isn’t for seashells, right?”

“
What
drawer?”

“The slut drawer,” Quinn said, like every girl in the whole world already knew. “The bedside table drawer, where you’re
supposed
to have lube, condoms, vibrator, sex toys — not seashells.”

Peyton laughed. “Where do you come up with this stuff?”

* * *

“Thanks for meeting me so early,” Bret said, standing on the front porch of a dilapidated Victorian cottage. “I know it’s your first day back.”

Reed took in the cracked windows, weathered roof, and four-foot waterline along decayed wood siding. “What the hell are we doing out here?”

“I need your expert opinion.” Bret opened the front door, its hinges barely hanging on, making a spine-tingling squeak.

Reed covered his nose. “This place reeks. Did something die in here?”

“Maybe.” Bret shrugged his shoulders.

“Are the bodies still inside?” Reed deadpanned.

“I don’t think it’s been touched since the hurricane.” Bret nudged Reed forward, his foot creaking on a thin wood plank. “I need you to take a look around and see if there is any potential.”

“To be demolished?”

“No. For me and Quinn – and a family maybe.”

Again
? Reed could only assume all the recent references to marriage and family were some strange hand of God, or perhaps his mother was orchestrating the whole thing from behind the scenes. “And you think this is it? Why don’t you buy something decent?”

“I guess I could,” Bret said, “but this is a good deal, good neighborhood, good investment.”

Reed sidestepped a pile of dirt and moved a cobweb from his path, then he took a step inside the kitchen, if one could even call it that, with rotted cabinetry and no appliances and exposed wires waiting patiently to electrocute someone.

“Look, I have this plan to surprise her with the house — after we’re engaged, of course, which will be soon. And I figured I’d let her pick out the flooring, tiles, colors, and stuff. So it could be her dream house.”

Reed looked at Bret in shock, his wingman now turning into a family man.
Has he been watching HGTV, too?
Reed thought to file a missing person report, but given how things were going with Peyton, he might have to file one on himself, too. Reed bent down where an oven once stood. “First, you need to get an inspector out here. See if she has a good foundation.”

“And then?”

Reed looked up at him. “Then go buy a ring.”

* * *

“You told him, didn’t you?” Quinn asked.

Peyton stopped in her tracks, a folded shirt in her hands. “How’d you know?”

“I could just tell in his eyes.”

“How do you mean?”

“I don’t know. He was thanking me for taking care of stuff last week while you were gone. And it just seemed he was thanking me for taking care of you back then, too.”

Peyton smiled and put the shirt in the dresser. “That’s nice.”

“I was a little worried he’d go off on me for leaving you,” Quinn said.

“He wouldn’t do that because it wasn’t your fault.”

“How’d he handle it?” Quinn asked.

“Better than I could’ve ever imagined.” Peyton blushed. “The multiple orgasms were nice, too.”

“
Multiple
?” Quinn screamed. “I’m so proud of you!”

Peyton covered her face with her hands. “Oh God, I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“
God
? Did you call out to Him? Did you? Give me the juice. How big is he? How’s the sex?”

Peyton rolled her eyes. “There’s something wrong with you. There really is. You are a crazy person. You know that, don’t you?” She tossed a few pair of underwear in a drawer. “There hasn’t been any sex.”

“Huh?”

Peyton paused and twirled her locket, trying to find the right words. “There’s been some, uh, jobs given.”

“As in both kinds of jobs?”

“I’m not telling you that!”

“Both giving and receiving?”

Peyton threw a pillow at her. “Yes, OK?”

“And how was his job performance?”

Peyton’s face lit up. “Stellar.”

Quinn let out a little squeal. “Sounds like sex will happen any day now. We definitely need to get the slut drawer ready.”

* * *

Bret closed the creaky front door and stepped back onto the porch. “So how’s Peyton?”

“Good,” Reed said, picking at some rotted wood. “We had a great time.”

“I’m glad she got away. She’s just been through so much that I ....”

Reed raised an eyebrow. “What does that mean?”

“Nothing,” Bret said, his lips in a tight line.

“
Nothing
? First you make a comment weeks ago about ‘hard knocks’ and now this. What do you know?”

“She’s just lost a lot of people — Gram dying and her parents.”

Reed shook his head. “You knew and didn’t tell me.”

“I couldn’t, man.”

“Why? Because of Quinn?”

“Partly,” Bret said. “It’s also private.”

Reed turned his attention back to the rotted wood. He didn’t want to be aggravated, but he was. Bret knew before him, and it was still eating at him that Griffin did, too. “You could have told me.”

“And I could tell Peyton about your dad, but I’d never do that because that’s private, too.”

Reed took a deep breath. “Sorry, dude. It’s just been a little intense the past few days.”

Bret shrugged his shoulders and patted Reed on the back. An apology wasn’t needed — nor was any heart-to-heart discussion that bickering women might require. They walked off the porch together. “The house must have room for a 72-inch TV,” Bret said. “I don’t care what Quinn says.”

* * *

Peyton stared down at a sympathy card from Griffin. While she was in Seaside, Quinn and Bret had taken care of writing a thank you note to him — just as they’d written notes to many other friends and customers who’d sent flowers, gifts, cards, and charitable donations on behalf of Gram. But Peyton knew a written response to Griffin just wasn’t enough.

She missed him. He’d been in her life for 20 years, and she didn’t want to lose someone else, though had no idea how to continue their friendship. She checked the time, believing Griffin would surely be at work, and decided it was a good time to leave a message on his cell. She thankfully got his voicemail and left a simple message of thanks.

There was another person who deserved more than a note. Marion Langston had made a huge donation to Gram’s favorite rose garden at Poydras Home. It was a gesture that was perhaps overly generous for someone Peyton had met only twice. Still, it was a gesture that deserved a phone call. Marion answered excitedly and insisted Peyton meet her for lunch at Commander’s Palace. It was a strange request, but Peyton had no choice but to accept.

Peyton threw on some clothes and made the short drive to the restaurant. She parked along the street, squeezing her Mini Cooper into a tight spot, then made her way to the entrance, her stomach full of nerves. She knew full well — though Marion herself was a delight — a girl can never truly relax around her boyfriend’s mother. It’s like being interviewed for a job or standing before a firing squad.

She jumped at the sound of a long car horn and turned to see Marion stepping out of the passenger side of a tan BMW parked in a handicap spot. Marion waved to Peyton then leaned back inside for a brief moment. Peyton saw the sedan didn’t have a handicap plate. Marion walked towards her, and Richard Langston gave Peyton a smile and a wave before pulling out.

Marion greeted Peyton with a kiss on the cheek. “Nice to see you, dear.”

“You, too. Did Mr. Langston not want to stay?”

“No, he had a meeting nearby, so he just dropped me.”

“Too bad,” Peyton said.

“No, it’s not,” Marion quipped. “And if you were wondering, he’s not disabled, either. His big ass ego works just fine.”

Peyton laughed out loud but quickly composed herself before walking inside the New Orleans landmark, known for its flowers, splendid food, and wine. A hostess showed them to a table in the Garden Room, looking out into a courtyard with a huge oak tree.

“It was very nice what you did for Gram,” Peyton said.

Marion waved her well-manicured hand. “It was nothing.”

“Well, I appreciate it very much. I’m sure Poydras Home does, too. And Reed has been wonderful through everything.”

“He’s a good boy. Of course, like his father, he can be an ass sometimes, too.” Peyton smiled then took a sip of water, her nerves starting to settle. “I actually talked to him this morning. He seemed happy and relaxed. Seems like you two had a real nice time.”

“We did,” Peyton offered and shifted in her seat, her nerves flying back, knowing Marion probably figured she had sex with her son.

“He loves you, dear.” Peyton slightly gagged and took another sip of water. “He didn’t exactly say it to me because he knows I would’ve cried. But he does. I know it.”

Peyton saw tears form in Marion’s eyes. “I love him, too.”

“I know that, dear. I’ve waited so long for him to find someone real, someone special.” Marion dabbed her eyes with her napkin. “I promise I’m really not some smother mother, well, at least not since he was little.” She patted Peyton’s hand. “I just want you and me to be close.”

“I’d like that,” Peyton said.

Marion let out a laugh. “My boy won’t know what hit him with the two of us against him.” She took a sip of water. “That’s what men don’t get. Women rule the world; we just let our men think they do.”

Peyton nodded. “Southern women are especially good at walking that fine line.”

* * *

Reed wanted to cut out early from work. He wanted to see Peyton. He’d grown accustomed to spending day after day with her, both of them just hanging out together, holding each other, taking long baths, waking up in each other’s arms. But he just had too much work to do, too much work to make up. He hated waiting to see her. He liked taking Peyton when he wanted her, like he did last week in Seaside. And as for her needs, well, she could have whatever she wanted from him, whenever she liked.

By the time night fell and he was on her front porch, he was about ready to burst. He walked inside and grabbed her with his hands, pulling at her clothes. “I’ve been thinking about you all day,” he said, devouring her neck. Peyton struggled to keep pace with him, as he flipped her shirt over her head and unhooked her bra then lifted her onto the dining room table. “I
need
you tonight.” He sucked on her breasts then bit softly on her nipples.

“Ouch!” she cried.

Reed pulled back. “Shit, I hurt you?”

“Not really,” she said, reaching for her shirt. “They’re just sensitive. I got my period today.”

Reed grimaced — for Peyton and himself. “Sorry.”

“Happens every 28 days.” She put her shirt back on. “You don’t need to apologize.”

Reed had thought about her all day — her breasts in his mouth, her mouth on him, his fingers everywhere, maybe finally having sex.
And now we’re talking about her period.
There wasn’t anything more awful. But he knew he needed to roll with it — there was no other option — and decided to see what he could find out. “So you’re on the pill?”

Peyton raised her eyebrows. “Why would you think that?”

“You said, um,
this
happens every 28 days,” Reed said, awkwardly waving his arms in the air, “so I just figured it was because you were on the pill.”

“It doesn’t happen because I’m on the pill. It happens because I’m a
girl
. Didn’t you ever take a biology class?”

Reed rolled his eyes. “I just thought since you were so regular, maybe you were on the pill.”

“I’m as regular as clockwork. But I’m not on any birth control.”

“Are you considering it?”

“It sounds like you
want
me to consider it.”

“No,” he said sweetly, “I figured that was my job.”

“I’d really rather have nothing between us when we make love.”

When?
Reed liked where this was going, but his head started to spin.
Make love?
No girl had ever said that to him before. And he’d never said those words, either — usually finding words like “banging” or “screwing” or “nailing” more suitable. And the idea that Peyton wanted to go commando was truly uncharted waters. “That would be a first for me,” he said, trying not to sound too eager.

“Making love or going MacTavish?”

“Both,” Reed said with a laugh, no way in the world Peyton should know the slang term for sex without a condom — the name of the last North American hockey player to play without a helmet. He made a mental note that Jeremiah should look to Peyton if he had more weird sexual questions.

“You
always
use condoms?” she asked.