Better Than Home: Better Than Good Novella

“And I’m still so fucking overwhelmed by you,” I rasped.

So much for my voice not cracking.

Aaron blinked in surprise, then scrambled naked onto my lap. He straddled my thighs and held my face in his hands as if studying me intently for clues.

“Is something bothering you, Matty?”

“No, why?”

“You seem…worried. You get nostalgic when you’re anxious. Did something happen at work or—”

“No,” I lied.

Okay, maybe this was the perfect opportunity to tell him about the buzz in my office and Colleen’s concern, but I didn’t want to talk about things that freaked me out.

I’d become a master at pushing aside hard topics. If that meant ignoring the niggling sensation that trouble lurked just out of reach, I’d do it. I had to.

We were finally where we wanted to be, and I didn’t want to fuck it up. And though Aaron was the one person I knew I could always confide in, I was protective of his peace. And mine.

He nuzzled my neck. “I only want to overwhelm you in a good way, my love.”

“You do,” I whispered. “I promise you do.”

Aaron smiled and sealed his mouth over mine. We kissed like old lovers—comfortable but still passionate. No fear, no worry—only love and desire.

He rested his head on my shoulder and sighed contentedly. “Te amo.”

I kissed the soft skin under his ear and smacked his ass. “I love you too, but my legs are falling asleep, I’m starving, and there’s no way I’m painting anything tonight.”

He hopped off my lap and put his hands on his hips. “I thought we had a deal. You said blowjobs make happier painters. I’m willing to throw in takeout.”

“And I’m all about that…tomorrow. I’m all yours all weekend. In fact, I insist. Let’s start in this room so we can have our sofa and TV back. This time next week, I want to be able to come home, strip to my boxers, and scratch my nuts while I drink beer and watch baseball.” I grabbed my junk and winked before reaching for his hand.

Aaron snorted. “Fine. Tomorrow. Get ready, though, Matty. I’m putting you to work.”

He wasn’t kidding.

We spent the entire weekend painting the house. We tackled the family room, dining room, kitchen, and two of the bedrooms. It was hard work—as in sweaty and body-ache inducing, but somehow, we made it fun.

Music pumped through our portable speaker as we reminisced about our childhood homes and friends we’d grown up with. Some stories were familiar, but it didn’t matter. There was a new connection to those old memories, and sharing them while we danced around empty rooms and stole kisses as we admired our handiwork seemed significant.

I finally understood what he meant when he claimed the house called to him. Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t hear the voices of long-dead past inhabitants welcoming me home or anything creepy like that, but I felt a level of deep-in-my-bones contentment I associated with being in the right place…with the right person. I could set my worries aside here and forgot the outside world existed.

If only for a little while.

6

I loved my job.

Writing highly specialized and confidential contracts for the government wasn’t exactly sexy work, but I enjoyed it and it had a few nice perks. Like a corner office with a park view befitting a junior partner on the verge of making it big-time and an awesome secretary whose superpowers included being able to read a client’s tone of voice and gauge whether I’d have time to talk before an important meeting. Colleen was friendly, thorough, and took no BS. Even from the founding partners of this well-respected DC firm, Lawton, Hughes, Banks, and Kelleford.

I’d interned here during law school and happily accepted their offer to stay. In the eight-plus years since I’d graduated, they’d been good to me. The four main partners offered guidance when needed and otherwise, gave me space to work without interference. I’d dealt with all of them to some degree over the years, but less so recently. Lawton and Banks were partially retired, and Hughes was in California.

Which left James Kelleford, a smooth-talking, peppy middle-aged man with thinning gray hair and a paunch. I liked him, but I wasn’t always sure I trusted him. James was a little too…slick. And he had a weird habit of making appearances at the least convenient times.

Thank God for Colleen.

Ping.

I stopped typing to read the message that popped up on my computer screen.

James K is on his way. He says he needs to meet you without delay.

I snorted at the rhyme, then called Colleen. “Did he say what he wanted?”

“No, sorry. Just that it was important. Maybe it’s partner info?” she replied. “I don’t know, but he’s here. Do you need me to stall?”

Kelleford’s voice boomed a friendly greeting in the background. Damn.

I stared at my monitor for half a second and typed, Send him in.