The Schemer (Harbor City 3)

Everly woke up the next morning with hard nipples, a slickness between her legs, and the memory of a dream that had brought her right to the edge of coming before her alarm went off. She’d been sitting on the edge of Tyler’s kitchen island with him in front of her, his strong fingers pressing against her inner thighs, holding her legs open as he licked and sucked her clit. Sure, it had been a dream, but he’d been so good that her body ached for relief. Refusing to open her eyes and acknowledge the day, she dipped her fingers between her legs and nearly arched off the bed when she brushed her clit. Circling the sensitive nub, she pulled back every wispy thread of the dream. The way the muscles in Tyler’s shoulders undulated as he worked one finger and then two into her, rubbing against the bundle of nerves inside her entrance. In her bed, with the morning light trying to push its way through her eyelids, she followed Dream Tyler’s lead as she heard his dirty whispers from the dream.

“Open those legs wider, I want to watch you take my fingers.”

She did, letting them fall open under the covers, the top of her hand brushing against the sheet.

“So soft and wet.”

And she was—so much so that her fingers slipped around, adding to the fantasy that it wasn’t her touch, but his, as she rubbed her clit faster and harder.

“Come for me, sugar. Squeeze me.”

And just like in the dream, she did with a hoarse cry, arching her back as the orgasm pulled her body tight.

It took a minute to come down, and when she did, the wrongs of the situation hit her. Tyler was the last man she should be thinking about when she touched herself. The man was an arrogant pain in her ass. The only reason she’d even had that dream was in response to the unexpected texting last night. What had ever possessed her to make a comment to him about what she’d been wearing? Obviously, the dream had just been working out her surprise when he’d said, “Nothing at all,” like a cocky jerk. The fact that he’d been right had nothing to do with it. There was no way for him to know that. That he did had just burrowed its way into her subconscious. It wasn’t that she wanted him.

Okay, she wanted him. But she couldn’t have him. He owned her building and held her gallery’s financial future in his hands. When things went sideways—not if but when, because guys like him who were obsessed with climbing the Harbor City society ladder always would with someone like her—she couldn’t afford to be at all-out war with her landlord. Nunni was depending on her, even if she didn’t realize it and thought Everly was her mother most times she went to visit.

And that sad bit of life was enough to kill off any remnants of her post-orgasmic buzz. Refusing to wallow in the unfairness of what had happened to the vivacious and determined woman who’d raised her after her mom died, Everly threw the covers to the side and got out of bed. The gallery was closed on Wednesdays, which meant catching up on paperwork during the day and, after five, going out to visit Nunni and play bingo in her honor with the cutthroat gang of octogenarians who’d followed Nunni to the best assisted living center in the neighborhood. who’d been a part of Everly’s life for as long as she could remember.

Eight hours later, her head was still buried in the paperwork that was spread out over her coffee table and on the couch beside her, because she couldn’t stand another moment locked in her office, when the message notification flashed across the top of her screen.

KIKI: So what’s with u and the hottie in 2B?

She shook her head. The fact that her bestie had managed to make it days without interrogating her about Tyler had been a world record.

EVERLY: Nothing.

KIKI: Oh, I totally believe that.

Of course she didn’t. Just like Everly didn’t believe—no matter how many times her bestie denied it—that Kiki’s divorce from her cheating asswipe of a husband hadn’t left her totally suspicious of the entire male population and questioning her own appeal. They’d been friends for too long to pretend about stuff like that—but they also didn’t press each other on the sensitive spots any more than absolutely necessary. Being supportive didn’t always mean calling someone on her shit.

EVERLY: May you be cursed with an annoying neighbor.

KIKI: Don’t you put that evil on me, Ricky Bobby!

She laughed, the sound bouncing off the walls in her empty apartment. When was the last time she’d seen that movie? It was her favorite and it had been too long.

EVERLY: We need girls’ movie night soon.

KIKI: Beers and Will Ferrell? I’m in.

EVERLY: You have the weirdest taste in men.

KIKI: I like ’em big and furry.

EVERLY: Dork.

KIKI: Wanna do it tonight?

EVERLY: Can’t, it’s bingo night.

She glanced at the digital clock display on her laptop. Shit. She needed to get moving. Hudson and Felicia were meeting her at the assisted living center tonight. Hudson was working on a new series of paintings of side-by-side portraits of people in their early twenties based on photos and in their eighties based on in-person sittings. When he’d told her about the idea, she’d introduced him to her nunni’s bingo buddies, who ended up adopting him and by extension Felicia. Now Hudson and Felicia were regulars at bingo night, and Nunni’s buddies were all planning to attend Hudson’s show at her gallery in the spring.

KIKI: Say hi to Nunni for me.

If only her nunni had gotten to find out that Hudson—who had come home from college some weekends with Everly and inhaled an entire tray of cannoli—was actually the world-famous painter Hughston, she would have been thrilled. As it was, most days she still thought Everly was a toddler and new information didn’t take hold in her mind. Dementia fucking sucked.

EVERLY: Will do.