Resisting The Playboy's Charm

Carolina

"Longest. Shift. Ever," I groan into my phone's speaker as I slam my apartment door behind me, shucking off the black mini-apron I wear at my job as a waitress.

Through the phone, Noah laughs. I kick off my shoes, not bothering to line them up neatly by the doormat, and pad through my small apartment toward the bedroom.

"You're laughing, but I'm serious. I swear, the customers today were ridiculous. It was like they were conspiring against me."

"No, no, I don't mean to make light of your struggles," he says innocently. "Please, tell me more."

"We ran out of zucchini, and the truck doesn't come until Thursday, so we had to strike a couple items off the menu. And guess what everyone wanted today?"

"The zucchini stuff?"

"Of course," I sigh. "So how were things on your end?"

Noah and I make a habit of keeping in touch with each other regularly. I talk to him like this most days. We were close when we grew up together in foster care, and have stayed close since.

"Oh, you know," he says. "Finally closing that deal with those pain-in-the-ass clients."

"Customers are the same, no matter what kind you're dealing with. What did they even want?"

"Well, at first, they were trying to rush things-speed the process along. And then, once we were finally close to wrapping the whole thing up, they started to get cold feet. Delayed us by a week, at least."

"God, that sucks."

"Tell me about it."

"You know," I say, teasing, "maybe you should quit all that and get into the foodservice game, like me. Waiting tables, that's where it's at."

He chuckles at my joke, but then says, "Oh, c'mon, Carol. You know you're not gonna be a server for long. You're so close to getting your dream job. I just know it."

"I hope you're right."

I've been out of grad school for almost a year now, throwing my resume all over the place. It's been hard to find jobs that line up exactly with my goals, but I'm not willing to compromise on my career.

I want to find a job that will let me help kids like me. Kids who grew up in similar situations, who need someone to advocate for them. And if I can't find that kind of career, then I'm going to have to wait for it to come along.

I can be patient. It's worth it.

Right?

"Of course I'm right," Noah says confidently. "Hey, weren't you going to hear back about that latest one today?"

"Oh, my god! You're right!" I reach over to the coffee table for my laptop. "Thanks for the reminder."

My heart is in my throat as I open the computer and type in my password. I tab over to my email, and my breath catches when I see the new message. It's from the company that interviewed me for that social work job.

"Oh, they emailed me!" I gasp. "I have an email from them! This is not a drill!" Nerves flutter in my stomach as my cursor hovers over the email.

"Good news? Bad news?" Noah sounds almost as excited as I am.

"I don't know yet. I'm too nervous to open it."

"Open it!" he insists. "Read it out loud!"

Steeling myself, I click on the message and clear my throat.

"Dear Ms. Winters," I begin. "We appreciate you taking the time to interview for this position. Unfortunately, it has been filled by a more experienced candidate."

I swallow, hesitating, the bitter sting of disappointment in my throat.

"We'll keep you in mind for any future openings with our organization," I finish, my voice dull and flat, all of the excitement gone. "Thank you."

Noah is quiet for a moment. Then he says, "Do you want me to go over there and beat them up or something?"

I laugh feebly, but even Noah's jokes can't cheer me up. I'm crushed.

And he knows it. He knows me better than anyone. Even though we're not related, we're practically siblings, and Noah has long since learned to recognize my forced laughter.

"It will happen," he reassures me. "I know it'll happen. You're going to land the perfect job, and this is all going to seem like the blur before things fell into place. You're gonna forget all about that restaurant. I promise."

I try to smile as I close my laptop, my chest aching with regret. "Thanks," I say, feeling a bit better. Still disappointed though. "I know social work isn't all that glamorous, but... I was excited about that one."

"I know."

"It's what I really want to do. It's my dream."

"I totally get it, Carol. You want to give back. You want to help other kids in rough situations. It's a noble goal." He pauses, then asks, "Hey, have you heard from your mom at all recently?"

I let out a breath. "No. Thank god." If my mom had tried to get in touch, things would be way worse right now. But it's been radio silence from her for a while. I can only hope it stays that way. More chaos is the last thing I need in my life.

Noah's attempt to change the subject falls flat, since I don't exactly want to talk more about my mother. She only appears in my life when she wants something from me, and I'm not one to entertain a transactional relationship.

He seems to take the hint. "I hear you, Carol."

I nod, even though he can't see me. If anyone understands how I'm feeling right now, it's Noah. I'm not in the mood to talk about my mom. Not right now.

"Hey, listen," he says, in another attempt to change the subject, "why don't you come over to my new place on Sunday? I was planning to take the day off, so I'll have some time to show you around. Give you the grand tour."

"You?" I gasp teasingly, clutching my pearls. "Take a day off? Since when?"

"Carol-"

"I'm serious. I don't think you've had a day off in, like, eight years. Or more."

Noah sighs into the speaker, and I grin. Noah is a workaholic. Usually, when he has time to meet me, it's for coffee or lunch breaks amidst the long hours he spends in the office.

"You coming, or what?" he asks.

"Sure," I say. That'll give me something to look forward to, at least. For the past couple of weeks, I've been anticipating the post-interview email, so I do need something else to get me out of bed. "That sounds great."

"Sweet," says Noah. "I can't wait to see you!"

"Same here."

"Oh, shit-I gotta go, Carol." I can hear a beeping sound on the other end of the line. "I've got another call coming in."

"That's okay, Noah. Take your call."

"I'll text you later about a time, okay? And, hey-don't think too much about that interview. Those people were idiots, and they don't know what they're missing."

I smile despite my still-lingering disappointment. "Okay, Noah. Thanks."

"See you later."

He hangs up the call, and I sigh, dropping my phone onto the couch. I stare at the open laptop screen and the rejection email for a few more minutes, wishing it wasn't what it was.

It's my fault. I'm picky about the jobs I apply for. Maybe too picky. I was worried that I wasn't qualified for this one from the beginning, and was lucky to have gotten to the interview stage at all.

Closing the laptop lid, I get to my feet, stretching. Today has been long, and tiring, and I just want to be done with it.

It's dark outside, probably nine o'clock already. I want to get to bed. I'm exhausted, both physically and emotionally. I just have to update my grocery list before I forget.

I slip into the kitchen and make a couple of amendments to the shopping list that's magnetized to the fridge.

Paper towels. Olive oil. Hand soap.

I pause to think for a moment before adding...

Ice cream.

After all of this disappointment, I think I deserve a treat.

Evans

2:45 AM.

It's so dark in the bedroom that I can barely make out the body of the woman lying before me, spread out as I hold her ankles.

I can only see her by the light from the alarm clock on my nightstand, big, red numbers.

For two in the morning, she's being far too loud.

"Quiet," I remind her, sliding a hand under her ass to flip her onto her stomach. She moans as I do that, as if she didn't even hear me. I want to add her name to the reprimand, but to be honest, I don't even remember what she told me.

Kaitlyn? Catherine? Katie?

Something along those lines. It doesn't really matter. After all, this is the only night I'm planning on sharing with her.

I grit my teeth, positioning myself behind her. There's no sense in taking things slow, savoring the foreplay. She's already wet, and I've been hard for a while, craving the release of an orgasm. I'm not exactly trying for romance, here.

Of course, she starts to moan even more the second I'm inside her, so I remind her a second time, more forcefully, "Quiet."

That finally seems to turn the volume down.

Impatiently, I drive into her from behind, drawing myself closer and closer to orgasm. She mewls as I do, trying to stifle her screams of pleasure.

It doesn't take long before I feel her walls clench. She gasps as she comes on my cock, her fingers grasping at the bedsheets. I allow myself to follow her over the edge rather than continue.

I go still for a moment, my hands loosening on her hips. My shoulders relax, and I savor the looseness in my muscles, the lack of tension. In the aftermath of an orgasm, my mind goes temporarily blank-pure bliss, for a brief time.

When I can collect my focus, I pull out and secure the condom with my thumb and forefinger. I slide it off, then carry it across the large bedroom, toward the attached bathroom. My feet are cold on the marble floor as I dispose of it in the wastebasket.

I splash some water on my face, then wipe my eyes with the hem of the cotton t-shirt I'm still wearing. I blink blearily at my reflection, then turn away from the mirror.

When I come back into the bedroom, the woman in my bed is sprawled against the satin pillows, grinning at me. She looks sated, and there's something smug in her expression.

"Look at you," she murmurs, clearly trying to be seductive.

She gets up on her knees as I come closer to the bed, pressing herself against me. Her hands slide up my chest, her arms slinging around my neck.

"You wanted me so bad, you never even took your shirt off," she says in a breathy whisper.

I bite down on my sigh. I'll go ahead and let her think that, even if it's not the real reason. No sense in being overly cruel.

I sit on the edge of the bed, and the woman tucks herself next to me. I still can't remember her name, but that's fine-she's satisfied. I'm satisfied. We both got what we needed from each other, and we'll probably never see each other again, so that's all there is to it.

"Come on," she says, her tone coaxing. She clings to my shoulders, draping herself over my back. "That was amazing. You were amazing. So strong, so powerful. Don't you want to keep it going?" She presses her lips close to my ear. "I wouldn't be surprised if you could go all night, with stamina like that."

I let out a short breath through my nose. She's starting to grate on me already. In truth, all I really want is to sink into restful sleep-alone, if I can help it. I'm ready for her to go.

I reach up to remove her arms from around my shoulders, my touch gentle. I'm about to tell her that it's probably time for her to leave when I hear a sound from the hallway.

My head snaps up. I'm always alert to small sounds in the house, but never more so than when there's a strange woman in bed with me. I'm careful not to let Brandon see any of the women I bring over.

And since there's no one else in the entire house, that has to be him. He's out of bed. Probably needs a glass of water, or had a nightmare or something.

A few seconds later, I hear his shuffling footsteps outside the door. I jump out of bed, scooping up my pants from where they're lying in a heap on the floor. I stagger toward the door, throwing them on quickly.

"Stay there," I whisper to the woman in my bed, who stares at me, perplexed.

I meet Brandon at the door, angling it so that it blocks his view of my bed. "Hey, buddy," I say, squatting down to his eye level. "What's going on? It's real late."

"I'm thirsty," Brandon says tiredly, rubbing one eye.

"Thirsty, huh?" I scoop him up into my arms and start down the hallway, toward the kitchen. "Well, we'd better get you some water. Maybe we need to start putting an extra sippy cup by your bed. What do you think?"

Brandon nods. He seems like he's still half asleep, blinking in the hallway light. At five years old, Brandon is usually tired by seven and fast asleep by eight, so one in the morning is a little bit of a stretch for his endurance.

I set Brandon on the counter while I root around in the cupboard for a plastic cup-lots of plastic in this house, ever since Brandon moved in.. I pour him some water out of the tap in the fridge, then hand him the cup.

Watching him sip the water, his feet swinging on the counter as he wakes up a little, I can't help but smile. He's a good kid. The best.

As Brandon is finishing his water, I hear a little gasp from behind me. I look over my shoulder to see the woman I was with. She's wearing one of my shirts, which hangs off of her body, covering her up. She probably thinks that's supposed to be cute, or something, but it brings a scowl to my face.

She coos at Brandon, waving at him with her fingertips. "Oh, look at you! Aren't you sweet?"

Brandon stares at her, then tips his head to one side, like a confused puppy. Fury burns through me. I told her to stay upstairs. Can't she follow one simple instruction?

But I don't want to let Brandon see my anger, so I force a tight, reluctant smile onto my face.

"He was just heading back to bed," I say shortly. I pick Brandon back up, carrying him off toward his bedroom. He gawks at the woman over my shoulder, and I hear her laugh.

I pull Brandon's covers back as he gets settled, then tuck him in, pulling the blanket all the way up to his chin. He blinks at me, more awake now.

"Who was that woman?" he asks.

I restrain myself from clicking my tongue in annoyance, forcing another smile. "She's just a visitor," I say. "And she's about to go home. It's way too late for visitors."

I ruffle Brandon's hair, then stand, crossing his room to turn off the light. I watch him from the doorway as he starts to drift off to sleep, curling up on his pillow.

For a long time, I've felt like I'm doing a shitty job raising him. The other day, while playing poker with Declan and Reed, I voiced that concern for the hundredth time, and my friends managed to dig up a new piece of advice, which I've been turning over in my head ever since.

They told me that I've been doing the best I can do to raise Brandon since my sister's death, but that it might be time to find some help. Hire a nanny.

Maybe I do need to hire a nanny. Brandon's getting older. He needs more attention than I'm able to give him alone.

I close Brandon's door slowly, trying to make sure the hinges don't squeak and wake him. Out in the hallway, I sigh. Somewhere in this house, I have one more fire to put out tonight.

I'm not sure if she's still in the kitchen, but I head back to my bedroom regardless. Either she'll be there, in which case I can tell her to get out, or she won't, in which case I can forget about her and pass out. I'm tired, and Brandon wakes up early in the mornings.

But when I get back to the bedroom, she's there. Sitting on my bed, a huge grin on her face, perched on her knees like she's ready for round two.

My jaw tightens. "You can go now," I tell her coldly.

She blinks, the eagerness fading from her expression, to be replaced by surprise. "Wait-are you joking?"

"No." I point to the bedroom door. "I'm not."

"Are you mad that I came downstairs?" She pouts at me, sticking out her lower lip.

"It's time for you to go," I say, my tone icy. "Don't make me ask again."

All of the playfulness vanishes from her eyes. She whips my shirt off over her head, revealing her naked body once more as if unveiling a trump card.

I glare at her. I don't have the patience for this-not after what she just pulled, and not this late at night. "Come on. I'm serious."

She scowls and starts to grumble, climbing out of the bed and picking up her clothing from the floor one article at a time. She dresses herself, then seizes her purse off of the nightstand and marches to the door, sniffing at me in distaste.

I follow her out into the hall, then stand on the landing to make sure she actually leaves. Once she's gone, I head downstairs to lock the door.

Before I sleep, I take a quick shower to rinse the scent of her perfume from my body. I don't want to wake up with it lingering in my hair tomorrow.

Hookups like these are so much easier when the women know what to expect-which is nothing. Things only get awkward like this when they start to assume that they're in for anything more than a one-night stand.

It's almost two by the time I'm done in the shower, and I'm bone tired. But I still trudge down the hall before I collapse into my bed. I always make a point to check on Brandon while he's asleep whenever I get the chance, and I want to make sure that the woman's exit didn't wake him.

I open his door a crack, careful not to make a sound. He's still fast asleep, curled beneath his blanket, his blue teddy bear tucked under one arm.

The nerves in my jaw soften as I watch him, and my teeth unclench. It's late. Odds are, he won't remember this tomorrow-and even if he does, I can just tell him that she was a friend of mine who stayed over a little too late.

Closing the door, I turn away, back toward my own waiting, empty bed.

Carolina

On Sunday afternoon, I head over to Noah's place, as we discussed over the phone. I take the subway and walk the last few blocks on foot. Hopefully, he'll let me take a load off once I arrive.

When I reach the address Noah texted to me, I'm met with a huge, impressive-looking townhouse.

It looks old-brick foundations, black, wrought-iron gate out front. The gate hangs open, so I let myself past it, staring up at the massive house in awe.

There's a little garden out front, climbing tendrils of ivy reaching from the trellises onto the house's facade. They arch over the windows, tiny white flowers blooming on the vines.

I whistle quietly as I approach the front door. I knew that Noah had been doing well for himself, but I didn't know it was this well.

I knock, then wait a few seconds before Noah appears in the doorway, grinning. He tackles me with a bear-hug, squeezing the air out of me.

"It's been way too long," he proclaims, ruffling my hair affectionately. "You look good!"

"Get off me, Noah," I grumble, pretending to be annoyed as I wriggle out of his grasp. That's siblings for you. "But yeah, it has been too long. Boy, this house is really something, huh?"

His grin widens. "Come on inside. Let me show you around."

I follow him into the foyer, marveling at the polished wood and iron lighting fixtures. The inside of the house is every bit as beautiful as the outside-stately and refined, like something out of a magazine.

"So, everything in here is original except for some of the molding, and the kitchen," Noah says, leading me down a hallway. "That stuff got refurbished last year, just before it went on the market. Honestly, I think I got a pretty good deal on it, considering-"

"Considering how crazy nice it is?"

"Yeah, pretty much."

Noah takes a left turn into an open, airy kitchen. I can't help my gasp as I follow him inside. It's a far cry from the narrow space where I cook my meals, where I barely have room to turn around. Noah's kitchen is massive, with granite countertops and stainless steel appliances. Everything looks brand new.

"Wow," I say, open-mouthed.

"Right?"

I turn around, arching an eyebrow at him. "What do you need all this space for, anyway? It's not like you're planning on getting married or having a family any time soon!"

He laughs at that; if I hit a nerve, I can't tell, because he keeps the good-natured smile. "Oh, you know my job is my baby. I don't need marriage or a family right now. I'm way too busy."

"I'm not judging you, trust me," I say. "It's just-it's a big house!"

He nudges my shoulder meaningfully, then paces away to adjust the drapes on the window above the sink. "Yeah, it sure is. It's huge. Lots of space." He winks over at me. "One of these rooms could be yours, if you wanted it."

"Oh, come on." I chuckle. "No, thank you, Noah. As always."

His joking smile slips a little bit, seriousness taking over his expression. "Hey, I mean it. I wish you'd let me help you, Carol."

"Noah-"

"I can give you the money you'd need to get by while you job hunt. Or you could move in with me, and stop worrying about rent. You don't have to stay at that restaurant, you know."

I shake my head. I appreciate all of the ways that Noah has tried to look out for me. Over the years, he's even managed to get some things to stick-small favors, whatever little things I would actually let him do.

"Look, again-you're a good guy, and a good brother, but I can't take you up on this. I don't want to be a burden, and I don't want to rely on you to get by."

"Why not?"

"You made something of yourself," I tell him. "Now I've got to do the same."

He sighs. "You've always been stubborn."

Now that he's caved, I grin at him. "Damn right. Now come on. Show me the rest of your ridiculous, giant house."

Noah seems reluctant to let the subject drop, but he eventually does-most likely, he's aware that it's futile to keep trying. I'm just going to keep shooting him down. "Okay, fine. C'mon."

He leads me through a few more rooms, showing me the entire first floor, which includes a large sitting room, dining room, and an office. He guides me through the second and third floors-bedrooms, bathrooms, an entertainment suite, a home library. The topmost floor has a sunroom, and opens into a rooftop garden, complete with a greenhouse.

"It's amazing," I gush as Noah and I head back downstairs. "I can't believe you actually live at a place like this!"

"I'm pretty amazed myself," he admits. "I keep waking up and just drinking it all in. I can't believe I'm here."

I elbow him. "What, are you kidding? You should be proud of yourself! You did it! You made it!"

He smiles, but he seems almost dazed. "Yeah, I guess so."

"So have you shown me everything yet?"

"Everything except the garage," he says. "Oh-" An excited gleam appears in his eyes. "And the basement."

"What's so great about the basement?"

"It's fully finished," he says. "Wet bar, pool table-the works."

"Pool table?" My eyes widen, and I push ahead of him on the stairs. I hear Noah's laugh from behind me as I make my way up and down the foyer hallway, opening up doors we haven't been through yet.

He comes up to stop me as I'm opening the third coat closet in a row. "It's over here," he says, smiling, gesturing toward the back of the living room.

Down in the basement, the floor is carpeted, except for clay-colored tile around the bar area. There's a flatscreen hanging in the corner, some leather couches around a large coffee table, and-yes, there it is. The promised pool table.

"Oh, this was the dream back in the day," I say, heading over to it. "Remember?"

"Of course," Noah says. "The one at the rec."

"I used to kick your butt all the time, if memory serves," I say, reminiscing. There was a pool table in the basement of the local rec center, where we used to spend hours as kids. It was beaten-up and shabby, nothing like the new one before us now, with its shiny wooden paneling, but that didn't stop our games from getting ruthless.

"Oh, please." Noah scoffs, and I smile, falling easily into the ever-familiar pattern of over-competitive sibling rivalry. "I beat you just as much. Or more."

"You wanna prove it?" I stride over to the wall to select one of the pool cues hanging there, twirling it with a wink. "Unless you don't think you've got the stuff anymore-"

"Are you kidding?" He reaches under the table for the rack and sets it on the felt surface, then starts to gather the billiard balls from the table's pockets. "I'm going to destroy you."

"You wanna put money on it? Five bucks says I win."

"You're on."