Sex Retreat(19)

“How did you mean it?” Trixie asked, determined to lighten the mood since Brock seemed hell-bent on the opposite.

Rory lifted his chin. “I was referring to the good times.” He pointed at the long leather couch. “Let’s all take a walk down Memory Lane. Shall we?”

“I’d rather not,” Brock grumbled.

“Oh but I want to,” he said, wrapping his arms around Trixie’s waist. “I’ll never forget the look on Brock’s face the day you walked in here and slapped that poncho against the sofa. You had mascara caked under your eyes. Your crimped hair was dripping like you’d just stepped out of the shower, and you were dressed in that damned white T-shirt.”

“Ah yeah,” Brock said, grinning then. “We all referred to that hot little number as ‘the shirt’ from then on.”

Trixie snorted. “The only thing I remember is being mad as all hell.”

“That was a front,” Brock assured her.

“No it wasn’t,” she said. “I can’t remember why I was so pissed, but the anger was real.” She paused as another flashback entered her mind then. Suddenly, she burst into laughter, tears freefalling from her eyes.

“What is it?” Brock seemingly admired her as if he could eat her up like pancakes, syrup, and butter.

She waved her hand in front of her face. “On the day with the poncho. Don’t you remember? Mitch flew around the desk with a large towel. He draped it over me and started a lecture about catching pneumonia.”

“I do remember,” Rory said, taking a seat on the edge of Mitch’s desk. He threw his head back and laughed. “The best part was when you dropped the towel.”

“Dropped hell. She threw the doggone thing aside with great force.” Brock stretched his legs forward. Trixie eyed the bulge nestled between his thighs, moistening her lips as she distinctly recalled that same look over seven years ago.

“I’ll never forget what you said next.” Rory shook his finger at Brock and together they said, “That’s not your slickest move, sugar.”

Trixie’s nipples spiked as soon as they chimed in together. It was as if she’d been tossed back into the past and was trapped there then.

Her eyes met Brock’s, and then her gaze shifted to Rory. Before her lust took hold and grabbed the best of her, a twinge of sadness crept up behind her and held her hostage.

Turning away from them, she stared at the executive chair behind Mitch’s desk. “He always thought he was such a boss.”

“He was the boss,” Rory reminded her.

“He proudly wore the title for sure,” she said, dragging her fingers over the curvature of the chair Mitch had once occupied. She took a seat and smoothed her hands across the desk calendar, not really paying attention to the dated sheet beneath her fingertips, but more or less marveling in the fact that everything she touched once belonged to a man she still loved.

“What are you thinking?” Brock asked, frowning.

She looked at the walls lined with photographs of distant summers. Memories were forever etched in those images, yet Brock and Rory pretended not to notice.

As if the silence needed interruption, Rory said, “Mitch definitely took his job to the extreme. I pulled a few kitchen duties for punishment.”

“Ah yes, the argument that started it all,” Trixie drawled, tucking away the sadness in hopes of finding joy in happier times.

“Our first kiss was so worth his wrath,” Rory told her, leaning over the desk and planting a peck on her lips.

“You didn’t think so at the time.”

“Oh yes he did.” Brock stretched his arms high above his head before locking clasped hands behind his neck. “Don’t kid yourself. He thought he had earned a major one-up on all of us.”

“That’s why Mitch threw out the dish duty?” Trixie asked.

“Absolutely,” Rory replied.

“Mitch has lived his entire adult life focusing on rewards and punishment, Trixie,” Brock explained. “I’m a little surprised you don’t remember that much about him.”

“How could I forget,” she whispered, realizing her voice trailed then. “Being here makes me remember practically everything about him.”

Rory and Brock swapped a knowing glance. Their shared look absolutely chapped her ass because those exchanges were the only times when she felt completely left out.

The room was dreadfully silent again.

“Why did you bring me here?” she asked, wondering if she really wanted to know. For the last twenty-four hours, Brock and Rory had seemed slightly guarded.

Brock took a deep breath. “We all needed to get away.”