Get a Grip

FROM THE AUTHOR

"Get a Grip is something I might say to myself in moments of chaos, when I feel a loss of control. Our internal monologue can feel self-critical in those moments, lacking compassion, and forcing composure. In my experience, falling in love may have a chaotic adjustment period. It's only natural that we try to appear in control, when below the surface we are anything but.

Our initial reflex to hold on to this idea of stability and control is often what causes us or our relationships to collapse internally. Whether it’s Blake’s marriage, and her idea of family, or Aubrey’s need to stay distracted through her job, it’s only in self-reflection they realize that their foundations may be strong, but the lives they’ve built are as flimsy as a house of cards.

When we hold on to something, especially something that’s not for us, we only end up hurting ourselves. Letting go is surrender. It can make us feel both powerless and free at the same time. Regarding Blake and Aubrey, they have a choice to make, get a grip, or let go. In their case, that’s what either brings them together or keeps them apart."

—Michelle McMenamon

Chapter One

Blake drummed her fingers on the desk. The large office had a view of downtown Vancouver overlooking Canada Place. Her eyes focused on a sailboat in the distance as her lawyer organized the paperwork for her to sign. The sun was setting over the cherry trees that were starting to lose their leaves along the plaza below.

Her mind wandered back to when she was in college, living in a four-bedroom heritage house off West 16^th Avenue. Cherry trees lined their block. She’d twirl beneath canopies of puffy pink popcorn balls on her way to work or school. Her roommates were all artsy types—Emily Carr students of photography, painters, and poets. Freethinkers. Activists living obscure bohemian lifestyles. It felt like ages ago now. That once romantic idealist would be heartbroken to see how she ended up, she thought. A thirty-four-year-old statistic in a lawyer’s office about to sign divorce papers. Her head ached, and she pinched the bridge of her nose trying to relieve pressure. The office so strongly reeked of fresh paint that it lined her insides, making her feel lightheaded. Blake had caught the six o’clock ferry that morning from Nanaimo and hadn’t eaten. Her lawyer’s only availability at noon meant getting her ass on the first ferry into the city.

Her stomach had been in knots ever since Mitch had told her he was dating someone. Someone that she knew, but he hadn’t told her whom. Her appetite had suffered, and she was feeling weak from it now. Someone she knew? The words echoed in her brain. How long had they been dating? Their divorce was only just being finalized.

She ran her hand through her wavy auburn locks. Tresses cascaded over her shoulders. She exhaled deeply, and her lawyer looked up from the paperwork. He was a well-groomed man in his midforties. He looked like he spent a fortune on skin treatments.

“Can I get you a coffee, Blake? I’m sorry, my assistant should have had these papers organized.”

His voice was soft, and considerate. He looked up at her with a thick, furrowed brow. His eyes were dark—black, she thought. Dave Hawkstetter had been recommended to her by her sister-in-law, Alexa. Alexa, a lawyer with the same firm, had made partner and opened her own office on the island after she’d married Graham.

“I’m all right. I just—I’m fine,” she stammered slightly.

All Blake wanted to do was sign the papers and go. Offices felt so sterile. This office looked like something out of a magazine. Two hundred shades of gray blending into each other. Not a hint of vibrance, no personal touches or character. She squinted her eyes and thought she saw a photo of Dave standing next to a dead animal, holding a semiautomatic rifle. If that was his character, she didn’t want to see more of it.

After another half hour, the papers were finally signed. Her hand didn’t shake at all. It flew easily over the signature line. Her marriage may not have been a success, but so few were these days. Even her parents were divorced now. Her dad, Bruce, had several affairs over the course of his marriage to her mother, Jane. It wasn’t until Blake was twenty-three that her mother confided in her that they’d had an open marriage. At the time, she had never heard of such a thing. It seemed so arbitrary, and liberal. Blake didn’t consider herself a prude, maybe a traditionalist. Vanilla? When she married Mitch, she was marrying her best friend, someone she thought she knew better than she knew herself. She liked how predictable he was, how safe. That he ate his pizza with a knife and fork, and that horror movies scared the hell out of him. He was a great dad, too. Their eleven-year-old, Brodie, kept them on their toes. He had no filter. Mitch and Blake had been victims of Brodie’s precociousness since he was four and started to form sentences.

“All right. Congratulations, you are divorced,” Dave said with a charming grin. He offered his hand, and she shook it. Dave had negotiated a joint custody deal, Brodie would be with Mitch one week, and with her the next. She would retain ownership of her café, and Mitch would retain ownership of the brewery he co-owned with her brother, Graham.

“Now, you are aware that you have the right to sue for spousal support? Are you waiving it at this time?” he said, his tone even.

“Spousal support? Under what grounds, adultery?” Blake hadn’t even thought about spousal support.

“Actually, there are no grounds to sue for spousal support in Canada. It’s your right. It’s decided by a judge. They will consider several factors—need, ability to pay, length of marriage, standard of living, your ages, your roles.”

Blake sighed heavily. She didn’t want Mitch’s money. Not that he had any. She didn’t want anything from him at this point.

After being together for twelve years, the idea of divorce had daunted her. Mitch asking for a divorce had driven a stake through her heart. He wasn’t just her husband; they were best friends. Sure, their sex life hadn’t been great since their honeymoon phase back when things were new and exciting. After Brodie was born, they were so consumed by him, and their desire for each other seemed to dull. Those first few years with Brodie, they had to really make time to be intimate. After a while, it felt like work. When her writing started to gain readership and the brewery opened, the minimal time they had together vanished. As much as Blake knew the time had slipped away from them, she hoped they could get back to the closeness they once had. Instead, their partnership devolved to a roommate situationship. She’d fall asleep at her computer writing most nights, and he’d pass out on the couch watching a recorded sports game after closing the bar. Before she realized it, they hadn’t slept in the same bed for months and hadn’t had sex in over a year.

Blake wanted a drink. A bourbon. The only drink that seemed to quell her nerves. Her mind had been so completely jarred. Now that the pen was out of her hand, it started to shake again. Just one drink to calm the nerves. Blake looked up at the metal clock against the gray wall. She really needed to get home and start her book. Her editor was expecting chapters next week, and she hadn’t even started. Blocked didn’t begin to describe how she felt.

Dave walked her to the door.

She turned the corner, leaving the office, and felt completely turned around, unsure which direction the elevators were. The hallway felt like a labyrinth.

The office paint fumes had made her dizzy. The fluorescent lights affected her eyes. Where the hell was the elevator? The corridors all looked the same. When she realized the elevators were actually in the other direction, she stopped. Blake turned quickly, only to be suddenly struck by a slightly taller woman wearing a tailored peacoat. It hung open, revealing a blue silk blouse, tucked into high-waisted wool gray slacks that fit her perfectly. Their foreheads collided with a knock. The well-dressed woman looking down at her phone had not seen Blake stop short in front of her. Her phone flew midtext as it bumped into Blake’s chest.

“Ow!” The stranger’s voice was soft, with a sardonic lilt. She winced, looking to see who had run into her.

Blake’s cheeks flushed as red as her hair, her cadence genuinely remorseful.

“Oh my god. I’m so sorry!” Her voice sounded high and wistful. When the woman looked at her, she paused. Her eyes widened to their full scope. Light blue, so light Blake noticed her pupils dilate as they focused on her. Wavy jet-black hair that slightly curled at the ends fell over her broad shoulders. Blake held her stare for a moment longer and then bent down to pick up the woman’s phone. Her legs were long, and Blake’s eyes slowly dragged up them before returning to the woman’s face.

“Shit. It’s cracked,” Blake said, handing the phone to the woman, her own emerald-green eyes full of guilt. “I’m so sorry.” She paused, raising a brow. “You don’t have a case?”

A smile pulled at the side of the woman’s mouth. A small dimple formed on her cheek. Blake’s eyes were drawn to it.

“I hate cases,” she stated simply. Blake’s eyes darted suddenly back to icy-blue ones.

“That’s a tad reckless,” Blake mused, narrowing her eyes with a smirk.

The woman stared back at her, her brow peaked slightly, lightening her look.

“I like to live dangerously.” She smiled, her hand touching her forehead where Blake had bashed into her. Her expression softened as the woman’s eyes lingered on Blake for a moment.

“Are you okay? Jesus, I feel terrible. May I repair your phone? Or, get you an ice pack?” she joked, though she would have.

The woman shook her head. “Really, it’s nothing. It’s just a phone. And I’m barely concussed,” she said with a slight wink.

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t looking where I was going. I needed to get out of here, this place is a maze, these hallways all look the same. I’m trying to find the elevator.”

The woman pointed ahead to where she was also walking.

“You nearly missed it. Unlike my forehead.” She chuckled, and Blake’s cheeks flushed again.

“Oh.” Blake was mortified. “Right.”

When the doors to the elevator opened, ten people exited. The elevator made a strange creak as the group flooded out. They were the only two to get on, both reaching for the button to the first floor. Before their fingers could collide like their bodies just had, Blake nervously pulled her hand back.

The woman was tall with striking features. Blake clocked her at about five-ten. Blake herself was five-eight, and she often towered over most people—even Graham, who stood at five-seven, much to his annoyance.

Blake’s stomach was in knots again, this time at her own clumsiness. Though something about this woman made her want to keep talking, she bit her tongue. Blake felt like she’d only just embarrass herself further. Her tummy grumbled, and she desperately hoped the woman hadn’t heard. She wobbled from hunger, feeling faint. Blake regarded the woman again, hands in her jacket pockets. She met Blake’s gaze, and a sudden flutter rippled down her abdomen. A loud creak came from above them, and they both looked up, then at each other again. A loud metal knock shook the elevator from above them.

“Whoa,” Blake blurted.

Blake looked over at the woman who had impulsively reached for her arm as the elevator shook. Suddenly, the ground below them dropped at warp speed. Their stomachs jumped into their throats, and the woman gripped Blake’s arm firmly, holding on to her. The elevator shook as it dropped, and Blake instinctively braced herself and the woman against the wall of the elevator. The woman held her tight as Blake gripped the railing behind her. The woman shut her eyes, breathing expletives against Blake’s neck. Then the elevator alarm blared, and the plummet eased, the momentum forcing Blake’s ankle to roll, sending her falling against the woman who caught her before she fell to the ground. A sigh hitched in her throat before it could escape.

“Jesus Christ!” the woman exclaimed. “What the hell happened?” Her eyes searched Blake’s as they welled with tears, her hands shaking. Blake felt a surge of adrenaline combined with a wave of relief. Their bodies were still pressed firmly against each other. Their hearts beat rapidly as their chests heaved. The look of fear in her eyes softened as Blake pulled herself away. Neither woman spoke, their eyes still locked on each other.

The security guard pried the elevator door open, his voice breaking their stare. It was nearly halfway open now, Blake looking to the woman who still clutched her hand. Suddenly, everything went white.

When Blake woke up, a paramedic stood over her, smelling salts reviving her abruptly. There was a small crowd of people in the lobby, wondering what happened. The police were there taking statements. Blake stood up, ignoring the advice from the paramedic. She steadied herself against the wall and then felt a warm hand grip her securely at the arm. She looked down at her arm and saw long fingers wrapped around her. She could smell the familiar perfume from the elevator. A lingering sea salt and cedar fragrance that swept her to a place where she could hear a wave crash down on a beach.

“I have you.” Her voice was throaty, yet feminine. No sardonic cadence this time. Blake felt her cheeks flush again when she looked up to see icy-blue eyes wash over her.

“You certainly do.” Blake had no clue what she meant, but the words slipped out of her mouth anyway. The woman smirked, her teeth brilliantly white against crimson lips. Her smile set Blake at ease, nerves floating away.

After giving statements to the police, the crowd dissipated. Moments later, they were left standing alone awkwardly in the lobby of the building.

“These things happen in threes, so before we end up the victims of some other random mishap, I should introduce myself. Aubrey. Aubrey Woods.” Self-assured and charming, she offered her hand confidently for Blake to shake.

“Blake Bellam—” She stopped. That was her married name, she wasn’t a Bellamy anymore.

“Blake Sawyer. Nice to, um, meet you.” She bit her bottom lip. They stared at each other for a moment, unsure what to say at first. Blake felt the softness of Aubrey’s skin against her own palm. She noticed the firmness of the shake yet the slenderness of her fingers.

Blake exhaled deeply. “Can I—” She stopped, clearing her throat while her cheeks flushed. Then she shook her head.

“Sorry?” Aubrey leaned in to her slightly. She had a perfect relaxed posture, while Blake looked stiff and sore.

Her cheeks heated again. “I just.” She paused. “I could really use a drink. Would you care to join me?”

* * *

They found a seat at the hotel bar across the street, and their drinks came fast after they ordered. Each had decided independently on a bourbon variation of a cocktail—a sidecar for Blake and a Manhattan for Aubrey—which they both smiled at.

“Do you live in the city?” Blake asked, sipping her drink. Aubrey smiled, lifting a brow.

“No. Well, I don’t know. Maybe.” Aubrey sipped, then cleared her throat.

Blake tilted her head and sent a bemused look in Aubrey’s direction. “You don’t know?”

“I’m in the process of returning home. I was living in the UK for the past…” Aubrey said it with disbelief. “Decade.”

A match struck inside of Blake. “Really, where? I spent a semester of college in Brighton.”

Aubrey’s eyes widened. “You’re kidding. I’ve lived in Brighton for the past three years.”

Blake’s eyes met hers with intrigue and intensity. She thought back to her year abroad—lock-ins, nights on the boardwalk, adventure always a train away, skinny-dipping in the summers. Her cheeks flushed again as Aubrey’s eyes fell to her lips.

They talked about their favorite Brighton spots. Cafferty’s Pub on the boardwalk. North Laine, home to their favorite shops and restaurants. Colorful streets lined with vintage and modern art and culture. Undercliff walks near the bluffs where both of them admitted to having a date or two with a nameless fling. Blake found herself laughing from her diaphragm and didn’t notice how at ease she had become with a stranger until Aubrey’s hand had rested on her upper thigh. Her breath stifled as she met Aubrey’s gaze. Blake saw intention behind Aubrey’s icy-blue eyes. They weren’t so mysterious anymore.

Blake shifted in her seat as her finger traced over the rim of her glass. She could still feel the heat of Aubrey’s hand on her, her finger lightly tracing, edging toward her inner thigh, then lifting, the act so delicate that Blake wondered if it actually happened.

“I noticed you’re not wearing a wedding ring, but there’s a rather noticeable tan line where one might’ve been.” Aubrey nodded toward her ring finger. Or, ringless finger.

“You don’t miss much.” Blake paused, brushing the hair from her eyes. “I was just signing my divorce papers.” Her voice sounded timid and soft, like she was afraid to look over at Aubrey but felt her eyes on her.

Aubrey shifted toward her. “Divorced? You don’t look a day over twenty-six.” Aubrey’s dimple formed again as Blake tilted her head toward her.

“I just turned thirty-four, actually.” She shrugged, sipping her drink. Her age had never been a concern as she knew she looked young.

“I guess congratulations are in order. No good marriage ends in divorce, right?” Aubrey lifted her glass to her. Blake’s brow creased a touch. That was something she never had fully considered.

“I guess.” Her melancholy undertone was light and low.

Aubrey seemed to sense Blake’s downhearted cadence. “I’m sorry. Was that the wrong thing to say?”

Blake shook her head. “No, it’s…it’s not. I just never thought of it like that.” She shook her head and exhaled, desperate to change the subject. “And you? Returning after a decade. Are you running away from something, or toward it?”

Aubrey nearly choked on her drink, clearly not expecting Blake’s headfirst question.

“Wow, Sawyer, you don’t mince words, do you?” It had been years since anyone had called her Sawyer. College, maybe? She missed the endearment.

“I guess it’s just the nature of our relationship now. After a near-death experience, why beat around the bush?” She laughed, tracing her finger down the side of her glass.

“If you must know…both. I suppose, in a way, I’m running away. I had a complicated situation that I needed distance from. But I’m also coming home.”

Blake smirked, nodding perceptively. “Oh, I get it.”

Aubrey’s brow furrowed. “Get what?” she said, playfully patronizing with an eye roll.

“You’re a commitment-phobe. Running from a relationship,” Blake stated matter-of-factly. Aubrey giggled, then became slightly defensive.

“I am not.” She sipped her drink.

“Oh, please. Look at you. Why else would you be running?”

“Maybe it was a bad situation. Maybe I was in danger.”

“Don’t you like to live dangerously? Miss No Phone Case.”

Aubrey scoffed, and Blake watched her eyes widen as she fought back a smirk. Her brow raised as if she didn’t expect Blake’s coyness.

“I’m not a commitment-phobe. I’ve had plenty of relationships.”

Blake turned to face her. Their legs brushed against each other.

“Okay, what was your longest relationship?” Blake quizzed.

Aubrey looked slightly flustered. “Define relationship.”

“Oh my, what a deflection,” Blake teased, enjoying the back-and-forth.

“Look, I’ve had relationships that have lasted years, but they were strictly sexual.” She paused, gauging Blake’s reaction. Blake’s eyes widened when she said it. When Aubrey met her gaze, it softened, her breath shallow for a moment.

“A strictly sexual relationship hardly sounds like a commitment,” Blake mused.

“Well, it takes tenacity,” Aubrey said, smiling, the small dimple appearing on her cheek.

“Why were you in Britain for so long?” Blake changed the subject, her eyes fixed on the dimple now.

Aubrey’s leg crossed toward Blake’s and rubbed slightly against her own. She pulled at her pants to keep the perfect pleat.

“Now who’s deflecting?” Aubrey teased her with a lifted brow. Blake’s cheeks warmed, and Aubrey continued, “I had my own business there but recently sold it. So, now I’m kind of a free agent. I had to come back for a family thing, so I decided to just test the waters, I suppose. My sister’s getting married. Plus, my parents are getting older. I’d like to reconnect with them.” Aubrey broke Blake’s stare to sip her drink.

“They’re retired?” Blake asked.

Aubrey nodded. “They were schoolteachers. Now they garden and golf. It’s all too civilized. They’re not old, but I just…missed being home. Having roots. Brighton was great, but I didn’t have a community there. I felt like kind of a loner.” Aubrey’s cheeks glowed slightly.

“I love my alone time. I rarely get it anymore. I have a son who is very demanding. He’s got a really full schedule. Like, every extracurricular. And now that I’m divorced…” She sighed. “I feel like my workload just doubled. My parents try to help, but they’re busy.” Blake dipped her brow and gave a little sigh.

“They’re not retired?” Aubrey asked, her finger tracing along her glass.

Blake shook her head. “No, my dad is a dentist, and my mom is an author.”

Aubrey smiled. “An author? Would I know her?”

Blake smiled, knowing it was likely she would. Her mom was a best-selling crime author.

“Jane Sawyer.”

Aubrey looked impressed. “Get out. I’ve read her books. She’s really good. Wow.”

Blake giggled. “Yeah, and she knows it. She churns out a new book every six months.”

“Your dad is a dentist? So is my sister.”

“Gross, right?” Blake scrunched her nose.

“Disgusting! Gingivitis? Bloody rotten gums? Forget it.” Aubrey’s dimple taunted her, and Blake was charmed by her smile.

They sat with a few moments of comfortable silence, then Blake took a breath.

“I’m sorry I said that stuff about you being a commitment-phobe. I was out of line. I don’t know why I said it.”

Aubrey shook her head. “It’s fine.” Her hand touched Blake’s wrist, lingering there for a moment.

Blake looked down at her hand. The gesture felt sweet.

“I just…I’m now faced with impending singledom, and if you’re single, what does that mean for the rest of us?” Blake looked down at her drink, her cheeks growing warmer. She looked up at Aubrey, who looked away from her. She stared down at the rim of her drink, the dimple making another appearance. Aubrey looked up after a moment, icy-blue eyes sparkling.

“The truth is…” Aubrey paused. “I’ve struggled with relationships. It’s hard to find someone I connect with.” She cleared her throat as she swept her long black locks over her shoulder. “Maybe too hard, so I put my career first. I’ve been told I don’t communicate well. I’m too guarded. One woman said I was unapproachable.”

Woman? Blake’s head tilted up at the word.

“Unapproachable? Talk about mind games,” Blake retorted with a laugh.

“No shortage of those. I did ruminate about that for quite some time.” Aubrey shrugged.

“It sounds like a them problem, if I’m being honest. People always project their insecurities on the people they date.” Blake sipped her drink.

Aubrey continued, “I’ve been called too ambitious, too guarded, too assertive. Well, maybe they said bitchy, but I prefer assertive. Either way, I’m too much.” She rested, taking a sip of her bourbon. “I suppose I haven’t met anyone that will rise to the challenge.”

Blake was listening, but she couldn’t believe it. She wouldn’t. There had to be another reason. Aubrey seemed like the perfect woman to her. So smart, and witty. Not to mention gorgeous. She felt charmed. Her head shook before she could muster words.

“That’s where you lose me, Aubrey.” Blake leaned her head into her palm as she looked at her.

Aubrey looked back at her with a self-deprecating smile. “How so?”

“These excuses. They’re a cop-out for the weak-willed.” She hesitated. “You’re not too much of anything, in my opinion. You’re exactly enough.” Her brow arched when she said it. Blake felt the words leave her lips, but she wasn’t sure where they’d come from. If her second bourbon had given her courage, her third had made her reckless. What was happening? Aubrey looked at her, her eyes narrowing as if she was trying to look through her, and then after a moment, they softened.

Their stare lingered for another moment until Blake broke it when her cheeks flushed. She excused herself from the bar to use the washroom.

Blake washed her hands in the large basin sink with faucets that resembled swan necks. She fixed her slightly smudged eyeliner. Blake had been on the brink of tears all day, it seemed. Divorce papers. Bonking heads with Aubrey. The hell-evator. Fainting. Good god, unhinged behaviour. Chatting with Aubrey had made her feel giddy, though it might’ve been the whiskey. Aubrey must think she’s insane. And what the hell did she just say to her? Why was she having this heart-to-heart with a perfect stranger? Probably because she didn’t have anyone else to vent to these days. She closed her eyes, taking in a deep breath. Her heart fluttered when she thought about Aubrey’s icy-blue eyes on her. Her mind returned to the long delicate finger that’d edged its way down her upper thigh earlier. Aubrey was tactile. Her hand on her forearm as she laughed at her joke. The way she traced along Blake’s earlobe while admiring her earrings. Her finger scorched a fiery trail of goose bumps down Blake’s skin.

Blake shook her head. What time was it? She should really be catching the next ferry home. Plus, she’d probably been keeping Aubrey from something important and she was just too polite to leave. Those icy-blue eyes—they cast a spell over her. Her skin silky and fair, with heart-shaped lips the most curious shade of pink. Get a grip, Sawyer.

“Get a grip.” She said it into the mirror.

The footsteps from around the corner made her freeze, and Aubrey appeared. “Did you say something?” Blake’s heart nearly stopped when she saw her walking toward the sink. She was so tall Blake was eye to eye with her, but the sheer gravity of her presence made her feel beautifully, dangerously small.

As if her cheeks could flush again. “What? N-nothing.”

Aubrey sidled up next to her and washed her hands. She leaned over Blake, her face and chest only inches from her own, to grab a paper towel. Sea salt and cedar enveloped her. Blake wondered for a moment if Aubrey paused as she leaned.

“You know, I can’t shake this feeling, Blake…” Aubrey said, leaning her hip against the edge of the basin. She faced Blake, edging closer to her.

“What feeling?” Blake’s breath was shallow, her voice nearly a whisper.

Aubrey’s finger traced along Blake’s hand, leaving a hot wake in its path up her forearm. Blake’s eyes followed the touch.

“You don’t strike me as weak-willed.”

Blake turned to face her, their bodies so close. Blake paused, taking in Aubrey’s body language. Her head cocked to one side, blue eyes fixed on Blake’s lips and dragging slowly down her body. Aubrey’s bottom lip quivered when their gaze met.

“It’s one thing I’m definitely not.” Blake breathed in, staring into icy-blue eyes.

Blake’s finger traced along Aubrey’s hand resting near the sink. She inched closer, brushing the auburn locks from Blake’s face. Her finger traced gently down her neck along her pulse point. Blake’s eyes closed at her tender touch, opening them to find Aubrey’s lips. Her palm cupped Aubrey’s jaw, fingers drawing along the edge. Her skin was silky, Blake had never felt anything so soft.

Slender fingers wrapped around Blake’s hip, Aubrey’s breath warm against her neck, their mouths only millimeters apart. Blake crooked her head, leaning into Aubrey, her hand against the pulse of her neck, throbbing out of control. Blake’s lips caressed Aubrey’s, curious at first. Their kiss becoming brazen as Aubrey enveloped her bottom lip. A moan vibrated against her mouth, and Blake wanted more. Aubrey pulled Blake into her arms, her hands pressing over her hips, along the small of her back. Blake’s hands wrapped around Aubrey’s waist, feeling up her back, fingers gliding easily along her silk shirt.

Blake sucked Aubrey’s bottom lip between hers, and an untethered whimper escaped her.

“Fuck.” Aubrey released her, breathless, her pupils blown. Blake felt heat rise up her core as Aubrey’s hands felt up her shirt.

Blake’s hand traced along the waist of her pants and crawled under Aubrey’s silk blouse. “What’s wrong?” The words escaped Blake’s lips, her voice guttural.

Aubrey looked over her shoulder, the coast clear. Taking Blake’s hand, she pulled her into a stall and closed the door behind them. She pressed Blake against the door, her mouth hot against her neck, making Blake moan and pull her closer.

“Blake, I’m so wet.” Just hearing Aubrey breathe the words sent a thrill down Blake’s core. Carnal energy surged through her, and Blake felt herself let go.

Aubrey unbuttoned her tailored wool slacks and guided Blake’s hand to her wetness. Her mouth opened, anticipating Blake’s touch. Blake’s fingers traced along her opening, feeling how thoroughly soaked she was.

“Oh god,” Blake whispered against her neck. Her fingers teased Aubrey’s clit, and she moaned into her mouth. She sucked her tongue as she slipped a finger inside. Aubrey’s body thrummed under Blake, her hips pulsing with Blake’s touch, her hands flat against the door now, barely able to stand. Aubrey’s legs trembled, and Blake steadied her with her other hand. Her knees nearly gave out as Blake slipped another finger inside of her. Blake’s thumb pressed down against her clit, and Aubrey rolled against her, biting down against her pulse point. Blake felt a jolt ripple down her body with Aubrey’s mouth against her. Aubrey’s entire weight was on Blake against the door, her arms wrapped tightly, fingers pressing into Blake’s shoulder blades. Aubrey pressed into Blake’s touch, wanting more. Blake curled her fingers into her, sending her over the edge, lips vibrating against Blake’s mouth. She felt Aubrey’s body melt against her.

Aubrey regained stability, slowly coming down from Blake’s grip.

“God, Sawyer, it’s been a while since anyone’s brought me to my knees.” Aubrey looked mystified by Blake’s raw sex. Their eyes met again, sated and relaxed. Blake felt the wetness between her fingers, and Aubrey watched her bring them to her lips. Blake, unable to break the icy-blue stare that penetrated her core, teased the tip of her index finger against her tongue before dipping them into her mouth. Blake hummed as she tasted her.

Aubrey looked like she could barely hold herself up at the sight. Blake unzipped her pants.

“Sawyer, you just wrecked me.” Aubrey murmured the words against her lips before kissing her, soft lips pressed firmly against her again. Sucking her bottom lip, then biting it. Blake moaned and melted into her, finally losing herself. There were no thoughts in her mind, yet she’d never felt more present in any moment.

Blake was ready for her touch, long, slender fingers that Blake couldn’t help but imagine between her legs. She’d felt them against her when the elevator plummeted, and she wanted them inside of her now.

“Spread your legs for me,” Aubrey directed. Blake obliged eagerly, her hand exploring up Aubrey’s shirt, her abdomen tensing under her fingers. Aubrey filled her so perfectly, Blake rolled into her hand, desperate for more. Aubrey’s touch was like nothing she’d ever felt before. Instinctive and sensual. She knew exactly where to touch her and how. Even Mitch never fully understood how she wanted to be touched. Of course, she’d blamed herself for that.

“Aubrey, you feel so good.” Blake’s breath grew heavier against Aubrey’s neck. She couldn’t take it any longer. The feeling rushing through her, fingers digging into Aubrey’s shoulder blades, unable to control the pressure. She hadn’t had this touch before—furtive, instinctive. Aubrey’s scent filled her with raw vigor. When Aubrey pressed against her clit, Blake’s knees gave out and her head flew back against the door with a silent scream. She melted into Aubrey’s embrace, her entire body pulsing, a throbbing sensation radiating from where Aubrey’s hands stroked.

Blake looked into icy-blue eyes, her heart beating out of control. She felt hypnotized.

Valerie H.
Get A Grip is wonderfully written, engaging, and entertaining from beginning to end. There truly is something for everyone in this book! I’m really impressed with this first novel by this author, and look forward to reading many more in the future.