Ready or Not (Aspen Ridge Holiday Novellas)

2. Lily

Chapter Two

LILY

T he week leading up to Halloween is always bittersweet. Like every year, eagerness for the town’s festivities fills me, but with it comes a lingering bitterness that my favorite holiday is almost over again. My family hosts a harvest festival every year, and the entire town shuts down for it. Downtown Aspen Ridge gets transformed into what October dreams are made of. Tents with games and activities, a hay bale maze, booths for local businesses, and more pumpkin and apple themed food and drinks than you could possibly want.

But what I really can’t wait for? The costume party on Halloween night at the old, abandoned asylum, deep in the woods of Aspen Ridge. The building, originally called Western Washington Asylum for the Chronically Insane, sits at the base of the Olympic National Forest, hidden amongst the lush rainforest, surrounded by mountains and massive trees. First built in the 1800s, the stories of the atrocities that went on behind closed doors are well known, and it’s said that the souls still haunt it today. The asylum closed its doors in the 1970s. Everything was left exactly as it was when it was in operation, frozen in time and pillaged over the years. Now, every year on Halloween night, there is a party in the crumbling shell of what used to be. While it’s frowned upon, no one has outright shut it down yet.

Per usual, I find myself waiting outside an old brick building on Main Street for my best friend, Emma. She’s notoriously late and lucky I love her as much as I do. To kill time while I wait for her, I lean up against the side of the building and pull out my phone. At least we don’t have lunch reservations. Barrel House, the only real restaurant option in Aspen Ridge, is usually pretty quick to have seating at lunchtime. Lost in my own world, my skin suddenly prickles with goosebumps. The hair on my arms stands up and a cold trickle tingles down my spine. I look up from my phone and scan the area. Everyone who is out is in their own little world, but I can’t help feeling like I’m being watched. It’s probably Emma messing with me. My eyes go back to my phone when it vibrates in my hand with an incoming text message.

Unknown:

It was good to see you the other day. I just wanted to check on you.

Who the hell?

Me:

Sorry, who is this?

The reply comes immediately. Three little bubbles pop up and my heart dips into my stomach when the words appear.

Unknown:

Wes.

Wes Draven. The hottest dad-I’d-like-to-fuck I’ve ever met in my twenty years of life. Quickly changing his name in my contacts, I reply, a smile that I can’t control on my face the entire time.

Me:

It was good to run into you too. I’m great, honestly. Why wouldn’t I be?

D.I.L.F:

The breakup?

Me:

No offense because he’s your son, but my feelings aren’t hurt. I know my worth, Mr. Draven, I’m better off. Someday, someone will see me and give me what I need.

D.I.L.F:

That’s a very mature way to look at things. You’re not what I expected.

I chuckle at that. He has no idea. I’ve struggled to relate to other girls my age because of our vast maturity level differences. Emma is the exception, and I’m so thankful for her. I’d much rather have one real, life-long best friend than a whole gang of fakes pretending to be in my corner. Adam breaking up with me did me a favor. After our last conversation, I would have broken up with him if he hadn’t in the heat of the moment.

Me:

I hope that’s a compliment

D.I.L.F:

It is.

Me:

That all you wanted, Mr. Draven? To check on me?

D.I.L.F:

Not even a little bit, Lilith

My cheeks flame in a blush. Is he flirting with me? Before I can formulate a reply, Emma walks up and breaks the spell.

“Who’s got my best friend blushing like that? Please tell me you aren’t talking to Father Adam.”

The laugh that bursts from me is loud and obnoxious, as it always is when we’re together.

“How many times do I have to tell you not to call him that?” I slap her arm before leaning in to give her a hug.

“You two aren’t together anymore, any name that was previously off-limits is now firmly back in the have-at-it category. But seriously, who are you talking to all flustered? Spill it. I’ve got nothing but time, and I’m craving a harvest apple cider margarita.”

“That sounds disgusting. I love apples and tequila, but the two don’t mix, Em.”

“Maybe you’re just jealous that you’re not twenty-one yet and can’t have one, hmm?”

“You’re annoying.”

We walk down the stone steps on the side of the building that leads to the door of Barrel House. For being a small town in the Pacific Northwest, they really know how to keep things fresh. Barrel House is gorgeously decorated with a speakeasy vibe that I’m obsessed with. We’re seated right away, and as we follow the hostess, the chilling feeling of being watched returns. I look around again, but don’t find anyone openly watching me or even looking in my direction. Maybe the veil has thinned enough and the ghosts of Aspen Ridge have come out to play.

Taking our seats in one of the emerald-tufted booths, I strip my coat off and brace myself for Emma’s inability to let anything go. Deciding to get ahead of her questions, I give her what she wants.

“So, I wasn’t texting with ‘Father Adam,’ more like Adam’s father . . .”

I await the lashing of rapid-fire questions, but instead, I get a dirty, mischievous smirk. Her face lit up like a Christmas tree.

“And what did Mr. Hot-as-fuck have to say?”

Relieved that she’s not weirded out or disappointed that I’m this worked up over a man nearly twenty years older than me, not to mention my ex’s dad, I relax fully. I should have known better. Emma is the least judgmental person I’ve ever met. She’s so open and free-spirited.

“Okay, so it’s not just me then? He’s soooo hot, Em. Why is he so hot?”

“Girl, I don’t know, but I would climb him like a tree if given the chance. Those muscles, those forearms covered in tattoos. Mmm, mmm. Mmm!” She sinks into the booth like she’s melting, and I laugh at her, but she’s not wrong. She’s actually extremely spot on.

“Definitely the tattoos, especially on his hands. And that beard. Jesus.” I fan my face, which I know is heating again in a flushed tint.

“So, what did he want?”

“We ran into each other the other day at Bean Haven, and I told him Adam had broken up with me.”

“You didn’t tell him why?”

“Ha! No. I doubt he wants to hear that I asked his son to fuck my face. God, Emma!”

“Hey, maybe he’d do it. He looks like he knows all sorts of things.”

“Right? One can only wish.”

If I’m being honest with myself, I do wish. From the moment I first met Wes, there was something about him that called to me. I may have suggested we hang out at Adam’s dad’s house on more than one occasion just so I could catch a glimpse of him. Sure, he’s gorgeous in a mysterious, taboo kind of way, but there’s something darker about him that intrigues me. I want to peel back all of his layers and see the depth underneath. Accepting my rightful place in hell, where Adam told me I’d be headed, I’m okay with admitting that I’ve touched myself to thoughts of him too many times to count. He’s a deliciously dark fantasy that I’ll have on repeat for as long as I can, as taboo as that is. Who has frequent sex dreams about their—now ex—boyfriend’s dad?

I’ve always been a ridiculously deep sleeper, never dreaming or waking even if a hurricane took the house down. But lately, my fantasies are so vivid, so real, that when I wake up, it’s almost disorienting. And they’re always filled with Wes Draven.

The waiter comes over and takes our orders, potato and leek soup with French bread for me, and a club sandwich for Emma, paired with her harvest apple margarita.

“So, how’s the new job?” I ask, curious to know what it’s like to work at a boxing gym.

“It’s been good. Pretty easy to learn the ropes. Honestly, it took me the longest to get used to the smell. Sweat lingers, babe, and it’s not cute.”

I throw my head back in a laugh. That sounds like hell to me. Even though her view of sexy, half-naked men is something to be jealous of. Last week she started working at Knockout, the only gym in Aspen Ridge. While it has your typical gym equipment, it mainly caters to boxing, muay Thai, Krav Maga, and self-defense. The owner, Dominic, is hot as sin. Not to mention, it’s no secret the Hayes brothers frequently box each other there, and those men are a different breed of gorgeous.

“I bet the view isn’t bad though,” I say as I give her a cheeky smile, wiggling my eyebrows.

“Girl, you have no idea. One in particular makes me lose all my focus, and I turn into a puddle. I’m surprised he even hired me as a receptionist. Even if it is part-time.”

“Oh my god, do you mean, Dom? I swear I thought you were going to say one of the Hayes, or even Reid-freaking-Knight.”

“Nope,” she says, popping the ‘p’.

“Daaaaaamn. Are you going after him?”

“Fuck no. I need this job. Sleeping with your boss is sure to make things messy. No thank you, sir. I’ll happily ogle the shit out of him safely behind my desk, him and his two best friends.”

Our food arrives, and we eat and have the kind of conversation that flows easily between two women who’ve been close their entire lives. Before we know it, lunch service has ended and the staff is preparing for dinner service. By the time we get outside, the sun is setting. The way we lose track of time when it’s just the two of us is the reason we don’t make any other plans when we’re together. A simple lunch date can easily bleed into the late evening. Emma and I say our goodbyes and head in opposite directions.

I pull my coat closer to my body as the autumn air blows through our mountain town. The sky was overcast today but as the moon came out, the clouds cleared, giving a warm glow to light my way as I walk through downtown to my apartment, the crisp leaves rustling and crunching under my feet. As the wind blows lightly again, a shiver runs down my spine and a haunting, eerie sensation creeps over me. I come to a stop on the cobblestone sidewalk and look around but no one’s there. The strange feeling that someone is lurking in the shadows, their presence following me like a ghost I can’t quite shake, surrounds me. I quicken my pace, walking briskly by the various shops that fill our town center, every step echoing into the silent night. The wind blows again, and the light from the moon casts shadows that move across the ground and climb the sides of the old brick buildings, amplifying the eerie sensation enveloping me.

Despite the unsettling feeling, thrill courses through my veins, and I can’t hold back a smile. I could only be so lucky to have a ghost haunt me. The closer I get to the edge of town, the darkness seems to deepen, that sinister feeling holding me hostage, sending goosebumps across my skin and a chill down my spine. Once I reach my small apartment at the very end of Main Street, sitting off on its own, I look around once more, convinced there is someone watching me.

Or hunting me.

The unnerving sensation of being watched grips me once again as I step out of the bathroom. Clutching my towel tightly around me, the chilling droplets from my wet hair against my back send shivers rippling across my skin. Looking around my room, I’m paralyzed by the sight of a deep crimson rose resting on my pillow. Moving quickly through my apartment, inspecting closets and looking under the bed, I search for the phantom that was here and find everything completely undisturbed. The flood of disappointment should concern me.

Returning to my bed, I pick up the rose, a thorn nicking the pad of my thumb. Wincing, I suck on my wounded finger, the taste of iron exploding on my tongue. Carefully holding the rose again, I admire the delicate petals, the wilting of the edges, and the soft, velvety texture. My heart races in my chest, a pulsing sensation growing deep within me, my breaths coming in erratic bursts. This shouldn’t turn me on. Someone was in my room. There’s no ghost following me. It’s someone very real. I want to admonish myself for the reaction I’m having, the excitement and thrill of the temptation of something much, much darker than I’ve ever experienced. I should be recoiling from the potential danger, but there’s something so sweet when fear mixes with arousal.

Walking to the window that faces the miles of woods behind my apartment, I look out into the dark expanse of the landscape. With the only light coming from the moon, I couldn’t see someone if I wanted to. Instead, the feeling rises, convincing me that someone is out there staring back at me. I know someone is watching me, and it speaks directly to the part of me I keep buried.

Feeling impulsive and slightly crazed, I let the towel go, allowing it to fall from my body and pool at my feet, putting my entire naked body on display. Holding the rose between my fingers, I drag the soft bud down, across my neck, letting it trail lightly over my skin, across my chest, and between my breasts. The soft petals send waves of goosebumps across my sensitive flesh as it reaches my stomach. I let the rose fall from my fingers and flutter to the ground, moving my hands to grasp my breasts, caressing them in my palms before pinching the stiff peaks of my nipples hard between two fingers. Working them over, my hips start to gyrate of their own accord, my empty pussy clenching and unclenching, begging to be filled with something, anything.

A needy whimper releases from my lips and I give in, putting two fingers into my mouth to soak them before using my other hand to spread open my pussy. I drag those damp fingers through my center, gathering up the wetness pooled between my legs and pressing them to my throbbing clit. My head drops to the side as the sensations pulse through my body. I’m liquid fire, rocking my hips back and forth over my hand, my fingers rubbing circles across the silky nub that makes me feel so damn good. The pleasure comes quickly, the idea that someone is out there watching me, fueling my desire. I hope he got off to it, I hope whoever is out there has his cock out, beating off to watching me touch myself. My orgasm spreads through my body, my knees trembling, mouth falling slightly ajar. When I’m too sensitive to touch, I wipe through my slick center and drag my fingers down the pane of the window, leaving behind the essence of my pleasure for whoever is out there.

And I know they are there.