Mr. February: A One Night Stand Romance (Calendar Boys Book 2)

by Nicole S. Goodin

  “Would you believe me if I said I was never drinking again?”

  “Would you believe me if I said I was the Queen of England?”

  I chuckle. I can feel her looking at me as I drive, and I peek at her out the corner of my eye.

  She looks entirely too appealing — my pounding head is not capable of contending with the urge to touch her right now.

  “Where are we going for lunch?” she asks brightly, clearly enjoying my misery. “Somewhere loud and filled with children?”

  “You’re so funny,” I reply sarcastically.

  “Oh, don’t forget ‘hot’ and ‘nice’ too.” She’s biting down on her bottom lip to try and stop herself from laughing, and batting her lashes at me innocently.

  Unfortunately for me, she looks anything but innocent, she looks tempting.

  I make an executive decision to keep my eyes on the road for the rest of our journey.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Katie

  “Where are we going?”

  I’ve been watching out the window, but I’m not familiar with this stretch of road at all. We’re snaking along the coast, the road running alongside a stunning view of the ocean.

  “We’re almost there. It’s my favourite spot; it’s the reason I opened my restaurant by the water.”

  I sit up a little straighter and try to see what he’s talking about. I’m intrigued about where we’re going, he’s a pretty open book with me, but physically getting to see something that inspired him first-hand is an exciting concept to me.

  He slows the sleek black car and flicks on his indicator.

  We turn down a narrow gravel road and drive until we almost reach the shore.

  He turns off the engine and grins at me. “Alright, dimples, out you get.”

  I glance around as I step out of the car, I can see how it would be inspiring out here, it’s beautiful and untouched.

  Right now, I feel like we’re the only two people in the world.

  I hear him shut the boot of the car and I see that he’s holding a picnic basket and blanket in his hands. It’s all very sweet.

  “No screaming children out here,” I observe with a smile.

  He winks at me. “I’m not just a pretty face after all.”

  He might be joking, but he really does have a pretty face. Especially out here in the light ocean air; he looks like he’s come home.

  “Down that path.” He points with his elbow.

  I offer to take something from his full hands, but he just shakes his head at me and smiles his gorgeous full smile.

  I wander down the path, feeling like a child who’s experiencing their first trip to the beach.

  This is nothing like the beaches I normally frequent. Those beaches are covered in people and full of energy.

  This is the polar opposite. We’re the only ones here and I’ve never heard such peaceful silence.

  I can hear waves softly crashing against the shore, and the faint squawk of seagulls in the distance.

  We reach the end of the overgrown path and come out onto the warm golden sand.

  I reach down and kick off my shoes. I run down to the water’s edge and watch as the water washes over my toes.

  I laugh and spin around in a circle.

  This place is incredible.

  I stop spinning so I’m facing Jackson and find him still standing back by my shoes, watching me with an intense curiosity.

  “This is beautiful,” I call out to him.

  “You’re beautiful,” he calls back.

  It should feel like a cheap attempt at flattery or like a cliché pick-up line, but somehow it doesn’t.

  I’ve never heard more genuine words in my life.

  He sets down the basket and toes off his own shoes.

  I can’t take my eyes off him. I wouldn’t have thought it was possible for tension to build over such a distance, but apparently, I was wrong.

  I can feel the caress of his eyes on my skin, almost as though he’s actually touching me.

  I watch with bated breath as he follows my footprints through the sand until he’s standing right in front of me.

  “This is my little piece of paradise,” he murmurs as he reaches a hand out slowly to cup my jaw.

  We’re blurring the lines of our friendship right now, but I don’t have it in me to think about stopping it.

  There’s something between us. We both know it — it’s what we choose to do about it that will define what happens from this point on.

  “It feels different with you here,” he says, his tone hushed, even though we’re the only people around.

  “Good different or bad different?” I whisper.

  “Everything is better when I share it with you.”

  The water is washing around our feet as we stand here, locked in a silent standoff in a perfect setting that feels so far from the real world.

  Maybe that’s what it is — the fact that none of this feels real — that makes it okay for our lips to meet in the softest of touches.

  My hands tentatively reach out to grip his shirt as his mouth moves in sync with mine.

  The kiss is so passionate, yet tender, it’s hard to imagine ever stopping.

  When we do finally break apart, he’s breathing so hard you’d think he’d just run a mile.

  “Where did that come from?” I whisper as he rests his forehead against mine.

  “I don’t know,” he whispers backs, “I just know when I’m with you, everything glows.”

  ***

  “Oh my god, Bryn might be a genius after all.” I moan in satisfaction as I peek into the last of the containers he’s brought out here for us.

  “If there’s one thing he knows how to do other than talk shit — it’s cook,” Jackson replies from his spot on the blanket.

  He’s got his sunglasses on, shirt off and is lying flat on his back, soaking up the afternoon sun.

  I’ve perved at him far more than I’d care to admit, but it’d be impossible not to; he’s gorgeous, and that confidence he radiates is making it impossible for me to look away.

  “It suits you out here.”

  I look at him in surprise. I can’t see his eyes through his dark shades, but I assumed they were closed, not watching me.

  “Thank you for bringing me, you’ve definitely made up for last night.”

  He grabs the bottles of water from next to him, tossing them out of the way, and gestures for me to come and lie down next to him.

  I lay myself down and stare up at the light clouds moving lazily across the sky.

  “I don’t know what I was thinking going to see her last night.”

  “I think the tequila might have been doing the thinking for you.”

  “I’m really sorry, Katie,” he surprises me by saying.

  “For what?”

  I reach my hand up in the air and draw around some of the shapes I can see with my finger. I can feel him watching me.

  “For getting drunk again, for calling you… For going to see Lizzie…”

  “You don’t have to apologise to me for any of that — you don’t owe me an explanation.”

  “I know I don’t have to, but I want to.”

  I don’t know what to say to that. I don’t want his apology. If I’m honest with myself, I’m not sure what I want.

  “If anything, you should apologise for taking a piss on the tyre of my car when I got you home,” I joke in an attempt to lighten the mood.

  This man here next to me isn’t the playful Jackson that I’ve gotten used to these past few weeks, this is a more serious version that’s lying at my side, and I’m not sure how to approach him.

  It’s like being out here has stripped away his barriers and defences.

  “Christ, I pissed on your car? I really am sorry.”

  “You also told me that we should be like Mila Kunis and Ashton Kutcher,” I say with a giggle.

  He chuckles. “What the hell does that even mean?”

  “I might
be wrong, but I think you were referencing the movies that they both did about having friends with benefits – separate movies might I add – but the sentiment was there.”

  “Maybe I meant we should get married and have a couple of kids,” he teases.

  “Oh yeah, I’m sure that’s where you and your drunk penis were going with that conversation.”

  “I’m not sure my penis was drunk.” He chuckles.

  “What was it doing peeing on my car then?”

  “Touché.” He laughs deep, and I feel the vibration of it against my side.

  “You know what, dimples, I think meeting you might have been the best thing that’s happened to me in a really long time.”

  I know he means having me as a friend, but my heart isn’t quite getting the message as it pounds a thousand miles an hour in my chest.

  I know myself well, and I know that I’m falling for Jackson, if only just a little bit.

  I’m hypothetically teetering on the edge of the cliff face. Right now, only my toes are hanging over the edge, but I know it’ll only take a slight breeze for the rest of me to follow.

  He lifts his arm over my shoulders and I lift my head to rest on his bare shoulder.

  “We better get back soon, it’ll start cooling off.”

  “Do we have to?” I whisper. “I could stay here forever.”

  I want nothing more than to stay here with him where it’s just the two of us and nothing else matters.

  I know that things will go back to normal when we leave this beach, and I’m okay with that — if it were real between us, it would exist everywhere, not just here in this secluded paradise — but I’m not sure I’m ready to give it up just yet. I want a few moments more.

  “I wish we could too,” he whispers as his fingers trace light patterns on my arm.

  I close my eyes and breathe in deeply; I want to absorb this afternoon and every single thing about it right into my soul.

  We lie there together for what feels like an eternity longer, tracing cloud shapes and laughing together before he announces that it’s finally time to go.

  He holds my hand all the way back to the car and then we drive back to an unwelcome reality.

  ***

  It’s been two days since we kissed at the beach, and it’s almost as though it never even happened. If it weren’t for the sand in my shoes and the sunburn on my shoulders, I might have believed that I imagined the entire afternoon.

  I don’t know if I’m thrilled that there’s no lingering awkwardness between the two of us after we crossed that line, or if I’m devastated that it didn’t lead to anything more.

  Jackson isn’t ready for anything more, so I guess it’s all for the best in the end that we’re still friends after throwing caution into the wind.

  I’m happy with the piece of him that I have. He’s quickly become such an important part of my life. He’s the person I want to tell when something funny happens to me, or when I get a new client. He’s the first person I text in the morning and the last person I text at night.

  If Tillie keeps acting like such a nightmare bride, I might have to get Jackson to replace her as my best friend entirely.

  “Are you even listening to me?” the nightmare bride in question snaps at me as she holds out two handfuls of lilac fabric that are so close to being the same colour, at a glance you wouldn’t even notice the difference.

  “Not even a little bit.” I say with a yawn.

  I’m exhausted. We’ve been at the bridal studio for over two hours, and all we’ve established so far is that Tillie wants an off-white dress, and I’ll be wearing lilac.

  “The wedding is in six weeks, Katie,” she tells me, her tone full of outrage.

  “I’m well aware, Tills, trust me.”

  Her eyes widen, and she looks like she’s about to erupt into a full-blown panic attack.

  “Breathe,” I demand. “Step away from the colour swatches.”

  She drops the fabric and takes a deep breath.

  “Now go over to that wall and pick a dress to try on.”

  “I wanted custom-made.”

  I smile at her sweetly. “Well bad luck, honey, like you said, we’ve got six weeks. The best these ladies can do for you is to find something off the rack, and then have it altered so it’s exactly how you want it, okay?”

  She huffs out a breath. “What if—”

  “No amount of money is going to help this time, Tills. I told you to start thinking about a dress weeks ago.”

  “Well you could have told me I needed to actually listen to you,” she says with a pout.

  “Well for the record, from now on, how about you just listen to me all the time, mmkay?”

  My patience is wearing seriously thin at this point and I have to keep reminding myself that she’s my best friend, and I’d be here dealing with her theatrics whether I was her wedding planner or not, but it’s becoming increasingly harder and harder not to shake her and tell her to pull her head in.

  She looks over at the wall lined with dresses. They aren’t just ‘off the rack’ chain-made dresses. These are all handmade, one-of-a-kind dresses, but I don’t have the patience to go through all of this with her again.

  “I’m being a diva, aren’t I?” she asks with a wince.

  “That’s an understatement,” I mutter.

  “How badly do you want to slap me?”

  “My palms are literally twitching,” I say, as I do my best not to crack a smile.

  “Do you want to just smack me once to make you feel better?” she asks with a poorly concealed grin.

  I take a deep breath and the corner of my mouth twitches with a smile. Tillie’s back. She’s still fucking crazy, but it’s her normal level of crazy, not the possessed version of her that’s been present all morning and for eighty percent of the time these past few weeks.

  “Or I could ask Reece to pay you more?” she offers as she scrunches up her nose at me.

  “You’re going to send that man broke.” I say with an amused shake of my head. “How about you just go try some of those dresses on and promise to never threaten me with purple fabric swatches ever again?”

  “They’re lilac, you animal,” she tells me with a wide grin.

  “Don’t start with me again,” I say with a laugh.

  She flicks through a couple of dresses on the rack and pulls one out for closer inspection.

  I turn to the dressmaker, who is virtually hiding in the corner, give her a thumbs up and usher her to get the hell over there. If we can tame the beast while she’s feeling relaxed, then this day will go a hell of a lot smoother.

  She scuttles over to take the dress from Tillie, and I make a mental note to have Reece give her a generous bonus.

  “You can pay me back one day and turn into the bride from hell when you get married,” Tillie says as she hands the terrified-looking woman another dress.

  I snort out a laugh. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves now shall we. I don’t even have a boyfriend.”

  “Oh, sure you do,” she muses as she strolls into the changing room, “you just don’t know it yet.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Jackson

  “So, we’ll need to set up the table for gifts and the flower wall over here.” Katie points out a section of the back wall.

  “Flower wall?” I raise my brows at her in question.

  “Don’t even ask,” she warns.

  I laugh but don’t ask anything more. I don’t have a clue what a fucking flower wall is going to involve, but I’m way out of my depth here.

  One thing I do know, is that Katie has the patience of a saint. I don’t know what keeps the woman going amongst all this madness. Nothing seems to rattle her past the point of what she can handle.

  She knows exactly who she is and what she’s capable of and it’s an incredible thing to watch. She’s not afraid to say what she thinks or do what she wants, and I envy that about her.

  I can barely admit things even to myse
lf.

  The way I feel for Katie for example… Something has changed between us since that day at the beach. I’m feeling things I’m not ready to feel.

  I still feel so messed up over everything that happened with Lizzie, I can’t possibly consider starting something new.

  Katie is nothing like Lizzie, but this isn’t so much about her as it is about me.

  I’m the one with the crutch here, and the last thing I want to do is hurt her, or even worse — lose her.

  I felt it that day I kissed her at the beach too — what was at stake — it all flashed before my eyes, exactly what it was I had to lose.

  I don’t know how I ever thought we could be fuck buddies. It would never work, she’s too utterly intoxicating. Once or twice with her would never be enough.

  I want to know everything about her, but even with that desire burning bright inside of me, I know I’ll never succeed, she’s too complex of a creature — she’s always changing and evolving. She’s always learning and growing.

  She’s nothing short of inspiring.

  Nothing in my life might be progressing right now — my business has reached its peak, my relationship has failed, yet I’ve never felt less static in my whole life. Katie’s taking me along for her ride and I can’t do anything but hold on and try to grow with her.

  “And over there will be the lanterns with the string lights.”

  “Of course,” I reply as I’m pulled from my inner thoughts. “It wouldn’t be a wedding without string lights and lanterns.”

  She ignores my sarcasm and carries on circling the room with her enormous planner in her hands.

  “So, the guests will be invited up here right after the ceremony on the pier, and we’ll serve drinks and canapés right away.”

  I nod.

  “Are you writing this down?”

  “Drinks. Food. I got it. I think we can manage. But just back it up a few steps, they’re getting married on the pier?”

  She nods her head and rolls her eyes.

  “Do I even want to know how they got approval for that?”