You’re the One I Don’t Want

by Carrie Aarons

  I pump a fist in the air. “I knew it! I knew you’d love it. And yes, I will rent a whole lineup of binge-worthy superhero movies for us this weekend. In between games and shoots, we’ll watch the one about the aquatic superhero, the super-speed one, the normal guy who falls into a vat of acid—”

  Annabelle cuts me off, laughing. “You’re such a nerd.”

  Twenty-Four

  Annabelle

  A lot of people probably think I order all of my pieces or fabrics or decor from catalogues or online.

  And those people would be wrong.

  If only the viewers knew just how much time and energy went into picking the absolute best pieces for a project.

  Wandering around the flea market an hour outside of Austin, I brush my fingers over old wooden armoires, sewing desks with actual spindles built into them, drapes from decades past and a whole other assortment of items that I could incorporate into the numerous projects I’m currently working on for James and Ramona.

  That is my biggest strength, the golden talent I bring to the table. I can walk through places like this, or antique shops piled high with garbage, and pick out the diamond in the rough. I would give the house character, just with that one great piece. It would bring a story to the home, and it is my own personal addictive game to find the best fit of an item for each client.

  “This place smells.” Boone walks up, wiping a finger over a dusty old mirror.

  “That’s half the charm of it.” I’m semi-ignoring him, my nose to the ground like a basset hound trying to find it’s intended target.

  When he agreed to come with me to the flea market, I’d been pleasantly surprised. In high school, everything was about him. His friends, his sport, his parties, what he wanted to talk about. He hadn’t taken much of an interest in learning what I liked. But now, it seems like he is trying to get to know me on a deeper level. Plus, it’s kind of sweet that he’s committed to something very far out of his comfort zone just because he knows I enjoy it.

  Boone’s phone buzzes, and he falls behind, probably checking a text or something.

  And because I am alone for a minute, I sneak a glance at my own phone, chewing on my lip.

  I’d finally opened the contract that Kutch’s office had sent over. It was more than generous. A huge salary, a pretty good benefits package with some creative control. But those were about the only positives. It also outlined the way I had to dress, skimpy for lack of a better word, how much I was allowed to say and which media outlets I’d have to be pimped out to. The network would have complete control of who was chosen to work on the show, and which clients I took on. There were certain words I was outlawed from saying on TV, and another team would have full approval on final designs. Meaning I couldn’t even feature my own designs; I knew from experience that I’d be shot down at every turn for pieces or decor I wanted.

  And the contract also featured a gag order on discussing any of this with Ramona and James. I have a feeling they included that because of the worst part of the entire stack of documents …

  My new show would be replacing Hart & Home in its time slot. My mentors would be downgraded to the earlier hour.

  It stung every part of my body to read through the treachery of my contract. I actually had to stuff it back in its envelope after digesting it and threw it under a stack of papers so that I wouldn’t have to think about it.

  But at the same time, this is what I’ve been waiting for. My chance to breakout, to headline, to make my mother finally take notice. I couldn’t not take this shot.

  Which is why I’m standing in the middle of a dirt-infested flea market, working for someone else, staring at my mother’s latest LinkedIn status about attending the biggest conference in her field this weekend. There is a picture of her, slender and powerful in her jet-black skirt and suit-jacket. She looks incredible, commanding, and cold as ice.

  The exact picture of what I want to be. Because if I can be just like her, maybe she’ll finally love me.

  “What’s that?” Boone peers over my shoulder.

  Quickly, I click my phone so the screen goes black. “Nothing.” I smile chastely. “I think I found it. That teal chest of drawers with the ornate etching of roses going across the top. Think you can carry it?”

  He smirks, and I want to wipe it off his face with my own lips. “Ah, so that’s why you brought me along.”

  “Let’s see if that muscle is just for show, or …”

  Boone goes to walk past me, but bends and whispers in my ear, surprising me. “You know firsthand that none of this is for show.”

  His shoulder brushes mine and goose bumps break out over my skin, both from the contact and his confident words.

  After paying, loading the Hart & Home truck we drove down here and stopping for gas, Boone finds us a hole in the wall restaurant off the highway that boasts the best grits in all of Texas. Too bad I don’t like grits, but if it means more time with him, I’m not complaining.

  We’ve been talking and hanging out, for lack of more mature words, for about two weeks now. With our crazy class and work schedules, it isn’t easy. And there was still a lack of trust on his part and a standoffish nature on mine, but … like we’d both said all along, there was still a spark. We have that undeniable thing that was not going to be found with anyone else, so we owed it to ourselves to try.

  “So, you decided to link us publicly, huh?” I can’t tell if he’s pissed or if he enjoyed my video message.

  Already, there were articles on five local Texas gossip sites. I hadn’t really meant to make a statement with the video message, but when Ramona and James mentioned they had been asked to film it, I decided what the hell? Boone had always said that I had a block of ice on my shoulder, and I wanted to show him that I care. That I knew how important that moment was for him.

  My stomach turns with unease. “I was wondering when this would come up. I figured I couldn’t be at your first game and I wanted to do something special … I’m sorry if it was too much.”

  I wasn’t really sorry, because I was going to do what I wanted to do at any given moment, but I could apologize for making Boone feel uncomfortable if he was.

  Boone’s fingers played with mine on the table. “Nah, I guess I should get used to it. You always were pushing me outside of my comfort zone, what’s one more stunt. Plus, I kind of liked your big face looming over my shoulder the whole game. It might have made me play better.”

  I smack his hand lightly. “Hey, I do not have a big face!”

  Those caramel irises gaze at me. “No, you have the most beautiful face I’ve ever seen.”

  “God, that’s so corny.” I roll my eyes.

  “Is that why you’re blushing?” Ego radiates off him like he’s won something.

  I lie. “No, I just got overheated at the flea market.”

  “You’re so full of shit. You like my compliments, and you’re overheated sitting across from me.” Boone smiles, puffing out his chest.

  “Did you take some injection of ego today or something? Aren’t you supposed to be a quiet one?”

  His lips spread even wider. “Just have to give you a taste of your own medicine. You want to embarrass me at the ballpark, I’ll make you blush all day, sweetheart.”

  “Order your grits before I decide to leave you here out of sheer annoyance.” I flip my hair over my shoulder.

  Boone just chuckles as we place our order, and I can’t help but smile too.

  Banter is just talking disguised as foreplay. And it looks like we’re speaking the same language.

  Twenty-Five

  Boone

  When I asked Annabelle if she wanted to come up after we’d dropped the flea market finds and van off at James and Ramona’s storefront, I honestly hadn’t meant for sex.

  I had a fun day with her, and it was rare for both of us to have a day off, so I wanted to spend more time getting to know each other again.

  But since I’d asked the question, it seemed like every si
ngle word spoken was charged with lust. It’s woven in there between syllables, and every time we look at each other, I swear it’s like we are imagining the other on their back.

  “Do you want a drink or anything?” I ask her, even though I don’t have a drop of alcohol in this place.

  “No, thanks.” Annabelle chews on her lip, looking around my apartment. “Your place is nice. Needs some soft blankets on the couch and maybe a hand-crafted wood bar, but I like what you’ve done with it.”

  I walk toward her where she stands in the middle of my living room. “I have to admit, it came mostly furnished. So this is the work of some decorator.”

  “I’m crushed you didn’t ask me.” She holds her hand to her chest, pouting. “I would have given you a friends and family discount.”

  Her sentence makes it sound like she still wants to give me that discount in another way. My cock twitches in my shorts.

  We’re standing in front of each other, and slowly our eyes circle around to meet and hold each other. I should have known this would happen if I brought her up here. Since we gave ourselves a fresh start, it was always coming to this.

  “I’m not sure if we should do this tonight,” I say honestly.

  Annabelle nods. “I’m not sure we can’t not do this tonight.”

  She’s always up front about things, that’s for sure. But she’s right, no one is walking out right now. We’re not going to sit on the couch and watch a show or stop at a kiss good night.

  So I start there, knowing I won’t be able to stop.

  One of my hands cups her cheek, and the other goes to her waist, pulling her toward me. I feel her good hand on my arm, trying to hold herself up against me as the kisses become deeper, more urgent.

  Her casted hand moves to my face, and we stop.

  “Guess that’s the least sexy thing ever.” She smirks.

  “There isn’t anything you can do to make me think you aren’t sexy.” I tuck her hair behind her ear.

  “Smooth line.” Annabelle rolls those mocha eyes.

  I catch her chin in my hand. “I’m not giving you a line. It’s true. Why do you think I came back to you after all of these years? I can’t stay away. You’re irresistible to me.”

  Her eyes shine, and I’m about to ask if she’s going to cry, but she plants her mouth on mine instead. My heart thumps against my chest, and not because she’s mewling into my throat. I swear, she was about to show me what’s underneath all of those walls she’s built. For me, that’s even sexier than anything we could possibly do in the next few hours.

  And then she cups me over my shorts and I know that my last thought was completely wrong.

  I pick Anna up, careful not to jostle her casted wrist too much. She straddles my waist, her core grinding into my hard, twitching dick as I hold her. Before long, I’m growling as she latches on my neck, and that raw male feeling that beats inside my chest when I’m fully turned-on is raging. I feel like I could break cement walls or jump out of a plane. It sounds stupid, childlike even, but when I’m with her, I feel invincible. That night in the car, when I was pounding in and out of her … it was the most alive I’ve been in my entire adult life.

  “Boone …” My name is a plea on her lips.

  Carrying her, I walk us toward the bedroom, her mouth roaming my face, setting my skin on fire. She is all curves and limbs around me, and if I don’t get her naked in the next twelve seconds, I think I might just die.

  Setting her gently on my bed, I peel of my clothes, the sweat and dirt of the day coming off with them. Annabelle watches me from her position, propped up on her elbows with her legs falling open on my comforter. The sundress she wore to the flea market is navy and white, and with her dark hair and olive skin, it makes her look like a Grecian princess.

  “Take them off.” I’d begun to climb onto the bed toward her when Annabelle instructs me.

  I’ve left my boxers on, wanting to warm her up properly, to tease her and bring her right to the edge, before either of us focused on me. But, I wouldn’t be with her if I wasn’t aroused by her bossiness. So I do as I’m told, standing to push them past my hips, my cock springing free.

  Her tongue darts out and licks her bottom lip as she stares, unashamed, at my straining, hard dick. “I didn’t get to see it properly last time. The first time.”

  A twinge of guilt hits me square in the chest as I join her on the bed. “That wasn’t how it should have been. I’m sorry.”

  Annabelle looks up at me as I settle over her. “I’m sorry, too. But, it looks like we have a do-over.”

  I wink. “In that case, I think I’ll take my time. You know, to really appreciate everything I missed.”

  Sliding down her body, I don’t bother taking the dress off yet. It’s hot on her, the white fabric against her tan skin, and it’s even hotter when I push it up past her waist, yank her underwear down, and bury my face in her pussy.

  “Oh. My. God,” she moans, writhing under my tongue.

  Drinking her in, I ease the orgasm out of her, slowly so that I can memorize each sweet lick. Annabelle grips my hair, threads her fingers through it, kneads at the muscles on my arms that hold her in place so I can taste her.

  She was right. There is no way I could hold back from this. This moment right here, in my bed with her, has been a long time coming. We tried to hate, tried to fight it, but it was no use.

  Giving in to everything, I rise up, undressing her limp body as she mewls from the climax that just stole her muscle function and brain power. I scoot her up, sliding us both under the covers and reach for a condom from my bedside table. I want her under all of the sheets, wrapped close to me, our heat encasing us.

  “Don’t take your eyes off of me,” I command.

  Her brown pools lazily lock on mine, and I can see the drunk lust mirrored back at me. But in my case, that lust is laser-sharp. I feel like an animal about to devour its prey, methodically and slowly until I’ve won every part of her over.

  Annabelle’s slim arms loop around my neck, and the tip of my nose presses against hers.

  And then, I slip inside of her tight, hot wetness.

  “Fuck …” I say quietly, gulping as if I’m being strangled.

  I guess I am though, just much farther down than my neck. Her pussy is a vice, and the gripping feeling is so intense that I don’t think I’ll be able to hold out, even with how the condom blunts some of the sensation.

  “I always knew …” Annabelle trails off, and I forget that the last time, our first time, she was halfway down a tequila bottle.

  I can’t speak, because I fear that if I do, I’ll say something stupid. Something that is altogether too fast for us.

  So I just stare into her eyes as I work both of us to the brink of destruction.

  I hope she understands everything I’m trying to convey with just my gaze.

  Twenty-Six

  Annabelle

  “Let’s go, Boone!” I shout at the top of my lungs.

  “The cheerleader in her is coming out.” Harper smirks at Cain.

  Cain chuckles. “Nah, the cheerleader in her threatens random new girls and bakes cookies for football players. Oh, and tries to control how her teammates curl their hair. But the cheerleader in her definitely never actually rooted for the guys on the field.”

  I punch Cain in the leg. “I can still destroy you if I want to.”

  He pretends to cower in fear.

  “Oh, fuck, that wasn’t a strike.” I bite my knuckles, my knees shaking as the batter before Boone is struck out.

  I’ve been told, by both Harper and Boone, that I need to tone it down at the games. Apparently, me giving the umpire a tongue lashing last game from the stands is not looked upon favorably by my guy’s coaches.

  Boone steps into the batter’s box, and I whistle around two fingers. He doesn’t look up, and I know he’s fully in the zone. I was on the receiving end of that focused gaze the other night in Boone’s bed … and remembering that makes me shiver i
n the Texas heat.

  Goddamn, he drives me insane. I can feel myself grow wet right here in the stadium seat as Boone takes a strike and a ball each.

  “He’s going to swing at this one.” Cain leans forward in his seat.

  It’s sweet that those two have found a détente, although I won’t lie, there is some dark satisfaction to men fighting over you. Even if they weren’t really fighting over me … and sweet? Who the hell have I become? God, I need to ream out a production assistant or something tomorrow.

  Sure enough, Boone’s muscled arms power his bat into the ball, hitting it with a sickening thwack. I wonder, for a second, as I watch it sail through the air if he’s knocked the stuffing out of it.

  Watching him play the sport he loves more than anything else on this planet … I understand it. It might not be as highly regarded as professional sports, but I absolutely love what I do. The career I am building is the one I’ve dreamed of from a young age. I can’t imagine what it is like for people who never get to live their passion … and on some level I understand my mother in that regard.

  But watching Boone, I can almost grasp why he’d been so one-minded when we’d dated in high school. He is a god on that field, his instincts and movements are perfectly attuned to every play.

  We watch the rest of the game play out, and Boone’s team wins in a close one-run victory that ends on a spectacular double play. The entire mood of the ballpark is jubilant.

  It takes a while for Boone to join us at the player’s exit, but when I see him, all dark and quiet confidence, my stomach dips and my heart beats twice as fast. This man affects me physically, he rearranges the way my body is supposed to function. The way I feel about him is molecular.

  “Hey, you.” He bends down to lay a gentle kiss on my lips, right there in front of everyone.

  It takes me right back to that little girl, swooning over the tall, handsome senior.