by Gunn, Jenna
He glances down at his morning erection, “With my massager?”
My eyes go wide. “No! With your hands,” I tease.
“My massager is more fun.”
I grab his shirt from the dresser, laughing as I toss it at him. “Put that thing away and come on, before you make me forget the muffins.”
Brandon is no more clothed when he strolls into the kitchen than when he got out of bed. He has showered, though. Must have been the fastest shower known to man. And his erection is half-mast now, but looks like it could be at the ready in a split second.
“Are you going to eat like this?”
He grins, “Sure. What? Does it distract you?”
I feel my cheeks begin to pink up. “That is more than a distraction. It should be criminal to walk around naked like that when I’m trying to be productive.”
He chuckles and arms wrap around me, pulling me back into the warm, broad haven of his chest.
I love when he does that. It feels like I’m suddenly home.
His lips find my neck. My ear. My temple. “You’re funny, and adorable.”
My eyes drift closed and I just lean into him for a moment, forgetting everything but the fact that a little fragile seedling of love is growing between us.
“Breakfast smells delicious.” He gives me a last hard squeeze before breaking away and reaching for a muffin. “I’ll make our plates.” He offers. “You pour the coffee.”
I can’t hold back the smile that squinches up my eyes as he floats around the kitchen making our plates, completely naked, like it’s what he does every morning.
A girl could get used to having a man like Brandon naked in her kitchen every morning.
I slide into the chair at the table and watch with appreciation. He sets a plate with two muffins, a giant serving of eggs, and four strips of bacon in front of me. I laugh, “I do eat a lot, but that’s a man size meal.”
He shrugs, “I’ll finish what you don’t.”
“Lord, look at your plate!”
“Anya, my dear. I worked hard for you last night. I have to refuel if you expect me to keep up the pace.”
I grin. “By all means. I’ll make double tomorrow.”
“Hey, I may have some good news.”
I smile, “Yeah?”
“My brother knows someone who buys vintage record collections. Would you be interested in liquidating some of those albums? It could gain you quite a bit of money, I think.”
“Really? That would be amazing. I never thought about that.”
“I’ll dig into it some more. I think the guy my brother knows might be up for coming for a look.”
“Wow, that’s really good news.”
“I thought that would be helpful. And I have another idea about getting some money, maybe selling your car, and I could get you something else, sign for a loan on it.”
I’m stunned. “You’d do that?”
‘Of course. I’d do anything to help you. I’m sorry I don’t have the money outright, but I’ve bought some expensive toys lately.”
“Well, first, I’m floored by your offer. But I want to know more about these toys. What did you buy?”
He’s grinning like a kid at Christmas, “A new dirt-bike and small toy-hauler RV trailer.”
“I had no idea…”
He winks, “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”
I touch his hand. “I guess there is. I’m looking forward to learning more.”
* * *
After work, Brandon shows up with a strange guy named Arthor in tow. Arthur’s hair is straight out of a Duran Duran video. He’s got on some cuffed jeans, Reebok high tops, and some kind of rock and roll t-shirt that’s got as many holes as Swiss cheese.
Arthur must have some money though, because he’s driving a brand new Mercedes SUV.
“Anya, this is Arthur,” Brandon says as they step into the house.
The man’s eyes barely land on me as he takes in the concert posters in the entryway. “Wow!”
I shrug as he wanders past me with his mouth open.
He spins around in the center of the living room. “I’ve died and gone to heaven.”
Funny, one man’s heaven, another man’s hell… or woman’s hell.
“These are originals, aren’t they?”
“Yes, they are.”
“And who’s this?”
He hones in on the photos of my parents. “The guy is my father. Rocket, and my mother,” I point to the other photo, “Carmen Crystal.”
He clutches at his chest. “Oh, my god. Do you know how much I love them?”
I shake my head. “No, I don’t.”
“This is blowing my mind right now.”
For some reason I don’t think it would take a lot to blow Arthur’s mind, but maybe I’m wrong.
Brandon steps up and loops an arm around me. “Why don’t you show him some of the albums?”
“Oh yeah, in addition to having all this original decor, I have a gigantic collection of albums ranging from the sixties to the late eighties. Some pretty obscure stuff, so I’m told.”
“You family doesn’t want them?”
I shrug, “I could use the money now, if you’re interested.”
“Interested. That’s the understatement of the century.” He claps his hands together and bounces on the balls of his feet.
Brandon says, “Well, shall I order some pizza and beer, and we can dig in?”
I grin. “Sure, sounds like a good plan.”
“You have a record player? Please, please tell me you have a record player.”
I open the tall cabinet in the corner, revealing a big sound system.
“Yessss!” He pumps the air. “Now what to listen to first...”
I turn around to Brandon and mouth, “Thank you.”
He winks, and my heart thuds wildly.
Arthur starts playing records. The pizza shows up quickly. Brandon and Arthur have a couple of beers as they go through and organize the collection. We laugh and reminisce about bands of our youth.
Slowly but steadily, I feel a gigantic weight being lifted off of my shoulders.
Four hours later Arthur and Brandon have ten gigantic boxes of records stacked by the door. “I want the rest, too, and the furniture, and the lamps.”
“Really? That’s incredible.”
“I’ll pay $15K for all the records, and another 5K for the furniture and decor. Except the photos of your parents, of course. Those I’m sure you want to keep.”
Brandon kisses the top of my head. “Just how I had hoped this could go for you.”
My smile is a hundred yards wide. “This is amazing.”
“It will take me a few days before I can get back.” Arthur pulls out a wad of cash from a fanny pack with geometric neon art on it. “This is for the records I’m taking tonight and for part of the remaining records.” He counts out ten thousand dollars in one-hundred dollar bills.
I’m so stunned I can’t speak. Brandon helps load the Mercedes. I hear their voices outside, but all I can do is sit on the sofa and look at the cabinets of record albums that are left in front of me. I never imagined that they would be of value…
Now I can help Cameron and maybe get out of this place. I’d have enough for a deposit on another rental. And maybe even a little art studio so I can paint again.
Brandon grins when he walks in. “That was epic.”
I leap in his arms. “It was. Oh, my god. You’re amazing.”
“My brother Tyson gets credit for knowing this guy and setting it up.”
“Well, I owe you and Tyson big time. Should I call Cameron now? I want to tell him.”
Brandon shrugs. “I guess. Unless you think he can earn the money. You can keep some of it for yourself.”
“Maybe I’ll call and see what he has going on.”
I rush to the kitchen to get my phone, feeling as light as a cloud. Cam’s phone rings and rings, then disconnects. “Weird, no voicemail.”
“Send him a text.”
I text, “Call me. I have news.”
When I return to the living room, Brandon’s wearing a big grin and nothing but his boxer briefs.
He raises a brow. “I know how we should celebrate.”
“Oh, really? What do you have in mind,” I ask with a playful laugh.
In the next instant, I’m over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. I can’t stop laughing as I bounce along as he marches off to the bedroom.
20
It’s much later when I flip on the kitchen light. Midnight snack time.
“Have anything good hiding around here?”
Anya giggles when I tickle her leg beneath the hem of my t-shirt. “Besides you.”
“Oh, I’ve probably got something. How about we make cookies?”
“Got milk?”
“Yep.”
“Then I think that’s an outstanding idea.”
Anya shoves a mixing bowl in my hands. “Get the eggs, please. And hand me that cookbook.” She points to the shelf by the sink.
When I return, she’s got bags of flour, sugar, and chocolate chips on the counter. “You make real cookies, huh? No plastic tube of cookie dough for you.”
“These are way better. I decided to learn to make cookies when I was a teenager because we never had them homemade.”
I open the egg carton. “How many eggs?”
She nods to the cookbook. “Flip open that to the page with the yellow sticky on it.”
I thumb through the book, and turn to the page with the note stuck to it. “This looks like the one. That picture makes my mouth water.”
“Mine too.” She grins. “You think I’d remember this by now, but I always want to do it just right, so I look at the recipe every time. So how many eggs are we using?”
I scan over the page long recipe. Frowning, I search through the column of ingredients.
I catch her eyes on me. “I can read, you know, just not fast, and it’s not fun.”
Her voice goes soft. “I didn’t think you couldn’t read. Why don’t you tell me about it?”
I crack the three eggs that the recipe requires into the bowl. “Not much to say, I guess. I have Visual Dyslexia. It takes me a long time to read. And when I have to read to learn something, it’s hard as hell. I can learn just fine from listening, visuals, and diagrams no problem.”
“So your brain doesn’t see the letters like normal then?”
“That’s correct, but it’s all I’ve ever known, so it’s sort of normal to me.”
She leans into my shoulder, dumps some flour in the bowl. “I’m sure it’s been hard on you.”
I grumble, “I disappointed my parents a lot.”
Her eyes are soft, but not with pity when I look down into her pretty face. “You know it doesn’t bother me, right? It’s not an issue at all.”
“Thank you for saying that but…”
“No buts.” She says, and tosses a container of baking powder at me. “Measure out a quarter teaspoon of that, please.”
I shake my head as I fidget with the world’s smallest measuring spoon. “Damn, this thing’s tiny.”
Her laughter is like sunshine in my dark shadows as she heats some butter on the stove. Once it’s nice and melted, she pours that and a heap of sugar into the bowl.
Anya sticks a big wooden, man size spoon in my hand. Thank god. No miniature spoon will get this done.
“Stir and tell me about your folks.”
I get to work mixing the ingredients together, “Dad’s around. Mom passed from a heart attack a while back. I’m not sure what to say. Having five boys was hard. They had a lot of things going on.”
Somehow I find myself relaxing enough to talk—Anya’s a sneaky devil using the spoon trick on me.
“Mom was a bookkeeper, she worked from home raising us hellions. Dad...well, you probably know this, Dad was the county’s director for Ocean Safety. His dad had the job before that. Christian took over when my dad retired, but he quit recently. Now Bryce, my twin, has that job.”
“You like working there?”
“I do. It’s all I know. We grew up around it. What about you?”
“What’s your dream job?”
She shrugs. “I always wanted to be an artist, but life got in the way. I like teaching surfing. I get to be around the beach, so it’s nice.”
Anya sets the oven temp, and gets a cookie sheet ready before she returns to inspect my handiwork. She nods her approval. “Ever make homemade cookies before?
“Mom baked a lot. I helped when I was a kid.” I say. “She was Italian, so we always had the most amazing food. I miss a lot of things about her, especially the meals we all shared when I got old enough to appreciate good cooking.”
“It must have been nice, having family time like that.”
I shrug. “It was, now that I am older and can appreciate it.”
Anya hops onto the counter, damn near where I enjoyed groping her sweet little body. My t-shirt rides up her thighs until I have an enticing view. I chuckle, “You are distracting me. What’s under that shirt?”
She crosses her legs and laughs. “Something for later.” She points at the bowl. “Back to work, young man. Dump in the chocolate chips now.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I pick up the bag and start pouring.
“Not the whole bag!”
Ooops. “Too late.”
She giggles.
“You didn’t say how much, woman. You’ve got to be specific. Give a man a bag of chocolate chips and you know they are either all going in the cookies, or in his mouth.”
She leans over to me. Presses her lips against mine. “You’re adorable.”
I frown. “Am I? Even when I mess up the recipe?”
“Pretty much.” She nips my ear. “I’m sure that the extra chips will be fine.”
I scoop out a glob of dough on the spoon and shovel it into my mouth. “Tastes good to me.”
She scrunches her nose, her blue eyes shine. “Ewe, I should have known you were a raw cookie dough eater.”
“What? Did you think I was a good boy?”
She just shakes her head and takes the bowl away from me. “You’re good for something alright. Now hurry up so we can eat cookies in bed.”
21
When I wake there are crumbs stuck to my chest. I’ll never think about cookies the same way again.
Brandon kisses my lips and rolls out of bed first for the shower. I laze around until I hear him turn off the water.
“I’ll start breakfast,” he says as he drips water all over the tile floor.
“I’ll dry up the floor,” I tease.
The bacon and the eggs are done perfectly. I expected no less, honestly. Today he doesn’t make a giant plate for me. But his is bigger than before even.
“Worked up an appetite?”
‘Lord, yes.” He grins.
As I take a bite of my bacon, I hear a strange sound. Tilting my head I try to place it. “Did you hear that?”
He nods.” It’s a cell phone on vibrate.”
“Must be yours. Mine isn’t set to do that.”
He goes to the living room and returns in a few seconds later, his phone in hand. His brow is creased.
“Everything okay?”
He just glances at me and resumes eating. His normally open face somehow now shuttered.
Maybe it’s one of his brothers. They have some hard sibling dynamics. Working together has to make for some interesting conflicts.
I try to go about eating without being obvious that I’m trying to figure out his sudden about face.
“I’m going to have to leave earlier than I thought.” He says as he tips up his coffee cup.
But that’s all he offers. I feel obligated to say something so I say, “Okay. I’m going to leave soon, anyway.”
The rest of breakfast is silent except for the vibration of his phone, which happens twice more. Then he scoops up his empty plate and heads for th
e sink.
His distress concerns me. “I’ll take care of that, so you can go on.”
“That would be good.” He squeezes my shoulder as I take over at the sink, then he’s gone, heading off to the bedroom to dress.
I rinse the plates and put them into the drying rack. As I reach for the empty coffee mug he used, I see his phone lying face up. The screen is still on. The only text that’s visible has three red heart emojis in a row. The name at the top of the text reads Samantha.
The bathroom door closing snaps me out of staring at the name. Samantha…I hate the urge inside me. I want to look at the messages above those three little hearts.
Turning back to the sink, I wash his cup and mine and try to suppress the weird feeling spiraling outward in my gut. Icy tendrils threaten to replace the glow I felt just moments before.
I’m frozen, staring, sightless out the back window when Brandon returns to the kitchen. I have no idea how long I’ve been there.
His deep voice makes me jump. “I’m working on one of the rescue boats today. I could be late getting off. Why don’t you hang out with Bishop after work? I’d rather you not be here alone until this thing with Cam is sorted out.”
“Uh, oh. Sure.” I say, feeling dazed still.
“Thank you for breakfast.”
I turn and find his eyes on his phone.
“You’re welcome.”
He drops his phone in his pocket and slides on a clean lifeguard uniform shirt, covering the hard planes of his chest.
I don’t know what to do as he watches me for a few long seconds. “Gotta run.” He finally says.
I nod. He steps toward me. Pulls me into his arms. He holds me for a few seconds. His mouth brushes mine for the briefest kiss, then he pulls back and turns away.
What just happened?
My feet are frozen in place when I hear his truck start. I’ve never seen such an abrupt shift in Brandon. One second he was all playful and the next he was a different man.
Samantha.
I search the nooks and crannies of my brain for the name. Has he ever mentioned Samantha before? Has Bishop ever mentioned Samantha before?
Those damn heart emojis… I can’t stop seeing them. Would a friend send heart emojis?
