by Molly McLain
“What?” Jenny reared back, caught off guard. His timing was all kinds of awful these days.
Reed chuckled and stood, too, sudden vulnerability in his moments-ago so confident face. “Believe it or not, I want the real deal just as badly as you do. For both of our sakes, I hope we find it.”
She nodded. “I already have.”
Chapter Fifteen
“I miss you.” In the privacy of the stock room, Jenny sighed in her phone, half-heartedly mixing a boring natural blonde for sixty-something Lorna Miller. “It’s only been a week since I saw you and it already sucks.”
“I know, sugar. I hate it, too. But it’s what we’ve gotta do right now.” In the distance, she heard other male voices, more than a little raucous as they arrived at the training center for drill weekend.
“Good thing you’re busy for the next couple days or I’d cancel my appointments and drive across the state again.” So much for going slow. Brody consumed her mind twenty-four/seven. Wondering about when he’d text next, when they could talk, when she’d be able to smell him again...
He chuckled. “I’d already be in River Bend if it weren’t for training, believe that.”
She smiled and caught a glimpse of her pink cheeks in the mirror. When had she become this enamored woman? “So next weekend then...”
“Friday night. Like a jet, baby. No stopping ’til I’m at your door.”
Shivers raced down her spine. “Holding you to that.”
“You won’t have to try hard.” He paused and the noisy background faded away. Had he ducked into someplace private? “You thinking about me lots while we’re apart? Maybe taking care of business with the memories of what we did last weekend in mind?” he asked, his voice low and sexy.
Splat! Mrs. Miller’s bowl of color hit the floor with a thud, golden cream darting across the tile.
More chuckling. “Catch you off guard, babe? Or are you that revved just from talking to me?”
Both. “You’ve got a dirty mind, Superman.” Nasty mouth, too. Her heated, quickly dampening sex remember that part especially well.
“Always when it comes to you.” She heard a door shut on his end of the line. “Where are you right now?” he asked. “It’s awfully quiet.” Jesus, was that a zipper?
“I’m mixing hair color in the back of the salon. Where are you?” Fingers edging toward the elastic waistband of her leggings, she was pretty sure she already knew where this was going.
“Don’t worry about me. You got a door? A lock?” Definitely a zipper. He was already breathing a little harder, too.
She bit her lip, a giddy, he’s-totally-thinking-what-I’m-thinking-grin on her face. “You are so bad.” Then again, so was she. Her fingers were already in her panties.
“I’ve been fucking hard since you left. Jerking off isn’t even helping anymore. It’s like I’m in goddamn high school all over again.”
“I didn’t know how to do this in high school,” she confessed, scooting up onto the short counter after she flipped the lock on the door.
“Didn’t know how to have phone sex? I sure as hell hope not.”
She giggled. “I meant touch myself.”
“Is that what you’re doing right now? Touching that pretty pussy?” She was pretty sure the rustling sound was his pants hitting the ground. Was he wearing his training gear already or jeans? She’d pretend it was the gear. So much hotter.
Circling a fingertip around her clit, she clamped her lips together to keep from moaning aloud. Mrs. Miller would probably go into cardiac arrest if she overheard. “Yes,” she breathed, her heart already beating faster in her chest. “Tell me what you’re wearing.”
“Isn’t that my line?” he laughed, but the sound morphed into a strangled groan. “Fucking hell, this is gonna be quick. Uh, I’m in my utilities. Mostly. I’ve got my cock in hand, pretending you’re on your knees in front of me.”
Wish I was. Closing her eyes, she slid her fingers further south. Yeah, she was thinking about him, too, but her fantasy probably wasn’t all that different from reality. Just him in the locker room all alone, camo piled around his boots while he leaned against the wall with one hand, stroking himself slow and tight with the other. “God, Brody.”
“Finger yourself. I wanna hear how wet you are.”
“Very,” she whispered. “I can feel it on my thighs.”
“No, babe—I wanna hear.”
Oh, sweet Lord. “Like...?”
“Uh huh.”
He was going to make her come before she even got to the good stuff. “You’re bad, Superman.”
“All your fault.” He grunted and she indulged his fantasy, despite the burn in her cheeks. Never before had she been so willing to please...and never before had wanting to please ever turned her on so much. “Ahh, shit, that’s hot. Does it feel good?”
“So good. ” Her head spun, almost as fast as the pressure building between in her legs. “Wish you were here,” she panted, fingers feeling like they were everywhere at once, hitting all the right spots.
“Mmmmmm...” His strained hum crackled the line. “Me, too.”
She gasped as stars lit up behind her eyelids and her orgasm locked in hard. “Brodyyy...”
“That’s it, baby. Christ, I love my name on your lips.” Another strangled sound somewhere between a groan and growl preceded his quick intake and then, “Ahh, fuuuck.”
The mental image of him coming, jetting over his hand sent another wave of heat through her sex and she shuddered. It was going to be one hell of a long week, even as the sated, blissed out fog fell over her.
“You okay?” she asked quietly, discreetly adjusting her panties and her leggings, suddenly all too aware of the elderly lady she had sitting in her chair with a issue of Good Housekeeping. Had she heard? Would she say anything if she did?
He gave a gritty chuckle. “You’re a wet dream come true, babe. Can’t believe you just did that with me.”
Me either. She sighed, a goofy grin breaking through the composure she tried to gather. “Believe it,” she said, mimicking him. “I’m sure it won’t be the last time.”
“That a promise?” She heard rustling and then water running. “Because I’m game if you wanted to make a plan.”
“Sunday night?”
Another rumbling laugh filled her ear. “You really are going to kill me. Death by jerking off. I can see it already.”
She smiled, washed up, and began mixing another batch of hair color. Hopefully the stuff on the floor wouldn’t ruin the tile, because it’d have to wait until later for cleanup. “And you’re going to make me lose customers. I’m surprised she hasn’t come looking for me.”
“Who’s bad now, huh?”
No doubt about it—he’d officially corrupted her. And she wasn’t complaining one bit. “Thank you for that little soiree. Call me Sunday on your way home?”
“Fuck, yeah. We’ve got a date, remember?”
***
“Jennifer Lynn Riley...”
Her mother’s voice, in that admonishing tone that only mothers and grandmothers could pull off, sounded before Jenny turned the corner into the main part of the salon.
“Mom?” God, she was totally going to know. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to take my daughter to dinner after she closed up shop, but it looks like she’s planning to be here all night.” Helen scowled, looking between Jenny and Mrs. Miller, still content in the chair with her magazine, thank God.
Talking about her in third person. Hmm, not a good sign.
“This won’t take long at all. Just a little touch up.” She set the bowl of color down, pumped Mrs. Miller’s chair a little higher, and adjusted her drape. “How did you get here anyway. Please tell me you didn’t drive.”
Her mother rolled her eyes and hobbled over to a vacant chair with her claw-footed cane. God, but she’d aged since the fall. It made Jenny’s heart ache just to look at her.
“Of course, I didn’t drive. I ha
d Gladys drop me off. Figured you didn’t have anything going on tonight since your love life is in the crapper.”
Mrs. Miller stifled a laugh and Jenny shot Helen a glare. “Really?”
“I don’t know.” Her mom lifted a shoulder, but the all-knowing gleam in her eyes told another story. “You tell me.”
Unbelievable. “Who have you been talking to?”
“Not you apparently.”
This time, Mrs. Miller let her laugh fly. “This is why I love coming here. There’s always a juicy story.”
“Mom, seriously...” Shaking her head, Jenny focused her attention on applying the color. Why did she suddenly feel like she was seventeen-years-old being admonished for breaking curfew?
“Don’t seriously me,” Helen scoffed. “Just tell me who he is, for God’s sake. I’m old. I could die at any second.”
“Why do you always do that?” Her voice rose higher than she intended it to, but she didn’t apologize. Mrs. Miller and her mother went way back. This wasn’t the first argument the woman had witnessed. “You’re not that old and you’re not going to die!”
Helen made a dismissive face. “Is it so wrong for me to want to know the name of the man you might very well marry? What if something does happen to me? I’d like to go with at least a little reassurance that you won’t become a crazy cat lady. No offense, Lorna.”
“None taken. I love my babies.” Mrs. Miller smiled naively.
Jenny narrowed her eyes. “Don’t do the passive aggressive thing, Mom. It’s not flattering. At all.”
“Okay.” Helen nodded enthusiastically. “Since you’ve given me permission, I’ll just come out and say it—I want you married before I go. I want grandkids. Is that too much to ask?”
Jenny squeezed the back of Mrs. Miller’s chair, so hard, her fingers hurt. Her first instinct was to tell her mother to mind her own business. But the little voice in the back of her head shut her up fast. Isn’t that exactly what you want, too?
“Ah, I see.” Her mother smiled and nodded her head softly. “I know that look in your eyes. You want that, too.”
Out of nowhere, a lump lodged in Jenny’s throat. A casual cough dislodged it so she could finish applying Mrs. Miller’s color, but both women continued to stare at her, waiting for a response.
“Who’s put the color back in her cheeks, sweetie?” her mother prompted.
Sucking in a deep breath, she put the bowl down and did the math—her mother, plus one of her oldest friends, added to a discussion about marriage and grandkids equaled no way out. She dropped into the last free chair with a sigh.
“You’re making too much of this, but if you must know his name is Brody. He’s a Marine from Omaha.”
“Omaha!”
“A Marine!”
Her mother and Mrs. Miller gasped at the same time. One frowned, while one grinned from ear to ear.
“Why would you date a boy from the other side of the state? You’re not thinking about moving are you? Is that why you brought on another stylist?” Helen’s face went a little more ashen with every question.
“Mom...” Jenny smiled and shook her head. She and Brody had only been seeing each other for...a week? Could they count any longer? Regardless, it definitely wasn’t long enough to think about a future together beyond next weekend. “One, he’s not a boy and I think he’d take offense to us calling him one. Two, I’m not moving. Pretty sure I’m a River Bend lifer. Three, I brought Elena on so I’d have more time to spend with you. I didn’t want to tell you that, but I don’t want you thinking I hired help because I’ve got plans to leave town either.”
Mrs. Miller’s misty eyes darted between Jenny and Helen like she was watching a soap opera unfold.
“Sweetheart...” Her mother got to her feet again and slowly made her way over, wrapping her arms around Jenny’s shoulders. “I can’t believe you did that for me.”
“I just want you to be happy.” Jenny squeezed back. “Which means you’re stuck with me for a good long time.”
“That’s a relief.” Her mother sighed and whispered in her ear. “By the way, I already knew his name. My heart might be bad, but my hearing is top-notch. Lucky for you, Lorna’s isn’t.”
Oh, my God.
Helen pulled back and patted Jenny’s flaming cheek. “Since he made you blush and not cry, he’s already a keeper in my book.”
Chapter Sixteen
One week later...
Fucking Friday night traffic.
Brody tapped this fingers on the steering wheel while the semi in front of him hit the brakes for the tenth time in the last two minutes. The right lane was just as backed up, so there was no going around. Just this snail-paced progression that had snapped his patience about fifteen miles back.
Seeing red and blue lights flashing ahead probably should’ve made him feel bad for all the four-letter words he’d hollered at no one in particular, but he had a woman waiting, dammit. At this rate, Jenny would be in bed by the time he hit River Bend.
Not that climbing in beside her would be so bad.
Fuck, maybe bed was exactly where he wanted her, after all.
He chuckled to himself as his radio muted and a call came over the bluetooth. His mother’s cell. Not unusual, but rare enough this late on a Friday night that it gave him pause.
“Hey, Mom, what’s up?” Finally—finally—the right lane cleared enough for him to slide out from behind the damn truck.
“The moon? The stars? Your father’s cholesterol?” Lena Nelson quipped, followed by a throaty giggle.
Brody rolled his eyes. “Kinda late for you to be calling, isn’t it?”
“It’s eight o’clock. We’re not that old, Brody James. Jeez.”
Yeah, yeah. He waved his hand, you know, because his mother could see that through the phone. Argh. “Maybe not, but you know I’m headed out of town this weekend. I figured something was going on.”
“Actually, it is. Your dad and I are stuck in traffic on I-80. We’re heading to North Platte for the weekend. Grandpa had a little fall earlier today.”
Heat rose up Brody’s neck. “A fall? Doing what?”
“Unfortunately just walking from the living room to the bathroom. He’s not hurt, other than a bruised hip, but we wanted to check in nonetheless.”
“I could’ve done that. I’ll only be in River Bend.” Hell, maybe he should grab Jenny and head that way, too.
“No, no, sweetie, it’s fine. You enjoy your weekend. I needed to get out of the house anyway. Make the most of this nice spring weather and whatnot.” In the background, his father griped about the cars braking in front of him and Brody smiled.
“How long are you staying? Until Sunday?”
“Probably. You?”
“Same.” He lifted his cap and scratched at his head as an unfamiliar, but not unwelcome, thought came to mind. “Maybe I’ll come up tomorrow.”
“Really, honey, you don’t have to. Grandpa won’t like us doting on him. Grandma’s already doing enough of that, I’m sure.”
Of course, she was, but... “There’s someone I want you to meet.”
As if the weird whirling sensation in his stomach wasn’t enough, his mother’s long moment of silence nearly did him in.
“Mom?”
“Are you seeing someone?” Jesus, was she breathing hard or what he hearing things? “Is that why you’re spending so much time in River Bend?”
Shit, she was gonna make a big deal out it, wasn’t she? “On second thought—”
“Don’t you dare, Brody James! Don’t you tease me like that and then try to back out! You bring her tomorrow or I’ll drive to River Bend and find her myself!”
Way to open your mouth, dumb fuck. Fist bump! “I’ll bring her.”
“Darn right you will. I’ll make brunch.”
“Brunch?” He didn’t plan on leaving Jenny’s bed until at least noon.
“Brunch. And don’t be late. Crepes are better fresh.”
Ahh, fuck. Not the
crepes. “It’s not Christmas, Ma.”
“Nope—meeting your girlfriend is better than Christmas. See you in the morning, sweetie.” Click.
Well, hell.
***
Meeting him at the door naked was probably too presumptuous. Maybe a bra and panties would be a more subtle approach.
Jenny stared in the mirror, chewing the inside of her cheek and considering her options. Black or white? Either way, it’d end up on the floor, so did it really matter?
Yes, it definitely mattered. Being with Brody wasn’t only about sex—it was about pleasing him. Him, the first man in maybe ever who seemed to actually care about her more than her body.
That alone was worth the extra effort.
Suddenly, she froze. Were those tires crunching in the driveway? Crap!
She stuffed the lingerie back into the drawer, snatched up the first oversized t-shirt she could find and yanked it over her head in a frenzy. Panty-free would have to work. She’d do better next time.
She sprinted through the house, pausing just long enough to catch her breath and wet her lips before she flung opened the door. He met her on the porch with a wicked grin and the duffel bag slung over his shoulder hit the concrete with a thud.
“Jesus Christ,” he murmured. His eyes blazed hot as he lifted her off the ground and carried her desperately into the house, his hands seemingly everywhere at once. Her back hit a wall—which one she wasn’t sure, because she lost all sense of everything but him when his hungry mouth came down on hers.
He tasted like something sweet and she clung to his thick, sturdy shoulders, getting totally, unabashedly drunk on his kisses. She could live on them alone, she was sure of it, because nothing filled her up, made her feel more satisfied and complete, than Brody.
Somewhere in the chaos, he lost his shirt. And hers found its way up to her collarbone while he devoured her breasts. She moaned, he grunted, and when she worked his fly free and pulled out his erection, it took him seconds to hoist her a little higher, spread her wide, and seat himself inside.
“Ahh, baby,” she panted, her eyes locked on his while he jaw ticked and his face strained. Up and down he lifted her, wetting himself and sliding deeper with every stroke. The teasing glide of his piercing felt...unbelievable. Just right, and yet not enough.
