by Molly Harper
“Sadie, please stop trying to make me feel better.”
Sadie snickered. “Okay, okay, but when you get back, we need to have a serious talk about your position.” Just then, the ticket agent at the nearest counter chose to make a loud, slurring announcement that sounded like instructions from one of Charlie Brown’s teachers. I barely made out Sadie saying “going to have to make some changes.” I plugged a finger into one ear and shouted, “Sadie? What do you mean, ‘a serious talk’?”
“For right now, enjoy your win. Congratulations.”
“Sadie?”
Sadie’s reply was muted by another outburst from the Peanuts gallery.
“Okay?” Sadie called into the phone. “We’ll talk when you get back.”
And with that, she hung up. I blinked at my phone. What did she mean? A serious talk sounded ominous. Serious talks usually didn’t involve compliments on a job well done. Her tone hadn’t been upset, but Sadie was too good at spin control to give any hint of her intentions to fire me. But had the resolution of my problems in Mud Creek given Sadie the closure she needed to get rid of me?
I sat through three flights and two layovers, twitching the entire time, annoying all the passengers around me. Somehow, I just didn’t care.
14
In Which I Fall Into a Sex Booby Trap . . . Which Sounds Redundant
I beat on the door of Will’s cute little ranch house, practically vibrating with excitement. I hadn’t even stopped at Miss Martha’s to drop off my bags, just drove straight to Will’s from the airport. It was pouring as I ran toward the door, my shoulder bag held over my head. Will answered the door in ratty jeans and an old University of Kentucky T-shirt. His feet were bare and surprisingly pretty for a man.
“I am so glad to see you,” I said, breathlessly.
“So am I.” Will’s face was more unsettled than mine. “You too, I mean.”
I glanced down, following his sight line, to see that my perfectly respectable pink-checked “comfortable enough to fly in” shirt was now transparent, allowing full view of the “crazy cherries”-print bra that Kelsey bought me for my birthday. Heat flushed my face, and suddenly a few of the texts Will and I had been exchanging came to mind. I looked up to find Will staring at my mouth. I raised my hands to my cheeks to try to cool them, but he pulled them away from my face, dragging me against him.
His mouth closed over mine, and it felt like my entire body had been zapped. I made an embarrassing little squeak as his hands slipped around my waist and pulled me into the house. His mouth tasted like ginger ale and cherry popsicles. He closed the door and pushed me against it, wrapping one of my legs around his waist. I yanked at his sweatshirt, pulling it over his head and mussing his hair.
“What are we doing?” I asked.
He murmured against my lips, “Something stupid.”
“Well, as long as we’re on the same page.”
Will peeled off my wet shirt and slipped his hand to the small of my back, rubbing his thumb along my spine. His hands felt warm and heavy against my skin, like an anchor, keeping me tethered to him in the best possible way. I wanted to breathe him in, memorize the texture of his hair through my fingers, the Dial soap smell of his skin, the way his mouth moved against mine.
I kissed my way down his chest to his belly, nipping at the skin just below his navel. The thick ropes of my wet hair trailed over his ribs and he yelped. “Your hair is so cold!”
I giggled, kissing his little chin divot. “Poor baby.”
He laughed softly, hauling me up to eye level so he could kiss me again as we bumped along the hallway to his room. I gave him a gentle shove back onto the bed, then worked his jeans open with shaking fingers, dragging them down his hips to reveal white ComfyCheeks briefs.
I had to tell him. I had to tell him right now, before his penis got involved and I got too confused to tease him about wearing ComfyCheeks man-panties.
ComfyCheeks.
Right. Darn it.
“Will, I need to tell you—” I opened my mouth, only to have Will drag me down and cover it with his own.
“No, really.” I sighed against his mouth as my hands dragged his briefs to his knees.
He nibbled his way down my throat and pressed his teeth firmly against the skin over my collarbone, leaving a definite mark.
What was I thinking again? Because I was having a very difficult time remembering what had been so urgent just a few seconds ago.
I settled my hips over his, relishing the way my cool skin felt against his heat, even as he slipped on a condom. I tried to look away, suddenly shy now that the big moment was at hand. But he tilted my face and held my gaze as I sank down on him, shuddering at the sensation of my body being stretched from the inside out. He groaned, pulling me tight against him, begging me not to move for just a second.
I had to distract myself somehow, pull focus for the both of us before—
“Mr. Roth approved the sponsorship!” I blurted out as he reached up to kiss me. He recoiled, his eyes wide. “The company bought the lot across the street and they’re going to move the building as soon as possible. They’re going to resume negotiations as soon as you answer their calls! They’re going to build the factory here.”
“Really?” he panted, biting his lip as he seemed to debate between celebrating and concentrating on his current activities. I nodded. He blew out a quick breath. “That’s awesome. And we will definitely talk about that. Later.”
I nodded. “Okay.”
I sat up just the tiniest bit before snapping my hips down as he groaned. “Much, much later.”
I found my rhythm, up and down, up and down, like a very naughty girl on a carousel. I yelped as he bumped against a super-sensitive spot inside of me. He grinned, extraordinarily pleased with himself, and did it over and over again. Sitting up, he slid his hand along my cheek as he gently bit down on my bottom lip. He shifted me in his lap, pulling my thighs on either side of his hips.
Now that I could admit that I’d put serious thought into how Will would be in bed, I could say that this was not expected. I’d expected a wham or a bam, or at least a strange position involving balancing my butt on the nightstand. I hadn’t expected the intimate nuzzling, the smiles, or the soft touches. But, for my part, I’d never been like this in bed. The guys I’d dated before were either so nervous that they needed constant direction or so worried about being too forceful that they couldn’t be there in the moment.
His smile was positively naughty as I swooped down and attacked his mouth. I bit his lips, the curve of his chin.
“Ow!” he exclaimed.
“Sorry!” I cried.
“No, that was—” he surged forward, our teeth clacking together as he moved under me. I cried out as he thrust up. My hands scrabbled over his shoulders, clutching at the shreds of his shirt. His tongue moved inside my mouth, mimicking the movement between my legs.
From there, it became a bit of a tussle, a race to see who could make the other cry uncle. Or any number of sexier, less familial babbles. Achilles’ heels were discovered and exploited as we nibbled, tickled, bit, and bucked. And when he rubbed his thumb just so across that place and sank his teeth into my neck, I descended into senseless shouts, taking him right down with me. There was a little stream of sweat dripping down his neck and I wanted to lick it off. I did lick it off.
A terrible pressure built between my thighs, coiling up my belly. It pulsed and grew, fluttering like some living thing with a will of its own. My whole body seemed to tense and then shatter. I howled with it, ripping at Will’s back with my nails.
I collapsed against him, butting my forehead against his and nearly knocking him down.
“Are you always that loud?” he marveled.
“No.” I clapped my hand over my mouth and snickered as he rearranged us so that I was lying on my side, his arms cur
led around me. Between the rush of blood away from my brain and the multiple flights, I could feel exhaustion dragging my body closer to sleep. I snuggled into sheets that smelled like Will. My heavy eyelids slid closed and his face nuzzled against the nape of my neck. I yawned, contented, and gave in to the urge to slip away.
I woke up with misty gray light filtering through Will’s windows. The warm weight of his arm around my middle was heaven. I couldn’t remember a morning when I’d woken up more comfortable or content.
By He-Man’s furry briefs, I’d slept with Will McBride.
What had I done?
I was not a one-nighter sort of person. I was a three-dates-before-sex person. I was a relationship person. And sleeping with Will certainly didn’t mean any sort of commitment.
Plus, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d slept in the same bed with someone. My last boyfriend, Kyle, had “space issues” and couldn’t stand sharing his bed. Even if he slept over, he would get up about an hour after I drifted off and go sleep on my couch. And this was someone I had a semi-official relationship with. (It turned out his commitment issues ran deeper than not being able to remain in one room over the course of the night.)
Will was so pretty when he was asleep. Obviously he was attractive—if a little annoying—when he was awake, but when his eyes were closed and his mouth was relaxed, he was practically a Raphaelite angel, all smooth lines and gentle curves. I wanted to run my fingertips over his cheeks, down his nose, to plant my thumb in the little divot in his chin.
But if I touched him, he would wake up. And that would lead to awkwardness and that weird moment when you struggle out of bed trying to prevent the other person from seeing you naked, despite the fact that he’d seen pretty much the whole package the night before. Heck, Will had pretty much redesigned my package. I had to get out of here before my morning hair was spotted. I eased out from under his arm, my face screwed up in concentration as I tried to avoid jostling him. His hand slipped off my shoulder and thumped to the mattress. He murmured something in his sleep and stroked his hand over the warm spot I’d left behind.
I scootched down the bed, making the springs squeak. I winced at the noise, which seemed ten times louder than any bed had ever squeaked before. Will’s face twitched, but his eyes stayed closed. I scooped my jeans and panties up from the floor, cringing at the thought of second-day undies. I supposed this was the price one paid for slightly skanky behavior.
I stepped out of bed using the ridiculous Scooby-Doo cartoon tiptoe, only to feel my legs yanked out from under me. “Yipe!” I cried as I landed face-first on the carpet. And call me crazy, but I could swear I heard bells jangling over my head.
I looked up to see a jump rope strung with decorative Christmas jingle bells tied from the leg of Will’s dresser to the corner post of his bed. A rope that was now shaking and jingling like crazy.
Overhead, the mattress dipped and Will’s tousled dark blond head appeared from under the blankets. He grinned down at me. “Hi there.”
“You set up a trip wire?” I growled.
“Well, you snuck out last time. And you were gonna sneak out again, weren’t you?”
“No.”
He pulled me into his lap. I leaned against him. He kissed me tentatively, a chaste kiss that shocked me in its sweetness. “So, sometime last night, during all of the nudity, you mentioned something about Mr. Roth? Color me crazy, but I don’t seem to remember you tellin’ me anything about meetin’ with Mr. Roth.”
I kissed him one more time, morning breath be darned. “I didn’t want to get your hopes up or have you sabotage what I had planned.”
He had the gall to look insulted for a moment. “That’s . . . yeah, okay, you’ve got a point.”
“I met with him on Thursday. Mr. Roth likes the idea of being ‘the underwear that cares,’ so his company is going to sponsor the move and give me a healthy chunk of money to jazz up the museum. He wants to start off on the right foot with the community.”
“So we’re gettin’ the factory?”
“And the museum,” I added, somewhat pointedly.
“This is just—” He kissed me over and over. “Thank you. Really. You don’t know what this means to everybody.”
“It’s the least I could do,” I told him. “Since I sort of messed up your deal and almost destroyed your local economy and all.”
He dropped his head, thunking his forehead against my shoulder. “I’ve talked with that Mr. Roth I don’t know how many times. I’ve never sweet-talked so much as a smile out of him. And you get him to give you a whole museum?”
I shrugged. “Well, I am charming.”
“I’ll say.” He chuckled, kissing the tip of my nose. “Charmin’, funny, smart, and very, very flexible.” He reached the tip of his tongue out to trace the seam of my mouth. I relaxed into him, wrapping my arms around his neck and stroking my thumb across the short golden hairs at his nape. I glanced over his shoulder at the alarm clock, which read 8:54 a.m.
“Ack!” I shouted, making Will wince. “Is that the time?”
I launched myself out of the bed, scrambling for my clothes. “What’s the hurry?” he asked.
“I have a progress meeting with the other sponsors, in which I have to tell them that while I appreciate their companies’ generosity, they’re about to be eclipsed by a man-panty manufacturer.” I slipped into my shoes and leaned onto the bed to give him one last kiss. “And believe me when I say this, if you come anywhere near the music hall or my sponsors—”
He raised an eyebrow. “We’ve established that you’re not very good at bein’ threatenin’, right?”
“No, I will not hurt you. I will make this face at you.” I paused and arranged my face into the most hangdog, disappointed expression I could manage.
He shuddered. “Ah, okay, okay, I give! I will stay right here. And wait for you. Naked.”
“As you should be,” I told him and ran for the door.
It was a little funny that Carrie Scofield from the Lasting Memories scrapbooking company was indeed “frozen in time.” She’d spent a considerable amount of money trying to look as though she were still in her late twenties. I was glad she told me, because with the amount of Botox she’d injected into her face, I would never be able to discern any kind of human emotion on her part. She didn’t seem to put much stock in the sentimentality of this grant program, which was disappointing, considering her position.
Aaron Larkin was the public relations manager for Stringmade, a company that produced high-end musical instruments. Aaron’s company might claim a history in bluegrass and country music going back more than a century, but he was all city-boy shine. From the product in his golden-blond hair to the sheen on his shoes, he seemed awfully concerned about not brushing up against any object that might contaminate him with Mud Creek dust.
Elliot Christiansen and James Hill, reps from AmeriSound Systems and Jarvis Digital Displays, were considerably quieter, wandering around the building to inspect the mock-ups I’d designed for my multimedia displays. I’d been reluctant to install anything because I’d hoped I might be moving them to a new location. I could see the techies’ heads bent together, sketching better electrical plans on a legal pad, which made me smile. I had respect for that sort of compulsive dedication.
This group comprised our “gold” sponsors, with lesser sponsorships from companies like Delacour Jewelers and Buffalo Creek Bourbon. Out of place they may have been, but still, they seemed charmed by the arrangement of the exhibits and the artifacts I had on display. I’d set out the “Lurlene, Lurlene” lyrics in their specially lit display case, which drew Mr. Larkin like a yuppie moth to a flame.
“You really have them, huh?” he said reverently, almost touching the glass case before shaking off his awed expression and withdrawing his hand.
“They were under a jukebox,” I told him, grinning. “Loui
s Gray got frustrated or had a fit of the post-breakup tantrums and tossed the papers across the room. They probably got swept under there by some not-quite-thorough janitor, and no one ever looked for them.”
“My dad taught me to play guitar to that record,” Mr. Larkin said. “It got him through a really rough time, after my mom left. And he shared it with me. He said what was most important to remember about the song was that after all that Lurlene put him through, the singer still believed he could love. Not Lurlene, necessarily, but someone. I’m alone, but—”
“Not for long, my Lurlene,” I sang softly with him, making him chuckle.
“This is really great, Miss Turkle,” he said, pulling his cell phone out of his jacket pocket. “My bosses are going to be thrilled to have their names attached to the museum. Is it okay if I take some pictures?”
I handed him a folder featuring the red McBride’s Music Hall Museum guitar logo. “I took the liberty of printing photos of some of the more important artifacts, with full descriptions.”
He flipped through the color-coded contents of the folder. “Oh, you’re good.”
“I do try.”
He glanced around, lowering his voice. “I don’t suppose you’d want to go out for a drink or something, after this is over?”
I tried to picture this guy at the Dinner Bell, ever so carefully picking at a chili cheeseburger because he was afraid of soiling his suit—or even worse, at Shooter’s, staring in horror at the mechanical bull. I chuckled, ready to let him down gently, when the front door opened and Will walked through. He caught sight of slick, polished Aaron Larkin bent over me in an intimate tete-a-tete and frowned.
“Bonnie,” he said, whipping his baseball cap from his head.
“Will, I told you. I will make the face,” I warned him, glancing at the sponsors.
He snorted. “I’m not here to make any trouble.” He reached back and pushed the door open to reveal a tall, willowy brunette in an elegant sage-green dress suit. “This lady showed up at my office lookin’ for ya.”
