Reality of Love Boxed Set: Books 1-3

by Marika Ray

  Lily-Marie and Jameson mostly spent the next hour policing their kids who ranged from seventeen to eight years of age. They were actually super adorable kids who had a healthy respect for their elders while dishing out some gentle teasing. I asked Milly to be one of my bridesmaids when her brothers finally left her alone and I thought she might die of excitement right there on the spot. She said she was going to Pinterest the hell out of my wedding, which scared me a little, to be honest.

  Elle’s doctor finally came out into the waiting room with the announcement of the arrival of a healthy baby boy. I picked up Rosemary and as a unit, we all followed the doctor down the maze of hallways to Elle’s room.

  Marcos pushed open the door and there, in a mountain of blankets, was Elle, her dark hair a tumbled mess, but the beaming smile made up for it. A white bundle in her arms drew our gazes as we approached. Austin sat on the edge of the bed and took Rosemary from me.

  “You ready to meet your brother, Rosie?” he whispered to her. She nodded her head, but stuck her finger in her mouth instead of smiling which made me wonder if she’d changed her mind on having a sibling.

  Elle shifted, tilting the bundle toward us. His round little face below the cotton cap had us all sighing over the cuteness. His eyes were closed and his little lips were puckered like he knew his mama would be giving him kisses repeatedly. Rosemary leaned forward in Austin’s arms, peering down at him with an intensity only four-year-olds can have.

  “Let me see, Daddy,” Rosemary said in a whisper, her limbs pawing at the air.

  “Okay, hold on. Let me put you down on the bed. Be careful of Mommy, okay?” Austin set her down, and she turned to give him a glare I’d seen on Elle’s face many a time when she was in the kitchen ordering around her staff. I swallowed a laugh.

  Rosemary spun back around and pulled very carefully on the blanket by the baby’s face so she could see him fully. Then she looked up at Elle, a single tear sliding down her cheek and breaking our hearts.

  “I love him, Mommy.” Her bottom lip began to tremble and all the pregnant women in the room--and Lily-Marie in solidarity--began to sob silently, our men pulling us close and pretending they had something in their eye.

  Austin wrapped his family up in his arms and I’d never seen a more beautiful sight.

  “I was wrong. Mom would be so proud of you, Austin,” I whispered.

  Austin sniffled and swallowed hard. “She’d be proud of all of us. Look at us. One big happy--and growing--family.”

  We all looked around the room, seeing our families of different sizes and ages, bonded by one thing: love. Some of us were blood relatives, but most of us simply chose each other. The kind of family you actively choose to do life with.

  “We need to get a bigger dining room table for Christmas this year,” Jameson muttered to Lily-Marie.

  And then there was laughter amongst the tears because we could always count on Jameson to bring practicality back into the conversation.

  The reality was, nothing we worried about on a daily basis mattered that much. Where we lived, where we went to work, or who picked a fight with us, or if our hot coffee spilled, or if the guy next door played his music too loud, or our kiddos failed a test. All that was temporary.

  Love was all that mattered in this crazy life. And there was plenty of it in this room.

  Scene From Love Bank

  Lucille

  “Thank God for Keva and underwire garments,” I muttered, coming around the corner and seeing the lights on at the clinic already. Considering I should have been there twenty minutes ago, I could beat myself up over my own tardiness, or I could simply pat myself on the back for my insightfulness in hiring such a responsible front desk clerk. Keva was the real deal: young, hardworking, and organized. What she lacked in street smarts could be made up for by her unfaltering kindness.

  A loud horn shook me from my frazzled Monday morning thoughts.

  “What in the gold digging hell is this?”

  In the rear view mirror, I saw a huge grey bus behind me, the driver reaching down to the steering wheel like he was going to lay on the horn again. All because I was going thirty in a thirty-five zone. This here was Brinestone Road, the brand new road paved just days before my clinic opened to the public. Mayor Bennett had grand aspirations of making Auburn Hill a thriving metropolis, all starting with bringing in new businesses along this stretch of road. There was no need for speeding and dammit, I’d been here first.

  I threw my free hand up in air, hoping it properly conveyed my irritation at his aggressiveness. I refrained from using the middle finger though I swear it was itching to get in on the action.

  “Damn magical goat stirring things up,” I muttered.

  I put on my blinker and tapped the brakes as I approached my turn in. Every bolt, spring, and dried out belt in the ol’ 1968 convertible Karmann Ghia struck up a symphony as I eased her over the huge bump of a curb and into the parking lot. The huge bus barreled on down the road barely missing my back bumper, shaking the frame of poor Ghia in its aftermath.

  I narrowed my eyes at the back of it, picturing it getting a flat tire or two and that nasty driver begging me for assistance. I scoffed out loud at the chances of me lifting a finger. He’d be on his knees crying and I’d simply honk at him and tell him to get out of the way. Justice was served, even if only in my own head. Where was Waldo when you needed him? Sheriff Waldo that is, not the guy with the striped hat in those kids books. Sheriff Waldo didn’t take kindly to strangers showing up in town and being rude.

  I shook myself and focused on what was important. My establishment. My pride and joy.

  Coastal Fertility Clinic.

  Also known as a spank bank.

  Now I know most entrepreneurs don’t start off their solo journey thinking they want to open up a clinic where men jack off all day long, but when you have a master’s degree in nursing like me, and you’re sick of running your tail off all day at the hospital for middlin’ wages, you had to think outside the box.

  Or in my case, think inside the specimen cup.

  So here I was the proud owner of the finest, most upscale fertility clinic this side of the Sierra Nevadas. We’d been open six months and already made our way to the break even point, meaning we could afford to start being more selective with our deposits. The higher the pedigree of the sperm, the higher the price when we went to sell it to a female looking to birth the next Michael Phelps. Forget the black market, I was selling the goods on the sperm market.

  I swung my tiny metal door open and bellowed an enthusiastic “heave ho” to get myself up and out of the little car barely scraping above sea level without flashing the entire town of Auburn Hill in my knee length wool skirt. The car was impractical, I’ll give you that, but I loved the old gal. With age came refinement and I was clinging to that adage like a fly on horse shit in August. At thirty-six years of age, I felt my grip slipping on my youth, which is why the fertility clinic before me held my own eggs, cryogenically frozen for the day I finally kissed my chances of a real live man in my life goodbye and took to science to create the offspring I’d always wanted.

  My heels clacked over the pavement, already pinching my toes like they hated me personally for bringing them into this world. Flats just seemed so pedestrian, especially for such an upscale environment like the one we created at Coastal Fertility. We tried hard not to make patients feel like they were at a hospital. Sterile was not the impression you wanted to leave men with when they were pumping the family jewels for heirs.

  The bell rang out as I pulled the door open and breathed in the essential oil blend I made especially for arousal—not to be confused with the oil blend best for animal arousal—that we kept running twenty-four-seven. My clinic wasn’t a place for porn and dirty magazines. High end sperm required calm, relaxation, and classy imagination.

  “Good morning, Ms. Eureka!” Keva grinned from ear to ear, hopping up out of her chair like I deserved a standing ovation simply for showi
ng up to work late.

  I slipped behind the desk and kicked off my heels with a full body shiver of delight, meeting her grin with my own.

  “It’s Lucille, and please, have a seat.” I’d told her at least twenty times in the last three weeks to call me by my first name, but it hadn’t taken yet. I’d heard it took thirty days to cement a habit so I was holding out for next week being the day we turned a corner to a less formal relationship.

  “I don’t know what’s gotten into me. I do apologize for being late.” I grabbed a hair pin out of our emergency stash in the top drawer of the desk and swooped back a piece that had gotten away from my bun in the ride over. “Nearly got run over by a bus pulling into the lot.”

  “Oh, I heard the new jail would be opening any day now. Are you okay?”

  Keva finally sat in a dramatic plop, those ruby red lips of hers now in an over exaggerated oval. She had a way with make-up, making herself look at least five years older. Made me ponder at what point you quit trying to appear older and used those same cosmetics to look younger.

  “I’m fine, though it sped my heart rate to that of a myocardial infarction patient.” I smoothed my blouse down and sucked in a deep breath. Being rushed and stressed was not the proper way to start a Monday. “I just can’t believe the Mayor approved a jail right next door. Of all the asinine businesses to put next to a fertility clinic.”

  “Oh yes, I much prefer The National Cat Protection Society.” Keva’s head bobbed up and down reminding me of the bobble head Hawaiian doll my mother had on the dash of her old boat of a Lincoln. I used to love to see that grass skirt swaying while the sun shined down. As a little girl with an active mind, I could practically feel the tropical breeze as I imagined that doll was a real live hula girl.

  “Hmm.” The jury was still out on Yedda’s cat house on the other side of my building. While I respected her dream of giving cats a place to retire when their owners may have given up on them with their high medical expenses, I didn’t particularly care for cats as I was allergic. “All we need is a blow up doll factory to come to town and we’d be the laughing stock of the nation.”

  “Oh!” Keva’s mouth dropped open again, this time shocked delight widening her eyes.

  My own eyes popped open, realizing I’d said that last bit out loud. The poor girl was only eighteen. I probably shouldn’t be speaking of blow up dolls like the wizened hussy I wasn’t. Though she did work at a spank bank, so her sensitivities must not be too great.

  She giggled and I chastised myself silently. I needed to rein in my wayward mouth. Ever since that damn goat had rubbed its filthy head against my hip the other day, I’d lost my filter. Which was even more odd because I thought that filter had been built into my face with reinforced metal plates worthy of a NASA inspection and therefore impossible to take off.

  “I’m not normally a negative Nancy, but mark my words, Keva. Nothing good will come from having a jail right here on Brinestone Way. This road was built for local businesses, not a pathway for criminals to enter our quaint town. Mayor Bennett must have lost his damn mind when he approved that hunk of concrete and metal.”

  I shook my head then just as quickly clapped my hands to shake myself out of my temper. I needed to change the mood—fast—or I’d be sadder than George, the poor senior citizen sitting outside Coffee every morning like he did when his wife was still alive. He never hesitated to tell a story about her as if the telling of it would keep her alive. I guess it must have worked because he never failed to be there, rain or shine.

  “Let’s get today going and forget all about criminals and wayward cats, shall we? What’s on the schedule?”

  Keva grabbed the paper calendar book with all our appointments written in multicolored pen off the desk and scanned the day’s events. Technology was a fine thing, but not when it came to seeing what you had planned for the day. On her first day Keva had asked me if I planned to upgrade to a Google calendar we could share. I set her straight right then and there, telling her about the time I accidentally shared my calendar with the Poker Club of Auburn Hill instead of my mother, Polly Eureka. Those old men didn’t need to know about my gynecological appointment that Tuesday or the exact time I was to get my lip waxed, yet there it was in all it’s electronic glory for them to pick through at their leisure. I’d stick to pen and paper, thank you very much.

  “Well, we have our first—”

  Keva sweet voice was cut off by the bell above the door jingling and our resident mail carrier poking her lavender-dyed head inside. Normally I’d sit and chat with the woman, letting her gossip wash over me, ooh’ing and ah’ing at the appropriate moments, but my patience was running thin. Blame it on the honking bus or the magic goat, either way, I was on a mission that morning to set my life back on its proper course. A gossip session would have to wait.

  “Good morning, Poppy.” I moved around the desk and took the mail from her outstretched hand. “Come have a seat with Keva. I have a quick phone call to make.”

  Poppy nodded enthusiastically, seeing the bright smile on poor Keva’s face. Poppy could spot a listening ear a mile away. As for me, I’d just told a bald faced lie. Quite unlike me, especially since I actually liked Poppy, despite my mom’s poor opinion of her. Usually I only lied to spare someone’s feelings, not to get out of conversing with a neighbor. Being neighborly was what Hell was all about.

  I shuffled down the hall, realizing belatedly I’d forgotten to collect my heels from under Keva’s desk. Lord knew I’d enjoy a morning without heels, but hopefully I wouldn’t tear a hole in my stockings just for a little blister relief. I’d gone down the back hallway where the treatment rooms were located, knowing the oil diffuser blend was almost out in the back room. It wouldn’t do to have the special libido diffuser stop right in the middle of whacking the wand. Total mood buster.

  The door opened smoothly thanks to the WD-40 I sprayed on the hinges on a regular basis to keep them moving. We were all about the lubrication here. I smirked at my own humor—if you didn’t laugh at your own jokes, who would—and moved quickly into the room.

  My body reacted before my brain could catch up, coming to an abrupt stop and nearly wiping out on the slick floor with only my thin stockings to offer any traction. There in front of me, head thrown back and eyes squeezed shut was a patient on the leather couch I’d personally picked out for comfortability.

  But not just any patient. He had to have been the most gorgeous male specimen I’d ever laid eyes on. Now my whole body wanted to lay on him, like a cat in heat. My eyes traveled down his body, taking in every detail like I had all the time in the world. Thick dark hair I could practically see myself grabbing hold of by the handful, corded muscles bunching and flexing down his long arm. Legs spread wide and stretched out as if even the ample couch was child size in comparison. A jaw clenched tight, a vein in his neck bulging alarmingly. And there, enclosed in his fist, the longest, thickest, most lick-worthy—

  I slammed my eyes shut and nearly gasped out loud. What was I doing spying on a patient in the middle of depositing a specimen? My mouth watered at the imprint on the back of my eyelids even as the rest of me went up in flames. Dear Lord, who was that and how could I back out of the room without him noticing me?

  I peeked one eye open—for scouting purposes only, I assure you—and saw him still rubbing one out enthusiastically, completely unaware of my presence. Rather than ponder how to exit the room as quietly as I’d come in, instead I wondered what was he thinking about at that moment to cause his tongue to flick out and lick his lower lip? And why was the frenzied stroking motion so fascinating when every other time I’d seen a male engaged in masturbation it had seemed so clinical? I mean, you don’t open a fertility clinic without intimately knowing the ins and outs of the male anatomy, many times more informed than the men themselves.

  The irony of my virgin status as a spank bank owner was not lost on me.

  And for the first time, I viscerally understood how much I didn’t
know about men. Because I’d never, ever, not once in my adult life, been turned on by the presence of a male penis. They spit out dollar signs and that was all I needed to know. At least, until now, when faced with what had to be a legend among penises.

  A male moan split the air and my skin raised into goosebumps as if commanded by that low grumble. I needed air to cool my overheated skin, possibly hand sanitizer, and maybe even a brain replacement to rid me of the most delectable sight of my life. The logical part of my brain finally engaged and roared at me to leave immediately. I took my first step back, wobbling on legs that had gone Bambi on me when I needed them the most.

  White teeth flashed a split second before they bit a perfect lower lip. My leg paused mid air in its retreat, enthralled by the show playing out in front of me. He stiffened, the vein in his neck becoming two corded bands straining beyond what was healthy. The hand lost its rhythm, becoming jerky and unsteady even as hips lifted off the sofa cushions seeking more friction.

  The volcano was about to blow and if I didn’t leave right that very minute, I would fall to my knees and let the lava burn me inside out as I swallowed it down having officially tossed all my morals out the window.

  I blinked, spun on the ball of my foot, and ran like my life depended on it, which my it did, professionally at least. I couldn’t be caught spying on clients as they left sperm deposits. Could you imagine the backlash? I’d be closed the first day social media got wind of my impropriety. Maybe even sued. The town I’d grown up in would label me a disgrace.

  My feet didn’t stop until I’d locked myself into my own tiny office down the opposite hallway, ceiling fan on high. My leather chair creaked as I plopped down, a frazzled sweaty mess of hormones.