by Billie Dale
“Fine, so long as your choice isn’t based on Josiah Holmes,” she huffs, slinging her purse over her shoulder. “Come on, Rosa. I’m tired and drained from this heat.”
I hug her closer, breathing in her scent. “She’s a scary woman when she’s pissed off.”
Shoulders shaking with giggles, she bobs her head. I lean as she twists, our lips meeting in the middle.
Sam yells for us to return to living room. Hand in hand, I lead her toward where our friends crowd the front door.
“The wedding organizer called. Due to the humidity there is a high chance of pop-up storms during the ceremony. They won’t let us down in the cove because of the storm surge.” She paces, weaving in and out of bodies and furniture. Mazric snags her wrist on a pass, pulling her fretting hands into his chest; he kisses her forehead calming her panic.
Preslee grins; grabbing my face between her palms she plants a kiss on my lips. “Finally, a problem I can solve,” she says between pecks, and I love the genuine smile reaching her eyes.
A loud clap of her hands grabs everyone’s attention. “Okay, so instead of waiting six days let’s do it in two. The rehearsal dinner will be tomorrow and the ceremony the next day. You can still hold the reception on Saturday. Everyone is here except for my parents. Not sure when they’re coming, but they’ll understand.” She pulls her phone from her pocket, shooting off a text.
Sam’s misting eyes widen, a quick grin pulls her lips but fades as fast as it arrived. “My dress isn’t here yet. Neither is yours and Mazzy’s. Jasmina said it’d be here before the ceremony, but not when.”
A gloating smirk pulls at my girl’s mouth. Before I question why a mischievous glint brightens her azure orbs, I hear heels clicking against the tile coming from the back door.
“Then it’s a good thing I’m here now then, isn’t it, daaaarlings?” Jasmina Donovan breezes in the room on a cyclone of perfume and class. A frazzled wild-haired woman rushes to keep up with her pace, lugging gigantic garment bags over her shoulder. “Now the party can begin.” The former movie star winks in my direction, flourishing a hand at herself.
Sammy shoves out of Mazric’s hold, rushing Preslee. She leaps, tackling her to the ground in a hug, shouting, “Thank you, thank you.” Mazric and Hendrix flank me, jaws dropped, watching the women in a tangle of limbs on the floor.
Head cocked to the side, Mazric chews on his bottom lip. “Add some Jell-O and you’ve created my high school fantasy.” I shove his shoulder. “What? Dude, we had two female best friends. You mean to tell me you never beat off to this kind of fuckery?”
“Nasty, man. She’s my sister.” Hendrix gags, shaking the visual from his head.
“Not you, and you better not have pictured Sam either,” Mazric warns.
“Samantha. Hmmm. Not gonna lie about those wet dreams.” Mazric playful punches him in shoulder telling him to shut up.
“Brah, it’s hot as hell now. Give them women some pillows.” Curry sidles up, his gaze feasting on the scene. Mazric and I both sear him with a glare. Hands in his pockets, he shrugs. “Just saying.”
Breathless, Sam and Preslee sit up. As Cash passes on a mission to ask me something—when he should be in bed—Preslee wraps an arm around his legs dragging him down with her. His girly squeal fills the room as they begin the tickle assault. Mazzy Jae runs to see what the commotion is, and they drag her in the pile too.
When the kids threaten to wet themselves, the women let them go. Tears from laughing glisten in their eyes. Sammy slips into Mazric’s arms and Preslee snuggles in mine. The room empties with hugs, goodbyes, and plans to see everyone tomorrow. Jasmina says she’ll be around for any alterations before yelling ciao to the group.
Creeden hangs back until it’s only Mazric, Preslee, Sam, Cash, Mazzy, Seth, Miguel, and me. Sammy wants to talk over a few plans with Preslee before they take Mazzy to their cabin.
He asks to speak with Preslee alone for a bit. He’s quietly hung on the group’s periphery; I forgot he was here. After all the effort he put in to help hide Sam and Mazric’s wedding, he became a part of our group. I’m glad the others took to him and realized how cool he is to have around. Guilty of being a shitty friend, I ask him if he wants to join Mazric and me for a beer. He says he’s tired, promising next time. There’s a rough edge to his words I don’t understand.
Preslee kisses my cheek, telling me she’ll be right back as she leads him out to the deck. He watches her, throwing a snarling glare at me over his shoulder as they step outside. I nod to Seth, telling him to follow.
Creeden hoped to start up something with Preslee. It flashed in neon warning all over his fake engagement idea. The bro code dictates bad form for him wanting the woman I still yearned for, even if it was a fire laced with hate. He helped me when I wallowed in her departure, but after all the nights spent whining into my beer, he knew she still owned my heart. I’m willing to forgive the code of conduct between friends he breached, so he should be happy we’re back together. But the curt nod and harsh tone say he’s anything but okay.
I don’t feel Mazric’s slap on the back or hear their departure. I’m too focused on what’s going on outside.
Forty
Preslee
Aside from the heated discussion with Nona, tonight with my family and friends is a balm to my tattered spirit. I feel renewed and ready to fight whatever comes next.
All night I caught Creeden throwing me shade. He smiled it off at first, but as time wore on his animosity turned his demeanor stony.
I lead him to out the door where Seth joins us. He stands with his hands shoved in his pockets, staring at the moon dancing on the waves. The nights are cooler, but not much. Sweat beads on my forehead as I wait for him to talk. I grow impatient listening to the indigenous frogs.
“Creeden, what’s up?” I ask, wanting to go back inside to Joey and out of this heat.
“So you’re with Joey now, again?” His stare stays on the water as he rocks on his heels.
“Yes.” I hinge a questioning tone on my response.
“You’re aware of the saying once an addict, always an addict, right? Drug user statistics are against you. What happens if Paris returns and he feels obligated to the mother of his son?” Harsh snaps clip his words.
“He’s been clean for years and loves Cash too much to ever succumb to drugs again. And there is nothing to worry about with Paris…” My thoughts swirl to her being here. Is it happenstance he brings her up now? “Aren’t you and her cousins? Have you seen her lately?” I forgot he was related to Paris. Stupid on my part since they share the name Jones.
His body squares off with mine. “She’s my fourth cousin or some bullshit, and no, I haven’t seen her since she left Seven Mile Forge.” He steps closer, taking my hands, his finger runs across my knuckles. “You could’ve given me a chance before you saddled yourself to him and his kid. We had some great chemistry.”
I slip out of his hold. “We were pretending, Creeden. I’m sorry if I led you on, but I thought you understood we were friends helping friends. Yes, I agreed to a date but it never felt right because Joey told me how important you were in his recovery. He values your friendship and I didn’t want to damage it.”
“Right, the bro code rule about dating exes. I was willing to trash it. You’re worth it.” He inches closer, aligning his body with mine. I move to step away but he cups my cheeks roughly, pulling me to his lips. Before he lays one on me Seth wraps his arms around my waist, picking me up off my feet, he twists me behind him.
“Not cool, man. You never force your lips on another man’s woman,” Seth grumbles.
I lay a hand on Seth’s arm, keeping him in reach. “I’m sorry, Creeden. Please don’t let this ruin our relationship. It’s always been and always will be Joey for me. There is a woman out there for you, I promise, but it’s not me. Joey loves you like a brother.”
Head tipped back, a large breath deflates his chest. “Impossible situations,” he groans. Hands stuffed bac
k in his pockets when his eyes meet mine again, the anger is gone. A slight smile tugs at one side of his mouth. “I’m sorry. Please don’t tell him about the almost kiss; I don’t want my ass kicked. He’s a lucky man. If he screws up, promise you’ll consider me?”
I shake my head. “Can’t. If he messes up, I’m becoming a nun.”
His smile becomes a chuckle. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Preslee.” He rushes down the stairs, waving a hand over his shoulder.
“Shit,” I huff as my stomach twists. The siren-clicking whistle of the frogs grows louder. Arms crossed, I face Seth. “Do I tell him? Nothing happened thanks to you.”
“Look over your shoulder, Miss Preslee.”
Behind me, hidden in the sheer curtain, I meet Joey’s gunmetal eyes and pissed-off frown.
“Double shit with peanut chunks,” I groan.
“Eww, nasty Miss Preslee.”
“Give me a better description for this mess.”
He thinks for a second before shaking his head. “Still gross,” he mumbles, holding open the door for me.
Inside, Joey leans on the back of the couch, arms crossed over his chest. “That’ll be all for tonight, Seth. Thank you,” he seethes through gritted teeth. Since Miguel and Seth sleep in the living room, he grabs my hand pulling me to the bedroom.
When I clear the door, he shuts it, flicks the lock, and pins me to the hard wood surface with his body. Eyes hooded, enlarged pupils leave only a bright ring of blue around the blown blackness. His hands grip my hips, holding me in place. My heart thunders in my chest, torn between begging for forgiveness and climbing the Mighty Joey tree.
He looms high over my head, a towering real-life statue to my tiny figurine. I wouldn’t move if I could. The clench of his jaw wars with the heat in his eyes. The tip of his nose slides up my neck, over my jaw, and along my cheek to the edge of my glasses. Those soft bristled hairs on his chin tickle my skin. His forehead rests against mine. My lips part to explain how Creeden’s near kiss wasn’t my fault. Nose-to-nose, he takes the advantage. With a tilt of his head, his lips attack mine. The words become a moan. He skips past the sweet buildup, using my open lips to sweep inside and trace my tongue with his. His forceful pillage obliterates my focus. Taste, smell, and heat explode my brain cells turning me into a one-cell amoeba on fire with lust. My thighs tense as wetness soaks the worthless swatch of fabric between my legs.
I nip and lick the plump fullness of his bottom lip, feeling the short hairs surrounding his mouth. My feet leave the floor, for a second my poor overused cell wonders if I’m flying then my legs land on his hips. Large warm hands gripping my legs tight enough I’ll bear his marks. Our mouths continue to feast and plunder, taking all the spoils under our fingertips.
If my brain were fully functioning, I’d remind it to stop reading bodice ripper pirate novels. But since I’m not there. Arg, matey. This man’s mouth is a bag of gold doubloons.
With a shift of his hips he fills me.
Whoa! When did I lose my pants? And oh, permission to come aboard, his carnal thrust stakes ownership and wowza! My inner girl power goddess kicks up her feet taking back seat, while my body screams, ‘hold my beer, I got this.’
Each hard, claiming slam curls right into my sweet spot. Within an embarrassing handful of seconds my abdomen spasms, curling my toes as an orgasm ricochets through my body. His name falls from my lips. He swallows each one to keep my volume from waking the dead and his son. His butt flexes under my heels as his hands cushion my hips, keeping them from slamming against the door as he chases his own release.
I’m a gooey slump of sated, reduced to mewls. His lips leave mine, trailing a wet path to my exposed shoulder. “This thing’s haunted me all night,” he growls, sucking, nipping, and leaving his brand. “Every inch of you is mine.”
I wish I could say I tapped him on the shoulder, paused our fucking, and corrected him on the whole woman empowerment and the ways I own myself. But my insides tighten again, squeezing the length of him. And I gotta say this whole licentious swashbuckling, burn the village to the ground and take the woman thing is exploding with hotness.
He grows impossibly harder and longer inside me. His movements lose their rhythm until with one final thrust—I swear cracks the wood—wet warmth fills me, tipping me over the edge into oblivion.
“Mine,” he bellows on a sigh as I cry out, “Shiver me timbers. Land ho!”
Our eyes meet, his cocked eyebrow and half-tipped grin say he’s wondering if I said what he thinks I said. “What?” he asks, fighting a chuckle.
My fogged, sex-comatose brain thrums to life, issuing the feverish heat of mortification for its first order of business. Cock softening inside me, he waits for my answer. Lips swelled from repeated contact with mine, red nail marks on his shoulders where I clawed and dug, sweat dotting his forehead, slicking his chest, and the cherry on top the erotic cake is the drugged-up, heavy-lidded swirl in his sea-tinted gaze.
Fist bump, girlfriend. My ego rallies. We made him wear this look. Go me!
Thighs burning where his width spreads me, and the not so nice part of after sex dripping where we connect, I wiggle in his hold until he lowers my feet. My capris and underwear lie in a heap a few steps away. I scramble to untangle the garments, continuing to ignore his question as I shimmy on my panties.
He stands with his jeans gaped open and cock on display all la-de-da with his waiting. “Keep staring and it will rise for your appraisal,” he grunts, calling me out on my penis ogling. Even after a week of reacquainting ourselves with our now adult bodies, my cheeks grow hotter. My eyes take to the ceiling instead. “Don’t you need to, uh, I don’t know, clean up or something?” I suggest, concocting any reason for him to lend me a moment so I can hide under the covers.
His hands cup my cheeks, drawing my head down from its raised angle. “Yes.” He kisses the tip of my nose. “After you explain why you went all Jack Sparrow on me?”
Red as a radish I shift from foot to foot relaying my latest reading trend, adding in the whole great-dicking induced brain damage. He hugs me closer. “You’re odd in the most adorable way, Sunflower. I love it.” I’m muted by his use of ‘L’ word as he touches his mouth to my forehead. “Join me. We’re gonna hash out this whole Creeden situation after I shower. Then I’ll share my pirate booty to make up for the pilfering of your maidenhood.”
“Funny. Such a funny man,” I chide, turning from him. “Cocky ass,” I mumble under my breath.
He slaps my butt and I listen to his bolster of laughter continue as he goes about his bathroom duties.
Tucked under the softest blankets I stare out the windows, resisting the sleep weighting my blinks. The bed dips when he returns. The scent of his bodywash waves over me as his damp warmth snuggles against my back. Arm around my waist, he draws me back into the curve of his hips.
“Explain to me why I’m not going to kill Creeden and hide his body?” A possessive breathy whisper tickles my ear with an air of humor but hinged with promise and anger.
Forty-One
Joey
My girl races from table to table, checks with the catering staff, confirms the bar stock is plentiful, and assures Sam is obligation free and bride-to-be vibrant. The women blurred into action the second the rehearsal dinner date changed and haven’t stopped since.
I’d suggested allowing Carrie Lynn to take over. Death shot from Preslee’s eyes and she mumbled threats to my manhood. Hands up in surrender, I took Mazzy and Cash to the beach, where I found my fellow menfolk hiding from the wrath of women on a mission.
Her daffodil strapless dress swishes with her hip jarring rapid steps. Suntan-kissed dark shoulders stand out against the fabric matching the wispy strands of hair touching her cheeks. She’s a gorgeous ray of sunshine catching the eye of every dick in the room, except the groom and her brother. Hell, I even caught my dad side-eyeing her, unbeknownst to my mother, who would hack off his balls and drowned him with his own testosterone. His ogle was more �
�good job, Son,’ than lecherous, which aided in me allowing him to keep his eyeballs.
All day I’ve tried to pick apart Creeden’s intent last night. I don’t know how they missed my kid at the candy counter face pressed to the glass. When I discussed it with Mazric, Hendrix, and Curry, in a manly dude-ish way, they couldn’t believe I didn’t leave a Joey-sized hole in the wall the second he leaned in for a kiss.
No, we were totally not discussing our feelings like a bunch of lovestruck women. Nope.
Curry snaps his fingers, head weaving, “Boy needs his ass straight-up whooped.”
An uh-huh hum resonates from Mazric’s pinched lips.
“Straight up bro-code violation. He broke every rule in the manual regarding women we slept with,” Hendrix concurs. “Good thing Seth intervened, or you’d be slurping down Creeden slobber,” he adds, following his nasty visual-inducing comment with a smirk.
I flip him off while hiding my cringe behind the lip of my beer bottle.
There, see we are manly ale drinking men.
“He’s not a bad guy. Saved my ass a time or two,” I protest in defense of my friend, but the loyalty is lacking from my tone.
Mazric leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, he thumbs the label on his bottle. “You ended up married to a viper under his watch. And aren’t they loosely related? He’s witnessed the damage Preslee’s leaving did, yet he still chased the flame. Not the bestie I’d be so quick to defend.”
As best friends rank Mazric is my guy, but when his world imploded during the whole pregnant Sammy charade, he fell too deep in his own pit of despair to deal or help with mine. We were both sad sacks with broken hearts. He used Curry and a supermodel as a rope ladder out and I leaned on Creeden and stayed wasted. The hurt hugging his words says he still hates not being there when I stumbled.
“Aww, the big NBA superstar is jelly of Creeden,” Hendrix coos. Mazric responds with an oxygen sucking punch to his chest.
