Hope Entangles: A New Adult Romantic Comedy (Book 2 of 3)

by Alice Bello

  “So, Sprinkles?” I taunted.

  He glared and showed me his white teeth. It wasn’t a smile.

  I gave him my best smile. That’s right, Mother Teresa in hot male clothing or not, he was still the guy who tried to chainsaw my sycamore tree.

  I tried to extend my hearing and decide whether The Women were still having it out on my porch. Nothing but quiet and the sound of the wind through my tree.

  Hallelujah!

  “So pick me up at six thirty, okay?”

  “I’ll drive.” He smiled. “We may not make it in your hunk of junk.”

  “Hey!” I grumbled, but he was kind of right.

  “And…” He sat up straighter and adjusted the nonexistent collar of his t-shirt. “I can’t be seen showing up at a ritzy party in something as mundane as your car.”

  I closed my eyes and took a big, deep breath. Don’t kill him… you need him… don’t kill him…

  I shot him with my brightest smile. “Just don’t dress too flamboyantly.”

  He scowled.

  “We want everyone to think you’re my sexy date, not my sexy gay best friend.”

  His eyes turned to slits.

  Ha, take that!

  He stood and was suddenly right up in my personal space. He smelled like butter and freakishly attractive man. I felt hot and a little dizzy from the contact high.

  He leaned over and picked up the last piece of banana nut bread from my plate, and popped it into his mouth, chewing slowly, his thick, soft looking lips making a show of it.

  As he eyed me I gulped and tried to look away—but I freaking couldn’t.

  Damn him!

  He swallowed and smiled again (asshole didn’t even have anything stuck in his perfectly white teeth).

  “I think I can pull it off.” He turned and walked over to the coffee maker, sprinkle mug in hand, and poured himself a cup of coffee.

  Bette raised a lewd eyebrow at me and I closed my eyes and shook my head.

  What was I getting myself into?

  Chapter 15: Jake

  When I got home my answering machine was blinking that I had thirty-seven messages.

  Okay, that had to be a mistake.

  I hit the play button and the cloying voice of my cousin, Julie Hours, sang excitedly from the recorder.

  “Hey Jake, thought you should know your mother and sister are back in town,”

  Yeah, tell me something I don’t know.

  “And they showed up on Hope Jones’ porch.”

  That I didn’t know.

  “There was a commotion, some yelling and cursing—on your sister’s part—and then Hope’s mother showed up.”

  Oh dear god…

  “They almost came to blows, but the old man across the street came out and threatened to call the police, so they all decided to leave. Call me when you find out what they were there for, okay?”

  Beep.

  The second message was from Rhonda Porter, a woman that worked at Wal-Mart in the frozen foods department.

  “Hey Jake. Just wanted to let you know your mother and sister were spotted giving that Jones girl a hard time on her front porch. Right out where everyone passing by could see and hear. And from what I heard, they were arguing about you. You sneaky little devil. I didn’t even know you and Hope were dating! Call me.”

  I sat down and cringed as people I hadn’t even thought of in years told me over and over about sightings of my mother and sister, and the verbal battle they had with Hope’s mother.

  Now that would have been the scariest thing… ever. My sister was the meanest bitch of her generation, and my mother was a freaking iceberg of mean. But Hope’s mother was the kind of evil they foretell of in the Bible.

  Pure, unadulterated nasty.

  “Hey, Jake-y,” came Tammy Faye Bullock’s sweet twang. “I heard about your mother and sister getting into it at Hope’s—no class there, no class at all. But I thought you should know they’re all over here at Crickster’s calmly chatting over milkshakes and a basket of cinnamon twists.”

  Okay, that’s not good.

  “Nothing good can come of this, so I thought I’d give you a heads up.”

  Beep.

  The messages were still going when Paula and mother came through the front door. They stopped and looked guilty.

  “So,” I said, my anger barely held in check. It felt like my fury was expanding in my chest, ready to explode. “I hear you two have been busy today.”

  My sister regained her bitchy composure and cocked her hip at me. My mother folded her arms over her chest and took a breath to speak.

  I jumped out of my chair and bashed the answering machine with my fist, crushing it with a crunch and some sparks.

  Both women winced and took a step back.

  “I don’t care what you and that bitch Hope’s mother think you’re doing, but it’s over!”

  “Jacob Michael Troy!” Norma breathed heatedly.

  I cut her right off. “Shut up!”

  Her head went back as if I’d slapped her.

  “Get your things,” I snarled. “I’m driving you to the airport.”

  She started to say something and I grabbed the broken message machine and threw it across the room, just missing the front window but knocking an old cuckoo clock from the wall.

  “I said get your shit… you’re leaving.”

  Chapter 16: Hope

  I couldn’t sleep. Well, I couldn’t get comfortable. It was as if I had forgotten something important… like leaving the stove on or the dog out in the cold… if I had a dog.

  I just couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d missed something.

  Or something was missing…

  And then I felt movement in my bed; for some reason I wasn’t a bit surprised when a muscular arm draped over my shoulder, pulling me possessively against him. He smelled of Dial liquid soap and a hint of axle grease.

  Jake…

  I shivered as his breath tickled the back of my neck.

  He chuckled and pulled me closer. He was naked, and so was I. I could feel every lovely inch of him, warm and hard against me. Shamelessly, I wiggled my bottom back against him, making part of him all the harder.

  He cursed, and before I knew it he’d flipped me over onto my back and maneuvered himself in between my thighs.

  Good god, yes… I needed him inside me.

  Please, please, pretty please…

  I didn’t have to beg. He reached down and lined himself up to me and before I could pull in another breath he pushed into me. I gasped, my body tensing, my sex contracting. I gripped him inside me so tightly he groaned with need, with hunger.

  “I want to fuck the hell out of you,” Raphael said, his dark, sexy voice making me jerk.

  I planted a hand against his chest and pushed him back, but that just made his hard cock push even farther into me. His skin gleamed in the moonlight, the tattoos on his arm shone silvery.

  I shuddered as he pushed further into me and my body responded.

  Where was Jake?

  I’d been with Jake, right?

  But Raphael was inside me, and as he leaned down I smelled his scent mixed with melted butter.

  What the hell was going on?

  He leaned down to kiss me, his hips pounding into me.

  I came awake, gasping for breath, hands pulling the covers up over my body, sweat pouring off me.

  I looked around my room. All the lights were out but the moon streamed in and illuminated everything in a reassuring glow.

  Clive rested on the dresser across the room from me. He twitched his tail and blinked at me, his eyes flashing red for a beat like he was a demon. He turned his feline head from me, telling me openly that he thought I was too pathetic to look at any longer.

  I couldn’t be having sex dreams about two men at the same time…

  Oh, wait, hadn’t I already had one?

  One in that damn chocolate dress I was going to be wearing… tonight!

  Oh lo
rd, I prayed. Have mercy on me. Please, please, please have mercy.

  ***

  I tried to burn off my nervous energy by taking a three-mile walk through town. That didn’t work, so I did some gardening. And when that hadn’t done the trick I went down in my basement and started moving things around. The basement was clean and neat, but I could still burn off some nervousness moving things around.

  This finally worked, and I fell asleep on the couch for an indeterminate number of hours until someone started banging on my door and ringing my phone. I staggered to the door, dismissing the phone as just an irritating noise.

  Bette and Darla stood at my door, both looking harassed and impatient. But both greeted me with mega watt smiles.

  “I thought you’d never answer the door!” Bette said.

  “Were you sleeping or something?” Darla pinched my arm as she stepped past me and into the house.

  I held my arm where she’d pinched. It hurt and woke me right up. I wiped some drool from my chin. “No, I wasn’t asleep.”

  The two did that creepy Siamese twin thing, looking me up and down and then silently conversing to each other with just their eyes.

  “Hit the showers,” Bette crooned as she headed up to my bedroom. “We only have two hours before Stud-Neighbor comes a-calling.”

  Darla smiled and shooed me along up the stairs ahead of her. “Don’t worry. I’m doing your makeup and hair. We agreed.”

  That made me feel a little better, even though I still couldn’t wrap my mind around Darla knowing anything about makeup.

  Two hours blew on by, and they pronounced me “gorgeous” and departed to Bette’s for a couple celebratory margaritas. I assumed Darla’s would be virgin… but what I didn’t know I didn’t have to testify to in court about.

  I sat in my kitchen with a crème soda by my side. I needed some coffee, but was afraid my stomach wasn’t up for it.

  The delicate gold bracelet Darla clasped to my right wrist was making my scar itch… and tingle…

  I took it off and rubbed my wrist for a little while, trying to clear my head of all thought.

  It shouldn’t be this hard…

  Monks do it. Yoga instructors the world over do it.

  I bet even Lindsay Lohan could do it!

  There was a knock on the front door.

  Thank god.

  I grabbed my clutch, checked to make sure I had cash, a credit card and my cell phone: always leave home prepared.

  Yeah, especially when you’re going on a date.

  It’s not a date. I can’t stand him. No matter if he’s the hot male Mother Teresa of the Morales clan.

  I clicked my way down the hall into my foyer. I opened the front door and just stopped. I couldn’t speak, I couldn’t move, all I could do was stare.

  A tall, handsome stranger stood on my porch, the kind they write romance novels about.

  He turned and smiled at me, giving me his best sexy smile.

  I forced the eyes closed and shook my head. Drop dead sexy/gorgeous or not, Raphael was still an egotistical asshole.

  I opened my eyes and glared at him, placing my hands on my hips.

  Raphael’s eyes swept of me and kind of glazed over, darkening, his mouth sliding from a smirk to slack jawed dope in ten second flat.

  It was my turn to smile. Take that, Mr. Sex-on-a-stick.

  He gulped and ran a hand over the back of his neck. “You… you look…amazing.”

  I smiled even wider. Amazing? He thought I looked amazing.

  I gave Clive a scratch behind his ears and whispered, “Don’t wait up for me.”

  I cringed. I just didn’t say that, had I?

  Raphael still had that vacant look on his face, so I was pretty sure he hadn’t heard me.

  He backed up a pace and then scrubbed a hand over his face, wiping away his shocked expression. He suddenly looked sober and thoughtful… and handsomer than I’d ever seen him before.

  His suit was pure black and tailored to hug his every curve. His silk dress shirt was a blue so dark it was almost black too. All that dark made his hungry, predator eyes all the darker looking.

  My god, his eyes were drowning deep. I felt like I could stand there and stare up into those fierce, smoldering eyes forever. Until time came to a halt and the universe ended and turned to dust.

  He offered me his arm, and after staring at him for too long I recognized the gesture. I slid my arm in his and we turned to walk off the porch. He smelled so good; fresh yet darkly spicy.

  Like paparazzi stalking the Jolie/Pitts, Bette and Darla sprang from the bushes beside my porch steps and raised a pair of digital cameras.

  Flash… flash, flash, flash…

  I blinked and tried not to fall forward down the porch steps.

  “Smile, Hope!” Darla sang. “The camera loves you.”

  I glowered down at them.

  Bette let her camera drop and she smirked at me. “Say cunnilingus!”

  Raphael snorted.

  I elbowed him in the ribs.

  “Don’t worry,” he said, pretending my elbow hadn’t hit the mark. “I’ll teach you all about it after the party.”

  I felt the blood rush to my face. Bette raised her camera and took a picture. “That’s perfect.”

  Darla and Bette waved goodbye as Raphael drove us away in his shiny red Barracuda, slipping through the sleepy, quiet suburban streets, and then onto the interstate.

  Usually high speed driving caused me to clench up, hold on tight, and then pray to god I’d get out of the car alive.

  Either I trusted Raphael’s driving—which made absolutely no sense—or being in the car while Bette taught Darla how to drive had inoculated me.

  I leaned forward and turned on the radio. Some kind of thrash metal band moaned and screamed and smashed their instruments to a furious beat. I turned and gave Raphael a hard look.

  He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a CD case and handed it to me. The CD had “Trip” written in sloppy handwriting.

  “You made a mixed CD?” I couldn’t hide how much this tickled me. “What, are you seventeen or something?”

  He took the CD case from me, opened it and stuck it into the slot under the radio.

  “First of all, I didn’t make it for you. I made it for the trip.”

  I giggled, making his dark brows furrow. “And second?”

  He sneered. “I’d made my first million by seventeen.”

  Oh… I’d forgotten. And now he was the patron saint of his entire family.

  I knew people who tortured themselves because they couldn’t provide for their families. People that only wished they could help their entire families.

  Raphael already had and still was.

  I was about to say something when The Dixie Chicks started to rock out from the speakers. Long Time Gone, one of my favorites.

  I leaned back in the buttery soft leather bucket seat and let my eyes slide closed. If the rest of his song selections were this good… and unexpected, this would be a very nice trip.

  Nat King Cole crooned The Very Thought of You, Carrie Underwood belted Last Name, James Brown shouted The Pay Back, Green Day rocked American Idiot and The Rolling Stones rolled through Satisfaction.

  I might’ve nodded off somewhere along the way, but when Raphael said, “We’re here, Sleeping Beauty,” Rihanna was singing Stay.

  Night had fallen and a man in khakis and a dark blue polo shirt opened my door for me. Raphael slid out his door like a sleek cat, whereas I had a hard time pulling myself up from such a low seat, especially with these heels on. I could walk in them—I’d practiced—but I hadn’t tried getting in and out of a low to the road sports car yet.

  The valet held the door, but it was Raphael who leaned in and offered me his hand. The bastard was being chivalrous. I was sure he would make fun of me for it later, but right then I was just glad to get out of the car.

  And the second I stood up I had to pee. Like so bad my knees knocked together an
d I almost fell over. I hung onto Raphael’s arm for support—man, he really worked out, and he smelled delicious.

  I asserted my absolutely amazing powers of mind control over my bladder, and waved the valet back over.

  “Can I help you?”

  “Yes,” I nearly yelped, and then forced my voice lower. “Where’s the closest bathroom?”

  He smiled and pointed to the revolving door. “Through the door; halfway through the lobby and to the right.”

  “Thanks,” I said, gave Raphael an apologetic “Sorry,” and unceremoniously started to run, my knees locked, teetering on my heels.

  The revolving door slowed me down, and so did the crowd milling around the lobby. But I cut off a bellboy with a flotilla of luggage, ducked past some squabbling ladies in matching “I Break for Shirtless Cover Models” t-shirts and dashed into the ladies’ room.

  And then stood in line for ten minutes to use one of the three stalls the Hilton’s restroom boasted.

  I mean, really… only three stalls?

  I was tempted to find another ladies’ room, or to just go over to the Men’s room… but I was afraid I’d start to leak if I had to walk too much farther, and I was certain that I’d get arrested if I went into the Men’s room.

  The lady in front of me took pity on me, otherwise it might’ve been even longer.

  I tried not to be too loud as a sigh of utter relief rang from my mouth.

  Thank god I made it.

  Raphael was waiting patiently for me outside the ladies’ room, leaning sexily against the wall. He looked great, unwrinkled and refreshed.

  I’d checked myself out in the mirror when I’d washed my hands. My make up was still good—which was great, since I didn’t know how to fix it—and my dress had only a couple wrinkles.

  “Ready to meet and greet?” he taunted.

  I closed my eyes and imagined the horror that awaited me. “No.”

  “That’s the spirit!”

  Chapter 17

  The ballroom glowed with just enough amber and blue light that you could easily see, but was still intimate to the eye. Throngs of people shifted through the huge room, all eating and drinking and talking over the pulsing beat of an unfamiliar song. As my eyes adjusted I saw huge ten foot tall monitors on the walls, all showing a slide show of my accumulated covers, and some of the ones I’d done up from my leftovers.