by Bijou Hunter
“You expect to kiss me.”
“Only because you’re sending me wildly inappropriate signals, and I don’t know how long I can hold out under such pressure to perform.”
Chipper’s deadpan delivery kills me, and I burst into laughter. Every time I think I might gain control of my giggles, I remember his expression when he sold his crap about me sending sexy signals. In fact, I laugh the entire drive to his house, and every minute of laughter liberates me from the pain a little more.
5—CHIPPER
Taking my woman—conscious this time—to my home brings a smile to my face. I’m in love with my house, and I’ll soon fall in love with Tatum. All we need is a few rugrats running around, and I’m set for life.
“What?” Tatum asks once we enter the house.
“I’m a happy person.”
Her green-eyed gaze remains overly focused on me, and I suspect she worries I plan to kill and skin her soon.
“If I wanted to be evil to you, I’d have done it last night. I had you at my mercy, and my dungeon was recently remodeled. Plus, no one knew you were with me. Yes, that was the perfect time to go evil.”
Tatum stares at me, and her expression is unreadable. The love of my life remains a mystery, and I’m dying to learn all her secrets.
“So that’s your cat?” she asks, pointing to the black Persian stretched out along the back of my couch.
“This is Muffin Top,” I say, grinning at how she ignores my evil comment. “She rarely moves from that spot. In fact, when she dies, I plan on having her stuffed and glued to the couch. It’ll be like nothing’s changed.”
“Can I pet her?”
“Of course. She’s mellow as fuck,” I say and walk to the nearby kitchen. “Do you want something to drink? Soda, wine, coffee, I have pretty much everything.”
“I wouldn’t mind coffee if it wouldn’t be too much work.”
I smile at her unwillingness to inconvenience me. She’s a sweet chick, but I hope she doesn’t bow to people forever. She’s begging to get taken advantage of, and I’ll end up spending the rest of my life hunting down those who fuck with her.
“Camel Toe is somewhere in the house, but she’s younger and less prone to playing dead for hours on the couch.”
“I always thought men had dogs,” she says, following me into the kitchen.
“I think that’s because dogs are like women and men like women. Since I have enough women in my life, I like cats. Does that make sense?”
“Not really.”
“Dogs are needy. They want attention. You can give them a shit ton of love, and they still doubt your loyalty. Women are that way too. They always test you. Treat them cold one time, and they act like you’re untrustworthy. Shit, if dogs don’t take crap personally.”
“And cats?”
“They’re selfish. Solitary if needed, but they don’t hate to be around others. Stick a dog in a backyard and leave him there and he’ll go mad and get destructive. Stick a cat in a backyard, and he’ll find something to entertain himself.”
“You said Cricket has dogs.”
“Yeah, because she likes being needed. Cats don’t give her that. Their aloofness hurts her feelings. Same with men. If I don’t pay her attention, she thinks we’re fighting and wants revenge for whatever I did to her to make us fight. It’s dumb, but her man isn’t a cold fucker either. He’s very much a fucking dog. He’d crawl on her damn lap if he could.”
“I’ve never had a pet, so I don’t know what I’d like. No, wait, I take that back. I remember Mom had a parakeet for a while when I was young, but I think one of the kids let it out of the cage and it flew out the door.”
“Did your mom not like pets?”
“She worried about allergies for the kids she watched. Mom always said her first priority was the daycare because it allowed her to stay home with me.”
“And you decided to work with kids too?” I ask as the coffee begins to perk.
“I didn’t know what else I might want to do. I’d worked at the daycare all my life, helping her with lunch or keeping an eye on the smaller kids. When I started homeschooling, I got even more involved in the business.”
“I was homeschooled too,” I say and lean down to give her soft, freckled cheek a full, slightly aroused kiss. Before she can react to the affection, I continue, “Started when I was nine. How about you?”
“Eight,” she stammers, and her fingers caress where my lips just were.
“Did you hate the other kids?”
“Yes!” she cries, forgetting about the kiss and looking irritated. “They were so mean. I used to have trouble reading, and I would freeze up when I got nervous. They’d make fun of me, and I’d cry, so they’d make even more fun of me. It was awful. Homeschooling was so much better. The kids that Mom watched weren’t bullies.”
I love how enraged Tatum sounds about a slight she suffered over a decade earlier. Her ability to hold a grudge is a good sign. I’m a big fan of long-held resentments.
“Cricket and I attended school in Cincinnati before we moved here,” I explain, taking her hand and guiding her to the couch. “After Mom hooked up with Hayes, we talked her into homeschooling us. I didn’t want to be in a class away from Cricket, and I certainly didn’t want to play with the other fucking kids. Cap is homeschooled too which is good since he’s a shy little fucker. A giant shy angelic motherfucker.”
I return to the kitchen to pour our coffee. Once Tatum takes the cup of coffee I hand her, she asks a question I get a lot.
“What’s the deal with your cats’ names?”
“They’re black cats, and I wasn’t naming them Midnight or Ebony.”
“Did you name them that to mess with your sister?” she asks, and I instantly smile.
“Yeah, I did. How’d you guess?”
Tatum gives me a little grin. “I think maybe I’m catching on to how you think.”
“Be careful. If you get too in tune with my brain, you might find yourself stricken with madness.”
“Right now, I have no life plans,” she says, sipping her coffee. “You stole my gun. I have no job. You’re my only friend. I freaked out before I could meet my half brother. My life is just about pointless, so if I go insane by cracking open your head and poking around inside, so be it.”
“Though I respect your suicidal nature, I plan to give you a whole fucking list of reasons to embrace life.”
Tatum sets down her coffee cup and shakes out her arms. “You can start by kissing me,” she says and then throws out her hands to stop me before I’ve even made a move. “I should warn you that I injured the one guy who tried to kiss me before.”
“Did he deserve it?”
“No. He was sweet and hugged me, and I managed to headbutt him and then knock him down. I lack coordination.”
“Or you knew he wasn’t right for you, and you needed to save your lips for me.”
“That’s... No, that’s not it. If it was, then shouldn’t your lips have waited for me?”
“Don’t be fucking silly, Tatum,” I say, shaking my head while resting my coffee mug on the table. “I needed the practice to ensure I was ready to kiss you just fucking right.”
“Stop saying fucking so much.”
“Sure, sure.”
Tatum backs away from me. “How many women have you kissed? Should I have your lips tested for diseases? Wait, can you get lip diseases?”
“Yes, you can, and no, I don’t have any,” I say, leaning toward her until she’s nearly pinned under me. “If I did, would I infect a breathtaking creature like you?”
“I don’t know. I feel like you’re conning me now.”
“That’s because your mind is on nookie and not our everlasting love.”
“We’re not in love,” she says and then frowns. “Nookie?”
“Isn’t that what you call it?”
“Yes, but how do you know that?”
“You said so many wonderful things last night.”
; Tatum giggles while still holding me back with the palms of her hands against my chest. My fingers brush across her forehead and then each freckled cheek. Leaning down, I kiss where my fingers just caressed. Tatum exhales, having held her breath for as long as she could. I take this moment to press my lips against her parted ones.
Our first kiss is both fantastically fucking satisfying and instantly leaves me painfully addicted.
TATUM
I don’t know how many women Chipper practiced kissing on, but I’m a fan of the results. I always thought kissing was a little grody. Romantic, sure, but also nasty. Swapping spit feels all kinds of wrong after spending my life not sharing bodily fluid with people. I was always telling the kids not to lick or spit on each other. Now I’m excited to taste the inside of a person’s mouth. Romance is weird.
Chipper’s weird too, but he kisses amazingly, and I don’t just think that because he’s my second kiss. I can tell he knows what he’s doing. Like how his hand slides effortlessly from my shoulder to my waist to keep me against him while he deepens the kiss. We shift from a quick, tender touch to a furious, tongue tango so effortlessly that I don’t have time to wonder about germs. After all, with my last kiss, I considered asking him to wear a condom on his tongue.
With Chipper, I enjoy kissing so much that I grunt when he considers allowing me to breathe for myself. I feel his lips curl into a smile, but he doesn’t let me go.
His arms wrap snugly around me, acting as protective walls between me and an overwhelming world. I want nothing more than to lose myself in this delicious feeling forever. When Chipper’s lips leave mine, I hold him tighter so he can’t leave me. Unwilling to remain trapped, he reaches for my arms, struggling to free himself and end our perfect kiss. I kick off my tennis shoes and wrap one leg around his hip. I’ve lost any self-control and would pin him down if I were on top.
A wrestling match ensues, and my frenzied hunger wins against his sane, slow and steady approach.
“You’re a wildcat.”
“All the best women are,” I babble, literally clawing at his shirt. “Let’s keep kissing.”
“I want to talk,” he insists and frees himself enough to sit at the end of the couch.
After a painfully long moment, I force myself upright and cross my legs. I feel deflated by his unwillingness to kiss until our lips bleed.
“Am I a bad kisser?”
“My hard dick says no.” His words make my cheeks burn so hot that I cover my face without thinking. Reaching out to caresses my knuckles, Chipper laughs. “You’re fucking adorable when you blush like that.”
“I’m a grown woman. The last thing I want is for you to think I’m adorable.”
“Then you’re dick-hypnotizing sexy. Does that make you feel more mature?”
“Yes. Thank you,” I say, fanning my cheeks. “What do you want to talk about?”
“Do you still want to kill Howler?”
“Yes and no,” I mutter, uninterested in anything beyond Chipper’s lips. “I want him dead, but I don’t want to have to die too.”
“Good.”
“Can I have my gun back?”
“I lost it,” he says, giving me a half smile. “If you want Howler dead, I’ll kill him.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“He’s not yours to kill. Howler didn’t wrong you.”
“He pissed me off.”
“Big whoop.”
“Your attempts to sound tough are fucking adorably sexy.”
Grinning at his wording, I scoot closer on the couch. “My mom left me the money from the house, but I don’t want to waste it. She wanted the money to be my nest egg. I only used a little to travel here and to put money down for the furnished room. I’ll need a job soon to pay for next month’s rent.”
“What kind of job?” he asks, and I hear the annoyance in his voice.
“I saw a sign on the Wendy’s near the house.”
“No, that place is the worst,” Chipper says immediately. “The manager is a blowhard. I’ve been in there twice in five years, and each time he berated an employee. No way will I let you work there.”
“When you use the word ‘let’ like that, it makes me want to kiss you less.”
“Less, sure, but you still want to kiss me. That’s all that really matters,” Chipper says, giving me a devious wink.
“You’re playing a dangerous game.”
“Not really. Right now is the safest I’ve been. Last night, you were a stranger with a death wish and a possible drinking problem. Tonight, you’re my woman who wants to live, and you requested coffee rather than booze. Shit, life has never been better for me.”
“One meal out and a single kiss and I’m now your woman? Is that how dating works?”
“As the one with more experience, I can assure you it does, in fact, work exactly like that.”
Squinting, I think to say a few not-so-nice things about his experience and reassurances. He’s messing with me, and I feel like I ought to push back against his smug demeanor. I choose to keep my mouth shut rather than stirring up trouble. Mostly, I don’t have a snappy comeback, and I really do enjoy the thought of being his woman.
“Back to my job search, I have no skills outside of daycare and minor bookkeeping.”
“You can work for me.”
Frowning, I point out, “I don’t know what you do.”
“I work for my family.”
I lean forward to rest my elbows on my knees before asking, “Doing what?”
“Bossing people around,” Chipper says, reaching back to pet the very still cat behind him. “Threats are occasionally made. I drive around a lot, showing up unannounced at businesses to intimidate the minions.”
“And what would I do?”
“Assist me.”
“I don’t know how to intimidate people,” I say, leaning back onto the couch.
“You intimidated kids, right? Same thing.”
“No. I disciplined them. It’s not the same thing,” I explain while ignoring his grin. “Also, if you need an assistant, why don’t you already have one? I don’t want you to create a job just to be nice to me. I’m not afraid of work.”
“I had an assistant named Pam who smelled like berries. She couldn’t type for shit, so I fired her.”
“I can’t type for shit either.”
“Well,” he says, rather dramatically, “I might have fired her because she quit.”
“Why did she quit?”
“She claimed I was an uncaring asshole.”
“Were you?”
“Why are you taking her side?”
“I feel like Pam, and I might be soul mates,” I say, struggling to keep a straight face. “I like the smell of berries, and neither of us can type for shit.”
“Pam was easily offended,” he says, now reaching for my hand as if concerned I’m genuinely siding with his former assistant. “She actually claimed I cussed too much as if that’s even a real thing. Plus, she said Cricket purposely called her by the wrong name. I tried explaining how my sister didn’t actually know her name and refused to learn it. Oh, and then Pam even talked shit about my baby brother, Cap, who is the sweetest shit this side of heaven. He’s an honest-to-goodness cherub, I tell ya.”
“Well, she sounds awful. I’m sorry you were forced to endure her, but I don’t think I’d be a good assistant.”
“Why?”
“The endless requests for kissing would distract you from your work.”
“Yes, yes, it would,” he says, again with that sly grin, “but in a good way. Giving into your requests will provide a much-needed stress release.”
“What happens if we don’t get along? Will you fire me?”
“I don’t need us to get along. I fight with my sister all the time, and she’s my best friend.”
“I’ll think about it,” I say, wrapping my hair behind my ears. “I don’t want a pity job where I have to kiss your butt to keep a paycheck.”
&nb
sp; “Wait, so you refuse to kiss my ass, but you’ll kiss the ass of the fucking twat manager at Wendy’s? I’m oddly offended by that fucking idea.”
“When you cuss like that, it scares me. Do you mean it to?”
“Of course not. I like cussing.”
I can’t imagine using profane language so effortlessly. “With the daycare in my house, I never cussed.”
“Are you asking me to stop?” he asks, revealing darkness in his eyes I haven’t seen before.
“What if I say yes?”
Roughly rubbing his head and tousling his short blond hair, he exhales hard. “Then I’ll learn to say ‘fudge’ and ‘shoot,’ but you’ll need to be patient. I can’t just fucking stop overnight.”
“You’d stop for a woman you barely know?”
“No,” he says, leaning closer while speaking in a low, seductive voice, “but I’d stop for a woman I plan to know for the rest of my life. But, yeah, you’ll need to be patient.”
“I don’t care if you cuss, Chipper. I only wanted to understand if you talked like that to intimidate me.”
“I would give up cussing for you, Breezy,” he nearly whispers, and I catch a little grin on his face. “In my family, that kind of sacrifice is a big deal.”
Crawling toward him, I smile. “Let me reward you with a kiss.”
“Will you stay here tonight?”
My vagina immediately clenches shut, throwing up a metaphorical “CLOSED” sign. “Kissing is fun, but I’m not sure I can handle more than that yet.”
“I meant in the guest room,” he says, cupping my face.
“I don’t want to sleep in my clothes.”
“I have something you can wear.”
“I would rather not.”
“Why?”
“I need time to decompress and think about everything. I can’t do that here because everything in your house was chosen by you.”
Chipper considers my words, and I see him working out how he might get what he wants while still giving me what I want. Finally realizing he can’t, the gorgeous man can’t hide his disappointment. For now, kissing is all we can agree on before Chipper returns me to the too loud house where I spend the entire night wishing I’d been brave enough to stay with him.
