Thousand Yard Bride

by Nora Flite

  My kitchen was also custom built—big, open, plenty of light and the finest appliances. I’d had entire parties in here and no one felt squished. I’m not sure when exactly I got into cooking, but it was probably when I was little. Kitchens are the perfect place to hide from your parents when they fight. The cook, Matilda, would try to distract me by letting me help her chop vegetables or stir a pot or whatever.

  I watched as Jo ran her hands over the butcher block island, caressing it. She then opened my fridge and pulled out a bottle of water for her and a Heineken for me. She impressed me when she opened my beer by using the side of the counter rather than hunting down a bottle opener.

  Passing it to me, she winked. “I hope that’s OK, me going through your fridge."

  "It's fine," I said, sipping the drink. "I like seeing you making yourself comfortable."

  Chewing her lip, she fidgeted in place. "What’s cooking?”

  “Italian food. Wanna help?”

  “I’m not too bad with a ladle,” she said. “Tell me what you want me to do.”

  The image of Jo standing there in my kitchen, her long hair finally let loose and draped over her shoulders, was nothing short of really fucking sexy. I thought about making a move on her, but I knew I had to get the Poppy discussion out of the way.

  As much as I wanted to lean her over the island and bury my dick into her while her legs shook—and dammit, I really wanted to—I knew I had to resist. So instead of telling her to take her shirt off, I asked her to stir the risotto into the broth. “Nice and slow,” I told her, trying not to give away my true desires with a smile.

  I came up behind her and added seasonings. I smelled her hair as I leaned over her shoulder. Then I reminded myself about the reason why she was standing there looking so damn fine in my kitchen anyway. “Listen Jo, I wanted to talk to you about Poppy.”

  “What do you mean?” She tried to make her voice light, but I could hear the tension underneath.

  Cutting right to it, I looked her in the eye. “I didn't cheat on her. I'm tired of telling everyone that, tired of defending myself." Some of this was my fault. I'd had no desire to drag Poppy’s name through the mud, even if people would believe me. But why would they? I’d made a second career of being a scoundrel. Who would believe the notorious playboy over the innocent looking Poppy Van Hausen? I didn't have the energy for that battle.

  Jo's face was steady. “I never thought you did, Hunter.”

  “Really?” I blurted.

  Her smile came back, big and honest and perfect for kissing. “Yeah. I researched you before I took you on as my client.”

  “Oh,” I said, then, “Wait. What do you mean you researched me?”

  Shrugging upwards, she stirred the risotto. “I mean I just did my job. I read all the stories and tabloids and blog posts about you. There was a lot about you and Poppy."

  The way she said that last part really stung, like snooping into my life was completely natural. “That seems really intrusive. You know so much of that crap is made up shit, right?”

  Her hand spun, no longer patiently working the risotto. “Of course. Do you think I’m an idiot? It’s my job as your publicist to know everything the media and the public think they know about you. It's the reason I'm here and not hiding away, thinking I've really messed up." She looked up at me, not smiling, but imploring me none the less. "I really believe you about Poppy. Okay?"

  I was impressed. There hadn’t been a single person who really seemed to believe my side of the story. As I added the chicken to the pan with the capers, taking care not to stand too close to Jo, I asked her, “Want to know the really fucked up part?” She said nothing; I pushed on and ignored the hard bits of glass that always cut me up inside when I thought about this. "Not only did I not cheat on her, but she cheated on me."

  Staring into the pan, I didn't see her approach me, I just felt her hand resting on my forearm. "That's terrible. I'm so sorry."

  Releasing the spoon, I moved away, but she followed me until I was leaning on the counter. "You know all this stuff about me, I'm kind of shocked you didn't figure it out."

  “Actually . . . I did know."

  My eyes flew wide. "What? How?" Was she playing a game with me?

  Tucking her hair behind her ears, she looked from me to the floor. "Your mother told me about it."

  A spike of ice jammed into my throat. "My mother?"

  "Yeah. She told me all about how she'd gone to see you practicing one day, and stumbled onto Poppy and Benny inside the—"

  A firework went off in my brain. "Benny? Did you just say fucking Benny?" On the stove, the smell of burning chicken reached me. I ignored it, too busy staring down at Jo and trying to understand what the hell she'd just said.

  Covering her mouth, she stepped back. "You mean you don’t know?"

  For a moment, I said nothing, just paced across the floor. "My mom saw them and she never told me? I don't—what the hell?" I wanted to throw my beer across the room, but instead I just took a big swig of it.

  "She probably wanted to stay out of it," Jo whispered. “Can I ask you a question?”

  Downing the last of the beer, I slammed it onto the counter. “Yeah. Ask away,” I responded sharply.

  “Why does this bother you so much? Benny is a tool, and I thought you were over Poppy."

  I focused for a few minutes before steadying myself and saying, “I am over her. Believe me, I am. What she did to me hurt me deeper than anything I've ever gone through." Hunching down, I grabbed the counter behind me, my arms flexing to their limit. "But to find out that fucking Benny of all people did this—did that with her—and that they knew, my mom knew, and they watched me getting torn apart in the news over the rumors and never came clean . . . Jo, how can that not bother me? I feel worthless."

  I laughed when I said it, my chin nearly touching my chest. I didn't want to see her. I couldn't handle the idea that Jo might see how fragile my ego was, or how close I was to falling apart.

  Fingers dug into my cheeks—they hurt, Jo was grabbing me like I was a football and she needed this touchdown to win. "You're not worthless," she said to me. Lingering there, Jo flicked her attention to my gently curving frown.

  Her kiss was sweet, nowhere near as painful as her nails had been. My skin was wide awake from her assault. I sank lower, legs bending, my tongue seeking more of her.

  I couldn't help but wonder how much of this was raw attraction and how much was emotion. We were connected on more than a few levels now, and I wanted nothing more than to be connected with her in the deepest way possible.

  "You really think I'm not worthless?" I asked her. She smelled so damn good.

  Jo turned around, hopping up onto the counter so that I was faced by her spread knees. "I don't sleep with worthless people," she said flatly. Her eyes were half shut, plump lips a coy smile.

  Jo unbuttoned her pants, sliding them down and off with her shoes. In just the loose top and her plain blue panties, my cock went rock hard. Hissing, I hurried to yank my clothes off. I loved the way she paused, lost in the sight of me. Seeing a woman get turned on just by looking at me was the best aphrodisiac.

  Her hips were the perfect height on the counter. "You want me inside you?" I asked, fisting myself through my briefs.

  Jo nodded, her hair bouncing on her shoulders. She'd worn it down a lot lately; I liked to think it was because of me. "I do."

  "Say it," I growled, pushing my thick, cloth covered shaft against her panties. Her damp spot was obvious. I felt the hard numb of her swollen clit as I rubbed on her.

  "I want you inside of me—ah, fuck, that's amazing." Arching her spine, she rolled her eyes back and dry humped me.

  I didn't peel her underwear off, I shoved them to the side. Exploring her soaked pussy, I lazily circled her clitoris. Jo panted, looking at me like she was drunk. I smirked sharply. "Keep talking. Tell me what to do."

  Swallowing, she gathered herself. "Finger me."

  "How many finger
s?" I asked sweetly, stroking over her pink lips, spreading them wide.

  "One—no, two."

  I stared at her, waiting for her to feel the weight of my lack of action. "You're sure that's enough?"

  Her blush was addictive. "Do it. I can't handle waiting."

  "That's the truth." Breathing out raggedly, I inserted two fingers as slow as I could. They went in easy; she was slippery, eager. Like I was counting the seconds, I moved one finger, then the other, petting deep inside of her.

  Lowering my face, I inhaled the scent of her arousal. I'd barely started licking her fat clit when she shook, squeezing me with her insides and her legs as she came. "Ah! That's—fuck, yes!"

  "Fast," I muffled against her skin. Standing, I pulled my fingers from her. Jo was glowing, her chest rising rapidly. Looking her dead in the eye, I licked my fingers, moaning around them. "Delicious. Nothing tastes better than my soon to be wife."

  She froze, her mouth working—no sound coming out.

  My cock bounced into the air with how hard I ripped my briefs down. Jo got one look at it before I stepped up, sinking it into her where she sat on the counter. The picatta burned, I didn't care. Whatever we'd been doing before now had stopped mattering.

  Our lovemaking was like a force of nature. It was a storm you ran out into because you wanted to feel the rain on your face rather than waiting it out in the safety of cover. Neither of us was here because we wanted safety. This was about animal-action, raw passion. About us letting go and fucking until we had to call the damn fire department because my kitchen was burning down.

  If this wasn't love . . .

  What the hell was?

  13

  Jo

  The next day I met Lanie at ClimbTime. We both laughed as we realized we were wearing the gym's teal company brand shirts. We weren’t actual twins, but we almost looked the part at that moment.

  “How did dress hunting go?” my sister asked. "Sorry I couldn't make it last minute."

  “It's fine," I said, waving at the air. "It would have helped to have you there as backup, though."

  “What happened?” She reached for a too-far-away hand grip.

  “His ex ambushed me. It shouldn't be a big deal, but it was. I feel pretty shitty about the whole thing.”

  Lanie chose a better hand hold and pulled herself up higher before answering me. “He probably does, too. Even if you’re not doing each other, he does have his little Hunter Jr. Jr. growing inside you.”

  “Keep quiet,” I hissed, jerking her rope.

  “Why?" she laughed, looking around. "No one can hear us up here." There was a devilish light in her eyes. "Oho. Wait. Are you two sleeping together?" I was sure my whole body was glowing red. "Gasp! Joanne Cooke!"

  Groaning, I buried my face on the rock wall. "He made me dinner. Even if it was burned by the time we go to it."

  Lanie cackled. "Naughty horn dogs!" She reached the summit and turned around to look back at me. “Speaking of a certain horny devil.”

  Hunter sauntered towards us in his very own teal ClimbTime shirt. “Hey, Jo,” he shouted up at me. He then waved up to Lanie who waved back.

  She winked at me, making a kissing face. “I’ll just chill up here for a while, no worries, it’s a cool view."

  I pretended to be put out, but really, I was happy to see Hunter. As carefully as I could—I hadn't stopped rock climbing yet, but I did have a baby in me—I slid down the wall to the floor.

  Hunter smiled at me, whistling. "Watching you scale this is super hot. I dig the sweaty look."

  "Uh huh." On impulse, I hugged him, feeling his muscles beneath his new climbing shirt. "What's this all about? Do you rock climb?"

  “Not at all. I could use a good teacher." Chuckling, he nuzzled my ear. "Someone with nice strong hands." Gripping my wrists, he forced my palms onto his ass, holding them there as I struggled.

  Heat swam down to my knees. Swallowing, I stepped back when he let me go. “You think you’re ready for this? It’s pretty hard core.”

  “That's my favorite kind of thing."

  Always with the innuendo, I thought, trying not to laugh. Lanie rappelled down and handed her harness to Hunter. I helped him into it, knowing he was playing extra dumb when he had me clipping the basic buckles.

  His fingers traced mine, making me take extra long on adjusting the harness around his crotch. "Kinky," he chuckled, his smirk strong as ever. I wished he wasn't getting me flustered, but the harness was stretching so tight over his broad chest that I was distracted.

  "Okay," I said, wiping at the back of my neck and pretending I was just sweating from my climb, "You're set. Go for it."

  He flashed us his thumb, then he began climb so smoothly I realized he was either a natural . . . or he'd done this before and had been messing with me. Lanie said under her breath, "Can we clone him?"

  When he came back down, I folded my arms. "That was impressive. I’d almost think you were an athlete or something."

  "Nah, I just had a good teacher," he said sweetly.

  After our climb, we all walked across the street to Big Mojos Brewhaus & Grille, our favorite spot to rejuvenate after a workout. Sure enough, my jerk of a sister ordered a delicious house microbrew, while I was forced to order a hot ginger tea to help with my morning sickness.

  Hunter, in solidarity, ordered a seltzer.

  I ordered a club with extra bacon, and when it arrived, I dug into it like it was my last meal. Lanie cautiously leaned away, as if I might bite her next. “Baby likes bacon,” I shrugged. “Who am I to deny it such vital sustenance?”

  “He or she probably gets that from me,” Hunter said in between bites. “How’s your ankle lately?”

  Wiggling my foot, I said, "Fine. Hasn't bothered me in a day or two."

  “Still can't believe everything that's happened to you," Lanie laughed. "New job, busted ankle, pregnant, and now . . . engaged to this amazing specimen of a man."

  Hunter grinned as wide as he could. “That's a nice way to say you approve.”

  "I do approve." Taking a pull from her beer, she sighed. "I'm excited to be an aunt. It's almost as good as getting married, myself."

  "You?" I teased. "Married?"

  Lanie closed her eyes, tilting her head way back. "You're right. How awful of me to take myself away from the free men of the world."

  Hunter laughed first, but it was contagious, and soon all of us were banging the table and trying not to choke. It felt good to just laugh like that. It felt even better to look across the table at Hunter and think, This is normal.

  I was eager to grab at every fragment of "normal" that I could find. I had a feeling there wouldn't be many more of them.

  14

  Jo

  Whenever I’d thought about Hunter before, it was Hunter the star wide receiver, or Hunter, the sexy guy in all those commercials. When I thought about Hunter now, it was Hunter the guy who kept his kitchen stocked with fizzy water. Hunter, the guy whose bathroom smelled like mint.

  He’d given me the code for his alarm, which was something that seemed so unromantic in theory, but felt intimate as I entered his passcode.

  Hunter had messaged me, asking me to meet him for dinner, and I told myself it was something I needed to do. Not just for me—no, not at all—but because it was still my job.

  Seriously. I suck at lying to myself.

  I changed into a drop waist red and white summer dress, something that would look cute in photographs in case the paparazzi wanted to snap photos but would also conceal my ever growing baby bump.

  Hunter had chosen a chic but quiet French café for dinner. When I arrived he was already there, sitting at a sidewalk table reading a book. I wanted to watch him for a while, to see if this was all staged for the sake of the paparazzo.

  When I got closer I saw that Hunter was reading Me Talk Pretty One Day. I loved everything by David Sedaris, and I was surprised at his choice. I’m not sure what I expected—a football book? A thriller?—but I reali
zed once again that there was a lot more going on under the surface than most people gave Hunter credit for.

  I watched him for a minute more until I noticed out of the corner of my eye that the photographer had turned his camera on me. I pasted a huge, fake smile on my face—even though I was happy to see Hunter, I never was one to smile like a beauty queen—and made my way toward him. The second he spotted me, I felt the temperature change in the air. My toe caught a crack in the sidewalk; I stumbled, recovering in time for him to get up and scoop me off my feet like we hadn't seen each other in weeks.

  I could have stayed in those arms for at least an eternity more, but then he put me down and pulled out my chair for me. People were watching us, the news had spread that I was engaged to Hunter Daniels Junior, and now, people recognized me by my face.

  Ignoring them all, I leaned towards Hunter. “Have you read When You Are Engulfed in Flames?” I asked.

  “Yeah,” he said, giving me a weird look, like he was embarrassed to be caught reading something so introspective.

  “I don’t know which of his books is my favorite,” I went on, hoping to put him at his ease.

  “Mine is definitely this one,” he said, tapping the paperback. “I’ve read it at least three times. I love how he can make the littlest boring things sound so funny.”

  “Right? It’s such a talent.” This is surreal. Then again, that was my life these days.

  When the waiter approached with his notepad and pencil at the ready, Hunter said, “We'll start with the oysters.” I kicked him under the table. Wincing, he glanced at me and added, “Scratch that. A hummus dip is fine. What else looks good to you, Jo?”

  I wanted to answer with, “You do.” And he really did. He was wearing a khaki colored suit over a crisp white shirt. It made his tan glow and his amber eyes pop. “Do you know what has a lot of bacon in it?”

  He scanned the menu. “Wanna split the Tartiflette? Never had it, but it says bacon is the first ingredient.”