That threat is never delivered because my brain finally plays catch up, and when it does, it goes into meltdown mode. “Don’t you dare jinx me. You take it back,” I demand, scolding him with my finger.
When both Finch and Dixon remain quiet, I know neither has any intention of revoking their claims, because both believe that the innocent, sweet, wouldn’t hurt a fly, Keira is the spitting image of the antichrist in heels—Juliet Harte.
“Dixon has a point.”
“No, Finch, Dixon has clearly gone insane because Keira is nothing, nothing like that queen cunt from Cuntsville. You will give her a perpetual state of bad luck now. I hope you’re happy.”
Finch blanches when I use his most favorite word, but desperate times call for desperate measures. And besides, if he’s still offended by the word cunt, then it’s probably best we’re no longer friends.
I can’t believe Dixon would even suggest this. Sure, she’s blonde and has a killer ass too, but c’mon, this is blasphemy.
Dixon flicks his cigarette, butting it out with his boot. “Just be careful. I got sucked in by baby blues and killer curves—I’d hate for you to suffer the same fate, because believe you me, it is not fun.”
“If it makes you feel any better, we just met, like literally. I’ve known her for less than twenty-four hours, so I’m sure once she sees the real me, she won’t be coming to anymore dinners, so stop worrying that pretty little head of yours,” I bark with a little bite, because deep down, I know he’s right.
If Keira knew the real me, she’d be requesting a transfer to India. Nice girls like Keira Celly just don’t end up with manwhores like me. It was nice to pretend, but Dixon is right—again. But her comment earlier to Mary, maybe she too is hiding the real her.
“What is going on with Mary?” Finch asks, in tune with my thoughts.
The mere mention of her name has my cock tingling. “She’s got it going on,” I reply, needing to lighten the mood.
“I thought she hated you?” Finch states, which has me wondering where he’s going with this.
“She does,” I affirm, but Finch shakes his head.
“For someone who’s a massive know it all, sometimes, you know jackshit.” I choke on air, because whenever Finch uses profanity, I know I’m in trouble.
Dix nods, giving Finch the floor. “As frightening as this is, I think Mary is the female version of you.”
“What are you smoking, Finchy, because I want some, pronto.”
He ignores my wisecrack. “I can’t help but think she’s hiding something.”
“Yeah, an ice-pick under her bed,” I mumble, visions of Sharon Stone’s hoo-hoo flooding my brain.
“Joke all you want, but you’re both hiding behind punchlines, too afraid to face the real world because you’re scared of getting hurt,” he concludes. Dixon smiles proudly.
“Last I checked, you were supposed to be my friends. I think it’s time I found new amigos,” I state with a smirk, because Finch’s theory, although slightly confusing, does give me hope that maybe I saw what I thought I saw earlier.
I could have sworn Mary was happy I was ready to beat jerk-off into a bloody pulp for touching her. At the time, I thought it was wishful thinking, but if there is any truth to what Finch says, then this is a game changer.
“You’d be the poster child for VD if not for us,” Dixon candidly says. I don’t argue. “Just be careful with Keira, and as for Mary…” I wait on tenterhooks. “I agree with Confucius.”
“You what?” I choke for the second time in the span of a minute.
“She was ready to claw out Keira’s eyes and use the empty sockets as a toilet.”
All my birthdays come at once. “I love it when you talk dirty,” I wheeze, attempting to catch my breath. “So what am I supposed to do about it?”
Dixon smirks, running a hand through his hair. Fuck him. He’s so enjoying this. “Let nature take its course. C’mon, let’s get back.” Is he fucking serious? When he treks up the hill, I know the answer is yes.
I amble behind, my mind going a million miles a minute. They’ve just dropped this bombshell and now I’m supposed to sit around the table and have scones and tea. How am I going to look at Mary and not walk through the door with a raging hard on? Now that I know there might be a slight chance she doesn’t hate me as much as I thought she did, I don’t know how to act. My palms begin to sweat and I wipe them onto my pants.
Dixon turns over his shoulder and bursts into a gruff laugh. “Welcome to my world, Hunter.”
I’m in the midst of flipping him off when an angel comes into view. As much as I know things between Keira and I can never eventuate, I can’t help but admire her because that’s what any hot blooded American male would do.
Finch has other ideas and nudges me in the ribs. “If it looks like a duck…”
“Walks like a duck…” Dixon adds, drawing attention to Keira’s swagger.
“Then it’s one fucking…hot…duck,” I conclude. Their analogy can suck a dick.
Dixon doesn’t bother stopping to engage in small talk and instead gives her a stiff upper lip smile. Finch being Finch is more accommodating, and asks if she’d like his jacket. She politely declines. The boys head toward the house, while I stop, wondering if everything is okay.
“I’ve had a really nice night but…” And here it is—the inevitable ‘but you’re a creep’ speech. “But I have to go. I…”
I cut her off however, because she doesn’t owe me an explanation. “It’s cool, Keira. I get it. No need for messy goodbyes.” She purses her lips, clearly mulling over what I just said.
Brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, she toys over her pulse timidly. “I was going to say I have to go because Mr. Gail asked me to grab a file off his desk and drop it in his mailbox, but I’d love a raincheck, and maybe get to know you better over dinner, just you and me.”
Well, holy fuck me, Jiminy Cricket. I was not expecting that at all.
“But we’re clearly not on the same page. I’m sorry for jumping to conclusions.” When she sniffs, I swear an angel somewhere dies.
Suddenly, I feel like the world’s biggest asshole, which is ironic, considering I was giving her a get out of jail for free card. “I just thought after tonight, you’d want to…”
“Want to what?” she coaxes, stepping forward and surrounding me with her floral perfume.
“Want to exercise the first amendment,” I reply, her magnetism luring me as I gaze into her blue eyes.
“My freedom of speech?” she questions, her button nose crinkling.
I nod, falling deeper under her spell. “Yes. The freedom of telling me what you really thought of me, before flipping me off and hitting the highway. I wouldn’t blame you if you did.”
“Why would I do that?” Even her questions are laced with innocence.
“Because…” I lick my lips, stepping forward. “Because I haven’t exactly been a stellar date. And my friends haven’t really welcomed you with open arms.”
She is so incredibly small. Pocket-sized. But when she grins a slow, sultry smirk, I know she’s a pocket rocket ready to explode. “I’m not here for your friends.” Hot tamale. My cock twitches, but I’m saved by the flaming redhead about to cut off my balls.
“Sorry to interrupt this cozy reunion…” Both Keira and I turn, looking at Mary who is feet away, her hand cocked to her hip. She is so not sorry. “But if you want dessert, break it up. We’re all waiting.”
I take a step back, suddenly feeling guilty, which is asinine. But regardless, I put as much distance between Keira and I. I’m waiting to see a change in Mary’s face. Maybe happiness for showing where my loyalties lie, but all I get is a curled lip and a blanket of boredom in response.
Keira isn’t silly and can clearly see the change in body language. “I’m not staying.” I know she wants me to say something, anything, but I don’t. She may not know it, but I’m doing her a favor. She’ll thank me one day.
With one
final heartbreaking look, she sighs, and nods her goodbyes. She bypasses Mary, which is perhaps a good idea, because I have no doubt Mary would push her into the dirt, face first.
Once Keira is gone, I stand still, knowing that I should move, but I don’t. This is the first time Mary and I have been alone together. She calls to the full moon because it comes out of hiding, illuminating her like the goddess that she is.
Finch’s speech plays over and over in my head. Do I really have a chance with her? I thought the chances were slim to none.
Her feet shuffle as I make no secret that I’m checking her out, and on most days, she’d flip me off before storming off. But tonight, she does neither. She does something that she’s never done before. She initiates conversation. “Your date finally came to her senses.”
She did just insult me in a roundabout way, but like a dog begging for scraps, I’ll take whatever she wants to give. “Too bad your date hasn’t done the same.” She remains unaffected, watching me as closely as I’m watching her. “FYI, I’m pretty sure your date was speaking in tongues.”
Something amazing suddenly happens— she smiles. Strike me dead. She smiled because of something I said. Why do I feel like the luckiest man alive?
“He’s Australian,” she explains, her lips still twitching.
Pulling it together, I casually raise my shoulders. “Still, I’d burn some sage just to be sure.” And this would be the moment she tells me to go fuck myself before storming off and announcing to the world what an utter dick I am.
But she doesn’t.
She continues standing and staring and waiting…waiting for what, exactly?
We’ve never been alone with one another for this long, so I don’t know what the proper protocol is. Does she want me to make conversation? Or maybe my fly is undone and she’s waiting for me to notice so she can ridicule me. I check just to make sure. All clear.
D2 comes out of hiding and whispers, “Talk to her.” That’s great, you pussy, but talk about what?
Thinking about what D1 suggested, I decide to go with that. “I meant what I said earlier.”
My words seem to snap whatever haze Mary is in and she shakes her long red mane. “You said a lot of things, most of which I tuned out for.”
My dick punches a hole straight through my pants because her smart mouth is like a drug to me. “About my home,” I reply, acting cool. “My door, bedroom and others, is always open.”
The breeze picks up speed, delivering a shot of strawberries and cream straight to my guts. There is no mistaking this delicious scent is coming off of Mary’s flesh—flesh I want to worship from head to toe.
She folds her slender arms across her body, hugging her torso as she weighs up my offer. Holy shit, could this really work? No wonder they call Dr. Dixon New York’s finest shrink. I owe him a bottle of scotch or two.
Just as I’m about to give Mary my address, she smirks, but the sight has me kicking myself for ever listening to that prissy ass pussy. “I would rather flunk than owe you a favor, because I know it’ll come back to bite me in the ass.”
“No strings.” It’s out before I can stop myself, and what’s more surprising is that I actually mean it, and I didn’t comment about her fine, apricot shaped behind.
She laughs sarcastically. “There’s no such thing with you. If I thought I could enter your home without being visually molested, then I would maybe contemplate it. But I don’t want to dangle a carrot in front of a very horny, sex-starved donkey. That would be mean,” she adds smartly.
“Excuse me?” I need her to draw me a diagram because I can’t move on from the words carrot, dangle, and sex.
She radiates complete confidence as she accurately declares, “You want what you can’t have.”
My mouth pops open for so many reasons, but at the forefront is the fact she thinks I’m some desperado, peeping into her window at night, desperate for her to throw me a freaking bone. I’ll have her know I’m not short of female attention. Yes, they may not be who I want, but I’m not sitting at home, knitting a fucking scarf for my cock.
And what’s with this wanting what I can’t have? That’s a little presumptuous, no matter how true it may be.
She obviously thinks I can’t control myself when it comes to her, which is a safe assumption to make given my track record, but regardless, she’s just taken a giant Cleveland Steamer on my ego. My survival instinct kicks in and my pride gets jacked up to testosterone overload. “Don’t flatter yourself, sweetheart.”
“It’s true, isn’t it?”
The more she speaks, the more incensed I become, because although she’s right, no one likes their faces rubbed in their failures, and that’s what Mary Mitts is—my failure. I don’t know how to impress her because I’ve never wanted to impress a girl before. But with Mary, I want the whole hog.
But as she stares at me with that cocky smile plastered on her supple lips, my bruised ego takes charge and decides to give Miss Mitts a taste of what she’s missing.
Strolling toward her with no real hurry to my step, I watch as she stands her ground, refusing to be intimidated. Her confidence drives me on. I stop a hair’s breadth away, peering down at her because I dwarf her small frame.
No words are spoken, but our silence speaks volumes. I make no secret of the fact that I’m combing over every inch of her flesh, admiring what I see. I linger on her swelling chest, which rises and falls with every raspy breath she takes.
If I were a sentimental fool, I could talk myself into believing that she is affected by me as I am by her, but I’m a realist. Finch and Dixon’s theory is as wrong as wrong can be and it was nice living in a fantasyland for a while, but now it’s time to put this puppy to bed.
Completely ignoring her personal space, I lower my face to hers, her strawberry scented breath bathing my cheeks with its sweetness. I want a taste, but I can’t. She’s made her feelings perfectly clear, and now it’s time for me to do the same.
With a coiled smirk, I very plainly state, “It may be true, but we both know…you couldn’t handle me. I would make you beg until your throat was raw, and the only reprieve would be you on hands and knees, sucking my cock to soothe your burn.”
Her eyes widen before the tip of her pink tongue shoots out to lick her sudden dry lips. “I don’t beg. Ever,” she states with conviction, but it’s a challenge.
Game on.
Smirking, I never break eye contact, pinning her beneath my unforgiving stare. “That’s because all the little boys you’ve fucked in the past wouldn’t know how to handle a livewire like you. All this delicious, milky flesh”—I risk losing a finger as I run my pointer along the slope of her soft neck—“is ripe for the picking. It’s such a damn shame you don’t beg, because Shortcake, you’d enjoy it as much as me.”
And just like that, a nickname is born.
“Shortcake?” she asks, her bravado dimming. I can’t stop myself and circle over her pulse. It’s strong, flighty, and quickened.
“Yes.” Seeing as I didn’t lose a finger, I decide to test my luck and lean in close, inhaling deeply. She smells unlike anything I’ve ever inhaled before. She’s an untapped fragrance and I’d do anything to lose myself in her perfume. My tastebuds salivate, desperate for one taste. “I can smell your strawberries and cream.”
Her intake of breath leaves me with more than a little wood, but I quash down the urge to stake my claim. “Is this the mo-moment I’m supposed drop to my knees and beg you to f-fuck me into tomorrow?” Her falter highlights my win because she can deny it all she wants, but she’s turned on.
Lifting my chin, I almost come in my pants, because my lips are mere inches from Mary’s. Her full mouth parts and it takes every shred of self-control not to dive inside and drown. “My schedule is booked solid until next week, but I can let you know if a vacancy opens up.”
“Cocky much?” she retaliates, but it’s weak. Her cheeks blush a dusty pink and the sight is akin to a sucker punch straight through my ch
est.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” I counter with a wink.
I can see her big, bold bravado slip into place because Mary doesn’t like to be undermined. “Save your breath for when you have to blow up your girlfriend tonight.”
Points for creativity, but it leaves me with an even bigger hard on. “Bye, Shortcake. As always, the pleasure is all mine.” Yes, that’s a complete double-edged sword, and if she wasn’t such a hardass, she could be on my sword, but it appears she much prefers to march to the motto: glass, or sex life half full.
I walk past her, ignoring the stabbing of betrayal, because regardless of how that conversation ended a little pear-shaped, it was a conversation nonetheless. It was progress. I have no idea what happens now, but I can ponder life mysteries over a glass of scotch.
On my hunt for some booze, I charge straight into Keira, who is clearly anxious to leave this train wreck behind. “Sorry, I was just leaving.” She won’t look at me, not that I can blame her.
“How are you getting back?” I ask, my hand still attached to her bicep.
“I called a cab.” When she finally makes eye contact, I feel like I clubbed a baby seal to death. It’s not her fault I’m the world’s shittiest date.
Whether it’s my very vivid imagination, or wishful thinking that Mary is currently eyeballing the bejesus out of me I’ll never know, but I decide to give her a teaser to how most of my nights start and finish.
“Don’t be silly. I’ll drive you.”
When she bites her lip, peering over my shoulder, I can’t help but smile. “Okay.”
Winning has never felt this good.
Out Of Left Field
The car ride back to the office wasn’t as uncomfortable as I’d thought it would be. Keira reiterated how much fun she had, which had me wondering if she was just being polite, or maybe she needs to get out more.
Her asshole boss texted her like five hundred times, barking orders at her because he obviously thinks she has nothing better to do on a Saturday night than be at his beck and call. I was going to wait in the car, but decided to head up with her so I can stalk some overseas stocks.
The Hunt - Monica James Page 7
