by Nikki Chase
“Poor thing.” I remove my backpack dog carrier and take a look at Max. “Are you okay, Max?”
It doesn’t look very comfortable for him to sit there with just his head poking out, but he looks happy and excited. His tail wagging is getting pretty violent.
I laugh as I unzip the strange backpack and let him out. We got a lot of strange looks on our way here, but who cares? Max doesn’t get a lot of opportunity to run around in such a big, wide, open space.
There’s grass on which he can roll around, little animals he can bully, and a large body of water he can explore. What more could a dog want?
Honestly, I’m just as happy. I can ask myself the same question. What more could a girl want?
Sure, we didn’t get a reservation at Le Grande because people have made their dinner plans weeks before Valentine’s Day, but we’ve been there anyway, so it’s not like we’re missing out on anything.
The climate here in Ashbourne is mild year-round, so it feels like a waste to not take advantage of that.
Besides, we can’t take Max to Le Grande. He’d spend the whole meal hiding under the table, getting his tail stepped on by waiters, who are too busy to look where they’re going.
No, we don’t need a fancy dinner. Honestly, I’d be content to just stay home and watch some sitcom rerun. Just Jacob, me, and Max, all piled on top of one another on the couch.
That’s all we’ve been doing since I decided to stay in Ashbourne last week, just cuddling and doing nothing. Oh, and having sex the rest of the time. Working and even eating have become such chores.
Because it’s the first Valentine’s Day Jacob and I celebrate together, I feel like we should put in some effort and get out of the house for once. Doing nothing would set a bad precedent, which is bad, because I plan to spend many, many Valentine’s Days with Jacob.
I bend down to pick a stick from the ground and throw it as far away as I can. Max, the little engine that could, runs after it, his little tail wagging behind him. I can’t believe I almost lost him only days ago.
“A little help?” Jacob takes off his leather jacket, revealing a cotton shirt underneath that lets me see the outline of his hard body and the tattoos on his arms. I don't think I could ever grow tired of this view.
He opens the big black box on the back of his bike and pulls out two blankets, one checkered and one solid blue. He asks, “Where do you want to sit?”
“Over there.” I point at a spot by the water as I walk back toward the bike. I grab a couple of soda cans from the hard-sided box, the metal coated with water condensation.
“Ah!” Jacob yells out when I press the cold can into his bare arm. He squints his eyes at me as he keeps walking with the blankets in his hands, as well as the brown bags that contain our food.
“Ha! I made you scream like a little girl.”
“I made you scream too, last night.” He shoots me that wicked smirk that makes my knees weak every time. He says, “Although, to be fair, you screamed like a big girl.”
“That’s a good comeback.” I raise my eyebrows at Jacob. “Well done. I’m impressed.”
“I can do better,” he says, the smirk still firmly in place as he spreads the red-and-white blanket over the grass. He sits down and pats the space beside him. “Come here. I’ll show you how I can be even more impressive, make you scream even louder.”
I giggle as I sit down on the blanket. I put down the cans of drink and wrap myself around one of Jacob's big, muscled arms.
I can't stop touching Jacob. I feel like there's something missing if he's within reach and our skins aren't touching. I look at couples on the street and I wonder why they don't hold hands, how they could stand to not touch each other for so long.
“This is nice,” I say as I nuzzle into the crook of Jacob's neck and take a look around us.
The sun is shining, the water in the lake is so clear I can see the grey rocks at the bottom, Max is running around stalking and chasing some poor woodland creature.
This is the most perfect Valentine’s Day ever, but that's not because of the weather or the views. The reason I’m so happy is having Jacob by my side.
“Yeah. This is nice.” He kisses the top of my head.
“I’ve wanted to come over here to a while, but I never knew who to take. Everyone's busy with their own stuff. I'm so glad you're here with me now.”
“I’ll always be here with you. You're never getting rid of me.”
“I know. You already told me. Multiple times.”
“That's because you kept trying to ghost me after the first time I told you.”
“I did not!” I laugh. “I never tried to ghost you.”
“You did, and it still hurts deeply when you deny it,” Jacob says with a teasing smile on his face and a hand over his heart.
“Does it now?” I put my hand on Jacob's face. His stubble feels rough on my hand. Everything about this man is rough, every surface of him. Yet on the inside, he's soft as putty—to me, at least.
I raise my gaze to him and see him looking at me with darkened eyes, his pupils dilated, even under the bright sunlight. His smile widens. That's the face of a man who likes what he sees. He can't fake that.
I don't know who initiates it. Is it me when I give him a look? Is it him when he moves just an inch closer? I can't even tell who touches whose forehead first, or who kisses whose lips first. All I know is we’re suddenly locked in a long, passionate kiss.
There's no practice necessary; we just find ourselves doing this little dance where our bodies synchronize on their own, moving together to a beat nobody else can hear.
This happens every time we touch. We have this easy, explosive chemistry that I’ve never had with anyone else.
When we break the kiss, Jacob looks me in the eyes and says, “Because you're such an escape risk, I want to make sure you won't ghost me again.”
“Yeah? How are you going to do that?” I challenge him.
I don't plan on ever ghosting Jacob. I’ve never been this happy. It feels like he's the best thing that has ever happened to me. I’d be crazy to throw that away by leaving him with no explanation.
Jacob gets up and pulls me to a standing position. He holds my hand and sinks down to one knee. “Jessica Lake, I want to be the first one to see you in the morning, and the last one in the night. Every morning, every night. I’ll take you to any lake you want. For the rest of my life, you're the only woman I want.”
I raise my hands up to my pounding heart as I realize what Jacob is doing. Blood rushes through my veins. Everything stands still as my world narrows down to this big, strong man on his knees in front of me.
“Baby,” Jacob says as he smiles and pulls a small velvet box out of his jeans pocket. He opens the box to show the most beautiful ring with a blood-red ruby as the centerpiece. “You’ll make me the happiest, luckiest man in the world if you agree to marry me. Will you?”
“Yes,” I say softly, my voice muted by the lump forming in my throat. Something pricks my eyes as Jacob gets up with a big, goofy grin on his normally stern face.
“I thought ruby would suit you most.” Jacob slides the ring down my finger. “Tony told me it was a dumb idea, but I insisted. He said it would be my own fault if you said no because of the ring. And I thought, my girl wouldn't do that.”
I look up at Jacob and see him looking back at me, his features softened by love.
“If you prefer a diamond, though, I’ll change it for you,” Jacob says.
“No, this is perfect,” I say. My voice is shaking and tears are spilling down my cheeks. I can't help but cry as I look at the ring on my finger, a sign that I have a family now. A small family of three—Jacob, Max, and me.
“No. You're perfect.” Jacob pulls me into his arms and strokes my hair. “And you can wipe your perfect snot into my shirt if you want.”
I laugh, even as I continue to cry.
“When Tony calls you tonight, remember to mention how much you love the ring.
Flaunt his wrongness right in his face,” says my fiancé.
Epilogue
Jessica
What does the average stripper, or ex-stripper, look like?
If you think you’d be able to tell by the way a woman looks when she’s out buying groceries or working out at the gym, think again.
Right now, I'm wearing a beautiful white dress with an A-line cut, sweetheart neckline, and cute little cap sleeves. I'm willing to bet none of my guests would guess the bride used to dance for men in nothing but a tiny thong.
You may not realize it, but there’s probably a stripper or two in your life. If you know a dancer, chances are she has done exotic dancing at some point in her life.
It makes sense. It’s a lot easier to make it as a stripper than it is to become the next star in the American Ballet Theatre. The job pays really well, too, compared to other dance gigs—which, by the way, are pretty much non-existent.
The truth is, in the years I worked as a stripper, I had co-workers from all walks of life.
One, for example, was a married mother of a baby who liked that the nighttime work hours allowed her and her husband to take care of their child at home in shifts.
Of course, most of them were students who used the money from stripping to pay for their education. I know ex-strippers who are now lawyers, academics, and psychologists.
People seem to think that having worked as a stripper says something about your character, or your moral fiber.
Honestly, the truth is much more mundane: it’s a job. And, just like any job, some parts of it rock and other parts of it suck.
I don’t have any emotional hangups about having been a stripper. I don’t think it’s dirty or degrading.
Maybe I’d feel differently if I had also prostituted myself on the side. But I’ve never had sex for money—not that I judge the girls who do.
And that’s the real problem, at least for me personally: the judgment.
I don't even blame the people who judge me. They can't help it.
The human brain is meant for recognizing patterns. If you’ve had a bad experience with a stripper, or if your only experience is what you see on the media, then you’d paint all strippers with the same broad brush. It's only human.
I'm glad Jacob managed to hide my past. By doing that, he has given me the freedom to be myself. I used to squash certain parts of myself so I don't attract the attention of curious people, who’d inevitably find out who I used to be.
Now, knowing my past is safely hidden, I can be myself. I even changed my hair color back to my natural red. Everyone complimented me on it.
But the only person who sees and loves all versions of me is Jacob. When he gave me that ruby ring, I felt like he reached into my chest and touched my heart with his fingers. I felt like he saw the real me, like he knew me better than anyone else, like he really cared about me.
I peek out of the white tent to see the townspeople wandering the clearing by the lake, where Jacob proposed to me only a few months ago.
We decided on a quick engagement and a summer wedding. We invited everyone we know: Bertha, Tony and his whole family, Jacob's friend Matt, my students, my colleagues, and our neighbors—except for Christine, who’s still in jail. Jacob’s parents also flew in from Costa Rica and, to my relief, they like me.
I wonder how many Ashbourne residents have never been here before, and if we're going to see more visitors here. It would be annoying, having to share this special place with everybody else. I mean, where else are we supposed to go next time we forget to make restaurant reservations?
At the same time, I feel like this is another way for me to give back to the town that has given me so much, like sharing this place is my way of showing gratitude.
Both Jacob and I have so much gratitude for Ashbourne. Gratitude for taking us in, for being our home. We're lost, homeless people, Jacob and I, and we’ve finally found our place in the world.
“It's time,” Bertha says with a smile. “Are you ready?”
“Yes.”
Outside, music starts to play. Some of my students who play instruments have eagerly agreed to being our band. I don't know much about music, but I think they sound just as good as professionals.
Bertha and I emerge from the tent with our arms linked together. She's the closest thing to a parent I have, and I didn't even think of having anyone else walk me down the aisle.
She's such a sweet woman. When she found out about what happened with Christine, she tearfully apologized for having shared the information.
I don't blame her at all; she was reeling from her daughter’s death and shocked from the knowledge that Nancy used to work as a stripper, so it was understandable that she felt the need to talk to someone about it. She just happened to have chosen the wrong person.
The wedding guests have risen from their chairs and turned around to look at us. At me. I meet their eyes, nod, and smile at them.
It's a little trick I learned to earn more tips when I was a stripper. It makes members of the audience feel like they're being noticed individually, instead of them just being random faces in the crowd.
As Bertha and I reach the aisle, string instruments playing in the background, I finally see Jacob. We both grin at each other, sharing a little private joke with only our eyes.
Jacob cleans up well. I’d never seen him in a suit before today, so I’m as excited to see him as he is to see me.
I'm glad Tony and Greg insisted on being in charge of “the makeover,” as they call it. They picked out a good suit and dragged Jacob, kicking and screaming, to their favorite tailor for alterations. They did a good job.
The slim, dark grey suit fits Jacob perfectly. I don't know if I can give Tony and Greg all the credit, because Jacob’s magnificent body would look good in rags.
He looks just as handsome as the day we met at the strip club, except there's a big smile on his face now instead of the perma-scowl he used to have all the time.
I think I make him a happier person, and that's a great feeling to have. He makes me happier too, and I can't be more sure that I want to freeze this moment in our relationship and stay this way forever.
As I take Jacob's hands in mine, I realize we won't always be happy. Life has its ups and downs after all. But I know having him beside me would only make things better, in good times and bad, in sickness and health.
We repeat the words the minister says, keeping our eyes glued together the whole time. There’s a big crowd watching us, but everything fades away in this moment. I'm not performing for an audience; I’m giving my favorite people a glimpse into my life, so they can see how happy Jacob makes me.
“I do,” Jacob says when the minister asks.
“I do,” I say when it's my turn.
“You may kiss the bride,” the minister says.
And right there, surrounded by the lake, the woods, and our closest friends, we share the most important kiss of our lives. This is the man I will kiss until death separates us. The only man. Jacob. My husband.
Thank you for reading!
Want more? Check out His Virgin to find out what Caine Foster’s deal is.
His Virgin is also available in the Billionaires and Bad Boys Box Set, which contains SEVEN stand-alone (but related) romances and a bonus exclusive, never-before-published novelette, featuring the seven couples from the stories included in the box set:
Guilty
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His Virgin
Billionaire Protector
Virgin Fiancée
Single Dad’s Fake Bride
The Billionaire’s Bride
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Preview: Accidental Husband
A Secret Baby Romance
Tessa
“I think I’m going to die.” I sit up and groan, resisting the urge to vomit, and shield my eyes from the nasty sunlight streaming through the windows. “Really, this time, my head’s going to explode and I’ll get blood and brains all over these expensive sheets.”
My best friend Claire is sitting at the end of my bed, and her expression isn’t exactly sympathetic. In fact, it’s fair to say that she’s looking amused at my misery, which isn’t a very nice way for a best friend to behave.
“Claire! You could at least pretend to care!”
“You’ve only got yourself to blame, Tess, you sneaky little liar! You told me you wanted to get an early night, and then you slink away and have the wildest night of your life.” She fixes me with a stern look and folds her arms in front of her. “Without me.”
The wildest night of my life? That’s a pretty high standard to beat, seeing as I’ve already survived a mobster husband.
I reach for my handbag, every single movement pure agony, and rifle through it until I find some Tylenol. There isn’t any water, so I just swallow them down dry. That doesn’t help my nausea any, but I don’t think I can manage the walk to the bathroom just yet.
“What are you talking about?” I croak. “What did I do?”
Last night is still a complete blank, as my mind struggles to catch up through the hangover.
Claire looks at me with a mixture of pity and amusement.
“Oh, Tess, this one’s a doozy, it really is. I think you’re going to struggle to ever top it, to be honest. What do you remember?”
I frown, trying to think back, then immediately stop because it hurts too much.
Okay, no frowning. In fact, no movement or facial expressions at all.
“I uh . . . we had dinner, right? Yeah, and then some guy came and started chatting you up, and I left once the two of you started eating each other’s faces instead of your food.”
