Mister WonderFULL (Wonderful Love Book 2)

by Maggie Marr

  “Not at all,” I say.

  Alex stands. Rachel is on her feet and grabs her jacket from the closet.

  “Have fun,” Tara says, and Rachel and Alex are out the sliders and across the deck and onto the beach.

  Silence.

  Uncomfortable silence.

  I take the plates into the kitchen and turn on the water to rinse them off.

  “I didn’t tell you because…”

  Her words drift away as though she’s waiting for me to break in, waiting to see my reaction to her lie.

  I turn off the water and turn to her. “Because why?”

  “Because I thought you’d be upset.”

  “I am upset.”

  “I haven’t taken any of the offers.”

  “Do you want to?”

  “Of course I want to. They’re offering me sick money, and what writer doesn’t want a huge book deal?”

  I step to the island that separates us. “If it’s only about the money, I can match any offer you’ve received.”

  She sighs and crosses her arms over her chest. Her gaze slips toward the window and the ocean beyond. “It’s not just about the money.”

  “Of course it’s not. It’s the prestige. You want the prestige of a big book deal with a super-sexy topic.” I wipe my hands on a towel and toss it onto the counter.

  “I can’t do it anyway. I’d need your permission and you won’t give it to me.”

  “You didn’t ask for my permission before.”

  She closes her eyes and takes a big breath. “I want us more than I want that. I don’t want this between us, I want—”

  “You want everything for yourself is what you want. You want me and you want the book deal and you want the film and your ego wants the prestige that comes with having that big thing that everyone is talking about.”

  “Do you know how many interviews I’ve turned down?”

  “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “I’ve turned them down so we could have a chance at this, and now you want me to feel badly for the success I have?”

  “No. I want you to admit that the success you’re having comes at the expense of the trust we need to build a relationship.”

  “I don’t see it that way.”

  “You don’t see how not telling me that you got offers for this story, my life story, which includes my private decisions and my pain and how I’ve managed to cope, is lying to me?”

  Rage thrums through my body. My voice tightly restrained. This is nearly the exact same argument we had a month ago, only this time it’s over a book deal. I’m an idiot. I’m a fucking idiot who is lead around through life by my cock.

  “I didn’t agree to do the book because I want to have a relationship with you.”

  “But you didn’t tell me.”

  “Why do I have to? We were barely speaking until three weeks ago. Sure we were fucking, but that is all we were doing. You wouldn’t talk to me about anything and certainly not this. If I’d brought this up when it happened? The first time I told them no—”

  “The first time? They keep asking?”

  “Of course they do. It’s a great story, Jake. I’m sorry, but you’re crazy fucking life makes a great story. Must be horrible to be you.” She tosses that last line at me with loads of sarcasm. I don’t know what to do with her words.

  “Yeah, well, it’s much harder to live the story than it is to rip it off.”

  Her mouth drops open and I brush by her because my anger is too deep and running too fast. If I stay in this room with Tara I’ll say things that she might not be able to forgive, and part of me still holds out hope for her. For me. For us.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Daylight edges the darkness. The sound of waves crashing against the shore is my only companion at 4 a.m. I lie on the couch in the living room. Tara and I have a fierce détente, one that included me saying I wanted to watch some TV downstairs, but ended up with me falling asleep on the couch and never going upstairs to bed.

  The shhhh of the back slider opening. I look over the side of the couch. Rachel slipping in with her curls disheveled and her shoes in her hands. She turns toward the window and waves and then turns back toward the couch, which contains me.

  “Oh, hey, you’re up,” she says. And stops. That fire engine red that decorates her face when she’s embarrassed arrives on scene. “I uh…”

  “No explanation needed. You’re a grown woman and Lily was with her Uncle Jake. It’s all good.”

  She smiles. “Why are you down here?” She puts her shoes on the floor next to the door. “Fight?”

  “Argument. Plus I fell asleep down here and my sister woke me up sneaking into the house.”

  “One thing led to another…”

  “You like him?”

  Rachel walks to the kitchen and pulls a glass from a cabinet. “He’s a nice guy and I’d go out with him again if he called but I don’t think he will.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’m not his type.”

  “What do you mean, you’re not his type?”

  “Well, I’m over twenty, have a graduate degree, a job, and a child. From what I can tell, his type includes being younger than twenty-five, jobless, vapid, and definitely child-free.” She sips her water. “I’m kind of his walk on the wild side.”

  “Must be kind of cool to be exotic.”

  “Ha, I didn’t think of it quite that way but I’m going with that instead of feeling like a worn out shoe. I’m holding onto the words, ‘collector’s item’.”

  “His loss.”

  “How’d Lily do?”

  “Great. I checked on her a couple of hours ago.”

  “And you?”

  I wave my hand.

  Rachel walks to the couch, lifts my feet, sits, and puts my feet on her lap. “Listen, this is only your second real relationship.”

  Which is true. While I’ve slept with a load of women I’ve never been emotionally involved with anyone but Susie.

  “I mean, I know that there must’ve been women, but you don’t talk about them and you’ve never brought one around, so I gather this is the first time you’ve felt deeply for a woman since then.”

  Rachel takes a deep breath and looks at me. “Plus, and I’m only guessing here, and you do have a therapist who could probably help you with all this, but here’s the thing. After Susie’s betrayal, I can’t imagine that it’s easy for you to be vulnerable with a woman.”

  Susie’s betrayal? The words hit me square in the chest. I stare at Rachel, letting her words sink into my brain.

  “It’s hard enough to let yourself love someone, but then when the person you love is fucking like a hundred people all while you’re engaged?” Rachel shakes her head. “Plus, Tara has her own baggage, what with what Douchey-pants did to her.”

  “Right.” My mind spins. I’m a guy, so I only see things from my angle until someone smarter, more insightful, and almost always female, points out to me the other side of the situation. Face it ladies. The penis-people, we aren’t inclined to see anything but our own side. You always help us see the other person’s point of view because we’re not wired to do it on our own.

  “There are things,” I start. I look at Rachel sitting on the far end of the sofa. “Things that have happened that you don’t know about”

  I’m edging close to this place that I’ve never gone with Rachel, not just because she’s a judge, but also because she’s my big sis, and as much as I play like her opinion of me and my life and my decisions don’t matter, they do. Her opinion matters a whole lot. “Things that I’ve done, people I’ve been with…”

  My gaze remains on hers eyes. I’m trying to read her reaction, to see how much I can tell her without her flipping out.

  “We’ve all got shit in our past that we wish had never happened, okay? As long as you haven’t killed anyone, we’re good.”

  Then there is silence. Because while I didn’t push Susie off the balcony, her f
amily thinks I killed her. Most people that were Susie’s and my friends think I must’ve done something really horrible for Susie to have jumped off the balcony, so while I didn’t push her, according to them, I’m the cause of her suicide. I’ve bought into it. I don’t tell them the truth, and Rachel doesn’t tell them the truth, and Jane, Susie’s sister, doesn’t tell anyone the truth about Susie’s life and her addiction out of respect for her, and her parents that hate me. So yeah, some people do think of me as a person who caused Susie’s death, which would only make it even worse if the truth about Wonderfuck got out.

  I close my mouth. Unloading my alter identity onto Rachel would only be a selfish release for me and I know what selfish gets you. Selfish gets you a dead fiancée. If I told Rachel about Wonderfuck, she’d worry that she should help me or that she was doing something wrong by knowing. I’d put her in a horrible position. If I don’t tell her, then if my identity ever gets out, she can honestly say she had no idea. And I want that for her, more than I want to tell her my secret.

  “She’s got her stuff to deal with from her douche-a-lot and then you’ve got your stuff to deal with from Susie, so this isn’t necessarily going to be an easy road for either one of you.”

  Then throw in Wonderfuck, and the article and the book, and we’ve got a bumpy-ass ride. But I don’t say that part.

  Rachel stands and drops my feet to the floor. “I’m rooting for you two, little brother. I like her. She’s smart and nice.” Rachel’s eyes dance around the living room. “Plus, this would be a kick ass place to have Thanksgiving and Christmas.”

  I smile, because her thoughts are nearly identical to mine as far as the Malibu pad.

  I stand and toss the blanket I’ve been snuggled beneath onto the couch. I’m being a dick or kind of a dick. I follow Rachel up the stairs and she turns right.

  “Goodnight,” she whispers. “Or good morning. I’ll see you in a few hours.”

  She enters the bedroom where Lily sleeps and closes the door. I turn left and open the bedroom door.

  The giant bed faces the amazing view, and Tara is scrunched on her side with the plush white duvet covering her. I pull off my clothes and slip beneath the blankets. Her body is warm with sleep and I slide up behind her and spoon her.

  I’m hard. One hundred percent hard. I put my arm around her and nudge my cock toward her ass.

  “Babe,” I whisper in her ear. “Tara, babe.” She turns her head and her ass presses back toward my cock.

  “Babe, I’m sorry.” My voice trembles. “I’m sorry, and I do want this to work, and I do believe you.”

  My ego is bruised and battered, but Tara’s not the person who caused the wounds or built the walls around them. That came later. She’s the woman loving me in spite of all the pain that is part of who I am.

  She rolls toward me and looks into my eyes. “I’m sorry too,” she says.

  I press my lips to hers and that tiny little sigh with a moan escapes her lips.

  Fuck, yes. I want her.

  My hand cups her breast and twirls the taut flesh of her nipple. Her hips rock forward and back, her ass pressing against my cock. I slide my hand down over her belly and to her sex and slip my fingertip to her clit where I press.

  “Yes, Jake, oh yes.” Her hips press back toward me and I circle her clit with my fingertip. The pressure of her ass against my cock intensifies.

  My lips press to the back of Tara’s neck. Heat sizzles through my body. I press my leg between her thighs and lift her thigh. I scoot down and nudge the head of my cock to her sex. I press her legs open and slip forward into her. Fuck, I want her. I want her with an unqualified intensity. I press the head of my cock into her sex.

  “All I want is you. All I’ll ever want is you.” I press upward and she gasps. The moan crosses her lips again.

  She turns to me as we rock together, forward and back. I kiss the edge of her mouth and continue to circle her clit. I stroke in and out of her and her body tightens around me. Our desire is so hot it won’t be long. She whispers my name and I’m gone. The sun brightens the room and the light bathes us both as we fall over the edge into our orgasm together.

  Chapter Eighteen

  I pull to a stop in front of Tara’s parents’ home. Not on my list of things I want to do. How the hell will I get through tonight? Maybe Tara’s mom doesn’t remember me. Perhaps she’s forgotten about our night together? We met once, three years ago, if memory serves.

  I don’t want that memory.

  I press thoughts of Tara’s mother to the back of my mind and follow Tara up the steps of her parent’s Bel Air home. The entrance is gigantic and is an attempt at a statement.

  “Mom? Dad?” Tara’s voice echoes off the marble floor.

  “Back here,” her father calls out.

  We walk down a long hallway and into the TV room where her father lounges in one of a dozen recliners. He watches a baseball game on a projection TV. The announcer blares out the latest score.

  “Jake, good to see you again.”

  He stands and shakes my hand. His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Beer?”

  He walks toward the bar at the far side of the room and I follow. On top of the marble cabinet is a silver bucket with ice and beers. I pull out a Stella and he opens the bottle. He watches the game while he talks.

  ‘”Sorry, have some bucks riding on this game. You a baseball fan?”

  “I like the Dodgers.”

  “Daddy grew up in Chicago,” Tara says. “He loves his Cubs.”

  A player hits a grounder toward first for an easy out.

  “One more inning to go,” Dennis says, and slaps me on the back. “See you found Tara.” He winks as though we’ve got our own private joke because of the night I came to Malibu looking for Tara and stumbled across her parents.

  Yeah, that’s not the only thing we’ve shared.

  “Where’s Mom?”

  “Upstairs. Getting dressed. She’s having a helluva time deciding what to wear.”

  “Aren’t we eating here?”

  “We are.” Dennis tilts his watch and looks at the time. “And hopefully soon. I have a meeting at nine.”

  “Tonight, Daddy?” Tara glances past her father toward me. “Couldn’t you have waited until tomorrow?”

  “Sweetie, money never sleeps. Who do you think pays for this place?”

  Tara’s face crumples. Right. I’ve met more Dennis’s than I can count. He’s correct that money never sleeps, but what he forgets is time marches on, and while you can always make more money you can’t create more time. After losing Dad and Susie, and Mom losing her memory, I know that time with family is more precious than any of the dollars Dennis might make at his meeting tonight. But I’m the guest in this house, and I’m dating his daughter. I don’t say anything to Dennis about his business meeting.

  If business is really what his meeting is about.

  Because if memory serves, according to Tara’s mom, Dennis has a penchant for sex clubs and twenty-somethings.

  “Tara tells me you make loads of money,” Dennis says.

  His crass words rattle me. They rattle Tara, too. The color drains from her cheeks and she pulls a beer from the bucket. I lift the corner of my mouth and shoot her a glance, which is my attempt to tell her that I understand this is the only language her father speaks. According to Dennis, every person’s value is determined by the money they make.

  “Wish our girl did the same,” Dennis continues. “Has the best education money can buy and what does she want to do? Write. Ha! Won’t make a living on that, will she?” He smiles while he says the words, as though they’re a joke, but they’re not a joke to Tara. She flushes red and takes a long drink of her beer.

  “She seems to do pretty well.”

  “Right, if you call middle-class well. Damn waste if you ask me. To take those fancy degrees she has and not make some real money. Why be poor when you can be rich?”

  To Dennis, wealth only comes in the shade of green
. Tara stands beside me and I grasp her hand and squeeze. Money is great, makes life easier, but what about love, and family, and children? Tara’s face is a shade of gray. This isn’t the first time her father has derided her for her job and her income. Even though he’s Tara’s dad, he’s an asshole who has no idea who his daughter is or how accomplished or respected in her field she’s become. I want to say all these things but I don’t. I say nothing, because no matter what I say, this man will only see her value based on how big her salary is.

  “Hello.” Tara’s mom breezes into the room, her black hair falling in loose curls around her face. She wears a bright blue dress and heels.

  “Jake, it’s good to see you again.” She reaches for my hand and pulls me in and places a peck on my cheek.

  She remembers me.

  Her lips remain on my skin just a little too long, and she grasps my upper arm and squeezes. Our eyes meet and in them I see a plea. Is she as worried as I am? Does she wish, like I do, that this wasn’t happening, that we simply had the awkwardness of her accidentally walking in on me and Tara and not the embarrassment of actually having sex with each other?

  “Dennis. Did you offer Tara and Jake drinks?”

  “Don’t they have them in their hands?” Dennis barks. He slides his gaze away from the game and toward his wife. There is no love in his look, no compassion, no joy over seeing his wife enter the room. He doesn’t love her. It’s obvious in his words, his tone, his stance. This man does not love this woman.

  The crowd on the giant TV cheers.

  “Could you turn that off and we’ll go into the living room and chat with Tara and Jake until dinner is ready?” Lorraine asks.

  “You three go,” Dennis says. “I want to finish watching the game. What time is dinner? I have to leave in an hour.”

  The muscle in Lorraine’s jaw twitches, but her expression doesn’t change. Her smile, a tight false smile, remains on her face. “Let me go ask.” She looks at Tara and then me. “Why don’t we head to the dining room and I’ll ask chef when dinner will be served. Dennis?”