by Sarina Bowen
“Aw baby, why are you crying?” I ask gruffly. “Don’t do that anymore.”
A choked sob tickles my ear. “Why not?”
“Because I don’t like it. Makes me want to beat up whoever did this to you.”
“You can’t beat up my mom.” She laughs weakly.
“Cindy did this?” I’m surprised. Jess’s mom is the sweetest lady on the planet. I don’t think I’ve ever heard a bad word leave her mouth.
Jess lets out a long, unsteady breath. “She said she was proud of me.”
I gasp. “The nerve of her!”
My angel doesn’t even crack a smile. My jokes aren’t doing it for her? Shit. This must be really bad.
“She told me I planned the best wedding she’s ever been to,” Jess whispers.
“Again, not seeing the problem.”
“You don’t get it.” She shakes her head forcefully, and a chunk of hair falls out of her updo and into her eyes.
I tuck it behind her ear, and she lets me. Yup, shit’s bad if she’s letting me touch her like this. Lately she has an aneurysm if I so much as smile at her. Not sure why. I mean, I rocked her world this spring. We both know it.
“This doesn’t happen often,” she goes on. “I’m not someone who gets a lot of compliments from my family—I’m the one who screws everything up. I’m not like Tammy, who’s super smart and turned down a million scholarships. Or Scott, who’s wanted to be a cop since he was five. Or Jamie, who fell in love with coaching the moment he started his job. I can’t even tell you how many jobs I’ve had and failed at.”
“You didn’t fail at this.” I gesture to the party that’s in full swing up on the lawn.
“No, I didn’t.” She bites her lip.
I want to be the one nibbling on that lip. I nibbled the fuck out of it back in March. She nibbled on my lip, too, among other things.
Man, once definitely wasn’t enough with this chick. I haven’t been a monk in the four months since we boned down—there may have been a hookup or two between then and now—but that doesn’t mean I haven’t been thinking of Jess.
If anything, I think of her too much. Usually when I’ve got my hand wrapped around my cock. She’d probably slap me if I admitted that.
“But I’m about to,” she says.
I frown. “You’re about to fail?”
“Sort of. I mean…Mom was standing there telling me how proud she was, and all I could think was, how the hell am I going to break it to them that I…” She stops.
“That you what?”
“I don’t want to be a party planner,” she blurts out.
My lips twitch. Shit, that’s what she’s crying about? “Honey. Is someone holding a gun to your head forcing you to plan parties?”
“No.” Her eyes flash with exasperation. “See, I told you that you wouldn’t get it. It’s considered a failure, okay? I started down yet another career path, and I’m yet again bailing. Trust me, my family is going to have a lot to say about this.”
I shrug. “It’s just taking you a while to identify your superpower. That’s all.”
“My…what are you talking about?”
“What’s your superpower?”
She snorts. “I make wine disappear. And money.”
“Naw. Don’t sell my Jess short.” I squeeze her hand. “Everyone has something that makes them the best.”
“Yours is hockey?” she asks with a sniff.
“Not exactly. There’re more talented athletes than you can shake a hockey stick at. My advantage is my amazing tolerance for pain.”
She’s listening carefully now, those big brown eyes taking me in. “What if I never find my special thing?”
“You will. You just have to keep looking.”
“It’s so hard sometimes.”
She moans, and yeah, it’s in despair, but my cock isn’t one to differentiate between moans. The big guy just remembers the throaty pitch of the sound. He heard it a lot that night in Toronto.
Jess Canning makes a lot of noise in bed. Or, rather, in chair. I like that, because I make a lot of noise, too.
“Planning this wedding was a total nightmare,” she confesses. “I hated every second of it. I hated making lists and phone calls and chasing people around to RSVP. I worked my ass off, Blake. And you want to know the ironic part? The only reason this thing is a success is because of you!”
I blink. “Naah.”
“Yes,” she says firmly. Then she moans again. She really needs to stop doing that, because my dick is getting confused. “I arranged the flowers and the food and the guest list, but you—” She makes an irritated noise, “—you took care of the most important things. You found those pictures of Wes. You brought his mother to the ceremony. I wanted so badly to make this wedding about both of them, but I couldn’t, because Wes’s family is so fucking difficult. But it was easy for you.”
“I can’t figure out if you’re mad at me or happy I did all that.”
“Both!” She reaches up and starts pulling the pins out of her hair, letting the golden strands fall to her shoulders.
Aw man, there are tears sticking to her eyelashes again.
“Don’t start crying again,” I warn.
“Or what?” She sputters out a sound that’s a cross between a sob and a laugh.
“Or I’ll have to take drastic measures.”
“Like what?” she challenges.
I stare at her mouth. She’s wearing pink lipstick. Usually I prefer red—looks hotter when it leaves a ring around the head of my cock. But the pink’s not bad either. Makes her look sweet, and sometimes sweet is just as hot as spicy.
Fuck it. As much as I love this fun skating-around-each-other thing we’ve got going on, I’m long overdue for a shot on goal.
So I kiss her.
6 A Serious Case of ADD
Jess
Blake’s mouth is on mine. How the hell did that happen? And why aren’t I stopping this?
Okay, I know why. Because it’s so, so good.
Considering his massive size and serious case of ADD, you might expect the man to be a sloppy kisser. But he’s not. Blake kisses with surprising gentleness. His lips are warm and soft, and he always takes his time with his tongue—I remember that from our last hookup.
And it’s just as potent as I remember.
His hand cups the back of my neck as he deepens the kiss. He licks a hot line across my bottom lip, and when I risk opening my eyes, I see that his are squeezed shut. His gorgeous face is creased with concentration, and that makes me smile. Of course, the moment I part my lips, his tongue slides past them. The tip of it meets the tip of mine, and it’s like a cattle prod to the spine.
Heat spirals between my legs, so fast and unexpected that I jerk my mouth away.
“None of that,” I mutter. “I told you, no repeats.”
His green eyes open, and they’re burning with lust. “But I want a repeat.”
“Can’t always get what you want, dude.”
“You’re so mean to me.”
“Someone needs to be.” I suck in an unsteady breath. My heart is beating way too fast, and damn it, why didn’t I wear underwear? I was trying to avoid the embarrassment of visible panty lines, but on the humiliation scale, I’m pretty sure a wet stain trumps panty lines.
“You weren’t mean to me in Toronto…”
No, I wasn’t. And look where that got me—bouncing on Blake’s dick like it was a pogo stick while my brother almost died in the other room.
Blake is more perceptive than I thought. Or maybe he’s just a mind-reader. “It wasn’t your fault J-Bomb’s fever came back that night. Wouldn’t have mattered if we were sitting there watching TV. He had pneumonia. Us keeping our clothes on wouldn’t have changed that.”
The rational part of my brain knows that. Actually, I think every part of my brain knows that. But if I don’t focus on the guilt, then I might start focusing on other things…like how good Blake’s muscular body had felt beneath mine.
How full I felt when he was inside me.
He’s not my type. If anything, he’s the opposite of my type. He’s big and brash and…a jock. What do I need with a jock? I want someone who’s deep and artsy and who I can have a serious conversation with, not someone who says things like “Cheezus” and “samesies” and all the other frat-boy nonsense that leaves Blake Riley’s mouth.
A one-night stand, sure, I’ll take it. I had it. But there’s no point in going there again when I know there’s no future with this guy.
Blake, however, is nothing if not persistent. “We had fun that night, J-Babe. Let’s have fun again.”
“No thanks.”
“You always this stubborn?”
“You always this pushy?”
“Fucking duh.” He grins. “How ’bout this? We don’t have to bone tonight. I just want another kiss.”
I roll my eyes. “How ’bout…no?”
He pouts. He’s a grown man and he’s pouting and it should look ridiculous, but my gaze is drawn to the sexy curve of his lips and…gah! No. I’m not kissing him again.
“One kiss,” he presses.
One kiss, the devil inside me urges.
“And then what?” I ask suspiciously.
“And then we go back to the party and maybe you dance with me a couple times. Or not. I mean, you’re missing out if you don’t—I got moves, Jessie. But no presh.”
Duh. No presh. This man is about as deep as a puddle, all right.
I stare at his mouth again.
So why am I considering this?
“Fine. One more kiss,” I say in a grudging tone. “But only to get you off my back.” Ha. Right. I’m being so generous. Because it has nothing to do with the fact that my lips are tingling with anticipation.
He breaks out in a huge smile. Rubs his hands together and then cracks his knuckles as if he’s preparing for a throwdown rather than a kiss.
I narrow my eyes. “I don’t have all night, bud. You want a kiss, come and get it. Otherwise—” The words die in my throat when he sinks to his knees in front of me. “What are you doing?” I squeak.
Big, warm hands slide under the hem of my dress, slowly dragging the satin material upward. “What do you mean?” he asks innocently.
Surprise makes my pulse race. “Where’s my kiss?”
Ignoring me, he pushes my dress all the way up to my waist, then groans so loudly that I shoot a wary glance behind me. But everyone on the lawn is completely out of sight, which means Blake and I are out of sight to them. Which means nobody but Blake can see that I’m not wearing anything under my dress.
“No panties?” he croaks. “Seriously? We were walking down that aisle together and you weren’t wearing panties? Are you trying to kill me?”
I’m still too stunned by his presence between my legs to respond.
Blake lets out a ragged breath. His face is so close to my core that I feel the warm puff of air on my clit. I shiver in desire, then curse myself for feeling it.
“Get up, you perv,” I grumble, trying to shove my dress down.
He locks both my hands with one of his. “Not until I get my kiss.” A naughty gleam lights his eyes.
“My lips are up here, asshole.”
The curve of his mouth widens, his smile becoming filthier and filthier. “You said a kiss, honey. But you never specified where.”
And then that wicked mouth lands on my aching core, and an even wickeder tongue sweeps out for a long, lazy lick.
Oh. My. God.
A shockwave of pleasure darts from my clit to my breasts to…well, to everywhere. I feel that one lick in every inch of my body, and it’s so good I don’t have the strength to push him away. I do the opposite, actually—I grab the back of his head and pull him closer while my traitorous legs part even farther.
“Yeah, that’s what I want,” Blake mumbles against my sensitive flesh. “Open up for me, honey.”
I hate him.
I hate his warm lips and his wet, talented tongue.
I hate the sting of his fingers on my inner thigh and the blunt tip of his finger as he drags it toward my opening.
I hate—
No, I don’t. I love it. I love every damn thing he’s doing to me. Every flick of the tongue against my clit. Every growled noise that leaves his throat as he wraps his lips around that swollen bud and sucks. But there’s no release. No cure for the knot of tension coiling low in my belly.
“I need to come,” I almost wail.
His laughter vibrates between my legs, male and husky and smug as fuck. Then he works his tongue over me again while his finger travels lower, dips into my embarrassingly obvious arousal and slips inside me.
That’s all it takes to detonate the pressure in my core. I gasp as the orgasm rips through me, pulsing in my blood and making my knees shake. My fist tightens in Blake’s hair as I rock my hips and ride out the wave of sensation.
When I finally grow limp, Blake raises his head and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “I love kissing you,” he says solemnly.
I’m too sated and mindless to reply, but somewhere in the haze of pleasure still fogging up my brain, I’m pretty sure I want to punch him.
7 Like a Rock
Jess
No matter what crazy things happened between Blake and I a couple of hours ago, there’s no rest for the wicked.
The party is winding down around me. Jamie and Wes have already turned in—at midnight a limo took them to our family home so they could get some sleep (or alone-time) before their honeymoon. Meanwhile, I’m starting the cleanup process. While the caterers and rental company will do most of the heavy lifting, there are centerpieces to save and borrowed items to collect and return. There are DJs to tip and taxis to call.
I’m way too busy to think about Blake or to scan the crowd for his big head. And I’m way too busy to wonder what’s going to happen later tonight in my bed…
“Jess, can I see you for a moment?”
The chair I’d been folding clatters to the ground in my haste to face my mom. “Um, sure?” Do I look guilty? Mom is the most intuitive woman in the world. Can she tell I recently had my bush patrolled by the best man?
But she just smiles and offers me one of the bite-sized lemon cookies on the little plate she’s been passing around. “I have a little favor to ask. Would you mind taking your brother and Wes to the airport at five in the morning? I thought I could manage it, but it will be two o’clock before we leave here, and your grandmother expects a hot breakfast when she gets up at six-thirty. I can’t handle her in a zombie-like state.”
“Sure,” I say quickly, leaning down to yank the chair upright again. God, I hope there isn’t a wet spot on the back of my dress. “I’ll do it.”
Mom puts a hand on my shoulder. “I really appreciate it. You’ve been like a rock through all of this. Anyone who hires you to plan their big day is getting a bargain at any price.”
I actually flinch when she says that. Planning a stranger’s wedding would be easier, but I still have no urge to do it again.
“What’s the matter, sweetie?” my mother asks, missing nothing.
Maybe it’s the champagne, but the truth comes spilling out. “Planning weddings isn’t really my thing.”
Her response is swift, and it’s precisely what I expected: Her face drops.
“Listen,” I add in hurry, “it’s not because I can’t handle it, or I’m bored. But there’s something more important I’m supposed to be doing. Something that does more for the world than choosing color schemes.”
Mom sighs, and the sound of it grates on me, because I’m the child she saves her sighs for. “But it’s been just three months since you announced to us that this was your future.”
“Four,” I correct, even though it doesn’t help my case. “And I would have stuck with it. I’m not a bad party planner. This isn’t like the Egyptian jewelry designs, Mom! But when Jamie was sick, I finally got a clue. It’s taken me a couple of months to mull
it over, but I’ve finally figured myself out.”
Mom shoves a cookie in her mouth. That’s how I know I’ve really stressed her out. Normally she avoids white flour and sugar. “So tell me.” She nods like I should get on with it.
“I need to go to nursing school. I know it will be hard, but I really want to do it.”
She chews. She swallows.
She shoves another cookie in her mouth.
Yikes.
Eventually she sets the tray down and takes my hand. “Nursing school is expensive, sweetie. And it’s hard. If you go, you have to finish.”
“I will finish,” I insist. “I’m already applying to four schools.”
Her eyes widen. “That’s a lot of schools.”
“They’re, uh, expensive like you said. And it’s competitive, too. But I can do this. I got a B in organic chemistry. They care about that. I’m smart enough to get in.”
“I’d never doubt that.” She strokes the back of my hand. “You can do anything you try to. It’s the effort that’s been your problem. You give up when things get hard.”
It takes all of my willpower not to argue that. It’s not really true, but it’s how my family sees me. “I want to be a nurse, Mom. Like Nurse Bertha.” Bertha took care of Jamie when he was laid up with pneumonia in the Toronto hospital. My mother and I both worshipped her. “I always told you I needed to do something artsy, but I was wrong. There are a lot of ways to make beauty in the world. I want to help people who are scared and sick. It’s the most important thing I could do with my life.”
The expression on her face now tells me that I’m getting somewhere. She’s looking at me the way she looks at my sister Tammy. Like I just might be worth the effort. “How much does nursing school cost?” she asks softly.
“Well…” I clear my throat. “UC San Francisco is the most expensive, unfortunately. It’s fifty-five thousand the first year.”
“Fifty…” Mom makes a choking noise. “Sweetheart. We don’t have that kind of money.”
I feel smaller when I hear it. I mean, it’s a crazy amount of money. Nobody in my family drives a car that costs that much. But I have to wonder whether her reaction would have been less vehement if one of her other children had the same need.
