Don’t think it’s an adult store? That’s where you’re wrong.
Except it wasn’t an adult store designed for men. It was for women who wanted to get their men off. A number of my teammates’ wives had been known to shop there, and let’s just say we had some very satisfied players show up for practice the next day.
So the real question wasn’t so much what I was doing there—it was what the hell Granny was doing in the store.
And don’t you dare suggest it was to improve her sex life. The woman’s almost eighty, for Christ’s sake.
I scanned the store for the three troublemakers. My grandmother, Abigail, and Hazel were giggling like a couple of schoolgirls.
Yep, they were up to no good.
And if I was lucky, whatever they were up to had nothing to do with me.
What do I mean?
In the past two weeks, Granny had tried to set me up with the granddaughters of two of her friends. Both times I said I wasn’t interested. If they had only been interested in commitment-free sex—then sign me up.
But try telling that to my grandmother.
Why wasn’t I interested?
My track record when it came to women wasn’t too hot. Nope, I didn’t mean in bed. No woman had ever been unsatisfied in that department. I wasn’t a jack-off who only took care of himself.
So what was the problem?
The life of a hockey player revolved around road trips. Lots of them. We were gone more times than we were home. And then there was the issue of being traded to another team. If you were married, the wife had to give up everything to be with you. If you had a girlfriend, it came down to if you wanted her to move to the new city and if she was interested in joining you.
What happened if you didn’t want her joining you and she had already planned her happily-ever-after…with you in it?
Long story short—the fallout was never fun.
But it wasn’t the trials of being a hockey player you had to worry about most. It was the people you loved. The people who meant the world to you…and then died.
Unfortunately, that was something I was very familiar with. First with my parents. And then my best friend in college.
So, to sum things up.
No. Girlfriends. For. Me. Ever.
One-night stands were so much easier, thank you very much. No emotions involved. No hearts at risk.
No chance of losing someone you loved.
But also, try telling that to my grandmother.
As if sensing my presence, Granny turned and waved. Then she and her posse ambled over to where I was standing near the entrance.
Or rather, they ambled to the counter where a redhead stood that I hadn’t noticed until now. And how I hadn’t noticed her before was beyond me. Her long hair was a mass of loose curls, which made her look as sexy as all freaking hell. Her dark green T-shirt skimmed her mouthwatering curves.
For a second, the image of her straddling me and riding my cock hard flashed in my head. But before said vital organ had a chance to react, the girl glanced at me. And let’s just say the images of her riding my cock were not parading through her mind.
From the way she was scowling at me, it would seem that she was thinking of removing my cock with a cleaver. Well, that would be a first.
Granny and Co. paused at the fountain. Behind me, the annoying sound of a bell jingled. I turned in time to see a brunette sail into the store as if she owned the place. Her hair was pulled back in a high ponytail and she was wearing scrubs, the top covered with cartoon cats.
Unlike the redhead, she didn’t shoot flaming daggers at me with her gaze. Instead, it appraisingly slid over me. She gave a brief nod of approval, then moved on.
For some reason, I felt compelled to walk to the counter where she and the redhead were standing. I tried telling myself it was because I was interested in flirting with the brunette.
Sounds like a reasonable explanation, right?
I thought so. My cock didn’t. The poor wayward idiot didn’t so much as twitch at the memory of her. He was still hung up on the redhead. He and I really needed to have a heart-to-heart.
I waited near the counter for Granny to join me. My gaze drifted to the redhead’s T-shirt. “Love does not need to be perfect. It just needs to be true.”
I’d have to take its word for that. Couldn’t say I’d ever been in love. Not in the way the T-shirt was referring to.
“I just need to pay for this,” Granny told me, holding up what looked like a bottle of bubble bath.
I nodded.
She removed a plastic-wrapped, heart-shaped chocolate chip cookie from the wicker basket on the counter. “I’ve heard these are to die for.” She parked it next to her other purchase.
“Emma bakes them,” the brunette said. She smiled at her friend as if the redhead had solved world hunger.
“Your boyfriend is a lucky man to have a girlfriend who bakes treats,” Granny said.
The brunette laughed. “Emma is as single as they come.”
The woman in question just shrugged it off. “I can’t help that I don’t have time for a boyfriend.”
“True. Between the store, volunteering at the youth center, and writing the Dr—” The brunette’s words stopped faster than a Ferrari at a red light at the glare Emma leveled at her. “And you’ve clearly been dating the wrong men.” She exaggerated a yawn, complete with covering her mouth, that had the redhead rolling her eyes.
“Well, that’s a shame, dear,” Granny said. “Remember, you fall in love with the most unexpected person at the most unexpected time.”
Think she made that up? Nope. One of Granny’s favorite hobbies was finding random quotes off the internet and spouting them at the oddest moments. Sometimes they worked—sometimes they left you scratching your head.
She glanced back at me and it took everything in my power not to roll my eyes. Granny could be as subtle as a stampede of bulls in a china shop.
“You almost ready?” I asked her.
That sigh of hers? She loved going to the doctor as much as I loved getting a penalty during the final minutes of a game when the teams were tied.
It was a sigh I’d frequently heard from her, but it didn’t change anything.
“I don’t suppose I can bribe you with this?” She removed another cookie from the basket and offered it to me. “How about you enjoy this delicious cookie and forget the appointment?”
“Sorry, no can do. But nice try.” I’d almost lost her back in high school. Given that she was the only grandparent or parent I had left, I wasn’t ready to lose her.
And yes, I would do anything for her, especially after she’d put up with my bullshit following my parents’ unexpected deaths. It had fucked me up big-time. My parents had meant everything to me. They’d showered me with love and respect and support—and the feeling had been mutual.
After their deaths, Granny was the one who helped me eventually move on and glue my broken pieces back together. So like I said, I would do anything for her—other than have a girlfriend.
And other than let her talk me out of driving her to her medical appointment.
She finished paying, then hugged her friends good-bye.
At my car, I helped Granny into the passenger seat and climbed behind the steering wheel. We were pulling away from the curb when she said, “Did I tell you that Abigail’s grandson had a baby boy the other day?” She gave me the same theatrical I-wish-I-had-a-great-grandchild sigh I’d already heard a million times.
Did I know his wife was pregnant? You better believe it. But not because I knew them personally. Granny had told me the news at least once a month—as if telling me would make me magically desire a child.
Or a wife.
The last I’d seen, I had testicles and not ovaries, so her plan had fallen flat on its face.
“No, you didn’t,” I said.
She didn’t say anything for a full minute. Hmmm. I got off pretty easy this time. “You’re still coming for dinne
r tonight, right?” she asked.
“Yes, but I’m getting together with some friends afterward, so I can’t stay long.”
Granny smiled knowingly—which was never a good thing half the time. Only I had no idea which half-the-time this was and what it meant.
And that made me slightly nervous.
3
Emma
“So what was that all about?” Hannah asked a second after the door shut behind Fanny’s two friends. Did they buy the sexy teddies they had been eyeing at one point? No, they both settled on bubble bath from the romance line—a sweet blend of vanilla and roses.
I liked the bubble bath, but my favorite was the one that should’ve said, “Warning: one sniff of this and you’ll be jumping your man’s bones,” on the label.
Which was great if you had a man for bone jumping. Not so great if it was just you and Alejandro.
Alejandro? What did you expect me to call the one thing capable of giving me regular orgasms?
Alejandro and I went way back. He was the ultimate boyfriend. He never broke my heart. He was always there for me—unless his batteries died.
Reminder to self: buy new batteries on the way home.
“Earth to Emma,” Hannah said, waving her hand in front of my face.
“Huh?”
“You wanna explain why you were scowling at that hot guy with the old women?”
“He wasn’t with them. He came to pick up his grandmother.” And yes—I did think it was incredibly sweet that he was taking Fanny to her medical appointment when it was clear she didn’t want to go.
He loved his grandmother, and that’s what you did for people you loved.
What you didn’t do was walk away from them because you couldn’t be bothered to care.
Too bad my parents hadn’t figured that one out on their own.
“And you felt the need to scowl at that, why?” Hannah asked.
Hmmm. This counter sure is messy. Maybe I could polish it or something.
“I wasn’t scowling,” I said, concentrating on the invisible mess and doing an awesome job of not looking at Hannah.
“Right. And I’m engaged to the Prince of England,” she deadpanned.
I grinned. “Congratulations! Do I get to be a bridesmaid? I mean, unless you’re planning to select a dress in some hideous color that will clash with my hair.” That was a disadvantage of being a redhead. Blondes and brunettes didn’t know how lucky they had it.
Hannah rolled her eyes. “Ha, ha. Very funny. But switching the topic won’t change anything.”
“Honestly, there’s nothing to tell.”
“You’re a terrible liar, Emma.”
I slapped my hand against my chest, doing my best not to giggle. “That seriously hurt.”
“Okay, so you’re not going to tell me. I guess that means I’ll just have to eat your birthday cupcake myself.” With a devious grin, she lifted the small white box I hadn’t noticed she was holding. “Maggie’s Bakery” was embossed in gold on the side.
I squealed—because we were talking about a cupcake from San Francisco’s finest bakery.
Hannah set the box on the counter and opened the lid.
“Is that…?” I asked.
She nodded. “Chocolate raspberry lava. I placed an order for it last week.” You had to either do that or camp out overnight just to be the first person in the store when it opened. Sleep in—your loss.
She glanced at the ceiling. “I guess the sprinklers will go off if I light the candle.”
I looked up. “That’s my guess, too.”
“All right, you can pretend to blow it out. I’m pretty sure your birthday wish will still come true.” She pushed the red candle into the thick chocolate frosting and waited for me to make a wish.
I wish…I wish that a guy would become my sunshine on a rainy day. Yes, my coffee mug might’ve been the inspiration behind it. But I figured I might have better luck with a more poetic wish than a straightforward, “I wish I could find Mr. Right.”
Because dating a string of Mr. Wrongs had quickly grown old.
Which was why I was currently on a vacation from dating.
“Okay, I’m ready,” I told Hannah.
She removed the two plastic forks taped to the box lid and handed one to me. “Happy birthday to the bestest best friend a girl could ever want.”
It was the same thing we said every year on each other’s birthday, starting from the time we met in foster care during our final year in the system. I had just been transferred yet again to a new home. The same home Hannah had been in for the past year. Whereas some girls became territorial when a newbie was dumped into their space, Hannah and I had instantly bonded.
Best friends forever.
Which was how I knew she craved the same thing as me: to be loved.
Because when you grew up in the foster care system, love was in short supply. What wasn’t in short supply? Rejection. Abandonment. The I-don’t-give-a-damn-about-you-so-get-out-of-my-fucking-way attitude.
Hannah and I devoured the cupcake in record time. You know what they say about chocolate? It’s a replacement for sex. And given that neither of us had fucked a guy in a while (two years to be exact for me), the cupcake never stood a chance.
“Sorry I have to work tonight,” Hannah said. She was a nurse at the children’s hospital.
“That’s okay. I’m looking forward to a Sex and the City TV marathon. Plus I need to write next week’s column.”
Maybe my Sex and the City marathon would help me with the article. One could always hope.
“Well, have fun with that.” Hannah waved good-bye and left the store.
Like most days, the afternoon was a combination of slow and busy. I spent the next few hours setting up several new displays, accompanied by the soothing sounds of the fountain and the upbeat music in the background. I played all kinds of music in the store. Rock. Pop. Country. Anything romantic that had nothing to do with being dumped.
I used to play music from the local radio stations, but it must have been a bad year for the major recording artists. I swear most of them had been singing about broken hearts. Not exactly the ideal music to play in a store that was all about romance.
Just before Lisa was scheduled to arrive for the evening shift, a couple entered the store, holding hands.
For me, the handholding was a sign of love. He wasn’t afraid of showing the world that she was his. No, I don’t mean in the caveman, asshole way. That would involve tossing her over his shoulder and grunting. The handholding was sweet and swoony.
I released a dreamy sigh—fortunately too quiet for them to hear me. They walked past the fountain and headed for the section in the back where I kept the sex toys. This was the one place in the store where kids weren’t permitted. Did I get a lot of kids in here? Only the young ones with their moms—who were looking to spice up their sex life. The moms, that is.
Lisa showed up a few minutes later. “Anything exciting happen today?” she asked after stowing her coat and purse in the staff room.
“Not really.” I brought her up to speed on what I’d like her to do if things got slow, which usually wasn’t the case in the evenings. Thanks to the store ads near my weekly column, business was good. The paper had been nice enough to run the store ads whenever I had the column.
By nice, I meant they paid me less than the other weekly columnists, but who was I to complain? Hello, increased business.
After grabbing the paperwork I needed to do that night, I headed back to my apartment building, which was an easy twenty-minute walk from the store.
I unlocked my door and called out, “I’m home,” as I entered. Like I did every time I came home. Deep down, I kept hoping that one day someone would answer and tell me how much he’d missed me.
That he would come out of the kitchen, hug me, and give me the most passionate kiss known to womankind. Then we would head to the bedroom and have the most amazing sex.
Of course, this was based on th
e assumption that sex really was as amazing as the romance novels claimed, especially when you were in love. Or maybe that was just a myth—like Santa and the Easter Bunny.
That’s right. Those times I’d had sex were hardly what I’d call spectacular. And this included the one time with my old college boyfriend, the guy who claimed to love me, then walked out the door after taking my virginity and never called again.
I know. I should’ve seen it coming. Oh, well. Live and learn.
While dinner simmered on the stove, I caught up on my bills. Once the food was ready, I ate it and watched Sex and the City. But by the end of the third episode, my deadline called to me.
How did I get the job of writing the Dear Dr. Lovejoy column? Simple. An editor from The SF Metro paper came into the store one day. After I talked to her for a bit, she suggested I write a guest column. So I did—as a joke.
I never expected the joke to become a regular gig.
I booted up my laptop and stared at the blank page.
And stared.
And stared.
Usually I answered questions the paper sent me. But when there weren’t any that week or my editor hadn’t forwarded them yet, I made up my own.
Dear Dr. Lovejoy, I finally typed. Always a good start.
I’ve been friends with this one guy for five years now. Recently I’ve begun fantasizing about him as something more than a friend. What should I do?
Sincerely,
Falling For My Best Friend
Hmmm. Too boring. I deleted it and started again.
Dear Dr. Lovejoy,
I’ve been going out with my boyfriend for a year now. Sex is good, but I would love it if he would go down on me. What should I do?
Sincerely,
Need A Little More Sexy Fun
This fell within the independent paper’s guidelines. Just.
Dear Need A Little More Sexy Fun,
The most important thing in any relationship is communication. If you aren’t able to tell him that you would love for him to go down on you, how will you be able to talk to him about more difficult topics? The first question I have for you is, are you going down on him? Because if you aren’t, this would be a good time to start and see if he reciprocates.
Decidedly With Love Page 2
