by Tracy Ellen
“Okay, I give, I give!” I cried out. When Luke gave a grunt of approval at my easy submission and stopped the tickle torture, I licked his cheek and added in his ear, “I give you a six out of ten for being a slightly above average lover.”
Squirming in pleasure, I think it’s fair to say there’s a significant difference between getting tickled by a boy and a man. After a few minutes of tussling negotiations over points, I was panting and Luke was finally satisfied with his final score of fifty.
Sitting back on my stool, I picked up the dropped card and ripped open the envelope addressed to “My best friend, Anabel” in handwriting I didn’t recognize. Blowing my bangs out of my eyes, I smiled up at Luke when he ran a finger along my flushed cheek.
I dropped my gaze to scan the card while murmuring absently, “Now where was I before you so rudely interrupted…?”
The card was hand drawn in pencil. On the front cover was a stick man. He was checking his watch as he paced. A stick table was full of empty cocktail glasses. Inside the card, a stick woman sat in a small circle of light in an otherwise dark closet, totally engrossed in reading her eBook.
Speaking of Big Jim again, the caption read, “Friends don’t make friends wait.”
I laughed in delight. The card was cute, and the message was deprecatingly charming, considering the real truth of James Byrd’s closet sex story when he left the woman sitting in the dark for a half an hour while he had a leisurely drink. I was touched by his willingness to show me that he understood how cool it would be to become friends.
“What’s the joke behind the card?” Luke’s casual question jerked me out of my thoughts.
Luke had been surprisingly reticent about asking me any questions on the subject of James Byrd, especially when I recalled the brief hard look in his eye when he observed us together at James’ holiday party last Saturday night. I swung towards him on the stool, fitting my bare knees in between his spread thighs and getting cozy.
“Long version or short?”
His lips quirked slightly. “Don’t tease. There is no short version.”
I couldn’t resist hugging him. Everything about Luke made me sing--my heart, my blood, my soul, my…
‘…big titties and pink taco,’ the sex kitten voice purred.
‘Oh, real mature. Way to go and ruin a loving moment,’ the mean mommy voice snarled.
‘A person doesn’t necessarily have to be mature to have a loving moment,’ the accountant voice offered up.
‘Maturity is no prerequisite for love,’ agreed the detective voice.
I needed some solid sleep.
Releasing Luke, I covered my eyes with my fists and shook my head back and forth as fast as I could. Dropping my hands, I opened my eyes. Sparkly dots danced for a few seconds. I blinked rapidly until I could focus again. Bottle green eyes outlined in the thickest, blackest lashes ever wasted on a man stared fixedly at my face from a foot away.
A sleek brow arched.
Luke asked gravely, “All better?”
I nodded and laughed. Clasping his hands in mine, I told him everything.
Well, not everything, everything.
Luke may rock my world, but he was first and foremost a man. Men do not like other men who like-like their women, and I wanted Luke to like James. Besides, James didn’t know that I knew he liked me-liked me, so neither should Luke.
My boyfriend was a good listener. His eyes were on my face the entire time I explained about Jazy’s sex stories starring James Byrd. I described how I asked James to be friends at his holiday bash, and which sexcapade story was behind the card. For context, I threw in how cute and clever my protégé, Mia Besosa was turning out to be, as well as the budding infatuation between Jazy and Max Byrd.
Frowning, I remarked thoughtfully, “It’s fun to watch Jaz and Max circle around each other like man-eating sharks, but they are both such sluts; it’s hard to envision that ending happily.”
Luke smirked a little over the slut comment, but he said nothing when I stopped talking. If he had one, his reaction was unreadable.
The lack of drama, so different from Anna or my sisters, might explain why all of a sudden sharing my concerns for issues I saw brewing on the horizon of my life felt wonderful. Before considering what I was doing, I squeezed Luke’s big hands and gazed back into his calm, heavy-lidded gaze while I prioritized and listed the concerns in my head.
“My best friend is marrying my brother and carrying his baby, but they’re constantly bickering--I mean, more than normal. My niece is pregnant and wedding crazy. She’s marrying a guy I’ve only conversed with maybe three times so far. Eric George seems nice enough, but he’s lost his wallet once and forgotten his phone at the apartment twice. That doesn’t bode well for an infant. Plus, none of our family really knows him, you know?
“My second sister, Kenna is surprisingly not marrying anybody immediately after her last divorce, but there is stuff going on I can’t share with you.” I thought of Candy sending the bad farmer home to catch Jazy and Tre J horse rustling. The fact Kenna knew enough of that plot to come try to save them made me laugh grimly. “But trust me; it’s all a big, fat mess. Plus, Kenna is friends with your employee, who is still numero uno on my shit list, also for new reasons I can’t share. But you know most of the old reasons already. If she drugs and rapes you at your employee picnic, don’t come crying to me when your cockle-doodle-doo falls off from some sort of rotting disease.”
I paused for breath in my litany to glare at my Beloved. “Now what was it again you said this employee does for you exactly?”
His mouth crooked at my sneering tone. “This and that.”
I scoffed. “Gee, sounds like it involves a lot of training. What a waste, since you’ll probably have to kill your employee before her ninety day review period is up.”
“I’ll bear that in mind.” He didn’t change his expression, but I saw the laughter in his eyes when he motioned with that arrogant nose for me to keep talking.
After another long glare to show I meant business while he raised his brows in return, I plunged on. “Jazy and Tre could be in deep trouble at any moment.” Another vision of the mean farmer invaded my mind. He was now dead, a frozen stiff under a deep snowdrift. It was his own fault for tripping over the dog chain and blowing his fool head off during his attempt to murder Stinky and me in the doghouse. But try telling that to the police if I was ever questioned. “I could be in trouble, too, for that matter. I wish I could explain, but unfortunately, it’s another secret not mine to discuss. It is worrisome, though,” I added dryly, “as only the imminent threat of prison can be.”
Luke’s brows came together slightly, so I squeezed his hands to ward off the questions I couldn’t answer due to giving my damn word.
I quickly continued, “My grandmother, the rock of Gibraltar who has kept our family on track and together my entire life, has been flitting around the world getting marriage proposals from sheiks and barons.” I shook my head and whined pathetically, “What if she never comes home and I get stuck with the whole crazy lot of them for good? And last, but far from least, Jazy hasn’t lifted her curse against your manhood.” Pounding our clasped hands against Luke’s thighs to get his attention over his shout of laughter, I warned, “Hey, you can laugh. You certainly won’t be the first man to do so until his dingus,” I held up a straight finger and let it wilt over, “goes wee, wee, wee all the way home.”
Still chuckling, Luke silently contemplated me. He brought my hand to his lips and pressed a slow kiss to my inner wrist. He glanced sideways up at me from under his brows and asked quietly, “Can you be ready to come with me in a few minutes?”
“Uh, I guess…I mean, aren’t I always?” Shivering at the soft touch of his tongue, I was confused by his desire to prove his manhood right this second when he thought Jazy’s curse was so funny, and after I just spilled my guts. Truthfully, I was also a little offended by Luke’s patronizing question. Hadn’t I recently proved on the faux
fur throw on the floor not once, but several times, that I could be ready to come whenever he was, if not way before?
‘Oh well, Luke was the sexpert here. Maybe this was some kind of foreplay game towards alleviating my anxieties,’ I thought, shrugging a shoulder.
So I pulled the wifebeater over my head and threw it on the floor.
Uncharacteristically, Luke sat there perfectly still and stared at my nakedness. I arched my back a bit and smiled enticingly. A few seconds went by and when he made no attempt to touch the goods, I nervously fluffed my hair out and wiggled a little. His eyebrows met in the middle in a puzzled frown. I replayed his exact words in my head.
“Oh!” I gestured towards my cha-cha region, a little daunted how I would make it all work while perched precariously on a stool. “Umm…did you mean I have to get myself ready?”
He didn’t look up from his perusal, but his puzzled frown cleared and a smile started to grow.
Luke’s voice had that fascinated tone when he replied, “Anabel, Anabel, thank you for this Kodak moment,” and his voice also quivered with suppressed laughter, “but I was asking you to come out with me to take care of some business I have tonight.”
“Oh.” I looked at him blankly. Feeling the heat rise to my face, I added inanely, “But it’s after one in the morning.”
His gaze finally rose to mine and he smiled coolly. “It’s that kind of business.”
“Oh, holy crap, ninjas!” I leapt off the stool, embarrassment forgotten. “Give me two…no three minutes to find the right outfit!”
I whipped the cloth napkin around to cover my butt. It was one thing to conduct scientific jumping tests or pose nude seductively for my Satyr, but no man got to watch my plump buttocks jiggle for no good reason.
“What the hell…?” Luke called out after my running figure, “I said business, not ninjas!”
Chapter II
“Bang Bang” by Jessie J, Ariana Grande, Nicki Minaj
Tuesday, 12/18
2:00 AM
It’s fortunate I am a woman who throws in a load of laundry every chance she gets. The black outfit--jeans, long-sleeve T, and hoodie--I’d worn on the last ninja mission to the horse farm were ready to go in a neat pile on the top of the clean clothes basket in the closet.
I had one minute to spare. A cold shower would have been nice, but I settled for washing my hands. I regarded my flushed image in the large mirror over the vanity. Shaking my head ruefully at my horny misinterpretation of Luke’s words, it was also fortunate I could handle being the butt of a joke, since I’d just acted like a total horse’s ass.
Combing my messy blonde hair, I then smoothed it behind my ears. I didn’t move my head, but the birthday presents sparkled blindingly under the lights.
The earrings were another piece from the parure of antique jewels passed down on Luke’s Greek side of his mother’s family. Holding up a hand mirror, I admired my presents more closely.
The earrings matched Sparky in the basic design, but were much more elaborate. Cascading, round links of silver were encrusted with white diamonds and blue gemstones of sapphire and topaz. At the end of the last link, more gemstones dangled enticingly from delicately wrought silver chains. The earrings were stunning and probably worth big bucks.
I stood back from the vanity and turned to the side to admire that view as well. I felt like royalty with them on, or maybe an international spy--Bond Girl style.
“Old Octopussy ain’t got nothin’ on Horse’s Ass!” With an imaginary gun pointed, I whipped around to face the front again, the earrings swinging and sparkling wildly right along with me. “Bang bang, motherducker!”
A jeweler had converted the old clamp attachments on the heavy, antique earrings into pierced. Luke told me the new closures were designed to prevent the earrings from falling off accidentally. Or, if anybody tried to steal them, they weren’t coming off without a big chunk of my ear lobe as well. Despite his reassurances, I still didn’t know if I would ever chance it and wear the irreplaceable heirlooms in public. Besides, it wasn’t like I really believed I was royalty. Sure, I was proud to own Bel’s Books, but it’s not exactly a dangly diamond earrings kind of place, and last I checked, Northfield didn’t host too many balls.
I smiled wickedly at my image and thought, ‘Guess my Dark Prince and I will have to play Pretty, Pretty Princess in private.’
Sparky lit up and the fire caught my attention.
I sighed down at the ring. “Give me a break, okay? I don’t know what’s going on with the engagement either, but you don’t see me carrying on. Can’t you simply be happy with the fun we’re having like I am?”
At the party earlier tonight, Luke and I gave my guests the agreed upon “lite” version of the events that had transpired with Svetlana, Dickie’s supposed murder, and DDL’s involvement. Afterwards, Pam excitedly asked the question on everybody’s mind--were Luke and I engaged or not?
Face impassive, Luke stayed silent. One awkward moment later, I had given a laughingly vague answer of, “Hey, Luke said nobody is supposed to bug me, remember?”
“No problem, we’ll bug Luke instead.” Anna’s instant response before Pam could open her mouth again had a trace of belligerence. Anna hadn’t wanted to believe Luke cheated on me with the ex-cousin, but was no happier learning she had been duped. I could relate. “So what’s the deal, Drake?”
At Anna’s side, Stella seemed a little pale when she stuck up her chin and nodded at Luke. “Yeah, nobody likes being treated like a dummy, even for a good cause,” her voice got a little wobbly, “so what’s the deal, Luke? Are you in my wedding or not?”
They regarded Luke with identical lowered brows and suspicious frowns, but the deadly duo got diverted when an unidentified man’s voice yelled out of the big crowd, “Back off, you harpies. Luke escaped the ol’ ball and chain once. Dude, don’t let them hassle you into misery…oof!”
The speaker was Al Owens. I knew that only because I spotted Jamie Wade elbowing Al a sharp one in the gut before he had finished speaking. Since Bartender Al was an acquaintance of mine at best, he must have come to the party with my fake godmother.
Jamie had then jabbed a finger up into Al’s face. She whispered and pointed emphatically until Al loudly protested, “Oh, shit on a brick, all right, all right, I hear you!”
Al raised his beer my way and yelled, “Sorry, Anabel, nothing personal. Any dumbass would be lucky to marry you. Oh, and happy birthday!”
I hid my laughter and nodded acceptance of Al’s dubious apology, although the other girls glared his way a little longer. Gossip had it Al went through a nasty divorce recently. It was the only reason the guy’s testicles were still attached after the harpies comment. Obviously, the poor man hadn’t graduated past the bitter stage in a break up where a person drank too much and was a hater.
Reg was standing near us and had rolled his eyes at Luke in general male sympathy. In return, my boyfriend slightly shook his head in that amused way of his, as if life in Northfield was his very own personal sitcom.
Bartender Al wouldn’t have crossed my mind again, but for the unsettling information Jamie passed on to me when she pulled me aside later during the party.
She informed me that a man and woman had come into Rueb’s the previous night during Al’s shift. The pair bought a round and started up a friendly conversation with the others seated at the bar. Soon the talk had focused on the bookstores in town. Jamie said she was mad at Al and embarrassed she only had a few specific details to report on the conversation.
I thought it was understandable Al might find the topic of bookstores boring, but then Jamie explained why she was ticked off at her bartender. Al’s radar wasn’t set off by the couple until the man progressed from bookstores in general to personal questions about me. After my name was mentioned, Al finally listened. He followed procedure and faithfully reported the incident, but he was unable to report to Jamie what the man had actually asked.
Unfortunately, being i
n the hater phase seemed to stunt Al’s overall memory. The bitter bartender focused solely on the fact the female accompanying the man had thrown a jealous fit when he asked his personal questions. Apparently, the female had stormed out of the bar. Al told Jamie it was how his ex-wife always acted when she accused him of fooling around with the female servers.
“Al is an unfaithful dumbass. His wife was lucky to divorce him,” Jamie stated unequivocally after relaying the sketchy details of the incident.
As I chuckled, she gave me a one-armed embrace around my shoulder.
“It’s really not funny, honey.” She fumed a little more about the shortcomings of men when it came to the tradecraft of data collection. “He forgot to get a picture, too. I grilled the dimwit, but Al’s total recollection of the couple was that the man dressed funny, they had bad teeth, and the woman looked like a bitch on wheels.” The fiery red head added contemptuously, “Whatever the hell that means.”
I patted her hand on my shoulder and nodded in solemn agreement. “For a bartender, Al sucks as a detective.”
Despite her disgust, my fake godmother laughed and hugged me close, pressing her cheek to mine. Jamie is a brassy, pugnacious woman inside and out, but her freckled skin is buttery soft and she smells of springtime.
“Ah, Anabel honey, now that you’re all grown up, I can let you know with a clear conscience that your mother would have loved your snarky sense of humor.”
“Seriously?” I replied, blushing with pleasure at this unheard of compliment.
NanaBel and her only daughter had shared a bond so deep, it was hurtful for my grandmother to talk about my mom, even years after her death. While not exactly a taboo subject in our household, NanaBel’s obvious pain caused us kids to avoid talking much about our parents or from asking too many questions.
