Beer Goggles Anthology

by Anthology

  Dylan’s going to hate me and I’m probably going to drive the stake a little further through my reputation, but I can’t let Kallie think she isn’t special just the way she is.

  “How you feeling, Bright?” I ask, decision made.

  “Fine. I mean, I’ll have a headache in the morning, but the dancing helped.”

  Good. Because when I hold her tonight—and that’s all I’m going to do, because that’s what Kallie needs…not sex—I need her to realize that I’m doing it because I genuinely like her and want to be close to her. Not because I feel sorry for her or because I have some crazy need to prove her theory about men wrong just because I happen to be one.

  I’ve already done that. I just need to show her the evidence to back it up.

  Chapter Seven

  Kallie

  I wake up with my face buried in the hardest, most delicious smelling man chest ever. One of Jake’s arms is under my head, while the other rests lightly on my hip.

  He’s wearing cotton pajama bottoms and I’m in shorts and a long T-shirt. There is nothing sexy about what we have going on in his bed, yet I’m turned on like never before. Why? Because Jake.

  That’s all. I’m not salivating over his biceps or his washboard abs, though both are amazing. I’m not even reacting to his morning wood, because I couldn’t even tell you if he’s hard right now. He’s not pressed against me, driving home the fact that he’s a dude with a healthy sexual appetite.

  He’s just Jake right now. And I’m just Kallie, and I have no idea how I’m going to fix the mess I’ve gotten myself into. I only have two weeks left in this class and, last night, Jake turned everything I thought I knew on its head.

  Not a bad thing, because, hey, I ended up in this very place, with his arms around me because of it.

  But I do need to pass my class. And I do need the credits to graduate early. So, I need to come up with a plan to make this right and I refuse to continue on with an experiment that no longer makes sense just to get by.

  “I hear the wheels turning,” Jake murmurs, his mouth pressed against the top of my head. “It’s too early for that.”

  “Sorry. The downfall of being in school for so long is that my brain is in thinking mode around the clock.”

  “Speaking of that beautiful brain of yours, how are you feeling?”

  “Fine. The ibuprofen and water before bed helped. Thank you for suggesting them.”

  “You’re welcome.” His mouth dips down to my nose, giving me a quick peck. “So, you weren’t the only one who was thinking…”

  “No?”

  He shakes his head and his bristled jaw scratches lightly against my cheek. “What do you say about a date with me today?”

  My heart jumps a little in my chest. The first genuine excitement I’ve had about going out all week. “Sounds like fun.”

  “Good. I’ve got some work to do this morning, but I thought maybe we could spend the afternoon together. No bars this time.”

  I nod, though I can’t deny the niggling feeling in my gut. “What about Dylan?”

  Jake pulls in a deep breath and exhales just the same. “I’ll call him this morning.”

  “And?”

  “Tell him I want to date his little sister.”

  Heat whirls in my belly and rises to my chest and cheeks. “You do?”

  “Hell yes I do. I thought I made that clear last night.”

  I can’t keep the smile off of my face. “You know this throws a huge monkey wrench into my project.”

  “Fuck that project,” he grumbles, his hand winding possessively into my T-shirt. “Though, you’re probably going to want to explain that to Dylan too. Before he hears about your serial dating from Brennan or Vaughn.”

  Yeah, I figured as much. It’s not a conversation I’m looking forward to, but I should probably do it sooner than later.

  “Maybe we can call him together,” I suggest. “Break the bad news all at once, rather than give him two major spikes in blood pressure.”

  Jake laughs…and then suddenly freezes.

  “What?”

  “Sounded like the front door just shut.”

  Holding still, I listen and, sure enough, I hear movement in the main part of the apartment. “Oh, my God. He can’t be home yet, can he?”

  We both scramble out of the bed and when Jake grabs frantically for a T-shirt, he pulls the dresser drawer right onto the floor.

  “Fuck!” he hollers when the wood slams down onto his foot and I gasp at both the crash and his pained reaction.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Jake?” Dylan’s voice sounds down the hall. “Everything okay in there?”

  Jake’s panicked eyes stare down at me as we both try to figure out what to say. Is there anything we can do to make us being together in his bedroom look less incriminating? It’s seven o’clock in the morning and we both have bed head and morning breath.

  “Uh, yeah,” Jake finally hollers back. “Be out in a minute.” Then, to me, “I guess I’ll be having that conversation with him in person rather than over the phone.”

  “We,” I whisper. “We’ll have the conversation together.”

  He shakes his head, but I put my finger to his lips.

  “I won’t let you take the blame for this. We both screwed up.”

  “Kallie?” Dylan’s voice is closer now. Dangerously closer. “Is that you?”

  I toe up and press a quick kiss to Jake’s mouth. “Yes,” I answer my brother, never taking my eyes off of Jake’s. “We’ll be right out.”

  Jake

  Kallie steps away from me just as Dylan throws open the bedroom door, nostrils flaring like a rodeo bull.

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” he growls, looking between us, like he’s not sure who to kill first.

  Since this is mostly my fault, I tuck her behind me, prepared to bear the brunt of his wrath on my own. “Let me explain.”

  Dylan shakes his head, hands balled into fists at his sides. “I come home because I hear my kid sister is whoring herself out and this is what I find? Don’t you ever fucking learn, Jake?”

  My blood starts to boil the second he insults Kallie and all intentions of doing this the noble way fly out the window. I step forward and meet him in the middle of the room. “Apparently you’ve got a problem with believing everything you hear,” I snarl, and Dylan gives a bark of humorless laughter.

  “Maybe, but there’s no denying this, now is there?” He gestures to my messed bed at the same time Kallie shifts forward.

  “Dylan, it’s not what you think. I mean, it is…kind of…but Jake hasn’t done anything wrong. Please let us explain.”

  “He put his hands on you, Kallie. I don’t need another explanation.”

  “But he hasn’t!” She surges in front of me, slapping her palms against her brother’s chest. “Not like you think he has.”

  Dylan’s jaw ticks as he shifts his glare from me to her. “I’m supposed to believe that after all I’ve heard? Sounds like you’ve nailed all of Port Washington while I’ve been gone.”

  She sucks in a deep breath and I hate how her shoulders slump. I also hate his friggin’ assumptions, but Kallie isn’t the type of girl to let others fight her battles, so I stand back.

  “One, I did what I did for a class,” she tells him. “It was an experiment. But I never slept with any of my dates. Not even close.”

  “Oh, really? So, why the hell are you in here right now?”

  “That’s none of your business, Dylan. That’s between me and Jake.”

  My roommate roars instantly, jolting around Kallie and going straight for my throat.

  “Stop it!” She wedges herself between us and shoves him away. “Two, I know I should have been honest with you from the start, but Jake has been amazing in your absence. He wasn’t happy when he found out about my project either, mostly because he knew you wouldn’t be happy about it.”

  Dylan opens his mouth, no doubt to refute her, but she holds up a h
and and continues on.

  “Jake isn’t a womanizer, Dyl. I know he screwed up in the past, but that wasn’t entirely his fault and this isn’t either.” She lifts her little chin and I’m not sure I’ve ever wanted to kiss her more. “So, you can be pissed off all you want, but I think you’re wasting your time, because this past week? I couldn’t have been safer, even if you were here.”

  Fuck yes. This is my date for the afternoon. Maybe my date for the next year or two, if I play my cards right.

  Dylan’s shoulders drop, though I know he’s still capable of ripping out my jugular in one quick jerk. “You didn’t have sex with him?” he asks Kallie again, and she shakes her head.

  “But that’s not to say I won’t someday. I kinda like him.”

  He growls, but takes a step back nonetheless. “You both have two minutes to put some clothes on before I change my mind.”

  Kallie

  Somehow, Jake and I got Dylan to listen to the full story, minus a few specific parts that, while harmless, wouldn’t have helped our case. In the end, my brother even let us have our afternoon together and a few more after that, so Jake could help me revise my project.

  I ended up with a B+ on the paper. My worst grade in all of my three and a half years of college, but that’s what happens when you aren’t able to prove your own theory true and you end up being schooled by someone who wasn’t even supposed to be a part of the experiment.

  To say I learned a lot from Jake in our few weeks together in Port Washington would be an understatement. Heck, I still learn a lot from him now, seven months later.

  Our relationship may have started out with a few too many beers and one really awkward moment, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. Jake might have something different to say about it, but the only thing I’ll add is that he’s more than made up for his…shortcomings in our time together since.

  I set out to prove that men were pigs…and I wound up hog-tied to a man I can’t stop thinking about. Jake obviously passed my test with ease. Heck, he annihilated the grading curve.

  Conclusion to this project:

  It doesn’t matter if men are shallow pigs as long as one of them isn’t.

  THE END

  About the Author

  Molly McLain lives in a tiny Wisconsin town with her husband, three kids, and a sassy dog. She loves fountain soda, jellybeans, Luke Bryan and Avenged Sevenfold, thunderstorms, and camping at quiet lakes. She's been scribbling down love stories since she was old enough to dream about happily ever afters, and now she writes sexy, small town romance for real.

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  The Guy in 3C

  By Cheryl McIntyre

  Preface

  Kenadie

  Rawn O’Rourke is standing before me, fresh out of the shower, in nothing but a damp towel.

  His dark hair is messy and dripping water on my Jimmy Choos. This would normally bother me—I worked hard to pay for my four-and-a-half-inch heels. Okay, okay, bother might be putting it mildly. At any other point, a man dripping water on my shoes would earn him a fate worse than death. But not tonight. Because after everything I’ve done to this man, he has the right to drip anything he wants on my shoes. And also because, right now, all my attention is focused on the one, two, three, four—four tattoos adorning his biceps, chest, and ribs. I had no idea all this was hiding under his clothes.

  Holy hotness, Batgirl.

  He makes a noise in his throat, like a growl that sounds somewhere between annoyed and amused. He told me to never knock on his door again, but here I am at nearly midnight, doing exactly that.

  I reluctantly lift my gaze and meet his eyes. He smirks, one side of his mouth lifting higher than the other. Just a few days ago that lopsided leer made my hands itch to slap it off his face.

  But that was before Sydney spilled the beans and I realized I made a terrible mistake by ever being mean to him. My heart kind of swells as I think about it.

  Okay, and that was also before I discovered what he looks like under his clothes. Seriously. Greek gods have blessed him. Or angels. Or the Heavenly Father himself. Nobody is this perfect.

  My eyes drift downward, skimming over his stomach and stopping on the towel clinging to him.

  Honestly. Nobody.

  “Is there something I can help you with?” he asks, his voice lower and huskier than I’ve ever heard it before. Goose bumps prickle my skin. I try not to squirm. I fail miserably.

  Oh, there is so much he can help me with. My clothes, my orgasms…

  Wait. No. That’s not what I’m here for.

  “I just…”

  “You just…” He prompts, and I swear I can hear the smile in his words.

  “Came to say…” Shit. Focus. Eyes up top, Kenadie.

  “Yes?”

  Tongue-tied. I’m tongue-tied over a man. Albeit a half-naked man with an amazing body, but still. This is not who I am. I do not lose the ability to form full sentences in the presence of hard muscles under golden skin. And tattoos. Let’s not forget those.

  Damn it. Get it together.

  This is the alcohol’s fault.

  I pinch my eyelids shut, wet my lips, and release a slow breath. Rawn chuckles and I second-guess myself. Maybe I wasn’t wrong about this guy. Maybe Sydney had her information confused. Maybe he is every bit the jackass I thought he was. You don’t have to be ugly on the outside to be rotten on the inside. Although, that should totally be a rule. It would make so many people’s lives easier.

  My eyes snap open and I glare at him. “What is so funny?”

  He crosses his arms over his amazing chest, gaze raking over me slowly as he replies, “You. You’re funny, Kenadie.”

  My lips part with an audible pop. I am funny. I’m a freaking hoot. I’m witty, charming, and downright charismatic when I want to be. However, I am not trying to be funny right now. I’m here to say I’m sorry.

  I straighten my shoulders and take a step closer to him, which may or may not be a huge mistake. “I came here to—”

  “Eye-fuck me? Mission accomplished.” He pats my shoulder and all I can do is watch, in shock, as his hand touches my skin.

  “Job well done,” he adds. And there’s that smug smirk. My hands twitch. I fist them and push them into my sides. It’s not his fault. He has a lot on his plate. Too much for a guy so young. And let’s not forget he’s sleep-deprived which can make even the nicest person grouchy.

  “Do you have my money?” His gaze drifts to my empty hands and he rolls his eyes.

  “Oh…Um, no. But…”

  “Then why are you here? Other than to gawk at me?” I open my mouth to reply, but he continues in full dick mode. “You have a lot of nerve after what you did to my car.”

  “That wasn’t me.” It really wasn’t.

  “Right. Somebody else graffitied my windows.”

  Oh. That. Yeah, that was totally me…but I didn’t know then.

  “Are you hard of hearing or just stupid?” he taunts.

  “Excuse me?” What kind of condescending ass?

  “I know I told you never to knock on my door again.” He gestures toward me, his hand waving wildly. “Yet here you are. So did you not hear me? Or are you just unable to follow simple instructions?”

  Oh my God. I don’t care how great he is to his brother. This guy is a world-class prick.

  “I cannot believe I actually came over here to apologize to you. Forget it. I have no idea what I was thinking.”

  “This is you apologizing?”

  I huff out a flat laugh. “Not anymore.”

  Before I have time to actually consider my actions, I reach out and grip the edge of his towel. His eyes widen with surprise as I yank it from hi
s waist, wipe the water droplets from my shoes, and toss it at his feet.

  With my own wicked grin, I take an obvious glance at the goods—which do not disappoint, just FYI—before I turn, giving him my back.

  Rawn’s fingers curl around my wrist, spinning me one hundred and eighty degrees. I catch myself with my hands against his chest and the moment we are flesh to flesh, it happens again. I can’t speak. All I’m capable of is the slow blink of my lashes as I wait to see what he’ll do next.

  His mouth opens like he’s about to unleash an epic argument before he snaps it shut, his eyes flashing with an emotion I can’t read. And then his lips descend on mine, his tongue tracing, teasing, and asking for admittance. Without making the conscious decision, I open to him, allowing him to deepen the kiss.

  My toes curl in my Jimmy Choos.

  Rawn O’Rourke tastes like oranges.

  Not the typical bitter, citrusy kind of orange, but those little, sweet ones that are easy to peel. What are those called?

  Cuties.

  Yeah, Rawn O’Rourke tastes like a Cutie. Oh, the irony.

  I’m supposed to hate him—he gave me plenty of reasons to—yet my resolve has melted away like a Popsicle on a summer’s day.

  I am not supposed to like him. Even the spelling of his name is dumb. Raw with an N.

  Okay, fine. It’s actually really sexy, I admit it. Like his shoulders that I’m clinging to right now. Taut and strong beneath my trembling fingers. And his dark hair, tickling the side of my face and causing my nipples to perk beneath my shirt. And his eyes, which are closed tightly, almost as if he’s in agony, but I clearly remember are the color of an amber stone. And his mouth—God, his mouth—pressed to mine as if he’s trying to devour me.