Date Night

by Meghan Quinn

  For the record, when I was hovered over the study tables in the college library, calculator in hand, mechanical pencil in the other, Lauren was the one who approached me, and when I made a terrible numbers joke, she nearly fell to the floor in hysterics. That was when I knew I’d found my person.

  Straightening up, I adjust my pants and say, “Now that I’ve extracted that deadly spider like a true man—”

  She snorts.

  “—I say we approach the bathroom again and look for clues.”

  Handing me my gun, she stands behind me and holds on to my unbuttoned shirt. “Lead the way, Clyde.”

  Taking slow, deliberate steps, I hold my gun out and when I approach the bathroom door this time, I kick it open, making sure Lauren didn’t set up any more traps. When the coast is clear, I take a step onto the cold tile and scan the small space. That’s when I see the writing on the mirror.

  “Hold still,” I whisper, pressing my hand to her hip. “There’s a message written in what looks to be blood.” aka lipstick. Have fun cleaning that off the mirror, Lauren.

  “Blood?” she gasps. “What does it say?”

  Trying not to laugh, I clear my throat and read the message out loud. “Your tea selection is pure crap.”

  “Whoa, that’s just insulting in so many ways,” Mary Sue moans at my side. “I work hard at building a delightful selection for everyone on the ranch, and I even made a suggestion box for those who were too nervous to reach out to me personally and request their favorite.”

  “That’s mighty kind of ya, darlin’.”

  “Exactly, so I can’t possibly understand why someone would be upset about the tea.” A revelation hits her as she clutches my arms desperately. “Clyde, do you think the tea selection is what got Carl murdered?”

  “But Carl has nothing to do with the tea.”

  “Unless.” She pauses, eyes widen. Wow, she’s a great actress. “What if that axe was never meant for Carl, but was really supposed to hit me?”

  “No.” I shake my head and wrap my arm around her tightly. “Don’t even say things like that. I can’t fathom what life would be like without you on the ranch. And would someone really want to murder you over tea?”

  “Maybe it was pent-up anger, and the tea was the straw that broke the twine on the hay baler.”

  Breaking character, I lean into her ear and say, “Good one.”

  She smiles back. “Thank you.”

  I scratch the side of my jaw, considering all the clues thus far. “Where were you right before Carl took an axe to the chest?”

  She puts some thought into her whereabouts and then gasps once again, this time her hand falls over her mouth. “I was supposed to be making some blueberry scones in the kitchen, but Daddy called me out to the stables to assist with Juniper.”

  “The pig?” I ask, making that up completely.

  Lauren goes with it. “Yes, her tail uncurled.”

  “Not again.” I roll my eyes. “She’s bound and determined to maintain that roll of cat, isn’t she?”

  “I caught her pawing a piece of yarn again while laying on top of the food trough. The yarn got caught in the crease of her little vagina hoof, and she was oinking for a good five minutes until she wiggled free of it.”

  Fucking vagina hoof. My lips curl up. What an accurate description and a terrible fate for all pigs, knowing your foot looks like a woman’s genitals.

  “Needless to say, I was out there for a good half hour, applying the curling cream to her tail that Dr. Nopkins prescribed.”

  “What was that cream called again?” I ask, challenging Lauren.

  “It was . . . uh”—she sets her hands on her hips—“gosh, what was it again?” She snaps. “It was called Curl Them Tails.”

  I twist my lips to the side. “Oh yeah, that’s right. You got a bulk supply from the local Feed and Seed.”

  “On sale.”

  “Saving money is a huge turn-on for me.”

  “Is that so? Then I should probably tell you that I saved two dollars and forty-nine cents yesterday at the Piggly Wiggly when buying myself some Jiffy Pop and gummy worms.” She smacks her lips, trying to impress me. “Had the coupons.”

  I stand there, giving her a slow-once over before saying, “If I wasn’t on the verge of cracking this case, I’d drop my pants right now and fuck you up against that wall. Two dollars and forty-nine cents? Damn, woman, you sure know how to give a man a raging erection.”

  “Want to hear about the Groupon I used the other day?” She drags her tongue over her lips seductively.

  I hold my hand up, pleading, “Please, spare me the embarrassment of ejaculating in my pants.”

  “Lord have mercy, Clyde Weatherbottom Where are your manners?”

  I barely keep in a snort. “Of course, I apologize, Mary Sue. I just get a little hot and bothered by you, and those stories of your gallant savings create a . . . large reaction in me.”

  After a brief flutter of her eyelashes, she says, “Apology accepted.” She smirks. The vixen. “Given we want you to maintain propriety and all, I’ll hold on to that story for another time.”

  “Good idea.” I tip her chin up and then focus on the mirror. “So, I think we can surmise you were the intended victim, but Carl took the blow, that poor heroic bastard.”

  “You know”—she taps her chin—“I feel slightly offended that Carl was mistaken for me. Our bodies are nowhere even near the same. He’s more plump—”

  “Are you really going to shame the deceased?”

  Cringing, she makes the sign of the cross over her head and chest and says, “You’re right. May Carl rest in peace.”

  “What we really need to know is who was at that tea party and is extremely passionate about tea, who also has the initials J. L.—” I pause as my mind starts to brew with a conclusion. Pun intended.

  “Wait.” Mary Sue grips my forearm. “Do you know who I overheard roaring about the drinks in the household the other day?”

  “Is it a he?”

  She slowly nods. “Yup.”

  “Are you coming to the same conclusion as me?” She nods again. “Okay, on the count of three, say the culprit’s name. One. Two. Three.”

  Together we both say, “Jurassic Larry.”

  I snap my hands together in victory. “J. L. Jurassic Larry. The weird claw marks in the tea. This all makes sense.”

  “Quick. To the pipsqueak’s room.”

  We both charge toward Chloe’s room where we find her plastic T-Rex propped up on the dresser, red stuffing hanging out of his mouth, looking like the guiltiest motherfucker of them all.

  “Ah ha,” I say, raising a finger to the sky. “You’ve been caught, Jurassic Larry.”

  “Prepare to be introduced to your punishment.” Mary Sue holds up her gun, and I slowly take in the scene.

  Red cotton in his mouth, on his little arms, under him . . .

  Wait. His little arms.

  Mary Sue cocks back the gun and shoots, just as I knock the gun out of her hand, deflecting the “bullet” to the wall.

  “What on earth are you doing? You blew a hole through the wall. Daddy’s going to have a conniption.” There isn’t really a hole in the wall. Foam barely penetrates a cup of cottage cheese.

  “It wasn’t Jurassic Larry.”

  “What on earth are you talking about? Have you been sitting in the sun for too long without your trusty Stetson? He has blood on his hands.”

  “Yeah, his tiny hands. Tell me this.” I stand tall. “How did Jurassic Larry raise the heavy axe to puncture Carl in the chest with such small arms? He has to sip his tea from a straw, for crying out loud.”

  As if she didn’t set the whole thing up, Lauren ponders my theory. “By God, you’re right.”

  “This is a setup. And I can smell it, the killer is still in this room.” Grabbing Mary Sue by the waist, I spin her around and yell, “Hit the ground,” as I bring my gun up and shoot the first suspect that comes to mind, hitting her square i
n the head and sending her reeling off the dresser.

  “You shot Martha,” Mary Sue screams.

  Time out: For those of you who don’t know, Martha controls this household with her black pigtails and matching hair ribbons to accompanying outfits. Chloe’s best friend, no one is allowed to fuck with Martha, or else our lives are a living hell. When at restaurants, Martha demands her own chair. When we head to the playground, Lauren pushes Chloe in the swings, and I push Martha. They are attached at the hip, and it’s an unspoken rule in the house that we will do just about anything for Martha to keep her happy, which in return keeps Chloe happy.

  But because Noely is creeped out by the doll, there’s been a strict policy that Martha has a night to her own whenever Chloe spends the night at Noely’s, which means she’d be the perfect culprit for the murder of Carl.

  “Stay down,” I whisper as I army-crawl to where Martha has fallen. With one finger, I touch her neck and check for a pulse. After a few seconds, I say, “She’s dead.”

  “What?” Mary Sue screams in horror. “Martha’s dead?”

  Standing up, I examine the box she was sitting on and carefully open it up. Knowing Lauren and her sick personality, she would put a spring-loaded spider in the box. But when nothing shoots out, I open it up completely and pull out a piece of paper. I carefully unfold it and smile to myself before turning to Mary Sue.

  “A kill list.” I show her the paper. “And you were number one on her list—”

  “What the hell? What a bitch.” She speaks the truth . . . “She wanted to kill me?”

  “Followed closely by Jurassic Larry and Malibu Ken.”

  “What?” She rips the paper from my hand, her brow creasing together. “What did Malibu Ken ever do to Martha?”

  “She never liked having the spotlight stolen from her, and Malibu Ken did exactly that the moment he stepped onto this ranch, especially when he got those new pair of boardshorts, the ones with the pineapples on them.”

  “Ah, yes.” Mary Sue nods her head in understanding. “They were quite the talk of the town for a bit there. Everyone in this room wanted pineapple clothing.”

  “I remember that. I was offered a homemade pineapple shirt that I wore for two weeks straight.” True fact. I wasn’t allowed to wear anything else when I got home. The pineapples took over.

  “As I recall, you looked quite sexy in it.”

  “Even with the permanent BBQ stain?”

  She snorts. “That’s what made it the sexiest. I like a man who can eat.”

  I pat my stomach. “We both know that’s not a problem.”

  Stepping closer, she dances her fingers up my chest. “Does this mean we solved the crime?”

  From behind me, I pull out packets of tea bags and nod. “Martha has been hoarding tea, but if you look closer, the leather covering to the axe is in her special box as well as red lipstick.”

  “That fiend.” Sighing, Mary Sue entwines her fingers behind my neck. “You’re my hero.”

  “Can’t hear that enough. How about you show this hero just how grateful you really are?”

  Chapter Five

  ALEX

  The best part of date night you would think is the sex, right? The guaranteed sex, which without a doubt never fails to bring us both pleasure. But it’s not.

  It’s the role playing.

  The laughter.

  The smile I see on my wife’s face when I fall into whatever crazy story she’s set up.

  The chance to spend a fun and exciting night with my wife, without clammy little hands pawing at us. Well, and Martha. She really is creepy as hell. Noely is not wrong.

  Because Lauren isn’t just my wife, she’s my best friend. What gets me through a long day at work is knowing I get to come home to the girl of my dreams. I know the minute I open the door to my house, there will be laughter coming my way, and there’ll be a loving kiss waiting for me in the kitchen. We’re more than married, we are soul mates, a perfect match, my quirks counterbalance her quirks. There’s only one of her and one of me, and we were destined to be together.

  Accents shed along with our clothes, Lauren lies on our king-sized mattress that promotes optimal comfort for side, back, and tummy sleepers—it’s fun getting older—and I stand there in just my jeans.

  “What are you waiting for, cowboy?” Her charming smile reaches her eyes.

  “Just taking in the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

  Her eyes soften. “Still believe that?”

  “Till the day I die.”

  Hands feeling a little shaky for some odd reason, I blame the adrenaline from solving the murder mystery, I shuck my pants and boxer briefs, letting my cock spring forward. Even though we’ve been together for over fifteen years, I’m still amazed at the reaction my wife has whenever she takes in my erection, like it’s the first time she’s seen it.

  “This view will never get old,” she says.

  “Right back at you, baby.” I sink a knee into the mattress and spread her legs, bringing one up to my shoulder. “How wet are you, Lauren?”

  “I’ve been ready ever since that spin move and direct kill shot to Martha. I’ve never been more turned on, watching you take down Satan’s mistress in one smooth move.”

  “I’m not going to lie, it felt good.”

  Chuckling, she pulls me down to her soft lips. “Show me what else can feel good.”

  I capture her lips with mine, keeping our bodies at a distance at first, just using my mouth to tease her.

  There’s one thing I know about my wife: foreplay is key for her. And even though I love playing with her tits, she’s more about getting felt up all over her body. Light strokes with my fingers, heating up every inch of her body.

  Knowing what she wants, I withhold while my mouth takes over hers, urgent swipes of my tongue, our groans falling onto each other’s lips. It’s sexy, demanding, and there’s no stopping the pure animalistic movements our mouths are making.

  I drag my tongue over her jaw and down her neck, where I suck on the hollow part of her collarbone.

  “If you give me a hickey, I’ll hurt you.”

  “You said that last time and treated it like a medal of honor.”

  She laughs and sucks in a sharp breath when I pull tightly on her skin. “Just didn’t want to seem like a hussy. Please, continue what you’re doing.”

  So I do. I nibble and suck, nibble and suck, as I start to lightly glide my hand over her stomach.

  “Oh . . . yes,” she sighs heavily, melting into the mattress. “Touch me, Alex. Touch me all over.”

  As if I don’t know what the hell I’m doing when it comes to this woman.

  From her stomach, my fingers move up to her breasts where they circle her areolas a few passes until I capture a nipple and pinch hard.

  “Fuck . . . oh yes. Again.”

  Smiling against her skin, I repeat the movement with her other nipple. Her reaction is even more intense as her hips lift off the bed and connect with my aching cock.

  If she keeps doing that, I won’t be able to last.

  Letting go of her nipple, I move my hands up between her breasts, down her shoulder, to her side, touching upon some side boob, to her hips, and then to the juncture between her thighs.

  She spreads her one leg even farther, inviting my touch.

  I take the invitation and slide my fingers along her pussy, feeling just how wet she really is.

  “Shit,” I mutter against her skin. “Lauren, you’re so fucking ready.”

  “Fuck me already, Alex.”

  And that’s my undoing. Growling, I lift my hips, grab hold of my cock, and position myself at her entrance. I’m about to sink inside her when she presses both hands to my chest and pushes me to the side.

  Ready to complain, Lauren straddles me, fixes herself over my hard-on, and then impales herself, causing both of us to moan out loud.

  Hands propping her up on my thighs, she slightly bends backwards, giving me a great view of
our connection, and starts to move her hips back and forth.

  She’s so goddamn perfect, from the faint stretch marks that tattoo her body as a warrior, to the light swell in her hips from all the delicious homemade meals she makes for the family, to the bruises that mar her arms and legs from wrestling with our daughter. She’s gorgeous from head to toe, and I wouldn’t change a damn thing about her.

  “You’re beautiful,” I say, unable to hold back.

  She rolls her head forward and opens her eyes, letting me see straight into her soul.

  She lowers herself and grips my head with both of her hands and lands her lips on mine. We make out and rock our hips together.

  Tongues tangled.

  Pressure building.

  Light caresses.

  It comes crashing together in a short moment as both of our orgasms prepare to be pushed over.

  “I want it harder,” I say.

  “Then flip me over. Take charge, cowboy.”

  She doesn’t have to ask me twice. I flip us both over. Pull out, turn her to her belly, and then pull her up on all fours and enter her from behind.

  “Holy God.” Her back arches. “Fuck, Alex, that feels—” Her voice cuts off as my hips pistol into her relentlessly, her pussy sheathing me so tightly that my balls tighten up in seconds, and my hands bury into her skin.

  “Shit, baby, I’m going to come.”

  “Me too,” she cries out, as her pussy contracts around my cock, sending me over the edge.

  Stilling, I spill inside her as her hips continue to move, using me to prolong her orgasm, white-hot pleasure ripping through both of us at the same time.

  Her light moans continue as she slows down and then finally stills, pressing her head to the mattress.

  “Jesus, Alex, that was—”

  “Phenomenal.” I collapse to the mattress and pull her into my side where I kiss the side of her head.

  She snuggles in close and presses her lips to my chest. “Do you think we did it that time?”

  “I’m not sure, but I sure as hell had fun trying to make another baby with you.”

  She chuckles and clutches me tightly.

  “I think eliminating Martha with a Nerf gun was like taking down a dark cloud over this house. Pretty sure we just made a sibling for Chloe.”