Bridal Boot Camp

by Meg Cabot

  And not once along the way did I stop to ask myself if I was making the right decision—because not once did it feel like what I was doing might turn out wrong. This was a first for me—well, the first in a long time.

  Ryan didn’t seem to mind being dragged, though he frequently pulled me over to press me up against signposts and parked cars to kiss me—long, hot kisses into which he threw his whole body, leaning so heavily against me that I could feel every inch of him, from his pecs to his obliques . . . and of course that rock-hard organ below his waist in which I was most interested, and over which I laid my hand several times, just to make sure it was still there, because I still didn’t believe in happy endings.

  This caused him to suck in his breath and whisper, “Cut that out! Are you nuts? Not yet. Do you want to end this before it begins?”

  “Are you even wearing underwear?” I asked him at one point when he had me up against someone’s VW Bug.

  “You’re gonna find out in a minute,” he said, and nodded at a massive white Victorian house a few feet away. “That’s my place.”

  “Wow,” I said, impressed. “Rich and well-endowed?” I pushed him from me. “Let’s go.”

  He laughed. “Not there. Here.”

  His place was actually around the side of the massive Victorian, and up a flight of outdoor steps, a studio apartment on the second floor overlooking a pool that was gleaming like a blue gemstone in the twilight. His efforts to unlock the door were complicated both by my kissing him and Chrissie’s eager barking. When he finally did get the door open and a light switched on, I saw what Chrissie was so excited about: her food bowl was just inside.

  “Hold on,” he said, as Chrissie darted around in circles like a wild thing. “I’ll get your dinner in a second.”

  I had the time to see that he was both a minimalist and a good housekeeper—the apartment was spare in its furnishings and tidily kept, with nothing more inside it than a black leather couch, an enormous flat-screen TV with a game console, a kitchen table and chairs, a kayak on the wall (of course), and a massive, neatly made king-size bed between two matching nightstands.

  I made a beeline for the bed.

  “You don’t mind if I make myself comfortable, do you?” I asked, untying the knot that held together the halter neckline of my sundress.

  Ryan looked up from the can of dog food he was opening just as the dress fell to a puddle on his hardwood floor.

  “Uh, no,” he said, in a slightly higher-pitched voice than usual. “Totally cool by me. Can I get you a drink?”

  “No, thanks,” I said, and kicked off my sandals, then stretched out on his bed in my bra and panties, my hands beneath my head as I admired his exposed ceiling trusses. “I like your landlord’s taste.”

  “Thanks.” He’d finished feeding Chrissie—I could hear her dog tags clanging against the side of her food bowl as she greedily chowed down on whatever he’d given her—and now he hurried toward the bed, peeling off his guayabera and tossing it over his head. “I got a real deal on it. Only six hundred a month, but I have to keep an eye on the downstairs when the owners are out of town.”

  “Just six hundred? You have to be kidding me.” Real estate prices on the island were exorbitant and mostly all anyone talked about. “I hate you.”

  I giggled as he leaped on top of me, then broke the weight of his body by doing a push-up over me. “Show-off. It pays to be in law enforcement, I guess.”

  “It does,” he said, then lowered himself gently down until his full weight lay over me—and his lips were against mine. “In more ways than one.”

  It had been months since I’d felt a man’s weight on me, but it seemed as if it had been years. And I wanted more. I reached between us to undo the waistband of his chinos.

  Just as I’d suspected.

  “No underwear,” I said, pretending to be offended as his lips moved from my mouth to my throat. “Heathen.”

  “Don’t judge me.” His lips traveled farther down, toward the lacy trim of my bra. “I haven’t had time to do laundry.”

  “Men,” I muttered in mock disgust just as he lowered his hot mouth over one of my nipples. “You’re all the—”

  I don’t know what I was going to say next, because all sanity left me as his other hand dipped between my legs.

  “How’s this?” he asked, as his fingers slipped beneath the silk of my panties and found my hot liquid center with an expertise that left me breathless.

  “That’s . . . really . . . good,” I panted, my heart feeling as if it were going to explode out of my chest. “You’ve . . . had some practice.”

  “Yeah.” He bent his dark head over my other nipple, teasing it to ready alertness as he deftly peeled off my underwear. “I moved down here with a girlfriend, but we broke up a couple of months ago.”

  “What a coincidence,” I said from between gritted teeth. “The same thing happened to me and my boyfriend. Maybe you and I could, I don’t know, find a way to console one another.”

  He grinned and reached into the drawer of the closest nightstand, pulling out a condom. “That’s what I was hoping you’d say.”

  I plucked the condom from his hand. “Allow me,” I said, and, before he realized what was happening, I’d slid out from beneath him and was straddling him.

  He lay beneath me looking adorably confused. “How did you—?”

  “Core,” I said, running a finger along his darkly furred six-pack. “You’ve got the definition—” He inhaled sharply as I settled the condom over the tip of his penis. “But like I said, you could use work on your core.”

  Then, with exquisite slowness, I began rolling the condom down. His hazel eyes glowed green in the light from the single lamp he’d turned on.

  “Is this some kind of test,” he asked in a choked voice, “to see how long I can keep my cool?”

  I grinned. “No. But I like that idea. It’s kind of kinky.”

  “Oh, great.” He rolled his head back against the pillow with a groan. “You’re into kink. I should have known.”

  “What’s the matter?” I asked, catching my breath as I slowly lowered myself onto him. He was bigger than I’d anticipated, and it had been a while. “You don’t like kink?”

  “I’m here to serve and protect.” He gasped as I sank lower and lower onto him, sliding him inch by magnificent inch into me. “Do you know how many couples I’ve had to rescue from their own handcuffs because they lost the keys since those Fifty Shades movies came out?”

  “Do you ever shut up?” I asked, a little breathlessly.

  “Oh, I can shut up,” he said. “And there’s nothing wrong with my core.”

  And he proved it by flipping me over and pinning me to the bed with the masculine weight of his body, then thrusting deeply into me.I sucked in my breath, my body arched against his in ecstasy as I dug my nails into the hot, muscular flesh of his back, worried I was going to come too soon, it had been so long since I’d had sex with anyone but myself.

  But not in my wildest fantasies could I have imagined the sweet guy from my bridal boot camp class pummeling me in this way. I felt as if I were the sea, and he was a deep-sea diver. I didn’t even know what was happening, just that I loved it and wanted more, lifting my hips to meet each thrust, praying it wouldn’t be over too soon . . .

  And then suddenly it was, because I was the one exploding, my whole body spasming as a seismic orgasm rolled over me. The deep-sea diver had found my sweet spot, and swept my entire body into wave after wave of glittering, shuddering satisfaction that I felt from the top of my scalp to the soles of my feet. I clung to him, trying to stay afloat in a sea of pleasure, even as I felt him come to a shuddering climax of his own.

  But it was no good. I was done, and a few moments later lay beneath him as limp and as spent as a piece of seaweed washed up onto the shore, glistening with sweat and trying to catch my breath.

  It took me a while to figure out he was in the same condition on top of me.

 
“Well,” I said, patting him on the back. “That was nice.”

  “Yeah?” he asked. His dark hair was in damp tangles around his face. “You liked that?”

  “I’ve had worse,” I joked with a shrug. I’m pretty sure he could tell by my ear-to-ear grin that I was being sarcastic.

  “Yeah,” he said, trying to hide his own grin as he rolled from me, exhibiting an abdominal core that was, under my tutelage, only getting stronger. “You want some water or something? I’m parched.”

  “Water would be great.”

  He rose from the bed and strode, bare-assed, to the kitchen area. I stayed where I was, admiring the view. His tan lines were something to see. He obviously used that kayak, and used it without a shirt. It was only as he was pouring us two glasses of water from a filtered pitcher he’d pulled from the fridge that I turned my head, having felt something warm coming from my right side, and saw that Chrissie was sitting next to the bed, panting and staring at me expectantly, a stuffed toy in her mouth.

  “Uh, Ryan,” I said, eyeing the dog.

  “Yeah?”

  “Your dog wants something from me.”

  He turned to look, then grinned. “Oh, yeah. She wants you to throw that toy to her.”

  I gingerly outstretched my hand, and Chrissie dropped the toy—a saliva-covered stuffed dragon—on the bed.

  “Like this?” I asked, and tossed the toy toward the leather couch.

  There was a mad scamper, the sound of claws scrabbling on hardwood, and a second later, Chrissie had reappeared at the side of the bed, the stuffed dragon in her mouth. She laid it gently beside me, then sat again, staring at me, panting excitedly. Ryan returned to the bed as well.

  “Now you’ve done it,” he said, getting back into bed beside me. “She likes you.”

  “Oh, no.” I tossed the toy once more, and the dog tore after it again, claws skittering, tail wagging frantically. “How does her owner feel about me?”

  “He likes you, too. In fact—” Ryan handed me one of the waters “—I was meaning to ask you something.”

  “I think it’s a little too soon to go steady, Ryan,” I said with mock gravity. “We’ve only just met.”

  He grinned. “Not that. Not yet. Believe it or not, I’ve actually got a wedding to go to next weekend in Orlando. And I was sort of wondering if you wanted to be my plus-one.”

  I nearly choked on the water I’d been swallowing. “Excuse me?” I managed to wheeze.

  “I know,” he said with a groan. “I know how it sounds. But it’s my cousin’s wedding, and she invited me months ago, back when I was still with my ex, and I’ve been dreading going solo—especially since it’s one of those Cinderella’s castle things. My cousin’s a real princess type.”

  “What makes you think I’d want to go?” I demanded, horrified that he might think I’d like that kind of thing . . . which of course I would.

  “You wouldn’t,” he said with a smile that was decidedly wicked. “That’s why I think we’d have a blast together. I mean, the whole thing will probably get canceled anyway because of this hurricane that’s supposedly on its way, but if it doesn’t . . . well, I can’t think of anyone I’d have a better time with at any wedding than you, Roberta. Do you think you’d want to go with me?”

  I glanced at his beautiful, well-trained dog, who’d hurried back over to the side of the bed to drop her slobbery toy at my side, and was eyeing me eagerly.

  Then I looked at him, and saw the same eager glint in his own beautiful hazel eyes, and remembered what he’d told me about brides and hope.

  I raised my water glass and clinked the side of his with it.

  “You know what?” I smiled. “I do.”

  An Excerpt from No Judgments

  Stay tuned for

  NO JUDGMENTS,

  the next story from Meg Cabot set on Little Bridge Island, coming in Summer of 2019!

  When a massive hurricane severs all power and cell service to Little Bridge Island—as well as its connection to the mainland—twenty-five-year-old Bree Beckham isn’t worried . . . at first. She’s already escaped one storm—her emotionally abusive ex—so a hurricane seems like it will be a piece of cake.

  But animal-loving Bree does become alarmed when she realizes how many islanders have been cut off from their beloved pets. Now it’s up to her to save as many of Little Bridge’s cats and dogs as she can . . . but to do so, she’s going to need help—help she has no choice but to accept from her boss’s sexy nephew, Drew Hartwell, the Mermaid Café’s most notorious heartbreaker.

  But when Bree starts falling for Drew, just as Little Bridge’s power is restored and her penitent ex shows up, she has to ask herself if her island fling was only a result of the stormy weather, or if it could last during clear skies too.

  Chapter One

  Time: 8:18 a.m.

  Temperature: 82ºF

  Wind Speed: 6 MPH

  Wind Gust: 0 MPH

  Precipitation: 0.0 in.

  The hurricane was a thousand miles offshore when my ex-boyfriend called to offer me a ride to safety in his private jet.

  “No, thanks,” I said, cradling my phone against my shoulder as I wiped a jelly smear off the Formica counter. “That’s really nice of you. But I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Sabrina,” Caleb said. “There’s a Category Five hurricane headed straight for you.”

  “It’s not headed straight for me. It’s headed for Miami.”

  “Little Bridge Island is only a hundred and fifty miles south of Miami.” Caleb sounded exasperated. “The storm could change course at any time. That’s why they call the hurricane track the cone of uncertainty.”

  He wasn’t telling me anything I didn’t already know. But it was typical of Caleb to feel it necessary to explain the weather to me.

  “Thanks for your concern,” I said coolly. “But I’ll take my chances.”

  “Take your chances of dying? Do you really hate me that much?”

  This was a good question. Caleb Foley had had his good points: like me, he loved a good painting. His family owned one of the largest private collections of nineteenth-century Impressionist works in North America.

  He’d also been great in bed, always waiting politely to orgasm until after I did.

  But when I’d needed him most—which was definitely not now—what had he done?

  Ghosted.

  And now he thought he could make it up to me with a free ride in his Gulfstream just because a hurricane might sideswipe the little island to which I’d fled in order to recover from my heartbreak?

  Sorry. Too little, too late.

  “It’s nice of you to offer.” I ignored his question. “But like I said, I’m not going anywhere.”

  I thought of telling him the real reason why—Gary, with whom my life had become inextricably tied, but who was in no shape to travel at the moment.

  But what would be the point? I knew what Caleb would say about Gary. He wouldn’t understand.

  It felt a little weird keeping something that meant so much to me from this person with whom I’d once shared every little thing in my life.

  But it also felt right.

  “Besides,” I added, instead, “no one here is evacuating.”

  It was true. Instead of panicking and running around, throwing all of their stuff into the backs of their cars the way I always imagined people would when a hurricane was in the vicinity, the residents of Little Bridge Island, population 4,700, seemed to be taking the news in stride. The café where I worked was packed with the usual breakfast crowd, and though a lot of people were talking about the storm, no one seemed alarmed, only vaguely irritated. . . .

  Like Drew Hartwell, whom I could hear next to me informing someone over the phone that he wouldn’t be replacing the hundred-year-old window sash they’d hired him to restore anytime soon.

  “Because there’s a storm on the way,” Drew said, sounding a little testy as he dabbed more hot sauce onto his Spanish omelet, “and th
ere’s no way the glazing’s going to dry before it gets here. That’s why. If you want an inch of rainwater all over your bathroom floor, that’s your business, but personally, I’d wait until it passes.”

  Normally I don’t make a habit of eavesdropping on my customers’ conversations, but then normally Drew Hartwell didn’t use his cell phone in the café. He was good about following the rules that Ed, the Mermaid’s manager slash owner, had listed by the cash register:

  No Shoes, No Shirt, No Problem.

  Use Your Cell Phone? Get Out.

  One person who isn’t so good at following the rules? Me. The last one, anyway.

  “Beckham!” Ed bellowed at me from behind the counter. I whipped around and saw him glaring at me. He stabbed a thumb at my cell phone, then the glass side door. “Take it outside if it’s that important.” His irritated gaze fell on Drew, who happened to be his nephew, but whom he still treated like any other customer. “You, too.”

  Drew held up a callused palm, nodding as he slid off his orange vinyl counter stool and headed toward the door, his phone still clutched to his chin. “Look,” he said to whoever was on the other end of his call. “I get it. But you’re going to have the window boarded up anyway. So it’s not going to make any—”

  The rest of his conversation was lost as he stepped outside.

  Sorry, I mouthed to Ed. Then, to Caleb, I said quickly, “Listen, I’m at work. I never should have picked up in the first place. I only did because . . . because . . .”

  Why had I picked up, especially since Caleb and I hadn’t spoken in months? Maybe because it was eight o’clock in the morning, and he never called this early. I’d assumed it was an emergency, only not an emergency concerning him.

  “Look,” I said. “If that’s all you wanted, I’ll talk to you later, okay?” As in, never.

  “No, Sabrina. I’ve got to talk to you now. The thing is, your mother—”

  I knew it. My pulse quickened. “What about her? Is there something wrong?”