by Amy Daws
She nods. “You’d think I’d be more mature about it since I write about this stuff all the time, but I’m not. You had the biggest morning wood I had ever seen in my life when I got up earlier.”
My brows lift. “Well, why didn’t you wake me up so we could do something about it?”
Mercedes smiles a shy smile that is so cute, my dick jumps. My sex writer, fucking shy? Christ, she just keeps getting better.
“You were sleeping so hard,” she explains. “And I figured three orgasms were enough for twelve hours.”
I tip my head back and laugh. “I don’t think you should ever put a cap on orgasms.”
Her eyes find mine, and with one heated look, sexual tension begins to sizzle between us like bacon in a frying pan. She licks her lips. “Are you just going to sit there and make sex eyes at me, or are you going to help me make breakfast?”
I stand up and stretch. “I might need my shirt. It’d be a shame if I burned these with bacon grease.”
I drag my fingers along the ridges of my abs, and Mercedes stares so hard, she starts spilling the pancake batter on the hot burner.
“Pancakes,” I say, looking down at the mess.
“What?” she husks, still staring at my body.
“Mercedes, the pancakes!” I shout as smoke begins billowing up from the spot on the stove. I move quickly around the counter to grab the bowl out of her hand.
“Shit!” she exclaims, snapping out of her daze. She sets the bowl down, turns off the burner, and grabs a rag to clean up the mess. Her sheepish eyes peek up at me through her dark lashes. “Maybe giving you back your shirt isn’t a bad idea.”
Once Mercedes retrieves a shirt from her room, I slip mine on and finish helping her with the food. It’s a very domestic, Saturday morning couple thing to do, and by the time we sit down to eat at her kitchen counter, my thoughts can no longer be ignored.
Drizzling syrup over my short stack, I decide to just come out with it. “I feel like I need to tell you that I did not come here last night to do…that.” I point upstairs and into her room because those are the two places we’ve covered so far.
She frowns nervously. “Okaaay.”
“I mean, it was good, don’t get me wrong. Fucking great actually. But I want you to know that wasn’t my plan.”
She exhales heavily and focuses really hard on buttering her pancakes. “Is this the part where you tell me you’re not in a position to like someone again?”
I set my fork down and stare at her until she looks up at me. “Maybe?” I say, apology all over my face.
Her jaw goes tight, but she looks down, resuming her earlier food prep. “That’s fine.”
I huff, “Is it?”
“Yeah!” she exclaims and looks over at me with a smile. “This is no big deal, Miles. We had sex. You didn’t ask me to go steady. I’m not getting this twisted up.”
“Well…good,” I reply, feeling a little confused as I eat a little more food and let the silence overtake us. Finally, I look up and add, “I just…I get the impression that you aren’t a casual kind of girl, and I wouldn’t want to put you in an awkward situation.”
“Zero awkwardness!” she replies with a laugh, over an enormous bite of pancakes. She puts her fingers over her full mouth and mumbles, “I’m good…great even. I just had really good sex last night!”
My eyes narrow skeptically. She’s acting weird. Weirder than usual. “So what does this mean then?”
She shrugs and takes a sip of her orange juice. “It can mean whatever we want it to mean. We can just stay friends, or not. We can keep having sex, or not.”
I nearly choke on a bite of bacon. “Keep having sex?”
Her cheeks flush. “Yeah! You said I’m not casual, not me. I’m as casual as they come. Casual with a capital C. I write at Tire Depot, for God’s sake.”
My brows lift. “Good point.”
She stands up and takes her half-eaten plate to the kitchen sink. “I’d be up for some casual…honestly. I’m a workaholic as it is, so it’s not like I have time to devote to a boyfriend.”
“Oh?” I ask curiously, annoyed that her comment also makes me feel slightly rejected. I’m such a dick. “But you finished your book. How much work can there be?”
She laughs at that. “Oh Miles, how little you know about my book world. The part at Tire Depot is the easy stuff. Now the hard work begins. Editing. Marketing. On top of that, I’m already starting the next book.”
This has me sitting back on my stool. “Okay then, so what did you have in mind?”
She loads her plate into the dishwasher, her back to me for a good while before she suddenly turns on her heel with wide eyes and exclaims, “Book research!”
“Book research?” I repeat.
She nods. “I, umm…might need some help from you again for book research. Bedroom stuff, not motorcycle ride stuff.”
My brows lift curiously. “What crazy shit are you writing now that you haven’t already covered in your erotic novels?”
She rolls her eyes and moves to prop her elbows on the counter straight across from me giving me the perfect angle of her cleavage in that tight tank top. “It’s not like that. I need help getting into the mind of a man. My Bed ‘n Breakfast series was all told from a female point of view. But for my new book, I want to write in dual point of view. So one chapter will be in the female’s voice, and then one will be in the male’s voice. I’ll alternate between the two.”
My tone is flat when I reply, “I know what dual point of view is, Mercedes.”
“Okay, sorry,” she replies with an embarrassed smile, fingering the towel on the counter in front of her. “Do you think you might be able to help me?” She looks up at me with wide, nervous eyes, clearly anxious for putting herself out there like this.
I stare back and wonder if I can rise to the challenge. More sex with a girl I actually like, but no relationship ties? No strings. No commitment. Can it really be that easy?
I pick up my empty plate and stride around the counter to the sink. I can feel her eyes on me when I reply, “To be crystal clear, you’re proposing friends with benefits, right?” I set the dish in the sink and turn to face her, leaning back against the counter and crossing my arms.
Her eyes stare at my biceps for a moment before she replies with a sweet smile. “It’s a concept as old as time.”
I chuckle and feel a sense of euphoria move through me. This morning is turning out a hell of a lot better than I anticipated when I got out of her bed earlier. In fact, it’s pretty fucking fantastic.
I eliminate the space between us and cage her in, pressing my front against her front. “Should we start now? I mean, I’d hate to see your education suffer a minute longer.”
She laughs and splays her hands flat on my chest to push me back. “Actually, since we’re sticking with the whole friends thing, I was wondering if you could help me with a little project first.”
I waggle my brows at her. “Like a naked kind of project?”
She frowns and bites her lip sheepishly. “You could be naked if you want, but I’m not sure how safe it would be.”
My smile falls.
“Do you think you could help me move my roommate’s shit downstairs? I’m going to get one of those pods delivered this week for his stuff. I want to make that upstairs room into a writing den.”
My brows knit together. “You aren’t going to keep writing at Tire Depot?” The disappointment I feel over that thought isn’t lost on me.
“I don’t know yet.” She shrugs. “I might. But I want to try this out first.”
“Okay,” I reply with a frown. “But you know you could still write there. No one knows about you.”
She laughs and frowns at me curiously. “We’ll see.” She shrugs noncommittally again, and it’s annoying. Why doesn’t she want to write there anymore?
Shaking off my agitation, I step back and spread my arms out wide to stretch. “So what did your roommate do to piss you off tha
t you’re moving his shit out?”
She rolls her eyes. “What didn’t he do?”
I laugh at her cute little flash of attitude and reply, “Well, I’ll definitely help you. This is the stuff guys like me were born to do.” I give her a wink and flex my arms cockily. “Should we shower before or after hard labor?”
She smiles. “Why not both?”
“I’ve entered into a casual, friends-with-benefits situation with a mechanic from Tire Depot who thinks my name is Mercedes,” I groan to my author friend, Hannah, on the phone while sprawled out dramatically on the now empty floor of the upstairs bedroom. “Tell me what to do.”
“Okay, what book is this for?”
“It’s not for a book.”
“Wait, what?” she asks.
“It’s not for a book. It’s for me.”
“This is actually happening to you?”
“Yes.”
“Like in real life?”
“Yes, Hannah! And I like him way more than just a friend so can you keep up, please? I’m in crisis mode, and I’m not sure what to do!”
“Besides bone him every chance you get?”
“Yeah. I mean…I’m kind of avoiding him this week to sort of play it cool, so he doesn’t catch on that I like him.”
“Which you do.”
“Yeah, but I don’t want him to know that!”
“Listen to me,” she states, and I swear I hear her laptop close. “Here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to go camping.”
“Camping?” I repeat.
“Camping.”
“Why?”
“Cuz blue collar guys love that shit. Tell him it’s for book research, and you need his help.”
“Oh! That’s good because I already used that excuse!”
“Perfect. I can see this playing out like a damn movie, and you know when I plot, and they play out like movies, it’s a best seller.”
“Yes!” I squeal excitedly, sitting up because now I’m too anxious to lie down.
Her voice gets mock high, like a Marilyn Monroe impression. “You’re going to be adorable and fumbling and not know how to cast a fishing pole, and he’s going to realize how much fun it is to go camping and get to fuck in a tent.” She shifts her tone to hard butch at the end, and I’m literally clutching my belly from laughing so hard.
“Oh my God, this sounds good.”
“But make him sweat it out for a while before you call him. When was the last time you slept with him?”
“Two days ago.”
“Perfect. Wait a few more days. Make him wonder for a whole week what you’re doing. It’ll drive him mad. Then when you do see him, play it super cool. Like you’re just one of the guys.”
“That sounds really good.”
“See? Book ideas can apply in the real world.”
“You’re a genius, Hannah,” I state, sitting up and looking around the empty room. Now’s as good a time as any to redecorate. “I’m going camping!”
“Let me know where to have the pizza delivered to.”
“Ha-ha. Bitch.”
“Dude, you are so screwed,” Sam says, catching me totally off guard as I stare out the shop window into the alley.
“Jesus, fucker, warn a guy!” I exclaim, pressing my hand to my chest as I feel my heart rate pounding. “Why are you walking so softly?”
“I wasn’t walking softly.” He frowns down at his feet.
“Yeah, you were,” I growl, tossing my impact wrench into my toolbox. “I didn’t hear you because you tiptoed over to my station like a creep.”
“I wasn’t tiptoeing, moron. I was walking like a human. You’ve just been in your own little world all week, peeping out the window like a lovestruck teenager. If anyone’s the creep, it’s you.”
I roll my eyes and have to fight the urge not to look out the window again, hoping to catch a glimpse of Mercedes. It’s become a habit I don’t even realize I’m doing anymore. Possibly even worse than licorice smoking.
It’s been a week since her party, and I’m growing more and more frustrated by the fact she hasn’t returned to Tire Depot to write. Or called me.
“I thought you said it was casual,” Sam states, propping down on a metal shop stool and cranking the empty vise grip.
“It is. I’m not obsessing. I’m just…wondering why she hasn’t come back. I probably fucked this up.”
“Fucked what up exactly? You said you don’t want anything more than casual with her.”
“I want friendship,” I reply through clenched teeth as I unzip my coveralls and step out of them. “I like her as a friend. She’s not like anyone I’ve ever met. She’s always saying something that surprises me, and she’s really fucking cool in an unfiltered, real sort of way. She’s cooler than you, that’s for damn sure.”
Sam clutches his chest at my burn. “So why don’t you want more than friendship with someone that cool?”
“You know why,” I nearly growl and then hear my phone chirp from the workshop bench. My nerves spike as I swipe my screen to unlock it, replying to Sam quickly, “I can’t get wrapped up in drama again.”
“Not all drama is bad,” Sam mumbles as I stare down at my screen.
Mercedes: Want to help me with some book research? ;)
Me: Yes.
Mercedes: Jeez. What if I said it involves sex with an animal or inanimate object or something?
Me: Does it?
Mercedes: No
Me: Then yes.
Mercedes: Okay, can you come over tonight?
Me: Yep.
Mercedes: Cool, bring beer and pizza.
Me: Done.
Mercedes: And bring those book boyfriend arms. ;)
I’m smiling like a fucking goofball when I remember Sam’s still sitting right in front of me. I look up and roll my eyes at his grim expression. “Let me hear it.”
He cups his hands to his mouth and booms. “You are screwed!”
Pulling up to Mercedes’s house, I feel nerves like I’ve never felt before. When I came to her place for her party last week, I had no expectations of the night. What happened between us wasn’t planned. I had a feeling something might happen, but that’s a hell of a lot different than sitting outside a girl’s house and knowing when you walk inside, you’re going to get laid. This feeling is equal parts thrilling and nerve-wracking.
Stop being a pansy, Miles.
I grab the pizza and beer off the seat of my truck and make my way to her front door. When she opens it, I remember exactly why I was so nervous tonight.
This girl is way too fucking hot for me.
She’s dressed in a flirty little dark blue sundress with big pink flowers all over it. Her red hair is straight again, like that night at the bar when we first kissed. She’s kept her makeup light, but her lashes are long and framing her blue eyes beautifully. Her lips are shiny with a pink gloss that makes me want to lean in and—
“Hey, bro!” she barks, punching me in the shoulder.
I frown and pull back. “Hey?” I say it in question because I’m not sure why she addressed me like that.
She reaches out and grabs the beer. “Thanks for bringing the brewskies.” She turns on her heel and gestures for me to come in as she sets the beer down on her coffee table. She strides over and grabs the pizza box from me next. “I’m so hungry I could eat the ass end out of a dead rhino.”
“Are you having a stroke?” I deadpan because seriously, what the fuck is going on here?
“What do you mean?” she chirps, her eyes wide as she clutches the pizza box.
“Why are you talking like this?”
“This is my casual voice.”
My face screws up in disbelief. “I’ve heard your casual voice, and it usually consists of waxing poetic about complimentary coffee and cookies. Tell me what you’re doing.”
“I have no idea!” she exclaims and turns to set the pizza down by the beer. Looking back at me, she adds, “I was trying to be a friend. A bro
. One of the guys. Au casuale.”
I have to bite back a laugh. “Well, stop it. I’m not going to fuck one of the guys, and with how hot you look in that dress, I’d very much like to fuck you tonight.”
“Hannah is an idiot,” she growls under her breath.
“Who?”
“No one,” she beams and slides her hands down her hips. “So you like my dress?”
I nod, my brows raised at the rosy hue creeping around her cheeks. “I’d like it better on the floor.”
I move in and pull her body against mine, but she pulls back. “Well, it will have to wait because I really am famished.”
I exhale through my nose, a low rumble vibrating in my chest. “Very well.”
We get comfortable on the couch, and Mercedes places a couple of slices on a plate for me. I crack open both of our beers, and we proceed to wine and dine ourselves, Boulder style.
“So how have you been?” I ask as she takes a bite.
“Good! You?”
“Good,” I reply, glancing down at her smooth, bare legs. “What did you do all week?”
Her brows lift curiously. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, I didn’t see you come into Tire Depot, so I was wondering…where did you write at?” Jesus, Miles, get a grip! Are you seriously jealous of where she’s writing now?
She licks some sauce off her finger before replying. “Well, I’ve been redecorating that upstairs bedroom.”
Suddenly, I notice everything from that bedroom that we had stacked in a pile downstairs is gone. “When did the pod show up? I told you to call me, and I’d help you load it.”
She bites her lip. “It came Wednesday, but it’s fine. I managed.”
“You managed?” I argue, my brows furrowing in disbelief. “Some of that shit was really heavy. How did you manage?”
She looks nervous for a second and straightens her posture to reply, “Lynsey helped. And Dean.”
I sit back a bit, annoyance prickling my scalp. “I told you I’d help you.”
She shrugs. “I didn’t want to bother you.”
“It wouldn’t have been a bother,” I snap back, my jaw tight with frustration.
