No Pants Required

by Kim Karr

  Taking a seat, I look across the table at her. “Hold on, Mags—not to rain on your pity party, but isn’t that what you do all the time? Sleep with other men when seeing guys? That’s the definition of not putting a label on it, isn’t it?”

  She heaves a heavy sigh. “Yes, I know, but I’m so tired of it. I don’t want to do it anymore. I just want to meet a nice guy, hang out, and have fun. You know, like you and Cam.”

  I smile at that. “You can, Maggie. Guys are all over you all day long. You have to find one who is a match for you.”

  “Yeah, I know. Much easier said than done.”

  “That is very true.”

  She laughs.

  “What?”

  “Look at you, giving me relationship advice.”

  I pinch a berry from my bowl and drop it into my mouth. “Well, I am officially uptight free now that I finished the list.”

  A napkin flies across the table at me. “Makayla, you were never uptight; it’s just how you saw yourself because of Sebastian.”

  I could argue, but maybe she’s right. Being with Cam has allowed me to be more fun, be freer, and maybe, just maybe, be myself.

  Finally, Maggie takes a bite of her cold, pushed-around-her-plate black bean burger. “Mmmm . . . this is so good. You have to try it,” she says.

  Breakup blues are short-lived when it comes to Maggie and I think my job is done here. “No, I’m full,” I tell her, pushing my food aside. That was not yogurt, by the way. “I have to pick up Cam at the airport.”

  Balling her napkin up, she tosses it on her plate. “Oh, that’s right—I almost forgot he’s coming home today.” She points to me. “I should have known, considering that dress has a hot factor of about a fifteen on a scale of one to ten.”

  “This old thing,” I laugh.

  “Liar! It’s new. I know my mother left it for you the other day when she dropped by and you weren’t around. It looks really good on you, by the way.”

  I push my hair behind my ear. “Yes, so maybe it is a Simon Warren and new. I’m just really excited to see him and want to look good for him,” I admit.

  While he’s been gone, we haven’t talked that much on the phone. He has been busy with his sister and mother. He did send some dirty text messages, though, and a few sweet ones, too. And like I thought, I have missed him.

  Maggie suddenly claps her hands together. “Oh my God, this is perfect timing. Brooklyn asked me to cook him some curry and you guys can come too. I’ll even invite some other people. It will be like a dinner party.”

  Okay, nothing about that sounds appetizing, from Maggie cooking to curry. “Hold on, Maggie, back up. Why are you cooking for Brooklyn?” I eye her suspiciously.

  Her gaze roams as if searching for something, but then snaps back to mine. “Nothing like that. You know we’re just friends. He’s good-looking, but a little too young and way too assertive for me.”

  I have to laugh. She definitely likes to rule the roost, so to say, and Brooklyn does seem to have some alpha tendencies. Besides she always goes for the easy going suits. Always.

  “And he didn’t ask me to cook for him,” she goes on. “We were walking through the command center together the other day, and he saw someone eating a bowl of curried chickpeas in the break room from the Indian restaurant down the road and asked me what it tasted like. I couldn’t believe he’d never tried it, so I told him I’d make it for him.”

  “But you don’t cook.”

  “You know,” she says, her cup in her hand and her gaze focusing on the store attached to the restaurant, “I bet I can find everything I need here. If not, I’m done with work today anyway, so I have time to go to the Indian market.”

  Determined as she is, there is no talking her down, so standing up to leave, I just go with it. “Groovy,” I tell her, taking my lead from the logo on the menu. “We’ll be there.”

  Taking one last sip from her straw, she practically chokes on her laughter. “Far out,” she mocks and laughs even harder.

  Uptight free now, I make the peace sign as I head toward the door.

  “Those are rock horns,” she yells.

  Oh, okay, so I need to study the hippie dialect a little more.

  Still, I think I’m one cool kitten.

  Or is it cat?

  Yeah, it’s cat.

  I’m one cool cat.

  Right on.

  CAM

  THE ORANGE COUNTY AIRPORT IS becoming way too familiar.

  The plane ride back was nothing like my last one, and the memory of almost joining the Mile High Club only spurs on my need to see Makayla. Laguna Beach and she have somehow settled in my heart. Every time I return to New York, I feel less and less like it’s home and more and more like this place is.

  Passing the John Wayne statue, I look around. And around. And around. No Makayla anywhere. This place isn’t as big as LaGuardia, but it is big enough to attract a rather large crowd. Families are waiting for their boarding times. A suit-wearing businessman is checking his BlackBerry. Old ladies with their bags of oranges and palm tree T-shirts are hugging their grandchildren goodbye. But not a single one of them is Makayla.

  Finally, I catch sight of her smile and long brown hair coming up the top of the escalator and she looks hotter than fuck in a short purple dress. I haven’t seen it before. It’s sleeveless and has cutouts on the side. I’m already imagining dragging my tongue along the seams and eating through it to get to that sweet pussy.

  I stand where I am, trying to catch my breath like a pussy myself. Just as I’m about to say fuck it all and go for her like they do in the movies, she takes off toward me. She’s close to me before I can even move in her direction.

  Catching her as she leaps into my arms, I twirl her around, just like every happy, sappy couple does in the movies. Shit, I’m watching way too many romantic comedies. Time for some fright and gore.

  Loving the smell of her and the feel of her in my arms, I bury my face in her neck and breathe her in. I squeeze her hard and she squeezes me back just as tightly.

  After a few moments I pull back to look at her. It has been only a week, but at the same time way too long. I have a lei around my neck that I bought in a gift shop in LaGuardia. It’s for those people wishing they’d gone to Hawaii but ended up in New York, I guess. Ridiculous, right? Who’d buy something like that? Yet I found myself doing just that. I take it off my neck and wrap it around hers. “For you,” I say.

  She looks down at it with a grin and then up at me. “Is this your way of telling me you’re hoping to get laid?”

  Having missed that sense of humor and sass of hers, I pull her to me again, twirling her once more just because I want to. While doing it, I whisper in her ear, “That’s the plan.”

  She whispers back, “I can’t wait.”

  When I set her down, I kiss her, at first softly, then much harder. Lips. Teeth. Tongues. Hands. Bodies crushing. Now this is a scene from a movie.

  “Fuck, I missed you,” I tell her.

  “I missed you, too. How was New York?”

  “Lots of family drama and bullshit, but it was good to spend time with my sister.”

  I lean forward to kiss her again, but she holds me at arm’s length, almost studying me. “Want to talk about it?”

  I take her hand and head toward baggage claim. Due to the length of my stay, I had to check a bag. I hate having to do that. “Not especially.”

  “Would you?” she asks.

  I let her go first and follow. “The best news is there were no confrontations with my old man. I kept my distance and he kept his. My sister was a little suspicious and started asking a lot of questions. Except for Brandon’s memorial, we haven’t been all together since I found out he was fucking my girlfriend.”

  Makayla shudders.

  Yanking her hand to my mouth, I kiss it. “Ex-girlfriend,” I clarify. “But I did talk to him alone.”

  She steps off the escalator and waits for me.

  “I went to
see him about my trust fund, and I told him I wanted it signed over to me. Believe it or not, he did it—no argument, no questions asked about what I have planned for it.”

  I’d already told her about the money. How my father’s parents left each of his three children a decent amount of money with a string—that we use it for investing. To make money. Not to spend on lifestyle shit. My father has been managing our accounts. What happened to Brandon’s, I have no idea. Anyway, he turned it over. I have to say, I was shocked.”

  We walk toward the assigned baggage belt and when we get there, I turn to look at her. “Fuck, Makayla, I missed you so much. All I wanted to do was jerk off to the naked picture of you, but somehow I held off.”

  She raises a brow. “Why?”

  I raise one back. “I just knew the real thing would be so much better.”

  She throws her arms around my neck and whispers in my ear, “I made myself come every night thinking of you.”

  Every muscle in my body tenses. “No . . . you didn’t! Did you buy a new vibe?”

  “No,” she laughs. “Just used my fingers.”

  “Fuck me,” I say. “Christ, that’s so fucking hot. I want to see it.”

  She presses that hot little body of hers against me and breathes in my ear. “Take me home quickly and while you jerk off in front of the real thing, maybe I’ll show you how I did it without a vibrator.”

  Holy fucking shit. I lunge for the belt. I can’t get my suitcase fast enough.

  Taking the elevator to the garage seems to take a million years. My cock is as hard as steel and more than ready to go. A week of celibacy after a month of nonstop sex has me wishing I could hire a chopper to get us from Santa Ana to Laguna, or at the very least, that I’d hired a driver.

  Her bright blue Jeep is parked in the middle of the garage, surrounded by dozens of cars. As soon as I get in the driver’s seat, it’s not the car I want to start, but her.

  With the uncontrollable need to feel her sweet pussy, I lean over to kiss her. It isn’t intentional, but all revved up, I can’t stop the reflex reaction to run my hand up her thigh. Higher. Higher still. I fucking love that she’s in a dress.

  Easy to get my fingers in her panties.

  As soon as I touch that slick flesh, I’m a goner. I caress down the center of her wetness. Just once, I tell myself.

  Makayla makes a noise.

  And with that sound mingling with my breaths, I have no choice but to ease a finger inside her. “So beautiful, I can’t wait to be in here,” I whisper into her ear.

  “Cam,” she says, squirming.

  Removing my finger, I ease my body back into my seat but leave my hand right where it belongs. “No one is going to know, baby. Just sit back and make like we’re having a conversation.”

  “I don’t know. I don’t think I can—”

  I rub little circles over her clit with the pad of my thumb. I wish I could put my face in her lap and eat her like she is my last meal, attack that purple dress and rub my body all over it. Soon, I think. Soon.

  “Oh, God,” she moans.

  “That’s it, baby, just talk to me and let your body go.”

  Her hips start rocking to the motion of my hand.

  I keep going.

  The bulge in my pants is going to have to wait, though. There’s no way to conceal that. Suddenly I hate that I convinced her to buy an open-top Jeep. Sorry, buddy. This is about right here, right now, and you’re just going to have to wait.

  She opens her legs wider for me.

  Needing to get my fingers nice and wet, I start fucking her with one finger at first. Then another, and finally a third.

  Her eyes glaze as lust takes her over.

  Soon, I can feel her pussy clenching around my fingers, and I know she’s about to shatter. “Oh, Cam. Oh, God. Oh God,” she moans into the car as she comes.

  Ready to move this little homecoming forward, I turn to her and lick my fingers. “Now, I’m going to get us home because this,” I point down, “needs some attention.”

  Running her hands over her flushed face and looking more than satisfied, she smiles at me. “I can take care of you on the way home.”

  Don’t think the idea hadn’t crossed my mind. “Well, if you insist,” I tell her with a wicked grin and plant a kiss on her lips before I put her Jeep in reverse.

  By the time we turn onto our street, I’m feeling unbelievable. Like on top of the world and a million bucks rolled into one. No, I feel like a man who was just crowned king over his own kingdom.

  I really needed that.

  Although the week was drama free, it was not stress free. My sister asked me a million questions, and I hated not telling her the truth, but I couldn’t tell her about our prick of a father, not right now when she’s on the outs with our mother. I will not leave her without a parent to turn to. I refuse to do that.

  The line of cars in the driveways of both my house and Makayla’s is my first clue there’s a party going on. I point ahead. “What’s going on?”

  Makayla starts laughing. “Maggie broke up with Derek, and this is her way of mourning the relationship.”

  “With a party?” I ask, scratching my head.

  “Well, she told me she was going to cook Indian food for Brooklyn and invite a few people.”

  “A few people,” I laugh. “This might be the whole town.”

  “You know Maggie—go big or go home.”

  With a laugh, I drive past our houses, turn around, and then end up parking at the very end of the street. So much for getting Makayla into bed ASAP. At least I won’t have a dick of steel throughout the night.

  Leaving my shit in the car, I open her door and steal a kiss before grabbing her hand. “Did Maggie finally have enough of Derek’s fucking around?” I ask.

  Her head swings toward me. “You knew?”

  I draw her closer. “Not for certain, but all the signs were there. Then again, she seemed cool with a no-strings relationship. That’s why I didn’t say anything.”

  The sidewalk glistens with speckles of sand as we walk down it. “Yeah, well, she was ready to be exclusive, and he wasn’t, so she broke up with him.”

  “Good for her,” I say.

  “Oh look.” Makayla points to the red Mercedes convertible in the driveway. “Katherine is here.”

  Maggie’s mother has to be one of the coolest women I know.

  Makayla is excited and hurries past the open gate and into the open front door.

  Hand in hand, we make our way through the crowd. Music is playing. Everyone Maggie and I work with is here. Beer bottles are everywhere. Bottles of wine, too. Quite the last-minute party.

  “I don’t see Maggie or Katherine,” Makayla tells me just as we walk into the kitchen and see Brooklyn, notebook tucked in front pocket like he thought he might be able to write, with what has to be another MTV wannabe. They all look the same. You can spot them a mile away with their fake smiles and fake boobs to match. Always tan in designer clothes, they aren’t to be missed. And this one isn’t either, even as she walks away.

  Brooklyn has a bowl of something nasty-looking in his hand. “What the hell is that?” I ask him.

  “Curried chickpeas,” he answers around a mouthful of mush.

  And then it hits me, the smell of curry all around us. “Dude, that’s just nasty.”

  “No, it’s really good. Here, try,” he says, shoving the bowl my way.

  I shove it right back.

  Brooklyn offers it to Makayla.

  She looks horrified. “Ummm . . . no thank you.”

  That look has me cracking up. “Not a fan either?”

  “No way. Just the smell alone grosses me out.”

  “I think I love you,” I tell her, not realizing what it is I’ve said until Brooklyn practically drops the bowl in his hands. “I mean because you’re so much like me,” I clarify, even though it’s not true. I just love her.

  Makayla stares at me.

  I stare back and say not
hing to smooth over the awkwardness I created.

  “How about a drink?” she asks.

  Me, I don’t know what the fuck to do, so like a dumbass, I say, “Yeah, sounds good.”

  “Dumbass,” Brooklyn mutters.

  Makayla walks over to the fridge and tosses me a beer, and then tosses one to Brooklyn. Pouring a glass of wine, she stares out the window.

  “Damn, bro, I think I like her more than you,” Brooklyn says, setting his bowl down to open his bottle. “At least she knows how to handle an awkward situation. If you love her, tell her so for real—don’t make light of it.”

  “You’re giving me relationship advice?”

  “Yeah, I am, dude, because you need it.”

  When I glance toward Makayla, she’s walking out the door.

  I’m on her heels. “Where are you going?”

  “I saw Maggie and Katherine in your kitchen. I’m going to find out what’s going on.”

  “I’ll come with you.” I grab her hand and take the lead, using the path to get over there, which is not only faster than the beach but more private, too.

  About halfway down the stepping-stone pathway, I stop and push her up against the house. “I know we never talked about what this is happening between us, and I have no idea how you feel about me, but I meant what I said. I know I played it off like I didn’t, but I did. I love you, Makayla Alexander. I love you.” I grab her face between my hands. “I love you.”

  Tears stream down her face and when she says nothing, I start to think she doesn’t feel the same about me as I do about her. I put myself out there, and I get nothing. Nothing. I should be okay with it. But I’m not. I break away from her and stare at her. I don’t know why, but I start moving away from her.

  She’s standing there motionless.

  I keep moving.

  Just as I reach the end of the path leading to Maggie’s backyard, she comes rushing for me. “I love you, too, Camden Waters. I love you, too.”

  Stunned, shocked, and feeling like the luckiest guy alive, I stumble, and we both tumble to the ground. Me on my back, her on top of me—right where she belongs.

  Her lips crash down to mine, and I take the back of her head and thread my hand through her hair. Teeth clashing. Lips melding. Mouths crashing.