Also by Olivia Gaines
The Short Stories
Two Nights in Vegas
The Basemen of M. McGee
A Letter to My Mother
The Perfect Man
A New Mommy for Christmas
Beneath the Well of Dawn
The Bounty: Revenge Can be a Bitch
The Bounty: Lizzie’s Vengeance
North to Alaska
My Mail Order Wife
The Blakemore Files
Being Mrs. Blakemore
Shopping with Mrs. Blakemore
Dancing with Mr. Blakemore
The Novels
A Few More Nights
Friends with Benefits
The Cost To Play
A Menu for Loving
Courting Guinevere
Loving Words
Vanity’s Pleasure
—————————————
Olivia Gaines
Davonshire House Publishing
PO Box 9716
Augusta, GA 30916
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s vivid imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events are locales or persons, living or dead, are entirely a coincidence.
© 2015 Olivia Gaines, Cheryl Aaron Corbin
Copy Editor: Rachel Bishop
Line Editor: Teresa Thompson Blackwell
Special Promotions: Pilgrim Soap Company, Augusta, GA
Cover: koougraphics
Olivia Gaines Make Up and Photograph by Latasla Gardner Photography
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means whatsoever. For information address, Davonshire House Publishing, PO Box 9716, Augusta, GA 30916.
ISBN-13: 978-0692380062
ISBN-10: 069238006X
Printed in the United States of America
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 10 9 8
First Davonshire House Publishing February 2015
DEDICATION
For every woman who still believes in the happily ever after, even if your family is nucking futs.
Easy reading is damn hard writing.- Nathaniel Hawthorne
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thank you to my online community and network of writers.
An extra special thank you to my bibliophiles who keep my nose to the grindstone.
And thank you, for spending some time in my magical world.
Write On!
Table of Contents
Setting out the appetizer....................................
The Second Amuse.........................................
Fine as caviar................................................
A cold appetizer.............................................
A thick soup.................................................
A thin soup..................................................
Oh, Shellfish................................................
Antipasto.....................................................
That’s a lot of pasta.........................................
Intermezzo...................................................
Is that quail..................................................
Time out.....................................................
Wild Mushrooms...........................................
A Wild Wednesday........................................
Say what now...............................................
Beefing it up...............................................
Garden Salad...............................................
Puffed Pastry..............................................
Oh Snap.....................................................
Peace, be still...............................................
Say Cheese..................................................
Love does not hurt.........................................
Fruit and fiber...............................................
Pudding and more..........................................
Ice Cream....................................................
Nuts...........................................................
Petit Fours...................................................
Epilogue....Coffee & Liquor.............................
Setting out the appetizer...
It could have possibly been the most desperate night of her life. Mix desperation with an extremely loud hormonally charged ticking time clock and the perfect recipe for disaster is concocted. When all of that is stirred up with a certain type of situational insanity that takes over a human brain, it can make for a crazy night. Gently fold in a major life event, which is suddenly aerated by adding another ridiculous rite of passage and even the sanest woman can turn into a simmering, bubbling idiot. No, it is not the simple life events like graduating high school, going to college or getting married that can drive a person nuts. It’s the life events that transpire like a class reunion.
Ahhh, the class reunion. It is the one point in a person’s life where the people who really know who you are gathered in one room to continue to judge you. It only intensifies the futility of your existence when it is realized that since you graduated high school, you didn’t go to a four-year college, and are single again with no children. It would even be semi-acceptable if you were a single parent, at least that way you would have a story to tell and there was undeniable proof that at one point, you were getting some. No matter how brief or short the copulated activity that created your burden of proof, you got some – from someone other than yourself.
Jennifer Taylor’s story was short. After graduating high school, she enrolled in culinary school and studied at Le Cordon Bleu in Atlanta. She was lucky upon graduation to get a cooking gig as a private chef for a famous Atlanta rapper turned producer. That position led to a cushy gig in Los Angeles for a prominent high profile booking agent, which sounded glamorous, but in reality, she was stuck in the kitchen. Eight years of stuck in the kitchen. Now, she was stuck going to a reunion that she had no interest in attending. Thanks to a meddlesome father who, for the damndest reason, saw fit to open all the mail that came in the house. Everything except his own mail, that is. Those bills, he swore, were misunderstandings. The businesses, he claimed, misunderstood the idea that he planned to pay them before he died. Jennifer was starting to believe that after this reunion, his death by her hand was imminent.
Her father, God bless his cantankerous, manipulative, sneaky, underhanded soul, was so desperate for grandkids that he accepted the reunion invite and even paid her fees. Jennifer was no dummy. She knew what he was up to. He figured, since her sister Gloria was gay, that she was his only chance of ever being called “G-Pop.” He completed her registration hoping she would find a man. At this point, her dad didn’t even care if she married the dude. He just wanted some grandkids to spoil. Family is weird that way. Her father spoiled her and now that she was a very busy adult, he needed someone new to dote on. He gave her specific instructions that she really had no intention of heeding. “Girl, go out there, find a man and make me a granddaddy!” He patted her on the head just as he would when he dropped her off to school each morning, followed by a kiss to the top of her head and a gentle nudge forward. Johnny Taylor, not related to the singer, he always said, nudged her again to make some changes in her life and to get out there.
And there she stood. In front of the Marriott, staring at the double glass doors. Out there. Her reflection in the clinging royal blue wrap dress staring back
at her. Tonight she wore her hair down, since she seldom had an opportunity to do so in her line of work. The naturally loose curls were straightened and hung about her shoulders. She tossed them back as she inhaled deeply and made her way through the main doors.
A bar.
A bar with liquor.
Straight liquor.
Strong liquor.
Liquid courage.
“Thank you,” she said as she looked up at the ceiling, hoping a higher power had heard her cry.
The heavy pub style door opened into a moderately lit, run of the mill hotel lobby bar. At the corner of the bar was the cliché traveling salesman who was passing out business cards and trying to pimp whatever product still required a physical salesperson. In the corner was the proverbial married man, waiting on his Saturday night rendezvous. Jennifer took a slow, deliberate step towards the bar with wide eyes that scanned the room. Four. There were four potential men in the room who could easily be her date for the night.
Candidate one. He has potential. Tall, athletic, cocoa skin, and a receding hairline that started at his ears. He flashed her a grin. Oh! No! The brother was missing his two front teeth. She didn’t smile back.
Candidate two. Nervous. Twitchy. Married. He had nice eyes. The nice eyes did not compensate for the wolfish grin or the fact she saw him remove the wedding ring and slip it into his pocket. Nope.
Candidate three looked at her and licked his lips. This was done simultaneously as he dropped his hand to his crotch to indicate he and his little friend were ready to play. The man stood up. Jennifer’s eyes got wide and she almost turned to head out the door, but gentleman number four glanced her way.
He is hot. The hair was a bit longer than she would have liked, but she was in a bind. That meddlesome father of hers had paid for her and a plus one, and she was currently hovering at minus one. If things continued as they were currently progressing, this class reunion would be negative one.
“Hi,” she said to candidate number four.
“Hello,” he responded.
She stood beside him as he sipped at his drink and he stared at her reflection through the mirror behind the bar. He cut his eyes at her, giving her a sideways glance, waiting for her to state her business. It was obvious she was gathering her courage, so he turned on the bar stool to face her.
“Are you married?”
“No,” he stated calmly.
“Waiting for someone?” She asked pleasantly.
“No,” he answered as he kept his eyes trained on hers. He did not allow his eyes to rake over her body, which put her at ease. “To answer your next questions, I am straight, single, not engaged. I am here to have a drink.”
He could see her physically relax somewhat as her hand lifted the hair from her neck to drape it over her shoulder. “I am in a bind,” she started slowly. “My ten-year class reunion is in that main ballroom. I don’t have a date and I cannot bear to walk through those doors alone. So, if you are okay with it, I need you to be my man for the night.”
She had his undivided.
“Your man?” The smile he gave her went all the way up to his eyes, creating little crow’s feet at the corners.
“Yes, my man. And we have been seeing each for six months. We are madly in love and you can’t keep your hands off me.”
His eyes still remained on her face as he slowly rose from the stool to stand toe-to-toe with her. As he uprighted himself, he turned out to be a good deal more man than it appeared as he sat on that stool. Surprisingly, he picked up his drink, knocked it back in one swallow and reached for her hand. “Let’s do it,” he said.
Jennifer stuttered, “You are agreeing to do this?”
“Yep. It’s far more interesting than what I had planned for the evening, which was two more drinks and ordering a movie in my room,” he told her as his fingers closed over hers. Warm fingers that gave her hope. “Lead the way.”
“I’m Jennifer,” she told him as he opened the bar door that lead to the main lobby.
“Tony,” he said, offering her his elbow.
“Thank you, Tony,” she told him and placed her arm in his.
“You may be thanking me, too, soon,” he said dryly. It was the way he said it that made Jennifer stop in her tracks.
“Hold up, Tony. When I said you can’t keep your hands off me, I mean, you know, moderate PDA. No lewdness, groping, or crazy stuff, okay?” Her eyes scanned his face, searching for a modicum of comprehension at her words. She spotted a flicker of something else that was registering on his face.
There are moments and then there are moments between a man and woman that speak volumes. Tony was about to create one of those instances. As he faced her in the narrow hallway under the grand staircase, he said something to her with utter conviction in his words that would be the start of a change in her life.
“Kiss me and tell me you love me,” he said with a sultry need in his voice.
“What?” she said and took a step back.
“Exactly!” he told her and moved closer, lifting a strand of her hair and pushing it behind her ear. “If this is going to work, you have to get comfortable with my touch, my hands on you and being affectionate with me in front of all of your classmates. Let’s practice.”
He moved closer and placed his arms about her waist. “Jennifer, tell me you love me, then kiss me like you mean it.”
Tony’s eyes were deep brown with long lashes that seemed almost too perfect to belong to a man. His hair was black with evenly tapered sideburns, which faded into a five o’clock shadow. It was a bonus that he was already in a dark suit that seemed to drape over muscles begging to be freed. Jennifer felt alive as sparks shot through her fingers and she reached for his hair, toying with a loose strand. Her fingers ran across his bottom lip, and she looked at it with a hunger. Slowly, her eyes lifted to meet his, as he watched her with a curious stare, waiting to see how well she could lie.
“Tony,” she said huskily and she brought her lips to his, pressing hard against his mouth as she mumbled the words, “I love you so much for being here for me.”
He wrapped his arms around her waist and deepened the kiss, but only briefly before pulling away. “Let’s go have some fun, Jen.”
The second amuse...
It could not be denied that Tony, the Man of the Hour, had a warped sense of fun. In less than three minutes, he began what became the start of the most interesting year of Jennifer Taylor’s life. There was no denying two things about the man. One, he had a roguish sense of humor with a quick wit. Two, he was deliciously wicked. Both of which she found appealing to her palate.
Several times during the course of the evening’s activities, Jennifer had to turn her back to stifle her shock, her laughter and downright amusement at her date’s antics. He was serving up small plates full of wonders that sent her mind into overdrive. The fun started immediately after they checked in at the registration desk and nature called him away for a quick visit, which, of course, left her alone inside the door.
Catherine McCaulley, the class busybody, gossipmonger and all around bad spirit, was also at the door to greet her solo arrival. “Jennifer Taylor, as I live and breathe. Look at you, girl! Still skinny and cute. Are you alone?”
“No, my...” she didn’t know what to call him, “... date will be back soon.” There must have been blood in the water because the other sharks swam over, ready to feed upon the carrion they were certain that Catherine was going to leave. Rosie Muńez, Reba Foley and Dorothy Wasshername sidled over, all grins. Evil grins. Sporting those ‘I am going to eat your brains for breakfast’ grins.
In unison, like the Weird Sisters in Macbeth, all three asked, “Jennifer, where’s your date?”
She held up her finger, her elbow almost at a perfect 90-degree angle, to point in the general direction of the men’s room, but gasped as she felt a warm mouth close over it. Tony had snuck up behind her and was suckling at her finger. When she was able to finally extract it from his mouth with
a very loud pop goes the weasel sound, he continued to shock her by saying, “I was wondering where you had gotten off to with yo’ fine ass.”
Trying to hide her shock, she said, “You know I can never be too far from your side, Tony,” as she turned to face him.
His grin was wide and his eyes were sparkling, as if he was challenging her to play along with his little game of chance. “That’s what I’m talking about. Give Daddy some sugar, baby,” he said with laughter in his eyes.
“Daddy?” she asked with her eyebrows arched and mouth slightly ajar.
He winked at her twice, licked his bottom lip and pulled her so close to him that she could almost hear the systolic and diastolic pressure hit his aortic walls. “Girl, don’t say it like that in public, you know what it does to me. We’ll have to cut this reunion short while I reacquaint you with an old friend and your best buddy,” he said as his hand slid down her waist to rest on her butt cheek.
The feeble attempt to not smile at his antics was halted by his mouth coming for hers, but he stopped to ask, “Are these your friends, Jen? Intros please, ladies,” he said to the witches.
“Catherine,” she said as she stuck out her hand.
“Reba, like the country music star,” she told him as she extended her hand.
Dorothy and Rosie nearly knocked each other over trying to introduce themselves. “Pleasure,” he said as he smiled at them but turned his attention back to Jennifer.
“Speaking of pleasure, you sexy breath stealer, the more I think about it, the less I want to be down here instead of up in our room. How long do you have to stay at this thing?”
“Tony, we just got here,” she pretended to whine as her hands stroked the fabric of the arms on his jacket sleeves.
“I know, baby, but I want you all to myself,” he said as he kissed her on the collarbone. The witches all moaned as they watched his teeth nip at the skin on her shoulder.
“Is that Tony P?” someone yelled across the room, which distracted him for a second, and four football players came over to greet him. The largest of the entourage of no-necked men addressed Tony. “You didn’t go to school here.”
A Menu For Loving Page 1
