by Mysti Parker
I laugh. “No, I’m happy for you. It’s just been a long day.”
“Good. Then you’ll be my maid of honor, right?”
“Of course. When’s the date?”
“We haven’t set it yet, but probably soon. No reason to wait.”
“I hope you give me enough time to prepare the perfect wedding and bridesmaid dresses.”
“I’ll do that. I need to go. Jesse and I are going to do some fishing at his pond.”
“Fishing, right. Is that what they call it these days?”
Leigh bursts out laughing. “Depends on who you ask. Call me if you need me, Ave, okay?”
“I will. Go catch a great big fish and give it a kiss for me.”
“You’re weird.”
“You’re weirder. Laters.”
“Laters.”
Glen pokes his head through the door again. “Is it safe yet?”
“God, come in already.” I drop into the chair again and take a drink of water.
He comes in and goes to the fridge. “So what were you flipping out about this time?”
“Leigh’s getting married.”
“Oh, it isn’t like you didn’t see that coming. Those two are like Velcro.” He pauses, then tosses a smile my way before he takes the Diet Coke I left for him.
“True.”
Glen sits down at the table. “Okay, now tell me what’s really bugging you. Did your date with Jack not go well?”
“You can say that.”
I explain the unfortunate series of events that led me to be uncertain if I was smart or stupid for leaving like that. Glen’s eyes get wider the more I tell him.
Finally, he props his elbows on the table and says, “Honey, in this case, I think you were stupid.”
“But why?” I whine.
“Because Crabby Crabtree just brought a prospective buyer to see the place.”
“What? You mean –"
“Yes, he’s threatening to sell the place right out from under you when the lease is up in December rather than renew it. Unless you can make him a better offer, of course.”
"What kind of offer?"
"He didn't say, but I'd guess at least sixty or seventy-five."
I slump onto the table, my forehead clunking against the surface. Not wise. Any bump on my head can rile up a massive headache. In this case, it's the less painful of two evils. “How the freaking hell can I do that? I can’t get another bank loan yet, at least not one that big.”
“Well, you had your chance last night.”
My head snaps up. “If you mean Jack –"
“Yes, Jack. He’s the richest guy in Beach Pointe, single, and willing to do the nasty with you on a regular basis.”
“That doesn’t mean he’ll just give me money. He’d think I'm a gold digger.”
“Well, he just wanted you for the pussy, so what’s worse? You got yourself into that mess, so buck up, butter him up, and ask him for the money, at least for enough to cover what the loan can't.”
“No.”
“Honey, you have to swallow your pride and ask someone for the money. Jeff and I just made a down payment on the new house, so it’s not in our budget right now. Ask your parents. They’re good for it.”
“Oh, hell no. I need to focus on Leigh’s wedding for now.”
“You may not have a shop left to handle Leigh’s wedding, so what are you going to do? I’m not a magician. So I ask again, how are you going to pull money out of your ass?”
I roll my water bottle between my palms, letting the cold moisture and repetitive movement settle my thoughts. The headline from the magazine website pops into my head, and that fifty thousand dollars that could so be mine if I could get married. But then I wonder, how hard could it be to stage a wedding? I could reuse Leigh’s wedding things (not the bride’s dress – that's sacred) and choose from the several outdoor venues my clients have used. Then again, those places are too public. There's no way I could keep it hidden from my parents.
But there's Jack. He has all that land, no neighbors, and a huge house perfect for a simple fake wedding. He's not the marrying kind, but how could he resist so long as we aren't really married? With just the right setup, a few select friends to be the guests, I could get awesome photos to win me that fifty grand. With that much money, it might be enough to make an offer for this place or buy a whole new store. The idea of actually owning my own real estate is the proverbial carrot on a stick dangling in front of me.
I stop rolling the water bottle while a grin stretches across my face.
“I don’t like that look,” Glen says. “It usually means you’re about to do something crazy.”
“I’m going to ask Jack to marry me.”
Glen sits up straight and knocks his Diet Coke over. He hurriedly sets it upright before too much spills out and slaps at the puddle with a napkin. “Was that your last marble I heard rolling across the floor? How in Versace’s name are you going to get him to do that?”
Chapter Six
Jack
Sugar gliders bite. Hard, it would seem. On the drive home, my thumb throbs from the little bugger’s bite it had delivered during a routine exam. My side burns from mishandling a skittish tabby who wanted nothing to do with a thermometer up its butt. The cat used my ribs as a launch pad and wound up on the counter. Dog treats, flea treatment brochures, swabs, and sanitizer scattered across the exam room floor. In my haste to catch the cat before it hurt itself, my foot slipped on some of the round dog treats, and down I went, bumping my head on the floor.
Jo was able to capture and restrain the cat in a cat bag until the exam was over. Thank goodness the owner hadn’t been there at the time. I’d already made a fool of myself to several clients today. A couple of them claimed they’d take their business elsewhere, which I doubt, since the only other vet in the county is my partner, Dr. Bradshaw, who specializes in large animals.
I’ve never lost focus like that, my thoughts rippling with questions about why I’d failed to charm a woman into my bed. Did my distaste for marriage totally turn her off? How had I misread her so badly? I could have sworn she had been into me during the speed dating and coffee date. Her eyes had emanated lust, plus a deeper yearning that had quite frankly scared me.
Shit, that's it. She’d sensed my cowardice.
I snap back to attention and realize I'm pulling into my garage. Maybe I need my head examined. Or a good vacation. Or…something. I sit in my car for a moment after turning off the engine and finally get out. When I close the car door, it echoes through the quiet space of the garage. Though my feet and many other parts of me hurt and long for a night lounging in my recliner, I hesitate at the door that leads into the mudroom.
The vastness of the house seems to swallow me. Unless Mrs. Gonsalves is still busy with the animals or cleaning, the only ones who will welcome me at the door have four legs. Maybe there is something to this relationship thing.
I shake those notions out of my head and step boldly into the mudroom. Percy, my blind Bassett Hound, shuffles in, tail wagging lazily. He gives my scrubs a cautious sniff as he does every day, absorbing the smells of all the strangers I've been with. My cat, Lulu, regards me disinterestedly from her perch over the washing machine. I installed a really awesome (if I do say so myself) cat run throughout the house, with tunnels, platforms, and ladders. The cats love it, even if it does enforce their sense of superiority.
My nose twitches at an unexpected smell. “What the fuck?” Any surprise smell usually means something unpleasant but not this. This smell is making my stomach growl. Fried chicken and cornbread? Mrs. Gonsalves, as far as I know, has never made fried chicken and cornbread.
I step cautiously into the kitchen, just in case some random intruder decided to break in and cook dinner. My eyes home in on an amazing ass. It belongs to a petite blonde in an apron, black heels and nothing else. She removes a crispy fried drumstick from a frying pan and sets it on a platter with several other pieces, then turns off the stove
.
“Avery?”
She turns around and waves the tongs like a magic wand. “Hi, honey, I’m so glad you’re home.”
"What...is...all...this?" I stumble over the words, gesturing awkwardly at the situation.
She has her hair gathered up in a clip. A few blonde strands frame her face. As if to advertise what lies beneath, the image of a naked woman’s body is printed on the apron.
Avery grins, glancing down at her attire, or lack thereof, with a wink. “I hope you like fried chicken. It’s my mother’s recipe.”
"Where's Mrs. Gonsalves?"
"I gave her a gift card to Benito's and asked if she could go out to dinner with Eduardo and give us some private time."
"I didn't see your car."
"Glen's a great chauffeur."
“Okay, so did you…um…change your mind?”
“That depends.”
“On what?” A hint of a pink nipple peeks out from beneath the apron when she shifts her weight. My mouth waters. The tempting smell of chicken doesn't help.
“On how good an actor you are.” She readjusts the apron, covering her perfect handful-sized breast with the outrageously large image of one.
I blink myself back into reality. “What do you mean? Like roleplay? I have a Julius Caesar costume around here somewhere.”
“No, I’m talking about marriage. I need to stage a wedding, and you need to play the part of groom.” She crosses her arms, chin held up defiantly, daring me to challenge her.
Challenge accepted. I cross my arms as well, forcing my eyes to stay locked on hers and not on that nipple that has sneaked out again. “Go to the community theater. I’m sure you’ll find some willing actors there. But I’m not your man.”
“Look, I’m not trying to trick you into marrying me, okay? I have this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to get my business featured in a bridal magazine – a very popular one, I might add – along with fifty thousand dollars. The catch is it has to feature a bridal shop owner getting married. You’ve got a big house with lots of room, and a lot of land. We could pretty much set it up anywhere here and keep it secret. I need this money, Jack. So, I propose –"
My arms fall to my sides. I channel my grandfather’s you-done-messed-up face with an arched brow and deep frown.
“Sorry, poor choice of words," she says with a nervous laugh. "I’ll make you a deal. If you can do this for me, I’ll be 100 percent in with this friends-with-benefits thing. No strings attached.”
“I don’t get it. If you need money, I’ll buy you a dozen bridal shops if you want. You don’t have to whore yourself out.”
“I’m not. If anything, I’m getting a two-for-one deal.” She approaches me, placing one high-heeled shoe in front of the other, hips shifting from side to side like a freaking runway model.
Does that mean she really wants this after all? Damn it. So much for my game face. My dick bangs blindly against my pants like a wayward fly in a window.
“But it’s not just the money or the sex.” Avery comes right up to me and rests a hand gently on my chest. “Although I think the sex would be worth it with or without the money.”
I can see the dim valley between her tits, the patch of light below that, like a beacon to what lies beyond this ridiculous apron.
“This feature is important to me. It will show how hard I’ve worked. It will show my passion for the business, bring me more clients…and show my parents that I’m not a failure. If I just borrow money, that’s what they’ll think.”
“Why do you care what your parents think?” I ask, but I know right off the bat why she cares. I’d have given anything to have a dad who played ball with me and cheered me on at games, who saw me graduate vet school and was proud that I’d made something of myself.
Avery just smiles, as though she understands my unspoken reasoning. She reaches up behind her neck and unties the apron. It falls to her feet between us.
My eyes follow its trajectory down a body that looks even better than I’d pictured. There is no way I can resist her now. I’ll promise her the moon if I can have her to myself.
“Okay, I’ll do it.” I kick off my shoes.
We both stand there blinking at each other. I’m usually making the first move before now, but this situation is a little beyond the norm. She’s asking a lot of me, after all. So she should be the one…
Her hand cups my crotch, and the other pulls my collar, bringing my face down to hers, where she latches on to my lips like a sexy fucking succubus. My hands instinctively go for her breasts. I give them a good squeeze because why not? She passed first base and stole second, so might as well join her there.
Avery’s eyes pop open, and she unlatches herself from my lips.
Don’t mind me, I think to myself, I’m just tweaking your nipples.
She lets go of my crotch and my tie. Don’t tell me she’s going to run again. Over nipple tweaking?
“Too much?” I ask, sliding my hands away from her breasts, down her ribs and to her ass. I can’t help but squeeze. It’s a really squeezable ass.
She shakes her head and laughs. “No…well, sort of. I mean, it’s not the way I had envisioned all this.”
“Don't tell me. More Truth or Dare?"
"No.”
I stop squeezing her ass and let my arms go limp at my sides. What the hell does she mean by envision? If it’s Harriet Housewife and Briefcase Bob, that’s not gonna fly. "Good, ‘cause I'm not falling for that one again. I'm not playing house either. How about some Jack?"
She tilts her head to one side, forehead wrinkled. "Um, isn't that what I'm...?"
I laugh. "Not this Jack." Then I get a bottle of whiskey from the liquor cabinet and hold it up.
"Oh, yeah, of course."
I grab a couple of shot glasses and bring them to the kitchen island, where I pour us both a shot. We sit on the barstools. Avery crosses her legs, but I catch a glimpse of what's waiting between them. If I don't get to explore that really soon, I might go caveman on her.
Holding up my glass, I say, "To the beginning of a beautiful friendship."
Avery smiles and repeats the toast. We clink glasses and throw back the shots.
Her eyes go wide as she takes a sharp intake of breath and wheezes, "Smooth."
"Is it?" I ask with a wink.
"Yes, totally. And I don't do that for just anybody. Another shot?"
"Sure." I start to wonder if she's going to back out again, but as soon as she downs the second shot, she slides off the barstool and wedges herself between my knees.
“Kiss me,” she blurts finally.
“Okay.” Easy enough. But once my lips are on hers, I stall once again. I’m not sure what she wants.
She answers my question with her arms around my neck, lips parting, gently moving on mine. It’s not a leechy kiss at all.
It’s…nice.
So I follow along. If she wants to play nice girl – never mind that she’s buck naked already – then I’ll be the Boy Scout. I settle my hands on her waist and kiss her back, following the slow, steady rhythm she's set.
My dick, painfully pressed against my zipper, twitches like it's having a seizure. Avery must have heard its plea, because she breaks from our kiss, grabs hold of the waist of my pants. Then she pulls both pants and briefs down as she lowers herself along with them. I step out of them and let her remove my socks as well.
I whip off my scrub top. Might as well save her some trouble, right? She slowly rises from her squatting position and comes face to face with my dick. Now I’m not one to brag, but it ain’t bad. Not Ron Jeremy big or anything, but I’ve never had any complaints.
“Nice dick,” Avery says, then licks the tip and stands back up.
“Wanna see what it can do?”
“Definitely.” Now she’s stroking it and kissing my collarbone, which she couldn’t have reached without heels. It’s true what they say. Short girls are fun sized.
Of course, I remember in that moment that I
’m fresh out of condoms, a rare predicament for me indeed. Trying to verbalize that proves to be a challenge.
“Protection,” I mutter. “Don’t have any.”
“I’m on the pill,” she says.
"For how long?"
"A long time. Hormone issues..." She points at her head. "I had a head injury. It messed up my pituitary gland so my cycles are all whacky."
"Show me."
She rolls her eyes and reaches for her purse, from which she pulls a plastic pill packet. Inside, several pills are missing, so it would seem as if she's being honest.
“Do I need to worry?” Tossing her pills back inside her purse, she settles her lips in the hollow under my throat and gently sucks my skin, sending shivers down my spine.
“No, I always wear protection. Clean as a whistle down there.”
“Are we good, then?”
Shit, it's hard to think with her hot lips leaving a searing trail across my collarbone. I know where my dick's been, but the logical part of my brain warns me that I can’t be sure how far her pussy has travelled. Then the lust part of my brain kicks logic in the nuts and insists the show must go on. It leads my fingers to her smooth-shaven awesomeness, which I’m pleasantly surprised to find already wet and willing.
I tangle my hand in her hair and pull her head up to devour her luscious lips, while my fingers work on spreading her other lips. She moans along with our kiss as I bury a finger inside her, all the while hoping that I haven’t gone too far because I’m not sure I can control myself at this point.
Luckily, she’s still in the game, cupping my balls then stroking my dick in turn. I’m about to come all over the floor. That won’t do.
Extracting her from my hungry kiss and rowdy fingers, I turn Avery around and bend her over one of the barstools. She makes a little high-pitched squeak that seems like a mix between surprise and desire. Then she arches her back and widens her stance, high-heeled feet planted firmly on the floor. Heaven’s gates couldn’t be as breathtaking as the sight before me, glistening in the kitchen light.
“Holy f – " Words fail me. There’s nothing else registering at the moment. No pets, no house, no fried chicken, no nothing except my need to be inside this woman right now. I center my dick up and sink it into her. I can’t remember the last time I’ve been inside a woman without latex between us. It’s so damn warm and wet, just loose enough to know she’s ready for this and just tight enough to milk me dry. Her hips buck up into mine, taking me even deeper.
