A Bluewater Bay Collection

by Witt, L. A.

  A shiver went through me so violently, I was tempted to say forget the game. But I was intrigued by this. I loved his devilishness and his poker face, and I wanted to see where this went.

  After several turns, we’d both amassed enough cards to start dealing some damage to each other. Garrett had knocked me down to twelve points, and I had him down to eleven. Creatures were piling up in graveyards almost as fast as they were coming out onto the battlefield.

  And I’d have been lying if I said it didn’t turn me on to watch him work. Not just because he was sexy and nerdy as he played Magic in glasses, but because I could see the gears turning. He was smart. He strategized. He had brains and used them, and that was insanely hot to my perverted little geek mind.

  When it was my turn, I scanned the battlefield and tapped one of my creatures. “My Serra Angel is coming at you with her fully erect phallic sword of righteous justice—”

  Garrett snorted. “Really?”

  “What?” I shrugged. “And what are you gonna do about it?”

  “Hmm.” He stroked his chin as he eyed his cards. “Well since you killed my Dragon Whelp last turn, I don’t have any flying creatures.” He looked like he was trying—though not very hard—to suppress a smirk. “Looks like I’m taking it.”

  “Yeah. Yeah, you are.” I slid a hand over his thigh. “You take that sword. You take it good.”

  Garrett didn’t fight the smirk anymore. “Long as you brace yourself, because I’m about to come at you with my big . . . thick . . .” Leaning closer, he licked his lips and gestured at one of his artifact cards. “Wand of Ith.”

  I snorted and clapped a hand over my mouth. “Oh my God. Really?”

  “Hey, you started it.”

  Yeah, and I didn’t end it either. As we played on, the puns and innuendo just kept piling on top of each other. Anything with a sword, wand, or rod was turned into a phallic joke, as were creatures like my poor, unassuming Sea Serpent. Before long, we weren’t even paying attention to strategy or even rules—all that mattered was which cards could be misconstrued into something dirty, until we were both collapsing into fits of laughter, tears streaming down our faces as we gasped for air.

  Wiping his eyes and laughing, Garrett said, “I have never played Magic with anyone who could turn it pornographic.”

  “You should hear me playing D&D.”

  He burst out laughing all over again. “Oh my God. Do I even want to know?”

  “That depends.” I set my cards on the table and twisted toward him. Sliding a hand up his thigh, I adopted the most ridiculously “sexy” voice I could, and murmured, “Do you think you could handle me as your dungeon master?”

  Garrett’s lips parted, and he put his hand over mine. “When you put it like that, it does sound intriguing.”

  “Does it?”

  “Oh yeah.” He put his cards on the table, then pushed my hand higher on his leg. “Should I roll to see if we get naked?”

  “Mmm, I think you should roll to see if you kiss me, first.”

  “I don’t think I need a die for that.” He cupped my face and kissed me. At first it was as playful as our game. Light, gentle, lips curving like were each holding back a laugh. Slowly, though, our lips softened. Our fingers dug in. A low moan thrummed between our mouths, and the game was forgotten. Garrett held me tighter and pulled me onto his lap. As I straddled him, his hands slid up my thighs and onto my ass.

  All the bantering ceased. All the talking ceased. Hell, I was lucky I was breathing. As he kissed me and touched me and my hardening erection rubbed against his, I barely remembered where we were, never mind what we’d been doing.

  I wanted to get naked and sweaty with him, but I had to admit, I was enjoying the hell out of this. Apparently so was he. His kiss was hungry and his fingers twitched as he caressed and groped, but he wasn’t in a rush. If there was one thing I was quickly growing to love about Garrett, it was exactly what we were doing right then—being touchy and teasing without it actually being foreplay. Maybe this would end with us in bed and maybe it wouldn’t, but it didn’t have to. Even when the touches were undeniably sexual—like when he squeezed my ass or when I rocked my erection against his—there was no sense of urgency.

  He was patient. That was it. He could enjoy making out and even some playful fooling around, but his point of no return was a hell of a lot further down the line than most men’s.

  “I think you’re the first man I’ve ever known,” he murmured against my neck, “to get a hard-on because of a game of Magic.”

  “Mmm. Maybe.” I tilted my head to the side and bit my lip as his kisses gave me goose bumps. “Does this mean you’d be willing to play again?”

  “If this is what you’re like after you lose, you better believe it.”

  “Hey!” I laughed, and so did he, and his breath was cool and ticklish against my neck.

  Then he nudged me back. “We should really take this someplace flat.”

  “Mmm, maybe with some lube and condoms nearby?”

  “Except . . .” He licked his lips before drawing me back down, and just before our lips met, he whispered, “I kind of have you right where I want you.”

  I moaned into his kiss. Beyond that, we barely made a sound. Once in a while, a soft moan escaped someone’s lips, or a low growl would send a shiver through both of us, but for the most part, the room was silent except for clothes brushing clothes. The sofa creaked now and then when we’d shift. The sounds of kissing had never turned me on all that much before, but they sure did now. Maybe because I’d never really focused on them before, but in the near-silence, every little sound drove me wild.

  This wasn’t what I’d had in mind when I suggested playing cards tonight. Hell if I was going to protest, though.

  Barely breaking the kiss, Garrett shifted to stretch out on his back, and my body moved like it was taking cues from his brain instead of mine. I was on top of him now, my hips between his parted legs and my mouth still moving with his. His free hand slid up under the back of my shirt, and the warmth of his skin made me gasp. For as much of last night as we’d spent tangled up in each other, I held on to him and touched him and breathed him in like this was the first time we’d ever been in the same room. This time, last time, every time—didn’t matter. He always had this effect on me. No wonder I was hooked.

  He slipped a hand between us, and as he tugged at my belt, I shifted onto one arm and reached down to do the same for him. With a little fumbling, we managed to get belts unbuckled and zippers undone. I lifted my hips enough, and we quickly fell into a steady rhythm. I rocked gently back and forth, and we stroked each other, rubbed against each other, and even though I was out of breath and could barely remember what to do with my mouth, like hell was I going to stop kissing him.

  He moaned like he was about to say something, so I lifted my head, but he grabbed the back of my neck and dragged me down again. Okay, then—he didn’t want to stop kissing either. Fine by me.

  I pushed my cock into his fist like I was pushing it into him, and I groaned as he squeezed just right to make my back arch and my toes curl.

  Garrett moaned, thrusting up into my hand. His ragged breath rushed past my lips. “I’m . . . gonna come.”

  “Y-yeah. Me too.” And before the words were even out, I was there, unloading on his hand and shuddering so hard I was surprised I didn’t black out.

  Beneath me, Garrett moaned again. His breath caught. And then he was coming too, jerking and gasping until we both sighed and collapsed.

  “Oh my God,” he slurred.

  “Uh-huh.” I lifted myself up on shaking arms and kissed him. “That was hot.”

  “Yeah it was.” He brushed his lips across mine. “Is this going to happen every time we play Magic?”

  I pretended to give it serious thought. “Yeah, probably.”

  “Good.” He grinned, combing a trembling hand through my hair. “Next time you want to play, you just let me know.”

  “Oh, I wi
ll . . .”

  Chapter 20

  Garrett

  “Why did I think it was smart to go this route?” I grumbled at the steering wheel and the long line of cars ahead of us on Highway 16. The Tacoma Narrows Bridge was ahead, and everyone had slowed to a crawl as if they were all having flashbacks of that footage of Galloping Gertie from the 1920s or whatever. “Come on, people. The bridge doesn’t flop around like that anymore!” I let my head fall back. “We should’ve taken 101. Or taken the ferry and come down I-5 out of Seattle.”

  Beside me, Jesse laughed. “Oh come on. This is Washington—traffic would’ve been shitty any way we’d gone.”

  I grunted softly. He had a point.

  “In fact . . .” He tapped his phone a few times. “Yep. That’s what I thought.”

  “What?” I craned my neck a little, but just long enough to see the colorful map on his screen. As per usual in this area, especially during rush hour, more highways than not were black or red. Nasty traffic as far as the eye could see.

  “There’s construction on 101,” Jesse said. “It’s a mess all the way to Olympia. Seattle looks so bad right now, I’m surprised the sidewalks aren’t black and red.”

  I chuckled. “Funny. I haven’t been gone all that long, and I’ve already gotten spoiled and forgotten how ugly the traffic is over here.” Admittedly, I felt better knowing that there was nothing we could have done to avoid the congestion. “How does I-5 look through Tacoma and Olympia?”

  “Like we might want to stop for dinner and wait some of it out.”

  “That bad?”

  “Yep.” He turned to me. “We’re not in a hurry either way. I could eat, or I can wait, and it’s not like we have to be in Portland by a certain time. So, whatever you want to do. You’re driving.”

  “Let’s see how we feel after we get across this stupid bridge.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  As we continued our crawl, I couldn’t help feeling a subtle sense of déjà vu. And I knew where it was coming from—I’d had road trips like this. Where I’d have been grinding my teeth to dust with road rage, but my laid-back copilot knew just how to defuse me and make the act of sitting in traffic almost pleasant. Why was I not surprised that Jesse was that way?

  I wasn’t surprised, but I was admittedly kind of unsettled.

  Because Sean had been that way.

  That doesn’t mean anything. Some people are just chill in traffic.

  I sighed, hoping Jesse read it as frustration with the idiots in front of us instead of with myself. I was seeing signs that weren’t there. So what if Jesse was laid-back in traffic? Playful in and out of the bedroom? Easygoing about damn near everything? Maybe that was just the kind of guy I liked now.

  I was overthinking it as usual. Ever since Scott had pointed out some similarities between my late husband and my new boyfriend, my trigger-happy brain had been quick to pounce on anything about Jesse that remotely echoed Sean. Jesse laughed at something Sean would’ve laughed at, and kind of sounded like him? Red alert! Jesse stopped on the sidewalk to fawn over a dog like Sean would’ve? Sound the alarm! Jesse made a catty comment about a customer and rolled his eyes just the way Sean always had? Abandon ship!

  Yeah. Overthinking it.

  Except even this trip was familiar. Sean had gone with me whenever Fiona and I had done Comic-Con. She’d fly in, and he and I would drive. The con had never been his cup of tea, so he’d go off and do touristy things while she and I drowned in nerdiness, but the road trip? That was our thing. He’d let me drive because I was a terrible passenger, and I’d let him pick out restaurants because he’d always been better at finding the diamonds in the rough. Or at least the places that wouldn’t give us food poisoning.

  He’d gently tease me about my impatience in traffic, and somehow always knew what notes to hit so I’d laugh instead of getting even more annoyed. That was probably the only reason we’d made it through Los Angeles without me losing my shit. Just having him there beside me made the long drive pleasant. Kept me calm, made the time go by, made me a little disappointed when we’d reached our destination. I could have driven forever with him in the passenger seat. Just like I could drive forever with Jesse—

  “Hey.” Jesse nudged my leg. “You still here?”

  “Huh?” I shook myself, and realized the car in front of me had started moving. I’d spaced out too long, and some jackass in a Prius squeaked into the space. “Damn it . . .”

  I kind of expected Jesse to make a joke about me zoning out, but instead, he put his hand on my thigh. “You okay?”

  “Yeah. Yeah.” I rested my hand over his and gave him a quick smile. “Just, uh, trying to remember if there’s any place worth stopping to eat in Tacoma.”

  He seemed to buy it, and picked up his phone again. “One way to find out.”

  I faced the road again, the uneasiness pulling harder at my gut. I was relieved he’d bought my explanation.

  I just tried not to think about the fact that Sean would’ve responded the same way.

  * * *

  Rumors might have been flying that Wolf’s Landing was about to be canceled, but the fandom was sure going strong. The convention center was packed. I doubted there was a place to park within five miles, so thank God Jesse and I had a room at the con hotel.

  It wasn’t quite the scale of something like Comic-Con, but few things were. Still, it was impressive as hell, and there was an enthusiastic vibe that pulled everyone in, even the significant others who’d started out looking like they’d grudgingly come along.

  The booths and merchandise were endlessly fascinating. I couldn’t believe all the different Wolf’s Landing-themed items people had come up with. I’d heard that the studio and publisher had both initially wanted to be strict about licensing, but Hunter Easton had used his not-insignificant clout to insist on giving smaller companies and independent artists access to the brand. Jesse’s boss Lydia was apparently making a killing off her art, and she was clearly not the only one. The gigantic hall was crammed with booths hawking toys, spinoff comics, clothes, art, costumes, and anything imaginable with the series’ theme. Someone even had little werewolf ears that could be worn by small pets or babies. There was an interior decorator who had once been a set designer and now specialized in decking out entire rooms to look like sets from the show. I didn’t imagine there was much demand for something like that, but she had a solid crowd around the booth, so what did I know?

  There were panels and Q&A sessions going on in one of the other rooms, and long lines waited by the autograph tables. It wasn’t just Hunter and the main actors, either. As I wandered around the con, I saw anyone even peripherally involved with the books or show getting mobbed for photos and autographs. One was suddenly swarmed with teenagers holding bound manuscripts, and it didn’t take much to figure out she was Hunter’s and Kevin’s literary agent.

  It was crazy and chaotic, but it was fun. The atmosphere was upbeat, just like I remembered from Comic-Con, and I eagerly soaked it up. People were genuinely excited about the series, and even the most introverted attendees could be pulled into a conversation with random people—myself included—about the books, the show, the people involved, the werewolf lore . . . anything. I was nearly late to lunch with Jesse because of an animated discussion with some cosplayers who were stunned to find out I’d only read the first book. Fortunately, they were almost religious in their refusal to let spoilers slip, so it made for an entertaining conversation without ruining the series for me.

  Eventually, I broke away and hurried toward the End o’ Earth booth, but it wasn’t like Jesse was standing there tapping his watch. In fact, I probably could’ve continued my conversation awhile longer, because he and his bosses were slammed.

  It was amazing to watch him in action, though. Jesse was in his element at the comic book shop, but here? Holy shit. He was made for this. Decked out in a Wolf’s Landing T-shirt and a pair of wolf ears, with a cartoon wolf nose and whiskers painted on
his face, he worked the crowd with practiced ease. Even when the mob was five deep, he had everything under control. Somehow, he always knew who was next even though they were just bunched up against the table with no actual line, and when things got really hectic, I swore he was simultaneously helping three or four people. When people started getting impatient or if a particular piece of merchandise was sold out, he soothed the tension with jokes. At one point, when even that didn’t work, he started dancing wildly to some music coming from another booth, waving merchandise around and singing his various sales pitches or people’s order totals. It worked—everyone was laughing too much to be pissed off.

  Once in a while he’d pause for a swig from his water bottle, but otherwise, he never let on that all of this was taxing in any way.

  “He’s just like a swan,” I could hear my old boss saying. “Glides along perfectly on the surface, and makes it look easy because no one can see the feet paddling like gangbusters underneath.”

  My boss hadn’t been talking about Jesse, though. He’d been talking about Sean.

  I quickly forced the memory aside. It bugged the hell out of me that my mind kept putting Jesse side by side with Sean. I made a mental note to smack Scott when I got back to Bluewater Bay; his concerns had obviously gotten under my skin, and now I was second-guessing myself—and my boyfriend—at every turn. Jesse wasn’t Sean. Jesse was Jesse. End of discussion.

  It was almost forty-five minutes before Jesse could bow out and join me. I didn’t mind, though. Even when my brain was being ridiculous, I loved watching him work. His enthusiasm was infectious, and he was the very picture of competence, not to mention grace under pressure. If he ever went to work as a bartender, he’d be rolling in tips.

  He took off his wolf ears, and as he broke away from the crowd, he wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. “Sorry about that. We got a bit busy.”

  “It’s all right. You sure they can let you go?”