A Love for Romance

by Kahlen Aymes

  Ridiculous, really. Less than twenty-four hours I've known this man, and I certainly don't know everything there is to know about him; there's so much more to learn. Still I feel, even without the words, we've shared of ourselves in a continuous silent communication during those hours. I know he's imprinted on me in a way I won't ever be free of.

  I glance at his profile and watch a muscle in his jaw work. Something it's been doing ever since we finally got out of bed this morning.

  My heart sinks as we approach the counter, where he has to check in his oversized cases. I don't even pay attention to my surroundings, I'm too focused on committing every part of this man to memory. At some point, I reach for my phone, hoping to snap a shot of him, but then I remember that I can always find him on his blog.

  Once he has the luggage tags and his boarding pass for his eleven-forty flight, he puts his free arm around me again and walks me to my gate. Suddenly he turns us into a narrow hallway, across from the waiting area. There he presses me against the wall, his hands coming up to cup my face. "I want to stay in touch," he says. "Maybe there are ways to work this out. I just don't want this to be the end."

  God, he's killing me. I hear the same desperation in his voice that I feel in my heart. The feeling that if this ends here...now...it will be an opportunity lost we may never have again. "Give me your phone," I tell him, handing him mine. As each of us adds our number to the other's contact list, the overhead speakers come on with a first call for boarding on my flight.

  It feels like my heart is going to stop when he slams his mouth on mine, searing me with a kiss that will leave my lips swollen and his taste embedded on my tongue.

  "Go," he whispers against my lips. "I'll find you again. Promise."

  With blurry eyes, I put my hand on his cheek and watch as he turns his face to press his lips in my palm. Then I grab the handle of my carry-on, and without looking back, I cross the wide hallway to gate E37, where I join in the line waiting to board.

  It's hard, not turning around. Letting go of the handle of my carry-on, I use my free hand to wipe at the wetness on my cheeks.

  "Ma'am?" A young flight attendant approaches me and I shoot her a watery smile. "Why don't you come on ahead? We're boarding people who might require some assistance first," she says, as she indicates my cane. Normally, I'm stubborn enough to stand my ground, but this time I gratefully nod, eager to get out of this line up and the curious eyes I feel roaming over me. I let her grab my case and follow behind her to the ramp, where another attendant checks my boarding pass. The young girl walks me all the way to the plane and hoists my only piece of luggage into one of the overhead bins above my seat. I'm glad I booked a window instead of an aisle seat this time, allowing me to turn my head away from the passengers filing down the aisle in search of their seats.

  I manage to compose myself, but despite my dry eyes, a melancholy feeling stays behind.

  One by one, the other passengers find their assigned spots, as I look out the window and watch our luggage getting loaded on a conveyor belt that disappears into the plane's bowels.

  "Excuse me. Do you mind?"

  My neck hurts, I whip my head around so fast. The sound of a deep male rumble sets my hair on end instantly. The friendly man standing in the aisle, gesturing at the purse I dropped in the seat beside me, is not the one my subconscious was hoping to find. An elderly gentleman with a kind smile waits patiently, while I scramble to clear his seat, so he can settle in beside me. I determinedly ignore the lump forming in my throat. I'm an idiot. Jack is already on board his plane to New York, I'm sure. His bags are already loaded. Time to let reality settle back in.

  When the last stragglers come aboard, the flight attendant walks by offering bottles of water. "Ma'am, I'm going to have to stow your cane in the overhead bins," she says, when she spots mine tucked between my legs.

  "Is there time for me to use the bathroom?" I ask, wanting to splash some cold water on my face before the flight home.

  She peers toward the front of the plane before answering. "Sure, looks like some people are still getting settled in. The ones in the back are not occupied," she suggests, stepping back to allow my neighbor to get up and let me out. I apologize for the inconvenience and find my way to the toilet.

  I take my time, wiping at my runny mascara and dabbing my blotchy face with cold water. The face looking back at me in the mirror looks softer than I've seen it in a long time. Sure, there's sadness in my eyes, but there's also a new glow to them. Add the blush staining my cheeks, as well as the plump, well-kissed lips, and I look more alive than I have in years. Determined not to spoil the little taste of heaven I've allowed myself to sample, I plaster a smile on my face and step out of the little cubicle.

  Back at my seat, I'm about to sit down when the flight attendant rushes toward me. "Ms. Mason? Would you mind coming with me? We've had to move things around a little."

  A bit perplexed, and not just a little irritated, I follow the young woman to the front of the plane. "Excuse me," I call out, as she heads into the first-class section. "I think there's been a mistake." I secretly hope the mistake is in my favor. I've always wanted to feel the comfort of the first-class seats. Instead of two on either side of the aisle, this section has one seat on one side, two on the other and the chairs are nice and wide.

  "No mistake." She smiles as she indicates the far window seat in the row of two beside her, and I slide in without another word. I know better than to argue a good deal. The aisle seat beside me is vacant. I can't believe my luck as I tuck my purse under the seat in front of me.

  The first thing that hits me is the scent. The moment it hits my nostrils, my stomach twists and churns. Still bent down, I glance to my left to find a familiar pair of old, scuffed up boots, sticking out of softly aged jeans.

  "I couldn't do it," his deep voice rumbles close to my ear, and I slowly lift my upper body. "I couldn't just leave it at that," he says.

  "But..." I can't manage coherent thought at this moment, although my head is spinning with questions. Jack's eyes are warm on my face, and his hand cups my chin, holding me in place for a kiss I never thought I'd taste again. "What does this mean?" I ask when he pulls his mouth away. My fingers trace the contours of his face, the fact he is sitting beside me has not quite sunk in yet.

  "It means I can do my meeting in New York via FaceTime. I can edit my photos anywhere, as long as I have my equipment, and I want to do all of it, knowing that when I look up, I can see your face across the table. I'm coming home with you to sort out how we can make this work. I have my house in Montana, so..."

  "Montana?" I'm sure my squeal was loud enough to be heard in the furthest recesses of the plane. Jack's soundless chuckle shakes his shoulders.

  "Is that bad?" He wants to know, still with a smirk on his face.

  "It was only on my bucket list of places to visit. I've been keeping an eye on events there, so I could try and get in," I explain. Jack tucks his arm around me and pulls me into his body, his mouth close to my ear.

  "I make good money, but I don't need much for myself. The house is my sanctuary. I love traveling, but I love coming home as well. And Bernie, if I can come home to you, it would be even better. Maybe we can discuss you spending some time in Montana with me when we get to Toronto?"

  "I still can't quite believe this is happening," I mutter, pushing my nose into his chest just to know this is real. "It's so fast. Is it fast? Are we crazy?" His hand lifts my chin, as he drops his head to look into my eyes.

  "It's happening if you want it to happen. And it's probably crazy and fast, but it feels right. Does it feel right to you?" he asks, not blinking. All I can do is nod. It does. It feels right. And crazy and fast and completely impulsive but very right. "I'm no spring chicken, and even though I don't know how old you are, I'm pretty sure you're no spring chicken either. Whatever it is we have between us—we roll with it. We seize the day and every day after. We live our dreams, but we do it together. One day at a time." He
rubs his nose alongside mine. "What do you say?"

  I swallow hard before answering, not because I need more time to think, but because I want him to know I mean it with all my heart.

  "One day at a time."

  About the Author

  Freya Barker inspires with her stories about 'real’ people, perhaps less than perfect, each struggling to find their own slice of happy. She is the author of the Cedar Tree Series and the Portland, ME, novels.

  Freya is the recipient of the RomCon “Reader’s Choice” Award for best first book, “Slim To None.” She currently has two complete series published, and the is working on two new series; the Snapshot Series, and Northern Lights. She continues to spin story after story with an endless supply of bruised and dented characters, vying for attention!

  Connect with Freya Barker

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  To read other titles by Freya Barker and to learn about upcoming releases, please visit her website.

  Cock-Block

  by W. Ferraro

  “She’s gorgeous.”

  “She’s perfect.”

  “She’s so damn sexy.”

  She’s my best friend’s little sister.

  I

  It started out so simple.

  Moving to Angel Hill was terrifying enough to a shy nine year old. Not having siblings to share the nerves with was bad. Throw in starting at a new school, then add in that Mom and Dad were now separated, and you had on your hands a possible reason to be catatonic.

  But that all changed the day Mom and I pulled into 1148 Sugarloaf Lane, all because the Maynard’s lived at 1150 Sugarloaf Lane.

  I don’t even think I was out of our old station wagon before a gangly boy with messy brown hair and chocolate on his face hopped over the picket fence. He asked if he could have a ride on my shiny apple red BMX that was strapped to the top of the car.

  From that moment, Levi and I had been inseparable.

  Bonding over our mutual love for the green, you know the best one, Power Ranger and pulling all the Oreos apart, licking out the cream and sticking the unwanted outer cookie back in the package. Let’s not forget the immature thrill of who could fly down Bird Hill on our bikes without being creamed by a car. All typical highlights to any nine-year-old boy’s life.

  If you wanted to find one of us, you just needed to look for the other. We were even gracious enough to allow Levi’s annoying little sister, Prue, to join us. Well, you know, when his mom and mine yelled loud enough at us to include her.

  As far as we were concerned, Levi and I deserved medals for allowing pony-tailed, freckled face Prue to join us. All she did was ask if she could have a turn with whatever we were doing. Didn’t matter that we told her we were doing boy stuff; she insisted whatever we did she could do too.

  God, even when we would sneak off to the creek for a dip in the water on the hot July days, she would trail behind. She never gave it a second thought to strip off her clothes, like we did, leaving her in only her small pink ribbed under shirt and panties while we were in our briefs.

  No matter how much we told her not to follow us and to leave us alone, she squinted her eyes, defiantly jutted out her chin and held her head high and followed right along.

  Hell, we were coming up with rather stupid and not necessarily safe things to do just to deter her from following.

  Eventually Levi and I just learned to ignore her. However, there was always a nagging part of my brain, which knew I needed to watch out for our little trio rather than a duo. The screaming alone when it came to her discovering a bug in her vicinity or whatever she found to be “icky” in that moment was enough to drive that knowledge home.

  Hell even when we chose to stay home, play video games and just eat cereal right out of the box, Prue was always next to us, drinking the milk that would otherwise be used for our cereal.

  After a few summers of creek swimming and battering bruises from ill thought stunts, Prue decided her attention was needed elsewhere. She chose to spend times with her little friends or preferred to stay at home, rather than trying to keep up. If you asked me then I would have never admitted it, but a part of me missed her. The same part which started noticing her absence more and more with each passing day.

  So, I thought it my duty to watch her more closely when she was in the vicinity, you know for one could never be too careful.

  After all, what kind of best friend would I be, if I let anything happen to Levi’s sister?

  Now up until this point, my concern for Prue was all completely innocent. However months turned into years and soon you had adolescent turning into a teenager before turning into adulthood. Raging hormones, some immensely developing bodies, terrifyingly tighter fitting clothes and you have entirely different dynamic.

  Prue Maynard was no longer the little kid that had little pink bows on her undershirts and ice cream cones on her panties. No not at all, now her warm chestnut hair hung down her back in lush thick waves. Her ice blue eyes were expressive yet tucked away in long dark mysterious lashes. Her pouty lips were now full and cherry red, just begging to be tasted.

  Remember that milk she drank when we were eating our Cocoa Puffs dry, well what they say is completely true; milk does a body good.

  She could be the fucking poster child for the statement.

  Her body, fuck it was a description all in its own. Just thinking about it is enough to have me panting like a Pomeranian seeing the mailman. She had a gorgeous sun-kissed glow. Her body was tight and fit in places it should be and curvy in others. Basically, she was all soft, womanly curves in a runway model package.

  I’m finding myself with a lessened ability to see her in the “older brother’s friend whom I’ve known forever role” and more into the “holy shit, I want to hit that!” role.

  I mean fuck, I wake up on a day like today, estimated eighty degrees and nothing but blue skies and sunshine. My immediate thoughts turn to what color bikini is Prue going to wear?

  Which in turn leads me to roll out of bed with an already impressive hard-on from a vivid dream staring the previously discussed lady. I then text my best friend to see if he is up to hanging out at his place just so I have an excuse to see if my guessed color choice is hit or miss.

  One wicked cold shower, an unexplainable time making sure my hair looks just right, and twenty minutes later I’m on the Maynard’s back deck in a lounge chair. I sit next to one filled with a too small blue triangle-cut bikini top with matching boy short bottoms as the woman filling out the indecent swimsuit applies sunscreen to her legs.

  With my head tilted back and my dark brown eyes covered by my mirrored aviators, I watch intently as her dainty French-manicured tip fingers rub that white cream into the luscious flesh of her lower limbs.

  My nostrils are filled with the smell of coconut, and my hands go to rest behind my head to ensure I don’t do something rash like reach out and take over the job for her.

  Definitely, no pink bows and ice cream cones here, nope definitely not.

  “Yo Wren, my man, what’s up?”

  Turning my head I see my best friend come out on to the deck, carrying two long neck bottles and a stupid ass smile, all I can think is...Damn! I’m fucked!

  II

  Taking the cold beer bottle from my friend, I move my legs to straddle the lounge chair as he sits down, on the end of it. He taps his already open bottle to mine in salute before his attention turns to his sister.

  “Don’t you have work today Prue?” Levi asks his sister as he takes a long pull from his alcoholic choice of breakfast.

  I watch as she finishes with her legs, and begins to rub the excess sunscreen on her upper arms before taking a lazy swipe above her bikini top.

  “No, Emma and I took the weekend off to hang by the pool. It sucks being stuck inside with crotchety people when it’s gorgeous out and I just want to soak up the sun. Besides, I think I deserve some time off for my birthday.”

  “That’s right,
the big eighteen!” I rave, giving the impression I had forgotten.

  She’s legal. Too bad her sir name wasn’t someone else’s though.

  “So Emma’s coming by?” Levi asks none too nonchalantly, ignoring the part I think is marvelous.

  Prue reaches for her brother’s open beer, which he pulls out of her grasp just in time before tilting her head toward him and asking, “You know you should play a little hard to get Lev, you are as see through as plastic-wrap.”

  She then quickly reaches over, pulls the unopened bottle from between my legs, effortlessly twisting the top off and taking a comparative chug to her brother’s.

  I’m praying neither Maynard notices the sudden bulge in my jeans from both her hand being in such close proximity to my dick and the way her throat is working.

  With a smile, I know all too well, one that I’ve seen develop from a stupid boyhood dare to one that could only be compared to that of a jungle predator, Levi says, “Why not put my full intention out there? Emma is a hot little number and I would not mind getting to know her in every way there is.”

  “You’re a chauvinistic pig you know that brother of mine?” Prue snorts, before taking another drink of the beer she has yet to give back.

  I’m going to sit back and enjoy the fireworks.

  “How so?”

  Now you are in for it my friend.

  Second to only her beauty, I can see the sexy spark of Prue’s anger getting ready to put her brother in his place.

  I’ve been on the receiving end of her anger and I’m not ashamed to say it is both terrifying and exceedingly arousing.

  Draining the remainder of what was once my beer, she finishes the liquid, places the now empty bottle on the deck next to her chair, swings her legs over so she is now facing both of us. Yet all her attention is on the man at the end of my chair.