No Laughing Matter
Lennox Brothers Romantic Comedy
Talia Hunter
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
About the Author
Also by Talia Hunter
Chapter One
Carlotta
I wasn’t having the worst week of my life.
But only because I ate an awful lot of crap sandwiches when I was a kid. Metaphorically speaking.
There were some foul-tasting, unpleasantly chewy chunks in the sandwich life had served me this week, no denying it. But given a little time—and maybe a few dozen martinis—I could fix it. At least, that’s what I was telling myself as I hauled my suitcase up the run-down wooden front steps of my mother’s house.
Home.
For the first time in ten years, I was home to stay.
And I was really trying not to hate it.
But the wooden boards under my sneakers felt dangerously soft, as though they’d been so worn down by life they were thinking of giving up completely. A jasmine vine had spread so far across the wall, it was smothering the windows on one side of the house. The sickly stench of its flowers mingled with the smell of dog poop that wafted from under the porch.
And worst of all, I had no idea who my mother would pretend to be.
Neverland and the Emerald City were more real to Mom than California. She was the reason I’d been teased at school because I’d had no idea dragons or witches were make-believe. I’d assumed everyone had conversations with trees, and left bowls of milk out for fairies.
Thanks to the school bullies, I’d realized Mom wasn’t just separated from reality, she’d filed for permanent divorce.
Lifting my hand to knock, I squared my shoulders and lifted my chin. No matter what fantasy world Mom was living in, at least now I knew what was real. Besides, maybe she’d become more grounded since the last time I saw her. Perhaps she’d answer the door in a pair of sweatpants and ask how I was. She might even want to hear about my life and offer some kind of sensible advice to help me fix my career implosion.
Okay, not that last bit. I wasn’t completely deluded.
The door swung open. My mother was wearing an enormous layered dress, complete with petticoats—one of her Shakespearean costumes. She was holding a tumbler half-full of a clear liquid that was probably Gin.
“Carlotta!” She threw her free hand in the air like she was on a stage. “You’ve reached safe haven. Come in quickly, before our enemies see you.”
Nope. Nothing had changed. As silly as it was to think it might, my stomach still tightened with disappointment.
What, you were expecting a hug? I silently asked my clenched stomach. Because doesn’t everyone talk to their body parts?
“Hi, Mom,” I said. “Thanks for taking me in. It won’t be for long. I’ll head back to LA as soon as I get my career sorted out.”
But my mother had already swept away into the living room with her full skirts swishing around her. And if I followed, I’d be returning to her world where fantasy twisted its way into reality until it became all but impossible to unravel them.
Maybe it wasn’t too late to get back in my car and drive right back to LA?
If only I hadn’t already sub-let my apartment.
With a resigned sigh, I hauled my suitcase into the small living room that now held even more books than I remembered. Enormous floor-to-ceiling bookcases were packed so full that books were overflowing onto the coffee table, dining table, and floor. The room even smelled like books, a musty, old paper smell.
“Let me guess.” I motioned to Mom’s dress. “You’re teaching Shakespeare to your class?” Somehow she still held down a job as an English teacher at San Dante High School. I could only imagine how bewildering her parent-teacher meetings must be.
“Two households, both alike in dignity, in fair Verona.” She set her glass on the coffee table with a dramatic flourish.
“Romeo and Juliet?”
She bobbed a curtsey. “I’m the nurse.” As she straightened, Mom tugged a piece of candy from her sleeve, unwrapped it, and stashed it in her cheek. She sucked on hard candies like a chain smoker puffed on cigarettes.
“Where’s Xul the Destroyer?” I asked, looking around. “Is he okay?” It was weird that Mom’s elderly Basset Hound hadn’t greeted me at the door.
“If you’re referring to my faithful canine companion, his name’s now Lennox.”
“Excuse me?” I frowned. “Did you say you’ve decided to call him Lennox? As in Edward Lennox?”
Edward Lennox was Mom’s neighbor and sworn mortal enemy. I would have thought I was past being surprised by anything she did, but surely she wouldn’t have renamed her beloved old dog—quite possibly the only thing she’d ever truly loved—after the person she hated most?
“That’s right. Lennox is in the garden.” She led me to the back window, and I saw Xul digging in the rows of vegetables Mom liked to grow so she could pretend she was living in The Little House On The Prairie.
“But Edward Lennox still lives next door, doesn’t he?” My uncomprehending gaze went to Edward’s house, which was visible through the back window. “Why on earth would you rename Xul?”
“Allow me to demonstrate.” Mom pushed the back door open and stalked onto the porch, standing at the top of the steps that led down to the garden. “Lennox, you shameless mongrel,” she bellowed at the top of her lungs. “Desist your foul explorations! Extract your filthy snout from the dirt!”
Xul ignored her, intent on living up to his real name. Over the years, Xul the Destroyer had been responsible for a lot of dug-up vegetables. He had a thing for carrots.
Next door, a face appeared in the window, peering out with a scowl. No doubt Ed Lennox had heard Mom’s shout. The woman who’d sublet my apartment in LA had probably heard it.
“Do you really have to do that?” I asked.
“Indeed I do.” She looked gleeful. “It vexes Edward Lennox sorely. I only wish I’d thought of it a few years ago, when his hearing was better.” She raised her voice again, bellowing even louder. “Lennox, you filthy cur! You despicable mongrel!”
The dog in question didn’t seem to notice that he was being yelled at. I couldn’t blame him. He’d been Xul for all of his twelve years, and probably assumed Mom was yelling at somebody else.
Still, I went past Mom and down the back steps to get him. Just because I’d lost my capacity to feel any embarrassment didn’t mean I wanted my mother to keep yelling at poor Xul.
I was at the bottom of the steps, near the fence, when the back door of the Lennox house opened. A man jogged down Edward’s back steps, moving more quickly than I would have imagined sixty-something-year-old Edward Lennox would be able to go. He stopped at the gate that separated the two properti
es and stared at me, as though surprised to see me.
It wasn’t Ed Lennox.
This man was huge, with wide shoulders and bulging biceps. He was my age, and I recognized him instantly, though he had a scar on his neck that hadn’t been there last time I’d seen him.
“Mason Lennox?” I was so shocked, I said his name like a question, as though I expected him to answer.
More shocking was the fact he did answer. “Hello, Carlotta. It’s been a long time.”
“Wow. You actually spoke to me.”
As well as the scar running down the side of his neck that disappeared under his T-shirt, there was another scar on his forearm. A long line of light, ridged skin cutting up lengthways. Could he be Jason Momoa’s sparring partner? A bare-knuckle boxer? Or a stunt double for the Incredible Hulk?
“What are you doing in San Dante?” he asked.
“What are you doing here?” I wasn’t about to explain my career disaster, and how I’d come home to give myself time to get back on track. Not when looking at him made me feel so unbalanced.
Mason was my first. Well, to be clear, though he claimed a lot of firsts from me, the one thing he didn’t take was my virginity.
But at thirteen years old, he was my first crush.
At fifteen, my first kiss.
He was the first boy to touch my boobs.
And most importantly, the first to break my heart.
But there was nothing boyish about Mason now. He was a man mountain, made up of muscle, hard edges, and a dusting of stubble, wrapped in a thick layer of sex appeal that was only enhanced by his scars, and the whole powerful-and-dangerous look that was definitely working for him.
He wore a faded gray T-shirt that had to have steel reinforcing for the seams to still be holding together, and he wasn’t so much wearing his jeans as allowing them to hug him. Tightly.
Unfortunately, in spite of the way he’d treated me, he hadn’t developed any deformities. Instead, just looking at him made my legs weaken.
Don’t be ridiculous, I told them sternly. He’s not that good looking.
My legs didn’t bother to reply. They knew I was lying.
Mason Lennox had grown into the manliest hunk of manhood I’d ever seen. So the universe must have decided my crap sandwich wasn’t already chewy enough.
“I’m here visiting my family.” Mason leaned against the fence that separated the two back yards and I was momentarily afraid he’d take the entire thing down.
“Me too,” I said. “I’m staying with Mom.”
“You’re not moving back to town?”
“No way.” The idea forced a shocked laugh out of me. “I’ll probably just stay for a week. Maybe two. Three at the most.” Coming here had bought me a little breathing time with my bills. Time I’d use to figure out if there was a chance I could get my sponsorships back.
Mom hollered from the back step. “Lennox, you foul wretch, stop licking your penis!”
I didn’t get embarrassed. Ever. A childhood with my mother had inoculated me against shame. Constant exposure to it had acted like the world’s strongest vaccine, which meant I could laugh in the face of humiliation. In fact, I’d made a career out of encouraging young women to be happy in their own skin. My humor was shameless, and though it meant exaggerating my own flaws and exposing the most personal parts of my life, my cheeks no longer remembered how to blush.
So when Mason’s brow furrowed, why did they feel a little warm?
Mason looked toward my mother, his expression a picture of puzzled confusion. Unfortunately, that only encouraged her.
“You malodorous animal!” she bellowed even louder. “Lennox! Remove your tongue from your genitals this instant!”
Mason’s eyes were a very light, cold gray with just a hint of blue, like an ice storm in Antarctica. And as he turned his polar gaze back onto me, I felt it again. An utterly foreign sensation of discomfort: warm cheeks and a prickle across the back of my neck.
Whatever it was, I didn’t like it.
“Mom’s renamed her dog,” I explained. “She isn’t yelling at you, she’s yelling at the dog.” I dropped my gaze to Xul, who was licking his balls with vigorous enthusiasm. “And she’s hardly being fair,” I added. “If humans could do that, none of us would ever stop.”
Mason let out a surprised laugh, and I bent to pick up Xul, interrupting his testicle appreciation session. As I hoisted him in my arms, he swiped his tongue across my cheek and over my mouth.
Mason's eyes widened with horror.
I choked, trying to wipe off testicle-flavored saliva with one arm while keeping hold of the wriggling, affectionate mutt with the other.
Mason wrestled with the gate for a moment, then came through to our side, tugging something out of his pocket with one hand. A white handkerchief, like a peace offering. “It’s clean,” he said.
I dumped Xul on the ground to take the handkerchief, using it to wipe my face. Dragging it across my lips, I made the mistake of inhaling deeply. It smelled of male cologne, an oaky male scent that made me think of handsome shirtless woodcutters chopping giant trees as tiny beads of sweat ran over their burly chests and rippling stomachs. I’d clearly been on a sexual starvation diet, because the scent sent tingles to my womanly parts and made my thighs tremble.
It also must have addled my brain, because I blurted, “You smell nice.” Then I remembered how hurt I’d been when he’d stopped talking to me. “I mean, you smell slightly better than dog testicles.”
He snorted another laugh, then shook his head. “I’d forgotten how funny you can be.”
“How would you even know? This is the first time you’ve spoken to me in fourteen years. And by the way, you still owe me an explanation for the way you treated me back then.”
“An explanation?” His brow furrowed. “But you know why everything happened the way it did.”
“Are you crazy? How could I possibly know, when you refused to tell me?”
His puzzled frown deepened and he opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again. Shaking his head, he glanced back at the house where I could see his father scowling at us from the window. “I’d better go back in before Dad’s head explodes.” He held out a hand, wordlessly asking for his handkerchief back.
Though my still quivering thighs suggested I shove the fragrant handkerchief in my pocket so I could enjoy sniffing it later, I ordered them to pipe down and handed it over.
“Well?” I asked. “An explanation?”
Instead of answering, Mason turned to the gate that separated our two properties. As he opened it, Xul gave an excited bark and bounded through, pushing past his legs.
“Xul!” I called, but the dog ignored me. He ran to Mason’s father’s back stairs, lifted his leg and shot a stream of pee all over the bottom step.
“I’ll get him,” I told Mason, my voice almost drowned out by my mother’s triumphant whooping.
I hurried through the gate, past Mason, to the foot of the stairs. As Xul bounded out of my grasp, the door at the top of the steps crashed open, and I caught a single glimpse of a red-faced, furious Ed Lennox, his outrageously hairy eyebrows crashing together like two skinny Pomeranians in a fight to the death.
I just had time to notice he was upending a large jug. Then an icy blast of water hit my face.
Gasping, I staggered backward. I wiped my eyes, breathless with shock. Cold water ran down my neck, dripping onto my T-shirt.
“Wha—?” I spluttered.
“Get your filthy dog off my property!”
“Dad! What did you do?” Mason was by my side in a moment, and this close I realized how wide his chest and arms really were, like he’d swallowed a barrel and it had gotten stuck halfway down.
“You’re wet,” he said to me, as though I might not realize my Zombies Hate Fast Food T-shirt was plastered to me and there was a cold breeze blowing. He put his hands on me, wrapping his big fingers around my upper arms. His touch was hot and he was towering over me. T
hen his scent hit my lungs, and it was even more delicious than on his handkerchief.
I could count the times I’d previously been lost for words on the fingers of no hands, and an observation like, ‘You’re wet,’ deserved a quick comeback. But incredibly, I couldn’t think of a single smart-assed retort. All I could do was stare up at Mason’s handsome face and nod.
His irises were so much like shadowed glaciers, it should have been impossible for them to transmit a feeling of heat. But he was staring at my wet T-shirt as though I had D-cups. And when his gaze lifted to tangle with mine, it was hot enough to dry my shirt in a matter of seconds.
“You cowardly fiend,” yelled Mom. “You despicable wretch! How dare you attack my daughter?”
Ed Lennox harrumphed. “If your dog pees on my property again, I’ll have it taken away and locked up.”
It was such a ridiculous threat, my voice—and my sarcasm—came flooding back with a vengeance. I stepped back, breaking contact with Mason. “Remind me, what’s the phone number for the Doggy Detention Squad?” I called up to Edward. “Or were you going to call the Society for Stopping Soggy Stairs?”
Edward gripped his jug with one hand and pointed with the other. “Get out of my yard, devil spawn! Back to your side of the gate.”
“You lump of smelly ass dandruff!” shouted Mom. “You vile bumbaclot!” She sounded like she was enjoying herself.
“You can’t go around throwing water on people, Dad.” Mason’s tone was sharp. “Apologize to Carlotta.”
“Apologize for what? I had to wash dog pee off my step and she happened to be in the way.”
I gave a loud, derisive snort.
No Laughing Matter: Lennox Brothers Romantic Comedy Page 1
