The Cougar Chronicles 2

by Courtney Cole

  “Clean up all of these dicks,” Alli tells me. “Then don’t make any more trouble, or lord help me…”

  She stalks away and I don’t even have a chance to ask her how her fitting went.

  “Well, you’re welcome,” I mutter after her. “I didn’t even want to do this book club thing,” I tell Sam. He has the audacity to grin.

  “Don’t worry about it. She’ll get over it.”

  “I know that,” I say grumpily. “I know her better than anyone, trust me.”

  He almost looks doubtful as he climbs up on a ladder to start taking down the eggplant hooks.

  “Then surely you know that she needs to have smooth sailing this week,” he points out gently. “She’s already stressed out. Don’t add to it. I know you’re accustomed to being surrounded by drama, but she needs a drama-free zone this week.”

  “I know that,” I snap, and I do. And I’m ashamed of myself that I’ve let her down. “I won’t be hooking up with you this week,” I tell him. “I’ll just say that right now. That should take away some of her stress.”

  “I don’t recall offering to hook up with you,” he points out, but that’s ridiculous.

  “Everyone wants to hook up with me,” I tell him. “I’ve got a spinning ass, remember?”

  He bends backward to look, and nods. “Yep, you’ve got a nice ass. And a nice mouth. But you’re not my type.”

  “And why is that?” I demand, raising myself to my full height of 5’5”.

  “You’re too old,” he replies, and his eyes sparkle.

  I screech, and he walks away, as calm as he can be.

  Oh, hell no.

  He did not.

  But he did. And he’s gone. And he called me old.

  I’m smoldering as I clean up the rest of the office, swigging out of the tequila bottle every few minutes. I’m steaming when I dump the eggplants in the trash, and before I know it, I find myself lying in the middle of Alli’s bed, between she and Alex.

  “I’m sorry,” I blubber to my best friend. “But I cleaned up all the penises.”

  Alli holds my hand.

  “It’s ok,” she tells me, and I catch the gaze she sends over my head at her fiancée.

  “No, I mean it,” I insist. “I didn’t mean to ruin things, Alli.”

  “You haven’t,” she assures me.

  “But I have a crush on your brother.” Her grip on my hand tightens and then her fingernails bite into my palm.

  “I know,” she admits.

  “And he called me old,” I cry.

  “He’s on drugs,” she replies.

  “Really?” I ask hopefully, because that would explain it.

  She shakes her head. “No.”

  “Also, I’m drunk on tequila,” I tell them.

  “We can smell that,” Alex tells me.

  “This bed is crowded,” I inform them helpfully.

  “That’s because you’re in it,” Alex answers patiently.

  “I’m going to sleep here tonight,” I tell them, snuggling in between them.

  “I’ll get the bucket,” Alli sighs as she gets out of bed. I’m not awake when she comes back.

  * * *

  “So, I don’t know about you,” Alli tells me as she butters a croissant at breakfast. “But I feel fantastic today.”

  I groan. My stomach is turning a mile a minute, and I can still taste the tequila in my mouth.

  “I feel awesome,” I lie. She smiles.

  “So you’re in tip-top shape for my bachelorette party tonight?”

  Fuck me.

  “Of course I am,” I lie again. “I’ve got our pretty pretty princess tiaras all ready for us.”

  That part is true. I’ve always got our tiaras ready.

  “Is your bachelor party tonight?” I ask Alex. He nods. “Yep. We’re having it in Vegas, that way it’s convenient.”

  “Well, the night where you celebrate the last single night of your life should be convenient,” I agree.

  Alex pushes away from the table, patting me hard on the back. “Feel better today, Sar.”

  I nod, and the movement churns my stomach. He leaves and I turn to Alli.

  “When were you going to tell me about your brother?”

  “When you were safely married to someone else,” she answers honestly.

  “Good God, woman,” I snap. “You act like I’m the devil. I’m not.”

  “No, you’re not,” she agrees. “You’re his apprentice.”

  That actually makes me grin.

  “Thank you,” I say, as though I’m accepting a compliment.

  She glowers at me and takes a bite of bread. I stare out the window, watching Alex walk down to the fields, and he stands there, talking to Sam. I watch the sun reflect off of Sam’s hair for a bit before I return my attention to Alli.

  “Is Colby coming to the wedding?”

  Colby, of course, is Alex’s son. The one who used to work as an escort at Club Utopia, the one I talked Alli into hiring to launch her love-life back into action after her divorce. She didn’t know at the time that he was Alex’s son.

  “No,” she shakes her head. “He’s in China for six months for his job.”

  “Did you ever tell Alex about you and Colby?”

  She instantly shakes her head. “No. There was no need. It happened before him and I, and Alex told me I never needed to tell him of any escapade. Things aren’t weird between Colby and I. It’s all fine, Sara.”

  “Good to know,” I tell her honestly. “Have my boxes come for your party?”

  She’s hesitant now, as well she should be. She nods.

  “Yeah. They’re in the front room. There’s a lot of them.”

  I cackle. “Yep. And there’s even more being delivered to the club. I hope you take a nap this afternoon. You’re going to need it.”

  I make my way to the stack of boxes, and going through them, I find Allie’s outfit for tonight.

  I take it to her.

  “Wear this tonight.”

  She eyes the short cut-off shorts, cowboy boots, plaid shirt and cowgirl hat with horror.

  “You can’t be serious.”

  I pause. “You’re right. Hold on.”

  I run to the boxes and dig out Beauty Contestant sash. It reads BRIDE in rainbow sparkles on the white satin.

  “And wear this, too. We’ll put your tiara on the outside of your cowgirl hat.”

  “Is the theme for my party Rodeo Slut?” she asks doubtfully. I nod.

  “Of course it is, and you’ll nail it. Be ready by six. Look tantalizing. It’s your last night of being single.”

  “I’m not single,” she argues. “I’m engaged.”

  “Which is still single,” I point out. “We’re celebrating it tonight. Also, Sophie texted me. She arrives tomorrow morning.”

  Alli’s daughter is away at Berkley after graduating high school early. She’s the spitting image of her mother.

  “I just hope her dress fits,” Alli grumbles. “She’s cutting it close.”

  “She can’t help it,” I tell her. “She had exams this week.”

  “I know.”

  “Make sure you take a nap. And put cucumber slices on your eyes pre-emptively. And you might want to put tea-bags on your vag.”

  Alli freezes.

  “What?” I ask innocently. “It’s a trick I learned from you.”

  “It’s a trick for agitated skin,” she points out slowly. “My vag isn’t going to be agitated tonight. Is it?”

  I’m silent.

  “Is it?” she asks again, and there’s a hint of hysteria in her voice. I pat her arm.

  “Calm down, honey. It’ll all be over in a few scant hours.”

  I walk out and she follows me up to my room.

  “You didn’t hire escorts did you?”

  I shake my head.

  “Gigolos?”

  “Strippers?”

  “Prison Inmates?”

  “College boys?”

  “Ho
ckey Players?”

  “Caddies?”

  I shake my head no to all, but I have to admit, some of them would’ve been awesome ideas. I pull some clothes out of my closet and strip in front of her without shame.

  “I’m not telling you,” I finally say. “Just be ready. The limo will be here at six. It’s a party limo, fully stocked with all kinds of custom goodies.”

  Alli is positively pale as I shoo her out of my room, and even paler when I tell her to make sure her back is clean for the party.

  “My back?” she stammers. I nod.

  “Yeah. Just make sure your back is clean and dry.”

  “Do I want to know?” she asks, and I grin.

  “You’ll find out soon enough.”

  “I’m terrified,” she admits as she takes her leave.

  “Then my plan is working,” I call after her.

  “Devil’s apprentice!” she hollers.

  “Thank you!”

  I’m perfectly satisfied with myself and hum while I go over my list for tonight.

  Fun activities, check.

  Inappropriate behavior, check.

  Sexy clothes, check.

  The bride, check.

  Staring out the window, I see Sam again, and he’s sweaty and masculine and oh-so-hot.

  Love interest for Sara, check, check, checkity check.

  Eight

  Because you’ve gotta have goals

  I’m not one to sit back and wait for things to come to me.

  I go to them.

  Hell, I usually run to them with arms wide open.

  If life doesn’t send me trouble, I go looking for it. If life hands me lemons, I make lemon-drops.

  Oooh, lemon-drops sound delicious. I add vodka and lemon-juice to my list.

  As I concoct my grocery list, I ponder the mysteries of life.

  Such as… when was the last time I was with someone my own age?

  That was… well, surely it was… Gah. I think the last time was Ben Sherman in first grade. After that, I liked older boys until I turned twenty-five, and then I’ve been a younger-man lady ever since.

  What even happens to men at thirty-five? Ears sprout hair? Eyebrows rupture into bushes? Nose hair? Omigod…. Do their pubes turn gray so early??

  I text Alex quickly. Are your pubes gray????

  He ignores me. I know he’s ignoring me because I can see that he read my text, and he’s not answering so that must be a yes. His pubes are gray.

  Omigod. I don’t think I can deal with that. Gray pubes are wiry and gross.

  Yet… as I look out the window again, and Sam’s muscles gleam in the sun under a rich sheen of manly sweat… I dunno. I bet his pubes aren’t gray. He doesn’t have a single gray or white hair on his head.

  You know what? I don’t shirk from things. I’m not a shirker. So I’m gonna settle this thing once and for all.

  I quickly walk outdoors and I make a beeline for the sexiest man on the premises.

  Sam looks up at me as I make my way through the grapevines, and when I reach him, I’m practically limping because I didn’t think to put on shoes.

  “I’m just out for a morning stroll,” I tell him casually, trying to hide the fact that my right heel is bleeding.

  He’s doubtful.

  “Barefoot?”

  “Uh. Yes. It’s good for the skin. I read somewhere that walking barefoot in a vineyard is a great exfoliator. Plus, I might pick up some antioxidants from the soil.”

  He’s still doubtful. But lord have mercy, he’s sexy. The way the morning sun hits him in the blue eyes is… MONKEYS. My ovaries are fluttering and that’s bad for me. That means I’m apt to do something crazy.

  “Are you going to Alex’s bachelor party?” I ask innocently, plucking at a grape leaf.

  Sam moves my hand away from the leaf.

  “I’m hosting it,” he says. “So yeah, I’ll be there.”

  “So you’ll be in the limo tonight.”

  “Since we’re sharing it to Vegas, yes. I’ll be in the limo tonight.”

  “Well,” I mention. “If you’re throwing Alex’s party and I’m throwing Alli’s, we really should’ve been co-conspirators in this whole thing.”

  He chuckles. “I didn’t really need to plan. We’re drinking. Nothing fancy.”

  “Creativity is a virtue,” I sniff.

  He chuckles again, and Lord, he has a cleft in his chin. “I’m creative when it counts,” he shares, and I think I know what he means.

  “When is that?” I probe for clarification.

  He stares at me. “Does age interfere with your thought processes?” he asks, and then smirks. When I catch his drift, I gasp.

  “I am not old,” I breathe. “You are.”

  “I’m only thirty-eight,” he tells me. “That’s only three years older than you. If I’m old, you’re old.”

  “You take that back,” I insist. “Right now.”

  “Or?” He cocks an eyebrow and I swear to God.

  “Or I’ll never speak to you again.”

  “And that’s a punishment?”

  I gasp again, and then whirl around to stalk away in a dramatic exit.

  The problem, of course, is that I’m barefoot and something prickly is growing in these grape rows and even though I desperately try not to hobble, I hobble.

  I hear Sam laughing from behind me, and I straighten my back as much as I can, but JESUS LORD my feet my feet my feet.

  “Go ahead and laugh,” I call over my shoulder. “I’m getting blood on your grapes. I’m not sorry!”

  He laughs again, and before I know it, he’s breathing down my neck as he scoops me into his arms and then throws me unceremoniously over his shoulder.

  “I’m not a sack of potatoes,” I manage to eke out, because his shoulder is wedged into my diaphragm and God, I can’t breathe.

  “Hold still,” he tells me because I’m wriggling, and how could I not? He’s lugging me around like a sack of flour.

  “I’m too heavy,” I protest, and the other workers are laughing as they watch us.

  “You’re old, not heavy,” he tells me. I beat my fists on his back and try not to admire his hard muscles as I do. God, the man is ripped.

  “Put me down,” I demand.

  “In a minute.”

  He strides out of the field and toward the house, and I decide to just go limp. If he wants to carry me, power to him.

  Except that he carries me straight for the pool.

  As soon as I see it, I start to struggle again.

  “You wouldn’t,” I hiss.

  I can hear him grin. I literally hear his lips pulls up into a smile and I beat on his back and kick and scream.

  But he’s a monster.

  A ripped, chiseled good-looking monsters.

  He dumps me into the deep end.

  The water is so cold it takes my breath away and I come up sputtering and flailing.

  “I can’t swim,” I shriek.

  I flail around a bit more and gasp for air, and before I know it, the look on Sam’s face has gone from satisfied to horrified and he jumps in to save me.

  When he does, I stop struggling, and laugh and easily swim to the side.

  “I win,” I announce.

  I cling to the edge and he’s wet and glowering at me.

  “You know, my brother drowned when I was little,” he says, and HOLY GOD.

  I’m the monster. I stutter and stumble for something to say.

  “Oh, my God. I’m so sorry. Alli has never said anything. Are you serious?”

  He grins. “No. I win.”

  And with that, he hauls himself out of the pool and stalks away with wet boots.

  When he reaches the fields, he turns around and grins at me, and he’s so ornery, so confident, that I can’t help but nod in appreciation.

  It’s possible… I think… maybe…I may have met my match.

  Nine

  Cowgirl, let’s be hoochies

  “Alli, God. You ha
ve to dress like a hooch,” I tell my best friend at five-fifty-eight pm. “Alex, please tell her. It’s the last day that it’s acceptable for her to be hoochie.”

  Alli stands before me, elegantly attired in a black pencil skirt and red silk blouse. It even has a bow tie. It’s wayyyyy too refined for what I’ve got planned.

  Alex grins at her. “You look lovely, Alli-Cat.”

  “Lovely is not the right look for a bachelorette party,” I tell them both. “Get your skinny ass back upstairs and put on the outfit I gave you. We only have two minutes. Go.”

  I give her a little shove and she glares at me over her shoulder but she trudges up the stairs.

  “Scoot, scoot,” I prod her.

  She glares again and then disappears down the hallway.

  “You’re going to love this outfit,” I tell Alex. He chuckles.

  “I always love her outfits.”

  “Stop being so diplomatic. You’re seriously going to love this.”

  He rolls his eyes and in two minutes, I hear the stomp of cowboy boots on the stairs. I smile because Alli has her outfit on… even the I’m the Bride sash.

  “Yayyyy!” I cheer and Alex cracks up laughing.

  “Howdy, lil cowgirl,” he kisses her forehead and pats her denim-clad ass. “You moseying along in these parts for somethin’ in particular?”

  Alli glares at him, then me. And then I hate her because she looks adorable in the hat. “Here,” I shove her princess tiara on over the hat. “Now you’re perfect.”

  “Perfectly trashy,” she corrects.

  “Either way,” I agree.

  The party limo pulls up and I can see the neon running lights from here. Hallelujah. We’ve got a night in front of us.

  I’m climbing in after Alli when Sam saunters over to us. He looks at me knowingly.

  “You dried out yet?”

  I glare at him and Alli looks from me to Sam. “What are you talking about?”

  “Oh, nothing,” I tell her. “Your brother just tried to drown me today. No big deal.”

  He guffaws like a donkey as he situates himself next to Alex and the stripper pole.

  “Is that a ….” He eyes it.

  “Yes,” I tell him defiantly. “I requested it.”