by Denise Wells
“Oh, I can beat that,” I say.
She looks at me, eyes wide.
“Later,” I say. “After we get home.”
“You’re on,” she says.
I lift her down from the vanity and help her straighten her clothes. She turns to look at herself in the mirror, frowning as she pats down her hair and dabs under her eyes.
“You look beautiful,” I tell her.
“You’re required to say that,” she says. “You just got me off with your fingers inside me.”
“With impressive precision and speed,” I add.
“Well, as long as not everything you do is with impressive speed, we’ll be just fine.”
“First you want fast, now you want slow. Make up your mind, woman.”
She smiles up at me, and I’m reminded once again how lucky I am to have this lady in my life. And how careful I need to be to keep her. Because I am winning my bet in thawing the ice queen. Now it’s just figuring out how to keep her warm once I tell her it’s a bet.
Chapter 33
Remi
We go back down to finish dinner after our bathroom interlude. He’s right, I am exponentially more relaxed and ready to continue to take this family on. I’m pretty sure this is the first time I’ve ever met a boyfriend’s family.
Oh shit.
Did I just call him my boyfriend?
Fuck.
I’m getting so far ahead of myself with this. I pause my thoughts in my head to see how I feel. But, oddly, I’m okay. I know it hasn’t been very long, but so far, he fits into my life really easily. My friends like him. The sex is off the charts. And, on the flip side, I seem to fit into his life as well.
I mean, I adore his family. And they seem to like me. If you had ever asked me if I would enjoy an afternoon filled with noise and chaos and socializing, I would have said fuck no. But I’ve had a really good time today; it’s like I belong. I’m welcome; wanted even. It’s an incredibly addicting feeling.
Maybe this can work. People meet in strange ways all the time. He doesn’t ever have to know it started as a bet. That I had to keep seeing him for a month or I would lose. Maybe he’d even find it funny. I laugh slightly to myself. He squeezes my hand as we reach the dining room. The family has resumed eating without us and the conversation has turned to sports. Apparently, the entire gang is passionate about baseball. Mike, Audrey’s husband, used to play professional baseball, which is how he met Audrey.
A fairy tale type story the way she told it to me. He was first to bat and got on third base. The next two guys were struck out. He saw her in the stands cheering like a fanatic, against his team, and was smitten. He had a ball-boy go ask for her number, which she refused to give because he was on the opposite team. Charlie snuck it to the ball-boy when Audrey was in the restroom.
Mike kept calling until he wore her down. They talked on the phone, texted, and emailed for close to a year before Mike got traded to Oakland, where he played for almost a year until he was injured. They dated, he went to law school, they got engaged, and are now married. Mike works as a sports injury attorney and Audrey is a freelance writer. And she’s pregnant with their first baby. They are perfect.
Chance pulls my chair out for me, and we take our seats and resume eating. The baseball conversation gets heated but remains respectful.
“Remi, who is your favorite team, dear?” Annalise asks me, speaking around the debate.
“I don’t think I—”
“Just say ‘A’s’,” Chance whispers.
“I don’t even know who the teams are,” I say.
Conversation at the table halts, all heads turn to look at me. Even Hailey stops chanting and cocks her little head in my direction.
I clear my throat. “Except for the ‘A’s’,” I say.
“Damn straight,” Brian thunders.
“Thank God,” Audrey says at the same time that Mike says, “I thought we were going to have to oust you just when I was starting to like you.”
“Nice save,” Charlie says to Chance as Nate says to me, “Smart choice given this crowd.”
“A’s. A’s. A’s,” Hailey yells.
“That’s right, Hailey. We love the A’s, good girl!” Eliza tells her.
Chance runs his hand along my thigh in what I’m sure is meant to be reassuring. I make a mental note to never bring up baseball to this family. At least not until I figure out how the hell the game works. I mean, I know the basics, there’s a bat and a ball and bases.
“Don’t worry, beautiful, I will get you up to speed before the next family dinner,” Chance whispers in my ear. I shiver as his lips skim my lobe. The thought of another family dinner freaks me out almost as much as it warms me from the inside out.
“There’s not even body contact in baseball,” Chance says to the table. “Let’s talk about a real sport. Like rugby.”
“Oh no he didn’t,” Audrey says.
Which sets everyone at the table off and running at the mouth again. I feel a nudge on my knee and look down, thinking it’s Chance sneaking his hand up my skirt. I’m only slightly disappointed to see Hudson’s big brown eyes looking up at me. He nudges my hand with his snout, trying to get me to pet him. I run my hand along the top of his head and scratch between his ears He, in turn, licks my skirt where the bulk of my food had fallen before.
I laugh to myself, knowing his tongue and saliva is going to kill my Dupioni silk skirt. But at the same time not really caring.
Today has been worth a hundred skirts.
Chapter 34
Chance
Remi pulls her jeans from the saddlebag and puts them on surfer style under her skirt. Then pulls the skirt off over them and folds it into the bag. I hand Remi her leather jacket and she puts that on along with her helmet. I’m proud of her for how well she’s adapted to the bike. Especially for someone who’d never ridden before.
I help her on behind me and we take off. Her hands snake up under the waistband of my coat to rest on my stomach. My abs contract automatically, they like it when she touches them.
“It’s a good thing you aren’t ticklish in the front, huh?” she says into my ear. I chuckle then nod in response.
We make it back to her house in a short amount of time. I park in the garage, but instead of following her in the house, head down the driveway to take a look up and down the street. It’s habit, looking for anything out of place.
“How long has that blue car been parked out there?” I ask, almost positive it doesn’t belong to a neighbor. I feel like I’ve seen it before, but not because it belongs here. Because it doesn’t belong here. It’s parked in too awkward a spot, and none of the residents on this block even park their car on the street. I shut the door and lock it behind me.
She shrugs in response to my question.
I move to the front window and look out, the car is pulling away, the driver obscured by a ball cap and sunglasses. I decide to leave it be for now and continue checking periodically over the next few days. Maybe send a cruiser or two by Remi’s house. Something about the car bugs me, I just can’t pinpoint it.
What I really want to do is fuck Remi so hard she can’t walk. But, instead I grab us both a bottle of water, sit on the couch beside her, and pull her feet up onto my lap so I can rub them. My ulterior motive being I want to see how she feels about meeting my family.
Plus, I can’t fuck her again until I tell her about the bet. She leaves in a couple days for a multi-day conference, and I need to know we are all good before then.
She groans as I push my thumb into her instep. I love the sounds she makes. I never thought of myself as a foot guy until I met Remi. She has the most beautiful feet and toes. They are always soft and clean, showcased in some kind of beautiful shoe.
“So, what did you think?” I ask, not able to wait any longer. I don’t know when it became important to me that Remi like my family and vice versa, but it did. And now it’s all I can think about: how best to incorporate her into my life an
d make sure all parties involved are good with it.
“Your family is amazing,” she says. “I’m going to be honest with you, I didn’t think families like yours existed outside of tv shows and movies.”
“How do you mean?” I switch to applying pressure to the balls of her feet, she squirms in response.
“My God, I could come just from this,” she says sinking farther into the couch and closing her eyes. I stop and pull on her pinkie toe. She opens one eye and looks at me quizzically.
“You didn’t answer my question,” I say.
“What was the question?”
“How do you mean, you didn’t think families like mine exist?”
“Oh, well, just that you all genuinely like each other. You hug and touch, you enjoy one another’s company. There’s love and respect there and it’s obvious from how you interact.”
I raise her foot and kiss the top of it lightly, trying to show her how her words make me feel without having to interrupt her. I sense she’s going to say more on the subject.
She continues, “My family and I are not close. At all. My parents had me late in life. An accident. I wasn’t planned or really wanted.”
I run my hand up her calf and squeeze lightly.
“They weren’t neglectful, I mean not in a literal way, I always had everything I could ever need,” she sighs, then keeps talking. “Money, shelter, schooling. Just no communication or interaction. No holiday get-togethers, no birthday parties, no family dinners. They sent me to boarding school in first grade and left to travel. My next youngest sibling had just entered college and that’s what they’d been waiting for.”
I want to pull her in my arms and tell her that she has me now. But the closed off look on her face and the tension that’s suddenly filled her body tells me that’s a bad idea.
“My brother and sister take their cue from my parents and have never really tried to contact me. It used to bother me, a lot. But now I’ve accepted it for what it is. And I don’t really think about it until I see families like yours, who are so different it’s jarring, you know?” She looks up at me. I reach over and caress her cheek. She closes her eyes at my touch and leans into my hand. We stay that way until she pulls away.
“I’m lucky to have a family like mine,” I say, leaning back and switching to her other foot.
“You are,” she says. “Oh God, please never stop touching me.” She gives me a look that I swear is adoring. She adores me.
Because you’re the man.
Oh shit.
I can't do this.
I can't tell her about the bet. She’ll leave me if I do. And, I especially can't tell her that I've already taken money for it. It's going to make her feel cheap when she's anything but.
“Do you know what I liked the best about today?”
“What?” I ask, loving the feel of her smooth skin in my hands.
“You are all just so real with one another. There's no bullshit between you, it's straight up honesty whether you like it or not. I've only ever seen it between me, Kat, and Lexie. Which I thought was so rare that it didn't happen with other people. But, your family, you all do the same.”
“Well, they're your family, right? Lexie and Kat?”
“They are, yes,” she says softly. “Growing up, my biological family, we were so secretive about our feelings, whether they were positive or not. I hate that. I hate secrets.”
Aw, fuck. If I tell her, I lose her. If I don't tell her, I lose her. How do I win here? Maybe it will be okay, and she'll understand.
Doesn’t matter. It’s now or never.
“There’s something I need to tell you,” I say. I know that this is not a good time or even the right time to bring this up. But I also know I won’t have another chance before she leaves for her conference.
She straightens and pulls away from me, eyes wide.
“That’s never a good way to start a sentence,” she says.
“It’s not a bad thing,” I say. “In fact, I think you’re going to find it funny and ironic. We’ll laugh about it.”
Her body visibly relaxes.
“So, I overheard you and Kat talking the night of the movie at Lexie’s winery.”
She looks off to the side slightly, as though trying to remember which conversation I might be referring to.
“About a bet, with a pair of ridiculously expensive shoes.”
She gasps and bolts up straight, pulling her feet away from me.
“Look,” she says looking at me, eyes wild. “It’s not like—”
“It’s okay,” I say.
“What do you mean, it’s okay?” she asks, confusion overtaking her facial features.
“I had a bet too,” I say.
Her brow straightens from confusion to understanding to irritation and her eyes narrow.
“What do you mean you had a bet too?”
“I had a bet. About you and I and whether—”
“You made a fucking bet about me?” she asks. Her voice becoming shrill and her face turning red.
“Well, yeah. But you made a bet about me.”
“We aren’t talking about me right now, we’re talking about you.”
“Really we are talking about both of us,” I say.
“Don’t try to change the subject,” she says. “What the fuck do you mean you made a bet?” Her look getting more menacing as she talks. I back away slightly toward the other end of the couch.
“Okay, first you can’t get upset about my bet when you had a bet too.”
“The hell I can’t.” She stands up and starts pacing in front of her couch.
“I’m not upset about your bet.”
“Of course you’re not, you got laid.”
“Yeah, but unless we count phone sex, it’s only enough to win half my bet,” I chuckle.
She stops.
Her head turns toward me in almost slow motion, but her body stays still. More Terminator than Exorcist, but still jolting.
“What did you say?”
Okay, clearly this is not going the way I’d anticipated.
Earth to Chance, recovery mode required, stat.
“Uh...”
“Did you have to fuck me in your bet?” Her voice rising to near shrill levels.
I debate trying to make something up. But I’m not so good with lies on the fly.
How is she not seeing the humor in this?
“Twofucksfourdates,” I say fast, hoping she won’t understand.
“You bet you could take me on four dates and fuck me twice?”
I exhale slowly. I don’t want to answer this. I wish fights were more like police press releases, where I can choose to neither confirm nor deny her question.
I stand up and go to her, putting my hands on her upper arms and running them up and down slightly.
“How about if we relax and sit down, we can talk about this. I’ll tell you the whole story. It’s kind of funny we both had bets about the other, right?”
She stands stiffly, not moving, not relaxing. I guess it’s good she’s not moving from my touch. But maybe not good that she’s also not responding.
“What do you get if you win?” she asks. Her voice is hard and emotionless.
“What do you get if you win?” I ask back.
“I keep my shoes.”
“Your nine hundred dollar shoes?”
“Yes.”
I run my hands through my hair.
Who the fuck buys nine hundred dollar shoes?
“I do,” she says. I can’t tell if she knew what I was thinking or if I said that aloud.
“I get two thousand five hundred dollars,” I mumble.
“Excuse me?”
“Twenty-five hundred. Well, I already got a thousand two fifty, so now it's just the other half.”
“You already got...? Jesus Christ. Un-fucking-believable. Who with?”
“Who with what?”
“Who is your bet with?” she asks.
“Alex.”
/>
“My Alex?”
“Yes.” I wince as I say it. This looks so much worse than it is. Or else it really is that bad and I’m a complete and total asshole.
“I can’t believe what an asshole you are.”
I guess that answers my question. She resumes pacing, her steps getting faster with each lap.
“It’s not that different. You have a bet with your girls, I have a bet with my guys,” I say.
“Guys?”
“Well, not guys, per se. The bet is only with Alex.”
“You said guys. Who else knows about it?”
I hang my head. “Brad Matthews and Ethan Shane.”
“Brad and Ethan know?” Her voice is shrill again. “As in Kat’s fiancé Brad and his partner Ethan?”
I don’t even feel the slap until my head is thrust to the side.
“Remi, goddamn, that hurt, what the fuck?”
“You disgust me.”
“You slapped me.” My cheek stings, she can pack a punch.
“You deserve it.”
“You had a fucking bet as well!”
“I didn’t bet whether I could get you to fuck me.”
“Well, what did you bet?”
“That doesn’t matter,” she says.
“If my terms matter, then your terms matter.”
“I had to date someone, the same person, for a month,” she says.
“How is that any different?” I ask.
“You prostituted me.”
“Technically, beautiful, I prostituted myself.”
A sound comes from her, not quite a scream, not quite a growl, maybe somewhere in between. She picks up a magazine off her coffee table and throws it at me.
I duck from instinct, but in reality, it comes nowhere near me and just flutters to the floor. Which just seems to make her angrier. She slumps to the floor and puts her face in her hands. I’m pretty sure she’s crying.
I crouch down next to her, “Remi, baby, look at me.”
“Go away,” she says.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. It started as a bet, but it became real for me, fast.”
“Fuck off.”
