The Pecker Briefs

by Sawyer Bennett

  My mother sniffs at me in an offended way, but she’s mollified somewhat that I called her Mor, which is Swedish for mother.

  But I’m really not what’s important. She’s found something far more interesting, and she turns her attention to Ford. This is not surprising in the least. If my mother is in a room with a mixture of people, her attention has always been on the male persuasion. She steps forward and holds out an elegantly manicured hand loaded with sparkly jewelry. “We didn’t formally introduce ourselves earlier. Tilde Sjögren.”

  Ford leans toward her and shakes her hand. “Ford Daniels.”

  He tries to pull his hand away, but my mother doesn’t let go. She brings up her other hand to clasp his tightly. “It is an absolute pleasure.”

  I want to roll my eyes, but I stopped doing that over my mother’s antics around the time I decided to get emancipation. It’s when I realized my mother has a true nature, and it won’t change.

  Tilde turns to me, still clamped down on Ford’s hand, and purrs, “He’s quite a catch, Viveka.”

  And then she leans toward me and gives a little giggle that sounds absolutely ludicrous. She lowers her voice as if Ford can’t hear her, but he totally can. “If I was just ten years younger…”

  She lets that hang in the air, an invitation to the man who might be interested in what she just offered.

  Ford merely pulls his hand away from her. He steps over to me where he puts his arm around my waist. It’s an overt move and completely unnecessary if he did it to soothe me. I have never been jealous of my mother’s overtures toward other men before.

  I watched her try it on anyone I dated as well as my ex-husband. One thing I can say is the modeling business built my skin up very thickly, and I learned how to let a lot of stuff roll off my back. Moreover, I am a confident woman. What I just did to Ford in my bedroom rocked his world, and there was no way he’d be looking twice at Tilde for that.

  My mother, of course, does not like this rebuff. She fully expected me to giggle right along with her as if we were the oldest of pals. She also expected Ford to flirt with her, because let’s face it… most men do. She’s an exquisitely sexy woman.

  “What are you doing here, Mor?” I ask lightly, and her attention comes back to me with narrowed eyes.

  I’ve offended her with my cool tone and in my refusal to play her games. She lets her eyes roam over me critically, and I brace for her bitterness.

  When she brings her eyes back to mine, she says, “Honestly, Vivvy… What are you doing to yourself? Have you gained weight?”

  Ford’s body goes rigid beside me at the overt slap my mother just gave me. I hate that Ford doesn’t know enough about our relationship to realize this is par for the course. I am sure he’s shocked at her behavior.

  But if he is going to stick around for any length of time, he needs to learn and the best way is to observe firsthand.

  I give my mother a bright smile instead. “I don’t know, Mor. I don’t own a scale. I stopped worrying about what I weighed years ago. Right around the time I stopped modeling, actually.”

  And then I dig the knife in because my mother is itching for battle, and I always refuse to give it.

  Instead, I give her the most flattering compliment I can. “But you look amazing. I only hope I can be as beautiful as you are when I get to be your age.”

  Ford makes a choking sort of noise and my mother blinks at me rapidly as if she can’t understand what I’m saying. She has no clue if I’m joking or making fun of her.

  I’m not. What I said was absolutely true.

  My mother gets frustrated that she can’t figure me out. The only way she knows how to get the upper hand is to try to tear me down further. She has never forgiven me for abandoning modeling and consequently abandoning her.

  My mother turns to Ford as she throws a thumb my way. “That one threw away an amazing career. She could have been famous. One of the highest earning models in history. But her lack of ambition was her downfall sadly.”

  Again, I struggle to stop the eye roll. This is Tilde’s version of mom guilt, and she’s laying it on thick. Unfortunately for her, it stopped having an effect on me long ago.

  When Ford’s body locks tight beside me again, I know he’s taken great offense.

  I open my mouth to distract my mother as this is starting to get awkward, but Ford is going to have his say. “I think your daughter’s ambition is perhaps greater than any I’ve ever seen before. She put herself through college and law school. Used her brains to get ahead in life. Now I don’t mean to malign the modeling industry or to make light of what hard work she put into that early career, but I imagine if you really knew everything your daughter has accomplished, you would indeed be a very proud parent.”

  Again like an owl, my mother just blinks and blinks, trying to understand what Ford said. In her world, men don’t appreciate women with intelligence. They want a sexy body and a beautiful face. It’s unfathomable to my mother to think otherwise.

  Using a bright, cheery voice I hold in special reserve to irritate the hell out of my mother, I say, “How long are you in town? Because Ford and I were on the way out the door for long-standing plans that we cannot cancel.”

  My mother sort of jerks as if stunned I’m not canceling my plans to spend time with her. Maybe I’m being an awful child by doing so, but the amount of loyalty I have for my mother due to our blood ties is nominal.

  “Dinner tomorrow night?” she proposes in a clipped voice. “I’ll be flying out Sunday.”

  I grit my teeth because there’s no way out of this without being a real bitch, and besides… she is my mother. She could still evolve, I suppose. And I never would want any regrets if God forbid something happened to her and I missed an opportunity to spend some time with her—however unpleasant it might be. “That will work.”

  “And Ford…” My mother turns her charms his way, leaning over and touching his arm. “You simply must come, too.”

  Um… no.

  Not going to let Ford suffer with me. “I’m sure Ford has better things to do than—”

  “I’d love to,” he says, giving my waist a squeeze, not as a reassurance but more of a warning for me not to argue with him.

  Alpha jerk.

  Hot jerk.

  My mother gives me a gracious incline of her head and a sweet—but fake—smile. “Call me tomorrow and we’ll firm up plans. I’m staying at the Renaissance.”

  Of course she’s staying at the Renaissance. There’s no way she would ever want to stay at my house because first and foremost, it’s not high class enough for her. I can’t afford twelve-hundred thread count sheets. Mostly, I know it’s because she brought her boy toy to North Carolina with her and she would want privacy.

  I pull away from Ford to walk my mother to the door. She turns and gives me an air kiss near one cheek and then another. She doesn’t even glance at Ford before she walks out.

  I shut the door, turning the deadbolt in case she decides to come back in. Slowly, I turn around to face Ford. I lean back against the door and give a long-suffering sigh.

  He grimaces. “So that was your mom, huh?”

  I blow out a shaky breath because for all of my confidence I’m able to show my mother when I’m face to face, it’s quite draining to deal with her. “That’s my mother.”

  Ford walks to me and pinches my chin lightly between his thumb and forefinger. He tilts my head up to look at him. “How did you turn out so normal?”

  I place the palms of my hands on his chest and give him a little pat. “Who’s to say I’m not a whack job?”

  Ford’s grip on my chin tightens, and his eyes darken slightly. “You are not a whack job. And I’m an excellent judge of character.”

  “You’re sweet,” I tell him.

  I go to my tiptoes, which dislodges Ford’s hold on me, and I press my mouth to his for a soft kiss.

  When I come back down to my heels, Ford wraps a hand around the back of my neck. “I think
you’re amazing. And maybe perhaps your greatest accomplishment wasn’t putting yourself through school, but rather deciding not to be the type of person your mother is.”

  My stomach flops over, and there is a sweetly aching pain in the center of my chest. It’s not just that Ford always seems to say the right things, but that he says them without any thought.

  It means that what I am hearing is coming straight from his heart.

  And I have to say, a girl could really get used to this type of honest talk from a man.

  CHAPTER 17

  Ford

  “Who chose the restaurant? You or your mom?” I ask Viveka as we pull up in front of The Second Empire. It’s one of the most expensive restaurants in Raleigh, and they have amazing food and the top-notch service to justify it.

  She shoots me a smirk as the valet opens her door. “Who do you think?”

  I pop my door open as I give her a return grin. “Your mother, of course.”

  Viveka turns to step out of the car but then immediately looks back to me, reaching out to touch my arm. “I’m getting the bill. No arguments.”

  “You’re what?” I ask, because I think I heard her right but maybe I’m mistaken.

  “Getting the bill. My mother won’t pay, and God knows it’s going to be enough that you have to suffer, so you’re not paying for this extravagantly expensive meal and terrible company.”

  She doesn’t even wait for me to acknowledge her command, just slides out of my front seat using the valet attendant’s hand he offers. I just watch her. I have to say, Viveka in a sleek dress that comes just above her knees in normal circumstances but rides up to mid-thigh while she sits in the front seat of my Porsche is something to behold. I had thought about driving my G550 but a dress like that deserves a Porsche. My gaze lingers on her ass until the valet shuts the door, cutting me off from sight.

  I exit my car and toss the keys to the attendant when he comes around the front of the car to meet me, then push a five-dollar bill into his hand.

  “Thank you, sir,” the kid says, but I ignore him.

  Viv waits for me with a serene expression on her face. That’s good. I think mentally she’s ready to do battle with her mom if necessary, but she’s going to try to take the high road the entire evening.

  I also think she’s extra adorable given the fact she thinks she can pay for this meal tonight.

  My hand goes to Viv’s lower back as I escort her into the restaurant. I don’t see her mother but that doesn’t surprise me. She looks like the type of woman who is always going to arrive fashionably late.

  I give the maître d’ our name. Within moments, someone appears at his side to escort us to our table. As Viv starts walking away, I lean into the maître d’. “I’m not sure when the rest of our party will arrive, but please go ahead and send the sommelier to our table.”

  The maître d’ dips his head. “Of course, Mr. Daniels.”

  “And also make sure I’m given the check at the end of the meal. Despite what anyone else at the table says.”

  I get another gracious smile. “I will see to it.”

  Sorry, Viveka. You’ve been overruled.

  By the time we’re seated at our table, made a wine selection, and peruse the menu, Tilde still hasn’t shown up. This is fine by me because that means I get more alone time with Viv.

  She sits to my left at the round table designed to hold four. I hold a glass of Pinot Noir up, and she mimics me. We clink our glasses together and she says, “Here’s to really good wine getting us through the evening.”

  “Amen,” I say before I take a sip.

  When I set my glass down, I reach across the table to take her hand. I like holding her hand. It’s as simple as that. “What are we going to do tomorrow?”

  I ask this because it’s a given I’m going to stay at her house tonight. Tomorrow is a Sunday, and the weather is going to be fantastic. It’s ballsy and egotistical for me to assume we’ll spend the day together, but when I see something I want, I always go for it as if I’m going to get it.

  “I don’t know what you are doing,” Viv says with a sly grin. “But I’m volunteering at a dog shelter tomorrow.”

  “So what does that mean… volunteering at a shelter? Because if you’re talking about playing with puppies, I’m in.”

  Viveka laughs and shakes her head. “It means we have to clean out cages and give the dogs baths.”

  I grimace only slightly before recovering with a confident smile. “All right. Volunteering at the dog shelter tomorrow.”

  Viveka takes another sip of her wine, staring at me over the rim of the glass. When she puts it down, she gives me a very pointed look. “You know you don’t have to do that, Ford. That’s kind of my thing, and I do it a few times a month. It doesn’t have to be your thing, though.”

  This is interesting. Us exploring the boundaries that perhaps as a couple we should put in place. We still need to maintain our own lives for sure, but that doesn’t mean we have to.

  I poke around the edges to see what she really means. “Do you like to play golf?”

  She blinks those baby blues. “Um… I’ve never tried it. I’m not really into sports.”

  Yeah, well, I’m not really into cleaning up dog shit, but I’m adventurous.

  “Would you go golfing with me if I asked you to?”

  She’s so fucking cute when she tilts her head as she ponders. “I suppose so.”

  I give a nod. “That’s good. Because you see, golfing is kind of my thing. And it might be your thing, too, but you won’t know unless you try it. Just like cleaning dog shit out of cages might be my thing, but I won’t know unless I try it.”

  She nods her head. “You know… you’re actually making sense to me.”

  I laugh in response and give her a wink. “I’m glad you see things my way. So cleaning out dog cages and golfing is next on our agenda as a couple together.”

  “Are we? A couple?”

  “Of course we are,” I chide, because she should have no doubts. We’ve decided to fuck bare once she’s adequately protected, and she’s going to get in to see her gynecologist to get on the pill this week. But then I give her a lecherous grin. “Unless you’re into threesomes. That can be hot.”

  I thought it would embarrass her and I really was only teasing, but she doesn’t even blush.

  “Me, you, and another guy?” she purrs and then licks her bottom lip. “I can totally be into that.”

  I have no fucking clue if she’s teasing or not, but the tightening of my pants as my dick starts to harden tells me I hope to God she’s not kidding.

  Before I can fathom the truth, though, I see her mother walking toward us with a man trailing behind her who appears to be in his late twenties.

  Tilde is wearing a scandalously low-cut dress that dips well below her breastbone and exposes the interior swells of her cleavage. It’s white silk, gathered around her waist, and comes down barely far enough to cover her ass. The man walking behind her has his eyes pinned to said ass, as does about every other male patron she walks by. Tilde is aware of the attention and it’s clear she actually thrives on it. I wonder what will happen to her when she reaches the age that she won’t get that attention.

  I find it fascinating Tilde walks just like Viveka. Long legs in a confident strut with hips swaying and arms swinging. I don’t for a second think Viv mimicked her mother’s walk just because she was first into the modeling thing. I would bet a year’s salary that Viv patented her own walk on the runway and her mother copied it.

  I lift my chin up to indicate to Viv that her mother is walking up behind her. She takes in a deep breath through her nose and blows it out through her mouth before she turns to look over her shoulder. Because I’m a gentleman and a lady approaches, I stand. Manners would dictate that Tilde’s date pull her chair out for her, but she doesn’t give him an opportunity. She walks to the chair to my right—furthest from her daughter—and looks at me almost imperiously.

 
I cut a glance at Viveka, who is biting back a laugh, before I pull the chair out for Tilde.

  “Thank you, darling,” she murmurs graciously in response.

  I don’t respond but take my seat again, cutting another glance at Viv. She’s clearly amused, and that makes me feel much better about this evening. Viv has decided she can do nothing more than treat this like a comedy show.

  Tilde’s date takes the seat right across from me and glances around the table with a genial smile. He’s got perfect teeth and a perfect face, and I am quite sure he’s a model himself.

  When Tilde picks up her menu and starts perusing it without saying another word, I stand up from my chair once again and reach my hand across the table to the man. “Hey… Ford Daniels.”

  The guy bobs his head and stands up to shake my hand. “Jim Delvecchio.”

  Tilde’s eyes snap up from the menu to glare at her date as our hands break apart and we both sit back down. “It’s Carmine,” she instructs him with a good deal of censure in her voice. “You have to start using your professional name in all situations.”

  I turn to raise an eyebrow at Viveka, who just shrugs at me.

  I let my gaze travel to Jim a.k.a. Carmine. “Professional name?”

  The poor dude opens his mouth to answer me, but Tilde intervenes. “Yes, Carmine is his professional modeling name. So much snazzier than Jim. I’m his manager.”

  “Manager?” Viveka says with surprise, and I know exactly what she’s thinking.

  She’s thinking of those two years where her mother was her manager and all the ways in which she abused that position. Viv’s face is awash with empathy for poor Jim.

  Tilde looks across the table at her daughter and acknowledges her for the first time this evening, which is really shitty by the way. “It’s something I started doing on the side. You know, to keep me busy and occupied since Stephan still travels so much and is always working when he’s not.”

  I can see the light go on in Viveka’s eyes. I understand, too. That way, Tilde is able to travel with her current squeeze with impunity by hiding it under the moniker of a “manager-client” relationship.