by Ann Denton
Some of my other favorites were quick jabs: “I just saw a squirrel eating your nuts.”
“Look down past your fat gut!”
“Lost your balls? Taint nothin’ you can do about it.”
“Check your pool table. Or the golf range.”
“Maybe your balls crawled up into your asshole when they saw your ugly face.”
“Did you throw them out with the Christmas tree?”
“What the fuck you need balls for? Just get a woman to tell you what to do.”
“You’re responsible for putting away your own toys young man. It’s your own fault if you lose them.”
“Did you slap your scrotum around? Maybe it’s got the balls to leave you.”
Apparently, everybody loves a good ball joke. I’m pretty sure every neighbor called or did something to Shane Paul because of those signs. Even as I laugh at each and every ridiculous comment Heather shows me, it all just reinforces what I already know. People are jerks. Relationships aren’t worth it. At the end of the day, my pain is just a punchline in someone else’s joke. Laughed at one second, forgotten the next.
Chapter Five
The matchmaking company sent over another hundred pre-screened male candidates for Heather's harem. That's in addition to the two hundred I went through before. There’s a box at my feet of rejected men and I still have seven folders left in my hands. I feel like I've stared at thousand photos of men. I don't know how fucking matchmakers do it. I could just let the company make the final picks, I guess. But something about that feels wrong. I stuck with it today, but now, I'm literally just flipping through the stacks and rejecting guys based on whether or not they have good teeth. I only read the file if their smile is good. I figure good teeth equals good hygiene and a dental plan, therefore a steady job. Or that's what I convince myself in order to justify my picks for the island. Heather only wants ten quality guys. She doesn’t want to be too overwhelmed by choices. I picked out the new doc, an accountant named Tim, a personal trainer … I forget the rest. I made sure the company didn’t send over anyone in the oil and gas industry. Shane Paul’s climbing that corporate ladder and all those big wigs know each other. I stare at the last seven files. I have one spot left. I sigh and pull a folder at random. Uno has a wild card right? Why not harems? Maybe fate will be at play and this guy will be the one.
I glance at his name. Jeremiah Bible. I snort. Yeah, chances of him being the one are slim to none. Once Heather hears that name, she’s gonna run for the hills.
I toss him in the keeper pile anyway. There’s still eight good choices and the new doc I’m holding out hope for in the mix. One rando shouldn’t be a biggie. Who knows? Maybe he’ll be some rock star. He had a leather jacket on.
I rub my eyes.
Heather bursts into my apartment. She's changed up her hair, going for a sleek, straight black with deep purple peekaboos.
“Nice hair,” I tell her.
She waddles over to me and waves me out of my chair. She plops down, legs spread wide like a guy. "Brazil is the worst country in the entire world. How can women do this to themselves on the regular?"
I laugh. “You waxed?”
“It hurt like a bitch. Think I traumatized the poor Vietnamese lady who did it. Though you know what? She told me I needed hoo-ha surgery to tuck those lips back in.”
My jaw drops. “She didn’t!”
Heather nods, “I totally didn’t tip her.”
I shake my head and grab myself and Heather some sodas. “Good for you.”
“I also might have told her I was gonna buy her shop and fire her ‘cause she sucks at customer service. Can you help me do that?”
I burst into laughter. “Sure. Let me get right on that.”
“I’ll pay you more.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re already paying me too much.” In addition to the loan, she’s paying me for organizing this crazy-ass, harem-seeking island adventure.
Heather presses her lips together, “About that—”
“No! No more money!” I hold my hand up and take a sip of my soda. With the hundred fifty grand from this event, I’ll be able to pay her loan back and put a down payment on a house. Maybe even upgrade my car to a newer one, if taxes work out. I’m currently driving a badass 1998 Acura with ripped seats that are hidden by seat covers. But it would be awesome not to get poked in the ass by ripped seat cushions while I drive. Or to have windshield wipers where the spray actually sprays and I don’t have to carry around a water bottle with a hole cut in the lid so I can squirt on glass cleaner any time I need to clean my windshield. I dream of a car built in the twenty-first century.
Heather snapping her fingers brings me out of my visions of semi-used Toyotas, slightly dented Dodge trucks, or grandma’s prized Oldsmobile.
“Are you packed?” she asks.
I nod. “Yup.”
A huge grin lights up her face. The mischievous kind. The kind she used to get when we were neighbors as little girls and used to sneak cookies at one house, only to go to the other and sneak more—our mothers none the wiser. “I can’t believe this is actually happening,” she says.
I grab my suitcase. “Me either. It’s crazy.”
I pick up the stack of winning candidate files and tuck them into my big-ass purse. “Ready when you are, H-bomb.”
She rolls her eyes, “You’d better not tell anyone else that nickname.”
“I won’t.” I smile. I won’t unless she goes nuclear. Which is why the nickname is such a perfect fit.
She drives us to the airport, where we’re supposed to meet a pilot for the private jet we hired. I’d never done it before. It’s like Uber. Fancy-ass plane for hire by the hour. We fly out to this island, then it flies back, picks up the guys in Florida and brings them to the island. The pilot hangs out with us, on call for the excursions I’ve been frantically planning.
“So, this pilot’s name is Alec Mars,” I remind her.
“Ooh, a pilot, maybe I need one of those in the harem,” Heather jokes.
We are led through the airport by a short guy in a black suit. He leads us around back to a hangar where a sleek, sexy white jet is waiting.
Staring at the jet makes everything feel more real. I've never been on a plane in my life. I've been to other towns in Oklahoma, but I've never left the state. Now, I'm headed to some tropical paradise. I stop and stare at the plane, letting reality sink into my skin like sunshine. A giggle bubbles out of my throat, and soon I'm laughing at the fact that this is my life. I mean it's Heather's lotto win, but everything in my life is about to change. Is changing. I can feel it. Once I step on that plane, I'm not just gonna be another small-town Okie girl who lives and dies on the streets her mama walked. I’m gonna have a stamp in my passport and a big-ass complicated event on my resume. I take a deep breath to calm myself.
A husky voice behind me asks, "First time on a private plane?"
"First time on any plane,” I reply, turning to look at the speaker.
I have to look up, up, up. I'm 5'6" but the guy standing just behind me is massive. He's gotta be at least 6'3" and with his thick arms corded with muscles and his massive chest, I could easily imagine him playing football in high school or college. His black hair is shaved close to his head, his lips are only emphasized by the light scruff on his face, and his dark brown eyes ride the line between intense and very intense. They’re like a smack on the ass. The good kind.
Right now, those eyes are focused on me. My cheeks heat.
“Sorry, I bet it’s annoying to have a first-timer—”
His hand touches my shoulder, “Nope.”
There’s a moment where he stares, and I swear I see a hint of a smile on his lips. Just the slightest curl. That hint makes my knees tremble.
“I’m Alec. Your pilot.” He pulls his hand away and he strides off, nodding to another guy in the hangar and stripping off his leather jacket.
I’m left shocked, dazed, mesmerized like a fucking cat with a las
er light. I turn to watch him walk away. I can see his back muscles flexing under his collared shirt. Holy shit. I might need a fan. Or an AC. Or maybe a tiny igloo shoved onto my lady bits.
Alec the pilot is smoking hot.
Heather comes up beside me and appreciates the view as Alec checks something on the wings and then boards the plane, his delicious ass muscles flexing beneath his starched black pants. “He’s not on my list of candidates, so he’s fair game,” Heather says as she watches me visually assault Alec with my porn eyes.
My eyes snap over to her. “No. Don’t even think it. Not gonna happen. I’m working.”
“Your panties just caught on fire in front of my eyes,” she says, way too loudly for an airport hangar. Her words echo and Alec looks over.
“My face is the only thing catching fire right now,” I hiss. “Stop it.”
“You deserve—”
“This trip is about you,” I hold up a hand to stop her. “I need to stay focused on you.”
Heather chews her lip as she watches me, weighing how serious I am.
“I’m serious,” I tell her.
“I can see that. But, um, other things may already have been set in motion.”
My nostrils flare. “What did you do, Heather?”
She shrugs, innocently, picking at the fringe on her brand-new designer purse. “I thought that maybe this trip could be a learning experience for both of us.”
I turn to look at her and narrow my eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Heather holds up her hands. “I know you’re upset about you-know-who. But you’ve carried that with you for years. And you’ve settled since. You knew Jeremy was a total dickwad and dated him anyway. And then took forever to break up. And then agreed to be fuck-buddies. Tell me the truth. Was that his idea?”
I shrug.
Heather shakes her head. “You’re too non-confrontational. You just let people walk all over you.”
“You included,” I spit out.
She tilts her head and puts a fist on her waist. “Not the same thing. I’m not feeding you full of bullshit lies like your pussy isn’t good enough or you aren’t fun enough to be around, or—”
“You called me a stick in the mud five times last week.”
“Only because you refused to get matching tattoos with me.”
“I don’t want your lotto number on my ass! It’ll make me look like some kind of escaped prisoner.”
Heather rolls her eyes. “Stick in the mud.”
“See?” I wave a hand at her.
“Have you ever cried because of anything I’ve done?”
“I cried when you cut my doll’s hair and gave her a mohawk.”
“I was practicing for my future!” she gestures at her own hair.
“You could see all the pinholes. If you held her up through the light, it shone straight through her skull and dotted the sidewalk!”
“Now, you’re just being dramatic.”
“No, it happened.”
“OMG. I’ll buy you a new doll. Okay? We were kids. My point is, I don’t make you cry. And you do stand up to me.”
I raise a brow at her.
“You aren’t getting a tattoo are you?” She takes my silence as affirmation she’s right.
“Anyway, I was thinking … you had, like, a really hard time being honest with Jeremy.”
A black car pulls up outside the hangar and Heather’s eyes flicker toward it before she settles her blue gaze back on mine. “I think you need to work on being honest. And calling people on their shit. So… I kinda hired someone to help with that.”
I squint at her. “You hired me a fucking therapist? That’s low. I’m not that fucked—”
“Not a therapist,” she shakes her head and grabs my hand. She starts pulling me away from the plane and toward the black car.
“We don’t have time for this,” I grumble.
But that’s when the car door opens. A man’s tennis shoe pops out, followed by a lean, tanned leg, followed by sports shorts, a t-shirt, and a face that makes my jaw drop. I turn to stare at Heather, not believing what I’m seeing. She gives me a full-teeth sorry/not sorry smile.
“So, we meet again,” a smooth tenor voice says.
I turn back to the guy who’s slid out of the car. Danny, the liar from the law office, stands in front of me, his blue eyes twinkling.
I give Heather a what-the-fuck glare.
She gives me a little shrug and says, “I hired Danny to be our tennis and golf instructor. Did you know he plays golf, too?”
I don’t respond. I’m fuming. I’ve had to coordinate endless events for this thing. Endless. I’ve sorted through half the damn males on the planet to find her some harem candidates. And she’s saddling me with a fucking liar on staff? Why? To distract me? To torture me?
“Every time you call him on a lie, I’ll pay you an extra five grand,” Heather says. “But for every lie he gets away with, you lose five grand.”
I explode. Inside, a huge anger bomb just bursts, shredding my guts and sending smoke out my ears. She’s gonna fucking try and pull that kind of shit on me? “You can’t do that!”
Heather shrugs. “Rich people are assholes. What can I say?” And with that, the rich bitch just walks away.
I glare up at the liar. “You’d better not make me lose any money.”
He holds up his hands, pleading, “I’d never—”
I shake my head and start to walk away.
“She’s paying me to be honest.”
“That’s a fucking lie,” I shout back over my shoulder.
“Shit,” he grumbles.
Suddenly, I’m hoping that I picked out ten crazy losers who will annoy the shit outta Heather. Because she’s certainly just found a surefire way to annoy the shit outta me.
She’s bribing me, threatening me, and torturing me all in one. My best friend shoulda’ joined the army when that recruiter hit up our high school, insteada’ just trying to get him to smoke pot with her by the track. She’d have made a damn fine general.
Fuck her.
This means war.
Chapter Six
“Shot gun!” I call as I climb the steps and board the plane. I stride past Heather and make a hard left for the cockpit. I slide into a seat and pull out my laptop. I’m pissed.
Right now, I’m seriously considering changing one of Heather’s dates from rock climbing to some donkey sex show. I google how to find those stupid-ass things and get sucked in by some video that claims boys fuck donkeys to make their dicks bigger. That’s when a throat clears behind me.
“Umm…”
I turn to find Alec the hot pilot staring at my screen. As I stare up at Alec, a man on screen says, “I used to go into the hills every Sunday to fuck donkeys.”
Shit! My entire body burns from embarrassment. I start to sweat. I can’t believe he saw this. I can’t believe I opened that tab. I was just so mad. I slam the laptop closed. “Sorry. Looking at revenge tactics.”
Alec’s eyes widen slightly, but his voice retains a dry steady tone as he says, “You’re gonna force an ex to fuck a donkey?”
I sigh. “I wish. I was thinking of making you fly Heather to go watch a donkey sex show instead of taking her on one of the dates I planned for her group.”
He nods, as if that’s completely reasonable. “Well … just let me know what you decide.”
I let out a nervous laugh. “Will do. I take it you’ve had stranger assignments?”
He nods but doesn’t explain. Then he gestures toward the plane’s cabin. “It’s time to take your seat.”
I bite my lip and stare up at him. “I wanna ride shot gun, if that’s okay.”
He opens his mouth and I see he’s about to make me go sit with the liar and the bitch so I rush to say, “Otherwise, I’m gonna do worse things to Heather than make her watch donkey sex.”
Alec cocks his head. “She more than a boss to you?”
“Best friend. Since we were s
ix.”
Alec nods. “Alright then. But you have to move. That’s my seat.”
I go cherry red as I scramble to pack up my laptop and then try to scoot to the other captain’s chair without rubbing my ass against Alec. I fail. Somehow. Even though I try to make myself as small as possible, when I shuffle sideways to the other seat, Alec’s front rubs against my ass. I freeze. I’m not sure how to react. Fuck. His thighs are pure muscle. I can smell his cologne. It’s soft, almost like baby powder mixed with spice. And I think I feel—
Alec moves into his seat before I can be sure. I sit in my new seat and just stew on my own embarrassment for a little while. I’m like a fucking cow chewing cud, just repeating that motion over and over again in my head. Did I really feel his thing? Did I?
But Alec doesn’t say anything. So maybe he didn’t think it was on purpose. Or at least, hopefully, he’s not offended and doesn’t think I did it on purpose. Hopefully, he’s not mad at me and being quiet because he’s mad at me.
I realize I’m letting my anxiety get away with shit. I try to shut it down and distract myself. I glance over my shoulder to check that Heather’s seated in the cabin. As I do, I realize that there definitely should have been enough room for me to get past Alec without touching. He had plenty of room to move back in the aisle. My lady parts throb at that realization. Alec the hot pilot just rubbed against me. On purpose.
Like a stupid schoolgirl, this realization sends me spiraling into shy mode. I can’t look at him. Can’t talk to him. Holy mother fuck. My palms get sweaty and I wipe them on my cheap sun dress. Suddenly, I’m embarrassed that I wore a cruddy blue flower print dress and cheap flip flops to fly on a jet. I wish I’d have let Heather buy me new clothes like she wanted. Expensive ones. Alec’s probably used to seeing beautiful, well-kept rich women day in and day out. I’m probably just some strange, poor little weirdo to him. Double shitty shit fuck. I reach for my laptop again, but Alec’s hand shoots out and wraps around my wrist.
Immediately, my thoughts go to visions of him pinning down both my hands as he—
“No electronics up here, sorry. It’ll mess with my instruments.”
