Lotto Men: A Reverse Harem Romantic Comedy (Lotto Love Book 1)

by Ann Denton

  Kenneth gives them a head nod. “Just a minute.”

  He escorts me to the door and kisses me on the nose. “Lean in. I want to tell you a secret.”

  I lean closer and his lips brush my ear as he whispers, “I’m going to think about you every time I make these fuckers a naughty dessert. And the next time you’re in my kitchen, all of you is on my menu. And my menus take hours to finish.” He grins, leans away from me, and nudges me slightly into the hall.

  My mind just explodes. My lust-ometer is in the red zone. My panties are swimming. I stumble away from the kitchen thinking ‘thank fuck he doesn’t do relationships.’ Cause that line right there? That woulda’ brought me to my knees with a ring if I was that kinda’ girl. Damn. There is another kind of ring I like, though. A cock ring. I didn’t pack one, but I’m sure there’s one in the million boxes of sex crap Heather ordered.

  I go back to my villa and search, intending to ravage Kenneth in ways he’s never imagined.

  Unfortunately, I don’t get the chance. The cuntcake incident sets off a number of alliances. Every single one of them demands multiple baked goods from Kenneth. So, my poor, dripping cunt has to take a backseat to the frothing lovepit that Heather’s villa becomes over the next three days as every damn alliance strives to compete in the sex war. There are serenades, horrid ear-withering poems, and even a trek through the tropical forest to gather flowers.

  Unfortunately, tropical flowers come with tropical spiders. Which come with tropical spider bites. Which cause Gilbert Perez (secretly nicknamed ‘One Up’ for his braggart tendencies) to knock on my door one night, just as I’m about to say, ‘fuck it’ and stroll down to Kenneth’s villa in nothing more than a silk robe.

  I pull the robe around me and yank the door open to find—not a sexy chef—but One Up, holding up his right hand, which is swollen like a misshapen balloon. The skin looks almost glossy in the moonlight.

  “What the fuck! None of the other guys got this shit!” One Up complains as his lip turns as fat as a garden hose.

  I simply shrug and sigh. “Let me guess. You went off the path?”

  “The best flowers were off the path. I wasn’t gonna give her the same shit as those other dickheads.”

  I lead Gilbert One Up to a seat in my sea of boxes. I toss him a container of allergy meds from my medical emergency box and then go to my room and get dressed. I call our resident surgeon, Andrew.

  Unfortunately, I think I might interrupt some private time he’s having with Heather because I’m pretty sure I hear her voice in the background.

  Luckily, Andrew’s a decent guy and not a stingy, braggy fuck like the whiner seated on my couch.

  Andrew looks Gilbert Perez over but declares there’s nothing that can be done here without proper medical equipment. I have the fun job of accompanying Mr. Perez on a boat to the hospital two islands away. The ass takes too many allergy meds and keeps falling asleep on me. I text Heather I want a raise multiple times to no response. Of course.

  Finally, I get One Up settled in with a doctor. I get to sign a gigantic hospital bill to have him pumped full of anti-venom and shipped back to the U.S.

  So, another potential harem member bites the dust. I’m not too sad as I take a boat back to our island near dawn, however. One Up was hanging by a thread anyway. Only his dick size had gotten him this far, according to Heather, who’d taken numerous photos and notes on Naked Friendship night.

  I lean against the side of the speedboat and let the spray smack me in the face. I’m tired and horny as fuck.

  Stupid men. And their stupid competitions. Stupid romantic flower-gathering gestures. They have no idea what cuntblocks they are.

  The competitive sex war only ends when Heather declares a stalemate after day three. She only stops it after she secretly tells me, “I can’t walk. I’m pretty sure my lady bits have been licked clean off.”

  That makes one of us.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Group dates resume. And the next few days have me so busy that even once Kenneth is free, there’s hardly time to breathe because my instructions are to allow maximum hoo-ha recovery. This means I have to wear the guys out.

  I yank Danny’s ass out of bed each morning before dawn so the guys can wake up to a daily round robin tennis tournament. Golf is way too tame. Plus, it gives the three little alliances way too much time to try and plan ahead. Peter Brown’s a damn schemer. I guess when you’re an ass man, you’ve always gotta be looking for ways to sneak in the back door.

  The one hope I hold onto (after the sex debacle earns several guys their first strikes for a lack of oral skills) is that it seems Andrew, my favorite, is regularly checking in on Heather and bringing her coffee in the morning. I pat myself on the back briefly when I hear that, but then have to yank my arm back off and run a roadblock to keep the twins away from Heather. I end up telling the guys that Heather’s making some cut decisions and needs time alone to think about it.

  That ratchets up the tension but buys me some time. And it improves their behavior on the next couple group dates. Groping turns into joking, and innuendo turns into … well, no, that stays. They are guys after all.

  The beach volleyball group date is a hit. The guys love smacking the ball at one another’s faces. Plus, I think the guys get enough sand in their asses that the chafing sends everyone home early that night.

  The night is the best. Peace and quiet, my true loves—especially since this crazy-ass scheme of Heather’s made me into a 24/7 entertainment director—are present that night.

  I slip into a flirty peach dress and go out in search of Kenneth only to find out Alec’s flown him to a bigger island so he can restock the pantry. Dammit!

  The food bill for ten guys is fucking ridiculous. Especially when I make them do tennis in the morning and the guys not on the group date have to take surfing lessons in the afternoons.

  Tim Wu, a relatively quiet guy who never speaks to me, turns out to be a kick ass surfer. The rest spend more time wiping out than anything. But still, it wears them out. Men and toddlers aren’t so different. They just grow up to like bigger toys. They guys whine a bit about all the exercise, Matt Rooney had a desk job, so he definitely struggles to keep up with the others. But, I’m here on Heather’s orders. And she’s happy. She doesn’t report any unwanted midnight visitors. So… I’m doing my job.

  The group snorkeling date goes off without a hitch, which surprises me. (I keep the paramedics two islands over on speed dial in case of a jelly fish or other random incident). But, as soon as I pat myself on the back, the group horseback riding date takes a turn for the worse. At least for me.

  We have to fly to a nearby island for the horses, which are owned by a local tourist joint. That sucks for me because Heather insists I go to take pictures and then she insists that I go on the first round, with her and a majority of the guys.

  “Why can’t I go on the second flight? There’ll be a seat for me.”

  Heather’s eyes narrow. “I’m going on both flights to be able to talk to everyone.”

  “So?”

  “So … I have plans for the second flight.”

  “Plans? What the fuck?”

  She leans in and whispers. “I’m gonna join the mile-high club.”

  Dammit all to hell. I stomp over to the plane for the first flight. There are only six seats in the jet’s main cabin, and since Heather insists on riding both times there’s no damned cabin seat left for me.

  The only chair left is in the cockpit. With the asshole captain.

  “Hey,” Alec says awkwardly as I sit down with a huge camera on my lap.

  I ignore him and open the camera’s manual. Heather ordered this hulking thing because she wants to look like she’s in a magazine. I told her then she probably better hire someone qualified to shoot it. But she just gave me the look.

  I sigh as I read about focus and shutter speed and then focus again. Because I can’t focus. Not with Alec there next to me, breathing and shi
t. He’s like a human magnet. Damn him.

  Somehow, I resist the pull to caress his massive biceps as he moves around, flipping buttons, and flicking switches, and turning everything his fingers touch into a dirty sexual metaphor in my mind. I’m so mad at him, though. I have to shift at least four times in my seat because my lady parts want to overlook his assholeness and proposition him again. I have to remind my cooter that we’re a package deal and my brain is not up for rejection again. But my cooter puts up a steady protest, like she’s doing a sit in and chanting down there. After a while it feels like she might be playing drums, because my hoo-ha is pulsing with need.

  I grip the camera manual tighter, lowering my face into it so Alec can’t see how hot and bothered I am. Stupid body. Stupid tropical heat wave.

  “You’re a good woman,” Alec says, once we’re midair and he’s relatively sure we won’t crash. “But, I’m not a good guy.”

  Fuck him for bringing it up! I seethe. As if I needed to hear that! I don’t respond. I just stare out the window, admiring the islands and wishing we could land already. Fucking uncomfortable. Uncomfortable enough that my cooter abandons her post at the sit in and starts shaking her head. Even she doesn’t want to hear that.

  My silence isn’t enough of a social cue for Alec. He says, “It just wouldn’t have worked out. I didn’t want you to get hurt.”

  Something in me snaps. Instead of just being uncomfortable, I’m pissed. I fucking hate the whole, ‘it’s me not you’ bullshit. I hate the whole assumption that I’m some kind of clinger. How fucking arrogant of him to think that! And say it! I grit out, “It was sex. Not a date. Not a marriage proposal. And you said no. You’re allowed to say no. Just like I’m allowed to question your erectile function after you say no.”

  “What? I’m trying to be nice here,” he frowns, which just makes his damned jawline that much more masculine and lickable.

  “Well, you’re failing.”

  “You don’t have to be a bitch about it. I’m just not the right kind of guy for you. I don’t do relation—”

  I throw my head back in a bitter laugh, cutting him off. Then I shake my head slightly as I stare into his deep brown eyes. “You’re an idiot.”

  He just bites his lip and turns away from me. But I’m not done. Oh no. You want to open this can of worms? Prepare to be on the hook for the fallout. I lean forward over my armrest and ignore how the camera jabs me in the stomach. I whisper-shout, “I’m sick of men thinking I want a damned relationship. What the fuck is it about me? Do I need to get a nose piercing and some tattoos in order to be independent and wild enough for you? Fuck that shit.”

  “Whoa, you’re blowing this way out of proportion.”

  “No. I’m not. All I wanted was sex. I don’t want marriage. I don’t want babies. Not from you—or anyone. But, especially not from you. So, just shut up and fly the plane.” I end on a low note and lean back in my seat. I immediately start kicking myself. I totally should have stopped talking after the word ‘anyone.’ My voice got all weak and emotional during that last bit. Fuck. Now, he probably thinks I’m a whiner. But I doubt it will get better if I say anything else. I’m kind of proud of myself for saying anything at all. I mean, normally, I hate confrontation. But he was making me uncomfortable anyway. And I was drowning in awkward lust. Maybe it was a lust bomb. Maybe that’s why I exploded. Just too much pressure and bam!

  We finish the flight without saying another word. His jaw is tight the entire way. I can’t help glancing over at him, even as I fiddle with the camera, pretending I’m gonna be able to figure this contraption out. I ‘accidentally’ take a few photos of him.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Just getting fodder for my dart board.” It seems, now that I’ve unleashed the beast, it’s a lot easier to be confrontational with him. Hmmm… I’ll need to remember that.

  He doesn’t respond because he has to land. And I’m stupidly giddy over getting the last word. Heather never lets me have the last word. Neither does my mother.

  The second the plane stops, I’m out of my seat. But Alec hops up as well and smacks into me, making me fall back down into my chair.

  He leans down, eyes glittering with fury. “Oops.” His hand reaches forward and touches the camera strap around my neck. The huge ass camera is hanging down off my side since I fell. Alec sticks his finger under the strap and slowly drags his digit down. Doing so makes the camera lift and settle onto my lap. It also lets Alec’s index finger trace down over my breast. He lingers over my nipple.

  My breath catches.

  That’s when the asshole smiles, straightens, and walks away.

  Fuck. Even when he’s angry as hell and being a jerk, he’s hotter than the devil’s balls.

  What the hell? That shouldn’t be possible.

  I spend the entire time on the drive to the stables just fuming.

  My mood doesn’t get better when Heather arrives with the second group of guys, chatting excitedly with the Asian guy whose name I forgot. All nine remaining guys are coming on this date. She insisted.

  I walk over to Heather only to realize Danny’s behind her. He was on the flight? I grit my teeth and smile. I don’t need a gnat in my eye after I just got done arguing with Alec the asshole. It’s piling insult onto injury. But it’s done.

  Danny walks over, slings an arm across my shoulders like we’re old friends and says, “Heard about your argument with Alec.”

  “How?”

  “Pretty sure the whole plane heard you tell him off.”

  I facepalm. Damn professional, Katie, I scold myself. Way to be.

  Danny’s hand squeezes my shoulder. As if him touching me is comforting. It’s not. It’s just a reminder that I’m horny as fuck and Kenneth and I haven’t gotten to make bacon together. We haven’t had time for him to mash my potatoes, make the cheese. There’s been no chance for him to chop my block. My mind has had way too much time to picture us in his kitchen in way too many positions and come up with way too many metaphors for how I want him to suck on my sour citrus… even thinking about it gets me riled up.

  “I told Alec we’re dating,” Danny says, matter-of-fact.

  My sexy thoughts collapse. My head whips up to look at him and I shove his arm off me. “That’s a lie.”

  “It doesn’t have to be.”

  “I don’t date. I have fuck buddies.” Might as well lay that out there, since apparently, I give off some ‘dating-type’ vibe to men.

  Danny’s jaw drops. But he doesn’t look disgusted. He looks delighted. “Oh my God. Can you say that into my phone?” Danny pulls his phone out of his pocket and opens an app. He holds it up toward me. “Please. Pretty please.”

  “I don’t date. I have fuck buddies.”

  “I’m totally jerking off to that later. Gonna be my ringtone.”

  “Gross!” I say, but I can’t help but be a little amused by him. And a tiny little piece of me tosses her hair and presses her boobs together, like, ‘Fuck yeah! A guy that hot is jerking off to thoughts of me.’

  Danny smiles and holds up a finger. “Ah, but you didn’t say lie.”

  “I believe you’ll jerk off. I’m pretty sure that’s a daily thing for you.”

  “Sadly, yes. But it could be a daily thing for you instead.” He leans forward and licks his lips in a salacious manner.

  “That is so tempting.”

  He laughs, “Lie!”

  I shrug. “Sorry. Got an arrangement with the chef. If only I can get a free minute.”

  Danny winks. “Well—if you ever want a quickie, I’m a one-minute man—”

  Like that, Danny’s humor bursts through the clouds hanging over my head. My laugh travels all the way to my belly. I have to hold onto his shoulders to keep from toppling over.

  “You’re supposed to call me on the lie,” Danny says.

  “What if I don’t think it is one?” I pant, swiping at tears.

  “Then you just lost five grand,” he shrugs.
/>   I narrow my eyes. “You’d have to prove it wasn’t a lie.”

  Danny leans down and his blue eyes hint at the naughty thoughts he has. His finger reaches out and traces my lips. “Happy to prove it. Anytime.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Anthony Drake, the blondie, ends up getting death’s horse on the horseback riding date. The horse’s head is hanging almost to the fucking ground. He wheezes and coughs every few seconds.

  I argue with the tour guide about providing us with a sick horse. He simply says, “It’s just allergies. He’s fine.”

  “Swap him out.”

  “Your group is so big; it’s taking all our horses today. I don’t have another.”

  The front of the group has already started down the trail with another guide.

  I climb off my own horse and swap Anthony. The poor horse could at least use a break carrying a lighter passenger. But as we head down the trail, I fall farther and farther behind.

  “Guys!” I call out when my horse stops for its fifth break. It wheezes. I call out again, because everyone else is too busy ogling the scenery or looking down the cliff at the ocean on our right side, or into the tropical forest at a troop of monkeys that are plucking at fruit that’s been strategically placed in the trees so that tourists can get their ‘exotic animal experience.’ I’m too busy with my farm animal experience to enjoy the exotic animals.

  I end up sliding off my horse and walking next to him, because it’s fucking faster that way. I yank him along. Apparently, I yank a little hard and this makes him rear up and bray.

  That scares the shit out of the monkeys and a motherfucking ton of green mangos get thrown at my head. I scream, and dodge, and run into the trees like I’m in some balls-to-the-wall action movie. My heart certainly feels like it is. A mango smacks me in the neck. Another smashes the side of my head.

  Fuck! I feel like I got beaned by a softball. I put a hand to my neck. Suddenly, I’m woozy. Black spots flitter through my field of vision.

  I see a horse coming back down the path. That’s when I realize that I’m not on the path anymore. And death’s horse is nowhere to be found. BJ Thomas—the New Yorker—sets his horse to a trot.