Satisfaction Guaranteed

by Blakely, Lauren

  Oh God, oh God, oh God.

  YESSSSSS.

  She shudders from head to toe, and I’m consumed to the marrow with desire.

  I’m done.

  I follow her there, joining her in the blissful oblivion of release.

  And savoring the prize too.

  The medal, of course.

  Not that there was a contest. But I have indeed successfully taken this woman to the summit of O Town, thank you very much.

  Yup, I’m going to enjoy this moment at the top of the podium, and I’m also going to get her here every single time now that I know the path.

  Soon she opens her eyes, smiling happily at me. “That reminds me.”

  I prop my head in my hand. “Of what?”

  “I made something for you. A little gift.” She hops out of bed, heads to the hall, and returns, clutching her purse and wearing an impish grin.

  She dips her hand into her bag and tells me to close my eyes. I do as I’m told.

  When she lets me open them, she’s standing at the foot of the bed, dangling a pair of purple socks. “For you. Put them on.”

  Laughing, I sit up. “You want me to put them on now? To wear nothing but socks?”

  “It’s sexy, you said.”

  I shake my head. “It’s sexy on you. It’s not sexy on me.”

  She turns the socks around, showing me the bottoms.

  I crack up and nod. “Those . . . those I’ll put on.”

  A minute later, I lie back in bed with the love of my life and the socks she made me on my feet, the words Satisfaction Guaranteed on my soles.

  “You so look sexy in nothing but socks,” she says, snuggling against me.

  “Yeah, I probably do.”

  After all, sexy is about giving satisfaction, and I know that’s what I’ve done for the woman in my arms.

  47

  Sloane Elizabeth’s Voice Memo to Self on EVERYTHING YOU NEED TO DO THIS MONTH

  La, la, la, la, la.

  Don’t forget to finish packing.

  In between, you know, whistling a happy tune every freaking second.

  Also, lingerie, lingerie, lingerie.

  Side note: who knew parading around in sexy lingerie every night for your man could be so fun? Okay, probably a lot of women knew that. BUT! Now you get to do it, and oh hell yeah, it is fun.

  So is the prospect of moving in with him.

  Wait!

  Idea!

  There’s something we can do when we move in together.

  Girl, you are seriously brilliant.

  48

  “Exactly! That’s exactly the approach I would have taken with this respiratory issue.” I offer a fist to Jonathan for bumping, and he knocks back. We’re in my office, reviewing his initial classwork during the lunch break.

  “Thank you. You’re not too shabby at this whole vet thing,” he deadpans.

  “Good to know. Maybe I’ll pursue it as a career.”

  He points at me like I just came up with a brilliant idea. “Consider that. Hell, maybe even run a clinic.”

  I roll my eyes. “Don’t get ahead of yourself there.”

  But the truth is, I am running this place, and it’s great.

  Doug’s been in Europe for a month now, and he sends us photos via email a couple times a week. Pictures at a cafe in Paris, shots of the two of them on the streets of Barcelona. I have to say, he does look like the happiest man alive, gallivanting around Europe with his bride.

  But wait. That’s not true.

  I’m pretty sure that title belongs to me.

  Working with Sloane has turned out to be everything we’d hoped for. We click. We help each other. We give each other space when we need it, and we offer support when things go wrong.

  I suppose the real key to working well together is knowing we’re not going to end. The certainty that we’re together makes us unshakeable.

  That has made all the difference.

  Plus, she’s moving in tonight, and I can’t wait to have her in my apartment all the time. I’ve been enjoying the hell out of her nightly lingerie fashion shows, as well as her healthy appetite for, well, me.

  Yeah, life is good when the woman you love wants to fuck your brains out all the time.

  I head to the exam room for the next appointment, passing Sam and Jonathan at the front desk.

  He shows her something on the Yelp app on his phone. “This place has the best paninis. That’s where we’re going tonight, babe.”

  She shakes her head. “Nope. You need to study. I’ll bring a panini home to you.”

  “Have I told you that you’re the perfect girlfriend?”

  “Why, yes, you have, because I am.”

  I smile to myself. Yup. Some things just work.

  * * *

  Later that day, Sloane texts, letting me know she’s coming in with a cat she sprang from another shelter and asking me to give him an exam and shots.

  When she arrives, she looks every bit the rescue queen she is—skinny jeans, boots, and a pullover, her blonde hair piled high in a messy bun. Lugging a cat carrier, she’s accompanied by the noisiest feline ever. He sounds like those Meow Mix commercials.

  I pat the top of the carrier. “Let’s check him out.”

  We head into the exam room, Jonathan close behind us. Sloane opens the door to the cage, and the melody of meows continues.

  As I gingerly slide the cat out, he keeps chatting, almost as if he’s singing a tune. “Meow, meow, meow.”

  He’s scruffy, and rough around the edges. But he purrs the second I touch him and doesn’t stop the entire exam. He even rubs against me, pushing his chin into my hand, then his whole head.

  As I listen to his heart, he stands proudly on all four legs, tail high, cheek sliding against my arm.

  “This cat likes you, Dr. Goodman,” Jonathan remarks, his tone impressed.

  “Don’t they all,” Sloane says, knowingly. “He’s the cat whisperer.”

  “Dog whisperer too,” I add.

  Jonathan shakes his head. “But this one? It’s a whole new level. It’s like he’s marking you.”

  He’s not wrong. This cat does indeed seem to like me particularly. He paws at my chest, so I scoop him up, and his purr ignites to a whole new level.

  Sloane smiles like she’s about the burst.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  “It’s just . . . well, I was leaving a voice memo this morning that I thought it was time for us to get a cat.”

  My eyes widen. “You were?”

  She gestures to the striped tabby in my arms. “But I think the cat has gotten you.”

  I look down at the feline in my arms. He lets forth another litany of meows, and it appears that I’ve just been adopted.

  * * *

  That evening, I’m lying in bed with the Chairman of the Board stretched out next to me, purring. Showing off like only a cat can do. He’s the loudest beast I’ve ever heard, and when he meows, it’s a serenade.

  I pet his back, and he luxuriates in the moment. He’s so shameless. Such a love whore.

  But then, I suppose I am too.

  Because when Sloane struts into the bedroom showing off her new lingerie—a lacy sky-blue bra and panty set—I scoop up the cat, set him on the floor, and bring my woman next to me.

  The Chairman meows his disdain, but he wanders off.

  Good thing, because I need this whole bed for what I plan to do to Sloane tonight.

  Make her purr so goddamn loud that the cat is impressed.

  And that’s exactly what I do.

  * * *

  The next morning, I’m woken by a demanding meow.

  I sit up, scrub a hand across my chin, and get out of bed.

  In the kitchen, I scoop out some vittles for the Chairman, and he sings his praises as he chows down.

  I return to bed, wake Sloane in her favorite way—she does enjoy the morning Os—then take her to breakfast, where we meet my friends at the diner.

 
Sloane is wearing my sweatshirt again this morning, but she proudly proclaims to Olivia and Herb, “I’m no longer doing the walk of shame.”

  “And she never will again.” I slide in next to her at the booth to enjoy breakfast and everything else about the way our life together is unfolding.

  49

  A few months later

  The lights are low.

  The drinks are plentiful.

  The crowd is my favorite.

  Because it includes her. Sloane’s here in the front row like she is at many of my shows.

  Tonight though? All the songs are for her.

  I’m sure it’s patently obvious to the whole crowd that I’m singing to one person.

  Especially when my gaze locks with hers on the first line of a Bing Crosby tune.

  “Let me call you sweetheart.”

  Every table is packed, and it’s standing room only—word of mouth has been good to us here at Gin Joint—but my set is for Sloane. This song is for Sloane.

  “I'm in love with you.”

  She mouths the words back to me, and that emboldens me.

  “Let me hear you whisper that you love me too.”

  So much, she mouths.

  When I finish that serenade, I glide right into the song that made her melt the first night she was here, telling her she looks wonderful tonight. Hell, she looks wonderful every night.

  I’m pretty sure I’m ready for my final number. I finish with her favorite, “I Don’t Stand a Ghost of a Chance with You.”

  When the music ends, I don’t stop. I downshift from singing to talking. “That song is ironic, in a way,” I say, my eyes on hers.

  She watches me expectantly as I make my way to her, and she whispers back, “It is ironic.”

  “At first, I didn’t think we stood a chance.”

  “Me either,” she says softly.

  “But I wanted one.”

  “So did I.”

  “And tonight, I want more. I want the opposite of that song.”

  She gasps quietly then presses her lips together.

  I weave past a table, stopping beside the beautiful blonde I love madly. “I want all the chances with you. Now, tomorrow, and forever.”

  “Oh God,” she whispers. “Me too.”

  I drop down to one knee and take her hand in mine. “I want to love you for the rest of our lives. Will you marry me, Sloane?”

  A tear streaks down one cheek, and she grabs my mic, sets it on the table, and kisses the hell out of me.

  I’ll take that as a yes.

  But even so, when she breaks the kiss, she picks up the mic and confirms to the whole crowd, “Yes. You can have all the second chances you want with me. Tonight, tomorrow, and always.”

  I slide a ring on her finger as the audience cheers.

  I bring her to her feet, dip her, and kiss her once more.

  50

  Jason

  A few months later

  Malone takes off early after the softball game tonight.

  Which is perfect since I need to chat with Nick without my best mate around.

  We head out of the park on the late summer evening, and I clear my throat, then dive headfirst into my request.

  “Can we grab a pint? Because I need to pick your brain.”

  He reaches for his skull, as if protecting his hair. “No! Not the brain. I need that. It’s one of my favorite organs.”

  Laughing, I shake my head. “Listen, it’s about your cousin.”

  Nick furrows his brow. “Malone? Are you having a bro fight with him?”

  “The other cousin.”

  “Truly?”

  “Yes. Precisely.”

  “What do you want to know about Truly? Seems you know her pretty well.”

  “And yet she remains impervious to my charms.”

  Nick laughs, stroking his beard. “Ah, the plot thickens. You need a little advice in the how-to-win a lady department.”

  “Correction: I need a little advice in how to win my best mate’s sister.”

  He cocks a brow. “The same best mate’s sister who’s impervious to your charms.”

  I nod. “Have I mentioned I love a challenge?”

  “That’s one helluva hill to climb. We might need two pints.”

  We head to a pub, order, and roll up our sleeves.

  Truly is indeed some kind of challenge. But I’m a determined man, no matter how many hurdles I might face.

  Epilogue

  Sloane

  A few more months later

  My phone rings.

  I’m expecting Piper, since she’s helping me with all things wedding-related.

  But her name’s not the one on the screen as I grab it from the kitchen counter. “Hey, Dad,” I say, after I swipe the screen.

  Malone looks up from his tablet. It’s nine thirty on a Saturday, so I suspect he’s reading the news as he usually does on weekend mornings. It’s his habit, and I love knowing his habits.

  I love knowing him.

  Like the fact that his friends rely on him. He sees them often, whether for softball or jujitsu or basketball.

  And that his sister is a hoot, all sassy and fiery and full of love.

  That he adores this city, and he’ll try anything with me—whether it’s a movie, an art gallery, or even dancing. We’ve been taking swing lessons so we can cut a rug at our wedding.

  I love, too, that there’s so much more for us yet to discover about each other, and we will.

  “How’s everything in Italy?” I ask my father as I park myself on a stool at the counter next to my fiancé. I wasn’t expecting to hear from my dad for another few days.

  Malone grabs me and pulls me onto his lap, whispering. “I want to take you to Tahiti.”

  I swat him, shushing him. He loves to rile me up when I talk to my father. I swear this man is trouble.

  “Tuscany is great,” my dad answers. “So great, in fact, that it’s giving Helena and me all sorts of ideas.”

  Malone arches a brow, since he can hear my dad’s side of the call.

  “What do you mean, Dad?” I feign not knowing, but I suspect where he’s heading.

  “Why don’t you put me on speakerphone? I can tell my son-in-law is there,” he says.

  Smiling, I turn on the speaker and set the phone on the counter.

  “You do know I’m not your son-in-law for another three weeks,” Malone remarks.

  “I do. I can count. But I already think of you that way.”

  “And I’m glad you’re going to be my father-in-law,” he says, and I snuggle up against my man, loving the way his relationship with my dad has evolved.

  Once upon a time, my father was his mentor. Then his business partner. Then his roadblock.

  Now?

  He’s just my dad.

  Just the father of the woman Malone loves.

  It’s so much better like this.

  Of course, there is still that little matter of the vet clinic. But I smile, since I know something Malone doesn’t.

  My dad clears his throat. “I was thinking of a wedding present for you two.”

  Malone answers. “You don’t have to get us anything, Doug. After all, I kind of have the last laugh. I’m marrying your daughter.” A little twinkle crosses his eyes.

  I rein in a smirk.

  My dad chuckles. “I suppose that’s true. But I have something for the two of you, and I’m giving it to you now.”

  Malone shoots me a curious look. I simply shrug, like I don’t know what it is.

  “I’m giving you both the practice. It’s yours. Enjoy.”

  Malone’s jaw drops, and he coughs in surprise. “Excuse me?”

  “It’s yours. I’m not selling you my half. I’m giving it to the two of you. Be good to my daughter for the rest of your life.”

  “Of course. I will. I absolutely will. This is incredible. Thank you.”

  My dad says goodbye and hangs up.

  Malone tugs me in closer and runs
his fingers across my cheek. “I can’t believe that. I really can’t. Did you know about this?”

  “He mentioned it to me last night. Do you like it?”

  Malone shakes his head, a smile lighting up his whole face. No, the whole city. “I love it. It’s incredible.” He presses a kiss to my forehead then pulls back, wonder in his eyes. “I can’t believe we’re going to keep running it together. The clinic and the rescue. This is a dream come true.”

  “It’s ours. It’s sort of perfect, isn’t it?”

  “It’s completely perfect. Like it was meant to be.”

  “That’s how I feel about you.”

  He cups my cheeks and kisses me again, then laughs.“I guess we really are stuck together.”

  I laugh and swat his elbow. “Yes, we are.”

  “And that’s exactly where I want to be.”

  This, here with him? That’s the dream.

  Another Epilogue

  Malone

  Some men believe the ability to make a woman purr is the apex of male performance.

  That if you achieve such a victory in bed, you’re the king of studs, the master of men.

  I call bullshit.

  Look, I can make my woman purr. Hell, I do it every single night.

  But that’s only one of the many things I do for her.

  I satisfy her in other ways. In all the ways. By treating her right. By listening to her. By creating this fantastic life together where we work hard and we play hard.

  Where we encourage each other in all our dreams.

  Where we create new dreams together.

  She makes me want to sing all the love songs in the world to her.

  She deserves them.

  As for me? Well, the socks really do say it all.

  Fortunately, she’s made me several pairs, so I can wear her favorite saying each day of the week and then deliver it to her every night.

  But I’m not just a satisfaction guaranteed kind of guy in the bedroom. That’s a promise to her in every way.