Nicebomber

by Charles, Colleen

  She sighs dramatically and pops me on the shoulder. “You're a completely hopeless case, Shane. You know that, right?”

  I draw a line down the slope of her nose. “Really? After everything I've done to redeem myself, that's the line?”

  “Come on! Who the hell hasn't heard of Pee Wee's Playhouse? An utter ignoramus, that's who! A nincompoop! A blight on the face of...!”

  I kiss her to silence her before she vomits out one more ridiculous non-curse, and she puts her arms around me, pulling me close. Her smile grows galaxies bigger, like someone lit her from within.

  And I hope that person is me and always will be.

  “So what now?” she asks.

  I laugh, a rich deep sound laced with love. “I thought some breakfast…”

  “No, no, I mean with the Nicebombing thing. Now that you've learned to do it on your own—and even gotten some publicity as a result, I might add. And… your dad has made you the newly formed benevolence director at Cupbrella.”

  I hold up my hands. “That wasn't the point.”

  “No, but it was a nice side effect. Will your dad still want you to use the app, to promote it? As part of your official duties?”

  I shrug. “Honestly? I have no idea. I'll have to ask Dad about it. If he feels like it would still be good for the company, then, of course, I'll do it. But I'm kind of hoping he'll let me run with bigger ideas.”

  She props herself up on her elbows. God, she looks beautiful in the glow of the morning. A little bit wicked… a little bit naughty… a whole lot like mine. “Like what?”

  “The Nicebomber app is a solid way to honor my mother's memory, but I was thinking of something more straightforward. Maybe, if he trusts me enough, he'll let me run a charitable foundation named after her in addition to my new directorship.”

  Keeley gives my upper arm a small squeeze of encouragement. “After the past couple weeks and all the talks you two have had, I'm sure he'll have plenty of faith in your willingness—and your ability—to be successful at something like that. What causes did you have in mind?”

  “For starters, there's conservation, the environment... that was always extremely important to her, and there's a tremendous need for funding and publicity. Now more than ever, with all the deregulation and climate change denial going on, even in the face of hard science.”

  She laughs. “Wow! Someone's started reading the paper for more than just the funny pages and the Lifestyle section.”

  I cage her in with my hands and kiss her full lips before saying, “Yeah, okay, rub it in. I used to be too self-obsessed to keep up with current events. But now that I'm not, I genuinely believe there's a lot of good I could do. And then there's cancer research, of course, since that's what killed her.”

  “Both good causes,” she replies, nodding.

  “On the other hand, they’re also causes that get a lot of money and attention already. So part of me thinks I should choose something that generally gets ignored. But I have no idea what that would be.” I sigh. “The truth is, I'm just not informed enough yet to figure this stuff out. It's frustrating. There's so much to do, so much information to take in, that it seems overwhelming. To be honest, I'm even a little scared that I'll pick the wrong thing and screw up again.”

  Keeley takes my hand. “Don't be afraid.”

  “You're that sure I won't screw up?”

  “No, I'm completely positive that eventually, you will. Know why? Because we all do, sooner or later. It's inevitable. No one's perfect. That's life. That's how we learn. But through the screw-ups, I'll be right beside you. And together, we'll always be able to find the right path again.”

  I look into her eyes as the morning sunlight sketches her gorgeous face. “You really think so?”

  “I know so. So for now, don't tie yourself in knots about it. Just sit with the idea for a while, let it germinate, and when you're ready, talk it over with your father. I know this sounds wholly Pollyannish, but the answer will reveal itself to you when you're ready for it. I really believe that.”

  Before I have a chance to lean in and kiss her again, my phone buzzes. I check the caller ID, but I don't recognize the number. More often than not, I'd let an unfamiliar number go straight to voicemail, but something inside me tells me to make an exception this time. What if it’s someone from the USO?

  With a little inhale, I hit the button. “Hello?”

  A pause. “Is this Shane Kleinfeld?”

  The question and tone bring a series of unpleasant flashbacks with it. In the months immediately following the disaster on The Fiancé, I got a lot of nasty phone calls every day—from crazy stalkers, from people who wanted to scream at me for publicly breaking Kendall’s heart, from prankster assholes, and even from porn producers inquiring about my dick size and insisting that I should appear in their films as a novelty. The world is full of unstable people—many of whom, I found out the hard way, watch reality TV and take it far too seriously. I changed my number at least three times, but every now and then, I still get them. Usually, right around the time I start to forget and pick up my phone for unknown numbers again.

  I hold my breath. “This is Shane.”

  “My name is Hogan Breitweiser, and I'm calling from the Bravo network. I know this probably seems a little out of the blue, but we saw the viral videos about the Nicebombing app, and we also heard about your USO show yesterday. We'd like to talk to you about producing a pilot for your own show, if you'd be interested.”

  I roll my eyes. I've certainly gotten this exact call before. If Keeley weren’t here, I’d tell this guy to go fuck himself. “Look, whoever you are, congratulations. You made a prank call on behalf of not-Bravo. All of your fourth-grade classmates are sure to be thrilled. But after everything reality TV put me through, I don't find these things very funny, so how about you just hang up now and we'll call it a day.”

  Before I can hang up and block the number, the voice on the other end says, “Call the main number for Bravo.”

  I put the phone back to my ear. “Excuse me? Why would I do that? The Fiancé sold me down the river in a leaky canoe when I made the life-altering mistake of appearing on their reality TV show.”

  “Hang up the phone,” he replies patiently, “and look up the main number for Bravo online. Andy Cohen doesn’t run our network like that other station. He’s a good guy. Call it, tell them who you are, and ask to speak to Hogan Breitweiser, VP of Programming. They'll put you right through.”

  The call disconnects, and I stare at the phone for a moment, frowning.

  “What's going on?” Keeley asks.

  I scrub a hand down my morning beard growth. “Um, probably nothing. Hang on a sec.”

  I look up the Bravo number on my phone and hit the button to dial it. After a couple of rings, a woman's voice answers: “Bravo Network. How may I direct your call?”

  Why am I indulging in my morbid curiosity?

  “I, um...” I clear my throat, then try again. “My name is Shane Kleinfeld, and...”

  “Mr. Breitweiser is expecting your call, Mr. Kleinfeld. I'll put you right through.”

  I listen to a few seconds of hold music, feeling like the world's biggest idiot. After the past few weeks, you'd think I'd be used to that by now, but...

  Breitweiser picks up. “Shane! Glad you decided to call.”

  “I am, wow, so sorry, Mr. Breitweiser. After The Fiancé, I got so many prank calls, I had to change my phone number multiple times. But the haters and pranksters always managed to find me anyway.”

  He chuckles. “Please, call me Hogan. And I understand completely. A guy like you probably gets a lot of ridiculous calls. But as you've probably figured out by now, I was being completely serious. We want you to host a show based on the Nicebomber app.”

  I suck in a breath. “Really? How would that work?”

  “Well, the way we see it, you'd give the viewers three options for random acts of kindness, just like the app does. Then they'll record their efforts,
we'll show them, and the studio audience will narrow them down to three finalists. Each episode will end with them voting on which one is the best each week, and the winners will get prizes plus a sizable donation to their favorite charity.”

  I can't help but smirk. “Like in America's Funniest Home Videos?”

  “Hey, what can I say?” he laughs. “It's a proven formula. New, but not too original to scare people off. That's showbiz! Would you want to be involved? Just think how much good you could do with a larger platform.”

  “I certainly appreciate the offer, Hogan. I'm sure my father would love the idea, and I'd be happy to be involved in some capacity behind the scenes. As a producer, maybe. But you don't want me as your host.”

  “Oh? Why not?” He sounds genuinely curious.

  “Because when people see me, they don't think of kindness. They think of what I did to Kendall. I'm a reality TV villain, Hogan, and that's all there is to it. And if I try to break free of that, it'll only end up killing your show, which is the last thing I'd want to do. After everything I’ve been through in my life, I’m really sensitive to doing the right thing.”

  Even when it’s the last thing I want to do because it means pushing my desires to the side.

  “Shane, you're half right. You are a villain—or at least, that's how people love to think of you. But you know what audiences love even more than a villain?”

  I stare at Keeley and the curiosity widening her eyes. “No, what?”

  “The underdog. And watching a villain's redemption as they make good.”

  I'm stunned, speechless. Could that be possible? “You really think so?”

  “Just take a few days to think it over,” he says. “When you've made a decision, you know how to reach me.”

  I end the call, turning to look at Keeley.

  “Did Bravo just offer you a television show?” she asks, hissing in a huge inhale.

  I nod, smiling. “I guess they did. Now get over here and help me celebrate.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Keeley

  I grab Shane and hold on tight, showering his face and neck with kisses. I'm so proud of him, I feel like I could burst. I knew he'd keep on doing what's right for its own sake, but I also know how much easier continuing will be with the right encouragement—not just from me but from the public in general. I imagine him surrounded by adoring fans as opposed to haters, and my heart swells with happiness.

  He was so deeply poisoned by how he was portrayed on The Fiancé—what the show made him become just to gain ratings—and this will be the perfect antidote. Finally, he can truly start to heal from that horrific experience.

  And I'll be there to watch, cheering him on every step of the way.

  Shane kisses my jawline, his hand tracing a series of winding paths across my breasts. His thumb brushes against my erect nipple, and I let out a little gasp, baring my teeth in a mock growl and nipping at his lower lip in response.

  “Watch out, folks,” he says. “She bites. But I might just like it.”

  We laugh together, and his fingertips dance down my stomach. They hop down to my inner thighs, stroking them before doubling back. Wetness floods my pussy as he teases my slit. His middle finger finds my clit, and he starts to rub it in a circular motion that makes me feel like a rocket about to take off.

  “I can’t believe you’re ready again,” I say, searching for his hard dick underneath the sheet. Gripping him in my hand and stroking, tingles spread their wings and fly down between my legs.

  As I let out a throaty purr, all of the nerve endings below my waist crackle and sizzle, and goosebumps spread across my arms. His fingertip presses harder, its rhythm becoming more insistent. I can feel a warm flush creeping up my neck and into my face, and I arch my neck against the pillow. I'm so wet I can feel the slick heat throbbing in my core.

  “Ah, that’s it, baby girl. I love it when you’re dripping wet for me.” At his raw words, a jolt runs from my clit straight to my throat and I let out a throaty moan.

  Shane slides two fingers inside me and that moan turns to his name. The muscles in my legs contract for a few wild moments before I force them to spread wider. His lips capture mine, our breath mingling until it feels like we're breathing from a single pair of lungs—existing in a single body, sharing a soul.

  His fingers play every hidden note of me like a cello in the hands of a master. He keeps his thumb against my clit as his middle and ring finger slip in and out, in and out, in a steady motion that feels like a crystal-clear ocean tugging at my body. He explores my G-spot, pushing against it in ways that fill me up with golden light. My pulse rushes in my ears, thumping in perfect harmony with his movements.

  I reach behind him, raking my fingernails up and down his back—gently at first, then harder, until I dig them in, and he breathes hard through clenched teeth. I wait for him to tell me to stop, to say it hurts too much... but from the look in his eyes, he loves every moment of it.

  “Go ahead,” he whispers. “Mark me. Make me yours. Then come all over my hand.”

  God, I love him so much.

  Finally, when I can't take any more, I grab his wrists and pin them to the bed. I climb on top, straddling him, enjoying his helplessness. He's mine now, to do with as I please—and I intend to take full advantage of that.

  I lean down, smiling, letting my hanging hair tease his face and chest. My hips lift, tantalizing, teasing, just out of reach of his pulsing cock. He smirks, desire flickering in the depths of his eyes, but those same eyes are also starving, desperate.

  I gyrate a couple of times, my pussy hovering over the tip of his straining cock.

  “Do you want me?”

  “Christ, Keeley… you can’t even know.”

  I lift my hips even higher above him. “But I want to hear you say it.”

  He pants so hard he can barely form the words. “I need you, Keeley. Now. Please.”

  I laugh, leaning down again to plant a kiss on his nose. “Well, since you said the magic word…”

  Then I shove my hips down on top of him and feel his eager cock fill me, stretching me in the most delicious way. Our moans of pleasure mingle as I rock back and forth, my hands still tight around his wrists. I can feel how badly he wants to reach up and touch me, but I won't let him.

  Not yet.

  Our hips clap together, faster and faster. I tighten my pussy around his cock as hard as I can, and he angles his body so with every thrust, his thick shaft rubs against my clit. I lower my head and push myself down on him as hard as I can—saying his name, hearing him say mine. At times like this, he’s so much more than the man I love. He’s my future—the other half to my whole from the cut of his chiseled jaw to the passion flashing in his eyes.

  Now I let go, allowing his hands to run all over my body.

  I feel the pressure building inside me like a boiler pushed past its limits. My orgasm rips through my body like a bright flash of lightning—sharp and sudden—tearing a scream from me as loud and forceful as a steam whistle. He climaxes seconds later, his hands spanning my waist.

  After a few precious seconds, I fall forward on top of him, finding his mouth with mine. Then we're wrapped in the sheets again, kissing and touching and murmuring promises of a love that will last forever.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Shane

  One year later…

  “Okay, you know what you're supposed to do?” I ask, tucking my hands in my pockets. The goal is to appear casual while my heart squeezes inside my chest.

  Trenton nods, bored, the latest episode of Law & Order blaring in the background.

  Somehow, I'm not convinced, but I try to sound supportive and enthusiastic. “Good. Tell me.”

  He rolls his eyes theatrically. “When Keeley gets here and you give me the signal, I get down on one knee, hold out the ring, and say, 'Keeley McAdams, will you marry Shane Kleinfeld?'”

  Well, he sounds like he's got it down but something inside me still doesn’t bel
ieve I can pull something of this magnitude off without a hitch. The swallow I force down burns my throat because this woman… is everything. “Right. And you get how important this is?”

  Talia giggles. “Duh! It's getting married! It's, like, the most important thing ever, except for having babies!”

  “Marriage is stupid,” Trenton says grumpily. “Girls are stupid. But whatever, I'll do it. But only because I like Keeley, not you, loser.”

  “That's very kind of you, Trenton,” I tell him, handing him the ring. “And hey, if you do a good job, maybe I can have you on my TV show sometime.”

  He huffs out a huge puff of air and slaps that capital L on his forehead again. “Like anyone would want to be on your dumb show anyway. We don’t even watch it.”

  “I do! I do!” Talia jumps up and down. “I wanna be a star! I can sing, and dance, and tell jokes, and... twirl like a ballerina.”

  “Okay, okay, one thing at a time,” I laugh.

  Lucinda stands in the corner, her arms crossed over her heart and her expression a mask of hope mixed with joy for her friend.

  “And hey, Lucinda, thanks again for helping out with this,” I add, trying to include her. “Are you sure you don't mind?”

  A grin splits her face. “Of course, Shane. I have to admit—you’ve grown on me. One look at Keeley lately and anyone can tell how much she loves you. And how much you love her. Who would have thought that the man who doesn’t believe in love would be about to propose? In my house, no less.”

  I waggle my eyebrows. “I do now.”

  She closes her eyes, sighs, and then opens them again. After searching for the right words for a few moments, she finally says, “You and Keeley deserve your shot at happiness. And if I can help with that, I can’t think of anything I’d like more.”

  “Thank you,” I reply. “That means a lot.”

  A knock sounds at the door. “Okay, places, people!” I call out, running to answer. My breath stalls in my lungs as I consider the possibility that Keeley might not accept. I’ve never felt so nervous about something in my life. Because my future happiness rides on the woman I love accepting my proposal. “Talia, consider this your audition.”