The Feel Good Factor

by Blakely, Lauren

  Vanessa whips her head around, and we stop in front of the olive store. She stares at me like she’s caught me sampling an olive without using a toothpick. “So you do like him.”

  Her eyes are like a magnifying glass seeing through me. I’m not entirely sure I’m ready to be seen, so I let the light shine on a portion of the truth. “Obviously I’m attracted to him. We’re doing the kissing contest.”

  She tilts her head and gives me the look. “It’s more than attraction, Perri. You like him. And it’s not about the contest. If you truly wanted to, you could enter the friendly kiss category with a friend. Derek’s different. You like-like him.”

  “Are you giving me the double-barrel ‘like’?”

  She smirks. “I sure am. Guilty, officer?”

  I take a deep breath, wanting to deny it, wishing I could. But I do like him. He’s so much more interesting than I thought. He’s so much more than a simple flirty, dirty biker. He has layers I never expected, a good heart, a great soul, and a kindness that reaches deep down inside him. He’s that rare breed of man who ticks every box on the checklist.

  Except one.

  He’s not interested in a relationship. He told me point-blank that day in the waffle truck.

  Relationships aren’t my thing these days, he’d said.

  That makes two of us, I’d replied.

  He said it again when we established the rules of living together.

  Relationships are not on the radar.

  A strange heaviness settles over my heart, but I dismiss it quickly. Relationships aren’t on my radar either. That’s why it’s pointless to worry and to wonder—neither one of us is interested in entanglements.

  “I do like him, but it doesn’t matter since I don’t want any entanglements, nor does he.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, really. We’re both on the same page. We don’t want more.”

  “That’s what we say until we do want more,” Vanessa says, softly and wisely. Too wisely perhaps.

  “But right now, I don’t. Plus, I’ve got my eyes on the prize,” I say, waving my hand behind me at the station, thinking briefly of Elias and his efforts to land the promotion. For a second, I want to tell Vanessa how it makes me feel, but I’m also all feeling-ed out right now.

  I point to the olive shop. “Now, olives—those I can’t resist.” I grab her arm and head into the shop. “It’s your turn. Have you picked a fabulous cause for your part of our bet?”

  Vanessa nods excitedly. “Wine and bowling!”

  “Is bowling better with wine?”

  “Everything is better with wine. I’m teaming up with one of the vineyards for my bowling competition fundraiser. A little wine-tasting along with going for strikes. All the funds will be used to help local animal shelters with the fire rescue relief.”

  “Damn. Now I want you to win.”

  She smiles. “But really, we all win.”

  “That might be the cheesiest thing you’ve ever said. But also the sweetest,” I say, then I buy some olives and head home, curious if Derek will be there when I arrive. I didn’t see him last night because our work schedules clashed, but perhaps tonight will be different.

  But even if I don’t see him, I’ll be fine. I don’t want more.

  I say it again to drive the point home.

  21

  Perri

  I pull up to my house. Has he left me a note today? If there’s one inside, will it make my stomach flip?

  I look in the rearview mirror. “Settle down, lady cakes. You don’t need a note. You don’t need a man. You don’t need a thing.”

  When I’m inside, I avoid the kitchen. I head to my bedroom to shower and change. After considering yoga pants again, I opt for a summery skirt instead, adding a tank top to keep it casual. Perusing the outfit in the mirror, I decide I’ve pulled it off. When I check the time, I’ve successfully distracted myself for five minutes.

  I head to the kitchen, looking for a love letter.

  I mean, hunting for something easy to make to eat.

  The first thing I see isn’t food.

  It’s a note, and it gives me goose bumps.

  This is your fair warning, not that you deserve it. But I plan to test your resistance shortly.

  With another type of kiss.

  I close my eyes, wishing, hoping. The hope dashes through me, warring with my resolve. When I open my eyes, Derek’s here, in the kitchen, wearing next to nothing.

  “How do you do that?”

  “Do what?”

  “Walk around like a cat. I didn’t hear you.”

  He points to his feet. “It’s called no shoes.”

  “Still, you’re so quiet. You’re like a Tesla.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  I stare at him, wishing I didn’t like the view so much. Attraction is so annoying. He wears basketball shorts and nothing else. My temperature rises, along with my frustration. “I thought we agreed it made no sense for anything more to happen.”

  “What makes you think something is going to happen?”

  “Because you’re . . .” I flap my hand at him.

  “Shirtless?”

  “Yes. You’re so shirtless, and so ripped, and it’s so not fair.”

  He laughs. “I didn’t realize you were so tempted.”

  “You’re tempting, and you know it.”

  “Want me to put a shirt on?”

  “Yes. No. Whatever.”

  “Excellent. That’s what I was looking for.”

  “To mess with my head?”

  His eyes stroll up and down my body. “Your fantastic head, your lush mouth, your sexy-as-sin body. The whole package, kitten.”

  “Why do you want to mess with me?”

  “I just want to practice.” He takes my hand and places a soft, tender kiss on the top of it. That kiss has the audacity to send shivers through me.

  “Hand kissing?” I tremble.

  “It’s an old-fashioned art, don’t you think?”

  “Yes,” I say, trying to keep a stony face. But there’s nothing old-fashioned about my response. My lady parts are dancing the hula and they want a luau with him.

  “How was your day?”

  I blink at his one-eighty. Are we how was your day people? “Are you really asking how my day was?”

  He smiles as he reaches into the fridge, grabbing bread, fresh slices of turkey, and tomatoes. “I’m really asking. Mine was delightful, by the way. I spent it with the rug rats while Jodie prepped for the market tomorrow. Took them to the Charles Schulz Museum. Molly loved it. That dude could draw.”

  I love that place, and I’m tickled that Molly did too.

  “Isn’t it amazing how he could bring Snoopy and Charlie Brown to life with just line drawings? That museum is cooler than you’d expect.”

  He brings the sandwich stuff to the counter and finds the cutting board. “Right? I never thought about how adding Franklin would be a big deal in the sixties. A teacher suggested it in a letter.”

  “I love the collection of letters from readers. There’s something about a handwritten note that feels like the writer is putting more of their heart onto the page.”

  “Or on the chalkboard,” Derek says, glancing at the message board. “But I digress. How’s everything with you?”

  I lean against the counter and tell him what went down at work the last few days, catching him up on the latest with the possible promotion. “And Elias is up for the promotion too,” I finish, sharing with him what I didn’t tell Vanessa earlier. Maybe I need a guy’s perspective. “It’s hard going up against a friend, especially since his wife is pregnant.”

  He looks up from the cutting board with a frown. “What does that have to do with it?”

  “I feel guilty. Like he deserves it more since he’s going to have a family soon.”

  Derek points a finger at me, his expression turning tough, no-nonsense. “Are you good at what you do?”

  I square my
shoulders. “Hell yeah.”

  “Then don’t fall into that trap.”

  “What trap?”

  “The trap that single people fall into. We get asked to do more overtime, stay later, come in on holidays because we aren’t married and don’t have kids.”

  “True,” I agree, thinking of times when that burden has fallen on me. “And I went in today to do traffic duty, but that was a choice. I volunteered.”

  “Exactly. You made the choice. You volunteered. You weren’t roped into it.” He slaps some turkey slices onto the bread.

  “And I’ve been digging into this jewelry store theft case that’s been bugging the chief. I haven’t cracked it yet, but I chose to take on the work.”

  “Good. We have to remember our time is as valuable as anyone’s. There’s this weird societal notion that only parents and married people deserve a break. But every human does. And everyone deserves a chance to go after what he or she wants. You’ve earned it. So don’t feel one damn ounce of guilt.”

  I hadn’t been looking for a pep talk, but I’m grateful he gave me one. “Thank you. I needed that.”

  He offers a fist for knocking. “We relationship-free people need to look out for each other.”

  There it is again—the reminder. Not that I need it. I’m a card-carrying member of that club. So I keep it on the same level, asking about his work. “How are things with your job? Do you like your partner?”

  He tells me about Hunter and Hunter’s belly, and before I know it, he’s entertained me and also whipped me up a yummy-looking sandwich. I take a bite and declare it delicious. He grabs it from me and takes a bite too.

  I wag a finger. “Hey, you’re stealing my food.”

  “Damn straight I am.”

  “Fine, you can share.”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  We trade the sandwich back and forth till it’s gone. “Want another?”

  I act indignant. “Of course, since you ate half of mine.”

  “Every now and then I can’t resist bread.” He makes another sandwich, and we share it again.

  “You like the guys you work with? Do you consider them friends?” I ask.

  He nods, but it’s the half-committed kind. “Sure.”

  “You should do something with them. Go out with Shaw and Gabe. Hunter too. Get a drink.”

  He taps my nose and purses his lips. “Aww, you’re trying to get me to make new friends. You’re sweet.”

  I roll my eyes. “I’m not sweet.”

  “You’re so sweet, Perri. Admit it.”

  “I’m not sweet.”

  “You are. You want to play friend matchmaker.”

  I huff. “And to think I was going to invite you out with the group.”

  He grabs my arm. “Yes. I’ll go.”

  “Invitation rescinded.”

  “No, it’s not. You invited me, and you meant it.” He tugs me closer. “Didn’t you?”

  I swallow as my skin heats from his nearness. “Derek.”

  “What?”

  “You’re tempting me,” I admit.

  He drags me against him all the way, letting me feel the full length of him. “You tempt me.”

  He’s so hard, so aroused, and I am too. Heat pools between my legs, and I ache for him. “Why are you doing this?”

  His hand snakes around my waist, across my hips to my ass. He cups one cheek, and I nearly go up in flames. When he squeezes, I whimper. I want him so much. I want him to grab me, lift me up on the counter, and strip me to nothing.

  To take me.

  “Because . . .” he whispers, then brushes his nose against mine. “Because I want this to be so hard for you.”

  “You’re evil,” I whisper.

  He squeezes harder, his cock steel against me. “I’m the worst.”

  “You’re killing me.”

  “I’m dead too, if it’s any consolation.” Gently, he brushes a kiss to my forehead. “Forehead kiss. Want to enter in that category?”

  I tremble. This man. He’s breaking down my resistance in too many ways. “I don’t want a forehead kiss.”

  He lets go of my butt and tucks a strand of hair over my ear. “I don’t either.” Turning around, he puts the sandwich ingredients away and points to the stairwell.

  “On that note, I’ll be upstairs with nothing on. Resist that.” He shoots me a cocky grin, his eyebrows rising.

  He turns and walks away.

  The fucker.

  He walks away.

  I want to yell.

  I want to stomp my feet.

  Mostly, I want to go upstairs and find him.

  Naked, aroused, imagining me.

  Dragging a hand through my hair, I exhale deeply and formulate a plan.

  Then I smile. It might even be an evil grin. The next morning, I leave a note on the chalkboard, and head to work with an even eviler grin on my face.

  It’s payback time.

  22

  Derek

  For the record, I’m not one of those guys who’s into chick flicks.

  I’m your standard-issue, horror-loving, thrill-seeking guy. I don’t need war flicks or blow-’em-up movies, but I do dig the scary stuff more than anything else.

  And way more than kissy-face movies.

  When Katie used to make me watch them, I always talked during the kisses. Because the kisses were boring. C’mon. They aren’t real, and they’re hardly sexy. One night during her five hundredth rewatch of You’ve Got Mail, I asked her what we were doing that weekend right as Meg Ryan said, “I wanted it to be you,” and I received the kind of dirty look that men spend a lifetime trying to avoid.

  But when I find Perri’s note telling me to get ready for a movie kiss reenactment this evening, I don’t think I’ll be bored.

  Now showing: At 9 p.m. tonight, please come to the theater of the living room prepared to reenact a movie kiss. Remember—practice makes perfect.

  Yep, I’m not foreseeing boredom. I’ll be wildly aroused. Insanely turned on. And loving the flicks in a whole new way.

  At the farmers market, I help Jodie at her booth, though I do manage to stroll past the face-painting one a few times, and I wink at Perri. The guy next to her makes a poodle balloon for a girl, and I half want to sneer at him. For no other reason than I know he’s the one going after her job.

  Hers.

  That promotion belongs to Perri. She’s fierce and tough and devoted. She works hard after hours. She’s a go-getter. She should get the job.

  I return to Jodie’s booth then spend the afternoon with the kiddos, but most of the time, I’m thinking about practice.

  That evening, I find Perri on the couch at the appointed time, waiting for me, iPad in hand.

  I lift an eyebrow. “You’re not going to force me to watch those movies, are you?”

  She rises, and my eyes nearly pop out of my head. She’s wearing . . . a tiny sports bra and shorts so short they’re nearly underwear.

  My brain short-circuits, and my body goes haywire.

  She’s too sexy for my own good.

  She’s curvy in all the right places and trim in all the other ones. Toned and tight, with tits I need in my mouth.

  “I’m not going to force you to do anything.” Her voice is smoky.

  I clear my throat, trying to wrestle some control over the situation, but I’m pretty sure I have none as she walks toward me, impossibly sexy and with just enough gloss on her pouty lips to make me want to kiss it all off.

  She leans against the arm of the couch, crosses those toned legs, and tells me to join her. I move next to her, my skin sizzling at how damn close we are and how much closer I want to be. She swipes her finger on the screen and taps on a clip of the best movie kisses of all time.

  “We can try reenacting Gone with the Wind, Ten Things I Hate About You, and even Spiderman, which would be tough to pull off but could totally win us the contest on account of how hard it is to do an upside-down kiss in the rain. Or we could do Dir
ty Dancing, when Baby crawls across the floor to Johnny.”

  “Sure,” I say, my voice gravelly because I don’t care which one we do. I want them all. I want her.

  She shows me the reel, and it’s a blur because I’m thinking of her body and the way she smells and how she looks. Soon enough, she shuts the cover of the iPad and tells me to sit on the floor like Swayze did in Dirty Dancing. She turns around, gives me the naughtiest look over her shoulder, then walks a few feet away. She swivels back, drops down to her knees, and proceeds to crawl to me.

  Across the floor.

  This is the best roomie situation ever. She’s the perfect housemate. Yeah, come sit on my face. Come ride me.

  She reaches me, meets my lips, and kisses me so softly and sweetly, it blows my mind. My dick would like to be blown too, and he’s announcing his desires loud and proud.

  Perri slinks closer, deepening the kiss. She swipes her tongue against mine and ratchets this moment to a whole other level. She’s fierce and fiery, and she kisses me with an intensity that makes my cock swell and my desire shoot through the roof.

  I want to take her right now. Have her right here. Fuck her on the floor, on the couch, anywhere, everywhere.

  She’s insistent and in control, even on all fours, kissing me. She rises to her knees, and my desire shoots to the sky. Touch me now, I want to growl, and maybe my wish is going to come true, since her hands are on a fast track for my crotch.

  But they land on my thighs.

  And you know what? That feels pretty fucking good too. She presses her palms hard on my legs, inching close to my cock as she kisses me.

  “The other night,” she whispers, breaking the kiss.

  “Yeah?”

  “After the forehead kiss. When you went upstairs and you had nothing on . . .”

  “What about it?”

  “Did you get yourself off?”

  I groan. “Damn straight I did.”

  She murmurs. “You, in bed, jacking off. Hot.”

  “You can come help me tonight,” I rasp, shuddering as lust surges through me. As I picture her finding me, joining me, wrapping her hand around my dick.