Valentine's Day Kisses : Boxed Set

by Addison Moore

  “Pants.” Her brows peak.

  “As you wish.” I unbuckle my belt achingly slow. I work the button and zipper, letting gravity take my pants to the ground.

  “All of it.” She snaps a little louder than before, and I try not to smile.

  I hitch my thumbs into my boxers and send them sailing to the floor, stepping out of my pants, shoes, and socks all at the same time.

  I walk over, stroking her cheek with my finger, our eyes never breaking contact.

  My body presses against hers, skin against skin, fire against fire.

  “Naked as the day I was born.” I run my tongue up to her ear.

  As much as I can’t seem to get Marley out of my mind, I can’t seem to get sharing a future with her out of my heart. This has to happen.

  It already is.

  I turn her over and offer a tender kiss that says I’m sorry, that says I’ve missed you, that says I never want us to be apart.

  But mostly it says I love you.

  We enjoy the hell out of one another for the better part of the night—one naughty kiss after another.

  The next morning, we rouse lazily. I missed the chance to have that heart to heart with her last night partly due to the fact we didn’t leave open a window of opportunity. Nothing but making love until the light of day just the way I like it. And judging by her enthusiasm, Marley likes it that way, too. A part of me wants to forget about work and stay in bed all day.

  Marley lands a hot kiss to my lips before whispering, “You think my boss will fire me if I don’t show up at the office?”

  “No, but he might screw you later if you’re not careful. I hear he’s a real jerk.” I gently rub her bottom. “You okay?” I wince in lieu of an apology.

  “I’m fine.”

  A phone rings from the living room, her ringtone not mine.

  “I’m not getting it,” she hums into my chest. It goes silent, then, after a few seconds, rings again. On its third rotation she growls and crawls out of bed. “I’m going to hang whoever it is and then I’m going to flush my phone down the toilet.”

  “Why clog up the plumbing when we can just set it on fire?”

  I watch her perfect porcelain skin as she exits the room, inspecting her for bite marks but, thankfully, there aren’t any. My head burrows back into the pillow as I ready for day two of dominating Ms. Jackson—hell, maybe I’ll let her dominate me. Maybe.

  “Wyatt?” She speeds back in after less than a minute. “I need you to take me to my dorm right now.” She scrambles to get her jeans on.

  “What’s wrong?” I hop into my sweats and running shoes. My hand fumbles for something in the drawer without looking and I pull on a T-shirt that reads World’s Most Annoying Brother. A gift from Blake a few birthdays back.

  “Nothing. It’s stupid.” She blinks back tears as she hustles me out the door. “Just something to do with Rags to Riches.” She bolts to my car as I unlock the door.

  I rush Marley back to Whitney Briggs, and she jumps out of the passenger’s side slamming the door so fast she forgets to say goodbye. I give a quick honk, and she waves still racing toward her building.

  Something tells me what ever it is, it’s very damn wrong.

  I head home, shower, and throw on a monkey suit. There’s a proposal due in less than twenty-four hours that I should probably come up with. No sooner do I get into my office than Ryder comes in with something tucked under his arm, a look of concern cemented on his face.

  “Morning.” He sits across from me with a somber air about him, expectantly as if he were waiting for me to say something.

  “What’s going on?” Second mystery of the day. This is all starting to feel a bit foreboding.

  “Dropped Laney off this morning. I always pick up a copy of the school paper after walking her to class.” He blinks a dry smile. “I usually give that article your girlfriend writes a quick glance. You do that?”

  “Every darn day.” I chuckle as I open my laptop. “It’s right here on my favorites bar. Sex and the Coed.” I give it a double take.

  The format is a little off today. Centered. Heavy font on the first line. Her name in bold. Just above that it reads; Hi all! I’m short on time tonight, so I thought I’d toss up a little something I’ve been working on—my memoir! Here’s a sneak peak, but you’ll have to catch up with me in about five years to read the rest of the juicy details! Smell ya later! Chow!

  Marley Jackson

  My Life in Men

  The sexual life and times of a college (slutty) coed.

  * * *

  Subject One: The Ancient One i.e. my boss! (Wyatt James)

  Quantity and Variety: The Ancient One and I have had a few sparse, non-memorable encounters. Although the subject had full belief he was able to enforce an assortment of carnal pleasure, the positions were often contrived and not a lot of energy was put into the endeavor. (I blame his senior stature!) Unfortunately, I have to F-A-K-E the big O every single time just to convince myself that he cares enough that I have one. His body isn’t up to par due to his advanced age, and his man parts are definitely lacking. Can you say twig and marbles? Even in my inexperience I understand that he isn’t up to the challenge, but a part of me wants to believe things will get better. Newsflash! I also believe in unicorns!

  Positives: He could be tenacious once things get going—that is, if he can keep it up.

  Negatives: He expends said tenacious energy on trying to work whatever position best pleasures him. Can you say selfish old coot? I knew this was a one-sided affair from the first night he took me to his place.

  On a scale of one to ten (one being a mental plea for my virginity) I give this subject a negative five. The Ancient One is totally unaware of how vitally he sucketh at the art of lovemaking. It’s comical to think he can make a career of this if need be. Speaking of careers, I hope I don’t get fired!

  “What the hell is this?” My heart sinks like a lead brick, and I fight the urge to vomit it out.

  “Sorry, dude. I don’t know what to say. I’ve already called human resources and made sure her security pass has been disabled. You’re safe here. She’s not allowed in the building.”

  “Got it.” I’m stunned as hell. As much as I’d love to defend Marley, that lecture Monica gave me about coeds banging ancient dudes comes to mind. “What the hell is going on?” I muse out loud as I frantically scroll the article for clues.

  “It looks to me like you met up with some horny teen. You sure she’s legal? Are you going to need a lawyer? I’ve got a good one on retainer if you feel the need.”

  “I don’t need a lawyer.” The last thing I need to do is lawyer-up because a coed managed to land me horizontal. Not just any coed, the one I was starting to think was mine. I pick up my phone and flip it in my hand, over and over, debating whether or not to put in a call. “And yes, she’s of age. She’s…” God, is she? I’m drawing a blank. I can’t remember her age to save my life.

  “You think you were set up? You think she’s after assets?”

  “No.” Although she did spend an awful lot of time lamenting her financial woes in the beginning. “You think she wants money?” I’m stumped by the idea.

  “Either that or she likes what you’ve got in the bedroom.” He tweaks his neck. “But according to that article…”

  Marley’s words come back to me crystal clear. “She was just using me.” I try to shrug it off. I told her she’d fall in love with me and that was her response. She was being honest, and I was too hopped up on the fact she wanted to bed me to listen. “Hell.” I rub the hell out of my eyes trying to wake from this nightmare. “You can leave now.”

  My phone buzzes. A text from Marley. We need to talk.

  I hold it up to Ryder, and he shakes his head. “I wouldn’t talk without my attorney present. Tread lightly.” He offers up a one-sided fist bump as he takes off.

  In a meeting. I text back before Ryder clears the doorway so technically I’m not lying. I may be a lousy piec
e of crap, but I am not a liar. I close my eyes a moment too long.

  This can’t be happening.

  I pick up my phone again and stare at it a good long time.

  There is one woman I’m suddenly anxious to talk to. I run my finger over her name and wait for her to pick up.

  Monica.

  “I’m so sorry,” she says out of breath. “I’ve already contacted administrators to have it taken off the paper’s homepage, but I’m afraid there isn’t a thing I can do regarding the print addition.”

  “So I guess this is when you tell me you were right.”

  “I did say be careful, but I had no idea you were swimming with piranhas. Your name was printed in black and white. I think you have a case.”

  “Second piece of legal advice I’ve received today, and it’s not nine in the morning.”

  “You want to hit breakfast? I don’t have class, and my office hours aren’t until noon. What do you say? It’s on me.”

  My phone buzzes. It’s another text from Marley.

  I’m going to take a wild guess. There is no meeting. Please, Wyatt, we need to talk. I’m begging you.

  “All right. Breakfast it is.” I hang up with Monica, wishing it were Marley instead.

  I’m pretty sure it won’t be Marley ever again.

  A week strokes by. Then two. April shows up then starts to fade. Marley tried desperately to get in contact with me, but my ego was too jacked up to face her. I’ve avoided the Black Bear like the plague—missed about six of Blake’s performances. Took a seven-day trip to New York to visit my dad, Piper, and Cade in the event I want to relocate. I went to Vale with Monica and helped close out her father’s estate. She’s kept after me, chasing me down in darkened alleyways after midnight, begging me to gift her a piece of my ancient selfish ass, but I keep refusing. Then one far too sober afternoon it occurs to me that she might be just what I need—someone equally as ancient as me.

  Marley is my past. And, apparently, the only way to forget her is to screw that girl right out of my head.

  It’s after eight when I call Monica to ask if I can swing by. She meets my proposition with an enthusiastic yes, so I line my pocket with condoms and head out like I’m going to a funeral.

  “Well, hey, good looking,” she sings, leaning seductively against the door, and, for a split second I want to run like hell.

  Wasn’t there a very good reason that Mon and I didn’t work? I’m starting to think there’s a very good reason anyone and I really won’t work.

  Marley blinks before my eyes hot as a flash fire. In my throes of achingly desperate heartbreak I’ve reasoned enough that I would gladly let her use me again. I would have, too, but she put my name in that damn paper—humiliated me in ways I didn’t even know I could feel shame. This is serious. It’s time to stop messing around with little girls and take another hard look at grown women—women who don’t play games, like Monica.

  “Mommy!” A tiny voice calls from the back. “I want juice!”

  “Ugh!” She lets out a mean growl. “Stay in bed!” she threatens. “I’m bringing you water.” She shakes her head at me. “Kids. It’s a medical condition that takes eighteen years before it alleviates itself,” she teases, heading to the kitchen. “Make yourself at home. I’ll be right back.” Monica looks over her shoulder at me as her tongue makes a slow revolution over her lips. “Feel free to take off your coat, your shoes—all of it if you want.”

  “Will do.” All of it? She’s got two little boys in the back who I’m sure would be scared spitless if they saw me walking around in the nude let alone pumping myself into their mother. Nope. This little misadventure will have to take place behind closed and locked doors. I’ll put off the disrobing until then.

  I hop up and head over to her bedroom. What the hell. Maybe I’ll surprise her naked beneath the sheets. I give my tie a quick tug as I make my way down the hall. A pair of double doors sit open, so I head on over. It’s a whiteout in here, not a drop of color in any direction.

  I take a seat on the edge of the king-sized bed. I’m not so much nervous to open an old can of worms as I am dreading the aftereffect. She’ll want to get serious. A girl like Monica, a mother, isn’t looking for a bed buddy to occupy her time. She’s not writing an article or a memoir that I know of. If she has her way, those will be my stepsons she’s tucking into bed. Maybe they are. I sink back on my elbows and eye the sterile furniture. Her nightstand is impeccably bare whereas mine is littered with condoms—freeze-framed from that last night Marley spent with me as a memorial to what an idiot I’ve been all along.

  I lean over and peer into the top drawer. Swear to God, if I see a condom, a vibrator for that matter, I might actually be impressed.

  A pile of old papers sits prominent. Probably essays she needs to grade.

  Just as I’m shutting the drawer, Marley’s signature catches my eye.

  “What the…” I pluck out the small stack. “Crap.” Photocopy after photocopy of the legal document I drew up for Marley stares back at me.

  “Here you are!” Monica jumps into the bedroom and closes the doors behind her. “I think someone is anxious to get down to business—” Her mouth drops open when she sees the incriminating bull in my hand. Incriminating of what I’m not sure.

  “Is there something you’d like to tell me?”

  “I was just curious.” Her hands ride up to her lips—something she does when she’s nervous—nervous because she’s just been caught. “I had taken your briefcase that night at the bar. It was stupid. I shouldn’t have copied it.”

  “Then why did you do it?” Just when I didn’t think I could feel any more indignity my barometer goes up a notch.

  “The truth?” She closes her eyes and dispels a heavy breath. “I thought you might come by to get your briefcase, and I didn’t know if I’d have a chance to go over it.”

  “Keeping it around for some light reading?”

  “I wanted to see what you were getting yourself into. I swear I was going to burn it. I just never got around to it.”

  “Did you have anything to do with that article?” For the first time in weeks, I’m starting to open up to other possibilities, other people to blame, and my adrenaline skyrockets because finally there seems to be a resolution to this nightmare that I can sink my teeth into.

  “No.” She spits it out emphatic, so convincingly she kills my building buzz.

  “I’m not so sure.” I take the paperwork and head out the door.

  Every part of me screams go home, but I head over to Whitney Briggs, instead.

  There’s a coed I think I’m finally ready to speak with.

  Claim to Fame, Walk of Shame

  Marley

  Annie keeps murmuring I love you into the phone to Blake. If she says no, you hang up, one more time I’m going to take her phone and plunge it into the toilet. I couldn’t care less about the plumbing in Prescott Hall. I get it. Annie and Blake are happy. Baya and Bryson are happy. Izzy and Holt are happy, blah, blah, blah. And they will all live annoyingly happily ever after. And here I sit broken and alone—let’s not forget cursed.

  A gentle knock erupts at the door. Annie and I both freeze and stare at one another as if a serial killer just arrived in the most polite manner. It’s probably just Baya. I jump up and look through the peephole.

  A familiar, vexingly sexy, hotter-than-a-house-fire face of a man stands on the other end, and I can’t catch my breath.

  “Oh, my, God!” I hiss to Annie. “It’s him! It’s Wyatt!” I shoo her into the bathroom, and she’s happy to comply.

  “Who is it?” I try to play it cool as if a stranger knocking on the door at ten-thirty is just something we live with here on campus.

  “It’s me, Wyatt.” He rumbles low, and my hand touches the door as if it were his skin.

  There are so many things I want to say, so much went wrong so fast. I have a feeling there aren’t enough words in the dictionary to convey how much hurt I’ve caused him—even
if it wasn’t me who published that stupid article. I have my suspicions, namely an ex who I happened to have emasculated less than twenty-four hours prior to the debacle, but he’s been just as good at denying it as I am.

  “Can I come in?” Wyatt’s warm voice vibrates through the door.

  I want to say yes! I want to fling the door open and ravage him, but something in me hesitates. Maybe letting him in is just another error in a long line of mistakes. I’ve already caused him so much pain. I’m horrified at what’s happened between us.

  My finger clasps the knob, and I crack it open slowly.

  “Do you come brandishing weapons?” I see him for the first time with the naked eye, in what feels like forever, and that sweet spot between my legs pulsates in response. A heavy groan rises up my throat, but I forcibly swallow it down. Wyatt James is gorgeous in a way that makes my bones ache.

  “Not unless you count my smile.” He pushes out an easy grin that dissipates as quick as it came.

  “Come in,” I whisper, stepping aside as his woodsy cologne saturates my senses.

  He turns to say something, but I stop him. My arms find themselves wrapped around his body like some autonomic response I can no more control than breathing.

  Wyatt. His hard body is pressed against mine, solid and warm, alive—his beating heart thumping over mine like a prayer.

  I pull back, my vision blurred with tears. “I didn’t do that to you, Wyatt. I would never in a million years do something so deplorable. That was Will. He took what I wrote and changed the details. That was his name, not yours. I don’t know how he published it, but he must have stolen my password. It was easy enough for him to hack. I swear to you, I would never dare hurt you like that. I would never say those horrible things about you. I’m sorry for all the pain I’ve caused.”

  Wyatt’s eyes explode in crimson tacks. “So am I subject number two?” He gives a wry smile.