Spring Fling

by Claudia Burgoa

  “Milo, sweetheart you’ve finally arrived,” a middle-aged woman with light brown hair and green eyes calls after him. Right next to her is a tall blonde who might be around my age, maybe a little younger.

  His sister?

  “Mom,” he says, taking my hand and pulling me toward him.

  His mother stops right in front of us, taking me in from head to toe.

  “Mom, meet Claire Solis,” he introduces me, kissing my temple.

  “Hi, Milo,” the young woman greets him with a sexy voice while batting her eyelashes.

  Definitely not his sister—at least I hope to God she’s not.

  “You remember Georgina?” his mother asks.

  “I think so,” he says absently and turns to look at me. “Claire, meet my mother and Georgina, one of my sister’s best friends.”

  Message received, she’s one of the three women expecting to score a date with Miller Archer.

  “It’s so nice to meet you,” I say, extending my hand toward his mom. “Between you and me, I can’t wait to try your famous BBQ ribs. Every time we go out to dinner or he cooks for me, he talks about them. ‘No one makes them like my mom,’ he says.”

  His mom smiles and her eyes crinkle as if I just gave her the best news in the entire world.

  “I’m Crystal Archer,” she says, enveloping me into a big hug. “It’s really nice to finally meet you, Claire. Miller’s talked a lot about you. We have to invite you to dinner soon.”

  “Just tell me when and I’ll be there, Mrs. Archer.”

  “Please, call me Crystal.”

  “We have reservations for tonight,” she tells Miller. “Make sure to meet us here by seven.”

  “See you, Mom,” he says, ignoring Georgina. “Come on, Claire Bear, you need to rest for a couple of hours.”

  “Are you okay dear?” she asks, worry apparent in her voice.

  “The food on the plane didn’t agree with her,” he says, casually taking the card keys from the front desk.

  “I’m sorry to hear that. Would you like me to call the doctor, sweetheart?”

  “Thank you, I’ll be fine after a nap,” I respond tentatively.

  * * *

  * * *

  The salty air is a big change from the freezing cold of Denver. For the first time in months, if not years, I don’t care about the humidity transforming my hair into a frizzy mess. It’s not a big deal if I have an ocean view, tacos, and margaritas right by my side.

  So what if I have to spend a couple of days pretending that I’m dating Michael Vartan’s doppelgänger and endure his hypnotizing charm.

  Thankfully, the spell breaks when I realize we have only one king-size bed.

  “Didn’t you request two queens?” I ask when we enter the hotel room.

  So, I sound a little bratty, but that’s the only way I can mask the lust that arises just from imagining what we could do in that bed … or around the room. He’s your boss. He’s your boss.

  “You heard the man,” he says, setting the bags in the closet and opening the balcony doors. “They were booked solid.”

  “Well then, you’re taking the couch,” I say when I look at the king-size bed.

  He gives me an amused glance. “I don’t fit on the couch.”

  “You said this was a suite.”

  He glares at me as he speaks over the phone. “Yes, It’s Miller Archer from room 1225. We booked a suite.”

  He looks around and then at the bed. “Yes, I realize the room has a balcony and a view. This isn’t a suite. More points on my account?” He sighs. “That’s not enough.”

  He pinches the bridge of his nose and thanks the guy on the phone.

  “What happened?”

  “As they said, they don’t have any rooms available,” he laments, looking at the bed. “It’s big enough to fit the two of us though.”

  “You promised me a separate room.” I use my firmest voice.

  “We’ll ask for extra pillows and put a barrier between us,” he suggests.

  “I’m serious, Miller. If we’re keeping this room, you’re sleeping on the floor.”

  “We can share the king-size bed,” he insists. “You’re just a little tiny thing.”

  “A little thing?” I squint my eyes at him. “Five foot four is considered average height for women. And you’re merely a foot taller than me.”

  “Only a foot?”

  I point my finger and say, “Do not sidetrack the conversation with dirty innuendo.”

  He raises his hands and shrugs his shoulders. “I wouldn’t dare. Why don’t you do me a favor? Put that finger down and let’s talk about this.”

  “You’re already out of favors, Miller Archer,” I warn him, taking a step back. “And keep your tall, manly body away from me.”

  “Because I’m hot.”

  “No, because I like to have my own space,” I correct him. “Why did I let you talk me into doing this?”

  “Because deep down you’re a nice person.”

  “Hey, I am a nice person.”

  “Yeah sure, with everyone but me.”

  “Treat others the way you want to be treated, Mr. Archer. I’m not going to be friends with the emperor of doom.”

  He eyes my luggage and asks. “Any chance you brought a couple of dresses that would work for the rehearsal dinner and the wedding?”

  I laugh hysterically. “You’re precious, Archer.”

  “That’s a no,” he says matter-of-factly. “There are a few boutiques downtown.”

  “Before you fulfill your Pretty Woman fantasy,” I say, going to my luggage and unpacking my swimming suit and wrap. “I’m going to take a shower and get ready to enjoy my vacation. I plan on celebrating my birthday with a nice suntan.”

  “Wait, it’s your birthday?”

  “Yes, Monday is my birthday.”

  “Aren’t you going back to work on Monday?”

  “Nope, I’m staying until Thursday. See you in the lobby at seven,” I say with a snarky tone and close the bathroom door.

  “What am I supposed to do?”

  “Relax and have fun,” I say from the other side of the door as I turn on the shower and get undressed. “Focus on the palm trees, Coronas, and the sound of the ocean hitting the shore.”

  * * *

  Miller

  * * *

  Palm trees, Coronas, and the ocean she said. I can only focus on her barely covered curves lying next to me. Was that body under those baggy clothes all along? Toned legs, wide hips, slim waist and a perfect chest. I bet I could fit those perky boobs in the palm of my hand.

  “Would you like something to eat, sir?” A waiter approaches us.

  A cold shower. The heat is making me want to run my hands over Claire’s soft skin. Trace her curves with my lips.

  I turn casually to ask her if she wants something when I realize she’s rubbing sunscreen on top of her well-endowed chest. If only I could pull the thin fabric down to see her nipples.

  “Sir?” the guy asks again.

  “Clarice?” I ask with disdain, feigning repulsion.

  “I’m all good, Hannibal,” she answers and hands me the sunscreen. “Would you mind rubbing some on my back. I promise to return the favor.”

  How am I supposed to spend the night with her without acting upon my fantasies?

  I squeeze a generous amount and begin rubbing it into her back diverting my thoughts to work in order to avoid getting harder than I already am. But the thought of work takes me back to Claire. This magnificent creature who, in just a few hours, has been getting under my skin—and I want her under me before the night ends.

  “We need to go shopping for your dresses.”

  “I’ll make it work with what I brought. I can’t afford to buy a fancy dress,” she announces.

  “Believable,” I remind her. “We have to pretend that you came ready for the big day and not that I convinced you to do me a favor.”

  “Tuscany convinced me, not you,” she clarifies
, taking the sunscreen away from me and squeezing some into her hand.

  “Turn around,” she orders with a sultry voice. “It’s your turn, Mr. Archer.”

  I give her my back and moan as she caresses me with her soft hands.

  “Huh, I didn’t picture you as a guy with tattoos.”

  “No, you pictured me old, wrinkly, with too many moles, like the Emperor in Star Wars,” I state laughing.

  “No, I didn’t picture you at all, Miller Archer. Yet, what I’m discovering surprises me.”

  “The dresses,” I say with a gruff voice while counting backwards from a hundred to one.

  Stay down, boy. But my dick is having trouble obeying.

  “Do it for Tuscany, Claire Bear.”

  “You have a thing for Julia Roberts,” Claire tells me in a sassy voice.

  “There you are, Milo.” I hear my sister’s voice before I spot her.

  “That’s Lola,” I mumble, watching my little sister approaching us.

  “Have you ever told them you hate your nickname?”

  “Nope, and let’s keep it that way,” I warn.

  “Mom said you’d be in your room,” she says, giving me a big hug and then turning to Claire. “Hi, I’m Lola.”

  “Claire,” she introduces herself. She stands up and hugs my sister. “I’m so glad to finally meet you.”

  “You too,” she says, returning Claire’s hug. “I wish he’d introduced us before. This is such a surprise.”

  “What’s up, Lola?”

  “I just wanted to introduce myself before dinner. It’s going to be … busy.”

  “Who else is coming?”

  “Dad’s family,” she says and with that, I’m already expecting the worst. “Are you going to be okay?”

  “As long as I don’t have to act as bouncer, it’s all good.”

  “I wish our parents weren’t so … family oriented,” Lola says using air quotes. “It’ll be okay.”

  “Oh, do you want to come to the bachelorette party tomorrow?” Lola invites Claire who quickly answers with a polite, “No, but thank you for the invite.”

  “I mean, I know it’s last minute.”

  “Claire’s birthday is next week, we’re celebrating it tomorrow.”

  “We should celebrate with her,” Lola suggests.

  “Maybe another time, Lola.”

  “Fine, but let’s try to have brunch on Sunday before your flight,” she offers, squeezing my hand and smiling at Claire before she leaves.

  “Thank you for getting me out of that.” She pushes me playfully with her elbow.

  “Why did you say no to the bachelorette party?”

  “What if I can’t hold my alcohol?” She drinks her water. “I would spill the beans and lose Tuscany.”

  “Ready to go shopping?”

  “Fine,” she says, humming the theme song to Pretty Woman.

  * * *

  * * *

  Torture. I’m not sure if Claire is torturing me on purpose or if it’s self-inflicted. I’ve been walking with a semi-hard dick all day long. It started when she came out of the bathroom wearing nothing but a peach colored bikini and a flowered wrap around her waist. Her long hair was tied into a bun and her skin glistened. Actually, lounging by the pool wasn’t half as bad as going shopping with her.

  She modeled for me as we looked for the perfect dresses. She would turn around, sway her hips and ask me if her ass looked too big with each number. I only wanted to undress her and look at that perfect butt completely naked.

  She ended up buying a black strapless dress for tonight. It’s tight from the waist up and then loose down to the knee. If I found her attractive earlier today, tonight I’m ready to drag her to our room and make her mine.

  “How do I look?” she asks, taking a deep breath before we enter the restaurant.

  “You clean up well, Solis,” I say, resting my hand on the small of her back.

  She glances at me and smiles. “You don’t look bad yourself, Mr. Archer,” she says in a flirty voice.

  “You guys made it.” Lola runs toward us, giving me a tight hug. “Save me from them, please.”

  “What’s happening?”

  “They’re eating Kevin alive.”

  “Where is he?”

  “By the bar, getting drunk and figuring out how to break off our engagement,” my sister says with a fake sniff.

  “The man has faced them before,” I remind her. “He proposed to you after already having met them.”

  She does a double take at Claire and says, “Your dress is gorgeous. Where did you get it?”

  “Oh, thank you. It’s an old thing I had hanging in my closet.”

  “Lola, sweetheart, come over here,” my mom calls.

  “Stop smoothing your dress, you look gorgeous,” I tell her, grabbing her hand. “You look great,” I assure her again, kissing her knuckles.

  “I look half naked.” She looks over her shoulder, staring at her ass.

  “Well, you look like an eleven.”

  “An eleven to your ten?” She rolls her eyes. “You don’t need to use lines on me. I’m working.”

  “Maybe I’m just telling the truth.” I kiss her bare shoulder. “Gorgeous doesn’t begin to describe how amazing you look today.”

  “Whatever, we’re done after dinner. I’m not the Julia Roberts to your Richard Gere fantasy.”

  “And what is that supposed to mean?” I smile which seems to throw a wrench in her rant.

  “I’m not a hooker.”

  “What did you say, dear?”

  My grandma turns her attention to us and my blood freezes.

  “Grams,” I greet her, swallowing hard.

  “I was calling him a looker,” Claire says. “He usually wears dark colors, this white shirt and linen pants are a change from his usual attire.”

  “You look beautiful,” my grandmother tells her. “I love your dress and those earrings are lovely. Where did my handsome grandson find you?”

  “At a small cafe in downtown Denver,” Claire answers. It’s the response we came up with while shopping for her dresses.

  “I love that city,” Grams says. “I regret moving to Florida.”

  “Where did you used to live?” Claire asks, focusing on my grandma and listening to everything she has to say about New York City, my late grandfather, and how much I remind her of him.

  I leave them chatting to grab something to drink for Claire and myself.

  “Thank you, babe,” Claire says softly when I hand her a glass of red wine.

  “She was telling me about George,” Grams says. “If you two come down to visit me in Florida, you have to bring him too.”

  “We’ll try, Grams.”

  “Don’t try, just—” We’re interrupted by the commotion near the buffet.

  “Your father’s family,” Grandma says with a sigh.

  I fold up my sleeves, taking a deep breath. “See you in a few.”

  * * *

  Miller

  * * *

  Growing up, I never understood why my father didn’t invite his family to our house. It was only after those rare occasions that I realized they should never be allowed in public. They can’t socialize without creating a scene or inciting a bar brawl.

  Claire sits next to my sister, talking to her animatedly. Lola isn’t crying or sad, instead, she’s laughing at whatever Claire is telling her.

  “She’s a keeper,” Grandma says as I walk by her.

  “Hey,” I greet them. Claire takes my hand and squeezes it.

  “You shouldn’t invite them to your wedding,” Lola says to both of us. “Elope.”

  “I thought you were eloping.”

  “Hey, let’s go to the bar, babe,” Claire says. She stands up from her chair, stretches herself onto tiptoes and kisses my jaw.

  “Will you be okay?” she asks my sister. In that moment, Kevin arrives. “Let’s go to my room, Lola.”

  “Thank you for checking on her,” I say. I
hug Claire because, for some crazy reason, I need to hold on to something after what happened.

  When we arrive at the bar, she asks, “What’s your poison?”

  “We’re in Mexico. Let’s have tequila,” I offer. “Casa Azul on the rocks,” I say to the bartender.

  “That sounds fancy,” Claire says, “I guess I’ll take a frozen margarita.”

  “Use the same tequila for her,” I tell the bartender. “Keep the tab open.”

  “Max,” she says as she sips her margarita. “Here’s to drunk uncles. There’s never a dull moment during family reunions.”

  She laughs. “We definitely need to elope if we want to avoid drama during our wedding.”

  We both laugh and I raise my drink.

  “To messy families, destination weddings, and Clarice.”

  She tosses her head back and laughs a rich, open laugh that both relaxes me and stirs up everything inside me.

  “Well, Hannibal, my family would be a shoo-in against your psychotic tendencies. My nephew is Satan himself.”

  Three margaritas later, we’re still laughing at all the shit her nephew does. Her family sounds awesome but also overbearing.

  “Mom and I are close. She calls me every day to make sure I’m up to speed with what’s happening in the family. I take them for granted.”

  “Why are you avoiding them next week?”

  “What?” She looks over at me.

  God, the furrow in her brow is adorable.

  “Did I mention they’re overbearing?”

  I’m still distracted by the furrow which appears again when she doesn’t have an immediate answer. I stare at her luscious lips. It’s been a long time since I’ve been captivated by a woman. And a woman like Claire nonetheless. Intelligent, kind, beautiful. I just can’t keep my eyes off of her. Her eyes, those beautiful toned legs, the dress molded to her curves. She’s so fucking hot, I’m salivating as I listen to her talk about her family.

  “But that’s not the whole reason,” I insist. “Why are you avoiding them?”

  Her face falls. “It’s a long story.”

  “We have all night.” I pull her into an embrace.