Someone for Me

by Addison Moore

  “Really?” Ally leans in. “That’s incredible. It’s like he knew you were coming and so he booked years in advance.”

  “I bet he got his dad to pony up his millions and bought his way to the altar, like I did,” Lauren quips.

  “No, not my Cruise.” I slump in my seat. He’s far from the borrowing-millions phase of his relationship with his father.

  “What other Cruise is there?” Ally brushes the hair back from my shoulders.

  “Blair Lancaster’s Cruise.” I tell them all about the ninja nun who jumped me from behind while I dove into the calendar like some bridezilla on steroids.

  The two of them lose themselves in a laughgasm.

  “Oh, hon”—Lauren engages in some serious nose-honking into her tissue—“that doesn’t surprise me about Blair. She’s forever the planner.”

  “So I guess she and Cruise picked out Christmas Eve, too. Isn’t that strange?”

  “I doubt Cruise had anything to do with it.” Lauren takes a few careful sips of her coffee. “It sounds like Blair just being her normal demanding self.”

  “Besides, she is getting married on Christmas Eve.” Ally scoots her seat in. “I know this as a fact.”

  “To who?” I clench my coffee with a death grip. A remote part of me is afraid she’s going to say Cruise.

  “Rutger Crones.”

  “Rutger?” I pretend to sound incensed since Rutger is Ally’s ex-boyfriend, but I’d be lying if I didn’t say every cell in my body wasn’t relieved it’s not Cruise.

  “Gross.” Lauren turns her head as if she might be sick. “They totally deserve to be chained together for life.”

  “I wish she’d find another day to commence the shackling.” I twirl my finger over the rim of my cup. “Anyway, something tells me even if I had a million dollars I wouldn’t be able to buy Blair Lancaster off. She’d hold on to that date out of sheer spite.”

  “So true.” Ally shakes her head, and Lauren knocks her elbow into her.

  “No, it’s okay.” I sag in my seat. “I know all about Blair’s ability to do things out of spite.”

  “Look,” Lauren starts, “there are tons of other venues. You could have a seaside wedding. Or have it in a park.”

  “I thought about it, but it’s going to be freezing out. And honestly, deep down I’ve always wanted a church wedding.”

  “I get it.” Lauren reaches over and touches her hand to mine. “There are plenty of other churches right here in Carrington.”

  “You’re right.” I sink a little lower in my seat because I don’t want any other church. I want the chapel at Garrison because it has meaning. “I’ll get on the horn tomorrow and see if anything good comes of it. How are you doing? Everything coming together okay?”

  “Are you kidding?” Lauren presses a well-manicured hand to her Ann Taylor blouse. “Trying to book a hall is a real bitch, not to mention attempting to reserve a caterer on New Year’s Eve—and then there’s the florist, the photographer, the videographer, the stylist, the wedding planner, and my yoga instructor.”

  “Yoga instructor?” Ally asks because, well, one of us has to.

  “That’s right.” Lauren straightens defensively. “She helps keep me centered. Besides, she’s charging me double because it’s a holiday. They all are.” She huffs as if the financial burden is too much to bear, but the truth is, the only one around here who can’t handle the financial burden is me.

  “Maybe Cruise and I should just elope.” I crumple up my napkin as if I were crumpling up my dream of a big church wedding with a big, fluffy white dress. “I can’t afford any of that.”

  “I think eloping is romantic.” Ally swoons while gazing off at some invisible horizon. “If you want, guests can watch your wedding on Skype.”

  Lauren knocks her elbow into her again and smirks. “Nobody around here is Skyping their nuptials. It’s not what Kendall wants.” She flexes a weak smile in my direction because sometimes what you want and what you can afford are two very different things. And if you’re me, it just so happens to be all the time. “Kendall wants all the things that come with the traditional bridal package, and we need to brainstorm and help her figure out how the hell to get them.”

  Well, now that she’s put it so delicately, I can see it for the impossibility it’s panning out to be.

  Ally leans in. “A girl I know got married last spring and since she couldn’t afford a traditional dress, she had one fashioned out of water balloons—white, of course.”

  Lauren and I just stare at her.

  “What?” Ally shrugs. “It was cute. The guy who made it for her was a certified balloon artist. I could totally hook you up with him. And another way you can save money is by handing out a bunch of throwaway cameras at the reception and the guests can take their own damn pictures.” She cinches a satisfied smile, but I’m still stuck on the words water balloons and throwaway, and the fact they’re being used in conjunction with my wedding.

  Lauren glares at her. “The water balloon artist isn’t the only one who’s certifiable.”

  “Okay, never mind. We’ll figure out a way to raise the money.” Ally takes a breath. “How about bake sales? We can bake a ton of cookies and cupcakes and sell them on campus. I bet with the Greek boys alone you’ll score ten grand.”

  “It sounds like an awful lot of work.” I bite my lip, trying to think of something—anything—that doesn’t involve me inhaling mass amounts of carbohydrates moments before my big day. God knows I can plow through an entire sheet cake when I’m stressed, and not having a wedding dress, or venue, has me very much stressed.

  “There’s always posing as a nude model for the art department.” Ally arches a brow.

  “Been there done that.” Like I would ever fall for that again. But then again, posing with Cruise as my partner would be rather symbolic, not to mention we’d score twice the haul. What am I saying? Only strippers and porn stars fund their nuptials by way of their naked bodies. “Besides, I happen to know Morgan is stuck taking that class this semester, and there aren’t enough dollar bills in the world to make me drop trou in front of my brother.” That horrible incident of me hanging from his closet in my G-string comes back to haunt me.

  “You and Cruise should make a sex tape.” Lauren hisses it out so fast you’d think it were a delicious piece of gossip. “You’d make a bazillion dollars with that thing.”

  “Oh, would you stop.” Ally shakes her head, then freezes midflight. “Bazillions? On second thought, porn is all the rage.”

  “Both of you stop.” I push the idea away. “Porn is not all the rage. It’s dirty and sick and . . .” My mind starts to wander to those midnight moves Cruise employs and, dear God almighty, they are anything but dirty. Cruise Elton is a master both beneath and above the sheets. He can love me into oblivion with his tongue alone. Just the thought of his long, hard—

  “Kendall, wake up.” Lauren shakes me until I snap out of my sexual stupor. “The tape is out. We were only joking.”

  Ally takes a breath. “Maybe the sex tape is out, but that doesn’t mean you can’t tinker with the alphabet a little.” She gets a wicked gleam in her eye that I’m starting to fear.

  “The alphabet, huh? I do have a novel due for my creative writing class at the end of the semester.”

  “Who has time to write an entire novel?” Lauren is quick to balk at the idea. “At best you might squeeze in a few steamy chapters here and there, but how in the hell is that going to translate into a wedding dress and roses?”

  “The book boards at school are rife with perversion.” Ally perks up.

  “Book boards?” I’m almost afraid to ask.

  “Yeah, you know, where the bookworms go for guidance. I should know—I’m one of them.” Ally’s lips curve at the thought. “You can upload whatever fan fiction you want, and, trust me, my dorm sisters used to gobble that stuff up by the loving spoonful.” She shrugs. “Okay, I did, too.”

  “Nobody pays for fan fiction, All
y.” Lauren is right there with the sledgehammer of reality, ready to knock us over the head. “We could try marketing it like a subscription.” She holds up a finger as if to signal her own genius. “A serial!”

  Ally is quick to nod. “I see people uploading serials all the time. Mostly they’re sci-fi or horror mash-ups, but I’m betting erotica sells like hotcakes, too.”

  “Erotica?” I jump back, taking my seat with me. “My mom would die if she knew I was peddling alphabet porn to fund my wedding.”

  “Oh relax.” Lauren waves me off. “Consider it romance with open-door scenes. You know, invite the readers to sneak a peek beneath the sheets. God knows there’s nothing wrong with two people enjoying each other’s company. The Bible started off with an open-door scene.”

  “It did?” I’m practically clawing at my shirt. “How come nobody told me this?”

  “I’m telling you, right now.” Lauren snips. “Two people, in one garden, both very much naked. You can’t tell me ‘be fruitful and multiply’ happened without a whole lot of lovin’.”

  “That’s right.” Ally is totally on board with the idea. “And not a person on this planet would exist without an open-door scene.” She bites down on her lip and stares off dreamily as if she’s imagining her own open-door scene with my brother as the lead character.

  “But what will I do? What will I say?” This is all terribly exciting, and, truth be told, I’ve never been so damn electrified over a single shred of homework. “I’ll never think up anything creative enough to make anyone’s mouth water, let alone enough to outfit an entire subscription—or the back of a cereal box for that matter.”

  “You won’t have to think of anything.” Lauren needles me with her gaze like I should understand the subliminal implications of it all. “You’ll be living it.”

  “Hear, hear! I can attest to that.” Ally raises a hand like a Girl Scout. “Just the power tools I heard revving up back at that love shack of yours last summer were enough to pique my interest. Simply have a good time with Cruise, and jot down all the deets afterwards.”

  Lauren gives a sly grin. “And at the end of the day, I’m betting you’ll have enough to fund both a wedding and a honeymoon to any exotic locale of your choice.”

  I scoop up my backpack and thank Ally for the coffee as I head for the door.

  “Where you going?” Lauren shouts after me.

  “It’s time to start chapter one!”

  Cruise

  I pluck a soda out of the fridge, migrate to the couch, and flop down with a groan. I damn near broke my back crawling around under the bed-and-breakfast while trying to figure out where the hell that stench of death is coming from. The entire left wing is unlivable. Dad and Karen are still off on their extended European honeymoon; Mom is off helping my grandmother with her broken hip; and Molly, thankfully, is shacking up with a friend on campus. As much as I don’t like Molly having free rein over Garrison while her hormones are on fire, I’d hate the thought of her sleeping alone in that overgrown house. And I do mean alone. Not a soul has booked it since before Dad and Karen’s wedding three weeks ago. I pinch a wry smile. I still can’t wrap my head around the fact that my father married Kenny’s mother. Nevertheless, it was the last time the bed-and-breakfast saw warm bodies. There has to be something I can offer to help bring people in, but I just can’t figure out what.

  The front door rattles. Kenny bursts in like a hurricane, landing on my lap in less than two point five seconds, panting through that hotter-than-hell honeyed mouth.

  “Whoa.” A huge grin spreads over my face. First honest to God one I’ve had in a while. “Looks like someone had a great first day. Tell me all about it.” I land a careful kiss on her feather-soft lips.

  “It was interesting. Your sister is in my creative writing class, and the only thing she’s plotting is how to jump the professor.”

  “What?” I sit up and Kenny bumps into my chest, then stays there. The last thing I need is Molly trying to hook up with faculty.

  “Can you blame her?” Kenny hikes up her cheek, and that tiny dimple of hers goes off. “The faculty at Garrison is stunningly attractive.” She drips her fingers into my jeans.

  Hot damn. I do believe Ms. Jordan is happy to see me.

  “Yes, I can blame her. And I will, first chance I get. I’m pulling the plug on this budding illicit affair with her creative writing professor, of all people. Who is this turkey anyway?”

  “Some guy, Kurt something—Ertose, that’s it. Molly nicknamed him Professor Curl-Your-Toes.”

  “Crap.” I shake my head at the felony assault charges looming in my future. “You know I’m going to kill this guy if he touches her.”

  “I know.” She growls it out as if it’s the hottest thing she’s heard all year. Kenny leans in and nips at my lower lip. “Killer,” she purrs warmly into my ear, and a shiver runs up my spine.

  “You know I love it when you do that.”

  “That’s why I do it.” She straddles me with her knees on either side of my body and takes off her top. “I know you like this, too.” Kenny unhooks her bra and the girls spring loose right here in the living room.

  “Boy, you must have really missed me today.” Kenny and I spent the entire summer in that bedroom—mostly trying to give Ally and Morgan the proper environment for falling in love, per Kenny’s orders—but nevertheless had an insanely good time keeping one another occupied.

  “I miss you every moment we’re apart. So”—she peels off my shirt and rakes her nails lightly over my chest—“we should take advantage of each other as much as possible when we are together.”

  There’s a strange look in her eyes, and I can’t quite pinpoint what’s going on, but whatever it is, I’m liking the carnal implications of it all.

  “What gives?” I’m only asking once before I get with the program. My boner was already protesting the words as they flew from my lips.

  “I’m hoping you’ll give.” She unbuttons my jeans. “Then I’ll give, then we’ll both get deliriously happy, and we’ll fall asleep in one another’s arms. The end.”

  “The end?” A soft laugh rumbles from me.

  Her eyes widen for a moment.

  “Yeah, you know. Then a new day dawns and we start all over again.” She sinks a kiss to my sticky, sweaty chest. Kenny must not care that I’m more than grimy after rolling around looking at rusted pipes all afternoon.

  “I like how you’re thinking.” I catch a whiff of my body, and I’m shocked she’s still smiling, let alone entertaining the idea of “giving” anything to me. “You know what I’m thinking?” I pick her up and head down the hall, spinning her slowly until her hair trails like a dark scarf. I can get lost in Kenny’s hair. I have to thread it through my fingers at night or I can’t fall asleep.

  “The bedroom?” She flicks off her shoes in tandem.

  “Close.” I push open the bathroom door with my back and wince. “The shower.”

  “Oh!” She jumps over my hips, and I try not to groan. “How about a bath? We could light candles, and I’ll throw in rose petals and it’ll be all kinds of romantic!”

  “Candles?” Do we even own candles? “Sure.” I land her on her feet. “I’ll start the tub.”

  Kenny runs around and turns the radio to some moody love song while I strip off the rest of my clothes and settle in the tub. The hot water runs over my aching back, and I settle into it. I run some shampoo through my hair and then dunk my head under the spout, accidentally turning it into a bone fide bubble bath.

  Nice touch.

  Kenny runs in with nothing but her jeans on, her boobs bouncing in rhythm—and holy hell, I can so get used to this.

  “I vote we have topless Mondays,” I offer.

  “Very funny.” She turns my yellow work flashlight on and lays it on its side. “It’s the closest thing we have to a candle.” She seems genuinely disappointed. Note to self: stock up on wax pillars. “And there’s not a rose petal around for miles.” She peels
off her jeans, and I don’t take my eyes off her for a second. I know for a fact there’s a rosebud tucked between her legs, but then again I’m the only one lucky enough to see it.

  “That’s okay, we’ve got the poor man’s rose petals.” I toss a handful of bubbles into the air and a small cluster lands on her left nipple. “Nice catch. Come here, and I’ll help you wipe that off.”

  “So what did you do today?” She dips her foot in, and I catch a glimpse of pink between her thighs.

  “Looked up at pipes all day. Trust me, this is a much better view.”

  Kenny glides in, and the water sloshes slightly over the tub.

  “Come to think of it”—I run my hands down her back and over her perfectly shaped bare bottom—“we’ve never once taken a bath together before.”

  “And it’s damn near criminal.” Her chest vibrates over mine as a laugh gets caught in her throat. “You know what we should do?”

  “What’s that?” My hard-on grazes over her thigh, offering her a pretty big clue of what I think we should do.

  “We should challenge ourselves to have sex in all kinds of different places right up until our wedding day.”

  “Different places?” I’m pretty sure we’ve already covered an entire spectrum of spaces and places, but I’m up for the challenge.

  “Yeah, you know—we can make a game of it. It could be our own private wedding challenge. Sort of a buildup to the big day.”

  “A climactic buildup at that.”

  “A happy ending to our never-ending story”—she touches her nose to mine—“every single day.”

  “Every single day?” I tweak a brow at her. Sounds ambitious.

  “You complaining?” She reaches down and strokes her hand over my dick, and I let out a groan of appreciation. “Of course, you’ll have to be the one dreaming up new things for us to do. I’m not really creative in that respect.” She lowers her lashes for a moment. “Are you up for the challenge?” Her hand strokes over the length of me, and I give another little groan.

  “Oh, honey, it’s on.”