by Brill Harper
She beams like someone just crowned her Miss America. “Thank you.”
“This party has to be perfect.”
“I’ve never planned an engagement party before but if I get any ideas, I guess I can call you. Who is getting married?”
“I am.”
Her smiled dims and the color drains from her face. “Oh. You want me to help you plan your engagement party.” Her eyes cool and she goes aloof. “Who are you marrying?”
“Well, I haven’t gotten her to say yes yet. It isn’t going to be easy. She’s been hurt before and I’ve made a mess of things.”
“I don’t think I’m the right person to help you.”
I point to the wall where a plastic sandwich bag is filled with scraps of paper inside a shadow box. “Do you see that?” When she looks, I tell her, “That’s the contract I never signed. The one where you gave me your portion of the bar. Ironwing is still yours. Mostly.”
“You didn’t...what does this have to do with getting married? Are you leaving Brazen Bay, too?”
“How do you think I should ask her? She’s so beautiful and smart, and she knows a lot of romance language stuff and poetry, I’m only good at plain speak. Boring words.”
She whips her head back to me. I wait a beat.
“I’ve done just about everything wrong with her. Made a real ass out of myself.”
She swallows hard. “Well, to be fair, you are an ass. It would be unfair to expect otherwise.” She’s trying to read my expression. “She’s probably not perfect, either. Maybe the two of you can come to an understanding. You should use your plain, boring words. I’m sure that’s what she’d prefer.”
“Should I get down on one knee?”
“Um, well, if she’s nervous, she might need you to hold her up. Maybe put your hands on her hips, like this.” She places my hands on her hips and my heart starts thudding in my ears.
“Like this?”
She nods. “Yeah. And then maybe she would put her arms around you. For support. Like this.” She loops her arms around my neck and her eyes lift to my face.
“And then just tell her that I need her? That my life is shit without her?”
“I’m sure she’d like to hear that.”
I wonder what she would do if I pressed my lips to hers. “Should I tell her that I think she’s literally the bravest person I’ve ever met? That I’m in awe of the way she just tackles whatever life hands her, even when she’s scared? That I’m the one who needs to learn how to be courageous?”
“She might not believe you.”
“It’s true. I shut out anything that might change my life because I was afraid to take a chance on making it better. My life was fine, but it wasn’t good, Tru, not until you came into it.”
Here goes nothing.
I take one hand off her hip and pull a ring out of my pocket.
Her eyes round with shock. “My grandmother’s ring...how did you...”
“Perry helped me track down your lawyer. He gave us a lead on some of your personal things. Some of the liquidated items were sold off to different places, but I found this still in New York. You told me once it was the only thing you wished you could get back.”
“I can’t believe you did that for me. This means so much to me, to see it again. Thank you.”
“It’s yours, even if you say no, it’s yours. But if you say yes, it’s just the beginning. We can build something great together. Say you’ll marry me.”
Her eyes cloud with confusion. “I want to say yes, but don’t you want to date for a while first? It seems so rash, so sudden.”
“I don’t want to wait. I will if you want to, but I’ve been living my life in neutral long enough.”
“Wait, did you know about this setup today? Why did you have the ring in your pocket?’
I chuckle. “I always have the ring in my pocket. But I was planning on getting you alone next week, at the real party. Maybe tying you to my bed until you said yes.”
Her eyes twinkle with mischief. “Is that still an option?”
My dick swells at the thought. “Say yes, Gertrude.”
“If I say yes, you promise to tie me to your bed?”
“I promise.”
“Can Fifi be in the wedding?”
“You’re killing me. Please say yes. Please say...shit. I knew I would screw this up. I love you. I didn’t say that yet. I love you. And I love your stupid rat-like dog. And I love the terrible, wonderful things you do to my bar. I missed you so damn much and I really want to tie you to my bed, so hurry and say yes so I can lock this damn door. We’re closed for a private party.”
“I love you, too. If you can wait to marry me until I get my MBA, then yes.”
“You want to wait?”
“We can live in sin and have obnoxious sex whenever you want—but I want to finish school before I plan a wedding. And Megan is not getting near any of the planning.”
I slide the ring on her finger and the rest of my life begins.
Epilogue
Nash
Two Years Later
WHEN MY FIANCÉE ENTERS the balloon-festooned bar, it takes me a minute to recognize her. Or anyone she’s with. She’s wearing a tight neon pink dress, purple eyeshadow, and ankle boots with lace socks. The rest looks similar. Big hair, lots of ruffles and lace.
She crosses the room to me and I have to ask, “Babe, is that you?” as I lean down for a quick kiss. Tru doesn’t wear tight dresses as a rule, which is fine by me since I know what’s under all her conservative, prim and proper attire. But this side of her is also more than fine with me. I’m barely managing to keep my tongue in my mouth. The dress is molded to all her curves, short and snug. She’s all legs and silky skin. And mine. She’s all mine.
The heat coils low in my belly, making me forget we’re not alone. I kiss her again, slower this time. She’s sweet and hot, and she moans quietly until I hear someone clear their throat behind us.
Whoops. “Sorry.”
“No, you’re not.”
“I am so. I’m sorry we’re not alone. I’m sorry that I can’t haul you over my shoulder and take you home or at least into the office.” I reach out to touch her hair and she flinches.
“Please don’t touch it.”
“How did you even...build that?” I ask about her hairstyle which looks tall, crimpy, and crunchy.
“Aqua Net and YouTube.”
“Do you know how you’re going to tear it down?”
She shakes her head. “I’m a little nervous about it. But I figure women still had hair in the ‘90s after living through the ‘80s, so one night of damage might be okay. What do you think of the bar?”
I look around and take in the ‘80s prom theme decorations for our engagement party. “It’s ridiculous. I love it.”
I myself am wearing a tuxedo with a hot pink bow tie and cummerbund that matches Tru’s dress. I find Leo when Tru gets called away. He’s similarly attired and looks as uncomfortable as I do.
“Jesus,” he starts. “I can’t even tell you how worried I was my dad was going to bring out the assless chaps for this thing.”
“I knew mine wasn’t going to wear Spandex, but I did have to talk him out of wearing a tuxedo he actually saved from his prom. He insisted that it still fit him. He would have split his pants down the back the first time he bent over.”
“Sort of like assless chaps then.”
We toast each other’s beer and look at our women across the room.
“Your wife is as big as a house, man.”
He smiles. “Twins.”
“No shit?”
“Just found out today.”
I shudder. I want kids, even though that’s scary as shit. But I don’t want two at once. Mostly I just want to practice making them.
Leo seems to like being a dad. They already have one. “Remember three years ago when we shared a flask in the parking lot of the Masonic Temple while we were hiding out from the garter toss at your cousin�
“Now look at us.”
I shake my head and take another drink of beer. “We’re caged and shackled now. No more sowing wild oats. No more freedom.”
Leo is still looking at his wife. “It’s fucking awesome, isn’t it?”
I laugh. “It’s the best. What surprised you the most about being married?”
“Thinking it wouldn’t change anything to have the piece of paper and finding out it changed everything. Everything is better. You’ll see.”
“Looking forward to it.” I can’t wait to be married, something I never thought I’d say.
We’re also celebrating Tru’s MBA tonight. She’s worked really hard. I love watching the way she glows from all the people wishing us well. She fits here. I’ve never been prouder of this podunk town than when they all made room for her to be here.
We’re about an hour into the party when Pops takes the stage. Tru thinks he’s going to give a toast, but when Jake Stone and the rest of Ironwing go up on stage with him, she looks at me with confusion clouding her gaze.
I take her hand and lead her to the dance floor. Pops holds up his glass and gets the mic. “The day Gertrude Stanhope walked into this bar was one of the happiest days of my life. You might wonder why—I mean, she was here to take my son’s bar away from him.” Everyone chuckles. “But I knew as soon as I saw her. I got to witness the moment my son fell in love. I’ve never been prouder of my boy than when he learned how to give his heart away. Tru brought a lot to us when she came to Brazen Bay—my own wife,” he waves to Pauline, “a nearly profitable bar for my son, friendship to so many, and she reminded a few old guys that their glory days don’t need to be behind them.”
“What is he talking about?” she asks me quietly.
“Just listen.”
Someone brings up some instruments and my dad continues talking. “We’re not quite ready for a reunion tour, but we’ve been practicing something special for you, Tru.”
She brings her fingers to her lips and her eyes well up with tears when they play an acoustic version of their one-hit wonder, “Bold.” When the chorus starts, the whole bar starts singing along, like they always do. The moment is so damn sweet I need a filling, but I squeeze my girl and sing along. It’s the most ridiculous song in the whole world. But it’s ours. This song, this band, this bar, this town, these people.
Leo and Dixie come around with trays of sparkling wine and we endure toast after toast. After the fourth one, I notice Tru’s glass is still full.
“Why aren’t you drinking your wine? Do you have a headache?”
She shakes her head and lifts her glass when Stella finishes a long rambling ode to our dogs, who we put in the office so no one would give them cake. People always try to give them cake when they start drinking.
Tru pretends to sip from her glass. “No, I’m fine. Just don’t feel like drinking.”
I take her glass from her hand and down it quickly, suddenly parched. I can’t think, can’t clear my mind. My heart clenches and my pulse is pounding and I look at her, really look at her. She really is glowing. It’s not the makeup, it’s not the lighting. I pull her into me for a crushing hug. “You’re pregnant?” I say, my voice raw and my throat too thick.
She nods and her crunchy hair scratches my eyeball, but I don’t even care. Holy shit. She’s pregnant.
“Everybody out,” I holler. “She’s having my baby.”
Of course that means more toasts and hugs, and fuck me, will these people go home already? I need to be alone with her. I need to be inside of her.
Why did we rent the old apartment when we moved? I mean our new house is great, but come on, we could be in bed in two minutes if we still lived above the bar. Instead, I have to endure another hour of our friends, a ten-minute drive, and who made the sidewalk to my front door so long?
We’re finally in the damn door. “Please don’t break my hair,” is all she says when she sees the look in my eyes, then she’s whimpering because I’ve already pulled her dress and bra down to get my mouth on her round, juicy breasts. She goes boneless, so I scoop her up and bring her to the big chair. She’s on my lap, squirming, grinding against my hard cock. The hem of her dress bunches easily in my hand while she works on my zipper, freeing me.
Not going to lie, she looks pretty slutty all made up with her dress around her middle, her luscious tits swaying as she moves her hips seductively. I still her hips so I can move her panties to the side and position my cock right where we both want it. Need it. I tease her with it, rubbing myself where she’s so wet, so ready for me.
When I slide home, her back arches, thrusting her chest out. I take a nipple in my mouth and suck hard, but hold perfectly still below the waist until she starts panting and trying to move, trying to fuck me if I won’t fuck her.
“Patience.”
She rests her forehead against mine. “Please, Nash.”
“I want to make it last, Gertrude.”
“Oh, really?” she asks, squeezing her inner muscles until my cock twitches involuntarily. “You want to take your time?”
I grunt roughly, the sweat pooling at my temples. I’m on the edge of a mind-blowing climax already. I can’t get close enough, can’t get enough of her in my arms, my hands. I kiss her, stroking my tongue against hers, wanting to be inside her any way I can. My entire body is thrumming for action.
“I must be more turned on than you, I guess,” she says when she comes up for air, biting my lower lip. “Because knowing you knocked me up has made me so horny, Nash. You put a baby in me.”
I can’t stop the groan that barrels out of me, but I squeeze her hips to hold her still. “Jesus, why is that so hot?”
She can’t move the way she wants, so she brings her hand to my chest and pinches my nipple hard enough that I see stars and suck in a harsh breath, letting go of her hips and finding her hands, lacing our fingers together. “You play dirty.”
“I’m a dirty, dirty girl.” She rocks her hips and I meet her with a jolting thrust. “Again, do that again.”
Over and over, I pump into her. I lose my vision at some point. My hearing too. All I know is the dark, pulsing rhythm that surrounds us from the inside out. She’s everything I never wanted. And more.
She’s writhing now, reaching for that peak, and when her inner walls start convulsing around me, we shatter at the same time.
I’m not shackled. Not caged. But I used to be. I used to live in a world where I thought I had to keep my heart under lock and key.
And now I’m free.
DEAR READER,
I love that Nash thought he was grumpier than anyone else did. Next up is Stella’s book, and boy is she fun to write.
If you enjoyed The Right Stuff, please consider leaving a review at your favorite vendor so other readers like you can find it. Stella’s book is on pre-order and coming at you right before Labor Day weekend. Keep reading for a sample.
Until Next Time,
Brilly
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WHAT WOULD YOU DO IF the boyfriend you totally made up to get your sister off your back showed up at your place of employment?
Free-spirited Stella Stone has always been the wild child in her family, but even she is surprised at the amount of trouble she’s found herself in this time.
Christopher Lockwood was a random name she chose from the internet. How was she supposed to know he would end taking a temporary position in the veterinary office she manages? Now she somehow has to keep the uptight, tie-wearing, self-contained Christopher from figuring out that the whole town thinks they are dating, and somehow also keep the whole town from figuring out she’s a pathetic liar with a fake boyfriend.
Oh, and it doesn’t help that he’s a major hottie under those Clark Kent glasses and stern demeanor. In fact, something about his need for control brings out Stella’s inner brat, especially when he decides she needs a little discipline.
Too bad there’s no such thing as a secret in Brazen Bay. Not for very long.
Author’s Confession: This is the most opposite-y opposites attract book ever made even more fun by a fake relationship trope. Stella is a fan favorite and Christopher is the Alpha Nerd Hero you didn’t know you needed in your life. You are going to love the surprisingly dirty dude under the restrained and inhibited mask he shows the world. I mean unf, am I right? He’s the only one who could keep up with our deliciously nutty Stella and give her a worthy HEA.
Excerpt of So Wrong It’s Right
Stella
YOU KNOW HOW THEY SAY you should learn something new every day? Well, today I learned that there is a big difference between baklava and bukkake.
One is appropriate for dessert at a wedding shower and the other is a word I’m not even sure why I know. (That’s a lie. The answer is porn.) But I offered the wrong one as a suggestion to my sister on the phone, and now Megan is listing all the reasons that I won’t be helping her plan our brother’s wedding even though I am the only person in our family who knows how to have fun.
Not that bukkake is my idea of fun, necessarily. But I thought she’d like the baklava suggestion since our grandfather is Greek. It was an honest mistake. Slip of the tongue.
Freudian slip of the tongue, maybe.
We’ve moved on, and I’m only half listening to her as she yammers on about the upcoming wedding, which is still a month away, but which my entire family has been at DEFCON status for the entire engagement...in Megan’s mind only. I honestly don’t think Leo and Dixie, my brother and his sweet fiance, care about the wedding. They just want to go on a honeymoon, but Megan is having a particularly problematic Saturn Return this year, and it’s hitting her like a mid-life crisis. Of course, she won’t listen to any of my astrological advice about it, but I did slip a rose quartz into a slice in her mattress to help her relax.
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