Joy Ride

by Lauren Blakely

  “You can make me mac and cheese another time.”

  “Tomorrow?”

  “Or the next night.”

  “Or the next.”

  But tonight, I take her back to my place, and after we eat some sandwiches and a cinnamon roll, and she paws the tool set with the same kind of excitement she showered on my tub, I get her in the bath.

  She insists we use the Peach Dreams bath bomb, and that works just fine for me. I don’t care if I smell girly when I’ve got this woman in my arms, lavishing me with kisses and so much love.

  But we don’t get it on in the tub.

  C’mon. That shit is hard. That’s a recipe for banged elbows and bonked heads. Not to mention, it’s really hard to go down on a woman when she’s underwater. The same applies for blow jobs.

  So I dry her off, carry her to my bed, and I make love to her all night long.

  In the morning, we go to work.

  Epilogue

  Several months later

  * * *

  Henley’s pad was decorated in ruby red, fuchsia pink, and dove gray. Her fridge was slathered in magnets with stylish images of women in vintage dresses holding martinis and kittens with captions like “I don’t know how to tell you this, but you don’t have a hamster anymore.”

  Her coffee table was covered in framed pictures of her friends, her sister, her brother, and the rest of her family. We visited them in California recently, and they grilled me, making sure that I was the right fit for her. I’m pleased to report that I passed. Her couch was a comfy cranberry-red one, and it’s been donated to Goodwill, along with some of her other furniture. She said good-bye to her bed, but she’s keeping the comforter and all the pillows. They’ve found a new home on my bed, which is now our bed.

  My home is now ours.

  As I stand here with her, the last bag packed up, she waves good-bye to her pad in SoHo. She blows it a kiss, then shuts the door, locks it, and leaves the key with the super.

  “Good-bye, Girlie Home,” she says, as we head down the steps to the curb. Blue Betty awaits, and she’s even prettier than before. Leon repaired the hell out of her, and Henley fine-tuned the damaged engine. I hired her to give my prized possession a little extra oomph. I wanted the best for my sports car, and my girl is the best. Don’t get me wrong—I kick unholy ass with the exotics and the high-end vehicles. But Henley has a magic touch with hot rods.

  No pun intended.

  Marlowe Custom Cars has landed several big clients in the three months it’s been open, and I couldn’t be more proud of this woman. She’s beat me out on a few deals, and vice versa. The Lambo and Midnight Steel became huge hits, and sent even more business her way and mine. Sometimes we vie for clients, and it turns out the two of us thrive on the competition. It makes both of us better, tougher, more ferocious.

  During the day and at night.

  For now, I open the door and she slides into the passenger seat, then we head home, where we abuse our toothbrushes together.

  As I pull into the lot where I keep my cars, a flurry of excitement rushes through me. I rein in a grin as my eyes land on a gift I got for her. She sees it, too, only she doesn’t yet know it’s hers.

  She points and grabs at my arm as I turn the corner in the lot. “Look at that ’69 Mustang.”

  “Damn,” I say with a low whistle. “That is one fine car.”

  As we drive closer, her nose crinkles. “But it’s white.”

  I shudder. “So boring.”

  “I would never paint a Mustang white.”

  “You’d paint it pink, wouldn’t you?”

  “You know it.”

  I pull into the spot next to it and cut the engine. We get out, but instead of heading toward our building, I open the door to the Mustang.

  “It’s yours. You can paint it pink, tiger. You can paint it black. Hell, you can paint it lime gold if you want.”

  Her jaw drops open. “Oh my God, are you serious?”

  I nod, loving her excitement. “I’m completely serious. You can absolutely paint it lime gold.”

  She punches me lightly. “I meant, did you really get it for me?”

  I cup her cheeks. “You’re moving in with me. It only seemed fitting to give you a garage-warming gift.”

  “You’re such a gearhead, and I love you.”

  “I love you, too. Want to take it for a spin?”

  She waves a hand dismissively. “No. Of course not. I would never want to take the ’69 Mustang that my big, brutish, bearish boyfriend got me out for a ride. Let’s go play Monopoly instead.” Then she jumps up and down. “I want to take it for a drive now!”

  I head to the passenger door. When I get inside, I say in my best offhand tone, “The keys are in the glove box.”

  She pops it open, then freezes. When her eyes widen, the brown in them is the sweetest shade I’ve ever seen. “Max,” she says in a reverent whisper as she points at the blue jewelry box. “Is that . . .?”

  I grab the box and pop it open. A diamond as bright as the sun gleams.

  “Oh my God.” She clasps one hand to her mouth and tears streak down her cheeks. My tough-as-nails, take-no-prisoners girlfriend has the softest heart, the most emotional soul, and the sweetest smile.

  “Will you marry me?” I ask, as I do my best to somehow drop to one knee in the front seat of a car. It’s not easy, and by no means is this a perfect proposal position, but I hardly think that matters when she shrieks her yes, and I slide the ring on her finger. It’s not a small ring by any stretch. It’s what’s known in certain circles as a big-ass diamond. It’s four carats. She won’t be able to wear it often since she works with her hands and gets them dirty, so when she puts it on, I want the whole damn world to know from miles away she’s taken.

  But more than that, I want her to enjoy it, and Henley likes her sparkles and her bling.

  “It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” she says, and then she kisses me. “Besides you.”

  Once the happy tears stop, we go for a drive, and somewhere out in the country beyond Manhattan, we pull over, and we christen the passenger seat.

  A few nights later, Henley plays hostess. The guests are my brother and his wife, Josie, since they’re married now, my sister, Mia, since she’s in town, Patrick, and Henley’s best friend, Olivia.

  After Henley serves her now-famous homemade mac and cheese, she asks in a mock-curious voice, “By the way, did anyone happen to see the serving spoon?”

  Then she shows off her ring.

  “I’m blind, I’m blind,” Mia calls out, shielding her eyes.

  When she pours more wine, she asks, “Did anyone happen to see the cork?”

  She shows her ring yet again.

  “It’s like looking at the sun,” Olivia declares.

  When she sits down next to me, she admires it once more. “Seriously. Is this the most perfect ring ever?”

  “I kind of like mine,” Josie says, glancing at her band and engagement ring.

  “The Summers men do have most excellent taste,” Henley says.

  Mia clears her throat. “Ahem. Where do you think they learned how to pick out rings?”

  Patrick laughs and raises a glass. “To the happy couple, and the secret weapon of a sister who helped choose the most beautiful diamonds.”

  We all raise our glasses and drink to that. Patrick locks eyes with my sister, and something seems to pass between them. Maybe a knowing grin. Perhaps a wink.

  I’m not entirely sure. But when the meal ends, and Henley and I are in the kitchen cleaning up, I whisper in her ear, “Did you see that look Patrick gave my sister?”

  Henley giggles and grabs my forearm. “Honey, I think Patrick is giving your sister a lot more than looks.”

  I freeze. I’m not sure how to process this news. “Seriously?”

  “Sometimes, you’re adorably clueless,” she says, then she shares her theory on what’s up with Patrick and Mia. When she’s done, she swats me with a towel. �
�But that’s a story for another time. We need to get back to our guests.”

  We join them in the living room for a round of pool, and I lose interest in everything but beating them all quickly, so I can get my fiancée under the covers and under me.

  Another Epilogue

  A little later

  * * *

  Here’s something I want to know. Why the hell is sleeping with the enemy such a bad idea?

  It’s the best thing that ever happened to me.

  I used to think aged Scotch, expensive pool tables, and one-night stands were the height of pleasure. Then, my greatest guilty pleasure ever—screwing Henley—turned into the greatest bliss of my entire life.

  She’s what floats my boat. Life is short, so I do my best to savor every second of it with her. Sometimes that means doing it on the pool table, and sometimes that means lounging with her in the claw-foot tub. Other times, it means we engage in our favorite hobby. Our other favorite hobby. Tinkering on cars.

  I helped her with the paint job on her new Mustang. Big surprise—she went with a bubble-gum pink, and she named the car Belinda. She loves that beast something fierce, but not as much as she loves me. I know this because she not only tells me—she shows me all the time. She treats me like a king, making sandwiches for the guys when my buddies come over, hanging up the towels in the bathroom, and never nagging, just like she promised on the ferry. But that’s surface shit. What she does for me most is the simplest thing of all—she makes me happy.

  Every day, she makes me realize there’s more to life than work, work, work. Like magic shows. When Penn and Teller came to town the other week, I took her to the show, and we spent the rest of the evening developing a blueprint for how they pulled off the phone in the fish trick.

  Newsflash—we still don’t know.

  We tried the ferry again, too, and thanks to the orange non-drowsy Dramamine, Henley made it on and off the vessel without conking out or turning dizzy.

  We also like to go salsa dancing. I never thought I’d say that, but then again, I never thought a woman like Henley would become my wife.

  I suppose she’s all my guilty pleasures now, but I never feel an ounce of remorse for spending so much time with her.

  Some nights, I can’t believe we used to hate each other. But other nights, I think we both know it was another four-letter word that was brewing between us all along, and it just took time to turn from a glow to a blazing heat. It also took a pet monkey, a mangled roadster, and a Sharpie tattoo for me to realize that I felt the opposite of hate.

  We like to remind each other of this as we play a little game. At night when I slide into bed, she’ll often turn to me and say my name.

  “Max?”

  “Yes, Henley?”

  “I don’t want to kiss you.”

  “Good. I don’t want to kiss you either.”

  “And then I don’t want you to strip me naked.”

  “Thank God, because I’m not going to do that at all.”

  “And after that, I hope you don’t make me feel like I’m seeing stars.”

  “Planets, tiger. Maybe even galaxies.”

  Then, when we’re through, she’ll snuggle up next to me, and tell me she loves me.

  And I’ll whisper in her ear. “Same. It’s the same for me.”

  * * *

  THE END

  * * *

  Sign up for my newsletter to receive an alert when sexy new books are available!

  Curious about Mia and Patrick? Their love story will be told in HARD WOOD, coming in the fall! But first, be sure to meet the rest of the gang!

  * * *

  Women often say a good man is hard to find. And a hard man is even better.

  * * *

  That’s why I’m quite a catch — good, hard, loaded, and wait for it…I’m ready to settle down, too. But the woman I want to pitch my tent with is precisely the one I need to stay far away from.

  * * *

  After that fantastic night with Mia Summers, I’m ready to give her many more. But there's a hitch in my plans — she just hired my company. If there’s one thing I’m committed to, it’s running a squeaky clean adventure tour business. One of the iron-clad rules?

  * * *

  Don’t screw your customers.

  * * *

  I can follow my own guidelines. After all, it’s only a week-long trip with Mia and her employees over the trails and down the hills I guide them on. I can obey the rules—even if it’s hard in the woods.

  * * *

  I'm about to give myself a badge of honor when the storm of the century hits, sending everyone else running for cover, but us. It's my biggest temptation and me, alone for a long weekend. You don’t screw the client, especially when you’re already in love with her . . .

  * * *

  But what’s a guy to do when she’s so hard to resist?

  * * *

  HARD WOOD will release in November!

  FULL PACKAGE

  * * *

  I’ve been told I have quite a gift.

  * * *

  Hey, I don’t just mean in my pants. I’ve got a big brain too, and a huge heart of gold. And I like to use all my gifts to the fullest, the package included. Life is smooth sailing....

  * * *

  Until I find myself stuck between a rock and a sexy roommate, which makes for one very hard…place.

  * * *

  Because scoring an apartment in this city is harder than finding true love. So even if I have to shack up with my buddy’s smoking hot and incredibly amazing little sister, a man’s got to do what a man’s got to do.

  * * *

  I can resist Josie. I’m disciplined, I’m focused, and I keep my hands to myself, even in the mere five-hundred square feet we share. Until the one night she insists on sliding under the covers with me. It’ll help her sleep after what happened that day, she says.

  * * *

  Spoiler—neither one of us sleeps.

  * * *

  Did I mention she’s also one of my best friends? That she’s brilliant, beautiful and a total firecracker? Guess that makes her the full package too.

  * * *

  What’s a man stuck in a hard place to do?

  * * *

  FULL PACKAGE is available everywhere!

  * * *

  ***

  * * *

  BIG ROCK

  * * *

  It's not just the motion of the ocean, ladies. It's definitely the SIZE of the boat too.

  And I've got both firing on all cylinders. In fact, I have ALL the right assets. Looks, brains, my own money, and a big c&$k.

  You might think I'm an as%*$le. I sound like one, don’t I? I'm hot as sin, rich as heaven, smart as hell and hung like a horse.

  Guess what? You haven't heard my story before. Sure, I might be a playboy, like the NY gossip rags call me. But I’m the playboy who’s actually a great guy. Which makes me one of a kind.

  The only trouble is, my dad needs me to cool it for a bit. With conservative investors in town wanting to buy his flagship Fifth Avenue jewelry store, he needs me not only to zip it up, but to look the part of the committed guy. Fine. I can do this for Dad. After all, I’ve got him to thank for the family jewels. So I ask my best friend and business partner to be my fiancée for the next week. Charlotte’s up for it. She has her own reasons for saying yes to wearing this big rock.

  And pretty soon all this playing pretend in public leads to no pretending whatsoever in the bedroom, because she just can’t fake the kind of toe-curling, window-shattering orgasmic cries she makes as I take her to new heights between the sheets.

  But I can’t seem to fake that I might be feeling something real for her.

  What the hell have I gotten myself into with this…big rock?

  * * *

  BIG ROCK is available everywhere!

  * * *

  ***

  MISTER O

  * * *

  Just call me Mister O. Because YOUR
pleasure is my super power.

  Making a woman feel ‘oh-god-that’s-good’ is the name of the game, and if a man can’t get the job done, he should get the hell out of the bedroom. I’m talking toe-curling, mind-blowing, sheet-grabbing ecstasy. Like I provide every time.

  I suppose that makes me a superhero of pleasure, and my mission is to always deliver.

  But then I'm thrown for a loop when a certain woman asks me to teach her everything about how to win a man. The only problem? She's my best friend's sister, but she's far too tempting to resist--especially when I learn that sweet, sexy Harper has a dirty mind too and wants to put it to good use. What could possibly go wrong as I give the woman I’ve secretly wanted some no-strings-attached lessons in seduction?

  No one will know, even if we send a few dirty sexts. Okay, a few hundred. Or if the zipper on her dress gets stuck. Not on that! Or if she gives me those f*&k-me-eyes on the train in front of her whole family.

  The trouble is the more nights I spend with her in bed, the more days I want to spend with her out of bed. And for the first time ever, I'm not only thinking about how to make a woman cry out in pleasure --I'm thinking about how to keep her in my arms for a long time to come.

  Looks like the real Adventures of Mister Orgasm have only just begun....

  MISTER O is available everywhere.