Reality of Love Boxed Set: Books 1-3

by Marika Ray

  “Wow, you trying on the whole store, Mom?” Clark asked, laughing.

  “These aren’t all for me!” she defended herself.

  I grinned, the very idea of seeing her in any of those dresses all that could penetrate my thoughts. “Why don’t you and Milly get started and I’ll meet you in there?”

  “But I need to pay for Clark’s things.” She looked like she was attempting to shift the dresses, which everyone but her could see would be a disaster.

  “No, no! We’ll settle up at dinner.”

  “Dinner?” She froze.

  “Yeah. Dinner. All this shopping has made us hungry.” I hadn’t actually asked the boys if they were hungry.

  “We’re starved!” Stein nearly shouted.

  Pre-teen boys. Of course they were hungry.

  “Go. I got the boys.” I waved her off and she finally relented, probably because Milly looked like she either had to pee or she was about to burst from her excitement about the dresses.

  I finished paying for the boys’ clothes and then found them some chairs in the shoe department to sit in while they waited for the ladies. They were under strict orders not to move from those chairs and to keep the noise down. Their innocent upturned faces didn’t fool me. If I didn’t have a page over the intercom asking for their parents to come get them before the night was out, I’d be surprised.

  I hustled to make it back to the dressing room. I wanted to see every single dress Lily-Marie tried on. Thankfully, we were still the only shoppers in this particular fitting room. I could see Lily-Marie’s wedges from beneath the stall door.

  “Got one on?” I called.

  A tiny giggle and then an awed “wow” came from behind the closed door. My heart was beating superfast and it suddenly felt imperative to see Lily-Marie in a fancy ball gown.

  “Let me see,” I called again impatiently.

  The door cracked open with a groan. My breath caught in my chest and out stepped the most gorgeous five-year-old princess I’d ever seen. Milly looked up at me with a shy smile, twisting back and forth where she stood in a soft pink satin dress. A big bow was tied behind her and the skirt portion of the dress had some sort of glittery stuff on it that danced in the overhead lights. Feeling like what I said in that moment could make or break a young girl’s heart, I chose my words carefully, making sure they would come out right this time.

  “You forgot one thing, beautiful girl.”

  She tilted her head.

  “Where’s your crown, Princess?”

  A grin took over her face and she launched herself at me, wrapping her little arms around my legs in the smallest of bear hugs. I patted her back and silently promised her all sorts of things that weren’t my place to promise. Like a man to protect her and watch over her always. Someone to beat away the boys and show her exactly what she was worth.

  The door groaned again, interrupting my train of thought and the rush of emotion pulling me under from a little girl’s hug. Had I not been blindsided by the small bundle still attached to my legs, I would have remembered the whole point of coming in here and suggesting ball gowns was to see Lily-Marie in one.

  As it was, I startled when she pulled the door fully open and smiled down at Milly, her eyes misting over. I understood the tears: her daughter was absolutely adorable. What I couldn’t seem to comprehend was the blast of desire I felt seeing Lily-Marie in a turquoise floor-length dress. If the wall hadn’t been behind me, I would have fallen backward from the blow.

  The material clung to her like a second skin, showing off her tiny waist, before flaring out and falling to the ground in a wave of silk. Thin straps held the top up, but not before pressing her breasts up and together, nearly spilling them over the neckline like a wave cresting.

  If Milly looked like a princess, then her mother, in that dress, was certainly a queen.

  “It’s a little tight.” Lily-Marie shimmied, adjusting the top, and I swallowed hard.

  I seemed to be having an out-of-body experience there in the fitting room. I knew I should stop staring at her breasts. In fact, I was shouting at myself to avert my eyes, but my body wasn’t responding. Well, it was responding, but not in the area where my eyes were located.

  “It’s horrible, isn’t it?” Lily-Marie’s voice held a hint of a waver, which was just the motivation I needed to bring myself back to my body. She couldn’t be left to think she wasn’t absolutely everything in that swath of silk.

  My gaze flew to her face and I found her blushing hard, her hair piled on top of her head, leaving her neck deliciously free of her long locks. She looked highly uncomfortable standing there in her bare feet, which just didn’t make sense. She was a damn vision in that dress. A stunner. A model. She should never wear anything else.

  “N-no.” I swallowed again and tried harder. “You look absolutely gorgeous. Perfect. Maybe the right word is ethereal. Queenly. Beyond this world.”

  Her eyes widened and her lips lost their downturn. I patted my back, gave myself a gold star, awarded myself a raise. I’d said something to make her stop doubting herself. My epic triumph caused my chest to pound all the way up to the top of my head.

  Then she smiled full out and that’s when I knew.

  I was wrong.

  This experiment wasn’t failing, per se. It was just designed poorly. In a bizarre twist of fate—and science—the intended highway of feelings flowed the wrong direction. The list of fifty ways to find a wife wasn’t making Lily-Marie fall for me.

  I was falling for Lily-Marie.

  11

  Lily-Marie

  I shifted from foot to foot, absorbing what Jameson had said. He thought I was ethereal? That was high praise from a stilted science professor. Maybe he moonlighted as an English professor occasionally.

  I wasn’t oblivious. I saw him staring at my breasts, and I mean, really, how could he not? They were practically on display at an exhibition in this tight dress and glaring overhead lights. But then he looked at me and I could have sworn I saw awe in his gaze. I couldn’t tell you the last time a man had looked at me with reverence.

  Maybe never.

  And though I’d sworn Jameson wasn’t for me, I melted a bit right there in the dressing room. His compliments held weight, turning them from an “aw-shucks” moment to his opinion weaving into the fabric of what I believed about myself. I felt myself standing taller, sucking it in less, admiring the curves I saw in the mirror behind him rather than looking at them with disdain.

  Before I could even formulate an answer, the boys rushed in, a bubble of excitement, their words overlapping each other.

  “Whoa, there. What’s going on?” Jameson jumped in and I appreciated him calming them down. In the car, the kids had gotten a little out of control and I kept waiting for him to say something to them, but he’d kept quiet until the very end.

  Clark put his hand on Stein’s arm, taking the lead. “We were sitting in the shoe department, where you told us to stay, but then we saw a guy walk by with the new Gucci shirt Beckham wore last week on Instagram. So, we asked him where he got it and we went and got you one to try on.”

  “Yeah, Dad! Try it on. We all got to try on clothes, but you didn’t. This shirt is, like, everything.” Stein handed it to Jameson like it was the crown jewels when it was really only a hideous red plaid shirt with green camouflage on the collar and cuffs. Like two different shirts got in a tussle and decided to just blend together to settle their differences.

  Jameson took the hanger from the boy and eyed it like you would a skunk: with caution. “Wow, a shirt that’s everything, huh? I should definitely try it on.”

  Jameson stepped right in front of me and hooked the hanger on the door behind my head. I tried to scooch out of his way, but with the door behind me, there was nowhere to go. Starting at the top, Jameson unbuttoned the shirt he had on, the most confident smirk I’d ever seen gracing his face. Only a few buttons in and I knew what was going on.

  He had no undershirt on below.


  So, with each button, a new inch or two of tan skin was revealed. And oh, what a torso of skin it was.

  Someone somewhere cranked the heater and I was afraid I’d have to buy the damn ball gown because I started to sweat in it. You leave bodily fluids, you buy it.

  Then he was ripping the shirt off and muscles I didn’t know the man had were rippling and moving and stretching like I had my own not-so-private striptease. Shoulder boulders that dipped into biceps that had seen a curl or two. My gaze drifted over his chest, two mountains I suddenly had the urge to squeeze with my bare hands. And then, the body part I’d never actually seen up close before.

  Even with all the visual porn, I was aware my kiddos were in the room and I bet he knew it too, so no, he didn’t flash me that body part. More the shame. What I meant was, I saw an actual six-pack of ab muscles. Previously, I’d only been witness to your typical dad-bod midsection. Even with all the boys I’d seen at the pool or at the beach in high school, well before those boys had become dads, I’d only seen sub-par abs that didn’t hint at any sort of sections. It was just one large, soft area of belly.

  This... Well, this was an actual six-pack with valleys in between the bulges of muscle, and let me tell you, for research purposes only, I counted them. One, two, three, four, five, six. The man had a six-pack.

  No sooner had I verified the count than he put the hideous shirt on and covered it all up again. My eyes went from overheating from visual perfection to nearly crossing at the clash of colors and patterns.

  “You totally have to buy it, Dad!” Stein shouting his approval brought me out of my ab-induced haze. I blinked several times and saw Milly staring up at Jameson with stars in her eyes. Apparently, she didn’t mind the ugliest shirt known to the twenty-first century. She was taken by Jameson for entirely different reasons than her mother.

  When I’d come out of the dressing room after hearing him call her a princess and saw her hugging him so fiercely, my heart had squeezed in my chest. As a mother, you want to give your children the best of everything and it’s the very worst of guilt trips to realize you saddled them forever with a not-so-good father. Yes, he still saw them nearly every weekend, but he just wasn’t engaged with them. Milly never looked at Shawn with stars in her eyes. I would bet Shawn had never taken her shopping or insisted she try on ball gowns.

  I’d have to watch Milly carefully to make sure she didn’t grow too attached to Jameson. He was just the next-door neighbor. He had no ties to her and could move again at any moment.

  “While I’m tempted, Lily-Marie looks like she smells something foul, so I’m going to have to pass.” Jameson’s voice interrupted my thoughts.

  Everyone swiveled their head to look at me. That’s when I realized I’d been frowning, lost in my thoughts.

  “Sorry! It’s interesting. Just not quite your colors.” I tilted my head like I was actually considering the shirt, trying to let Stein down easy.

  Jameson clapped. “Okay, that’s resolved. I’m starving! Let’s go eat, huh?”

  The kids all jumped into action, Milly tugging my arm to go back into the dressing room and get out of her beautiful dress. I let her pull me back in, but not before a backward glance to catch one last sight of Jameson as he took his shirt off. I only counted to four before the door slammed shut and Milly demanded to be unzipped. Such was the life as a mom.

  By the time I got Milly and myself out of our dresses and we’d herded the kids to a restaurant next door, I’d cooled off, placing the vision of bare-chested Jameson in a box in the back of my brain never to be brought out again. Because the reality was, he wasn’t the man for me. I wasn’t settling again for a nice guy who was just okay who’d eventually leave me for a younger, thinner, prettier model. I wanted the magic. I wanted to be swept off my feet and treasured. Jameson was a nice guy, and okay, I admit, he had some delicious abs, but he wasn’t my Prince Charming in his polos and sweaters and stilted conversational skills.

  I know, that was a bit harsh. He’d told me himself he had a hard time saying the right thing, but the dating world was harsh too. I needed to refocus and put my moves on some fresh potential mates, not drool over my neighbor. My libido needed redirecting and getting back on the horse quickly was the best way to get on with it. Great, now even my thoughts were as jumbled as that hideous shirt.

  Jameson held the door open and the kids and I stepped into the waiting area of a barbecue joint, the smells hitting us the minute we entered. My stomach growled and I was glad we abandoned shopping for sustenance. Jameson went up to the desk to put our name in while I scanned the people waiting for their tables.

  A middle-aged man with a hint of gray at his temples sat on a bench lining the walls, next to a couple other guys. Clearly, the men were out for a night of barbecue and watching the football game. No ring on the left hand.

  Game on, boys.

  I sauntered over and claimed the seat right next to his, sliding close in the guise of needing room for the three kids who trailed me. I supposed trying to get my flirt on with my kids in tow ran a bit out of the ordinary, but better to get that little fact out of the way. If he had an issue with my kids, better to know now rather than later.

  He shifted as I sat down, his head rotating to get a look at me. I smiled my warmest smile and followed him by closing the inch of gap he’d given us. His polite smile turned warmer. Before I could give him my opening line, the one I’d been working up in my head to be a doozy, rough hands hauled me up to standing.

  I was chest to chest with Jameson, his familiar scowl somehow shaming me for my seat choice. My hands were pinned between us, caught in his tight grip. Then the room was spinning and Jameson was in my seat, pulling me down to his lap, his hands on my hips giving me no choice.

  Anger bubbled up my wind pipe, but got strangled by the sensation of being on Jameson’s lap. My damn libido was barking up the wrong tree again and my intended victim—potential date—was walking off to be seated at his table, never to have heard my line that would have procured his number, I was sure of it.

  I sat there, stunned, Jameson’s tree trunk legs the perfect seat bottom, his chest the ideal back rest. My thoughts were conflicted. The commanding way he stepped in and moved me was kind of hot. The goal-oriented modern woman in me was pissed. How dare he get in the way of my flirting game? The anger won out, that and the fact that my kids were watching me sit on a man’s lap—who wasn’t Santa.

  Scrambling off his lap, I sat down in the seat the silver fox had vacated, crossing my arms over my chest. I refused to look at Jameson. I didn’t owe him an apology. As far as I was concerned, he owed me one.

  “MacMillan, party of five?” The hostess called us and none too soon. As she led us to our table, I saw another man having dinner with a table full of guy friends. A streak of boldness rushed up my spine, making me roll my shoulders back and thrust my ample breasts out. Two could play this game.

  Right as we passed, I pretended to stumble, catching myself on the man’s strong shoulders. Not as wide as Jameson’s, but why the hell was I comparing, anyway? He looked up and held me steady with one hand on my elbow.

  “Sorry about that! Me and my two left feet.” I gave him a winning smile, which he returned for a brief second. Until Jameson wrapped his arm around my shoulders and hustled me off to our table.

  “Careful, honey,” he said just a bit more loudly than necessary.

  I jabbed an elbow in his gut with all my pent-up frustration behind it and sped off. I took a seat at our table right between my two children, which meant I wouldn’t have to sit next to Jameson.

  Dinner went fine as I kept up a lively conversation with the kids. Jameson interjected here and there, but otherwise left me alone. I stewed about his behavior the entire time we ate. He had no right to stop my flirting attempts. So why did he stop them? What was his deal? I thought he was still hung up on his ex. Did he somehow have feelings for me and I just didn’t know it?

  I’d like to state that I’m a
mature woman, having mothered two kids already, but the thing was, I liked to have a little fun. Sometimes at other people’s expense. Like when I purposely stood up from the table the other night just to see if Jameson would stand too. It gave me a little thrill. Kept some humor in my otherwise mundane and stressful life. It wasn’t hurting anyone, so why not?

  Which was why I decided to try as hard as I could to use another one of the ways to find a husband when we left the restaurant. Just to see what he’d do. A little test, if you will. After Jameson held the large wooden restaurant door open for me again, I walked through the parking lot with the kids behind me. Right as we passed a group of people standing around chatting, I zeroed in on the single guy—currently the only one in the group without a woman hanging on him—and made my move.

  Without missing a beat, I tripped, yet again. Damn those two left feet of mine. I almost went down, but before I did, I caught myself. My purse, however, was not so fortunate. The force of my almost-fall slingshot that sucker into the air, flipping it upside down and upending everything that was in it. And I’m a mom, so you know it was a lot of crap that came raining down on the pavement, right at the feet of my intended target.

  I heard the kids gasp behind me, but interestingly enough, not a peep out of Mr. Muscles and Frowns. Thankfully, the guy I’d targeted did exactly what Ms. Sanders must have envisioned when she wrote up her man-list. He swooped down and instantly started picking up my various items like the gentleman he clearly was. I had a full three seconds of jubilation before Jameson squatted down and helped pick up the ten thousand things that were rolling around the ground.

  “Gotta be more careful, darling,” he chastised while picking up a tampon and putting it back in my purse.