Hot Pickle: A Best Friend's Sister Romantic Comedy

by JJ Knight

  “Pickles, I can do.” He snags another glove and piles pickles into a container.

  The woman at the cash register frowns. She’s college-aged, lots of attitude. She does not approve of my arrival behind the counter.

  “So, Mr. Pickle, who is this?” She flips a long lock of blond hair behind her shoulder and glares at me like I’m poaching on her man.

  “This is Camryn. We’re heading out for a picnic.”

  The girl’s expression darkens. “In the middle of the workday? I’m the only one on the line until the others get back.”

  Oh, this employee is not like the others. She seems to think she has some claim on Max. I glance between the two of them. I’m curious how Max will handle this challenge. No doubt more than one employee has tried to get their clutches on him.

  “You are very good at what you do, and you will handle it marvelously,” Max says.

  This mollifies her, but she crosses her arms in front of her green pickle shirt. “Where are you going for this so-called picnic?”

  I want to tell her it’s none of her damn business, but Max answers as he pops a lid on the pickle container. “Not sure yet. The neighborhood park is small. You’re young. What are some great spots to have a picnic around here?”

  Her eyes brighten at the “you’re young” comment, and she lifts an eyebrow at me while Max extricates another container from the stack.

  Readers, I have to admit I’d like to smack her.

  Max glances up. “Did you have any ideas?”

  “We’re in the middle of L.A.,” she says. “But I’d head to the beach.”

  Max turns to me. “That sounds nice. You game for sand and waves?”

  “Absolutely.”

  The girl sighs and drops her chin onto her hands as she braces her elbows on the counter.

  Max fills a small container with a white spread. “The beach is a great idea. Thank you, Karen.”

  I stifle a laugh. Of course her name is Karen.

  The man who took me to the back returns, and the tension lifts.

  “I’m Angelo,” he says. “I figured I better introduce myself since my boss, here, forgets his manners around pretty girls.”

  This gets a harrumph from Karen, but Angelo ignores her as he merrily helps us pack a sandwich for me, and a collection of meat and cheese for Max.

  Max drags down an L.A. Pickle cooler from a high shelf to pack everything in. “Andre will close,” he tells Karen and Angelo. “And let Miranda know we’re testing the anniversary bread tomorrow.”

  Karen gives a halfhearted salute as she watches us walk out the door.

  “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Angelo calls, and Karen elbows him.

  When we’re outside, I thread my hand through the crook of his arm. “You know, I think your Karen in there has a bit of a crush on you. If her eyes had death darts, I’d be twitching on the ground.”

  “Really? I hadn’t noticed.” He grins down at me, and the matter of his ardent employee disappears.

  We take Max’s blue sports car to one of the public beaches. It’s a good forty-five-minute drive, but my day is free, and Max’s is open until his evening workout with my brother.

  We’re not five steps onto the beach before I reach down to unhook my sandals. “You’re going to have shoes full of sand,” I warn Max.

  He glances down at his shiny work shoes. “Good point.”

  He sets the cooler down to remove his shoes and socks. His feet are darkly tan against the white sand. My work. They look good.

  It’s cool here on the beach, the ocean breeze blowing across my skin. He tucks the blanket he pulled from the trunk of his car beneath the strap of the cooler, neatly shifting everything to one hand, leaving one free for me.

  The beach is dotted with visitors, seagulls swooping over the water with great squawks. But it’s a quiet area, since most everyone’s at work or in school mid-afternoon on a weekday.

  We head close to the waterline, leaving footprints in the damp sand. Max squeezes my hand and when he smiles at me, my heart is full.

  21

  Max

  Walking at the water’s edge with Camryn is like a dream.

  She’s braided her long hair aside one shoulder, and with her sunglasses and long dress blowing in the breeze, she could be a model for a vacation ad.

  We wander along the beach until we find a secluded stretch, too far from the parking lots for the average beachcomber.

  I spread out the blanket and anchor it with my shoes and the cooler. I’m glad I got out of the deli today. We need some easy couple time. Something ordinary after the intense moments we’ve had since we met.

  Camryn goes straight for the pickles. “I believe you packed all the different kinds into one container,” she says, plucking the lid off the top. “That most certainly violates the law of pickles.”

  “No such thing as pickle laws,” I say. “Unless I make them. I am a Pickle after all.”

  She settles cross-legged across from me, the container in her hand. “That can’t really be your last name, right?”

  I tug a water bottle from the bag. “We were all born as Packwoods. It was Dad’s genius idea for us all to function as Pickles. But my driver’s license says Packwood.”

  Camryn scrunches up her nose. “But when you won the prize, they called you Max Pickle.”

  “Lots of bodybuilders use stage names. Take your friend Behemoth.”

  “True.” She lifts a pickle from the plastic tub. “Your pickle definitely has stage presence.”

  She catches me mid-swig, so I sputter water into a coughing fit.

  Camryn bangs her palm on my back. “Water have a bone in it?”

  Now it’s worse, me cough-laughing. She pounds on me until the coughing subsides and I can take a normal sip of water.

  She’s really something.

  “So, tell me everything there is to know about Camryn Shultz.”

  She crosses her ankles, legs stretched out on the blanket. “You should know a few things since it’s the same as my brother. Grew up in L.A. Two parents, still married, still living here.”

  “I get the sense Franklin doesn’t talk to them.”

  She frowns. “Neither of us, much. Franklin and I mostly raised ourselves.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  She shrugs. “What about you?”

  “Dad is great. Very involved with all three of his sons. My mom died when I was a senior in high school. Made graduation tough.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “Me, too. She was a great lady. Kept my dad out of trouble.”

  “Is he often in trouble?’

  “Not as much as us. But he opened a franchise for each of his sons in the cities we chose. He wanted us to have it easier than he did. His dad died when he was young.”

  “And you met Franklin at UCLA.”

  “Yeah. We had a mutual friend and when a spot opened up in the house he was renting, I got invited.”

  “I would have been graduating high school that year, I think.”

  “I didn’t even know he had a sister, but then, we didn’t talk about stuff like that.”

  She holds the tub of pickles up to examine them. “And you decided to stay. Open your deli here.”

  “It’s a great scene. I like the beaches. The weather.”

  “It’s expensive.”

  “So is New York.”

  She nods. “Is it pickle time?” She peers up at me with those lashes, and I’m struck by her absolute beauty for the zillionth time.

  “You can have my pickle any time you want.”

  She plucks a wrinkled green one from the tub and chomps on it. Instantly, her eyes go wide with alarm. “Oh! Oh! This is more than hot. This is…” She sets down the pickle container and snatches my bottle of water. Only after she’s chugged several mouthfuls does she ask, “What was that one?”

  “Anthony’s latest brainstorm. It’s the Pickle of the Month.”

  “What’s it called?�
��

  “Bad Temper,” I say with a laugh. “It’s bathed in habanero juice.”

  Camryn waves her hand in front of her mouth. “And what’s the hot pickle normally flavored with?”

  “Jalapeño. It’s milder because we chill the peppers first. We’ve made one hotter than Bad Temper before.”

  “How?” Her face is bright from the heat.

  “Ghost peppers. I can’t even be near those or I break out in a sweat.”

  “That sounds like something that could kill you.”

  I take the partially eaten pickle from her. “There’s a trick to eating these.” I rummage in the cooler until I find the dilled cream cheese I packed. I drag the spicy pickle through the cream cheese. “Dairy products cool the burn. Try it this way.”

  I hold out the pickle topped with white cream for her to take a bite.

  “You sure it’s safe?”

  “I swear on the Pickle name.”

  She leans forward and bites the end of the pickle with the cream cheese.

  “How’s that?” I dip it into the cream cheese a second time.

  She swallows her bite. “That worked.” She watches me take a bite. “But it needs a new name when it’s dipped.”

  “Mmm hmm.” I swallow. It burns so good. “What’s that?”

  Her face takes on that mischievous look I’ve come to love. “The Pickle’s Cream.” Her gaze drops below my belt.

  When her eyes return to my face, I’m reminded of that hot, hot moment when I released all over her naked body.

  “I’ll make a note of that.”

  “It can be our inside joke.” She scoots closer to me and leans her head on my shoulder.

  Time stills, other than the roll of waves on the shore and the occasional call of a gull. I drink her in, this quietness, this peace. I need to stop more. Live a little rather than run from place to place. Bodybuilding has done a number on me. I’m all work and muscle. No play.

  I turn to press my lips into her hair. She smells like sunshine and jasmine. I could sit here in the sun and breathe her in for the rest of my life.

  “Will you come over tonight after your workout?” she asks.

  “I was hoping you’d ask.” I find her fingers on the blanket and wrap them in mine.

  “There might be the usual level of nakedness,” she says. She tilts her face up, inches from mine. “Maybe a different purpose.”

  I’ve never been more anxious for the sun to go down.

  Franklin is seriously pumped as we start our workout later that evening.

  He lies on the bench press as I stand over him, ready to spot.

  “It’s finally happening,” he says. “You and me dominating the L.A. circuit.”

  “I think it’s great we get to be at the same meet again. It was a bummer without you there last Saturday.”

  Franklin adjusts his grip on the bar. “Amy said she stopped by. That you were sitting all alone against the wall.”

  My mind flashes for a moment to the stacked chairs witnessing my torrid moment with Camryn. And for a brief second, it skips to the evening ahead, after I leave the gym. Not going to be mentioning that, for sure.

  “Amy was a great help there at the end. And look, she’s got two winners on her roster.”

  “Hell yeah, she does. Franklin and Max, the dream team.” He lifts the bar and begins his set with more vigor than usual.

  He pumps his reps, then racks the bar for me to add more plates to the ends.

  I fetch a pair of ten-pounders. “So how did you go straight to this bigger meet when I had to do this invitational in between?”

  Franklin shakes out his arms. “Some meets level you up faster than others.”

  “Camryn said that we could qualify for Nationals at this one.”

  Franklin drops his arms. “So, she’s still doing your tans.”

  I shouldn’t have brought her up. Time to scramble. “Thanks to you. And I got the bummer slot at the crack of dawn on Saturday. She said she was going to do yours at a more reasonable hour.”

  Franklin watches me for a moment as if assessing my words for truth. Finally, he says, “Apparently she was too busy to watch my evening show. Fucking sucks. I finally get somewhere, and my own flesh and blood wasn’t there to see it.”

  Right. Because she was with me.

  I redirect. “We should round up a cheering section for Saturday.”

  Franklin aligns his hands on the bar. “Now that’s an idea. But you gotta confess to somebody. You told anybody yet?”

  “Nope.”

  Franklin pounds out another set of reps on the bench, his focus on the bar now that he’s approaching his max weight.

  He stumbles a bit with the rack, and I guide it back into the slot.

  He shakes his arms and sits up. “It’s about time we rallied the troops.”

  Franklin hops to his feet, stepping up on the bench press cushion. “Hear ye, hear ye,” he calls out. “I would like to announce that my overdeveloped friend here, as well as myself, have both placed at the top of our most recent bodybuilding competitions.”

  A grunting cheer erupts from the weightlifters, and Franklin makes an exaggerated bow.

  “Both of us will be competing this Saturday at an invitation-only meet to qualify for Nationals. If you would like to attend, hit us up, and we’ll see about getting you passes to the evening show.”

  When he hops down, Buster pushes away from the door frame where he’s been watching and heads over. “Sounds like we have a pair of winners on deck. I’ll put a sign-up sheet on the front desk, and I’ll personally spot the cost of the first twenty passes.”

  Franklin claps him on the back. “That sounds perfectly grand, Buster. Feel free to put our names on all your marketing materials.” He gestures to an imaginary sign. “Franklin Schultz. Max Pickle.”

  Oh, hell no. “Mine is totally not necessary,” I say.

  Franklin waves me off. “We’ll be happy to recruit for you, if you want to even out the bodybuilders among the MMA fighters the McClure clan has brought.”

  Buster crosses his arms over his blue Buster’s Gym tank. “It’s inspiring to see how things evolve. Boxing back in the day. Then MMA. Now bodybuilding. Always something new.”

  Franklin leaps back onto the bench press cushion to get everyone’s attention again. “Buster’s got a sign-up at the desk. Get your passes to watch us DOM-IN-ATE.” He tightens his arms into the Most Muscular pose and another whoop fills the room.

  This is a good idea. I can keep my support within the athletic community and avoid having to talk about it outside of this crowd. There’s no need for it to spill out to my personal life. My employees don’t need to know. With Franklin and Camryn and the Buster’s Gym crew, honestly, I have all the support I need.

  22

  Camryn

  Max is coming.

  Max is COMING!

  I’ve spent the last two hours dashing around my apartment, making sure everything is how I want it.

  Then myself.

  I’ve showered and applied lighter makeup, something I can sleep in (with MAX!) Shaved all the things. Moisturized all the things. Well, most of them. I chose a different sundress, pale-yellow.

  No bra.

  Cute white underwear with yellow flowers.

  I left my hair in curls, now all brushed and loose.

  The bed is turned down. Fresh sheets. Candles burn on both nightstands.

  FOR MAX!

  A text buzzes through.

  How are you?

  I try to settle myself as I reply.

  I’m good. How was the workout with my brother?

  Too long.

  Where are you?

  In the parking lot of your apartment complex.

  I jump up.

  He’s here.

  A feverish heat blasts through me. It’s time.

  Coming to the door.

  I pad across the apartment in my bare feet. When I open the door, he’s there, freshly showered, hair
damp, wearing jeans and a short-sleeved collared shirt.

  “You don’t look like you just had a killer workout,” I say.

  “I stopped by my house first.”

  I step back to let him in and close the door.

  “So, this is my living room when it’s not all set up for tanning.” I gesture to the room.

  He glances around. “It converts nicely.” His gaze falls back on me, my eyes, dropping to my neck, then the swell of my breasts in the sundress.

  “Can I get you something to drink?” I ask, barely able to get the words out.

  “I hydrated after my workout.”

  “Right. No alcohol during competition season.”

  He sets his keys on the cabinet by the door. “I wasn’t done kissing you at the beach.”

  “Is that your plan? To finish the job?”

  “I absolutely intend to finish the job.”

  Then he’s on me, his arms wrapped around my waist, his mouth crushing my lips.

  I gasp, the power and heat coming off of him overwhelming.

  His fingers tangle in my hair, wrapping around his fist and pulling my head down. “I don’t think I can wait any longer for you.”

  I nod. I feel the same. The gentleness he shows during our sessions is gone. We’re back to the fierceness, the heat, and pent-up need.

  He lifts me by the thighs to straddle his body. His hands slide beneath my skirt, grinding me against him. He’s rock-hard, and I can picture every inch of him. I want to see it again. Feel it. Do more. Everything.

  His mouth has complete control of mine, his tongue exploring me. He tastes of mint gum and smells like aftershave.

  He’s greedy, his mouth unrelenting. His hands rove up my back. He finds the zipper to my dress and pulls it down.

  “I’ve only seen you once,” he says. “I need to see you again.”

  I lock my feet around his waist as he pulls one spaghetti strap over my arm, then the other. His mouth moves to my neck, then collarbone as he leaves a trail of hot kisses along my skin.

  He peels the dress away from my breasts, and I arch to him as his mouth claims a nipple.

  He walks us to the side of the room where a pile of cushions decorates one corner. He lays me down on them and drags the dress off my body.