by Misti Murphy
And the fact that I’ve only just realized this is exactly why Ronnie and I split up.
I gotta talk to her. I need to explain. To beg her to give me a second chance.
I’m on my feet, tugging my wallet out of my pocket. I toss a twenty onto the table and then bolt, jogging down the sidewalk that runs along the riverfront, not heading to the garage where my car is parked but to Ronnie’s apartment.
I need to talk to my girl.
***
…who isn’t home.
Panting, I bend at the waist, press my hands to my knees, and struggle to catch my breath. Okay, maybe jogging all the way here wasn’t the wisest choice. Especially since she isn’t answering the door.
I pull out my phone and press the button to call her number.
“Hello?” There’s noise in the background, like she’s at a concert. That melodic voice sounds familiar.
“Are you at The Hideout?”
“Yes,” she says, and the sound of the singer’s voice is getting faint, like she’s walking away from the stage. “When Mike hired us, he gave us a few free tickets. A couple of my girlfriends love him, so I brought them tonight.” She pauses. “I saw you, sitting with Sylvia. She’s now in the front row, and Mike keeps staring at her while he sings. I’m guessing it’s another check in the success column for Rent-A-Danny.”
“Yeah.” I lean against the wall and scuff my shoe against the floor.
“Listen, I was going to wait until Monday to talk about this, but since we’re on the phone… I think I should leave Rent-A-Danny.”
“What?” I straighten so quickly I get a head rush and squeeze my eyes shut while I wait for the spinning to stop.
“You don’t need me, Danny. You never did. This, this is your swan song.”
“My what? I’m not dying, Ronnie.”
“Oh, for God’s sake. That’s not what I meant. Rent-A-Danny is your calling. It’s what you were meant to do. Now I need to go figure out what I’m supposed to do.”
Uh-uh. No way. She’s not leaving me. Not like this.
“I’m not having this conversation over the phone,” I say, sounding far more like her than, well, me. But it feels comfortable. As afraid as I am at the moment that I’m about to lose her forever, it’s nice to simply be…whoever the hell I want to be.
“Danny, I can’t—”
“I’m at your place. Come talk to me in person.”
“You’re at my place? Why?”
“I came to see you.”
“Why?”
I close my eyes and grit my teeth. “Just come home.” And I thought I was the hardheaded one in our relationship.
“I’m here with friends, Danny. Can’t we—?”
“No. Come home or…or I’ll call your mother.”
“And what?” She sounds amused.
“And tell her I want you to have my babies.” Holy shit, it’s true. Jesus, I’ve never even thought about having kids before, but yeah, I can totally see a couple of blond-haired, blue-eyed Frost-Harrisons running around, causing havoc. Maybe even three. Or four.
She gasps. “You wouldn’t!”
I chuckle. “I’m not playing fair on this, Ronnie. I need to talk to you. In person. Tonight.”
It sounds like she growls, which makes me chuckle again.
“Fine. Let me go tell them I have to leave. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
“Come faster,” I say, knowing the double entendre will send her mind straight to the gutter, much to her own annoyance.
She huffs and then disconnects the call. I pass the time by logging into my email, figuring I’ll clear out my inbox. There’s one from her, and it has an attachment. It’s a legal document, dissolving her ownership of Rent-A-Danny. She doesn’t even want any money out of it. Shaking my head, I close the document and delete the email. And then I shoot off a text to my brother.
Just so you know, if Ronnie and I don’t work out, you have to honor the fact that we are brothers and never, ever try to date her.
He responds: So you’re officially dating now?
I apparently don’t reply fast enough, because he sends another text: By the way, she’s not my type. And I’m happy for you, little bro.
I stare at the words. Not his type? My brother’s type is female, and Ronnie definitely qualifies. And then I roll my eyes, because what the hell am I thinking? I don’t want her to be his type. She’s my type, damn it.
Maybe if you ever find your type, we can double date, I finally respond.
You’ll have to come to Cali for that to happen, but yeah, that would be cool.
Sounds like my brother is ready to go home. Which means once I set things straight with Ronnie, I should head over to my parents’ house and figure out how to get along with the rest of my family. I’m done with all this estranged bullshit.
Wonder how my father will react when I tell him that?
Earlier I said this week had been the longest of my life. Scratch that. These twenty minutes feel like twenty years. How the hell long does it take to say goodbye and head a few blocks south? She doesn’t live that far from the venue.
Shit, what if something happened to her on the way? What if she was mugged? Or hit by a car? Or…
“Hey.”
I whip my head up and watch as she hesitantly walks toward me. She’s wearing this navy and white sundress with spaghetti straps and a really, really short hemline. Between the barely there skirt and those high-heeled sandals, her legs look like they go on for miles.
She’s clutching her handbag in a death grip, and there are brackets around her lips and eyes. I hope those tell-tale signs aren’t saying, I can’t wait to get rid of you; that they really mean I’m desperate to get horizontal with you. No, wait. Right now they need to be Let’s work this out and make up.
“Hey,” I respond, and then take a step back so she can unlock her apartment door.
“Um, it’s kind of quiet without Pucker here,” she says. She flips on a light while I close and lock the door. I’m wracking my brain for an appropriate response, and I’m coming up flat. It was easy to be brave and confident when we were on the phone. But now that she’s standing in front of me, fiddling with the strap of her purse, I’m losing all that self-respect I just recently discovered.
She waves at the kitchen. “Do you…do you want a drink?”
“Yeah. That’d be great. Thanks.”
We sound like strangers, not estranged lovers. Or hell, maybe this is what estranged lovers sound like. I’ve never been in this situation before, so I have no clue.
I place my hands on the counter while she reaches for the Johnny Walker Blue Label on top of the fridge. The hem of that too-short skirt rides high on the back of her thighs, and my mind blanks even more than it already was.
I clear my throat while she pours smooth, blended scotch over ice.
“I, uh… So, um…well, Mike and Sylvia got back together.”
“I saw,” she says, turning around and offering me one of the drinks.
“How come you didn’t say hi?” I ask.
She lifts one shoulder, her gaze on the amber liquid. “Didn’t want to interrupt. Do you know, that’s the first time I’ve ever watched you do your job? You were really good.”
All I did was listen to the woman and convince her to have a little confidence in herself, but okay. “Yeah, speaking of that… I realized something tonight.”
“What’s that?” She’s peering at me expectantly, and I can’t tell if she’s trying to be polite or really wants to know what I have to say.
“That I’m a dumbass.”
Her eyes widen and her lips part. “Why do you say that?”
I swirl the liquid in my glass, staring at it like it holds the answers to all my problems. “Because I’m in love with this really fantastic woman, but I didn’t have enough confidence or self-respect to keep her.”
There’s a sound, a little eep, and I glance up at Ronnie, who is opening and closing her mouth like
she’s trying to speak but someone stole her vocal cords. “Did you just say you love me?” she finally manages to croak.
I nod. “Yep.”
“Oh God.” She glances around with a sense of urgency, and then finally walks over and sinks onto the recliner in the living room. I frown and follow, sitting on the edge of the couch and placing my drink on the coffee table.
“Oh God,” she says again.
“What?”
“This”—she waves her finger between the two of us—“was okay when it was just screwing around, having a good time. And then it turned serious, and I still thought, okay, I can handle this. And then you started acting all weird and—”
“Yeah, that’s what I’m trying to tell you. I have self- confidence issues. I didn’t realize that was my problem until tonight. But now that I do, I want to fix them. I want to be the guy who you can envision yourself with for the rest of your life.”
Her eyes are glassy, like she’s holding back tears. “I don’t want to be my mother. I can’t be. My lasagna isn’t nearly good enough. And she’s so much more organized than I am. And while I may be a better decorator, she’s always better at finding things on sale. And then there’s the waffles, and—”
I laugh. I can’t help it. She narrows her eyes and glares at me, but it still takes me a few moments to get the chuckles under control.
“What’s so funny?” she demands.
“Us.”
Her brow furrows, like she’s confused.
“Here I am, thinking you are the most confident woman in the world, and I’m pretty sure you thought I was super confident, too, until we started getting serious and my mom’s stroke forced me to deal with all my family issues. So you called it quits because I wasn’t confident enough to be able to make this relationship work. When, in reality, you’re having the exact same issue.”
She frowns. “I’m not following you.”
I lean forward and place my hand on her knee. God, it feels good to touch her again. “Ronnie, you are a far better version of your mother.”
“I am?”
I nod and give her leg a squeeze. “For the record, I think your mom is pretty spectacular.”
She stares at me, like she isn’t quite sure whether to believe me. “You do?”
I nod again.
“If she’s spectacular…” Her eyes light up.
I laugh. “That means you’re, like, off the charts.”
The sparkle dims. “But I don’t know if I want to be my mother.”
I snag her hand, wrap it in both of mine. “You don’t have to be your mother. I said you’re a better version of her. That means you take the traits she gave you and make them your own.”
She’s staring at our hands, and I fall silent while she processes our conversation. Without looking up, she says, “I don’t really want to leave Rent-A-Danny.”
“That’s good, since I deleted the email you sent.”
Her gaze shoots up to mine. “You did?”
“I want you to be my work wife and my real wife.”
She whips her hand away from mine and lifts it like a stop sign. “Whoa. That’s a little fast, don’t you think?”
I clasp the hand she’s holding up and use it to pull myself toward her. She shifts, trying to move out of my way without getting out of the seat. “What are you doing?”
“Making up with you,” I say, wedging my ass between hers and the chair. And then I slide my arm around her waist and lift her onto my lap. “There. That’s better.”
My body is already responding. Mr. Happy is anticipating being really happy here shortly.
“Danny.” She wiggles, and I groan. “Stop.”
I lift my arms. “I’m not doing anything.”
She twists around until she’s facing me, and then grabs the hem of her dress and hikes it up so she can settle on my lap with her knees pressed to the chair on either side of my thighs. “Now that’s better,” she says. And then she shimmies, and my vision blurs around the edges.
I grab her waist to keep her from moving. “What?” she asks, giving me that faux innocent look she’s damn near perfected.
“Are we made up?” I ask.
“Almost,” she said impatiently, trying to wiggle out of my grasp.
“Do you love me?”
“I think so. Yes. Yes, I do.”
“Are you going to tell your mother about us?”
She freezes. Her shoulders sag. “She’s going to be relentless.”
“About what?”
“Babies.”
“You don’t want babies?”
“Of course I do. Maybe. Someday. I just don’t want to be pressured into doing it sooner than I’m ready. There’s still so much we can do with Rent-A-Danny. We need to start advertising, to grow the business. There are some local magazines we should run ads in, and maybe partner with some of the clubs around town, like the one Sam works at. And I want to add more detail to the website. And—”
“You don’t just love me. You love it. The business we created together.”
“Maybe,” she admits. “It may be my calling too. But”—she lifts her finger, waving it in my face—“I love you more. If I had to choose, I’d choose you. Hands down.”
I release my hold on her waist and place my hands on her thighs, sliding them up until my fingers slip under the hem of her skirt. She sucks in a breath and grasps my shoulders. “I’ve missed you so much,” she says.
“I think Pucker and I should move in,” I say, my breathing choppy as I push her dress up and over her head. “Officially.”
I’m not sure I can go slow tonight. My blood is pounding in my ears, and my dick is pressing against my zipper with enough pressure that it almost hurts.
“That’s a marvelous idea.” She grabs at my shirt while I palm her breasts. “We’ll move all your stuff tomorrow.” She tosses the garment over her shoulder and starts tugging at my belt.
“After we visit both our parents.”
She groans and frowns. “I’m pretty damn worked up here. Are you seriously trying to kill the mood?”
I chuckle and cup her cheeks, pulling her close so I can kiss those pouty lips. “Not at all. I just want it to be more than sex, that’s all.”
“It is.”
“And I want us to both make things right with our families.”
She blinks rapidly. “You’re-you’re going to talk to your dad?”
I nod. “I don’t even need you to come with me, if you don’t want to.”
Her smile is watery. “Of course I want to go with you. I always want to be there for you.”
I wrap my arms around her back and pull her flush against my body. What a few seconds ago was a sense of desperation has morphed into such a tender moment, there’s a lump in my throat and my eyes feel wet. I nuzzle her cheek, and she turns toward me, capturing my lips in a kiss that is both tender and sensual at the same time. She hugs me close while she grinds against me, and I work at the clasp on her bra. It springs free, and I slide the thing off her shoulders and tweak her nipples before breaking the kiss so I can give some affection to her breasts, too.
She lifts herself up onto her knees and tugs my pants down my legs, but I cover her hands with my own and say, “We need to go to the bedroom. I don’t have a condom.”
“Oh,” she says, and reaches for her handbag, producing a small foil square.
I arch my eyebrows.
“I knew we were going to be in the same place tonight.”
I shove my pants and boxers down to my knees and snag the condom. “What did you think, that we’d bang right there at the bar?”
She lifts one shoulder. “A girl can dream, can’t she?”
I sheath myself and clutch her hips. Staring into her eyes, I pull her down while thrusting at the same time, and she sinks onto my shaft with a gasp.
“This,” I say, my teeth gritted while I try my damndest to make this last, “this is my dream. I’m living it right now.”
She makes this sexy little noise and then says, “Having sex in the chair?”
I give her an extra deep thrust for that one, and she answers with a guttural groan while grinding down onto my cock.
“Being here with you,” I say between gasps. My balls start to tighten, and my dick is pulsing. I reach between us and thrum her clit. I need her to race over the edge with me. “Just. Being. With. You.”
She squeezes her eyes shut and throws her head back and lets out a scream as her body convulses, her inner muscles milking me until I explode. Her movements gradually slow until she finally collapses against me, and I can feel her heart beating the same erratic rhythm of my own.
“I think this is my new favorite chair,” I say.
She giggles. “Yeah, mine too.”
EPILOGUE
RONNIE
“This is weird,” I whisper under my breath so only Danny can hear.
“You’re telling me.” He squeezes my knee under the table. We’re surrounded by the entirety of the Frost family. And wait for it! Danny’s family is here too.
Danny and his father have actually been talking, and not just about sports. Danny’s dad even admitted that he might have put too much pressure on him to conform to the Harrison sporting legacy. It took a lot of stilted texts and phone calls and even a couple of visits before they really started making amends. There might have been a bottle of Blue Label and several renditions of Queen’s “We Will Rock You” involved, too. At any rate, once they started talking it was pretty clear that Hank regretted the lack of relationship between them these past eight years. He might even have managed to verbalize how proud he is that Danny found his own calling, sounding downright impressed, in fact.
I certainly am. I am so proud of what we’re accomplishing together. We’re even looking over applications for a couple of new Dannys to add to our team, if we can find men with that perfect blend of funny, cute, and compassionate. Which isn’t easy. Danny’s one in a million, and finding men with similar character is not an easy task.
Warmth envelops me as I cover the hand resting on my knee with my own. More Dannys means I get more time with the one and only original, and I like that idea a lot. So much so that I’m living with a man who isn’t a blood relation for the first time in my life.