The Man Cave Collection: Manservant, Man Flu, Man Handler, and Man Buns

by Ryan, Shari J.

  “I don’t know why I would have asked you that,” she says, looking down at Waldo while scratching behind his ear.

  “You were probably just feeling the loneliness of a new town setting in, and you were loopy from the anesthesia. I thought it was cute and didn’t think much else of it. Don’t worry,” I assure her.

  “What’s your story, Austin?”

  I hate that question. I avoid that question. I’ve walked out of a room when I’ve been asked, in order to avoid answering. My story sucks, and I don’t think it’s worth making anyone feel sorry for me. “This is my story,” I tell her, hoping she’ll take my house, dog, barn, and career as a simple form of an explanation.

  “No,” she says. “I wasn’t snooping, but I needed to clean my hands up after washing Waldo. I couldn’t help but notice the pictures lining your hallway.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” I tell her.

  “Then you should definitely talk about it.”

  I pick up a crumb from one of Waldo’s dog bones and place it on the coffee table next to us. I wouldn’t even know where to start. “This isn’t how I wanted the night to go,” I tell her.

  “I know, you wanted to get laid, but first … talk. Then we’ll see where things go from there.” She’s over there smiling like she owns me, knowing just the way to sweet talk a man.

  I’m more about figuring out how to keep her in my life at this point than getting in her pants, but if I ever have to watch her do another blowjob shot like again, it’s going to be a dirty scene in that bar. “Are you bribing me with sex?” I ask.

  “I’m asking you to tell me your story,” she says.

  “And if I tell you my story, we’ll have sex?”

  She laughs at me and twirls her hair behind her ear. “Austin, you need to work on your moves. That wasn’t very smooth.”

  She’s making my heart beat a mile a minute, and I can’t take it much longer. “Fine. Here’s my story, but I have one rule you have to follow.”

  “What’s the rule?” She looks up at me, and I think I see a bit of fear in her eyes.

  “You’re not allowed to cry or say you’re sorry.”

  “I don’t cry very often,” she tells me. “I was raised by brainwashed woman, and a man whose heart is made of stone. I’ll be okay.” Who couldn’t love her? “And I know that ‘sorry’ won’t fix anything, so you’re in the clear.”

  Maybe she will understand. It doesn’t sound like her life has been a whole lot better than mine. “Well, my parents had a shitty relationship for as long as I can remember. It was more of my ma not giving two shits about my pop, though. She was too busy with her girlfriends being a lady of leisure. My pop ran the farm all day and came home to a messy house and two kids who needed to be fed, bathed, and put to bed. She wanted a nice lifestyle without putting a drop of sweat into it.”

  “It sounds like they should never have been married,” she says. I’ve been over that thought a million times, only to draw the conclusion that I would never have been born if they didn’t get married.

  “It’s true. Anyway, for whatever reason, my pop loved her more than I can ever understand. He’d take a bullet for her. He’d give her everything he had if it meant she’d stay with him. Even as a teenager, I didn’t understand why, but who am I to question love, ya know?”

  “Your poor dad,” she says. “He sounds like a good man.”

  “He was.” That damn word in the past tense always causes my throat to constrict and my stomach to hurt.

  “Oh,” Scarlett says as she looks down at Waldo and scratches behind his ear again.

  “One day, my pop was dealing with a delayed delivery he was picking up, so he got home an hour or so late. My ma got so mad at him for messing up her plans that she told him she was leaving him for good.” Retelling this story is like reopening the wound I thought would never heal. It’s healed enough that day to day I can pretend it’s not there, but it hurts to bring it back up.

  “If this is too much, I understand,” Scarlett says. I’m sure she didn’t realize what she was asking for when she requested my story.

  “The story isn’t much longer,” I assure her. “My pop was heartbroken. I saw his world crumbling just by looking in his eyes that night. My ma left with her car and my pop paced the house for about five minutes before he decided to go after her.” He made it clear to me from a young age that if a man loves a woman, he shouldn’t let her go, not without puttin’ up a fight for her. He’d tell me that a woman tends to say she doesn’t want to be chased, but when she runs away and the man doesn’t follow her, she’ll just hold it against him later. His advice confused me a lot, but I understand where he was coming from now. I’m just not sure I agree with it.

  Scarlett is covering her mouth in preparation for what I’m about to say. It’s as if she already knows where I’m going with this. “Oh no,” she says.

  “I told him not to go. I begged him not to go after her. He was upset and exhausted, but when your heart is hurting, there’s no way to think straight, no matter what anyone says. He walked up to me and said, ‘I love that woman, son. As stubborn and thick-headed as she is, I can’t let her go without a fight.’ I wanted to tell him she wasn’t worth it. It’s a real shit thing to think about my own mother, but I was right to think that way.”

  “It doesn’t sound like it would have made a difference if you had said that. Love will make a person jump through hoops of fire, or so I’ve seen.”

  “Well, my little sister, Alexa, she was a daddy’s girl through and through. If he was going after my ma, she was going with him.”

  “No,” Scarlett says, her voice laced with panic.

  “I guess they got on the freeway and my pop didn’t yield. An eighteen-wheeler made his truck into an accordion. Somehow they survived with their injuries just long enough to get to the hospital, but by the time I got there, the doctors were working on their last options to keep them alive. I never got a chance to talk to either of them again.”

  A hitch catches in Scarlett’s throat. She’s still holding her hand over her mouth, tighter now, to the point where her knuckles are turning white. Her eyes fill with tears, and I have to say, I wasn’t expecting her to well up.

  She inhales sharply through her nose and glances up to the ceiling. I hear a hiccup catch in her chest, and I see her fighting back her tears. “I’m okay,” I tell her. “It’s been ten years. I’m okay.”

  Scarlett takes in another deep breath and looks back over at me. “I’m—I don’t know what to say, but I think I’m able to put the rest of the story together myself.”

  “Yeah, my ma ran off to be with a rich man, and inherited Laurie-Cate as her stepdaughter. I don’t talk to that woman, so she sends Laurie-Cate to be her messenger in hopes that I fall for my—my God—stepsister, so she can get me back in her life somehow. Yes, I’m aware of how screwed up this all is, but now, you probably understand why I’m kind of screwed up too.”

  Scarlett nods her head. “You’re amazing.”

  How do I tell her that story, then earn a response like that? “I’m far from amazing, darlin’.” I lean forward and move Waldo off her lap. He’s asleep and is none the wiser after being moved, so I pull Scarlett onto my lap and wrap my arms around her. “You know what’s dissapointin’, though?”

  “What’s that?” she asks through a sniffle.

  “I was sure as hell you weren’t going to cry.”

  She slaps my hand. “Don’t be a jerk. I handled it pretty well.”

  “I told you my story, Scarlett.” Now, my heart is torn open and exposed, so if I don’t get to keep my arms around this girl for just a little while longer, I might fall apart too.

  “And, I think Waldo just told us his story … ” Scarlett says, waving at the toxic air. The fumes from that dog should be considered hazardous. I don’t know if he gets into something when he’s frolicking outside, or if his organs are just old and decayed, but Waldo can clear out a room out in less than two sec
onds with his farts.

  “We should get out of this room before we’re completely gassed and choking to death,” I say as I lift her up and carry her down the hall.

  “Slick move,” she says. “Did you train him to do that on cue?”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Scarlett

  A man has never carried me anywhere. A man has never revealed his soul to me. A man has never looked at me the way Austin is looking at me as I lie in the center of his queen-size bed. He’s on his side, facing me, twirling a strand of my hair around his finger.

  “I was kidding about bribing you with my story for sex,” he says.

  “Then, why did you bring me to your bedroom?” I’m not sure I considered what his bedroom would look like, but with the cherrywood-finished floors, black-stained furniture, and light gray decor, it fits him. The air around us smells like him too. I know medical personnel are clean people, and he’s no exception. I’ve never smelled anything besides soap and laundry detergent when near him, although there’s a hint of pine in his room, and it’s like a pinch of spice.

  “A man can hope, plus Waldo can really do a number on a room.” He follows with a quiet snicker that tells me he’s a bit unsure of our situation.

  “I’m still trying to wrap my head around the fact that you were avoiding me until I decided whether I was staying in South Carolina or not.”

  He scratches the back of his head, the part of his hair that’s shaven closely to his skin, and his right eye squints a little as a smile teases his lips. “Yeah, well, I wanted to be sure you weren’t the type to have your way with me and then run off.”

  “So, I take it you’ve changed your mind, and you’re willing to risk your heart for a night with me?” I know my questions are digging deep, but I’m curious what made him change course when his feelings and heart are buried so deeply for such a traumatic reason.

  He clears his throat and readjusts his position as if my questions are making him nervous. “Honestly, I can’t help that you turn me on. I’m still a dude, and aside from the fact that you’re hot as hell, your personality makes me tick.”

  “I’m used to men talking themselves up, convincing me I’d enjoy them rather than they’d enjoy me, so your words are kind of a turn on for me.”

  “Well, then, the truth is, I’d rather experience a little time with you, whatever that may consist of, than have to wonder for the rest of my life what it might have been like. I’m just sorry I wasted two long weeks.”

  “Just before we met at the festival, I had made my decision about staying here or going home,” I tell him.

  “Why’d you tell me you hadn’t?”

  “The same reason you disappeared. I didn’t want anything between us to be based on a future when we hadn’t yet experienced anything in the present.”

  “So then, what’s the decision?” he asks. I can see how nervous he is to hear my answer as he swallows hard and balls his fists, but I want to know what this is between us without strings attached. I don't want there to be a pull or a push.

  I press my lips together and look into his eyes. “I’m not ready to tell you,” I whisper. As the words come out, I question whether he might be upset with me after just opening up about his past, but I think he understands why I don’t want to tell him yet, seeing as he’s kicking his boots off.

  Austin slowly straddles my waist, giving me a view I might want to burn into my mind. I’ve noticed he likes to wear t-shirts that are a size too small. Whether it’s for show, I’m not sure, but it looks great from my perspective. He places his hands on the ends of the pillow my head is pressed into, then lowers himself down, inch by inch, until I’m ready to grab ahold of his shirt and pull him on top of me.

  “In the south, we move a little slower. I think you mentioned something about that earlier, didn’t you?”

  “Possibly,” I mutter.

  “Mmm. Do you know why that is?” I nod because I’m having trouble putting words together at the moment. “Well ... ” He gently presses his lips to my neck, letting them linger for a long second. “It makes the good things last a little longer.”

  Oh my God, I’m not a patient girl. He moves up, touching his lips to mine so softly it’s as if a feather is stroking every inch of me at once. His tongue flicks into my mouth for a teasing moment before his lips continue to explore, becoming acquainted with my ear, neck, and collarbone. I’m in pain with anticipation, waiting for more.

  With a hand still holding him up, Austin’s other one is slipping beneath the thin layer of my shirt. Every place his fingers touch causes a burning desire, all while his mouth amplifies the build by tugging my shirt down with his teeth.

  “Are you going to torture me?” I ask with more weakness than I’ve ever let a person hear from me.

  “I am going to torture you until you tell me to stop even though you didn’t give me that same option earlier tonight, did you? You were mean, Miss Scarlett, making me imagine that shot glass was my cock.” His words are like nails gently scratching my back and I’m already about to cry out his name with a plea for more.

  I reach down for the hem of his shirt, trying to pull it up, but he stops me. “No, ma’am. A true Southern gentleman does the heavy lifting.” While I might argue that in all other parts of life, I’m okay with this type of control.

  He sits up, careful not to bear all his weight on my waist and crosses his arms over his body to seamlessly remove his tight shirt. I saw him shirtless in the locker room earlier, and I nearly lost the ability to speak. Seeing him take his shirt off this close to me makes it hard to take in a breath.

  I just want to touch him, so I trace my fingertips down the length of his right arm, over the several tattoos stretching from shoulder to forearm. The closeness between us allows me to get a better look at the one on his chest—words that reveal the missing pieces of his heart. I touch the inked marking with caution before dragging my fingers down the center of his body. “I thought I said hands off, Miss Scarlet.” He’s grinning with a bit of seriousness, but also, a touch of intrigue.

  “I can’t help it,” I tell him.

  “As a medical professional, I need that arm of yours to stay put somewhere safe while I handle the rest. Do you understand?”

  “I understand,” I mutter.

  “I’m going to carefully remove your shirt now, so don’t move.” He does exactly as he says, except as my shirt is being tugged upward, the tip of his tongue is following in its path and my back arches instinctively in response.

  He removes my shirt, carefully slipping it over my cast. I’m kind of happy I decided to wear my black lace bra and matching panties today.

  His hands smoothly run over my breasts, causing my nipples to pebble beneath his palms. The impact he must sense forces him to speed up a little as he effortlessly unclasps my bra with one flick of his fingers. Once more, he’s careful with my wrist while removing the next layer of clothing, and I’m thankful the rest is simple.

  His eyes are full of lust as he stares me down like an animal willing its prey to come closer. I want to reach up and grab him again, but before I can move, his mouth falls heavily onto my breast. My God. The cool air mixed with the wetness of his tongue teases me with sensations from opposing extremes.

  I reach for his belt, but he moves again, still limiting my participation. “Austin, you aren’t being fair,” I tell him.

  “When has anything been fair between us?” His words are mumbled as his mouth continues to play. Then, his teeth reach the waist of my jeans, and I’m intrigued to see how he’ll manage this. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen a person unhitch a pants button with their teeth, but he confidently works at it for a minute as I focus on the scruff of his chin scratching my sensitive skin.

  “Austin, let me—” My pants are loose and he’s pulling them down my legs with his teeth. On his way back, he removes his jeans and boxer briefs. I don’t know how much slower he’s going to take this, but I may not last as long as he’d like.

>   His mouth reconnects with mine and his hands are scaling the sides of my body, down to my panties, which are slowly pulled down to my ankles over the course of what feels like a long two minutes. All of him is on all of me, and I’m completely ignited. “Do you have—”

  “I’m a nurse. Of course I have protection,” he says.

  “That’s not what I was going to ask,” I inform him.

  “Well, you should have asked,” he rebuts.

  I lift myself up on my elbows, bringing my face inches from his. “I was going to offer to teach you how to take a blowjob the right way. You seemed a little uneducated.”

  His head falls into the center of my breasts. “You’re killing me,” he groans.

  “I don’t think you’ll be saying that in about thirty seconds.” I push him off me, and he falls onto his back, giving me the space I need to move down the bed.

  “Is the no-hand thing a rule in bed too?” he asks.

  “It’s your bed. Your rules,” I tell him. He throws his head back into the pillow without answering me, and I dip my head down ready to slowly give him a taste of what he was doing to me. When the tip of his cock touches my lips, I stretch the span of time it takes to move down, sliding my tongue along the grooves as I go. I haven’t ever moved this slowly, so I’m not sure what it’s doing to him, but he’s inhaling shorter breaths and gripping the sheets around his head almost as if they might save him from falling. I place my good hand on his inner thigh and squeeze gently while bringing my mouth back up to the top. “How’s that?”

  “Don’t stop,” he begs.

  “What was that?” I ask, leaning forward, letting my breasts feather along his chest.

  “Scarlett, for fuck’s sake … ”

  “Oh, you want me to keep going?” He’s smiling but gritting his teeth together. “Why didn’t you just say so?”

  I take my time moving back down his legs, but before my mouth makes contact with his cock again, he flips me over onto my back.