LOL #3 Romantic Comedy Anthology

by Anthology

  She’d kissed him that second time, her force of attraction as hard to fight as a supermagnet. His body made it clear he was as wanting as she was, fingers burying in her hair, mouth fighting to taste as much of her as he could while they pressed against each other and said more with curves and muscle than with words and looks.

  And then—

  Let’s pretend this never happened.

  He’d grabbed his briefcase and walked out of his own office without so much as another word, leaving her breathless, aching, and ashamed.

  “Ashamed,” she muttered to herself, teeth against the lip of her water glass, ice cubes clinking against her top two teeth.

  “What do you have to be ashamed of?” Madge asked softly, shoving a plate of fried food that would feed Shelly for a week. Was that a fried wheel of brie?

  She couldn’t answer, because Shelly’s eyeballs had fallen out of their sockets and onto the booth’s surface. “This is enough food to feed a fraternity house for a month.”

  “You got a parade of frat boys coming through your apartment these days?”

  “No. Just cockroaches,” Shelly joked (halfway) as she picked up a shrimp and bit gingerly.

  “Same thing,” Madge said, pouring them both a cup of coffee and settling back down. “Now—what’s this about shame? You have nothing to be ashamed of.”

  A wave of numbness covered her body. Shame in tangible form. She felt overexposed, too vulnerable. Her eyes darted to the exit door, brain pattern-matching to find an escape route. Once she knew how to get away she could tackle the issue of not trying to run away.

  One couldn’t happen without the other.

  Breathe, she reminded herself. She drew on every technique her college counselor had given her to handle the transition from feeling unsafe to being okay.

  Madge was safe. Madge was secure. She didn’t have to feel out of sorts with her. Shelly felt most centered when she was doing something she’d done thousands of times before. That’s why she planned to major in accounting. All those neat little numbers fitting in their proscribed boxes.

  Accounting was predictable. It was orderly. Numbers never lied, or had shifty eyes. Dollar amounts didn’t say one thing and do the other. Money didn’t promise to visit you in your new foster home and then not show up for the one hour a month of supervised visitation the state allowed you with your kid.

  Spreadsheets didn’t bail on you.

  And if Shelly made a mistake, the numbers didn’t hurt her.

  “Honey,” Madge said with a concerned frown, her leathery old hand covering Shelly’s. “You’re really suffering.”

  Tears sprang to life in Shelly’s eyes. Shit. She couldn’t let this happen. She didn’t do public displays of emotion. But with Madge, she could just be. She could feel.

  Too bad it hurt so much.

  “I’m fine. Fine,” she stressed, sniffing hard as if she could suck the tears back in through sheer force of will. She grabbed a knife and cut a chunk out of what turned out to be — yes — a wheel of brie cheese and shoved it on a grilled slice of French bread.

  Once her mouth was full she couldn’t talk.

  Madge gave her a skeptical look. “I know you’re harder to pry anything out of than a gerbil from of a man’s ass, but this is ridiculous.”

  Shelly nearly choked on her food. “You’re comparing my failed love life to a live animal in someone’s anus?”

  “About right.”

  “It’s that bad?”

  Madge smirked and said nothing. Someone at a table on the other side of a divider wall snorted. Shelly’s eye darted over to see a big blonde with bushy hair sitting with two incredibly hot guys a little bit older than her. The guys were familiar. Local band?

  “When I start comparing your sex life to a dead rat, you know it’s bad,” Madge said with a twinkle in her eye.

  Shelly’s throat closed up with emotion. She sighed deeply, speared a fried green tomato, and ate it.

  Madge waited her out.

  Mouth empty, Shelly finally muttered, “He’s the first guy I’ve kissed.”

  “In how long?”

  “In ever.”

  “Ever?”

  “Um, since… you know.” Her face flamed hot.

  Madge’s face crumpled with sympathy. “Oh, honey.” The details had been hard to cough up way back when she was fourteen, but Shelly had told Madge the basics. Drug addict mother. A series of “uncles” in a revolving door. The last one had decided he was more the boyfriend type for a helpless teen. Her mom had known but hadn’t stopped him because he was her drug supplier.

  An eagle-eyed teacher had figured out the basics and a few social workers, a CORI background check and bam—turns out Uncle Theo had a rap sheet that included being a sexual offender. Living with her and her mother had violated his parole, and he was incarcerated for more than the rest of Shelly’s life, much less his own.

  But about that sexual predator thing… Shelly had been prey. Fortunately for her, Uncle Asshole hadn’t progressed beyond kisses and gropes. A few more weeks and she’d have probably been… .

  Well.

  Let’s pretend this never happened.

  “He’s the first guy you’ve shown any… ” Madge seemed to be at a loss for words, which made Shelly just stare at her. The old woman always had words. Most of them with four letters.

  “You know,” Shelly said, suddenly weary. “Conversations like this really require ice cream.” She stood. “I’ll serve myself, and you’re going to let me pay my own check this time. I make good money. I can pay my own way.”

  “You’d need to eat three gallons of ice cream to handle this conversation properly, Shelly,” Madge cracked. She jumped to her feet as the front door bells jingled. A crowd of ten kids carrying hockey bags stumbled in off a giant bus.

  “Aw, crap,” the cook, Falon, muttered from behind the grill. Madge’s grandson, Caleb, was up in Maine at their family’s campground. The only people working were Madge and Falon.

  “Shelly, you got a few hours? Looks like we’re about to get slammed.” Madge tossed her an apron and gave her a huge grin. She loved a challenge.

  So did Shelly.

  Just not with her heart.

  “Sure. Why not?” It’s not like I have anyone waiting for me at home.

  “You keep your tips and the meal’s on me.”

  “Deal.” Serve plate after plate of fried food and ice cream or sort through her emotional well being?

  That decision was easy. She looped her head through the apron strings and got down to work.

  Chapter Four

  The electricity in the office must be broken, Shelly thought. Because the air fairly crackled whenever Jamie walked into the room. Her hair felt like it was standing on end. The swish of his wool pant legs as he walked from Mike’s office to the networked printer. The little sigh he made as he waited for his cup of coffee to brew. How his booming laugh came through the slightly-ajar door when he met with Mike.

  And that was all before two p.m. on his first day in the office.

  Jamie would be here for three weeks. Every single day except for his class times.

  And Shelly was, as Mike informed her, “to give him access to whatever he wants.”

  Oh, boy.

  Those piercing eyes followed her whenever she crossed his path, even if she didn’t acknowledge his existence. She could feel him cataloguing her, hear him swallow, feel his eyes observing her as if they had a mind of their own.

  Jamie’s good-natured laugh came easily around Mike, but when she entered the room he clammed up, suddenly serious and even a bit dour. Mike noticed.

  By lunch time on the first day Mike pulled her aside.

  “Do you have a problem with Jamie?” he asked, eyes cautious, face a neutral mask.

  “Why are you asking the question that way?”

  He seemed genuinely perplexed. “Huh?”

  “You didn’t ask Jamie whether he has a problem with me.”

  “
Actually, I did.”

  Her heart suddenly started sprinting in her chest, hurtling itself over eight-foot barricades. “You did?” What did he say?

  “He said you were a good student and he had no problems with you.”

  Her heart slammed into a brick wall and lay there, unconscious.

  “Huh,” was all that came out of her, as if the wind had been knocked out of her soul. “He said that?”

  What she really meant was, That’s all he said about me? But she kept her emotions under control, her face unreadable.

  Mike’s eyes combed over her. He didn’t even bother to hide the fact that he was clearly scoping her out. “Yes.” Mike was king of the one-word answers.

  “Well, then.” She felt a burst of shakiness inside, like she was riding the ski lift and it came to a sudden, violent halt. “He was a good professor and I had no problems with him, either.”

  Jamie appeared suddenly, coffee tray in hand, three white cups tucked in. “Coffee break anyone? I got lattes.” Those beautiful blue eyes landed on her, searching. “You like vanilla mochas, right?”

  He remembered? How did he—

  “You got one once during a class break,” he muttered as he handed Mike his coffee, ignoring Mike’s arched eyebrow. “And Mike gets doubles made with half ‘n half, which means he’ll have clogged arteries by fifty.”

  Mike gave a half smile but watched Jamie with a kind of careful edge that made Shelly’s mouth go dry.

  “Thanks, man. I could use the caffeine. Our daughter’s cutting another molar and Laura is so exhausted with this first trimester morning sickness with the new baby. Haven’t been getting much sleep,” Mike said as he gave Shelly a meaningful look. Whatever the meaning was, though, flew right past her as she took a sip of her latte and burned the hell out of her tongue.

  The pain somehow helped. Grounded her. Made her feel real again.

  She just smiled, pretending she was fine. “Laura’s a champ at this pregnancy stuff.”

  Jamie had the look of someone who was trying to be socially nice but didn’t know the full story behind a conversation, so he just said, “Congratulations. You and your wife expecting again?”

  Oh. Wow. This was about to get… uncomfortable. Shelly felt bad for Jamie. He clearly hadn’t done his research and didn’t know about Mike’s unconventional relationship with Laura.

  And Dylan.

  Mike gave Jamie a tight smile and said simply, “We have Jillian, who is a year and a half, and Laura’s three months pregnant. I have a husband, though; Laura’s not my wife. Not yet, at least.”

  Try figuring that one out.

  Jamie’s golden eyebrows shot up, then down into a frown of utter befuddlement. Shelly wanted to laugh, but wouldn’t. Not when he seemed pained to understand what Mike meant. Jamie’s sincerity was one of his most attractive qualities. When she’d taken her first class with him, he’d been curious when he’d learned she attended college on a foster kid scholarship. He had been the first person in her life other than her last foster parents, and Madge, to seem to care.

  “You do research your clients, don’t you?” she finally asked, filling in the awkward silence. Her voice was kind.

  “I research my clients’ companies,” he said, giving her a look that said, Help me out here. It made her feel like they were friends. “Not their personal lives.”

  This pleased Mike. The corner of his mouth twitched with amusement. “I’m in a relationship with both Laura and Dylan. Together.”

  “Oh. Cool,” Jamie said, blinking rapidly. “You’re polyamorous?”

  “Something like that,” Mike said.

  “You said ‘husband,’” Jamie continued, clearly puzzling his way through this. Mike bristled visibly. Shelly knew that was a sore spot, but she couldn’t think of a way to warn Jamie.

  “Yes.” Mike’s body language made it clear there would be no further discussion. He opened the top of his coffee and began gulping it down, turning away.

  Jamie made a helpless gesture and Shelly bit her lips. He reached out for her arm and grasped it gently, pulling her into her small office. The feel of his fingertips against a small section of bare skin on her wrist sent a zing of electricity through her. He was so graceful, so powerful, so—

  Jamie.

  Suddenly, she didn’t want to pretend that kiss had never happened. In fact, she wanted very much to remember every achingly amazing moment of that kiss. And the second one.

  And at this rate, perhaps a third one, because he was looking at her with eyes that said he remembered, too.

  For two months she’d run away from this burning desire that turned her dry and wet at the same time, leaving her parched and sweaty. Control was the only tool in her toolbox that allowed her to function as a contributing member of society and to give her the illusion that she could have a happy adult life after living through a really shitty childhood.

  Jamie made her lose control.

  That made him so dangerous.

  All these thoughts ripped through her mind like a flock of starlings scared by a gun shot. All she could feel was the rush of so much motion, panicked movement working in concert with a single instinct:

  Flee.

  She pulled against his grip and he tensed but didn’t let go. Oh, if only he had.

  Instead, his thumb stroked the soft pulse at her wrist, centering over her thready vein where her blood danced a salsa throughout every cell.

  Sweet thunder. Holy sunshine. Her breath came out in short bursts, her body screaming at her to move away, to get free of his touch, but she didn’t. Couldn’t.

  Wouldn’t.

  This wasn’t the frozen inaction of a scared child too trained to comply.

  She wanted him. Craved that sensual stroke. Desired the proximity of his tall, strong body.

  Needed to look into those eyes and see her own smoky look mirrored in pupils that widened and darkened.

  For her.

  He cleared his throat and looked away, but he didn’t stop touching her. “What’s the deal with Mike?” he asked in a soft voice.

  “Mike?” she squeaked. Mike who? She would answer any question as long as he didn’t stop touching her. Want the combination to the company safe? Just keep doing that.

  His face broke into a nervous smile, wide cheekbones and dimples pouring off his skin like rain over a waterfall.

  “Yeah. Mike.” He took a step closer, his breath smelling like coffee. Something chocolate. Something sweet and bitter, something she wanted to taste.

  Like life.

  “He’s, um… ” She lost her fucking mind. It just ran off with the little path of skin that connected her to him. “He’s good.”

  Jamie’s eyes danced. “He is? That’s… good to know.” One more step and his knee nudged hers. “But I meant the whole husband and wife thing. Pregnant non-wife? Husband? I’m a pretty open-minded guy. No judgment. I just don’t understand. Can you explain it all?”

  His words were low and suggestive, but they cut through Shelly’s haze. “Oh! That. Mike and Dylan have been together forever,” she chattered, pulling her wrist back, her skin like dry ice without his touch. “And they met Laura a few years ago and had a baby with her.”

  “She’s a surrogate?”

  “No.” Shelly shook her head, confused. He smelled so good. Why were they talking about Laura? The stretch of his business shirt across his chest made her fingers twitch to touch him, her thumbs begging to unbutton each button slowly, to spread her skin against his and just explore. What would it feel like to do that with a man?

  “Then she’s—I’m confused.” Jamie gave her a pleasant smile.

  She was staring dumbly at a small patch of chest hair that poked out from the V of his shirt. It mesmerized her.

  “Do I have a coffee stain?” he asked, poking his chin down to look. “You’re staring at my chest.”

  “Yes. Because nice.” Because nice? WHAT DID SHE JUST SAY?

  “You like my chest?”

>   I like your everything.

  “I, um—so, Laura. Yeah. She’s Mike and Dylan’s wife,” she sputtered.

  “That’s not legal. Except maybe in Utah. And even then, I don’t think it’s legal.”

  “I know, right? Stupid law. Hasn’t caught up to real life.”

  “Laws aren’t stupid.”

  “They are when they don’t allow people to love whoever they want.”

  “The law doesn’t prevent that.”

  He had her there.

  “People do that. Not laws,” he added. His face clouded with something she couldn’t read. The air between them felt like someone had infused it with lust. She was keenly aware of exactly how close they were to each other.

  “Right. But Mike had to marry Dylan when both guys wanted to marry Laura.”

  “You lost me.”

  “Yeah. I know. Two months ago.”

  Oh.

  No.

  She did not just say that.

  His eyes turned down and his face changed, filled with a yearning she felt. His hand reached out for her arm, and it took everything in her to stay in place. She was either going to launch herself at him or run away.

  In the end, she did both.

  The kiss was everything she’d been dreaming of for two months, a reminder of their last encounter and so much more, the new texture of their interactions with each other adding to the nuance of whatever it was they were doing. Shelly’s tenuous grasp on words and ideas and useless stuff like that faded to nothing as she dissolved into the kiss, Jamie’s body warm and so large, looming over her as he bent for another kiss, her hands on his broad shoulders, the muscles curled down and over her, like a protective shield that kept the world away.

  Only she and Jamie existed.

  Connected by hot, welcoming tongues that did all the communicating they needed.

  Shelly’s mind returned with a sickening snap and she pushed on Jamie’s chest with both palms, hard. He moved back immediately with a stunned look, eyes hazy and unfocused.

  “I can’t do this,” she gasped.

  “It’s about last time, isn’t it?” he asked, eyes pleading with her. “I’m so sorry, Shelly. I just couldn’t. You were a student then, and I… ” His voice went low and confused.