Lover Boy

by Cassie-Ann L. Miller

  She nods toward the manila folder in my lap before smoothing down the collar of her peach cotton blouse. “There are all your reports. Make sure you sign the tax forms. I’ll file them first thing in the morning.”

  I quickly flip through the folder, glancing at her charts and spreadsheets and neatly organized data. “Hey, so what about the purchase offer on the tattoo shop? Do you think I’m getting ripped off?”

  She looks up at me, beaming. “Keeland…It’s a really good offer. I mean, really good,” she says.

  I’d figured that it was a pretty sweet deal. Seven figures for a business I haven’t touched in three years? Sounds freaking awesome to me. And now that a professional has confirmed it, it’s decided – I’m selling Master Ink.

  “That’s fantastic,” I say. “I’m really happy about it.” I get up off of the couch and pad over to the hallway closet. I emerge with a huge box. “I have something for you, too.”

  “What’s that?” Sammie asks, her brown eyes are alight with curiosity as I approach.

  I smirk at her. “A token of my appreciation for your hard work.”

  “What is it?” She bounces out of her seat excitedly, reaching her arms out for the box.

  I snatch it back, holding it out of her grasp. “My little Sammie, always so eager to get your hands on my package.” I wiggle my eyebrows suggestively.

  She rolls her eyes. “You’re so silly…now, tell me. What is it?”

  I set the box down at her feet and hand her a pair of scissors. “I tried mailing it to your address,” I say with a chuckle, “but the mailman delivered it here instead of at your place. Totally messed up my vibe. Blind, old bat.”

  She laughs too as she slides the blade across the tape and pulls the flaps of the box open. She lifts the first item out of the box, then the second, then the third. She turns to me looking confused. “What is this?”

  I pull the seven plain, white tshirts out of the box and then, the seven pairs of dark jeans. “Your new wardrobe,” I announce stifling a chortle as I take in her reaction.

  She crinkles up her brow at me. “Huh?” She’s fucking adorable.

  “It’s casual clothes, Sammie. Tshirts and jeans. Ever heard of ‘em?”

  She gapes at me. “Are you serious right now?”

  “Very serious,” I say plopping down onto the couch. “You’re always dressed…like…like an accountant.”

  “An auditor!” she corrects me.

  “As if that’s better!”

  She folds her arms across her chest and pouts. “I dress the part of the woman I want to become!” She’s clearly incensed by my mockery.

  “You need to let your guard down. Live a little. Throw on some flip-flops with some jeans and a t-shirt.”

  “It’s 31 degrees out,” she retorts, waving wildly toward the window.

  “Argh! You know what I mean,” I say tossing a t-shirt at her. She isn’t able to swat it away before it hits her in the face, then falls to the rug at her feet. She pushes against the smile curling the edges of her lips. “Anyway, I just want to see you have fun.”

  “So, you got me jeans and tshirts?” she hooks one hand on her hip.

  “Yes – and this…” I say dramatically as I bend into the cardboard box and pull out a tiny, blue velvet jewelry box. I make a huge deal of straightening my collar and taking a deep breath before I drop to one knee.

  Sammie gasps so hard that she robs the room of half its oxygen. She looks scared shitless, to be honest.

  Still, I look up at her with nothing but pure adoration in my eyes. “Samantha Mariam Trotten…”

  I breathe slowly as I flip up the lid of the box and reveal the contents inside. …

  “Will you accept these earrings?”

  Sammie expels an enormous sigh of relief as she drops against the cushions on the couch. “Oh my god, Keeland! Are you trying to kill me?” Her voice is high-pitched and squeaky.

  I cackle with laughter as I pull her close to me, kissing the top of her head as she tries to bat me away. “What did you think was in this box?”

  “I thought you were about to ask me to marry you. I thought you’d gone completely insane. I was ready to pack up my shit and get out of town. You almost gave me a heart attack.” She’s rambling, clutching her hands over her heart.

  I’m still laughing. Because it’s funny…but somewhere deep down, it kind of stings that the idea of being married to me spooks her out so much. “Just earrings, Sammie. Just earrings.” I hand the box to her.

  Her expression settles as she examines the round-cut morganite studs encircled by a row of halo diamonds set in rose gold. “Wow, Keeland. These are really gorgeous,” she breathes.

  I grin widely. I knew she’d like them. But…

  “I can’t accept this.”

  …I knew she’d say that, too. Hence the whole let-me-spook-her-the-fuck-out-by-pretending-to-propose thing.

  “Yes, you can accept it. And you will because it’s not half as bad as an engagement ring, right?”

  She laughs. “I guess you’re right.”

  “You did awesome work for me.” And I love the fuck out of you. “You deserve this gift.”

  I watch as she slowly comes to grips with the idea of accepting the earrings. “They’d look really nice with the dress I’m wearing tonight,” she says in a small, excited voice.

  “Tonight?”

  “Yeah. I’m going out with the girls,” she mumbles as she affectionately caresses the jewelry box. “A new bar just opened at Kennedy Square. The Opal Lounge. Tonight is ladies’ night.”

  Jealousy and possessiveness rush up my chest so fast that I don’t have the time to stop them before they’re spilling out of my mouth. “Don’t go flirting with other guys while you’re wearing those,” I say sternly. “Don’t go flirting with other guys, period.”

  She looks at me with stunned eyes and I know I’ve gone too far. Shit.

  “Yes, sir,” she says as she eases out of her seat.

  Her lack of defiance catches me completely off guard. I’d expected her to put up a fight, cut me down to size, take some grand feminist stand.

  Instead, she comes up to me and wraps her arms around my neck, kissing lightly at the flesh just below my ear. “I guess I’ll only be hitting on girls tonight. Reyfield’s ladies are known to get adventurous after a couple of drinks.”

  My cock turns solid in my pants. It’s her turn to wiggle her eyebrows at me, giggling as she slips out the door.

  Chapter 40

  “Y’see – this is why I’ve resorted to online dating,” Faith groans and tips her head in the direction of the dance floor as she slips onto the velvet bench next to her sister. There’s a purple-haired wannabe biker chick grinding shamelessly all over the protruding stomach of a toupee-wearing clod who is obviously having the time of his life.

  “Be careful, hun,” Isla says cautiously. “There’s some freaks out there on the internet.”

  Faith laughs mirthlessly. “Are you serious right now? There’s some freaks in here.” She nods toward the dance floor again to make her point.

  “Touché” Isla giggles over the rim of her wine glass.

  But Faith isn’t done ranting. Not just yet. “I mean, are there any cute guys in this town?” She takes a greedy sip of her martini before setting the drink down on the tempered glass tabletop.

  I peer around the small lounge, the colorful strobe lights illuminating the faces of the dozens of patrons jiving on the dance floor. Surprisingly, the place is relatively full. It must be because of the ladies’ night two-for-one drinks special. More than three-quarters of the customers are female and the few men here are coming on way too strong. The place reeks of desperation.

  Thank god I have Keeland and his sexy ass to go home to, I grin slyly to myself.

  Gracie shrugs, looking at Faith. “Don’t ask me. I’m only here to get away from my husband.” I hear the sadness in her tone.

  I flinch at her words. “Are you two still fighting
?”

  There’s absolute melancholy in her eyes when she nods. “At the rate we’re going, I don’t think our marriage will make it until Christmas.”

  “Ah – don’t say that,” Isla says, reaching out for Gracie’s hand. “You’re breaking my heart. Divorce is the most painful thing I’ve ever experienced and I wouldn’t wish it on anybody.”

  Gracie sighs. “It’s not what I want. But I feel like we’re running out of options.”

  “Did you try absolutely everything?” I ask, leaning across the table to hold her hand.

  My sister-in-law nods. “Counseling didn’t work. Spending more time together didn’t work. Spending more time apart didn’t work…”

  “There’s always couples’ tantra. I’m running another retreat soon,” Isla offers, trying to be helpful.

  “I guess we could give that a try,” Gracie says skeptically, lifting her shoulders before dropping them hopelessly. “I’m starting to wonder if, maybe Daniel just doesn’t love me anymore.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” I say quickly. “My brother is crazy about you.”

  “He used to be…” she says quietly.

  “Aww, Gracie,” Faith sighs sympathetically. She wraps her arms around her sister’s neck.

  “Okay, okay. Stop,” Gracie says with a weak laugh as she brushes a tear out of her eye. “We didn’t come here tonight to have a pity party for me.” She nudges Faith out of the booth. “Come on. All of you are single and need to be hooked up tonight. I’ll play matchmaker. Let’s hit the dance floor.”

  My fingers brush against my beautiful new earrings and I swallow back guilt at the fact that my friends still don’t know that I’m not single at all. I belong to Keeland Masters. I’m his girl. He’s my guy. And no one in a 5000-mile radius can make me feel half of the things he does. It took me by surprise but my deep disdain for him has morphed into something that’s beginning to feel a bit like…love.

  That worries me. And it thrills me at the same time.

  I push my concerns aside and bring my attention to the club and the pulsing energy buzzing around me. A David Guetta tune blasts through the room and we party away, dancing and laughing and drinking.

  After finding a handsome silver fox for Isla to dance with and hooking Faith up with a baby-faced cutie who is surely still in college, Gracie coaxes a dimple-cheeked guy into buying me a drink. I turn him down with a flattered smile because, in the back of my mind, I’m secretly counting down the minutes until I’m in Keeland’s arms.

  But Mr. Dimples is rather persistent and he gets close, breathing heavy in my ear and whispering things that would make even a streetwalker uncomfortable. I look around for Gracie but she’s busy on the dance floor with some women I recognize from around town. Faith and her new friend from the community college look like they’re two winks away from trying to make a stealth exit. Meanwhile, Isla seems to be engaged in a deep-existential conversation with the silver fox.

  I try to be polite as I push Mr. Dimples away. But unfortunately for him, he doesn’t take a hint. He leans in and slides his hand across my ass before he tries to kiss me. I manage to duck away just in time.

  The next thing I know, Mr. Dimples goes flying backwards, landing hard on his tailbone as the crowd parts around him and Keeland’s pale, angry eyes flash under the strobe lights.

  Chapter 41

  “Hey man, is there a problem over here?” The music has come to an abrupt stop and I hear the security guard’s voice carry over my shoulder.

  The punk lying on the floor stumbles to his feet. “I was getting to know this beautiful lady over here –” he gestures to Sammie, “—and this asshole rudely interrupted us.”

  I growl, ready to pounce on him. The nerve of that idiot to put his hands on my woman. “She clearly wasn’t trying to get to know you.” I mutter through gritted teeth. “You seem to have forgotten that when a lady says ‘no’, she means ‘no’. But I will gladly re-educate you with my fists.”

  He opens his mouth and quickly snaps it shut. He watches me cautiously. He knows – one wrong move and I’ll stomp him into yesterday.

  “You’re gonna have to get out of here, pal,” the chubby rent-a-cop barks. I give him a sidelong glance. I could take him. Easy. He’s a good six inches shorter than me and exactly zero percent of the weight on him is muscle. But I didn’t come here to start trouble tonight and I don’t want the cops getting involved unless absolutely necessary.

  I do have a criminal record after all.

  Although, if any further need to protect Sammie should arise, the legal consequences would be the last thing on my mind.

  I throw up my hands in a gesture of appeasement and take a step back. “I’m out of here,” I say. Then, I grab Sammie by the wrist and shove my way through the crowd. She jerks out of my grasp, grumbling under her breath and pulling down the hem of her ridiculously short, glittery-ass dress, as we stomp out the front door. I hear several pairs of high heels clicking on the pavement behind us as we make our way over to the parking lot.

  “Thanks for that, asshole,” Sammie calls after me as she struggles to keep up in her four-inch stilettos. When I turn around, she’s hugging her arms over her chest to keep out the cold and shooting daggers at me with her eyes.

  “You’re not seriously mad at me right now. Not after I just rescued you from that predator.”

  She narrows her eyes insolently. “I could have handled that drunk loser on my own. Without your help.”

  “So, what? I was just supposed to sit there and watch him paw all over the woman I love?”

  My declaration draws a sharp gasp from Sammie’s stunned girlfriends who are trailing clumsily behind us.

  Sammie’s cheeks pinken up instantly. “Would you keep your voice down?” she whispers through gritted teeth, tilting her head suggestively toward her group of friends. “And what are you doing here anyway?”

  The golden question.

  Did she really expect me to just laze around on the couch, watching sports highlights while she was out at a club doing god-knows-what with that fine ass of hers?

  Well actually, I guess that’s not such an unreasonable expectation. I know that Sammie’s a good woman. It’s just that, after Rhys…I guess I just had to be sure. I had to see her in action with my own eyes.

  And she made me proud tonight. I saw the way she pushed that loser away when he tried to hit on her. There hadn’t been an ounce of hesitation in her eyes. But still, I’d hate to think of what he would have done next if I hadn’t shown up.

  “You should be glad that I was here. To look out for you. A real man protects his woman.”

  “Keep. Your. Voice. Down,” she grunts in a low tone.

  I stop abruptly and glance toward Isla, Faith and Grace. They wear wide-eyed expressions on their faces as they try to figure out what the hell is going on between Sammie and me. I bring my gaze back to her and I’m damn pissed. “I am so done with this!” I say, vibrating with rage.

  “Shit just got real,” Faith whispers, her fingers covering her lips.

  Sammie’s breathing hitches and her nostrils flare angrily. “You’re breaking u –”

  “Oh, shut up…” I groan right before my lips slide over hers. I hold her cold cheeks between my palms, kissing her hard and intently. I tip her head back to get the perfect angle and stuff my tongue down her throat just so the message is loud and clear; we’re together now and I’m tired of hiding. I love this woman and I want the whole world to know.

  “There,” I say looking from Sammie to her friends and back again. “Problem solved.” I shrug quickly out of my parka and drape it over her shoulders as she stands there trembling from the cold or from the kiss or from a combination of both.

  I walk off ahead of her, leaving her with her jaw hanging wide. I swing open the passenger’s side door of my truck and wait for her to get in. She’s pouting, arms folded across her chest and her eyes are blazing as she climbs into her seat. Her glare tells me clearly that I’m in troub
le tonight. I feel a strange sense of anticipation tickling the pit of my stomach. I pinch back the smile battling against my lips.

  “Good night, ladies,” I say graciously to Sammie’s shocked friends with a gallant bow before I slip behind the steering wheel and peel out of the parking lot.

  Chapter 42

  Bright and early the next morning, I’m at Walmart in the teen girl’s section. I step over to the mirror and hold up a lacy, foam green taffeta dress in front of me.

  “Nah,” I mumble to myself as I set it back on the rack and snatch up a flouncy lavender gown instead. I swing left to right a few times to check the dress’ bounce factor.

  Very, very important that this dress have sufficient bounce.

  “Much better,” I mumble with a satisfied grin as I toss it into my shopping cart along with some thick, flesh-toned pantyhose and a pair of clunky Mary-Janes.

  A mean-looking woman in her mid-to late-40s gives me a sideways glance as she hovers protectively over her teenaged daughter. “This isn’t for me,” I say to her with way too much defensiveness in my tone. She cocks a judgmental eyebrow at me. “It’s for my girlfriend.” I don’t know why I feel the need to explain, but I do.

  Her daughter stops rifling through the racks and turns to me. “Your girlfriend’s going to prom?” the teen asks, her lips scrunching condemnatorily. “Aren’t you like…old?”

  Her mother doesn’t wait for me to answer. “Come on, Stacy.” She braces her daughter by the shoulders and leads her toward the other side of the busy store.

  Great — now this woman and her daughter think that I’m a cradle-robbing sicko.

  But nothing can repress the smile I’m wearing. Not the judgmental helicopter mom and her bratty kid who have chalked me up as a maybe-cross-dresser, maybe-pervert. Not the long Walmart lines that seem to go on forever. Not even the six missed calls and two threatening text messages I received from Daniel this morning, promising to slice my balls off with a rusty hand saw for messing with his sister.