Sexy Mother Faker

by Remy Rose

  “Ooh, you said my café. Makes it more of a reality that way...I like that.”

  “A girl can dream. And I do.”

  “So what are some of the things you’ve been dreaming about?”

  I feel little thrills spiraling in my chest. Can’t help it...I do get excited even just imagining the possibilities. “I have lots of ideas. I know I’d like to have a retro type of theme for it. I’ve thought about hosting a paint and sip or a plant and sip...I’d love to display artwork by local artists. Maybe do something fun like a bring your dog day, although that might get a little crazy.”

  “Awesome. What about cats? Could I bring Murphy?” Maddie grins and nods in the direction of her orange tiger cat who’s methodically cleaning himself on the hardwood floor.

  “Ha. Possibly. I’ve read online about these cat cafés where these shops bring in shelter cats and have customers interact with them. I’d want it to be a unique and very welcoming kind of place, where people can come to relax. Maybe even get a couple of chair massagers for stress release—you know, for people who may not be having hot sex like you are.” I grin at her, breaking into a laugh as she grabs a pillow and hurls it at me.

  “They don’t call these throw pillows for nothing,” she smirks. “But seriously—I love your ideas.”

  “Thanks. I need to stand out from the seventy billion Dunkin Donuts around, you know? I love thinking of what I’d do.”

  “Ohh, Lane. Your eyes.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Your eyes, just now. Sparkling like champagne.”

  I take another sip of wine and lean forward to set the glass on the coffee table. “Kind of how your eyes get when you talk about Jack. Does that make me fucked up? How I’m in love with a place instead of a person?”

  “You just haven’t met the right guy.”

  “According to my mother, I’m gay, so maybe I haven’t met the right woman.”

  “She seriously thinks that?! God, she cracks me up. Anyway—I remember very well how you kept encouraging me to take a risk with Jack, so I guess now it’s my turn to encourage you.”

  “To take a risk with Jack? Won’t you be jealous?”

  Madeline gives me a major eye roll. I deserve it.

  “It was different when I encouraged you with Jack. You could handle getting involved with a guy. Me, on the other hand...not so much.”

  Maddie’s eyebrows draw together, the skin above her nose wrinkling with confusion. Damn. I’ve got her a little too curious.

  Luckily, rescue comes in the form of a 6’5” hunk named Jack Decker, who just happens to have totally stolen my best friend’s heart, locked it up and threw away the key. Hands on hips, he fills up the living room doorway, his thick, dark hair sexily messy, Carhartt jacket open to reveal a navy sweatshirt and faded jeans. “Hey. Am I lucky or what? Coming home to not one but two beautiful women.” He flashes a dazzling smile, and even though he’s my BFF’s boyfriend and completely untouchable, Jesus...I can still appreciate—like fine art. Look, but don’t touch.

  “And just think—you get to go to bed with one of them later.” Madeline unfolds her legs and hops off the couch, going to him and looping her arms around his waist, leaning back to look up at him adoringly.

  “Yeah...Delaney, I’ll be over after I shower.”

  I can’t help but giggle as Maddie huffs and gives Jack a smack on the arm. He bursts out laughing, raising his index finger to chalk up a point for himself. This is one of many cute little couple-y things they do.

  Still chuckling, he pulls her into his arms and nuzzles her hair. It’s like they’re filled to the brim with all these glorious secrets that the world wishes they knew. Jack’s squeezing her in a strong, sweet hug, and I can practically see those secrets releasing in this giant burst of colorful butterflies.

  I can be a little weird like that, imagining things—the same way I imagine things like cafés that I’ll never own. But these two are definitely butterflies and rainbows and unicorns. And ordinarily, I’d be making gagging noises—maybe even throwing up in my mouth a little, but with them—it totally works. Definitely straight-from-the-movies, makes-you-squishy-inside, warm, yummy, crazy love.

  It’s perfect.

  And here comes the tightness in my throat.

  chapter 5 / Damon

  I’m sitting in an office at Maine Coastal Realty, trying to figure out why this broker looks so familiar to me as she opens her laptop. She’s very attractive, and of course attractive women always create a major blip on my radar. So maybe it’s just that I saw her somewhere and filed her image in my Hot folder.

  I know...I’m basically a horny sixteen-year-old. Not much different from how I was growing up in my family home in Southwest Harbor where my mother still lives. Lettered in football, hockey, baseball and girls at Mount Desert High School. Go Trojans! Has to be the best high school mascot ever. Played baseball and more girls at Dartmouth and majored in business on the side. With Gloria’s help, I nabbed a killer condo in Northeast Harbor after I graduated from college six years ago and started working full-time for Cavanaugh Yacht. It’s been a great bachelor pad (aptly nicknamed The Condom), complete with hickory floors, surround sound system, a kick-ass shower with multiple shower heads, a gas fireplace and cathedral ceiling in the bedroom...safe to say I’ve had a lot of sleepovers there. Christ, if walls could talk.

  So I’ve been happy there, but this winter, I made the decision to upgrade to an oceanfront property. I’ve always wanted to live on the water—guess I got spoiled as a little rich kid—and fortunately I have boatloads of money (pun intended) to support that dream. Since the realty company with the best reputation in this area is Maine Coastal, here I am sitting across from Madeline Callaway, designated broker. And still trying to figure out where I know her from.

  I’m feeling like it’s more than just me checking her out in passing...like there was some kind of significance surrounding when I saw her. I’m staring at her in a sort of haze when I realize she’s stopped talking and looks a little flustered, her coral-colored lips open slightly. Shit. I have no idea what she just said. She’s probably thinking I’m a creeper who gets his rocks off ogling gorgeous women. She wouldn’t be far off.

  “Sorry, Ms. Callaway—caught me daydreaming about my future house.”

  She’s not buying it, but she’s more amused than pissed. “Okay, Mr. Cavanaugh—”

  “Damon. Please.”

  “All right...Damon. Let’s start with me gathering information so we can list your condo, and then we can talk about what type of property you’d like to acquire. I can show you what we have now, but we’ll have a lot more listings coming up in April and May.”

  “Sounds good. I wanted to get a jump on spring for both the sale and a possible purchase.”

  “So the condo’s in Northeast Harbor.”

  “Yes. 25 Harbor Drive.”

  She’s nodding. “That’s a great location. How long have you owned it?”

  “Six years.”

  “Mortgage?”

  “All paid off.”

  Her fingers hover over the keyboard, and she looks up at me. There’s an expression on her face, like she’s all of a sudden studying me closely, and when I offer up a smile, she blushes.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to stare. You just look familiar to me, and I’m trying to think of where I’ve seen you.”

  I lean forward in my chair. “Hey, me too...that’s why I was looking at you earlier.”

  I learn she lives in Surry, about forty-five minutes away from me. I’ve never been to Maine Coastal, and she’s never been to Cavanaugh Yacht. No on attending any weddings or going to the same grocery store, and we don’t seem to hit the same bars…

  And then, I remember.

  I snap my fingers and grin at Madeline triumphantly. “I’ve got it. New Moon, downtown Ellsworth, back in October. I remember the month, because I was in town for my great-uncle’s funeral and ended up going out that night just to h
ave a break from the extended family insanity.”

  I also now understand why I had the feeling the situation was more major than just Madeline being a babe.

  “You had a friend,” I tell her, remembering a smoking hot girl with a blonde ponytail, wispy pieces of hair framing a delicate-looking face, red shirt, tight jeans. Tight jeans.

  I’d jacked off to her image later that night. Probably best to keep that to myself.

  Madeline’s deep brown eyes get huge. “Oh my God...you’re Golden Boy.” Her hand comes up to cover her mouth. “Sorry—it was just a nickname I gave you.”

  I grin. “I’ve been called worse.”

  “I definitely remember that night. Delaney got all flustered when she saw you.”

  “Delaney being the blonde girl?”

  “Yes. My best friend.” She rolls her eyes and flashes me a rueful, half-smile. “Ugh. And that’s exactly why I need to stop talking to you about this. She’d freaking kill me.”

  Now I’m even more intrigued. So Blonde Girl—Delaney—was flustered. She wasn’t the only one. Hell, I remember feeling that way, too—the second I saw her, it was the weirdest thing...I felt this major pull toward her. Almost like I was supposed to get up from my seat, go over to her, introduce myself. It took hold of me in my chest, my gut, and most definitely, my cock. Felt like some sort of divining rod, pointing right at her.

  That was part of the reason I didn’t stand up. Couldn’t. I told you I was basically a horny sixteen-year-old.

  And here I am, sitting across from Blonde Girl’s best friend. Go figure.

  Then, the idea. Taking root, blooming inside me like the biggest sunflower you’ve ever seen, till it’s too big to hold onto, and I’ve got to open my mouth and plant the seed from it.

  “Is Delaney, uh...single?”

  Madeline’s face brightens, like she’s up for doing a little gardening right alongside of me. “She...is,” she says, hesitantly. “But she doesn’t really date. She hasn’t for a few years.”

  Seriously? A knockout like that? Wonder if she’s got some issues, and if so, how deep they go. My thoughts must have trickled into my face, because Madeline answers hastily.

  “It doesn’t have anything to do with her personality,” she says, her eyes a little anxious, like she wants me to believe her. “She’s the best. A beautiful person, both inside and out. She’s just become turned off from guys. She works with some real jerks.”

  “Men can definitely be assholes.” I know; I’ve been one.

  “I’ve tried to fix her up with people and encourage her to date...” Madeline’s voice fades, and she rolls her eyes again. “I shouldn’t be discussing this.”

  “Understood.”

  “When she saw you at the club that night, she really—ahh, I seriously need to stop.”

  She’s got me smiling. She’s cute, getting agitated about not wanting to share too much with me. I like her.

  Back to my idea. “But she is single, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “I know we’re supposed to be talking real estate here, and I don’t want to take up your valuable time, but could I ask you a favor?”

  She smiles. Her eyes are smiling, too, and I think she knows where I’m going. “I can’t guarantee anything, but you can ask.”

  “I’d like to meet Delaney.”

  A sigh. She folds her arms across her chest. “You seem like a really nice guy, but like I told you—I’ve tried to fix her up before, and it doesn’t seem to take.”

  “I’m not really asking you to fix me up...I’m asking for the chance to meet her. Think you can get her to the New Moon bar again? Like this weekend? And then I’ll take it from there.” I give her my most convincing smile, and I’m pumped to see her cheeks pink up, because I think she’s going to help me out.

  “Mr. Cavanaugh...”

  “Damon, remember?”

  “Sorry...Damon. If I do this—and the only reason I’m considering this is because I definitely sensed some sort of connection between you two that night—you need to give me your word that you’ll treat her right for whatever time you spend with her. I’m not saying you two are going to ride off into the sunset together, but I just don’t want her to get hurt. I’d never forgive myself.”

  “Absolutely. I’ll be very up front with her.” I shift a little in my chair. “I’ll be honest—I’m not looking for a serious relationship.” That, at least, is the truth.

  Madeline’s lips are twitching, like she’s trying to hold in a giggle. “Sorry—I don’t mean to laugh, but I’ve heard that line before.”

  “Pretty sure that most every red-blooded American male has used that line at one time or another.”

  “And some red-blooded American women. Including me, actually. But to answer your question, I’ll do my best to get her to New Moon. Friday night okay?”

  “Perfect. I’ll give you my cell number, and you can let me know mid-week the status of the Delaney project.”

  “All right.”

  “I owe you one, Ms. Callaway.”

  “Madeline. And it’s called commission.”

  “Thanks again.”

  As we get back to the business of why I’m meeting with her, I try to tamp down the flames flickering inside me. This was totally, totally unexpected. Jesus, how lucky can I get? A gorgeous woman I had a powerful reaction to happens to be single. Her best friend is going to help me out. And—one of the best things—this woman doesn’t want to get emotionally involved with anyone. Neither do I.

  Perfect match.

  And I’m burning with anticipation.

  chapter 6 / Delaney

  It’s Friday night, and instead of being home like I typically am, I’m actually out with my BFF and her guy. My usual modus operandi for a Friday night is a twenty-minute yoga workout followed by a long, hot shower and curling up in bed with my Kindle to read one of the ten thousand romance titles I downloaded when I was feeling a) horny, b) sorry for myself, c) pre-menstrual or d) all of the above. I consider reading romance novels both pleasurable and pure torture. You’ve got these crazy-hot guys with stubble on their faces that of course provides just the right amount of friction when that face is between the girl’s thighs. All of them ooze wealth and testosterone and look like someone drew their ab muscles on with a Sharpie. They have twelve-inch shlongs, fast cars, faster hands and they always give orgasms intense enough to curl hair, ignite the mattress, clear up complexions, reverse aging or induce a seizure. I mean, seriously?!

  And yeah, I’m buying it. Buying them—lots of them. It’s pathetically all I’ve got right now. I don’t even tell Maddie that I read these types of books, because I know if I did, she’d be all over me to seek out the real twelve-inch shlong, if there even is such a thing.

  It sounds unbelievable, but I haven’t been with even a modest-size penis in two years. I had a pretty serious relationship in college that let’s just say went really bad, and when I finally got up my nerve to go out with someone else a couple years after that, I completely froze up in bed…like mannequin in Antartica, touched by Snow Queen Elsa type of frozen. The guy—someone I met on a sales call, which should have been a huge no-no anyway—was confused and almost alarmed by my reaction, and I can’t say as I blame him, because it even freaked me out. At first, he tried to be nice about it and made a couple more attempts at second base, but when I lay there with my arms stiff at my sides, my heart beating so hard it was practically breaking out of my chest, he acted almost insulted and couldn’t get out of my apartment fast enough.

  I didn’t want to put any guy (or me) through something like that again, so I swore to myself the only romantic relationship I’d have is with my shower massager. And my book boyfriends. A bonus: I don’t even have to be monogamous with them.

  I’ll be honest: I do get lonely. I don’t share that with Madeline because I don’t want her to worry about me more than she already does. Sometimes, in addition to these urges I get where I really do want to be kissed and touch
ed, I just would like basic companionship. Even the non-human kind. I think it would help me to get a cat—have someone to look forward to seeing when I get home from a hellish day with Stu and Lou and the gang...a buddy to sit on the couch with and ugly-cry over This Is Us. So I’m planning to check out the Humane Society in the next week or two.

  For now, though, my companions are Maddie and Jack. I’m on a bar stool at New Moon in downtown Ellsworth—reluctantly, but Madeline was so damned persistent. Now that I’m here, I’m glad I caved. There’s a band playing Maroon 5 covers, and they’re really good. I do like the décor in this place: art-deco ceiling, glossy wood floors, a sleek, curvy, wrap-around bar brightened with electric-blue rope lighting. Maddie and I order Cosmos, Jack an Allagash White, and we’re deciding between bruschetta, nachos, spicy crab cakes or saying the hell with it and getting all three when Maddie grabs my arm.

  “Lane...isn’t that Golden Boy? Standing in the doorway?”

  “Golden Boy? What are you...” I look in the direction she’s looking, and then I remember. My God. The guy from last fall.

  And he’s just as gorgeous as I remember.

  I realize my mouth has dropped open and I quickly close it, whipping my head around to stare down at the table. My cheeks are burning. I hope he didn’t see me gaping. But it’s so goddamned hard to tear my eyes away from him. Talk about a romance novel character—it’s like he stepped out of my Kindle.

  My heart is thumping hard. I don’t like this—my stomach feels like a bag of live squirrels. I feel Maddie’s eyes on me.

  “Do you remember him?”

  Um, yeah, Mads, I remember him. How could I not? It might have been five months ago and I didn’t even talk to the guy, but holy shit. We’re talking sizzling hot. Jesus, he could practically fry an egg with a glance.

  “Yes,” I say hoarsely, because my throat seems to be all clogged. “I remember him.”

  Jack looks from Madeline to me in lazy amusement. “Might want to pick your tongues up off the floor. Germs and all.”