How to Choose a Guy in 10 Days: Chick Flick Club #1

by Lila Monroe

  SQUELCH.

  We lay there, groaning. “Look what you did!” he complains, rolling off me.

  “This isn’t my fault!” I protest, scrabbling around in the thick, disgusting goop. “You’re the one who went down!”

  “Because you pulled me!”

  We try to get up, and fail. Zach looks like a baby giraffe, scrabbling around, limbs akimbo, and I have to laugh. Finally, I collapse back into the mess. “You know, if you wanted to mudwrestle with me, you could have just asked.” I tease.

  “I used to wrestle in high school,” he says with a chuckle, “Almost went national. I’m pretty good at it.”

  “Must be the Bigfoot genes,” I mutter under my breath.

  “What’s that?” he smirks. “You’re sorry you flung mud on me?”

  “I didn’t do it on purpose,” I protest. Besides, it almost makes him look more handsome. While I can only imagine how gross I am right now.

  Sure enough, Zach looks at me closer. “Hold on,” he says. “You have something on your face.”

  “Where?” I swipe at it wildly.

  “No, not there. Here …” he leans over and smears my cheek, with more mud.

  “Oh, you’ll pay for that!” I grab his wrist, and yank him down into the mud again.

  For a moment, we’re tangled together, his body hard against me.

  Hard, and muscular, and delicious …

  I glance up. Zach’s face is only inches away from mine. Oh.

  My heart sinks. Zach offers his hand, and I take it, scrambling up after him. This time, at least, we don’t go flying back into the mud.

  Sadly.

  After that, the trail isn’t so perilous. We walk along the side, staying out of the mud as best we can, but by the time we’re almost at the camp, we’re both coated in it anyway. Clammy, cold, gross mud. I tug at my T-shirt, groaning aloud. “This is never coming out. They’ll find me on my deathbed with mud in my hair.”

  “Calififornia’s finest,” Zach agrees with a chuckle.

  We emerge from the woods, and I catch sight of water glinting. “Is that a lake?”

  He looks over. “Yup. Ye old swimming hole. Home to tippy-canoe tests and more than one skinny-dipping session.”

  “That sounds good to me right now. Not the skinny-dipping part,” I add quickly. “But a swim. To clean off. What do you say?”

  Zach laughs. “You know it’s cold, right?”

  “Come on. How bad can it be?” I start towards the water. There’s a wooden dock sticking out into the lake, and I squelch my way down it. “Or are you chicken?” I yell behind me, taunting.

  Before I can think twice, I kick off my sneakers, and shuck off my jeans. I send up silent thanks that I’m wearing boyshort-style undies, before sprinting to the end of the dock and hurtling into the lake.

  HOLY SHIT!

  I surface spluttering. “It’s fucking freezing!” I cry.

  “Told you so!” Zach laughs, from his warm, dry spot on the dock.

  “Come on,” I call, splashing at him. “It’s … refreshing.”

  If I don’t die of hypothermia first.

  Zach seems to make a decision, because he strips off his T-shirt—

  Hello.

  —and his baggy shorts soon follow.

  Double hello.

  Before I can start drooling over his muscular, cut body, he leaps off the end of the dock and lands in the water with a splash.

  “Motherfucker!” he exclaims, when he surfaces. “Refreshing to who—an Eskimo?”

  I laugh, swimming in circles to keep warm—and so he can’t see that my T-shirt has turned entirely transparent.

  “It’s better than mud,” I decide, flipping onto my back. “And wow, this place is really gorgeous.” Woods, clear sky—and the man beside me. I breath out, finally relaxing as the water laps over me and—

  Something brushes up against my leg. No, slithers against my leg.

  Something slithers against my leg!

  “GAH!” I shriek. “It touched me!”

  I splash wildly, and then suddenly, I’m in Zach’s arms, my legs wrapped around his waist.

  How did that happen?

  “You okay?” he asks, smirking.

  Whatever. I’m in panic mode here. I look around, but the water is so murky. I can’t see anything. “Yeah. Just … are there eels in here?”

  “No. It was probably just a reed.”

  I exhale in relief.

  “Or … Maybe a fish,” he muses.

  “Fish?” I ask, looking at him. “Like, fish that nibble?”

  He shrugs under my arms. “Could have been a turtle.”

  “Turtle?” I whimper. “They definitely bite, don’t they?”

  “Sometimes,” he says and then I feel a pinch on my butt. I scream and swear to God, I nearly faint. Until I realize it was him.

  “Zach!” I smack at his shoulder, laughing.

  Then I look down and realize he’s got an eyeful of my very wet, very see-through T-shirt. I’m wearing a bra, but of course, it’s white too. Or at least, it was. Now my nipples are glaringly visible through the fabric.

  In fact, they way they’re standing to attention, they could take someone’s eye out.

  I feel Zach’s gaze caress me, and it makes me shiver in a way that has nothing to do with the cold. Slowly, he drags his eyes away from my breasts, sliding up my body to meet my eyes.

  He pulls me closer. Closer. Now I’m crushed against him, and loving every minute of it.

  “Zach?” I whisper, my head spinning. We’re on the edge of something here, and somehow I know, once we step over the line, there’s no going back. “We should … I mean … if you …”

  With a groan, he leans in and captures my lips in a searing kiss.

  Oh. My. God.

  His mouth is hot and hard against mine, his tongue sliding deep. I part my lips, hungry for him, and Zach responds by tightening his grip on me, pinning me in place in his arms as his tongue does wicked, unspeakable things.

  Damn, the guy can kiss.

  I draw his bottom lip between my teeth, giving it a nibble. That only seems to fuel his fire. Through his boxer briefs, I can feel his hard cock is pressing into me, and I can’t stop myself grinding against him.

  He groans into my mouth. Fuck, it’s so sexy. One of his hands skims up over my hip and waist, stroking against my chest. He cups my breast, then closes his thumb and forefinger around my already hard and aching nipple.

  I moan.

  He’s breathing hard now, we both are; he’s devouring my mouth, his tongue dancing with mine.

  Everything falls away. There is no bet, no campground, not even a lake, even though the cold water laps at my waist. There is only Zach, my body wrapped around his as he’s kissing me, touching me. Worshipping me with his mouth.

  He pulls back for a moment, and I make a noise of protest—but then his mouth is on my breast, sucking my nipple through the fabric. His mouth is hot, a shocking contrast to the cool water.

  It’s magic. It’s perfect. It’s hands-down the sexiest moment of my entire life.

  And then my stomach gurgles loudly.

  Zach pulls away, smiling. “Was that you, or a truck passing somewhere?”

  “Hey!” I smack him lightly. “A gentleman wouldn’t comment on it.”

  “Well, I’m no gentleman.”

  The look that Zach gives me is enough to melt my panties off—even as the rest of my body starts to lose all feeling from the cold.

  “We should get back,” I say, just as I hear a chorus of yells and laughter from the camp. It’s just as well my rumbling stomach stopped us before we got carried away - we’re a lot closer to everyone than I’d realized.

  He starts to let me go.

  I grip my arms and legs around him harder. “What are you doing?!”

  “Putting you down?”

  “Not while we’re in these God-knows-what infested waters, you’re not!”

  Zach chuckles, but he
wraps his arms around me again and wades to the shore, muttering something about a damsel in distress. I don’t mind the teasing, especially because my mind is still frazzled from our epic watery-logged makeout session.

  Where did he learn to kiss like that?

  And can he please do it again—as soon as possible?!

  14

  Gemma

  - Day 5 -

  After we get out of the water, I’m desperate to warm up—and not in the tiny excuse for a trailer bathroom. I leave it for Zach, and take my stuff over to the main camp bathrooms, where—thankfully—there’s unlimited hot water, and plenty of room to shampoo.

  The bathroom is communal, but I’m too cold to care about the bugs and chipped tile. I hurry to strip off my damp clothing, and practically fall under the shower with a sigh. I have never been so happy to bathe in all my life.

  I double-condition my hair, worried that won’t be enough. But as I think of rolling around with Zach in that sludge puddle, it was worth it.

  Because he is … wow.

  I drift away in happy floaty memories for about five hours under the hot water, until my hunger for food—and other things—drives me out. I dress in clean jeans and a cute retro gingham blouse, then head back to the Airstream. When I get inside the trailer, Zach is just coming out of the bathroom in a pair of shorts and no shirt. In the small space, he seems to loom bigger. He still has all that chest hair, but now that he’s clean shaven with tidy hair, I don’t mind it at all. The chest hair is terribly masculine. I itch to run my fingers through it or even nuzzle my face against him like a cat.

  Whoa there, Gemma. Down, girl.

  “Hi,” he says, looking down at me, his gaze heavy-lidded, like he knows exactly what I was just thinking.

  I swallow and force myself to bring my eyes to his even as I’m thinking he must do crunches while playing video games. Is it just me, or is the trailer shrinking? I swear, I’m practically climbing the guy. “So, uh … food?” I blurt.

  Zach smiles. “Martin just texted they’re setting dinner out. We could go eat at the lodge with the others. Or …”

  “Or?”

  “We could grab a couple of plates to go, and eat here instead.”

  Alone.

  “Takeout sounds good!” I say immediately.

  “Cool. I’ll go,” Zach offers. He grabs a shirt, and heads out, leaving me alone to catch my breath.

  Inevitably, my thoughts return to what happened at the lake. Because it was a hot makeout session. Like, I’m talking The Notebook, Ryan and Rachel in the rain hot. But part of me wonders if this is still a part of his post-Lisa playboy routine. I don’t want to be another notch in Zach’s bedpost.

  And as for the whole bet complication …

  I throw myself down on the tiny, hard loveseat, and grab my phone. ‘Advice pls!’ I text Zoey and Eve. ‘What do I do about things w/ Zach?’

  ‘There r THINGS?’ Zoey immediately texts back.

  ‘Yup. Hot things. So hot.’

  Surely it wouldn’t be so bad to scratch the itch? I wonder.

  Until it inevitably goes sideways and he dumps me. Then I have to see him in the hall of our building. The building he owns.

  Awkward.

  Although, maybe I can just see it for the no-strings-attached hookup it would be. That’s what Zach’s been doing since he moved in—keeping it casual. I can do that, too.

  “Go for it!” Zoey insists.

  Eve agrees. “Being out in nature is so romantic!”

  They helpfully provide their unified opinion (more emojis and Zoey’s demand that we ‘get that trailer rocking!’) making me laugh until I hear the crunch of gravel that is Zach returning. I feel myself blushing. I do not want to get caught texting about him to my friends.

  “GTG Laters!” I send quickly.

  “Details!” Zoey replies as he comes in, holding two covered plates, cans of beer tucked between his arm and his chest.

  “Order up!” he says with a smile. Forget the food, he looks good enough to eat.

  And just like that, my decision is made.

  It may not make any sense, but to hell with good planning.

  I just want him.

  I slide my arms around his neck, pulling him down for a hot, steamy kiss.

  Zach groans against my mouth and kisses me back, licking and nibbling my lips in a way that makes my knees weak. Then he pulls back—but only for long enough to set the food down, then tug me towards the bedroom area. We fall back through the doorway, kissing wildly. I can’t get enough of him; I’m already tearing at his shirt, undoing his belt, and Zach is only too happy to oblige, quickly stripping off his clothes.

  Hello, sailor.

  He pushes me back on the bed, and I quiver with anticipation, waiting for him to touch me, kiss me.

  Do everything to me.

  But instead of a wild frenzy, Zach takes his sweet time. He starts with my blouse, undoing it.

  One.

  Agonizing.

  Button.

  At.

  A.

  Time.

  I reach up to help him, but he bats my hands away. “In a hurry?” he smirks, teasing.

  I squeeze my thighs together. “Yes.”

  He smiles and returns to his task. He gets to the bottom button and then unties the tails of the blouse, pushing it apart with both hands.

  God, why do I have so many clothes on?! I think as I watch his hands run up my belly, over the cami and to my breasts. The friction of his hands over the fabric makes me arch because I need so much more. “Take it off,” I whisper.

  He chuckles. “Soon.” He lowers his head to nuzzle me, blowing hot air at my nipple before he works it with his lips,.

  I writhe impatiently, loving what he’s doing, but needing more.

  “Zach,” I moan.

  One of his hands finds its way under the cami. I shiver as he traces up my body, working under my bra.

  “So soft,” Zach mutters. “Just like I knew you would be.”

  The tiny part of my consciousness that isn’t zeroed in on his touch loves that he’s been thinking about this. For how long? I wonder.

  “Please,” I say breathlessly.

  “What do you need?” he asks, his hands teasing, unbearably soft.

  “More. Everything. You.”

  He chuckles again. “Happy to deliver.” He finally strips off my clothes, and pushes me back down on the bed, leaving me in just my panties. He leans over, capturing my mouth in a scorching, toe-curling kiss. I arch into him, loving the feel of his body, until he pulls back—and begins kissing his way down my neck … and chest … and stomach.

  Yes please.

  He spreads my thighs, and I squirm, the ache uncomfortable and delicious at the same time. “Zach,” I pant.

  “I know,” he says, watching me darkly. “I fucking know.”

  And then he tugs my panties off, and I’m naked beneath him.

  He leans in, and laps against me, making me buck at the exquisite sensation. He licks me, swirling his tongue over my clit, alternating pressure as he teases and explores.

  It’s so frustrating, I want to scream, but I settle for a moan instead. I’m wound so tight, so crazy, I clutch at him with one hand and the bedspread with the other.

  “Right there,” I gasp as his tongue finds my clit again. He slides a finger inside me and curls, hitting just right. Fuck. “Right there. Please. Don’t stop!”

  But he does.

  What the hell? I lift my head to find him watching me, that same teasing grin on his face. “You doing OK down there?” he asks casually—then flexes his finger inside me again.

  I moan. “Zach!”

  “Yes, Gemma?” he asks. His voice is maddeningly calm. Especially for a man who’s about to be murdered.

  “Unghah!” falls from my lips as I squirm, desperate to come.

  He slides a second finger into me, and I arch up, so close to the edge.

  “Zach!” I exclaim, thrusting shamel
essly against him.

  And then he’s back. His fingers, his mouth, the pressure exquisite and perfect and exactly what I—

  Oh. My. God. I come apart with a cry, orgasming so hard, an almighty yell escapes me. It might be his name. Or mine. Or God’s—I truly don’t know. The only thing I do know is that I’ve never had an orgasm like that.

  Ever.

  I lie there, panting, incapable of speech. Barely capable of thought other than we’re so doing that again.

  “Hey,” Zach’s voice comes, sounding satisfied.

  I turn my head and open my eyes. “Hey yourself,” I manage. “Wow. So, that was …”

  He watches me with a knowing smile as he waits for me to find words.

  “Fuck the marshmallows,” I say. “That was transcendent.”

  He laughs, and kisses me, slow and leisurely this time. I can taste myself on him, and that just makes it even sexier.

  My hands go to his shorts.

  “Take these off,” I demand. He arches an eyebrow.

  “Bossy.”

  “Nope,” I grin, already moving south to return the favor. “Just doing my part, for equality and all.”

  And then I don’t do any talking for a while.

  15

  Gemma

  - Day 6 -

  The next morning, I wake up to the sounds of birds singing and distant, muffled voices. It takes me a second to orient myself but as I take a deep breath, inhaling the cedar-y masculine-ness, I’m reminded, I’m in bed in Zach’s trailer.

  Correction: in Zach’s bed in Zach’s trailer.

  I turn my head and glance over at him, treated to his sleeping profile.

  His five o’clock shadow is visible, his strong jaw and nose like they were carved by a master. The same one that carved the rest of him, which, while currently covered by a sheet, I know from first-hand experienced is pretty damn glorious, from the ridges of his abs and hips, to his broad shoulders and large, talented hands.