Fly (Wild Love Book 2)

by Red L. Jameson

  Need to work on that, because if I can have my camera in hand and make money at it, but have to take a picture of a loving and loyal man, then that’s the least of my worries, right?

  But first, I have to ask the guys to leave. God, I hate how my heart hurts when I think of it. I need to be strong. Stoic. I can do this.

  After unlocking the door, not quite breathing for several seconds, I breeze into the cabin, the smell of eggs and bacon making my body almost swoon. However, I’m trying to be nonchalant. Act like I’m totally fine.

  When my mother would go on her tirades, screaming at me because I didn’t have good enough grades, didn’t get into the cheerleading squad, didn’t sing prettily enough, didn’t do something to meet her approval, in less than five minutes after, she’d act like her countenance hadn’t turned red from yelling, that the spittle on my face was rain or something. There’d never be any accountability of what she’d done.

  I was left more confused than ever. If she had stayed angry, then I might recover or at least run from her. But she’d instantly morph into the composed woman everyone saw. When I’d ask her what she meant by telling me I would never amount to anything for not being a cheerleader, she’d laugh at me and tell me I was melodramatic and shouldn’t make things up.

  If it weren’t for my brother who witnessed the screaming bouts and confirmed what she’d done, I think I might have gone insane by the time I was twelve. Even so, I was constantly confused. So, when I was old enough to be sent away to boarding school but would have to come back during holidays to her tirades, I began to loath my mother for what she did. I called her a liar. I hated that she’d act so different from one second to the next, trying to cover up the fact that she had just screamed at me.

  Which means I kind of hate myself for forcing a smile on my made-up face. I hate being this artificial, acting like I’m fine, acting like nothing happened here, right where I’m standing. I didn’t kiss two sexy-as-hell men. At the same time.

  But I can’t show them how embarrassed I am for kissing them, either. I need my mask, my armor, because I’m so ashamed of how I feel. I’m so confused that I’d be attracted to two men and not focusing more on my baby.

  H opens the door of his bedroom, and once he catches sight of me, I freeze. I try not to wince as I see him doing the same. He’s probably embarrassed too. We all were ridiculous last night.

  “Jay made eggs.” His voice is low, rough.

  I nod, keeping my smile straight. “Smells great.” I look down at my toes to say, “Good morning.”

  In less than a second, he’s come close. I keep looking down, trying my damnedest to keep my smile in place and not cry. H softly caresses one of my shoulders.

  “Dee, I—” His voice is pleading and I want to tell him he doesn’t have to act like this. Let’s all forget what happened. Let’s do as my mother does best and pretend nothing happened. I feel like a liar doing it, but let’s do it anyway.

  “Good morning, Dee,” Jay says and I peek up through my lashes at him, standing ten-feet away in the kitchen, smiling. “You look beautiful.”

  “Yeah, I should have said that.” H glances over one of his wide shoulders to his friend then back at me. “You really do.”

  “Hungry?” Jay asks, taking a breath. That’s when I realize his smile is probably as artificial as mine. He seems nervous.

  “How’s your hand?” I ask, glancing down his body at the palm he’s now inspecting.

  Jay’s grin widens. It seems less forced now. “Good. Real good, in fact.”

  I nod, relieved he’s not hurt from the burn. But then I realize I should have prepared a speech, should have figured out what I need to say to them. However, my stomach growls.

  Quietly, a tad uncomfortably, I walk to the kitchen, H right behind me. After sitting down, I’m served with golden scrambled eggs, melted cheese on top, perfectly browned hash browns and turkey bacon. How the guys know I have an affinity for turkey bacon rather than the real thing is beyond me, but I chow down.

  “Aren’t you going to eat?” I ask, trying not to moan at the taste of the hash browns. Oh, so delicious.

  “Already ate.” H sits across from me, shaking his head but then focusing on my lips.

  I swallow and look down, heat pouring through my disobedient body.

  After I eat, I promise myself, I’ll figure out how to ask them to leave. And not feel like I’m tearing out my heart as I do that.

  “I was thinking,” Jay says, and when I finally glance at him I notice he’s got my Pentax in his hand, looking at my old camera with a lot of interest, “we should head up to Mammoth, the north part of the park, today before it snows. You could get some great shots before the weather turns.”

  Then I notice H chewing. I hadn’t paid attention to the fact that he’d taken a strip of my bacon and was munching down. He swallows and grabs another piece.

  “Thief.”

  “So?” He cocks a brow. “Whatcha going to do about it?”

  Kiss you. Kiss you then your friend until we melt the snow.

  I can’t believe I let my brain think that. I made up my mind about them. I’m not—they aren’t part of the plan. At all. My baby’s the only thing I need to think about, but my logic is so, so fuzzy when I look at H grinning and biting bacon with such relish while challenging me.

  I shake my head and narrow my eyes. “I’m going to eat off your plates all day. Any and every meal you have, I’m going to be there, waiting, and eat something of yours.”

  Jay softly chuckles.

  H gives me a small smile. “Just try it, milady. Just try it.”

  “Oh, I won’t try it. I’ll do it, buddy.”

  “What’s the milady thing?” Jay asks.

  H waves a hand in my direction. “She’s so gorgeous she reminds of some fabled woman, like a milady from the medieval ages or something. Or like, as my mother would say, like Elizabeth Taylor.”

  Jay nods. “Oh, that’s the Elizabeth Taylor anecdote. Now I get it. And as I said to our Dee before, she’s way hotter than Liz. Would your mom call her Liz or Miss Taylor?”

  “My mom, in the privacy of her own home, calls her Liz, like they’re old friends. But I’m sure if she ever met her she’d only call her Miss Taylor. Maybe Dame Taylor.”

  And the men are talking about H’s mom and then old movies that they like while I’m reeling because Jay called me hot—hotter than the world’s most beautiful woman, in fact—and for whatever reason they’re acting fine with what happened last night.

  What did happen?

  I kissed them. Both of them.

  Jay is surprisingly soft, gauging, assessing. H is hard, unrelenting, needy. Both men make me crave more. And I can’t stop thinking about the kisses we shared last night, even as they’re talking about James Stewart and trying to outdo each other for the best impression.

  But I’m reeling more from the fact that I like them. So much. I don’t feel I have to prove myself when I’m with them, which is new to me. And addicting.

  “So,” Jay smiles at me, this time the grin more relaxed and genuine, especially as he sees my empty plate. “You ready to drive up to Mammoth Hot Springs?” Then he tilts his head toward H. “Hey, do you think we should stay in the hotel there?”

  H shrugs. “Maybe we should pack for it, in case we can’t beat the snow that’s bound to come in. Too bad it’s not the summer. I’d like to swim in the warm river there.”

  There comes a time in every girl’s life when she has to choose. Obviously, choices are big for me right now. I have a baby to plan for. I have to figure out a way to radically change who I am for my child. I’ll become a nun. I’ll never look at a man again. I’ll quit swearing. I’ll learn how to make my own yogurt because that seems like something a good mom would do.

  And a good mom would not spend a day with two men, driving hours with them, feeling the constant pull of attraction toward both of them. Or would a good mom do that? God, I hate how confused I am when I’m with H and
Jay. They make me feel like I’m just fine the way I am, and I know that’s wrong. They make me feel pretty. Gorgeous, in fact. And that’s got to be wrong. So much about this doesn’t make any sense to me.

  H reaches over the table and takes my hand in his. He interlaces our fingers, making me focus on his touch, the striations of his muscles in his forearm flexing and rippling as he gets a better grip on me. His skin glows and I want to lean my head down and touch my cheek to it.

  Jay clears his throat, waving my Pentax in the air.

  “That’s my favorite camera you’ve got there.”

  “I know.” He wags his dark brows. “I figured I’d hold it ransom to make you go with us to Mammoth.”

  I feign a sigh, like I’m bent out of shape. Because god knows the option I really want to make is to be with them. They make me feel good, and selfishly I want to hang onto this feeling. “Well, it looks like I don’t have a choice then, do I?”

  There are so many events in life where we’re choice-less. And I know, no matter what I just said, this is not one of them. This is a moment where something inside me snaps and creaks like it’s going to break. And I can’t help but wonder if maybe it needs to be broken. Because my goal has been to change myself. But what if I don’t have to? What if, like the way H and Jay make me feel, I’m fine just the way I am?

  H shakes his head. “There’s no way we’re going to let you leave us now.”

  15

  It’s a two-and-a-half-hour drive from my cabin to Mammoth Hot Springs. We decide to take the easy way, on interstates and plowed highways that cuts across the southern tip of Montana.

  On the way, we talk about politics, which we, oddly enough, all agree on. So the discussion regarding the state of affairs dies quickly. We share that none of us are all that religious. Maybe spiritual, though.

  “Not crystals on my forehead kind of spiritual,” H says, smiling at me and gently thumping my knee with his hand, giving it a squeeze for a few seconds. Only then does he return to his ten and two position on the steering wheel.

  I laugh but am surprised when Jay says, “Yeah, but my Aunt Moe told me that the formation of a crystal is unique. Each one is like a snowflake, and it’s kind of amazing they’re formed in the first place.”

  H and I turn and look at Jay. I’m sure both of us have arched brows.

  Jay laughs. “Not that I’m hanging them on my forehead, either.”

  We travel to the college town of Bozeman, which, although bigger than Laramie, reminds me of my hometown nonetheless. I have to stop and use the restroom, and for whatever reason my baby wants Chicken McNuggets like there’s no tomorrow. The guys are keen on some good greasy food after months of eating powdered substance and then, last night, all of my cucumbers.

  We’d talked about a lot by the time we got to Bozeman. Except we never talked about the kisses.

  Confusing me as much as it is turning me on, each man keeps touching me, smiling at me, looking at me as if he’d like nothing more than to strip me naked and lick me from head to toe. Or maybe that’s just my hormones thinking that.

  When I confess that my baby craves the chicken nuggets, I almost cringe. Maybe they forgot that I was pregnant. They’re acting like…like it doesn’t matter to them.

  After swallowing a bite of a cheeseburger, Jay asks, “What’s it like being pregnant?”

  I choke. Almost.

  However, I do swallow my chicken slowly, glancing at each man as they both look at me like they’re excited to find out, eager. My heart flips in my chest, wondering for the millionth time just what kind of men H and Jay are.

  “It’s really weird.” I smile. “I feel a bit like I’ve been invaded by those alien body snatchers or something. I feel like me, but so, so different. My moods swing up and down. I don’t think I’ve ever cried so much.”

  “You cry?” H’s brows crinkle towards each other. He’ll get a wrinkle in between his eyebrows. Already one is forming. And I kind of love that faint line on his face.

  I nod. “Yeah, I—”

  “Did you love your baby’s father?” H’s eyes widen, like he’s surprised he’s asked this, but then that flash of determination I’m getting to know crosses his eyes. He really wants to know.

  I swallow again and look down to my chicken, not so hungry now. “No. I didn’t.” I glance up, feeling defensive. “He was a good guy. I think. But I—I didn’t know him for very long.”

  “And he’s dead now?” H audibly gasps after he’s asked. “I mean, I’m sorry he’s dead. But you said he passed away?”

  I nod. “Drunk driving accident. He was the drunk, apparently.”

  “And you’re planning to raise your baby alone?” H growls, seemingly, at himself for repeatedly asking me personal questions.

  I glance up at both men, suddenly so tired. “What else am I supposed to do?”

  H is shaking his head. “I—I don’t know what I meant by asking that.”

  “I do.” Jay reaches across the table and skims a finger along my forearm. I can’t feel his touch very well because I’m wearing a thick wool sweater. So I’m a bit startled when he reaches my bare wrist and gently touches the sensitive skin on the inside.

  “I think H wanted to ask, again, if there’s a man in your life. Someone you want to help to raise your baby.”

  I swallow, looking at Jay’s rough hand on me. “I don’t have a boyfriend. Already told you—”

  “Yeah, but,” H is shaking his head, also looking at Jay’s hand on me, “it’s just hard to believe a girl like you is available to—” he cuts himself off, glancing up at me, cringing all over again. “I keep saying…shit. I have no fucking clue what I’m trying to—”

  I try to laugh. I really do. I want to make H feel comfortable, although something in my heart feels exposed and cold. So why not expose myself all the more?

  “I’ve only had one serious relationship before.” I can’t look at them as I confess. “He was my boyfriend for only nine months. I was crazy about him. But then I had an assignment in the Philippines. It was the first time I was asked to join a Green Beret unit. It was a huge honor.”

  Jay scoffs. “No offense to your assignment, but Green Berets are pus—sorry. I gotta watch my mouth around you.”

  I smile, feeling like I’m getting my footing again after Jay almost swore. “What were you going to call the Green Berets?”

  Jay laughs while H casually scoots his hand closer to my free one, his index finger kisses my pinky. “What Jay is so eloquently saying is we eat Green Berets for lunch.”

  I laugh at the movie quote and then sober when I realize what that means. “You guys were SEALs?”

  They both nod.

  “Really?”

  Again, they both nod.

  “I thought you were…I don’t know. But—”

  “But you didn’t think we were SEALs?” H shrugs and plays with my hand a little more. “See, that’s the difference between a Beret and a SEAL. We’re modest.”

  “Enough to tell me exactly how modest you are.” I try not to smile.

  H and Jay chuckle.

  “Exactly.” H nods.

  “And we’re gentlemen,” Jay says. “Those Berets are animals.”

  I shrug. “Well, sometimes a girl wants an animal.” God, I didn’t mean to flirt. I mean, I don’t have to. I’m not trying to get either man in bed. I just…it’s the truth, though. Sometimes—okay, maybe all the time—I want a man who won’t be subtle, who wants me and wants the whole world to know. I want a man who claims me. Is that terribly cavewomanish? Probably. And what makes it worse is I think of myself as a feminist. But still, I want…oh, how I want a man to tell me I’m his.

  H growls and runs his hand through his black glossy hair. A strand falls beside his face and I should tuck it in with the rest. Only, his ruffled hair makes me think about him on top of me, pumping inside me.

  Jay clutches at my wrist. And my sizzling body instantly kindles a fire—a blazing hot fire. All down my s
pine, I feel tingles of desire that pour golden sparkles throughout the rest of my body, pooling in my breasts, my inner thighs and the apex of my legs. I just might be wet from H’s growl and Jay touching me.

  “You’re a naughty girl,” Jay whispers.

  “Why?” I narrow my eyes, but I know he’s flirting with me.

  “You bring out the animal in any man.” H’s voice is rough and his almost black eyes darken.

  I swallow. Yet again.

  “What were we talking about before our girl went and said that?” Jay asks.

  That’s twice he’s called me our girl. And I still have no clue how to handle those words. I don’t know what he means. Yes, I could take the words literally. But…there’s so much to flirting that isn’t literal. Of course, I could ask what he means. But I’m not sure if I’m ready for the answer.

  “Fuck if I remember.” H sweeps his hand through his hair again.

  “You,” Jay squeezes my wrist all the more, “were talking about the man you were crazy about for nine months. What happened?”

  “He slept with my best friend.” I have to clear my throat, either from the sudden downer that is my answer or from the culmination of my lust. “My best friend who moved with me from Wyoming to Manhattan. I’d known her since we were six. And I thought I loved him…but leave it to the Philippines to fuck things up, right?” I joke because if I don’t, I might cry. As much as that ex-boyfriend broke my heart, losing my friend hurt more. A hell of a lot more.

  Jay’s hold on me turns tender. H’s brows do that thing that I love so much and emphasize the line between them.

  “That is seriously fucked up for your best friend and boyfriend to do,” H says, kind of loudly and we’re sitting not that far from where kids are munching down on their Happy Meals.

  “Yeah, it is.” Jay nods.