Spiked Lemonade: A Bad Boy Sailor and a Good Girl Romantic Comedy Standalone

by Ryan, Shari J.

  “You really think you’re hot stuff, don’t you?” she asks, clearly taking her anger out on me for causing her a physical discomfort—one I bet she’s suddenly not feeling so discomforted by.

  “Not really, actually,” I tell her truthfully.

  “How many women have you…”

  “A birdie told me you can’t say that delicious three-letter word—se-x-x-x-x-x.”

  “And what birdie is that?” she says through an angered lilt.

  “The birdie with a broken leg, obviously.”

  “Jerk!” she says loudly.

  “Auntie said a bad word,” Tyler sings from the corner.

  “How many men have you…” I stop right where she did, just looking to get more of a reaction out of her.

  Her cheeks immediately burn red, and I’m thinking if I stick around here, her face might permanently change colors. She nervously twists the loose strands of her blonde waves around the back of her ears and grunts, “That’s none of your business. Rude.”

  A roar of laughter escapes me. She is aware that she just asked me the very same question, right? “Really, doll-face? You just asked me how many women I’ve fucked, then I ask you the same question in return, and you scold me?”

  “Keep your voice down,” she says. “Tyler…”

  Shit. I forgot about that little parrot in the corner. I turn to her, hoping she didn’t hear what I just said, but when I look over she’s staring right back at me. Don’t do it, kid. Your mom will kill me.

  The corners of her lips curl into a slow, devious little grin. She stares me down for a long minute and then glances back at the book she’s paging through. Phew. Thank God.

  “This whole thing here…” Sasha says, bringing attention back to her. Pointing between the two of us, she continues, “…is getting really uncomfortable.”

  “I’m not uncomfortable,” I tell her.

  “Well, I am!”

  “So, I make you uncomfortable?” I ask coyly, leaning towards her.

  She growls softly and stands up. I’m not sure where she’s going, and I don’t think she knows either, as she paces in small circles. “You’re…” She continues pacing back and forth, back and forth. Her cheeks have yet to turn back to a normal hue and she looks like she’s about to explode. “You’re a dirty-mouthed, manwhore,” she finally spits out.

  I don’t think she means that as a compliment, but to me it is, and the only thing that could have made her cuter at this moment is if she would have stomped her foot while saying it. “Thank you,” I say, grinning. “Gosh, that’s so sweet of you. No one has ever said that to me before.”

  “I’m sorry,” she says quickly. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

  “It’s okay. The truth doesn’t hurt me like you’d think it would,” I say, smiling widely.

  She’s confused. I like that too. I knock my fist against the armrest of the chair I’m sitting in and push myself up to my feet, still feeling that shooting pain running down to the back of my knee now. I can’t help groaning as I stand up. I’d like to say I was doing it to get her attention, but damn, I must have done something this morning. When she glances my way, she drops her shoulders and stops pacing. My face is obviously betraying the pain I’m feeling right now. Sasha steps back over to me and places her hand on my lower back as I try to straighten out. “You really need to go see someone.”

  “It’s just a pulled muscle,” I tell her, walking toward the adjacent hall.

  “Where are you going?” she asks with concern.

  “Bathroom. Want to give me a hand?” I grin and wink.

  She growls and slaps her hands down by her sides. “You just can’t stop yourself, can you?”

  I walk down the hall looking for the restroom signs, while also focusing on walking like I don’t have a stick up my ass, which is kind of what I feel like right now. Damn. Time for some painkillers. I haven’t had one of these muscle spasms since physical training, or “PT” as we call it in the military, a few years ago.

  Once in the bathroom, I lean my hand up against the wall, ready to take a piss, and suddenly I get the worst best idea ever. How pissed would Sasha be if she got her first dick-pic? Just the thought of the look on her face makes me laugh out loud.

  There’s shitty phone reception in here, so hopefully I’ll be back there when the text pops up.

  I’ll be nice, just a little tease. I slip my phone out of my back pocket and position my junk so it’s in the right light and snap a few pics so I can choose which one makes it look its best. I’m nearly in hysterics as I decide which one to use. The second one I took will do just fine so I open up my text chat and insert the image, then click send. I quickly take a piss and wash up so I can get back to her before the text gets there.

  I’m nearly running down the hall, still with the whole stick-up my ass trot, but I’ve got to get back there.

  Sasha doesn’t have her phone in her hand when I return, which gives me hope. I take a seat across from her rather than next to her, needing to see her full face reaction.

  I’m anxiously waiting for her little pink-encased phone to light up when I take my phone back out and look at the reception, seeing that I actually have full service here. What the hell?

  “You okay?” she asks me.

  “Yeah, I’m good,” I reply, keeping my focus locked on her phone. Is she pretending she didn’t get the text, to make me uncomfortable? If she did, it’s working. Maybe I shouldn’t have sent that picture. What if I scare her away? Some women don’t enjoy girth, and I don’t have much else to offer besides that. Although, I get the sense her “little miss perfect” attitude is just hiding the freak she probably is in bed. I’m pretty sure that’s how all the quiet ones are.

  “Hey guys,” Cali says, walking toward us.

  “How is he?” Sasha asks first, eager for answers.

  “He’s kind of out of it. It’s going to be a long recovery road. His leg is a mess.”

  “How long does he need to stay here?” Sasha asks.

  “A few days to make sure there’s no infection from the surgery. He’s got a plate outside of his leg, attached to the bone. It’s rough.”

  “Poor guy,” Sasha says. “Can we visit with him?”

  “Yeah, definitely. He’s a little pissy, though, so I just wanted to give you that heads up. I’m going to come back with you guys. He wants to see Tyler.”

  “Can I come too?” Jags asks.

  Cali looks over at me and cocks her head to the side. “Sure, Jags…but I have an odd question for you first.”

  “Yeah, what’s up? Do you need me to do something? Can I go get something for either of you guys? Anything you need, just name it,” I say, standing up way quicker than I should have with this pain in my back. I do my best to hide it, though. I don’t need Cali asking me what’s wrong when her husband is all wired up down the hall.

  “No, no it’s nothing like that,” she says. “It’s so weird, though. Are you Irish?”

  I jerk my head back slightly with question. “Yeah, why do you ask?”

  She laughs in response. “I figured.”

  “Why do you say that?” I ask.

  “I could have taken a guess by the color of your hair, but it’s more blonde than red, I guess.” She folds her arms over her chest and grins.

  “What does my hair have to do with it?”

  “Oh, nothing at all,” she laughs again. “But when I saw that your pubes are red, I just sort of finalized my assumption that you’re Irish.”

  Oh fuck. I take my phone out of my back pocket and open up my text app. Why did I even assume Sasha’s number was the last person I texted? I don’t think I’ve ever texted her. I didn’t even look to make sure I was texting her, either. What the fuck was I thinking? I wasn’t thinking, obviously. My dick was thinking for me, and my dick doesn’t have a goddamn brain. “Uh,” I laugh. “You got that text?”

  “You didn’t mean to send it
to me, did you?” she asks, smirking.

  “Not exactly,” I sigh.

  Cali tosses her phone to Sasha, who just looks incredibly confused. “I think this was meant for you,” Cali says, laughing. With Cali’s cunning grin wider than I’ve ever seen, she squats down, looking toward the corner where Tyler is engrossed with a coloring book. “Ty, want to go see Daddy now?”

  “Oh, dear God!” Sasha shrieks. “What in the world is…”

  “That’s called a penis, sweetie,” Cali says over her shoulder. “Men use it to pleasure women.”

  Sasha looks horrified. I probably look horrified too. I don’t usually get uncomfortable around this subject, but my dick is the actual subject, and I shouldn’t have…never sending another dick-pic again.

  Her eyes are large and staring right at me. “You’re…”

  I quickly recover, and I can’t help the shit-eating grin spreading across my face. “I know, right?” I’ll just go with it.

  “Okay, well, there is a family bathroom down the hall if you need to go get a closer look, Sasha. If you can manage to wait, though, we’re going down to Tango’s room now,” Cali says.

  Sasha doesn’t move from the spot she’s standing in so we all walk by her, knowing she’ll most likely follow. She does, quietly, and far from me. She’s thinking about it, though. She’s wondering how it’ll all work. I’m such an awesome dirtbag. I know women.

  We walk into Tango’s room, and the guy looks miserable. He’s washed out, and the pink hospital gown he’s wearing does nothing for his skin-tone. “Hey, jackass,” I say, patting my hand down on his shoulder. “How goes it?”

  “Not so good, man,” he mutters.

  “I can see that,” I say, inspecting the metal contraption they have his leg being held together with. “You in a lot of pain?”

  “Nah, they’ve got me on some strong shit.” Tango twists his head to look at me and offers a fist. I pound it. “Thanks for being the only one to help me out today.”

  “Anytime, man.”

  “Jags made sure to make a show of his half naked body while wrapping my leg up,” Tango tells the girls. “It was pretty funny. He was all big hero style. I’m sorry about your shirt, though. I think it might need to be burned now.”

  “No problem, one of the nurses found me a t-shirt.”

  “What else did this nurse find for you?” Tango cackles, but stops laughing quickly when he realizes how much it hurts to laugh with a broken rib. Been there, it sucks. He clutches at his stomach. “Okay, no jokes for at least a month.”

  “Very funny, bro. She was like seventy,” I tell him.

  “Hasn’t stopped you before,” he says with a cocky half-grin. I can feel Sasha’s stare burning a hole into my back right now.

  “Okay, okay,” I say, hoping he’ll cool it.

  “Oh and you can keep your dick-pics to yourself. I’m not even out of commission for one day, and you’re already trying to seduce my wife.” Tango tries to laugh again but realizes once more that isn’t a good idea. “Damn you, stop making me laugh.”

  Awesome. I should have figured they were in here talking shit about my pubes. What else would they be talking about right now?

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  SASHA

  THIS DAY HAS definitely not gone how I planned. All I wanted to do was take a nap in my own bed today but I’ve been kidnapped by Tango, and now I’m probably going to be held hostage by Cali. I know it’s all because I have the two best friends in the world, though. Gosh. As much as I want to argue with where I’m sleeping tonight, I’m not going to leave Cali alone. At least I know it’ll be quiet there tonight.

  “Are you going to say anything? You’ve been so quiet, and it’s not like you,” I tell Cali.

  Her hands tighten around the steering wheel as her jaw grinds back and forth. “It’s always something,” she says. “I’m tired of this.”

  “Tired of what?” I ask, although I know what she’s tired of. “This was an accident, Cali-girl. You can’t be mad about that.”

  “It’s not that,” she replies quickly. “I want a normal life. If we’re not living in fear of someone hunting us down to get to my dad, we’re worried about Tango’s health, and it’s just too much sometimes.” Listening to Cali, it’s different to hear her talking like this. I haven’t really heard this type of emotion from her since her sister died years ago.

  Thoughts of advice come and go but I don’t really have anything good to offer, and I know how she feels about people saying “sorry” to her, so I got nothing.

  “Want me to take you home?” Cali asks. This is surprising too.

  “Really?”

  “I don’t have the energy to fight you on this anymore. I have to go figure out what we’re going to do for income for the next four months until Tango can work again, and it’s just too much right now.”

  “Cali,” I snap. “I’ll help you.” And just like that, I’m considering moving in and helping them out financially. I’d do anything for this girl. She’s like my sister…my annoying sister, but I love her.

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Sasha. You have a mortgage and a car payment. I wouldn’t ever ask you to help me support my family. I wouldn’t ask anyone to support my family. I’d sell my body before I did something like that.” I’d love to think she’s speaking out of frustration, but um…yeah, I don’t know if I can put much past her after some of the stunts I’ve watched her pull over the years.

  “I’m not being ridiculous and I’m not offering.” I’m also not thinking this statement through but I continue, “I’m selling my house anyway. The locks were tampered with at some point in the last week. As much as I don’t want to listen to you and Tango, you’re right, it’s not safe to be living there on my own, even if Jags did offer to live there with me.”

  “He did what?” Cali laughs.

  “He offered to be my bodyguard,” I snort.

  “Wow, he really has the hots for you.” She quickly looks over at me before returning her focus to the road. “I know I’ve been teasing you for the past couple of days, but Jags is a really good person. He has a big heart.” She’s not done yet. When I see her grin, I know what’s coming next. “And a really big—”

  “Stop!”

  “Dick. Dick. Dick, dick, dick,” she says, laughing hysterically, obviously amused at herself. “See? That word won’t kill you! I’m kidding, well…kind of. I mean, after that text, I think we all know for sure now. We get the picture!” She continues to laugh, as I scowl back at her in return.

  “Cali, how can you even consider the thought of someone like Jags and me being together? We’re like polar opposites.”

  “Hello? Opposites attract?” she says, pulling into her driveway.

  I unlock my seatbelt, letting it fling over me and slap against the door. “Do you even know what would happen if I brought Jags home to meet my parents?” God, that would not go over well. Mom would have a heart attack, and Dad would probably threaten his life or something.

  She just laughs. “Yeah, Mr. Caldwell would have a fit. I have to be there when you tell them,” she presses. “Can I be, pleasseee?”

  “Whoa, what do you mean ‘when I tell them’? I didn’t actually even agree to that possibility! I don’t know him, Cali. Meeting someone a few times doesn’t mean you just crawl into bed with him, call him your boyfriend, and consider taking him home to meet your parents a week later.”

  “Worked for me,” she says, grinning deviously.

  “You’re a sleaze,” I squeal. I say it with love, though. She knows this.

  “You can’t call me a sleaze if I married him,” she argues. I’ll leave out the fact that he knocked her up before they got married, but as much as I want to argue with her on this, I do actually think they would have ended up together whether it was for Tyler or not. I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone more heartbroken in my life than when she thought Tango was gone for good.

  “Loo
k, I know you don’t see life the way I do, and I try my hardest to respect that, but you gotta live a little, Miss Piggy. You have no idea how much more fun it is to just stop thinking and start acting. Yes, you get in trouble sometimes but isn’t that what makes life fun?”

  Rather than snapping back at her with another argumentative statement, I let her words soak in, considering the possibility of there being validity behind what she’s saying. I do sort of live life by a rule book, but only because it gives me some weird kind of comfort. “I don’t know.”

  “Fine,” she says.

  I don’t know what she’s agreeing to, though. “Fine?”

  “You can sell your house and stay with me.”

  “Oh, can I? Thank you for your permission.” I open the car door and step outside, looking around at what will most likely become my new home for the next few months. I can’t believe I’m really going to do this.

  Cali walks over to her mailbox and pulls out a stack of envelopes and advertisements. “It’s fate,” she yells over.

  “What is?”

  She walks back toward me and tosses a big fridge magnet into my chest. A realtor selling their services. “It’s a sign,” she says.

  “This is all moving a little fast. I should really think this through first,” I tell her.

  She pulls a sleeping Tyler out of her booster seat in the back of the car and flops her over her shoulder. “Stop thinking and start doing,” she tells me again. “I wouldn’t steer you wrong. I just wouldn’t do that.”

  I look down at the magnet again. The quote beneath the woman’s name says, “I’ll sell your house in two weeks, or you keep the commission.” That’s ballsy. Although, houses are flying off the market right now, which means if I make this rash decision, the outcome will probably be lying in my lap within days. I love my house. Not that I really have many memories in there that I’d like to salvage, considering I bought it a few months before I met Landon, but it’s still my house.