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

by Ryan, Shari J.

  “Yeah, you and what army?” Landon argues.

  “Dude, we’ve got the Marines and the Navy. What kind of question is that?” I laugh at him.

  Sasha is starting to feel like dead weight in my arms, and this conversation needs to end. Then I need to figure out how to kill this guy in his sleep tonight. “I’ll let you take my girl inside so you can have your way with her unconscious body.” I know he’s doing his best to get under my skin, and it’s fucking working.

  “Get out of here,” I grunt.

  “That’s my girl, man. Don’t you forget that,” Landon says.

  I stick my head back into his window, holding Sasha away from me. “I won’t forget that when she’s screaming out my name later. I doubt you were ever able to do that with your pencil dick.” I give him a wink, unsure if he can see it or not but I did it more for me than him, because yeah, I’m going to win this one.

  He revs the engine of his Prius and tries to scare me by threatening to take off while I’m this close to the car. By the time he can get the car in drive, I’m on the curb, blowing him a big fat kiss. “See ya later, fucker.” I toss Sasha over my shoulder and make a point of holding her there with my hand on her ass. She wouldn’t mind if she were awake, she made that clear a few hours ago.

  Landon flies off, going as fast as his little car can take him. Fucker.

  Passing the sitter on the way up the driveway, she gives me an eyeballing curious look but doesn’t say anything else. She likes me. She wants me. I get that a lot from old ladies. I’m that damn good.

  I get Sasha inside, deadbolt the door, and set the alarm. Once I get her into her bedroom and settle her into bed, still very much passed out, I grab my phone and dial up Tango. I know it’s almost one in the morning, but I can’t not tell him what’s going on right now.

  The phone rings less than one time. That man sleeps with one eye open no matter what the occasion. Knowing him, he’s probably avoiding taking the painkillers so he can stay on his toes.

  “What’s up, man, everything okay?” Tango says, doing a damn good job of hiding the fact that he was most likely asleep.

  “The girls are fine, but I just had a run-in with Lando, the one-ball-sack nut-job.”

  “Fuck,” Tango says. There’s a lot of rustling against the phone, and I’m guessing he’s probably got his good leg out of the bed already.

  “Cali called a Zuber car for us at the bar. I had a couple, and the two ladies were ah—yeah,” I explain.

  “I know how my wife drinks but I’m a little surprised Sasha followed,” he says. He must be getting dressed or something. I can hardly understand what he’s saying.

  “Anyway, Lando was the Zuber driver. Not sure how that all worked out, but clearly this bastard has connections. He knows where you live, man. It probably would have been in his best interest to keep that information to himself, but apparently, his ego is bigger than his brain.”

  “Fuck,” Tango says again, followed by more rustling.

  “It gets worse,” I tell him.

  “What?” he says, clearer than anything else he’s said.

  “I think he tampered with the scaffold you fell from.” There’s silence on the phone, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he hung up on me and made it halfway down the hospital hallway on one foot. “I’d come get you but I don’t think I should leave the girls.”

  “Don’t leave,” he finally says. “I’m getting a Zuber car home and let’s just hope Landon is the one who comes to pick me up.”

  Jesus. This isn’t going to end well.

  “I can take care of them tonight, man. We can get you in the morning.”

  “No, I’m on my way home. Just put the alarm on and stay in the hall outside of their rooms. Can you check on Tyler for me?” I’m sure Cali did already, but she was pretty cocked too.

  “Sure,” I tell him. I’m already in the hall so I poke my head into Tyler’s room, seeing a pile of blankets but not little pigtails. Nervous, I take the few steps over to her bed and pull the comforter down a bit, finding her snoring under the mess of sheets. I tuck her back in and quietly step back out into the hall. “She’s good, snoring like her pops.”

  “Yeah, that’s my kid,” Tango laughs a little.

  “You sure you want to do this?” I ask him.

  “I’m outside in a fucking hospital gown, sitting on a bench waiting for the car to get here.”

  “Wait, are you wearing shorts under your gown?” I ask.

  “Nah, still can’t figure out how to get anything up my leg.”

  “So your hairy ass is hanging out for the world to see? And you’re going to put that thing on a nasty Zuber car seat?”

  “My girls are in danger, so I don’t care who sees my ass, and for your information, my ass is nice, and it’s not hairy at all. Is your ass hairy? That’s nasty.”

  “No, my ass isn’t hairy,” I argue. “My ass is big, but it’s nice too.”

  “How drunk is my wife? Like, is she too drunk to kill me when I hobble through the door?”

  I open Cali’s bedroom door and look in, finding her fully clothed and passed out sideways on their bed.

  “I think you’re good. She’s out cold.”

  “Thanks for taking such good care of them,” Tango says, laughing.

  “Hey, I showed up when they were both half in the bag,” I defend myself.

  “Yeah, because you told Sasha to go get herself laid.”

  “Yeah…”

  “I’ll say it again. You’re a moron. If I could slap your head right now, I would.”

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  “I think my ride is here. What kind of car was that shithead driving?”

  “A Prius,” I tell him.

  “Eh, I don’t think this is him then. Damn.”

  “Dude, how would you even kill someone with one leg?”

  “I still have two arms and two hands,” Tango argues.

  “Right.”

  “I’ll be home in twenty.”

  I’ve been sitting at the front window for the last ten minutes waiting for the headlights. I don’t know how he’s hobbling around but the dude has plates and screws coming out of his leg. When I see him pulling up, I jog outside to the bottom of the driveway where I see Tango struggling to get out of the car. Oh shit! If this wasn’t such a serious situation, I’d love to capture this on video right now. My man is seriously in a hospital gown, and I’m not sure I want to know how he managed to get out of the hospital without someone attempting to stop him. There’s security and crap there. I’m not one to put much past Tango, though. If he’s on a mission, don’t get in his way.

  I grab his arm and lift it over my shoulders. “It’s like old times,” I tell him. “Remember that day your leg got hit with that piece of shrap? I had to drag your ass out of the middle of a hot zone.”

  “Yeah, man, I remember. Except you were dragging me by the back of my vest. And I was still fighting the enemy.”

  “Yeah, you and your little sidearm did more damage in those thirty-seconds than what we saw that whole day.”

  “Pretty fucking sweet, huh?”

  “Yeah, sweet,” I tell him. I don’t know how Tango still talks about those days like they were exciting and something worth remembering. I do my best to forget about every second I spent overseas. I know Tango feels like he was gypped of his time over there but I don’t think he realizes how lucky he was to leave when he did. Things got so fucking bloody over there after he was sent home with his lung issues. I was taking dead bodies in daily and saw shit they won’t even show people in the goriest horror movies. It’s been years and I still can’t clear my mind of some of those images. Then coming home and having the whole incident with the supermarket explosion and Bambi was a total setback, of course.

  I get Tango in the house and re-lock everything up. Once he’s settled on the couch, I grab him a beer and a bag of chips since I know what he’s been living on in th
e hospital besides the meals we’ve taken turns bringing him. Beer wasn’t allowed there, though.

  “Dude, you read my mind.”

  “Just don’t end up like your wife and Sasha right now. I’ve got enough drunks to deal with at the moment,” I laugh.

  “Okay, what is up with you and Sasha?”

  “She likes me,” I say, grinning. I can’t help the cheesy look on my face.

  “You sound like you’re twelve,” Tango says, taking a swig of his beer. “But I know you haven’t had a real relationship outside of the sack since I’ve known you, so I hope things work out.”

  “Yeah, I think the only thing getting in the way right now is her ex-boyfriend who wants us all dead. No biggie, though,” I say, grinning as I lean my elbows down on my knees, sighing as I run my hands through my hair. Why is there always something?

  “We’ll handle this jackass. And this time, he’s not coming out of it alive,” Tango says.

  “We should have taken him down when we had the chance,” I muse.

  “Yeah, well we had our reasons for doing what we did.” Tango leans back into the couch, squinting and groaning against the pain as he shifts his leg forward on the coffee table. “He’s a little dweeb. I don’t think we have much to worry about as long as we keep the girls away from him.”

  “How do you suppose we contain them, man? They both have jobs, and Tyler goes to school.” Tango must be on some kind of painkiller because he’s not thinking like he normally does and he’s way too lax about this.

  “It’s nothing more than a quick call,” Tango says. “No worries.”

  “Oh,” I say. “I forgot you have people.”

  “Cali’s dad has people. I have my girls. That’s it,” he argues.

  “Well, when are you going to call him?”

  “Already did.”

  “That’s why you’re relaxing and sipping on a beer,” I say, matter-of-factly.

  “Yes, sir. And I’m just about out of this beer so why don’t we move on to my friend Jack for a bit.” He doesn’t need to ask me twice.

  Three in the morning rolls around the corner, and we’re both several drinks in now. Cali’s going to be so fucking pissed when she wakes up to find Tango on the couch. She doesn’t like when he doesn’t listen to the docs. “Dude, why has Cali been all worked up over your blood work? Am I going to get in some kind of trouble for letting you back into this house before you were discharged properly?”

  “How did you know about that?” Tango asks through a slur.

  “I heard Cali crying about it to Sasha.”

  “Crying?”

  “Yeah, man. She’s worried about something.”

  “Cali doesn’t cry,” he tries to correct me.

  “There were tears.”

  “Fuck, man. I don’t think it’s anything to worry about. They found a small mass in my lungs, but they think it’s a benign nodule left as a result of the cancer.”

  “When are they going to know for sure?”

  “Probably a week or so, I’m guessing. I had the biopsy yesterday.”

  “Are you nervous?” I ask him.

  “Nah.” Not sure if that’s the alcohol speaking or not but if Cali’s nervous, I can assume he’s nervous too.

  “Well, I’m sure you’ll be okay,” I say, slugging another glass of Jack, while also saying a silent prayer for my man. I can’t fathom him going through that shit again. Regardless of the fact that he made it to the other side of the cancer ordeal once, next time he may not be so lucky. I can’t even face that possibility.

  Three in the morning quickly turns into six, and Sasha stumbles down the hall, still in her dress from last night. Shit, I meant to put her in some other clothes, but I completely forgot when Tango decided to make his escape.

  “Morning, sunshine,” I say to her.

  “What?” she says, rubbing at her eyes. “What’s going on? Why are you home, Tango? Does Cali know? She’s going to kill you.” She doesn’t wait for answers; instead, she continues on into the kitchen where she pours herself a large glass of orange juice. When she makes her way back out into the living room, her hair isn’t sticking up everywhere, and the black smudges of makeup are cleared off too. “Sorry for last night.”

  “Did you have a good time, at least?” I ask her.

  Sasha’s cheeks glow with either nausea or embarrassment, maybe a combination of both, but she twists a strand of her hair around her ear. “Yeah, most of the night was pretty fun.” Hopefully, it’s the part of the night when I was there, and Peter Peter wasn’t.

  “I’m glad to hear that.”

  “Can we—?” she points down the hall. I’d like to think she’s asking me to go do something I’d like to do, but I’m guessing she just wants to talk. “And good luck to you when your wife wakes up.” She laughs a little while warning Tango.

  I salute Tango and head down the hall, following Sasha into the bedroom she’s occupying. When the door closes, she sits down on the edge of her bed. “I’m so sorry for the way I acted last night,” she begins.

  “You have nothing to be sorry about, doll-face.”

  “I acted like a cheap—”

  “Sasha, it’s okay to loosen up and have some fun. I’m the one who told you to live a little, and you definitely lived it up last night. It made me happy to see you have some fun.”

  I’m giving her space in case that’s what she needs right now, and I lean back against the door as I slip my hands into my back pockets.

  “I know, but I shouldn’t have acted the way I did with that guy when I feel the way I do about you. You made me angry, and I was being vengeful,” she says, keeping her gaze locked tightly on the ground.

  “It was my fault,” I tell her.

  “It was,” she agrees. “I just made a mistake, that’s all.”

  “With me?” I hope that’s not what she’s referring to. I don’t want to be one of her mistakes.

  “That wasn’t a mistake,” she says, still not looking at me. “It was a pretty amazing awakening that I wouldn’t do again in a public bathroom.” Laughter fills the awkward trail of her words, and she finally looks up at me with a look of wonder. I wish I knew what she was wondering.

  “I’m glad you feel that way. I mean the bathroom made for a hot situation and that dress…” Pinching at my chin, I can’t help but look down at her legs—her perfectly toned legs that are completely bare up to her high thighs. “You made me crazy last night.”

  “I didn’t mean to do that,” she says under her breath as her fingertips press into the side of the bed. I don’t know if she realizes it but she’s driving me fucking crazy right now too.

  “Yes, you did,” I correct her.

  “Maybe a little,” she grins.

  It’s six in the morning. Tango’s about to get his ass kicked, there’s a five-year-old next door, and I just can’t think of any of those things while her eyes are looking at me the way they are. With a quick movement, like an animal attacking its prey, I throw her down onto the bed and climb over her. Taking her lips with mine, my hands grab and squeeze everything I can reach as I pull her up to the head of the bed and pull the sheets down, wrapping us up in them.

  My hands are in her hair, and they’re feeling the smoothness of each strand. The scent of her shampoo is assaulting my nose as the taste of her orange-juice laced tongue sends electrifying zaps down the length of my core. The bare skin of her legs is something I want to feel more of, and apparently, she must agree since her hands are working on my belt. She wants this too.

  Keeping my hand behind her head, I use my other hand to tear my shirt off, careful not to fall into her since I’d likely crush her. With my pants down by my ankles, our legs intertwine, allowing her skin to rub against mine like warm silk. Her body is perfect. She’s perfect. How did I get so damn lucky?

  “Are you sure this is what you want?” I ask her, thankful she’s sober and can answer truthfully.

/>   “It’s all I’ve wanted for the last couple of weeks,” she responds through a quiet groan.

  “You should have said so,” I say, grinning against her lips.

  “So,” she says cutely. I reach down to where my jeans are and grab the condom I had in my back pocket as a good luck charm, hopeful of using it in a situation exactly like this.

  “Magnum, huh?” she says, watching me tear open the packaging.

  “I didn’t mention it; you did,” I say with a wink. “Don’t want to risk it breaking, so it’s necessary.” I’m allowed to be proud of my cock size. I always have been; it’s an asset.

  “Be careful with me,” she says, looking at me wide-eyed.

  “Just because I’m privileged doesn’t mean I don’t have a license to carry. I know what I’m doing, doll-face.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  SASHA

  I MIGHT HAVE been more than a little tipsy last night, but I wanted the night to end the way our morning is starting. Since I woke up fully clothed and alone in my bed, clearly nothing happened last night. I’m still not sure how I feel about whatever is going on between the two us, but I like it. I like the way Jags makes me feel. I like the way he looks at me and makes me believe I’m beautiful.

  His hands are large, and they’re tracing the contours of my body, making everything within me ache in the most amazing way. With his lips on my neck and his man-part resting on my thigh, I feel only a little nervous, but also, very ready. My hands travel down the ripples of his muscular back as I wait for him to make the next move.

  The look in his eyes screams “hunger” and I sense the restraint he’s trying to have, but all I want to do is tell him not to hold back right now. “I need you,” I tell him.

  With that trigger, his fingers gently prepare me for what’s coming, and his knees press against the inside of my thighs to create space for him to pull himself between them. I wrap my legs around his back, making the access easier, and he slowly slides into me. It hurts a little at first, but the look in his eyes as he looks into mine makes all of my muscles relaxed and weak. He’s slow at first, which I’m thankful for, but the longer this moment lasts, the more I want and the faster I want it. My nails are pressing into the skin of his back, and he’s taking every one of my hints. Saying he’s skilled in his movements is an understatement, and I feel explosive already.