Love, Life and Naughty Bits

by Tania Cooper

  ¸

  LOVE, LIFE AND NAUGHTY BITS

  Copyright 2015 Ricky Cooper and Tania Cooper

  All Rights Reserved

  This eBook is licensed for the sole use and enjoyment of the purchaser. It may not be re-sold, reproduced or copied in any way or any medium.

  If you wish to share this work of fiction with anyone, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this eBook without purchasing it for your personal use, please return to Amazon.co.uk and purchase your own copy.

  This is a pure work of fiction. Any similarities to people, brands, places or entities, living and dead, are completely coincidental.

  Thank you for respecting the work of the authors.

  Cover design by Paul Chapman

  www.facebook.com/pages/Fragworks-Art-Illustration

  Edited by Monique Lewis Happy

  www.moniquehappy.com

  Formatted by Max Henry

  www.formaxeffect.com

  CONTENTS

  Other Titles by the Authors

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty-Six

  Twenty-Seven

  Twenty-Eight

  Acknowledgments

  Contact the Authors

  Naughty & Fun Playlist

  OTHER TITLES

  co-written by these authors:

  Heaven’s Scent Book 1

  OTHER TITLES

  by Tania Cooper:

  Too Broken to Love – The Broken series, Book 1

  Too Easy to Love – The Broken series, Book 2

  Happy Little Horrors - Anthology

  OTHER TITLES

  by Ricky Cooper:

  Designated Infected – Designated series, Book 1

  Designated Quarantined – Designated series, Book 2

  DEDICATION

  To the reason this story exists, Frankie.

  A woman who is just as beautiful on the inside as she is on the outside.

  Who would’ve thought a conversation in London about the weird

  and obscure books of the world would lead to this?

  Thanks for the encouragement to be a little off centre.

  xxx

  Mmm, what a peaceful morning.

  I need this quiet moment after such a restless night, well … many restless nights lately. I feel a shift in her, something is changing and we know how we feel about change; we don’t like it! So to say I’m a little nervous is an understatement. That’s it, a nice long stretch to wake the body up, hun; let’s conquer the world today, shall we? Let’s put the past few weeks behind us and start fresh. Wait, what … no, not again! I am still raw from the three times last night!

  “Buzzzzzzzz …”

  You have got to be kidding me! It’s Friday. Can’t you just wait until we hit the bar later tonight with Zali and Mel? You know they help you make better choices with which junk you invite back here. We could get a good one tonight, no need to ruin me for that possibility! This is not the answer to all our problems … ah … hang on … ah … oh … what the hell. She won’t listen anyway. I might as well help to hurry this up, ride the wave and get this over and done with so we can get on with our day.

  Okay … there we go … that’s the right place, just relax and I’ll get us there. That’s right; find your sexy happy place … oh yeah, think of him, think Mr. Uptight in a suit who dares to walk past us all snobby and smelling so freaking good every morning. Mmm … oh yeah, if we get him alone we will start with his tie, dragging it from his neck nice and slowly and … ah … that’s it, that’s it, here it comes, let the tidal wave begin. Ahh … oh, oh, ohh …. That’s what she needed.

  We never do get past that damn tie!

  Now to meet some suits in real life. I know exactly what she will wear to the office today; her uplifting outfit with that tight navy skirt, a little short for her liking but one that has a lot of eyes turning her way apparently. And she will match it with the white sleeveless silk shirt that shows off all her cleavage, the one Zali made her buy to try and catch the eye of Mr. Uptight.

  Ahh … Mr. Uptight. He gives us real good feelings, but he also makes us feel like crap on an almost daily basis by acting as if we don’t exist! We have tried to ignore how handsome he is, how good he smells, how the hormones his body releases affects us the minute we are within a mile radius of him, and how incredibly charming he can be to everything with a vagina but us. On those days, when she witnesses him being so nice to everyone, then turns and gives her the cold shoulder, we don’t like the hormones that produces in us. We call them the Vodka days, ‘cause that’s what we need the minute we get home, back to the non-judgmental, non-moody male, non-biased for some unknown Godforsaken reason, cocoon of our apartment.

  As much as I would love to get to know Mr. Uptight’s junk intimately, he’s just not worth chasing if it results in a roller coaster ride of emotions, so I will keep my pheromones in check and not spit them his way. What’s his freaking problem, anyway? I know my girl is all kinds of hot. Everyone tells her so, male and female, which she just brushes off shyly, but doesn’t he see what others see? We were nice and friendly to him when we first discovered his handsome aura in our work building, but let that die off after his continual coldness towards us. I know he’s not gay because his junk sends out bloody testosterone to almost everything that reeks oestrogen. So what does he think is so wrong with us?

  Fuck him. We don’t care; we can give a cold shoulder just as good as he can. And he’s not our ‘Mr. Long Term Guy’ anyway. We want someone warm, someone who loves all of our faults, and someone who will support and encourage all of our dreams no matter how crazy they are. We want someone who will laugh with us and gently wipe away any tears. We want kindness and understanding and love. We want deep, soul reaching, heartbeat skipping and constant wet panties kind of love. We know it’s out there … we are just looking in all the wrong places.

  Okay, time to get our head out of the man zone and into work mode, because we pay our own bills. No man, toy boy, or sugar daddy needs to take care of us. So to do that, we really need to haul our arse to work right now instead of looking in the bloody mirror. Let’s go earn some more dollars to spend on pretty shoes, oh yeah, like those red ones we couldn’t stop looking at last week. Oh, they gave us nice feelings.

  

  The smell of power can be intoxicating and exhilarating, but it can also swallow you up and spit you out if you let your feet lift off the ground. That’s why we like our job. It’s the right balance of power, where we achieve great pride when a project we have been working on is accepted or praised, yet, not being the head honcho, means we don’t get our arse caned when it goes wrong or even fired by someone with more power than us. We are happy to stay on the sidelines.

  ‘Creative Square’ is our second home, not exactly the cosy beachside cottage we dream about, with an open fireplace, a fur rug in front of it and some wine and some hanky panky on the fur rug in front of that fireplace after consuming said wine, but it’s our place of work and we sometimes feel as if we live here more than our one bedroom, barely room to swing a cat, apartment at the Dock
lands. Apparently it has some of the best views of this beautiful city of Melbourne and is situated on South Bank along the Yarra River, so for a business location, it couldn’t get any better than this.

  Our building is tall, like really tall. If we have a busy week and don’t get to our Pilates classes as much as we would like, we take the stairs, much to my dismay. I mean seriously, chafing can be a bitch on a hot day and that is not the kind of friction I like. Not that our thighs chafe much outside of summer, but just the uncomfortable thought of it makes me want to vomit discharge everywhere.

  Our building holds many businesses, everything from IT companies to top accounting firms, along with all sorts of digital and media services. And we’re not the only advertising company here. Our building also houses ‘100 Design,’ an innovative and award winning ad company which offers salaries somewhere in the southern hemisphere. But we don’t often compete for jobs because their CEO and our CEO are the best of mates and often throw jobs each other’s way. We are more of a boutique style company, so we may offer our larger jobs to them and they offer smaller ones to us. We have heard whispers that the same man owns both companies to try and cover all corners of the market, but we are yet to confirm that at the great and sacred meeting place: The Water Cooler.

  There have always been whispers of a merge but we pray it doesn’t happen, because Mr. Uptight is one of their top account executives so we would bump into him much more than we do, like today, in the lobby of our building. She hasn’t spotted him yet, but I can smell him, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t stop the reaction I have to that one particular male spice. Oh, there she goes, she has spotted him and comes to a stop, like always, as much as she doesn’t want to. It’s just an automated reaction we would need a scientist to explain. Stupid chemicals and stupid male spices that make our stupid brain momentarily freeze.

  That’s it, keep walking and don’t look his way. Yep, look left, oh but not towards Mr. Garlic Breath first thing in the morning, we don’t want to encourage him any more than he encourages himself. Good, let’s pretend we didn’t see him. Yep, looking down is safer and OW! Knocked to the floor on our arse was not the plan and freaking, freaking, freaking that hurts no matter how much cushioning you have back in your trunk. I can feel the impact all the way through my bones and straight to my centre and that place doesn’t like that sort of impact, damn it.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t see you,” a deep, husky man voice tells us. And holy shit, there go all of our brain cells on vacation for God knows how long, because that voice belongs to the one, the only, Mr. Uptight. He reaches a hand down to help us up from the floor gracefully. And when his hand makes contact with ours, ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh … what was I thinking again? Ha, what just happened? Oh yeah, knocked on ground, being helped up from said ground, by him! His grip is solid but not overbearing and he places his other hand on our shoulder to steady us as we stand. And, and …

  Oh dear God, we are standing right in front of him, with our mouth opened, with no words coming out, looking like a fool, a mute fool! Oh come on, girl, don’t give him even more reason not to talk to us. Give him the evil eye and storm off. Pleaseeeeeeee. Let’s not stare into his beautiful warm whisky brown eyes, or let our eyes run over his chiselled jaw and plump, deep pink, oh so kissable lips, or stare at his dark brown hair that’s just a bit too long, almost hanging over one eye, just about needing a haircut, or take an obvious deep breath in to smell that sexy as fuck aftershave he always wears. Oops, too late.

  He knows, he knows we just sniffed him! Yep, couldn’t get any more embarrassing than this. Fix this, talk, woman, you can do it! Even if you’re not wearing your Nikes.

  “It’s okay, I had my head down for a moment and didn’t see you there. I’m sorry also.”

  What the? Are you kidding me, girl? We were supposed to stomp away, giving him the cold shoulder for once and you go and tell him sorry? It wasn’t his arse that hit the dirty, full of feet germs, but somehow still shiny and clean looking, tiles of this lobby. We will be the ones with the black and blue battle scars on our butt, so why are we apologising?

  “Are you going to be okay if I let go?”

  Who does he think he is, Hercules, the only man who can help a woman to stand? No buddy, we are woman, we can stand on our own, hear us roar and all that shit. That’s right, shrug out of his hold. Show him we have two capable feet, well, while we’re in a standing position anyway, not the same story when we dance after too many cocktails. Oh yeah, we’re going to need some of those tonight to stop the pain in our arse, literally.

  “I’ll be quite fine, thank you.”

  “Yeah, we’re walking away! You go girl, you show him who can be cold. You can now call us Ice Queen, we will not fall under your spell of muscled arms and sexy as fuck aftershave again!”

  “Yeah right. Keep telling yourself that, baby.”

  What? Who said that? Stop, turn around, go back. Pretend to have dropped something from your purse, I need to know who said that. I hear a contentious snicker and can guess exactly where that comment came from. Him. Mr. Uptight, well, to be more exact, Mr. Uptight’s junk, who’s also good at ignoring us. I will not comment, I will not comment, I will not comment. Oh who am I kidding? I am sooooo freaking commenting.

  “Oh I will, because a nice smell doesn’t mean a nice guy. My girl’s too good for him and he knows it.”

  “So much for what you know. A smell says a lot about a guy.”

  “Oh you’re right, your smell is saying a lot about you right now. Have a nice day, stinky.” I can’t help but giggle to myself as we make our way towards the far end of the lobby and hit the elevator button to go up as Mr. Uptight continues towards the front doors.

  “Wait! What? I just got out of the shower only an hour ago. I don’t stink!”

  And out the door he goes. See ya, stinky junk. Well, not really. That was kind of a lie, well, not kind of, it was an actual lie. I couldn’t exactly tell him that I found his smell as intoxicating as his owner’s aftershave. We have enough trouble trying to ignore that man without extra scents dragging us under his spell. Nope, his junk does not smell good at all. Think garbage bin, think fish market, think rotten eggs. Yep, that’s done the trick. No memories of nice smelling men and their junk left in my brain.

  “Hold the door please.” I’m not the only one distracted. Thank God an old gentleman whose tan suit smells like formaldehyde holds the door open for my girl as she rushes in. We’re almost running late, so if we had missed this, the stairs would have been our only sucky option.

  As we go to open the door to Creative Square, a man’s hand grabs the handle before we can, and oh yum, he smells good and his looks must match his yumminess because my girl is blushing. Mmm, we needed these nice feelings after the epic arse crash only minutes ago.

  “Please, let me.” Oh an accent! A charming French accent. A charming Oh la la accent. That’ll brighten up our crappy morning. Yes, good feelings are a blooming. And we’re forgetting that arse crash caused by, who? See, forgotten already. We take a step through the doors while Mr. Oh la la follows close behind, so we add a little extra swing to our hips, just for his benefit of course and … well … just because it feels damn good to do sometimes.

  We keep walking past the main reception desk. As we go to open the door to our office, we turn our head around and sure enough, Mr. Oh la la is still staring at our arse. A little extra wiggle just made the day a whole lot better. Men, so easy to please.

  We get straight into work, opening up the accounts we need to work on this morning. Just as she reaches for the phone to check in with a client, it rings, scaring the crap out of us both. Yes, we scare easily. It’s the boss, asking her to join him in the conference room. She sighs, not wanting to leave the groove she just got herself into. But we never keep the boss waiting.

  Not because he is a mean tyrant or anything like that. Mr. Andre Black is actually a really cool boss. He has a great dry sense of humour and is very understanding when
any personal issues arise with his employees, and he is the best mentor anyone could possibly have in this field of work. Everything she knows has come from him. But he is no softy when it comes to the nitty gritty of this job.

  He expects everyone to be just as professional and hard working as he is on every project this company handles. And he has been nagging my girl for the past year to move up in her field of work, but she keeps repeating herself, she’s happy here and honestly wouldn’t like the stress of being number one. But it is a good boost to our ego that he holds that much confidence in her abilities.

  We gather our tablet and head down to his office. We knock once and wait for him to say his usual ‘come on in’ then open the door to see … Mr. Oh la la giving us a sexy smile. Pay no attention, pay no attention, this is our place of work. Yeah, that didn’t work, especially when we notice him so obviously scan up and down our curves. But seriously, we do not, I repeat, we do not mix work and pleasure, so now that we know Mr. Oh la la is here for work, his yumminess factor just dropped a few good notches. Damn!

  Introductions are made and Mr. Oh la la, a.k.a. Mr. Rene Arment, shakes my girl’s hand a little too long to be considered polite. A bit too charming, Frenchy. We take our places at the large table and the boss begins. Apparently Mr. Oh la la is from a large advertising firm in Paris and has a client who wants to bring their product to Australia, starting with Melbourne.

  By the end of the meeting no firm deal has been made, but our French friend seems very impressed, hopefully more with our company than with my girl’s company. We say our goodbyes and wish Mr. Oh la la well before we return to our office to catch up on our few lost hours. We make calls to a few clients, tie up some loose ends, and receive texts from Mel and Zali throughout the day, firming up our plans for the night. I love Fridays. The end of the working week is so near which brings hope. Hope for some nice attention from the opposite sex.

  Oh my girl is no floozy or easy for that matter, but when we do receive some attention, preferably from a man who actually knows what to do with a vagina, it’s a good boost to our confidence and those good feelings can last a while, well, at least until the ones we want to call us never do. Which seems to be the last three we were brave enough to invite back to our place. My girl is picky, so her besties tell her. She doesn’t take home nearly as many men as those two do; actually, she never used to take home anyone she wasn’t actually dating for a few good weeks or even months.