LOL #2 Romantic Comedy Anthology - Volume 2 - Even More All-New Romance Stories by Bestselling Authors (LOL Romantic Comedy Anthology #2)

by Anthology

  Mitchell had set a shot of tequila in front of her and went to grab something from the back, and she’d hesitated because the last time she’d had tequila had been four months ago, when Charlotte had done a very embarrassing thing.

  So last night she’d stared at that tequila shot, heat infusing her cheeks as she recalled what an idiot she’d made of herself, and then…

  A memory from last night of being the focus of Brad’s intense brown eyes flickered through her abused head.

  It had been nine long months since she’d seen him before he deployed. Nine months of telling herself to not think about him, to not worry about him, to not love him. Nine months of reminding herself that he didn’t care.

  And then there he’d been in Tori’s last night, sitting at a back table in a darkened corner, his gaze fixed on her, unwavering. It was as if she’d dreamed him up, returned him safe and sound, and set him down in front of her to make a mockery of all she told herself.

  Charlotte had taken her first full breath in nine months and downed her tequila shot, asking for another and ignoring the odd look Mitchell threw her way.

  She downed that shot too, and another one, and another, until she lost count, and that was probably about the time she had decided she was going to swagger up to Brad and demand to know why he’d continued taking the beginning baking classes Charlotte offered two winters ago when the stacked, leggy blonde he’d started taking them with had never returned. She had wanted to demand to know why he’d stay late after class talking with her, why he’d made her think he liked her, why he’d made her think there could be more, why he’d made her think a man like him might be interested in a woman like her. She had wanted to demand to know why he hadn’t wanted to keep in touch while he’d been gone, and why, when on one foolish, drunken night she’d written him anyways, he’d never answered her letter.

  Her letter.

  If she weren’t so hung over, Charlotte would groan just thinking about it.

  Four months ago, her best friend, Sophia, had been so sick of Charlotte’s five-month-long mope since Captain Brad—as Sophia called him—had left, she’d shown up at Charlotte’s house with a bottle of tequila so they could drown their man troubles away. The night ended with Charlotte and Sophia laughing uproariously as they made a joint effort in writing a love letter to Captain Brad.

  Which would’ve been harmless enough if Charlotte hadn’t gotten Brad’s address the month before in a weak—but sober!—moment from the wife of Brad’s first sergeant, and if they hadn’t laughingly stuck the letter in Charlotte’s mailbox and forgotten about it, sleeping in the next morning and nursing their hangovers until way past mail collection.

  That was the week Charlotte had learned that Clovis Vanderwerker, her stalwart postal carrier, would not be wheedled, cajoled, or even bribed with copious amounts of expensive cake into giving that letter back after it had been processed.

  Considering it was a love letter decorated with pink hearts made out of construction paper, and it detailed her love that wouldn’t go away, comparing it to a rash she didn’t want, amongst other things, and promised to cover him in frosting and lick him head to toe the next time she saw him, Charlotte did what any self-respecting adult would do when they accidentally mailed that kind of letter to a man and never heard a peep in return: she began planning to move out of town the moment Brad got back, because surely she would never be able to face him without dying of embarrassment.

  Or without lots and lots of liquid courage.

  Which she’d had last night in Tori’s, before lurching toward Brad’s table. She remembered he’d straightened, he’d said…something—she remembered watching his lips move—and she remembered thinking that he was just as drunk as she was. She knew she’d said some things, and she thought she remembered inviting him back to her place, but the main thing she remembered was…

  Kissing him. Hot, deep, long kisses that set her body on fire.

  That was all her pounding head could salvage from last night, aside from blurry images of stumbling through her house with Brad at some point. There were flashes of more lusty kisses and the touch of heated skin, but Charlotte couldn’t remember when they’d decided to take their party outside.

  Knowing she’d stalled long enough, Charlotte ignored the knives slicing into her eyelids and slowly tilted her head up to look up at him.

  Her eyes connected with a square jaw, full lips, bronzed skin, thankfully shut eyes, and the unmistakable dark brown buzz cut.

  Not giving into the urge to groan, Charlotte did her best to slip out from under his heavily muscled arm without waking him, before finally standing up on wobbly legs and taking a moment to survey her surroundings.

  At least they’d picked a secluded cove by the creek for their nighttime carnal gymnastics. Studying the tree line on the other side of the creek, she realized she was only a quick trek through the woods from her house, and, more importantly, a shower and aspirin. Unable to resist, she glanced down for an uninterrupted ogle.

  She was entitled, right? She’d slept with the man, even if she couldn’t remember all of it.

  Looking at him, Charlotte couldn’t help but think that every woman should get a chance to see a man like this naked at least once in their life.

  Soft light was starting to filter through the sky, and it hit Brad’s body like a caress, highlighting developed ridges and planes, drawing her eyes. Such sun-weathered skin, so perfectly sculpted—it was as if he looked too good to be real. As if he’d been Photoshopped.

  But as the early dawn light revealed how, well, happy Captain Brad’s body was to greet the morning—oh boy!—Charlotte knew photo-editing software could never produce an image as mouth-watering as what she was looking at.

  The truth was that Brad was a full-on Adonis and a war hero, and he belonged with someone tall, stacked, and leggy, like the woman he’d brought to Charlotte’s baking class almost two years ago. Men like Brad did not belong with a no-nonsense, plain, fleshy—that was the nicest way to put it, right?—vertically challenged bakery owner like Charlotte.

  “Ugh.”

  Realizing she’d made that sound out loud, Charlotte’s gaze darted to Brad’s face. His eyes were still closed, but he’d stopped that soft snoring sound.

  She lurched to the side.

  Or maybe that was just her stomach. And she really needed to pee.

  Double ugh.

  She needed to get out of here before Brad woke up and she did something stupid like ask him why he never answered that embarrassing, but still very heartfelt, letter. While she stood there in her birthday suit.

  No way was she chancing that.

  And if she couldn’t locate her dignity, she’d at least settle for her shirt.

  It was not, as she’d hoped, folded on top of a pile of her clothes next to the slumbering Adonis. Tiptoeing around to the other side of Brad, Charlotte didn’t see any of her clothes. Brad’s briefs, cargo shorts, and t-shirt were strewn haphazardly in a trail leading from where she’d woken up toward the woods they’d probably stumbled through last night. But her clothes weren’t there.

  Charlotte squinted toward the woods, trying to remember if she’d worn any bright colors last night. She’d worn a…dark green peasant blouse last night. Not exactly helpful when her search area was the forest.

  Something tickled the edge of her memory, though, and she could see Brad pulling her blouse off, chucking it over her head and making her laugh at his drunken enthusiasm. Had he said something like, “I love you naked”? Or was that her hung over brain trying to fill in some sexy details from a blurry night?

  More to the point, how far could Brad have thrown her blouse?

  Turning in a circle, Charlotte scanned the tree line, the part of the woods she could see in the still-early light, the slope down to the gurgling creek, the water rushing over rocks, a purple scrap of fabric snagged on a jagged rock, the silt covered—

  Wait. She squinted at the purple scrap of fabric, finally reali
zing that was her underwear.

  Holy moly, her underwear was in the creek!

  Forgetting to tiptoe, she rushed down to the creek bed, and carefully stepped onto the pebbles beneath the surface, glad that at least the water was shallow enough to be warm during this part of the summer. Charlotte grabbed her now-soaking undies from the rock that had caught them, and her sluggish brain finally caught up to what that meant.

  Glancing from where she stood at the edge of the creek to where Brad still slept on the gently sloping, grassy bank, she estimated it was six, maybe seven, yards. If he’d enthusiastically tossed all of her clothes overhead as he helped her strip last night, he’d probably tossed her clothes right into the creek. A few feet from where Charlotte stood, the creek deepened and widened as it eventually emptied out into the bay, so if the rest of her clothes weren’t within sight—and they weren’t—they were probably long gone.

  She said another silent prayer that her purse, keys, and cell phone were back at her house. At least she had a spare set of keys under a brick on her back patio.

  Charlotte closed her eyes, trying to clear her still-pounding head. She’d think about all that later, but for right now she had to figure out the most pressing issue.

  What did you do when you didn’t have all your faculties going for you during a hookup in the woods and you let a man toss your clothes into a creek?

  Not exactly a situation that reading Cosmo prepared you for.

  Charlotte imagined someone further down the creek hooking her black lace push-up bra on their fishing line, and she almost let a hysterical giggle escape.

  She was going to have to walk home naked.

  It was like the extreme sports version of the walk of shame.

  There was the blanket that they’d had wrapped around them as they slept, but Brad was lying half on it, and no way was she waking him to ask him for it. The only other things she could use to cover up were Brad’s clothes, but then he’d be walking home naked—

  Winner, winner, chicken dinner.

  He was the one who tossed her clothes in the creek in the first place.

  It was only fair that she take his clothes then, right?

  Not giving herself time to think or feel even the teeniest bit guilty, Charlotte quietly moved up the bank and gathered up Brad’s t-shirt, pausing only briefly before taking the cargo shorts too. She wasn’t sure if the t-shirt would cover her naked butt, and her undies were wet and sheer and ick, they’d been in the creek all night long.

  She wasn’t a monster, though—she left Brad his underwear, which, lucky for him, was at least dry and not full of fish poop or insects or who knows what else. She also checked his pockets and realized he was lucky enough to know where his wallet and keys were, and she placed them next to his briefs.

  Knowing she’d tempted fate way more than enough, she pulled Brad’s t-shirt on over her head as she made her way across the creek, splashing through the water as the need for haste finally won out over the need for quiet. Hopping into cargo shorts that weren’t all that loose on her—one more humiliation to be added to the long tally of the last twenty-four hours—Charlotte headed toward the trees in the direction of the safety of her house, but paused at the edge of the woods. She spared one last regretful look back across the creek at Brad, who was, miraculously, still sleeping where she’d left him.

  “Sorry, pal. I need these more than you,” Charlotte whispered, gripping the waistband of Brad’s shorts. “If you walk through town in your underwear, they’ll probably give you a parade, anyways.”

  Just as she turned back to the woods, something moved out from behind a tree and Charlotte let out a shriek before she recognized the shape.

  “Mr. Garley! Oh my gosh, you almost gave me a heart attack.” Charlotte placed a hand over her rapidly beating heart and gave the grizzled fisherman a sheepish smile.

  “Morning, Ms. Heatley,” he said. If he was at all surprised to see her here this early in the morning in men’s clothes and not wearing any shoes, he didn’t let on.

  Charlotte tightened her grip on Brad’s pants. Mr. Garley was holding a fishing pole, carrying a tackle box, and the creek was clearly his final destination. Any second he’d look over her shoulder and notice the naked-as-a-blue-jay man lying on the ground.

  When Mr. Garley’s eyebrows rose and he quickly looked back at Charlotte, she figured he’d noticed Brad.

  “Um…” What exactly was she supposed to say in this type of situation? “Don’t worry, he’s not dead.”

  Okay, so that probably wasn’t it.

  Mr. Garley actually smiled a little and said, “No, I don’t supposed he is; dead men don’t sit up.”

  At that, Charlotte whipped her head back around to see Brad sitting up, scrubbing a hand over his face before staring back at her from across the creek. She couldn’t read his expression, but then, she wasn’t sticking around to try.

  Not bothering to say goodbye to Mr. Garley, Charlotte slipped past him and made a quick getaway in her stolen getup, leaving US Army Captain Bradley Ryder, Company Commander, Alpha Co., 1-89 Infantry Battalion, 5th Brigade Combat Team, 10th Mountain Division to walk home in a blanket and his tighty-whiteys.

  Chapter Two

  That afternoon, Charlotte couldn’t help but think that after waking up naked in the woods after a night of cavorting she couldn’t remember, the day had to improve, right?

  Maybe not for Brad, though. Charlotte had jumped in the shower as soon as she’d gotten home this morning, and she was just getting out when she heard the first roll of thunder. She’d ignored the pricks of guilt, picturing Brad walking half naked in the rain, and she resolutely tried to put everything Brad related out of her mind in order to focus on work until she had delivered and assembled the intricately designed cake. It was important everything go smoothly.

  Standing in the back of the Hotel Papillon ballroom, Charlotte felt a thrill of pride as she looked over at the result of over a week of work sitting on the banquet table. It was a four-tiered masterpiece of ruched pearl fondant with a swirling cascade of hand-painted pink sugar roses and plum and white calla lilies, with sugared pearl beading. Beneath the whimsical outside were alternating layers of white butter and chocolate ganache cake, with a caramel cheesecake mousse filling. Technically her work was done now, as she’d delivered her masterpiece, and the Porter-Ellis wedding reception was well underway.

  But she always liked to stay for the cutting of the cake. You’d think as a baker it would horrify her to watch somebody slice into something she labored hours and hours over, but her favorite part was actually the look on people’s faces as they enjoyed not just the outside, but the inside. Afterwards, if the couple preferred, she would carefully wrap up and prepare the top tier of the cake for freezing in case they wanted to enjoy it on their one-year anniversary. This service wasn’t part of her fee, but it was the type of extra step that she felt defined her professional delivery and made customers feel well taken care of.

  Charlotte glanced over as somebody joined her position holding up the wall, smiling at Frannie Colleti, who owned the dress shop in town and often worked the wedding circuit with Charlotte. What had started as a business association with the shy dressmaker had quickly turned into a bantering friendship at these events, once Charlotte realized Frannie had a fun sense of humor and the ability to laugh at herself.

  “Standing watch?” Frannie said, nodding toward the cake. She grinned. “Or double-checking it’s the right cake?”

  Charlotte groaned. “It’s really not funny. The Meachams are still complaining about it to anyone who’ll listen, despite the fact I gave them a full refund and promised to do the next cake for fifty percent off.” The day Charlotte had run into the wife of Brad’s first sergeant and learned he’d be home soon, she’d been so distracted that she’d mixed up labeling two boxed cake orders—both for customers named David—and her part-timer at the bakery hadn’t noticed that the Meachams’ anniversary celebration cake had been switched with D
avid Hiller’s retirement party cake.

  “Come on, it’s a little bit funny. I wish I could have seen the look on Mrs. Meacham’s face when her anniversary cake said, ‘Thanks for all your hard work!’” Frannie chuckled. “And it’s nice to laugh at something I didn’t smash into, trip over, or knock over for a change.” Frannie was—in her own words—a total klutz.

  Now it was Charlotte’s time to grin. “You are kind of like the town wrecking ball, even if you do come in such a small package.”

  “That’s not why you were standing guard over your cake, was it? I made sure to give it a very wide berth.”

  “Of course not.” In fact, if Charlotte had actually been standing watch over her cake, Frannie probably would have been the first person she’d watch out for. “Once it’s set up, it’s usually without incident.” Charlotte smiled. “I just like to watch.”

  “Pervert,” Frannie said, and they both cracked up.

  “The dresses are absolutely gorgeous, by the way,” Charlotte said, looking at the plum-colored confections that managed to be both utterly feminine and dramatic against the white, silver, and plum color scheme of the wedding. Of course, it didn’t hurt that the bridesmaids were all slender and fit. In a dress like that, Charlotte would have looked like a plum, all right—the round kind. The bride, Winnie Porter, was actually closer to Charlotte’s size than anyone, but she looked stunning, the sheer joy rolling off of her in waves. “Looking at Winnie. I’m not sure ‘gorgeous’ even comes close to describing that dress. Your custom designs are out of this world.”

  Frannie blushed. “I’m just dressing up the outer package of something that’s far more beautiful than anything I could create on my own. Love makes the true masterpiece.”

  “I may actually gag a little on that Hallmark sentiment,” Charlotte joked.

  Frannie laughed. “I probably would too, if I didn’t believe it.” She smiled softly. “Don’t worry, you’ll believe it too when the right person comes along.”

  Not hardly.