Big Deck

by Remy Rose

  Madeline’s eyes widen at the mention of my alma mater. She’s impressed, and probably a little shocked that an Ivy Leaguer would have traded in a corporate career for a tool belt. But she hasn’t heard the whole story.

  I continue. “When my brother James graduated from Harvard three years later, he was made vice-president of operations. Everything was real cozy and nice until my fiancée decided she preferred the younger Decker model. Not only was she fucking James, but she told him the idea I had for expanding the company, and he proposed it to my father. Because of that, he ended up being promoted to president when dear old Dad became CEO.” I laugh. “It was a trifecta of treachery. Fiancée, brother, father…all three of them screwed me over.”

  She’s not saying anything, so I look over. Her face is a mixture of shock and sadness. I quickly reassure her. “Hey, I’m over it. No worries.”

  “I’m sorry. My God, I had no idea.”

  “It’s okay. Really.”

  “So this is what you meant when you were talking about family dynamics, the night your dad went in the hospital.”

  “Yep.”

  “And why you could relate to my husband cheating on me.”

  “Yes.”

  Madeline pauses for a few seconds and gives me a sad little smile that just about does me in. “And it’s why you’re the way you are—with women. Because alliances are safe. Friendly agreements where no one gets hurt.”

  “Bingo.”

  “You’ve become a master at self-preservation, then.”

  “I suppose you could say that. It’s worked out every time.” So far.

  “But...” She moves toward me, reaching out to put a hand on my arm and making my heart do a little jump. “Don’t you ever get lonely?”

  Sometimes, in the middle of the night, I’ll wake up and roll over, and I feel as empty as the space next to me. Like there should be someone lying in bed with me, with her hair swirled all over the pillow. Mahogany-colored hair.

  Like yours.

  I look into her deep, dark eyes. “No. Not really.”

  She studies me for a few seconds, her earnest expression melting away. It starts to get a little awkward, and I’m thinking of what to say to make her smile when she leans to the right to look around me.

  “Wow—that’s a big one.”

  “That’s what she said.” I grin, glad that the focus has shifted, and turn to look in the upper corner of the shower where she’s staring. “What are you—holyyyy shit!”

  I leap out of the shower, almost tripping over the bucket of Thinset and the box of tiles. Every hair on the back of my neck feels like it’s standing straight up, and I’ve got shudders rippling through me from my scalp to my shoes like electricity, because my biggest nightmare is crawling across the ceiling.

  “Jack?” Madeline bites her lip. It’s obvious she’s trying not to laugh, and I know I must look like a spineless idiot or a paranoid wack-job or both, but this thing is fucking huge. “You’re afraid of spiders?”

  “Uh, yeah. You could say that.” I run my hand through my hair, because who knows if that thing has relatives or friends that might want to use my head for an amusement park.

  “But you’re so...big. And spiders are like whispers with legs.”

  “Whispers?” I snort. “That one’s more like a scream. Jesus, it’s got a belly the size of an avocado.”

  She bursts out laughing. “A small grape, maybe. You’re seriously scared?”

  “No. I’m seriously terrified.”

  “So that Spiderman theme for dinner the other night was quite apropos.”

  “Yeah, I guess you could say that.” I look around for something to smash it with, shuddering all over again at the thought of one of them coming back—you know, for revenge. The broom will work, because it has a long handle so I don’t need to get too close. I start to go toward it, but Madeline steps in front of me.

  “Wait—don’t kill it.”

  “I know, I know—bad luck, or it’ll make it rain...or even worse, sometimes you think they’re dead, but they uncrinkle themselves.”

  She’s smiling again. “Uncrinkle? Is that even a word?”

  “Probably not, but it should be.”

  “Hang on...leave it alone. I’ll be right back. Keep your eye on it. If you dare.” She winks before leaving.

  I take a few steps back and reluctantly watch the cantaloupe with legs from a safe distance. Madeline returns holding some sort of stick-like device—it looks like a grabber that an old person would use, except it’s got bristles on one end.

  “I’m betting you don’t have this tool,” she says, grinning. “But you need one. Watch.”

  She positions my step stool on the shower floor, stands on it, and reaches the bristly end of the stick toward the tarantula. As she squeezes the handle, the bristles open up, and quicker than you can say daddy long legs, the spider’s inside them.

  I’m impressed. Mostly because I didn’t need to do anything.

  Smiling triumphantly, Madeline steps off the stool. “Cool, huh? Safe for the spider, and safe for the scaredy-cat.”

  “Yeah, very cool. Just don’t be waving the bristly part near the scaredy-cat.”

  “I wouldn’t do that to you. But I have to say, I love seeing this side of you. You’re absolutely adorable when you’re terrified.”

  “I’m not sure if that’s a compliment. But thanks.”

  “It is most definitely a compliment.” She tosses me a smile over her shoulder. “I’m going to go set Charlotte free. Be right back.”

  After glancing up to make sure there’s no other creepy-crawlies lurking on the ceiling, I step back into the shower to resume my tiling. I’m pretty sure that this is the first time I’ve let a woman in on my arachnophobia secret. And I’m okay with it being Callaway.

  She enters the bathroom again, and I turn to look at her. She gives me a thumbs up. “Charlotte has left the building.”

  “Probably headed for my truck.”

  “You are cracking me up.”

  “You can honestly tell me that you’re not scared of spiders?”

  “I am not scared of spiders.”

  “Well, that’s unusual. Most women are.”

  “In case you haven’t noticed, Jack...” Madeline’s eyes are sparkly as she folds her arms across her chest. “I’m not most women.”

  Oh, I’ve noticed. “So if it’s not spiders, what are you afraid of?”

  The question surprises both of us. She takes a couple seconds to answer. “Betrayal.”

  I nod in understanding. That’s on my list, too.

  “Can we stop talking about scary things, Jack?”

  “Sure. I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to bring you down.”

  “You’re not. I just don’t want to waste any time with you. Because, you know—how you’re finishing up here soon and all. I want to make every moment count.”

  Something grabs in my gut, hearing her say that.

  “You’re making it hard for me to focus on my tiling, Callaway. Literally, hard.”

  She ducks her head, laughing softly as a pink glow creeps into her cheeks. Then she fixes her eyes on me, and the look in them basically pulverizes me. “Maybe we should take advantage of that.”

  My jeans seem to have become tighter in the front. “You think so?”

  Madeline walks over to me in the shower stall and loops her arms around my waist. “I know so.” She tips back her head in a wordless invitation for me to kiss her. I take in the sight of her shining, expectant eyes, her parted mouth, her bare neck...she is girl and woman both at once.

  Madeline Callaway, I accept your invitation to kiss you. I set my trowel on the built-in shower shelf and pull her in to me, liking the way she bends her back to mold herself against me. As tiny as she is compared to me, she feels just the right size.

  I cover her mouth with mine, my cock stiffening as I hear the little sigh she makes when my tongue meets hers. In the back of my mind—the part that pays attenti
on to business—a nagging little thought takes root. I should be finishing the tile, because the Thinset isn’t going to be any good if it sits out much longer. I know I should tell her, but the fact that this girl is a fucking awesome kisser is currently squashing down all other rational thought.

  She’s a client first, Jack. Got to always keep that in mind.

  Yeah, yeah...I know. I grimace inwardly. It’s hard to think of her as anything other than the sexiest woman on the planet right now. But I use all the willpower I have so that Decker Renovation overrules Big Deck.

  I hate to interrupt this, but I pull back a little, breathing hard. “Callaway...I don’t want to stop—believe me—but my mortar’s going to get hard.” I smirk, anticipating her reaction.

  “Isn’t that the whole point?” Eagerly, she tries to pull me back down to her mouth, but I take her wrists in my hands, chuckling.

  “I won’t be able to use this mix. I’ll have to buy another bag. Twenty bucks.”

  “Add it to my bill. I’m more than happy to pay for it.” She wriggles out of my grip, takes my hand in her own and gently pulls me into the bedroom.

  Spoiler alert: I don’t resist.

  When we reach her neatly-made bed, she turns around to look up at me again. “Remember when you said as long as you’re working for me, I could consider you mine?”

  “That’s the deal.”

  “Well...if you’re mine, I have a request. Actually, it’s more like a command. I want—I want you out of these pants.”

  Her hands go to my belt, and I suck in my breath. Jesus, her boldness. I like it. A lot. I have a raging hard-on even before my zipper begins a downward descent. She slides my jeans down and kneels on the floor to unlace my work boots.

  “Ms. Callaway, you are making it impossible for me to get any work done.”

  Her voice is thick with desire as she helps me step out of my pants. “I assure you, Mr. Decker, it’s completely intentional.”

  I close my eyes and spread my feet apart a bit as she reaches in my boxers. Fuck. Her hand is cool cupping my balls. I let out a low groan as she slides it along my shaft.

  “God, Jack—I want you. Right now.”

  You’ve got me, Callaway. You’ve got me.

  My cock is heavy and aching, straining towards her. She started this, and I’m going to finish it. She doesn’t have to say anything; I know she wants me to take over.

  I grasp the bottom of her dress and yank it up over her hips. I’d love to take my time with her, but it’s not going to happen—I’m too fucking horny. I grab my jeans off the floor to take out my wallet, silently thanking God there’s one more condom in there. “This is going to be quick, sweetheart.”

  “Do you have somewhere to be?”

  “Only inside you. And I can’t wait a second longer.”

  Madeline gives a little choked cry that pierces me to my core. She grabs the front of my shirt to pull me down on the bed with her. I devour her mouth with mine, sucking her tongue, kissing her hard. I prop myself up over her so she can wiggle out of her panties (pink, to match the dress) and then slide my hand down to her pussy. Soaking wet, slippery, hot. I’d love to bury my face in it, but the urge to fuck her takes over, and after one quick stroke down her slit, I’m on top of her, jamming my cock between her legs and fucking her like my life depends on it.

  We’re both moaning, gasping, our hot breath intertwining as she grabs my shoulders and bucks beneath me, and we become one shuddering, shattering climax that wrecks me so much, the words are out of my mouth before I can stop them.

  “Christ, Callaway—it gets better every time. I can’t get enough of you.”

  It’s the truth, and the way she looks up at me with those dark, pleading, glistening eyes makes me glad I said it.

  Chapter 22 ~ Madeline

  August 12

  “I’m thinking of doing it.” I’m multi-tasking on an absolutely gorgeous mid-August afternoon: catching up with Delaney on the phone while shopping at the farmer’s market in Ellsworth after a pre-closing walk-through in Trenton.

  She sighs in exasperation. “Friends don’t let friends get bangs. We’ve been over this.”

  “I know.”

  “You know why they’re called bangs?”

  “Um, no.”

  “Because after you get them cut, you feel like banging your head against the wall.” She pauses for emphasis. “So don’t.”

  “I just feel this urge.”

  “Well, channel that urge into something else. Like banging your handyman.”

  “Very funny.”

  “He almost done the bathroom?”

  “Unfortunately, yes.”

  “Ugh. Sorry.”

  “Yes. Trying to make the most of it, though. I’m making dinner for us tonight.”

  “Ooh, nice. I’m sure he’s impressed with your mad skills in the kitchen. As well as in the bedroom.”

  “I do what I can.”

  “You know, I was all for you having this tryst with him, as long as you didn’t get hurt. But I’m a little worried, because I think you’re going to be.” Her voice softens. “Any chance he’d reconsider this arrangement and actually date you?”

  “I don’t think so. He’s been very clear about that from day one. I’ll just have to...” I swallow hard. “...deal with it.”

  “Well, he’s crazy, then. I’m telling you, you’re the ultimate woman. Gorgeous, great cook, house on the ocean to boot and financially secure with her own business. If I was a lesbian, I’d be all over you like white on rice.”

  Laughing, I stop in front of a stand with bunches of herbs and wildflowers in mason jars. “Thanks. That means a lot. Hey, speaking of business, things any better at Precision Machine?”

  “Meh. Not really. I got a raise, though—I think Stu is worried I might quit. And believe me, if I could, I would. If it wasn’t for that pesky food and rent thing...”

  “Ugh, I’m sorry. Still hoping to open a café someday?”

  “Yeah. Hoping, dreaming, wishing.”

  “You know I’ve told you I can loan you some money toward a downpayment.”

  “I know. And I love you for that. But I can’t stand the thought of taking money from my BFF, or just accepting something without being able to give back in return.”

  “That doesn’t bother me at all. I wish you’d consider it.”

  “Thanks, Maddie—I’ll hopefully find a way.”

  “Don’t give up, Lane. We can talk more about it later. Listen, I have to let you go—I need to get a few more things at the market.”

  “Okay. Do you want to come to Harry Potter trivia tonight at Margarita’s? Amanda’s going, too.”

  “Ohh, I would, but I think Jack is staying for dinner. At least I hope he is.”

  “Understood. Hammer time trumps girlfriend time. Fuck his brains out.”

  “Delaney.”

  “I mean it. I want my BFF to be happy. Seriously, I do. We’ll catch up later. Love you lots.”

  “Love you lots, too.” I slip my phone in my purse and check the purchases in my basket. Red and yellow peppers and sweet onions to grill, a loaf of French bread, half dozen ears of corn...I’ll get a couple lobsters from the seafood guy and pick up some flowers to dress up the table. Maybe a bag of mixed greens for a salad, with my homemade vinaigrette dressing. Jack says since he’s met me, he’s eaten more vegetables in the last few weeks than in all his life. I remember how his eyes looked when he said that—crinkling around the edges and glowing with warm affection, like he appreciated me looking out for his health.

  It’s because I care about you, I had told him, and broke eye contact with him before anything got awkward. I don’t want to scare him, even though I know he won’t stay anyway. It’s funny; at the beginning, I was the one who was cautious. But now...I feel like I could keep on this same path, to see where it takes us.

  If only Jack would want to walk with me.

  Madeline. My inner voice berates me, and rightfully so. Shut u
p. Seriously. You are sounding pathetic. Enjoy the flirting, his company, and of course the sex, but be ready to let him go.

  You don’t have a choice.

  Maybe that’s what I’m having a tough time with—that it’s out of my hands.

  Something tells me that it’s more than that.

  “Miss? Did you want to buy those?” A college-age girl with two long braids and a nose ring is smiling at me expectantly. I realize that I’ve been standing in front of her holding a bunch of wildflowers in my hand, probably looking like I was in la-la land.

  “Yes! Sorry.” I smile and hastily reach into my purse for cash. After paying, I walk down the row of stands, soaking up the fiery colors of peppers, the frilly bursts of flowers, the easy words of people with summer on their tongues, and I think, this. This is what I need to be focusing on. The here and now, with no glance in the rearview mirror or worry for what might lie ahead. The present, which right now includes Jack, who is probably almost done for the day.

  But Jack, if I have my way...you’re not done for the night.

  Chapter 23 ~ Jack

  August 14

  Did you know you can shut your eyes and still see someone else’s? You can. I know this, because when I was trying to go to sleep last night, I kept seeing Madeline’s: large and shining, the color of dark chocolate—eyes that can go from vulnerable and pleading to burning with pure lust in a split second. When we were saying our good nights, I stared into them under the flickering light above her garage, and what those eyes were doing to me was so intense, I had to think about boring basic things like picking up a replacement bulb for the flickering light, or else I would have lost my shit. Especially since I was still feeling the effects of fucking her. Especially since every time, it gets better, and like I want to take her again as soon as I’m physically able.

  The sex Wednesday night—it was un-fucking-believable. We were sitting on her patio drinking a couple beers after dinner, with the fire pit going. We were talking about states we’d visited, she was looking comfortable and relaxed leaning back in the chaise lounge with her hair draped down her shoulder, and I was taking in the sight of her with the orange glow of the fire illuminating her like she was some kind of angel. She was telling me about her trip to Arizona last winter to visit her parents, and I’ll be honest, I started looking at her rather than listening to her—watching the curve of her lips as she smiled, and definitely the curve of her breasts under her tank top. When she paused in her story to take a sip of beer, I fixated on that beautiful mouth on the top of the bottle, and suddenly the bottle became my cock. I got this major urge to take her, right then—got out of my chair without a word, took her drink out of her hands, set it on the patio floor and climbed on top of her, unbuttoning my pants before I started to kiss her. She didn’t protest at all, which was even more of a turn-on, because I know Madeline Callaway is not the type to be into having sex outside, where someone might see. The night was calm and still, the only sounds being the little snaps and pops of the fire, my heavy breathing and her tiny little gasps, which made me fuck her harder.