Mission For Love (Love By Design Book 6)

by M. C. Cerny

  Kelsey had a way about her that said brute force and bossy doctor all in one just because she was the eldest of five. Lucky me, I was the middle child separated by seven years on either side my older brother Landon and then the twins below me. Lucas and Khadijah were a surprise and a constant source of mischief for my parents.

  “You know, I have a phone, a doorbell, email, even a carrier pigeon would have been sufficient and much less disruptive.” I welcomed my sister inside, followed by the youngest of the twins, Khadijah, or Dijah for short. Girls night was a tradition for us and our little sister was a recent addition. We figured letting her tag along was safer than knowing she’d sneak out.

  Dijah breezed in heading directly for my fridge pulling out a bottle of wine. “Kelsey was trying to escape the Aunts from matchmaking.”

  “What are you doing?” Kelsey swiped the bottle from her hands and thunked it down on the counter. She leaned back crossing her arms over her chest like she was about to dress down one of her interns.

  Dijah pouted and rolled her eyes. “I would have thought pre-gaming was obvious.” She slapped her hands on her thighs and then elbowed Kelsey out of the way to grab a diet soda instead.

  “Not on my watch.” Kelsey held her hand out expectantly and Dijah handed her a soda. “I only said you could come because I was going to make you the designated driver.” Kelsey cracked the opening of her soda taking a sip smacking her lips in a smile.

  “I brought my fake idea.” Dijah rummaged inside her purse pulling out the license that looked suspiciously like one of my old ones. Kelsey snatched that out of her hand and tucked it in the back pocket of her jeans. Dijah’s eyes went wide and if I didn’t intervene there’d be a blood bath to clean up in my apartment before the night was over.

  “And we can drop you off at home.” Kelsey stated matter of fact swinging her head back and forth over her neck in a slow rhythm to make her point.

  “Fine. Fun killer.” Dijah waved her arms around. “Kelsey, murderer of fun.”

  Kelsey got right back in her face. “Sister you have no idea the amount of fun I can slay if I need to.” This was the moment I stepped in to intervene. I loved my sisters. I loved my family, but they were exhausting most of the time and one of the secret guilty reasons I moved two towns and a river away.

  I moved between them hands out to create space in my tiny kitchen. “Okay, that’s enough. I thought we were going out.” I’d been living here for two years and I wanted my neighbors to continue liking me. Avoiding a crime scene in the kitchen was critical.

  “We are when you get ready.” Kelsey strode into my living room and sat down on my couch.

  Dijah dragged me inside my bedroom muttering under her breath about the blessing of sisters. She flicked hangers in my closet and made all kinds of disapproving noises with each scrape of metal hanger against the hanging rod.

  “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” I looked down at my slim fit jeans and loose blouse. Okay, so it wasn’t super-hot, but I also had a few body issue hang ups and didn’t feel like advertising them to the world. Not to mention the fact that I didn’t keep a stock of hot pants and corsets on hand since graduating college.

  Kelsey yelled from the living room. “It screams nerdy school teacher.” My neighbors definitely hated me now if they didn’t before.

  “I am a teacher.” I taught health education as well as junior and senior gym, and coached the high school girls track and cross-country teams. What did my sisters expect?

  “Here, wear my thigh boots and give me a pair of your heels.” Kelsey unzipped her boots handing them to me as I looked over my rack of guilty pleasure. I might not have had sexy dresses, but I had a thing for cute and sexy shoes even if I seldom wore them outside the house.

  “I don’t understand why you buy these.” Dijah picked up a pair of sparkly black platform heels and handed them Kelsey.

  “Shut up Dijah.” Kelsey scolded her and I shimmied out of my jeans careful to remove the stretchy cotton over my prosthetic leg.

  Dijah handed me a micro mini skirt from the back of my closet and a pair of black stockings. She let me keep my off the shoulder top. I fixed the boot and pulled it over my leg sliding the zipper up.

  “Okay, is this good?” I stood up and walked over to the mirror inspecting my outfit. The tight skirt I could dance in, cute top, and sexy as sin thigh high boots that covered my prosthetic leg from my carbonite toes all the way up and over my knee. At first glance, I looked incredibly normal. Hot–if I dared to say so and nothing like a teacher or former cancer patient on a Saturday night.

  I’d finally gotten around to throwing out my old wigs and scarves from chemo days cleaning out the hall closet this summer. I’d gotten sick the end of my junior year of high school. I fought hard and won which not every kid I knew at the children’s hospital was able to do. I’d lost a lot along the way including close friends, my first boyfriend, my chance to sprint hurdles at the Olympics, and my right leg below the knee. I was damned if cancer was going to rob me of anything else, including a night with my sisters.

  “Stunning.” Kelsey said over my shoulder as she fluffed my springy curls.

  “Hot as fuck. You’ll be married before the old maid here.” Dijah poked Kelsey who scowled and I elbowed both of them to shut them up.

  The girls were determined to take me out for a night of debauchery and fun.

  “I’m thinking a nice smoky eye to go with your gorgeous hair and this tight looking outfit you’ve got here.” Dijah pulled out her makeup kit and went to work on me. The male population of Poughkeepsie was saved from being subjected to my crooked eyeliner with her expert hand. She applied it with the kind of precision my older sister had with steady hands in the OR.

  Kelsey put her fingers in my ringlet curls of hair styling it. Black hair could be difficult if not maintained and my sister was a genius between her olive oil and shea butter hair concoctions. If she hadn’t gone to medical school, she would have made an amazing hairdresser. As kids she loved doing our braids and we let her do it avoiding her otherwise bossy nature.

  “Have we decided what we’re doing?” I asked as I watched their work come together in the mirror.

  “There’s a new bar club with a cover band in Poughkeepsie near the river walk, supposedly pretty good.”

  “Oh my god, I can’t wait to dance with hot guys and hook up.” Dijah squealed. Kelsey and I looked at each other in the mirror knowing she’d be tipsy on one drink and we’d have her home before one. Despite being excited, Dijah was extremely picky about who she dated which made our job of watching out for her easier. Kelsey was in a long term on and off again relationship with one of her hospital’s administrators while I hadn’t dated anyone since Devereaux.

  I hoped the cover band didn’t suck. I would have been fine going to bed at ten o’clock because the school year started on Monday, but I didn’t mind dancing and drinks. Once the year started, I’d be too busy with students to make time for nights like this.

  “First round is on me.” Kelsey stepped back admiring her handy work.

  “Here’s to a new year!” I cheered completely forgetting the noise ordinance with my neighbors until Mrs. Williams banged on the floor above reminding me.

  “Sorry!” The three of us chimed laughing. I could do this. I could put the past behind me and be brave. I wasn’t alone and I was ready.

  3

  David

  The bar was nestled off a side street close to the river bank as I pulled my bike into a spot and parked. The engine vibrated with life and the end of summer air still had the tang of humidity as it held on for as long as possible. Pretty soon the trees would change to bright pops of orange, blood red, and golden yellow. Fall was one of my favorite times and while I loved the sunshine in summer, I was a sucker for the changing seasons.

  The dive place was a sight for sore eyes but had the best beer second to Andy’s craft. I hung out there prior to my deployment when I was busy spending my free time
pissed at Andrew and Sierra along with my parents for letting things escalate back then. It was a good spot for riffraff, hipsters, and anyone looking for a good time while blending into the dark and neon lights taking shots. I’d been here on my last home leave and saw the neighborhood changing. Gentrification was happening turning the whole area into overpriced riverfront condos and shops, but the one thing that stayed the same was this little local bar.

  The Pig and Dog or also commonly known as the Poughkeepsie Dump or even P&D in a pinch catered to a slightly rough crowd who behaved well when the alcohol flowed and garbage bands played cover songs from the eighties and nineties. I felt like I could be regular David instead of Special Task Sargent David Easton or rising football player number 22, or that kid from Easton’s Pub and Brewery. Here–I could be anonymous and my flashbacks to IEDs and gunfire could blend in with the shitty disco ball and fog machine.

  I grabbed a drink and headed for the corner high booth where I could scan the crowd and find a willing body to gyrate next to mine for the evening. I wasn’t typically anti-social, but I wasn’t a snuggler. Good sex wore me out to sleep through the night and alcohol gave me the oblivion I craved when a body wasn’t in the picture.

  It wasn’t long before I saw the woman standing at the bar with her girlfriends doing shots of alcohol and her hips swaying to the music beat. She had good rhythm which often translated to what would transpire between the sheets and my jeans tugged tight. If she wasn’t up for something this raging cock in my pants was going to be a real pain to ride home with.

  I guessed the woman at the bar was in her mid-twenties, slim to the point of fragile, and engrossed in deep conversation with her friends. She tossed her head back laughing, and I wanted to know what made her smile. Gold bangle bracelets jingled on her wrists like bells. There was a charisma that surrounded her and drew me in.

  There was something utterly different about her. It was in the way she stood at the bar, slightly leaning into her friends completely enthralled by whatever they were saying. Her attention was wholly focused on them and I wondered what it might feel like if her gaze strayed in my direction. Would her nose crinkle if she thought I was funny, would she bite her lip to show interest as more than a passing fancy? It wasn’t normal for me to have these kinds of thoughts about women. Don’t get me wrong, I loved women, adored them, but I wasn’t overly fond of the morning after. However, this particular woman made me want to regroup, rehash the mission objective as more than a one night stand and all because her attention created this uniquely fascinating aura I had to figure out.

  I got up from seat to investigate further and saw a light collection of freckles over her nose dotting her smooth tawny skin. It was cute and while cute didn’t interest me at first glance, the energy around her made her glow and stand out. She reminded me of the girl in the new Spiderman movie I enjoyed, but older. I wondered what I could say that might get her button nose to turn up and make the freckles dance as she laughed.

  My libido was interested. Definitely interested in getting to know her better. I sounded like a pervert when all I wanted to do was run my hand up and down her slight curves in appreciation. God must have seen to giving her the good genes and I didn’t discriminate. Heck, if my mother allowed Andrew and I to have pictures of women in our teenage bedrooms, I would have picked Beyoncé. Her banging curves and gorgeous eyes would have been my downfall while yanking off. Bar girl had a sultry look that invited a second gander and some serious conversation.

  Her clothes were tight, almost painted on her skinny frame and her stockings slipped into tall black boots making her look like my own personal Superhero which seemed like a better nickname than Bar girl. Her loose top slipped over one shoulder, but it might as well have been her cape. Kinky hair graced the top of her shoulders and I had an urge to stick my fingers in it to see if it was as soft as it looked. I wasn’t going to touch her hair though. Dudes shouldn’t run up and touch a girl’s hair. It was wrong on so many creeper levels and random without the threat of a good dick-punch standing in one’s way.

  Instead, I walked over to make an introduction. I may have been rusty, but I liked to think I still had some of my charm left over from the days before I enlisted and went away. Before I got there, she backed out onto the dance floor coyly urging her friends to follow. Her hips swayed and I scanned the dance floor watching a couple of guys who noticed her as well. I didn’t like that and I wasn’t entirely sure what to do with that information. I hadn’t counted on that.

  I sauntered up to her group of friends smiling. I nodded at the one who looked like the Girl’s Night ringleader of the pack. A tall Black woman whose presence heralded her status with confidence that was incredibly attractive, though I only had eyes for one. A fresh faced blonde woman followed. She looked like a Nordic Disney princess passing out their drinks complete with long hair in a single braid and flowers. An average brunette hung in the back, thick eyeglasses covered her face as she checked her cellphone. The last women seemed younger than the rest and possibly related to my Superhero girl.

  The ringleader stood regal, eye fucking me while my dancing beauty had yet to make eye contact. I liked that they seemed to be watching out for each other. I had a thing for smart and responsible women. They didn’t have to be good girls. I just didn’t want the drama my brother’s ex had shadowed our family with.

  “Never seen you in here before.” The regal one said to me squinting her eyes appraising me in my too tight muscle shirt. I knew I looked like biker trash, t-shirt, jeans, combat boots, but I wasn’t going to let her scare me off from introducing myself.

  I shrugged giving the standard answer. “Been awhile, I served overseas. Usually come for the cover band.” I pointed toward the stage as I sipped my beer waiting for Superhero girl to look.

  “Kia, you see this guy here before?” She nudged her friend who stopped her hypnotic hip swaying and joined them at the bar.

  The girl named Kia looked up finally, and yeah, soulful eyes stared back and I felt something I hadn’t in a long time. Genuine interest that could lead to more than one night and honestly it scared the shit out of me.

  “No, but you should be nice Kelsey. I bet he’ll buy the next round if you smile.” She winked at me while giving her friend a less than nice nudge and I liked it. I liked it a lot–this subtle flirting between us.

  I weaved my wave to the edge of the bar and glanced over my shoulder at her. “Supergirl,” I said waving the bartender down to our section, “For that smile, you can put your drinks on my tab for the rest of night.”

  “Yes! Kia shoots and scores!” The youngest girl in the group bounced fist pumping. She looked related to Kia and I chuckled at her excitement. I kind of wanted Kia to score with me tonight, but first I needed to learn a bit more about my Superhero girl than just her first name.

  It was a terrifying thought that after ten years, I wanted to know how a woman took her coffee. What she felt comfortable sleeping in, and if she liked apple turnovers for breakfast.

  4

  Kiara

  The stranger across the bar introduced himself as David. Thick muscles bulged from his tight t-shirt. I was honestly worried it might tear at the seams, but I also wouldn’t complain if it happened. I considered it reverse ogling. An appreciation for the male anatomy, and a general curiosity if he had the mythical unicorn eight pack of abs. I felt qualified to make this observation as a certified teacher of health classes. My sister was also was a doctor if I had questions beyond my scope of expertise, but I felt confident in my general knowledge and religious enough to pray his damn shirt ripped.

  David fulfilled his promise to buys all of us drinks and then grabbed me around the waist with confident paws that had to be twice the size of my own hands. We started dancing like our bodies were made for each other. We fit the way a puzzle piece easily slides in and locks holding it together. I didn’t think about anything but the present moment as he explore my body in rhythm to the music. For a span of time I
ceded control. There was no worry about my health, my job, my responsibilities, and it was nice.

  Nice probably seemed too bland a word to describe how liberating this was–the absence of thought. When cancer ravaged my body, I had nothing but time to think holed up in my hospital room between treatments. My family tried to hide their worry, but I watched them grieve in secret moments down the hall of the hospital in whispered hushes as if I were already gone. They were supportive, as much as they could be, but all that support meant nothing when your goals, your singular focus was gone at the literal removal of a limb with surgical precision.

  I lived the life of the kid from Fried Green Tomatoes. All jokes aside, the funeral for my leg was more for my family than it was for me. I had to be okay for them to be okay, but I don’t know if you ever become okay with phantom pains that wake you up in the middle of the night in sweaty twisted sheets. A key point in moving out was gaining my autonomy and a sense of control. This man had the capacity to make me lose that control and I didn’t know how to feel about it.

  My suggestive dance with the sexy man built like a brick house made me smile. Our hips swayed in a grinding body against body motion to pop music from the early 90’s, still good, but mostly bad. I leaned my head back enjoying the feel of his thick fingers pinching my hips. Without my sister’s boots I was 5’10”, but he remained inches taller making me feel delicate in his arms. His thick muscles were an easy handful, corded and ripped under the hem of his tight t-shirt sleeve. He made the phrase good looking, tight fitting, a religion–and I prayed like a lusty sinner. Around his thick neck he wore a silver chain that disappeared down his shirt. I was curious what hung from it and before I could ask he gently lifted my chin to meet his hazel eyes.