Entice

by S. E. Hall

  S.E. Hall

  Copyright 2014, S.E. Hall

  Toski Covey of Toski CoveyPhotography

  Sommer Stein of Perfect Pear Creative

  Editor: Erin Roth, Wise Owl Editing

  Book Design: E.E. Long, Biblio/Tech

  All rights reserved.

  This book may not be reproduced in any form, in whole or in part,

  without written permission from the author.

  This book is intended for mature audiences only

  “Love is like a butterfly, it settles upon you when you least expect it.”

  Author Unknown

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1- Sleepless in Statesboro

  Chapter 2- Lost Boy

  Chapter 3- Hope Sinks

  Chapter 4- Interview with a Vixen

  Chapter 5- There’s Something About Emmett

  Chapter 6- Miss the Scent of a Woman

  Chapter 7- Driving Miss Emmett

  Chapter 8- Another Sweet Day

  Chapter 9- Then He Found Me

  Chapter 10- You, Me And The Crew

  Chapter 11- A Talk To Remember

  Chapter 12- Not Cruel Intentions

  Chapter 13- Perfect Picture

  Chapter 14- Mr. Doubtfire

  Chapter 15- As Great As It Gets

  Chapter 16- Unfrozen

  Chapter 17- Twenty-Two Candles

  Chapter 18- The Sweetest Things

  Chapter 19- One Screw Over the Cuckoo’s Nest

  Chapter 20- Save the Last Song

  Chapter 21- Doctor Crashers

  Chapter 22- While She Was Sleeping

  Chapter 23- Good Luck Schmuck

  Chapter 24- Life As We Knew It

  Chapter 25- Unsweetened November

  Chapter 26- My Family Stone

  Chapter 27- About a Girl

  Chapter 28- I Have No Idea What I Did Last Night

  Chapter 29- Road to Redemption

  Chapter 30- Our Christmas Story

  Chapter 31- Breakfast at Granny’s

  Chapter 32- Walk My Line

  Chapter 33- Guess Who’s Going to Dinner

  Chapter 34- Dude, Where’s My Dignity?

  Chapter 35- Miracle on Fair Road

  Chapter 36- We Are Beckett

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  Where do dreams come from? No one knows, and that’s what makes them cool; some are random as fuck, some stem from recent events, but never knowing what you’ll dream each night, how weird or erotic they’ll get, gives you that time with your mind to look forward to.

  When your dream’s the same every night, it becomes a god damn nightmare.

  I know, every single night, what I’m going to see from the time I close my eyes to the moment I drag my sorry ass out of bed in the morning. Without a doubt, I’m going to toss and turn in frustration, a rerun marathon of that night this past summer taunting me.

  This bachelor party, for Parker, who I’ve known maybe eight weeks. God, I’m jealous as hell of him. That Hayden of his fucking adores him, and she’s even hotter knocked up than she was before. And she dotes on his ass in a very independent, non-bloodsucking leech kinda way. Why can’t I find a girl like that?

  Obviously I’ve had too much tequila since I’m hosting my own little titbag party over here, feeling sorry for myself. Fuck this. I hold up two bills in my hand, I think they’re twenties, and Silver Cowboy Boots comes over, way too eagerly.

  Challenge me, dammit! Engage more than my dick!

  “What’s this get me?” I slur, shoving the bills at her.

  She kicks one ankle, then the other, getting my legs just as far apart as she wants them and climbs over them, onto my lap. “This,” she croons and starts to grind. Her attempt to pet my chest all sexy-like is an epic fail, snagging one way too long silver nail on my nipple ring. She better not rip my fucking shirt—I love this shirt.

  “How much to go in the back?” Two months on a farm is damn lonely.

  She cuts quick, nervous glances around, then leans into my ear. “Not my usual club, so not in here,” she whispers. “But for a hundred, I’ll meet you outside, after.”

  Just when I’m about to finalize the exact details, “Shook Me All Night Long,” my favorite song ever, starts blaring. Now this dance I gotta see, moving Dracula Nails off my lap and outta my view to the stage, aka the flat area in this place.

  Spank me and put me to bed…who the fuck is that?

  “Zach?!”

  Nothing.

  “Zach?!” I yell louder.

  “What?”

  “Who. Is. That?” I point to the, um, we’ll go with “dancer” for now.

  “Cause I know her? I think they said Karma or something, but I doubt you’d find her in the phone book under that. Why?”

  Look at him, trying to be all smartass… Well, he fucked it up, who the hell uses a phone book?

  “No reason.” I bounce my shoulders in what I hope looks like casual nonchalance, never taking my eyes off her. That may blow my cover, but damn if I could look away even if I tried.

  I’m thinking it’s the beer, strike that, tequila goggles; has to be. I was just dogging every chick who came near me, ready to pay for a meaningless quickie, a scratch to an itch, and sheer perfection happens to strut in to my favorite song?

  Yeah, and when I’m done here, I’m gonna ride home to the Playboy mansion on the flying fucking dragon that I bought with my lottery winnings.

  This isn’t real; up close she’s probably a big mess with bad breath and a whiny voice…and herpes. Gotta be.

  But here’s what I do know, no guessing, no wishful thinking, no maybe to it—take it to the bank: her hair is so dark and shiny that you can damn near see reflections in it and it has purple streaks in it—hot as hell. AND, wait for it… IT. IS. IN. BRAIDS.

  Usually two braids or ponytails are known as “handlebars” in my language, but on this girl, they’re cute; cute, wet dream-inducing braids.

  Her eyes are as dark as her hair, and hold the fear and anxiety of a kitten stuck in a drainpipe when it’s raining. I may never know where it came from, this instinct that up until this point I would have sworn on a stack of Bibles I didn’t possess, but I swear I hear her mind screaming to mine, “You’re big and strong, protect me, Sawyer, take care of me, hold me and make me unafraid!”

  That body of hers is tiny. Not frail, just petite, and tan and muscular…and her own. She turns it to the side and away from the onlookers and keeps her hands over her barely-covered breasts like the tease is part of the dance, but it’s not. I’d bet you a nut this girl has never danced or stripped before in her life. And if she has, she should stop immediately, because she absolutely sucks at it.

  Those come fuck me heels she’s wearing? They’re two sizes too big and she’s never walked in them before. Also something she should stop doing immediately. If the teetering and wobbling didn’t draw attention to her shapely legs, it’d just be sad, but the legs are worth the painful show. Oh and fuck me, she’s skipping around in a circle. I hope she doesn’t think that’s a good cover for her lack of dance skills…skipping, for crying out loud.

  And lastly, she loves this song. She’s mouthing the words, keeping her eyes unfocused and on the back wall, dying for everything but the song itself to be over. And when it is, she runs like she’s on fire for cover behind the curtain.

  “Who was that?” I ask Dracula Nails, still standing beside me.

  “New girl,” she answers snidely. “First night, can’t you tell?” she laughs.

  “Yeah, I can.”

  “So, I’ll see you later?” she curls those inflated lips at me.

  “Maybe. If I see ya I see ya.” I get up, walking over to Dane. “Where’d you get these girls?”

>   “Hell if I know; Brock hooked it up.”

  “So the company, it’s local to us, like in Statesboro?”

  “I think so, why?”

  “Find out for sure. I’m gonna hit the can. Be right back.”

  I really do need to take a leak, but somehow I veer off course, peering behind the curtain like the Great and Powerful Oz will be waiting to hand me the 411 on this girl. I don’t see him, or her, only several other scantily clad women who only remind me how different she was. I want to bust in a demand they tell me her name and where she is, but I’m forced to duck out and shove the curtain back when their escort/bodyguard/whatever guy spots me.

  No worries, Dane can find out for me, that man has scary ways of digging up the buried. I hurry back from the bathroom and catch him just as he’s hanging up his phone. “Well?”

  “Local company, kinda off the radar, Brock isn’t sure they’re on the Better Business Bureau, if you catch my drift.”

  “I don’t.”

  He leans into me, talking low and discreetly. “I know nothing, and I’m going to say this, walk out of here and never speak of it again. I may also fire Brock for being a dumbass. It’s some on the side thing for one guy, mostly underage college girls needing money.”

  “Fuck,” I mumble.

  “Fuck is right. My name is never to be associated with this, ever. I had no idea and I’ll kill Brock if he jeopardized any of us in any way. You hear me?”

  “Wait, so college, as in our college?”

  “Yes,” he sighs, running his hand through his hair, mad as hell.

  “My old job ready at The K?” Wait, better yet… “I’ll replace Brock even.”

  “You always have a job with me, Sawyer, you know that. Just say the word.”

  “Word. I’m heading back early. Don’t fire Brock until I say, okay? I need to talk to him first.”

  “You just fire him when you have what you need. My hands are washed of this whole thing. Now get the fuck out of here and pay for the party in cash. No paper, you hear me, Sawyer?”

  “Got it. Go, man.”

  Look out, Skipper, Daddy’s coming home.

  Chapter 1

  Sleepless In Statesboro

  —Sawyer—

  “Why are we here again?” Zach questions me, looking around.

  “Put your pussy back in your pocket and shut the fuck up.”

  Since all my boys keep getting lost in the Bermuda Bush—as in they dive into her bush once and I never see them again—I’ve nominated Zach, the only single one left, as my new partner in crime. Though if he doesn’t quit his fucking whining, I’ll go solo.

  I’m a man on a mission; there’s no time for bellyaching. After spending the last few weeks scouring every club within fifty miles of school, in all directions, my patience is wearing thin…and I’ve run out of clubs. If this isn’t the one, and I’m guessing this isn’t the one, I’m out of brilliants ideas. All Brock had to do was take Dane’s money and throw together a bachelor party for Parker. No one even said send dancers, but he did anyway, and because he can’t get ahold of the shady fuck he did business with, I’m plagued by the image of a girl who’s proving to be more elusive than Bigfoot.

  “I don’t think this is a strip club, bro. Look.” Zach nudges my shoulder and points to a small stage with a wall of chicken wire wrapped around it and several different colors of broken glass littering the surface.

  The flashing sign outside says Unbuckled—how is it not a strip club? Disappointed doesn’t even begin to describe how I feel watching Meemaw and Peepaw slow dance amongst the peanut shells on the floor. I’m not sure if I should sue for false advertising or thank God they’re not going to actually unbuckle anything.

  “Come on.” Zach gives me a slap on the shoulder, his face not hiding his pity. He knows this was it—the last place on the list. “Let me at least buy ya a beer.”

  Since there’s nothing better to do and we’re already here, I accept his offer and we grab two stools at the bar. Zach orders our drink and within minutes we’re approached by two girls who are way below Social Security eligibility, so I’m more than a little surprised they’re here.

  “You wanna dance?” the blonde asks me, strategically placing herself between my chest and the bar, her tit grazing my arm.

  I wouldn’t even begin to pretend I know how to dance to the twangy, inbred music coming from the jukebox...and if we’re doing this, I want her brunette friend anyway. I shake my head slowly and take a swig from my beer. “No, but Zach here has dance fever, don’t ya, buddy?”

  “Yeah,” he stands, extending his hand to her, “show me your moves.”

  And he’s back in the game, ladies and gentlemen! Now it’s me and the friend. I blatantly move my eyes down her body and back up even slower, giving her a one-sided grin when I get to her wide, hungry eyes. Not bad. “You got a name?”

  “Carmen. Yours?” She smiles shyly. Nice try. Her eyes tell me the truth; she’s anything but shy.

  “Sawyer. Have a seat,” I pivot toward her and spread my legs, patting my thigh, “right here.”

  “Sawyer!”

  Don’t open your eyes, just keep going. She’ll go away, you’ll finish and fall asleep; another day down.

  Her fist thuds on the door so hard this time it shakes. “Sawyer!”

  “What?” I scream back, aggravated. Whatever my sassy ass roommate Laney lacks in good timing…she doesn’t make up for in subtlety, either. Must we talk while I’m buried nine inches deep in…? I spare a one-eyed peek at…the brunette under me. That’s right—the friend. The girl I picked solely for the color of her hair.

  It may always be a raven-haired beauty, for the rest of my life, if I don’t fuck her image out of my head. The thought of the clumsy-yet-captivating lil’ stripper has me pumping feverishly into Miss Not Her, screams of “Oh Daddy!” bouncing off my bedroom walls again.

  Which explains the complaining spitfire banging on my door. This bitch is loud!

  “You are not her daddy and I have to be up and on the field at 6 am! Finish or shove a sock in her mouth!” Laney calls out, the thin plywood door, the only thing between us, not even close to a barrier if Laney decides to come shut this girl up herself.

  “Yup,” I answer, eyes squeezed shut again, no break in the rhythm of my thrusts. “You heard her,” I grunt to my guest, “quiet down, sweetheart, and no more Daddy talk.”

  “Hmph.” She starts to pout, but it easily morphs into an open-mouthed groan when I switch from teasing her with only the tip to slamming home again.

  “Yes, oh God, yes!” she screeches beneath me, totally faking it.

  Yes, I’m sure. You see…loose chicks, or basic bitches, can get away with the fake orgasm when they’re fucking a needle dick. As long as she fluffs Pencil Dick’s ego until five seconds after he comes, he’s okay with ignorant bliss because of the unspoken understanding that he’s anatomically equipped to get off regardless of the fact that he’s a suck fuck and she got nothing. Not only can he not tell, since he’s sporting a twig, but most guys don’t give a shit if she’s really getting off or not, so they’ve never made a study of the signs.

  I have a different handbook; feel free to follow along.

  I’m built. It’s not ego, just a fact. So if I can’t touch the sides, the elasticity in that thing is shot—Ben Wa, kegels, duct tape, and electrical wire be damned—there’s no hope, sweetie. Buy a double-wide dildo and a lifetime supply of anti-depressants and wait ‘til some unlucky bastard’s too drunk to care.

  For the rest of you—guess what the fact that I’m packin’ means? I can feel, or not feel, the ripples, the natural quivering in the lining of your pussy that you can’t make happen anymore than you can make it stop when you actually get off. So save the fake screams and use your big girl voice to tell me left, right, up, or down instead. There’s a 100% chance I will come by the time we’re done, and since you went to all the trouble of letting me in, you should get yours, girl…no shame in that
game!

  It never ceases to amaze me, really. A woman in the passenger seat won’t shut the hell up. It’s all “turn here, slow down, stop and ask,” but she’ll fake her way through mediocre sex, unfulfilled, and never say a word. What is that?

  If only this one would do something to snap me out of the monotony, do something to engage me enough to stop these damn vagina monologues currently running through my head. Slap me, take charge, tell me how this shit’s gonna go down— do something, girl! But she doesn’t. Just like the one before her and I’m sure the one after her, she just lays there with the false moans and occasional twist or squirm. So I answer accordingly, banging into her like a jackhammer, not so much as using one finger to tickle her fartbox (which they all like, though they’d deny it if asked). Sorry, Senorita. No extra effort, no surprise ending.

  Showing some life, she tries to grab my face and raise herself up to kiss me, but I turn my head, resting my forehead against the pillow. I’m ready to finish, not prolong the niceties.

  “Almost there,” I growl in her ear. “Wrap your legs around my back.”

  She does so immediately and I find myself wishing her pussy gripped as tightly as her legs do. But, since it’s not even close, I scoop both hands under her ass and tilt her pelvis, angling myself to drag along the upper wall inside her for at least some friction. That really amps up her moans now, so I’m forced to use one hand to cover her mouth, lest we have a second visit from Laney. After a few more slides in and out, my eyes closed, my ultimate fantasy skipping through my head, I finally find my non-climatic climax and she feigns the same.