The Right Stud: a sexy romantic comedy

by Ilsa Madden-Mills

  “Trust you?” Her eyebrows rise. “Trust you with what, Mr. Roland?”

  “Jax.” I grin, not fazed one iota by her bit of sass. “Call me Jax.”

  “Fine. Jax.”

  I smile. “So, what made you sad?”

  She stares at the floor, her fingers plucking at the lace on her legs. “It’s just my brother and family stuff. I can’t really talk about it.”

  “Oh.” I study her face, seeing the way she tugs at her lip with her teeth. Whatever is up with her brother, he’s got her in knots.

  “Anything else?” I ask. “What about this douche canoe? Want me to kick his ass? I used to box in boarding school.”

  She cocks her head. “You’re rather nosey, aren’t you?”

  “Only about square footage.”

  Her lips twitch. “So why the questions?”

  I grin. “The truth is, normally I wouldn’t give a rat’s ass about a girl’s ex, but for some reason tonight… I do.”

  “Oh.”

  The temperature in the hall shoots up a couple of notches, and my eyes flicker to her mouth and up. Her eyes move to my lips, and I feel the weight of her gaze on them. She fucking wants me and I know it. We both want another dose of the insane chemistry we felt in that hallway at the Smoky Siren.

  But she told you she isn’t interested, my head says.

  Fuck that.

  “Ashton?”

  She puts her hand lightly on my chest and steps forward, bringing us closer. “Don’t worry about my war stories. It’s enough that you’re helping me with this job. You’ve made me happier than you could ever know.” Rising onto her tiptoes, she presses her lips lightly against my cheek.

  It’s like an electric charge races through my torso and centers below my belt. Heat spreads, my cock rises, and I’m ready to grab her and hold her against the wall, find her tongue with mine and claim that mouth, claim so much more…

  But just as fast, she’s gone.

  She steps away and whispers goodnight, leaving me standing in front of my door, frustrated as hell, and wondering what just happened.

  Ten

  Jax

  My alarm goes off at seven, and I’m out of bed. Shuffling to the bathroom, my eyes are still closed, and the scene that’s been replaying in my head all night is back—Ashton in the hall, in my arms, in those lacy shorts, that silky pink top. Her soft lips against my scruffy cheek…

  I shove my morning wood down and lean my head against the wall, forcing myself to focus. I wonder if she’s awake yet, when I hear pots and pans clanging downstairs. Sounds like a yes, but I’ve got to head into Palmetto for that meeting at the Java Hut.

  A notecard in a pewter tray on the dresser says a continental breakfast is served Monday through Friday from eight to ten with a full breakfast on the weekends. I should have just enough time to make it into town and back before anybody misses me.

  After a quick hop in the shower, I emerge from my room wearing jeans and a navy polo. I step quietly into the hallway and dash down the stairs, successfully avoiding detection. I’m glad I left my car at the top of the driveway last night as I turn the wheel toward town.

  Maybe it’s my pride, but I don’t want Ashton to know how much of a shoestring budget The Right Stud has. I don’t want her to think I’m not legit or worry I won’t be able to get her any new business with the exposure. It’s not often I want to impress a girl—hell, I’ve never had to—but something about her is different.

  Following the guide of my phone, I’m pulling into the Java Hut in less than ten minutes.

  Sure enough, as soon as I walk through the door, a tall guy with cropped brown hair and a hard gaze stands and walks toward me, extending a hand. He’s wearing an expensive-looking suit and flashes me a confident smile. I’m guessing he’s either a lawyer or a salesman.

  “Jax Roland?” he says as our hands clasp in a firm shake. “I got your voicemail about the property. Thanks for getting in touch with me so fast. Normally, I don’t do business on Sunday, but I’m anxious to get the ball rolling on selling this house.”

  I nod and follow him to a small table with a dark linoleum surface. The entire place is retro, with murals painted on the cinder block walls, and a decidedly 1950s-diner feel.

  “No problem.” I pull out a silver metal chair and take a seat. “It made sense to do it now, since I’m in the area, Mr…?”

  “Sorry, it’s Ben. Ben Hall.”

  Wait…

  “Coffee?” he asks as he waves to a waitress dressed in black jeans and a black tank. She obviously knows him and smiles.

  What the hell?

  Could he be related to Ashton?

  “Uh, yeah, coffee sounds great.” I nod as concern slowly washes over me.

  He keeps talking. “I inherited the property last year, but it’s been vacant until about three months ago. The main structure is in pretty bad shape. You’ll probably find more value in the land than the house.”

  The waitress quickly puts a thick mug of hot coffee in front of me and hustles to the next table. Ben smiles as he takes a sip of his, and I see the resemblance. Still… I have to be sure.

  “Where did you say the property is located again?” A lead weight is in my stomach as he recites the address for The Conch Shell.

  “My sister’s been there a while, sorting our grandmother’s personal belongings. It’s been a difficult time, but I think we’re ready to move forward on this.”

  “Move forward,” I say quietly. “On your family home. On the beach.” I grimace.

  I’m putting it all together. I remember yesterday when Ashton showed me to my room. She’d run downstairs to meet her brother, then I’d seen her just a short time later on the shore with her head in her hands. The weight of the world on her shoulders… It all makes sense now.

  He lets out a sigh. “I don’t mean to sound heartless, but the place is a true money pit. It’s a wooden home, built in the 1940s directly on the beach. Nothing is to code. It’s a maintenance nightmare. My grandmother worked on it all the time, but it’s never been fully renovated.”

  It’s like he’s speaking my words back to me, and all I can see is Ashton’s face, her sadness replaced with pure joy when I said I’d help her. I remember her spontaneous hug…

  Now this.

  “Of course, my sister and I have different ideas on the best way to handle the property—”

  My brain ignites at his words, and I get an idea, a way to stall. “Wait—so you’re not the sole owner of the property?”

  He shifts in his chair. “No, but I’m the oldest. I’m also an attorney…”

  I take a long sip of coffee. “None of that matters if you’re a co-owner. Your sister will have to agree to sell, otherwise there’s no point in even talking. You’ll have to go through probate or buy her out. It’s sticky and not something I’m interested in handling.”

  “You don’t have to explain the law to me.” He lifts his hand in a halting motion. “Trust me, my sister will come around. I just need you to visit the property and make us an offer. Once you see it, you’ll understand what I’m saying, and once my sister sees your offer, her resistance will disappear. It’s truly a gold mine just waiting to be tapped.”

  He’s right. It was the first thing I’d thought when I’d walked around the place yesterday morning, before I’d rung that doorbell. Now my feelings have done a one-eighty. “Still, I’m not comfortable getting in the middle of a family dispute.”

  Ben Hall exhales and leans back in his chair. “I’m sorry to hear that. Blaine is a good friend, and I’d wanted to give him my business. I suppose someone else will have to help me with it…”

  His voice trails off and I stiffen. My eyes squeeze shut for a moment, and my grip tightens around the warm mug. He’s right. If I say no and walk away from this, he’ll just go to the next guy on the list, and I’ll have no control in the matter. At least if I work with him, I’ll have some power over what happens. If it’s me handling the turnover, perhap
s I can buy us some time.

  Leaning forward, I exhale deeply. “I guess if you put it that way, I’ll take a look at it.”

  Ben’s eyes lighten. “Great! I’m glad to hear it.” He pulls out his phone and starts swiping. “I prefer working with people I know. I mean, yes, technically we’ve just met, but if Blaine sent you, I know you’re the best.”

  It’s true, I think ruefully. I’m the best all right.

  My phone vibrates, and I pull it out, studying the familiar address for The Conch Shell he just texted to me.

  “That’s the location.” Ben puts his phone in his breast pocket. “It’s probably best if you go on your own and check it out. If I tell my sister we’re coming, she’s likely to come up with some nutty reason why we can’t be there. If she sees us together, I wouldn’t put it past her to pull some stunt.”

  “She sounds like a character.” I know the truth of my words.

  “You have no idea.” There’s exasperation in his tone that annoys me, but I keep my expression neutral.

  We both stand, and Ben leaves cash on the table. “Just cruise by when you get a chance, scope it out, and let me know what you think. I’ll be waiting to hear from you.”

  We shake hands, and I walk with lead feet back to my car. My heart is heavy in my chest as I drive to the beach. I pull my car all the way up the drive this time and leave it unlocked.

  My mind is racing, and I’m sorting through what just happened and where it puts me. Ashton’s brother wants to sell the place, but she wants to fix it up. It’s why she invited me to come here.

  Would fixing it up help her avoid selling it? I need to find out and see what I can do to help her. I’m jogging up the steps when I realize without the sale of this place, I don’t have the extra money to invest in the show and in turn invest in the renovation. I guess that’s what you call irony… or shitty luck.

  “We’ll just have to make it work,” I mutter as I round the corner, almost flattening a parrot-toting Mrs. C coming out of her bedroom.

  She’s dressed in a bright orange kaftan with a pink turban on her head. “My, my, but you’re always in a hurry, Studly. I hope you’re not like that in the bedroom. Mr. C was as slow as molasses, but let me tell you, molasses is good to use in a pinch when you want to spice things up. Know what I mean?” She wiggles her eyebrows.

  I don’t want to know what she means. “I’m just headed to the kitchen for breakfast. Apologies for nearly running you down.”

  “Bacon!” the bird screeches.

  She pets him on the head with her finger. “Now, don’t be an asshole, Rufus. I won’t let him eat it all.” Her eyes go to mine. “Right, Studly?”

  “I’m sure there’s enough bacon to go around.”

  When we enter the kitchen, Rufus flies off her shoulder and perches on the tall curio in the corner, his beady eyes quickly surveying the place.

  My eyes are eager for Ashton. I need to find out what’s at stake for her in this renovation, and how I can help her, even if we’re back to a shoestring budget—a shoestring budget with no cushion in case something goes wrong.

  I can hear Tara’s voice in my head. Something always goes wrong.

  My stomach is tight, and I don’t want to think about anything going wrong—especially not when I see sexy Ashton skipping around the kitchen. Her long hair is twisted in a messy bun on top of her head, and she’s wearing that white apron. Her tan legs lead down to those cute little bare feet as she bustles around the kitchen. Damn, this is the way to start the day.

  I watch her juggle some kind of breakfast casserole, and I grab a hot pad and take it from her as she removes it from the oven.

  “It’s a quiche,” she says.

  “It smells delicious.”

  “I hope so. I got up later than usual, and I’m behind schedule.” I can see she’s flustered as she tells Mrs. C good morning. Glancing at the clock, I see it’s nine.

  “I bet this guy can help you.” Mrs. C points a long finger at me, and I have to check myself because she has no idea how much I really can help Ashton.

  “I sure can,” I say with a smile. “What do you need?”

  Ashton tilts her head toward a black skillet. “Start the bacon—”

  “Bacon!” Rufus squawks, making her jump.

  She glares and flips him off. “Keep your feathers on!”

  I smother a laugh. So this is how they do breakfast. Honestly, it’s not so different from Bernice’s house. I grab the bacon from the fridge and spread it out in the pan. The air fills with a sharp sizzling sound and the tangy scent of frying pork.

  Ashton works next to me, her arm brushing mine as she reaches for coffee cups from the cupboard.

  “Sorry,” she says as she bumps me with her hip.

  “No problem.” My eyes travel over her face, lingering on her lips. I remember that chaste kiss last night, and how dirty I wanted it to be. How dirty I dreamed of being with her, everywhere I want to kiss her, all night long.

  “The sexual tension is thick in this kitchen!” Mrs. C announces in her loud voice.

  I start and Ashton jumps back from me.

  “It is not!” She gives Mrs. C a side-eye. “We’re just cooking.”

  “You sure are! It’s getting hot in here…” She snaps her fingers and moves around the room singing. “So take off all your clothes.”

  Is she moonwalking? It’s hard to tell under the kaftan. The doorbell rings before I can ask her how she knows a Nelly song.

  “Cut up a jalapeño, and I’ll get the door.” She waves a hand over her head. “Just be sure to wash your hands good after.”

  “I am so sorry,” Ashton says as soon as the old lady is gone. I notice her cheeks are bright pink. “I did not intend for you to be sexually harassed in the workplace. Mrs. C is nuts, but she’s like family to me.”

  That makes me laugh. “You don’t have to worry about me. I’m used to crazy.” I think about my sister’s house. “I like it.”

  She shakes her head. “Mrs. C is not usually so persistent. She seems to think I need a…” She finishes with a little cough. “I don’t know.”

  “A good fuck?”

  Her face goes from bright pink to red-hot, and she huffs out a laugh. “Who knows? Maybe I do.”

  I nearly pass out with how fast the blood rushes to my cock. My jeans grow tight across the fly as I imagine her spread out on the kitchen table naked, her tits in my hands as I lick her pussy for breakfast. Then, when she’s screaming my name, I’ll flip her over and take her hard from behind…

  We’re facing each other, and it’s the Smoky Siren all over again. It’s as if our dirty thoughts are telepathy for each other. Her lips part, and all it would take is one step and my mouth would be on hers. I’m ready to do it. My feet start to move, when—

  “Who the hell are you?” An irritated male voice cuts in loudly from behind us.

  “Studly!” screeches Rufus.

  Some guy with ginger-colored hair and sharp green eyes is standing in the doorway with a scowl on his face. His eyes dart from me to Ashton, and I can tell he’s measuring the distance between us.

  “That, Dr. Kyle, is the man who’s going to plow… right through this house and fix it. In more ways than one!” Mrs. C crosses her arms, looking regal.

  I scowl right back at him, not liking his possessive attitude one bit.

  “Kyle! What are you doing here?” Ashton steps back quickly, the oven mitt forgotten as it slips from her hand.

  Kyle? Is this her fucking ex? My hands tighten and my back goes ramrod straight. Judging by the way her fingers are trembling, whatever he did to Ashton was bad.

  I’m ready to punch his lights out.

  Eleven

  Ashton

  Isn’t there some cosmic limit on the number of surprises one person can get in a month? Yesterday, Jax shows up in my kitchen, now Kyle? And what the hell right does he have to stand here looking all pissed off about Jax helping me make breakfast?

  Granted
we were practically chest to chest just now, and stepping back, I do detect the slightest bulge in the front of Jax’s jeans. Lord, what I wouldn’t give to see that bulge uncovered… or feel that bulge in all the right places.

  “I didn’t know you were open for business.” Kyle’s voice is formal, and his eyes are solely on me. He’s obviously doing his best not to acknowledge our guest.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” My tone is sharp. If he’s attempting some sort of double entendre, I’ll whop him with a skillet and bury him out back, I swear to God. Like he has any right.

  My ex-fiancé clears his throat. “Would it be possible for me to have a word with you? Alone?”

  I stand listening to the sound of bacon sizzling and the coffee pot gurgling for the beat of ten seconds. Breakfast is mostly done, except for the muffins. Technically, I have time to chat. Still, he is an asshole.

  My eyes rake over Kyle, the sting of his betrayal is still strong, yet I can’t help but acknowledge that he’s handsome in khakis and a sky blue golfing shirt—one I bought for him on our vacation to Maui last year. Today’s Sunday, and I assume he’s on his way to meet a buddy at the golf course. Ever pragmatic, he probably stopped here because it’s on the way.

  The tension in the room ramps up as Kyle and I stare at each other. I chew on my lip, recalling all the Sundays I stayed home while he golfed.

  But then maybe he hadn’t really been golfing? Maybe he spent those days with Monica. Familiar rage bubbles, and I don’t even care that Jax is about to witness a show down with Kyle. I’m past it. Once someone cheats or lies to you, it makes you do and say crazy things.

  My lips compress.

  “Ashton?” His voice is more insistent now.

  “I don’t know,” I say sharply. “What exactly do you want?”

  His eyes flare slightly, and he has the nerve to seem annoyed. “I want to talk to you without all these people around.”