by Lisa Wells
Was the doctor prescribing sex?
Lacey Valentine reclined on the leather couch in the swanky office of Dr. Sullivan and stared at the certificates hanging in expensive looking frames on the paneled walls. She could swear they were shouting loser at her.
She shifted and focused in on the woman billing her two hundred dollars an hour to mend her broken ego and deflated heart.
“Lacey, it’s time you had sex with a man.” The Doc said the words with a straight face and an arched brow, before sliding her glasses back on her nose.
Lacey sat up. “Do what?” Had she heard right? Was the doctor prescribing sex? Was that legal?
“You need to get back out there and have sex with a man.” She held up her hand when Lacey started to interrupt. “It will help you move on. To get past this episode in your life.”
Lacey couldn’t believe it. Who was this woman who had invaded the Doc’s body? “Do you have a man on retainer that comes when in you prescribe sex as a cure?” Lacey glanced at the door. Was a well-hung, great-looking man, standing on the other side just waiting for the signal to come on in and meet an easy lay?
Dibs
by
Lisa Wells
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Dibs
COPYRIGHT Ó 2008 by Lisa Wells
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: [email protected]
Cover Art by Rae Monet
The Wild Rose Press
PO Box 706
Adams Basin, NY14410-0706
Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com
Publishing History
Champagne Rose Edition, 2008
PRINT ISBN 1-60154-311-5
Published in the United States of America
Dedication
Thanks to my husband and my children
for giving me quiet time to write.
Thanks to my extended family for their support.
Thanks to Laura B. I dared her to run a marathon
and she dared me to write a book.
Thanks to Coyeatte E. who read my pages
even though the steam rising from the pages
took the curl out of her hair.
I love all of you.
Chapter 1
Lacey parked her cherry red, Mustang convertible quicker than a bride running late on her wedding day. She grabbed the necessities from the backseat: strawberries, whip cream, and condoms, then sprinted to her front door, coming to a teetering halt inches away from the newly painted frame. “Shoulders back, chest out, take a deep breath, and breathe in the fantasy,” she told herself.
She grabbed the silver knob, twisted it, and gave the door a hardy push with her elbow. This was no fantasy, this was reality. A nooner with her fiancé. Afternoon sex, her favorite, rarely fit into their schedules.
The door didn’t open. “What?”
Why did Marty lock my front door? And why is the radio blaring? It sounded like a Mardi Gras parade was marching through her house.
She shifted the bag of goodies and twisted the knob again. Definitely locked.
“Marty, you’re here aren’t you?” She turned and checked the driveway to make sure it was his car she’d seen. His Lincoln sat squarely in the center of it.
Lacey could understand locking her front door if she lived in downtown Kansas City, but not in a subdivision known for backyard barbeques and Christmas decorating contests. She lived in quiet little, no crime, Mistletoe, MO.
Lacey dug through her oversized purse for her house key. She found it, and a half-eaten chocolate bar, hiding in the pages of an erotica novel she was reading for research.
“We’re loosing precious time,” she grumbled, as she unlocked the door. “Ready or not, here I come.”
Marty wouldn’t be ready. He wasn’t expecting her. He’d be delightfully surprised.
As far as he knew, she was stuck in a meeting with a prospective couple. Lacey smiled in female anticipation. She loved surprises.
She gave the door a push and it opened. About one inch.
“Damn.” Lacey stomped her foot. Her heel snapped and she lost her balance. She grabbed the doorframe for support.
“Marty, what are you doing?” She tried to slip her hand through the crack to dislodge the chain. “Are you hiding from the mob?” she muttered with a soft laugh.
Her man and the mob? That would never happen.
Her knuckles scraped plaster. “Ouch!” She couldn’t dislodge the chain.
Of course, Marty wasn’t hiding from the Mob. He was beige vanilla. Cute, but vanilla.
She rang the doorbell and shook her head in disbelief. “Who has to ring their own doorbell? The neighbors are going to think I’ve lost my marbles.”
As if on cue, the neighbor’s cat sauntered up and rubbed her leg with his face. “Sorry, Bedfellow, no time for you today,” she said, and shoved the tabby cat away with her foot.
Marty didn’t answer the door.
She wobbled to her car on her one good open-toe pump, grabbed the garage door opener, and entered the house through the back.
The house was sultry with jazz tunes; music to mate to. Lacey stood still and swayed rhythmically to a song she’d never heard. “Sounds like you’ve figured out I’m here,” she murmured. “I could use this song in a harem fantasy.” She glanced toward the stairs leading to her bedroom, hoping to see Marty standing there dressed for a fantasy. He enjoyed fantasies involving costumes.
The stairwell was vacant. “You must have seen me pull up and you’re playing mysterious.” It was the only way she could explain the music. Marty normally preferred the television to music. If he had music playing and the door locked, he had to be setting the mood for a sex game.
Games were a first-rate way to keep the sex alive in a relationship. Lacey dropped her keys on the laundry table, kicked off her shoes, and headed for the stairs.
Halfway up, the song ended, and before the next one could start, Lacey heard a sound. A moaning, breathy sound.
She stumbled. Moaning, in my bedroom, and I’m not in there.
Her knees buckled. She grabbed for the banister and sat next to her worthless dog who thought the third stair from the top was exclusively his territory.
Normally, Botox would growl at anyone who crowded his area. Today, he licked her arm, slobbering her out of her stupor. “What’s the proper etiquette on interrupting someone jacking off?” she whispered.
The dog’s attention span was zero-minus-fifty. Before the words coming out of her mouth could form a complete sentence, Botox returned his attention to his bone.
Lacey narrowed her eyes. “Who gave you a bone?” Botox was on a strict diet. Lately, he’d been accumulating wrinkles upon layers of wrinkles. Marty must be sneaking you snacks. He’s such a softy.
Botox was a purebred English bulldog. Purebred didn’t translate into immaculate manners. The damn dog left slobber on everything in his path.
Botox took his wet mystery bone and trotted down the stairs.
“Are you telling me to give Marty time to hide his bone?”
Lacey shook off the possibility. Botox wasn’t smart enough to tell her he needed to go poop, let alone give her advice on men. The dumb dog had flunked out of obedience school three times before she taught him to sit.
He was probably being pissy because she
smelled like Bedfellow.
Focus. “What am I going to do?” She strummed her fingers on the stairs.
It’ll embarrass both of us if I walk in on him. But, then again, if he’s jacking off in my home, he has to know he could get caught.
She looked toward her bedroom. Does the thought of getting caught, turn you on?
The thought of being caught aroused men. Lacey learned this early in her career as a sexual fantasy coordinator. Ask a man what they fantasize about and you hear, “Getting caught with the maid; or getting caught in an elevator; or getting caught…” It always begins with getting caught.
She stood up straight and swallowed the lump in her throat. “Prepare to be caught.” Living out fantasies helped her relate to customers who were often timid about acting on their desires to role play.
She tiptoed up the remaining steps to her bedroom door. “One, two, three,” she whispered, before taking a deep breath and swinging the door open.
“Shit.” The air in her lungs swooshed out, and she felt like someone kicked her in the abs.
Two people, not one, occupied her king-size bed, both in the throes of orgasm. Marty was on top; she recognized his rooster tail. She couldn’t tell who was underneath him. But there was definitely someone underneath him.
Their mutual pleasure was loud; so loud, they didn’t know she was there.
“You two-timing bastard. You’re having great sex in my bed.” Sweat popped out on her forehead and under her arms. The room started spinning. She grabbed the bedpost for support.
With her free hand, she grabbed the sheet twined around them and yanked it as hard as she could. The stupid sheet didn’t budge. Four-hundred thread count tangled around their naked bodies and lodged solidly underneath the mystery body.
The vicious tug did manage to get their attention.
“What the hell?” Marty spat out. His mouth slammed shut when he noticed Lacey at the foot of the bed. “Lacey? What? What are you doing here?” He reached over and turned off the CD player. He glanced at the blanket moving up and down over the area of his lower body. He placed his hand on the lump in an apparent attempt to still the movement.
A blonde emerged. “Did you say something? What’s wrong Pooky Pooh?”
He didn’t answer the blonde. He pushed her aside and out of Lacey’s line of sight.
If he hoped Lacey hadn’t gotten a good look, he was out of luck. Lacey saw the size of her boobs and the bleached highlights of her tangled hair. Neither were natural.
Bitch.
The woman wasn’t willing to lay flat and pretend she wasn’t there. Or, not smart enough to try. She pushed Marty’s restraining arm away and sat up.
Was that him on her face?
Oh God, it is him.
Lacey doubled over and threw-up. She could’ve thrown up on the cozy rug at the end of the bed, but she didn’t bother to move her head. Instead, she threw-up on their feet.
“Shit, Lacey. Did you have to do that?” Marty shouted in disgust.
Lacey’s eyes daggered him. She picked his shirt up off the floor and wiped her mouth on it. She tossed the soiled shirt his way and stomped to her dresser. She picked up a brush, took careful aim, and flung it at them.
The damn brush flew past them both.
“Who is this woman?” the blonde asked. She pointed a shiny, green, fake nail at Lacey.
Marty gave the woman a terse shake of his head and turned beseeching eyes to Lacey. “Lacey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for you to find out this way.”
The dumb blonde cocked her head at him like a confused canine.
Lacey found her voice and took a step around the bed. “You didn’t mean for me to find out this way? Who are you kidding? You’re fucking in my bed.” Her voice rose to a faint thread of hysteria.
“Yeah, but you had a meeting today. What are you doing home?” he whined.
Lacey made a low, guttural sound. She leaned toward him and poked her finger in his chest. “You are urinal scum. No, you’re worse than urinal scum. You low-down, cheating bastard.” She spat each word slowly and clearly. A war of emotions raged within her.
He blinked. Her language probably surprised the hell out of him. She snarled. Did he think she was going to react like a gentle lady?
Lacey fixed the bimbo with a killer stare and pointed at her. “You want to know who I am?” she asked coldly. “I’m his fiancé. Who the fuck are you?”
Marty didn’t let the bimbo speak. “Lacey, this is Ms. January. Remember, darling, I judged that calendar competition last month? We met then.”
Oh, thank you so much for the formal introduction.
Ms. January held out her hand.
Unbelievable. Does she really think I’m going shake her hand? Does her IQ even get out of the single digits?
Lacey took a step away from the bed and pointed toward the door. “Get out. Get out of my bed and out of my house.” It was a good thing she didn’t have a gun in the house. If she did, she would use it.
“Your house?” Ms. January asked. “This is your home? Marty, I thought you lived here.” Ms. January looked from Lacey to Marty, cheeks red.
Marty shrugged his shoulders. “My house is in the country. It takes too long to drive out there for a quickie.”
“Marty, you bad, bad boy.” The blonde slapped at him and shrugged at Lacey as if to say, “my bad.”
Humor? She’s reacting with humor? Murderous impulses surged to Lacey’s fingertips. If only she had a gun. Marty’s dick wasn’t that big, but she was confident she could nail it from close range.
“Does this mean the engagement is off?” Marty asked Lacey while sitting up and covering his vulnerable parts with his hands. “Honey, it doesn’t have to be off. We can work through this.”
The blonde gasped. “Marty? What are you saying?”
Lacey turned to leave. She had given this man two years of her life. And for what? Humiliation? She stopped and looked at the pair from over her shoulder. “You have five minutes to get out or I’m calling the cops.”
Two minutes later, Lacey heard the click of the back door. They were gone. Now what?
Chapter 2
Covey James rubbed at the knot in the back of his neck and surveyed the audience from his vantage point behind the stage curtains.
He’d rather be shoveling cow manure on a hot summer day than waiting to appear on the ToSay Show. Unfortunately, he wasn’t given the choice of shoveling shit. For about the fiftieth time in five minutes, he glanced over at the show’s count-down clock. In five minutes, forty-eight seconds, he’d walk out on stage with his two brothers and grandmother. They’d take a seat in front of an audience and let the public, once again, pry into their private lives.
The audience contained several of his old girlfriends.
There were no valid reasons for any of them to be here. His life, his future, should be of no concern to them. What could they possibly care about today’s show topic? Were they here to make a scene?
His jaw clenched and the knot grew tighter in his neck. He wasn’t in the mood for drama. Rejected women, he knew all too well, could reek havoc in a man’s life. Even one’s who were rejected with diamonds as a goodbye gift.
Covey wasn’t mentally prepared to handle havoc today. His mind was wrapped around his grandmother’s health.
Two days ago, she dropped a bombshell on her family. They were still reeling from the shock. She had cancer.
The tabloid reports, she’d denied for a month, were true. Breast cancer. She was dying. The backbone of his family was dying, and he was helpless to stop it. Just like he’d been helpless to stop the death of his parents when he was ten.
His grandmother was sitting to the side of the stage waiting to go on the show. Sitting beside her was one of his triplet brothers, Colton. His other triplet, Casp, had just barreled into the room. Covey looked at the clock. Four minutes, twenty-two seconds to go. Casp was thirty minutes late.
Covey watched him stop to say hello to th
eir grandmother and then saunter toward him.
“Nice of you to show up on time,” Covey said.
“Traffic was a bitch. I made it,” Casp replied.
They both looked over at their grandmother.
“Do you think she looks pale?” Covey asked.
“Not really. I think she looks excited about something.”
Covey shook his head in disagreement. “I think she looks pale.” He motioned for Colton to join them. “How’s Grandmother doing? Do you think she looks pale?”
Colton shrugged. “It’s probably the lights making her look pale. Everyone looks pale under lights. She seems in good spirits.”
Casp punched Covey in the arm and chuckled wickedly. “If you want to worry about someone, I’d worry about Alice. She’s not looking too happy. What’s up with her?”
Covey’s focus shifted to the audience and he grimaced. The woman in question was sitting in the front row with a bored expression on her perfectly made-up face. She was damn good at looking bored. And being bored for that matter. “She’s pissed I didn’t drop everything to spend the weekend with her.” What was it about women and their unreasonable demands? If Alice wanted his undivided attention for the weekend, she could have called ahead.
Casp grabbed the curtain and pulled it a little further back. “Hey, isn’t that Cathy and Deb out there?”
Covey didn’t have to look. He’d already seen them. He nodded and sighed deep. “Yep.”
Casp laughed. “Oh hell, Bro, don’t look now. Isn’t that the one-and-only-Sally, let’s-get-married-Covey, sitting right next to Alice?”
A whispery thin blonde was sitting next to another whispery thin blonde. “The one and the same. They’re coming out of the wood-work for this big interview,” Covey muttered. “You’d think they were going to get a piece of the pie.”
Casp’s face lit up with amusement. “Wow, Alice is really going to be pissed if they say anything to her about you.”
Covey let out another deep sigh. The knot in his neck was beginning to feel like a noose. He didn’t care if Alice was pissed. The two of them had a good time when they were together, but if it wasn’t good for her anymore, all she had to do was say so. No big deal to him.