by Lisa Wells
“You have to. There’s a contract. Besides, I’ve already called, and they agreed to let you take my place.”
When had Casp made time to call the show and break his contract? “I’ll break the contract. I can’t go on the show and look for a wife at the same time. None of us know how much longer Grandmother has.”
“You can’t break the contract,” Casp told him.
Covey sighed. He was the oldest of the three boys. He was born three minutes earlier than Casp and five minutes earlier than Colton. As the oldest, it was up to him to set a standard. To brave what they all feared most. “Fine, I’ll find a wife first. Once I’ve found one, it’s your turn Casp. Colton, if Grandmother is still alive after Casp finds one, you’re going to have to bite the bullet and find one for yourself.”
Chapter 3
Lacey Valentine reclined on the leather couch in the swanky office of Dr. Sullivan and stared at the credentials hanging in expensive looking frames on the paneled walls. She could swear they were shouting “you’re a looser” at her.
She shifted her position and focused on the woman who was billing her two-hundred dollars an hour to mend her broken ego and deflated heart.
The Doc was sitting in a straight back chair with a pen and notepad. She was waiting for Lacey to speak. Two-hundred dollars a session and Lacey had to do all the work.
Dr. Sullivan radiated the classic shrink image. Dark suits, small eye glasses, and a tightly wound bun. If she had a body beneath the shapeless suits she wore, Lacey couldn’t tell.
In the beginning stages of her therapy, eight sessions ago, Lacey would try to wait Dr. Sullivan out to see if she would cave and start the session. Dr. Sullivan never started. Silence was okay with her. The woman would be a barrel of laughs at a party. The woman’s poor husband must not require a lot of excitement in his life.
Lacey, on the flipside, hated silence. She liked noise and people. She liked distractions, happiness. She abhorred the dark cloud covering her since she walked in on Marty. It was like living in a rainy day time warp.
Today, though, Lacey wasn’t depressed; she was pissed. Rightfully, pissed. She looked at her therapist. “They’re getting married. Their announcement is in the paper.” The bimbo’s such an unbelievable idiot for saying “I do” to Urinal Scum.
Three months ago, she’d discovered Marty in bed with Ms. January, and now their engagement was plastered in the paper. They actually announced their engagement on the eve of what should have been her and Marty’s wedding night. No way was this a coincidence. He was an ass; the bimbo was a dumbass.
Lacey was glad she’d given up any pretense of loving Marty. They were, she could now admit, a convenience couple. What bothered her was the whole issue of being cheated on.
Who could you trust if you couldn’t trust your fiancée? How could you ever believe in fidelity in marriage if you couldn’t even keep a man happy sexually while you were dating? What had been wrong with her? Why had she been cheated on? She kicked her heels off and threw her legs over the side of the couch as she rattled off the litany of questions to herself.
The Doc leaned toward her. “I saw their announcement. How does that make you feel?” No emotion marked her face.
Lacey snorted. “Like shit.” Why did therapists ask dumb questions about how things make you feel, when it’s obvious how they make you feel? If it made her feel good, she wouldn’t be in therapy.
Dr. Sullivan stopped writing and looked at her thoughtfully. “How long are you going to let him make you feel like shit?”
Lacey groaned. Dr. Sullivan came highly recommended by Lacey’s best friend, Maddison. Perhaps, she should have checked around for some other references. “Do you think I have control over the way I feel? It’s not like I bought a freakin’ ticket to get on this wooden rollercoaster ride.”
“Yes. I do think you have some control you’re not exercising. You have a choice to enjoy life.”
“How?” Lacey snapped and plopped her feet down on the couch cushions.
There was a long pause. The Doc took off her glasses, pulled a white silk hanky out of her suit pocket, and proceeded to clean her glasses with the exquisite piece of material.
Lacey drummed her fingers on the couch. Is it my turn to say something? No, it’s hers. God, she takes forever to answer. She’s cleaning her freakin’ glasses on my time.
“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 in to have sex with your patients when 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?
Dr. Sullivan laughed. “No. I’m afraid I don’t offer that service. You’ll have to come up with your own man. But, I think you need to take this step to put Marty, and his calendar girl, behind you. He’s obviously placed you behind him.”
The arousing image of an X-rated movie star coming through the doors flew from Lacey’s mind. Placed me behind him. The doctor was hitting below the belt. There was no call, none whatsoever, to be so bloody blunt? “Oh, I’m over him. Don’t worry your analytical mind about that. In fact, I don’t even know why I’m still coming to see you.” Lacey searched for more words that would salvage her pride. “I guess I come out of habit. I must be subconsciously trying to help you put your kids through college or something.” Take that you witchy woman. She sat up and searched for her shoes. What kind of doctor makes fun of her patients?
A touch of a smile lifted the corners of Dr. Sullivan’s lips. “I appreciate the help, Lacy, but I don’t have children. I’m not married.”
Lacey clenched her hands. She’s having fun at my expense. “Go figure.” Lacey sniffed loudly to add emphasis to her insult. The Doc was kind of old to be single wasn’t she? Thirty, thirty-three. Past her prime.
Dr. Sullivan ignored her gnarly comment. “I do agree; you don’t need to see me any longer. In fact, why don’t we make this your graduation project?”
Lacey was being thrown in the snow and expected to swim instead of ski. Sex! She couldn’t think of a man she wanted to have dinner with, let alone sex. “A graduation project? I have to grad-u-ate from therapy?” she questioned.
As a therapy rookie, Lacey had no idea if this was a normal assignment? Normal? When was the last time her life could be described as normal? It does sound like a fun graduation project. Beats the hell out of the thesis I did on the male psyche for my Masters.
“Yes. I think you need to get back in the saddle.” The good doctor walked behind her desk and picked up a file.
Lacey leaned against the arm of the couch. “What happens if I don’t? Do I flunk out of therapy?” I’ve never flunked anything.
Dr. Sullivan scribbled on a post-it and stuck it in the folder. “Think about it. It’s your decision. But, I think it would help you move on. Remember, it’s not what happens to you that matters…”
Lacey nodded her head and rolled her eyes. “It’s how you react to what happens that makes you the person you become,” Lacey finished the mantra.
Dr. Sullivan nodded, and the session ended.
****
Lacey called Maddison as soon as the Doc’s door shut behind her. “You are never going to believe my graduation assignment from therapy?”
“Graduation assignment?” Maddison was at the gym participating in a spinning class. Her labored breathing made it hard for Lacey to understand her.
“She wants me to have sex?” Lacey told her loudly. A g
entlemen walking toward her gave her a startled look and tripped on a nonexistent obstacle. “Stop spinning and listen,” Lacey shrieked, ignoring the raised eyebrows of the man.
“Who does?” Maddison asked.
“My therapist, Dr. Sullivan. The one you assured me was normal, even though she spends her day with abnormal people,” Lacey whispered.
The whirring noise of the spin cycle ceased. “She wants you to have sex with her?” Maddison exclaimed.
“No. With a man,” Lacey hissed into the phone.
“She hired a man to have sex with you?” Maddison screamed straight into Lacey’s right eardrum.
Lacey jumped and held the phone away from her ear. Finally, we’re on the same wave length. She walked out the doors of the office building and placed the phone to her left ear. “That’s what I asked her. She acted like it was a weird question. Can you believe I have to come up with my own guy for sex?” The least the Doc could have done was supply a man for the job.
Maddison laughed, and then gave her signature purr. “You go girl. Do you have someone in mind?”
Lacey smiled. The two of them were opposites. The only thing they ever had in common was the purple crayon they both wanted in second grade. Which lead to a shoving match. Which lead to a time-out in the I’m sorry chair. Which lead to a decision to lie and say they liked each other so they could get out of the chair. Somehow, they just never got around to remembering they didn’t really like each other, and they became the best of friends by the end of the day.
Lacey wiped the smile from her thoughts and tried to sound accusing. “You’re not shocked at all, are you?”
“No, it sounds like a good idea. Do you have a man in mind?” Maddison demanded to know.
Do I have a man in mind? Let’s see. Elvis has left the building. “What do you think?”
“Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease, tell me you do,” Maddison screamed. “It’s been months, and he was cheating on you.”
“Kill the bastard pig,” was shouted from someone in the background.
She has me on speakerphone. Lacey groaned. Now the whole spinning class knows about my sex life. “Silly me, while I was dating Marty exclusively for two years, I forgot to line up some what-ifs for get-over-him sex.”
“May he die a terrible death,” Maddison said.
She said these words every time Marty’s name escaped Lacey’s lips.
Lacey heard female cheers in the background. “Amen,” she muttered.
A horrible death was too good for Marty. He deserved something really bad. Lacey just didn’t know what would be bad enough to make them even.
“I have the perfect guy for you to do it with,” Maddison cried out.
“Who?” Her idea of a perfect man and Maddison’s idea of a perfect man weren’t identical.
“My neverfailbootycall man.” There were raucous cheers in the background.
“Do you really call him that?” Lacey tried to visualize how the words would look in writing.
“Yes. Do you want his number?” Maddison asked. The excitement in her voice crept through the cell and threatened to attach itself to Lacey.
“No… Yes… Oh, God. Maybe.” Lacey wasn’t at all sure about this assignment. Sex. Actual sex. Not, grab-a-vibrator sex. Sex with a stranger. Could she do that? Would she do that?
“Come on. He’s terrific. If you’re going to have sex to get over Marty, may he die a horrible death, you might as well have it with the best in the business.”
Loud cheers erupted and blasted her eardrums. The class was getting much too involved in Lacey’s business. “Amen,” she responded and then snorted in disbelief. “Is he really the best?” What were the job criteria for the title of “the best?”
“We don’t call him Neverfail for nothing.”
Okay, neverfail is a good criterion.
Ego boosted by Maddison and under the peer pressure of her spin class cohorts, Lacey acted out of character. “Give me his number?” If having sex would get a new chapter started in her life, so be it.
I’ll do it for my business. Fantasy Weekends was suffering. Her clients wanted new sexual-fantasies to live out with their spouses. They wanted never-before-handed-out fantasies. Who could blame them. That’s what her company was famous for. The only problem was she couldn’t think of any. All she could think of was ways to get even with Marty.
It was time to either get on with life or rename her business, Revenge Fantasies.
Maddison gave a whoop of glee and rattled off the number, “732-6969.”
Lacey hung up and punched in Neverfail’s number before she could think herself out of the graduation project. “Hi. Is this Neverfail?”
I can’t believe I just asked that question.
“You got it baby. Who gave you the Luv Number?” The voice, on the other end, was a mixture of surfer-dude meets marijuana-dude. Heavy on the marijuana mix.
“Maddison gave me your number.” Lacey felt three degrees of red burn her cheeks. She wasn’t a hussy by nature. She was more first date equals first base kind of girl.
“How is the old girl doing? I haven’t seen her, in like, a couple of months.”
I think Marty’s bimbo might be smarter than you. “She’s fine. Listen. Are you interested in having sex?”
What kind of girl asks a complete stranger that kind of question? Is this what she had to look forward to? Begging guys to have sex with her?
“Sure, why not. I’m always interested in sex. Your place or mine?”
“Yours.” Lacey set up the time and wrote down his address. She drove to Victoria’s Secret for some courage in the form of sexy panties. She changed in the dressing room and threw her old underwear away. From there, she drove to his apartment. She sat in the parking lot long enough to get her breathing under control and then opened the door. Taking a determined step out of the vehicle, she locked it and never looked back.
Time to think would kill the moment. Kill her courage. If she thought, she would never go through with it.
Neverfail answered on the second knock. He was tan, buff, semi-handsome, and mostly naked. The stability of a towel, riding low on his hips, appeared to totally hinge on a tiny piece of material tucked in between skin and more material right below a heart tattoo. It wasn’t a large towel.
It was a piece of fabric that begged a woman to take a closer look. It was wanton, enticing a woman to view the long legs stretching miles from underneath it. It was scandalous in the way it begged a woman to yank it just to see the hidden parts. The towel was also damn thin. Not at all thick and fluffy. It was see-through, touch-me, forget-the-legs, thin.
A movement, originating behind the middle of the towel, brought her out of her trance. Not bad.
“Yo, you must be Lacey. Nice bod. I took a shower for you,” he said, pointing to his towel.
I bought new underwear for you. Was he expecting her to yank down her jeans and show him her purchase?
No, not yet. That will come later. Let’s get the kiss out of the way, first.
Lacey handed him a package of condoms and walked past him into the living room. “I’ve never done this before.”
I’ve never had sex with a stranger; I’ve never had to fight the urge to rip a towel off a man and have my way with him in his front door.
Lacey’s knees began to wobble. Have I ever been so nervous about sex? I never should have agreed to this. Never. She leaned a hip against the wall to keep upright.
Neverfail gave her a goofy look and grinned. “No problem. I like virgins. Totally groovy.” He put two thumbs up in the air and winked.
“A virgin?” He thinks I’m a virgin? Do I look like a virgin? I was going for sex goddess.
He nodded. “It’s okay. I get it. You’ve been saving yourself for Mr. Right, and now, you’re tired of waiting. Right?”
Lacey opened her mouth to explain her experience, but quickly snapped it shut. This was sex. He was her studmuffin. Is that what a gal calls a surfer dude?
Who
cares? I want sex. Stop thinking…
He snapped the towel away from his waist, and Lacey struggled for breath. If she wore dentures, they would have landed on his linoleum floor.
“Neverfail to the rescue,” he exclaimed, with a boyish smile.
“Oh…my.” Words failed her. Her lungs failed her.
He gave her a look of amusement. “All right, the lady’s impatient. I dig keen women,” he said, giving her the thumbs up thing again. He widened his stance and pointed to his package. “Nice, uh?”
On a scale of one to ten, she’d have to admit his penis looked like a ten. Long, thin, straight up, no leaning. She nodded, and her finger did a twirly motion all on its own accord.
She couldn’t stop it. She was treating the hunk of beef like a stripper. Like a meat market purchase. If she had any dollars handy, she would get them out, lick them, and stick them on him. How gross is that, licking a dollar to get it to stick to a naked man’s body. But, lick it she would.
She was enthralled with this beautiful man in front of her. His ass was…well it was perfectly formed. Tanned. No tan lines. Was he a regular at the tanning beds?
He gave her a look from over his shoulders. “Have I passed inspection?” he asked, with a funny laugh and a cocky lift to his eyebrows.
Lacey felt a weight lifted from her. She felt free. Alive. Horny. Her response flew out of her mouth. “I believe in making my decisions based on actions, not the scenery. Where are we doing this at?”
How could her voice sound so calm when her insides were a quivering bowl of excited oatmeal? Fantasies were her bread and butter, but you played them out with someone you know. You didn’t calmly play them out with a man you met five minutes ago.
Who went to a stranger’s house for sex? No one with a brain would do this. Yet, here she was? Why?
So what if she didn’t graduate from therapy. She could be a dropout. So what if they forced her to go to basement meetings and say, “Hi. My name is Lacey. I’m a therapy dropout.”
She turned to leave. This was a bad idea. She should sue her therapist for suggesting it.