I see her point and concede. “Fine, you do have a certain . . . reputation.”
We do our next run, the walk back down taking longer, and as we walk, I can’t help but notice how sexy Courtney’s legs are, the way her ass flexes as she runs.
“Okay, bonus round,” Courtney gasps when we’ve got just one sprint left. “Favorite position?”
I blink, not sure if I heard right or if the oxygen debt is starting to affect my hearing and my brain. I look over at Courtney, but despite her heaving chest and the flush on her face from how hard she’s been running, I think she’s dead serious.
Holy shit. My mind goes utterly blank and then starts flashing a movie’s worth of images of me and Courtney in position after position, replays of fantasies and dreams I’ve had before but now seem so much more possible with her so close and the memory of her riding my lap so real.
“Hard . . . to say. The eyes are the windows to the soul,” I tell her, stepping close enough to brush an escaped lock of hair behind her ear. I look down at her, her eyes swirling with so many emotions I can’t pick them out before they disappear. This might be the worst decision I’ve ever made, but I say what I’m thinking anyway, tempting fate. “But I love the sight of a tight, curvy ass bouncing as my cock thrusts in and out of her.”
Courtney’s breath catches, and the air between us crackles with sexual tension. She bites her lip, but the timer on my phone goes off and it’s time to run.
“I . . . I love it from behind,” she blurts before taking off up the hill. She sprints this time, as hard as she can, and I hold back a step to watch Courtney’s ass flex as she pushes herself up the hill. Fuck, it’s gorgeous, just like the rest of her. We cross the finish line one last time, and Courtney almost collapses because she’s worked so hard.
I reach out, grabbing her before she can fall to the dirty trail. I don’t mean to, but my left hand finds her breast naturally, her heart hammering under my palm and the pebble of her nipple hardening automatically at my touch.
“S–sorry,” I gasp, but Courtney leans into my hands, still catching her breath. She’s half bent over, and if this were a different place, a different time, I know I could take her just like this, her ass pressed against my crotch and one hand cupping a perfect breast while I hold her waist.
Later.
Later, when I can jack off in the shower again and remember this moment with a different outcome.
Courtney recovers, but it still feels like she stands up slowly, not wanting to break our touch. “Thanks . . . I’d hate to have broken my face.”
She spins in my arms, facing me with that perfect face that’s looking at me with a little shock and an uncertain smile as if she’s not sure what comes next either.
Should I kiss her again? Should I pick her up, have her wrap those legs around my waist? Should I spin her back around and pull those shorts down and bury my face in her pussy so I can finally know what she tastes like?
Rationality wars against my baser needs but eventually wins.
“Do you really think we need to know favorite positions?” I ask, my voice husky.
“You can never be too prepared,” she says, her eyes sparkling. Sexier words have never been spoken. To me, at least.
“We should go down.”
She smirks.
“No, I mean . . . are you ready?”
It blossoms into a full-blown grin.
“The hill.”
She lets me off the hook, patting my chest playfully. “C’mon, Kaede. I’m hungry, and last one down buys lunch.”
Instead of a walk down, she takes off one last time, leaving me chasing her because there is no way in hell I’m going to pass her and give up this view of her ass and the sound of her joyous laughter coming back at me on the wind.
We get back to the start line and collapse to the grass as I congratulate Court. “Way to go, Andrews.” I hold a hand up in a lazy high-five, not expecting her to actually hit my palm back. “I didn’t think you had it in you.”
“What?” she squeals.
A spray of water douses me, and I sputter, blinking the droplets from my eyes. “What the fuck?”
She does it again and I return fire. “What was that for?” I yell, getting to my feet and chasing her around the small clearing.
“You set me up!” she yells, grinning as she accuses me.
I squeeze my bottle again, sending a wide spray of water her way. “Would you have rather I told you that you were gonna puke?” I shift my feet, dancing my way closer to her without scaring her off. “I told you that you’d be fine, and you are.”
I thought I was hunting her, getting within dousing range, but she’s the siren drawing me to her rocky shores to annihilate me. Apparently having drunk only a bit of her water, she unleashes a torrent of nearly twenty-four ounces right over my head. “Gotcha!”
Already defeated, I give up on fighting the water and instead run into the line of fire to grab her around the waist. I tackle her to the ground, spinning in midair to take the hit as we touch down. “Gotcha back!” She’s straddling me again, her knees on the soft grass and her smile bright.
Still squeezing her bottle for dear life, she’s trying to get blood from a turnip because it’s bone dry and she’s out of luck. Too bad for her that while I was taking her shots, I saved my water.
I splash her with one more good stream, her T-shirt going sheer and sticking to her skin like in a wet T-shirt contest. I have never hated sports bras as much as I do in this instant because it’s the one thing keeping me from her tits.
God, this is fun! When was the last time I had silly, crazy fun with someone? I can’t remember.
I’m surprised it’s with Courtney too. Both of us are so serious, so driven, but when we’re together, it’s like those chains are broken and we can be . . . ourselves.
Once we’re both breathless and waterless, I hold out my hands. “Truce. I surrender.”
She points a short pink nail in my face. “I don’t puke on dates. It’s a rule.” Her voice is firm, but she’s fighting laughter the whole time.
Too soon, she falls off me, collapsing to the grass, and though I stare at the blue sky above us, my thoughts are all on the woman beside me.
“Are you just telling me that we can pull this engagement thing off?” Courtney whispers.
I hadn’t even put that together, but her analytical brain did. I swallow the denial on my tongue and tell the truth. “It’s not that I’m telling you. It’s that I’m telling myself that. There’s no other way, no other choice. I have to make it work.”
She sits up, looking at me carefully. “We have to make it work.”
We lie in the sun, recovering and chilling. She even points out a section of clouds that looks like a dragon breathing fire at a mouse. “I’m betting on the mouse. They’re cunning and clever. Mickey’s probably baiting Puff, gonna run into a cave. But what Puff doesn’t know is that it’s really just a tiny opening painted black to look bigger. And when Puff follows . . . boom! Head-on collision with the rock face.”
I look at her, feeling lighter than I have in . . . forever? “That is a remarkably detailed scenario for some imaginary cloud critters.”
I feel her shrug. “Probably saw it on a cartoon as a kid.”
She didn’t. She imagined it, other than the names, and her creativity in something beyond business is an exciting new find. Like her laughter that I can’t get enough of.
Once we’re dry and hunger is starting to sink in, we get up and head back to my car. As we get in, my phone starts ringing. Mom.
“Hold up,” I tell Courtney, answering the phone. “Mom? Everything okay?”
“Honey, the water heater’s broke again. Uhm, you mind stopping by to make sure the repair guy doesn’t rook me? It’s already an emergency weekend call.” She sounds really worried.
“Shit . . . yeah, Mom, I’ll be right there.” I hang up and glance at Courtney. “Guess you’re meeting my mom.”
Court
ney immediately touches her sweat-streaked face and windblown ponytail. Then she holds out her barely dry shirt as if to say ‘seriously?’ “No.”
How do I tell her she looks more beautiful like this than when she’s fully prepared for the office? “Yes.”
Courtney’s brow knits and she looks unsure. “You can just drop me off at home.”
I shake my head, starting the car. “Come on, Courtney. We’ll tell her we’re friends, and it’ll be fine. It’s a half-hour round trip to take you home, and by then, the repairman is going to have swindled Mom with code additions or some bullshit. Mom’s house is close by and it won’t take but a minute.”
I know I’m pushing, but for some reason, I want my mom to meet Courtney even though I’m playing with fire. Maybe I just want Mom’s opinion, to hear what she thinks. Does she think we’re a good couple? Can she see the spark between us that I feel on a visceral level?
Pulling up in front of Mom’s house, I wonder what Courtney sees compared to her parents’ house. I don’t think she’s materialistic or judgmental, but it is very different.
Inside, I see home—warm, simple, and a bit cluttered. Mom’s too busy to stay on top of everything. The blanket on the couch is the one she uses every night to watch her shows, thrown off her and piled in the corner when she heads to bed. It’s not draped like Violet would for a client’s photo shoot, and the tray on the coffee table looks like a failed experiment at corralling the clutter because the remote is sitting just outside it and a book is over the arm of the couch.
You can see through to the kitchen, where the counters are bleach-cleaned, old laminate, the sink is empty, and the small table and chairs are the same ones I sat at as a child. But at least the small vase of fresh flowers made it front and center.
“Hey, Mom!” I call out.
Mom comes in from the garage. “Hi honey! Oh!” She freezes when she sees Courtney, her hands going to her hair to smooth the slight frizz back. Though Mom smiles warmly, her admonishment is clear. “I didn’t realize you were bringing someone else, Kaede. Who’s our guest? Wait, wait . . . Abigail Andrews?”
Courtney laughs quietly, shaking her head. “Close, Ms. McWarren. Courtney.”
“Courtney?” Mom asks, flabbergasted. “You’re all grown up! I haven’t seen you since . . . well, it has to be Kaede’s high school graduation! How are you? What brings you by?”
“Well, uh, I’ve been going to the gym and wanted some help, so Kaede—”
“Courtney and I are friends, Mom,” I say succinctly, interrupting Courtney’s very failed attempt at acting natural. I make a note that she’s shit at lying because that could be a problem.
Courtney smiles and nods at the summary, and Mom’s eyes go bright with excitement. “How lovely. Well, I am so sorry for interrupting your . . . hanging out,” Mom says, and I know the word ‘date’ was on the tip of her tongue. “But it is so nice to see you.”
“You too. You look great. Please excuse me, though. I’m a mess from running on Heart Attack Hill.” Courtney mirrors the same hair-smoothing move Mom did when she came in.
Mom gives me a look that would challenge a kid’s excitement at seeing Santa on Christmas Eve. She knows Heart Attack Hill is special to me. It was always my escape and my proving grounds off the field. Everyone’s equal there, all pretenses stripped away, leaving only skill and heart. For me to take Courtney there is telling. I already knew that, but Mom does too.
“I see . . . well, would you like some water? That shirt looks soaked.”
“Sure,” Courtney says, trying to be casual as she follows Mom into the kitchen, but she throws me a ‘told you so’ glare. As she sits at the table, she tells Mom, “Pretty flowers.”
Mom glances over her shoulder, and I can see she’s already getting her Mom Mode on, taking out a pack of bacon, a carton of eggs, and a can of orange juice concentrate. Mom’s like that, always one to show her love with food. “Thank you. Kaede sends them to me every few weeks. My sweet boy says I deserve nice things. Your sister is an amazing florist.”
Courtney seems to be silently laughing at her calling me a ‘sweet boy’ and the goo-goo eyes Mom shoots my way, and I guess that’s fair. I’ve always had a bit of a dark, almost brooding look to me, and I’ve used it to my advantage. Shockingly, women are drawn to the mysterious and take my silence as a challenge. Still, even though I’m more than my looks and habits, sweet boy is a reach. “It does seem like something Kaede would do. He probably has it scheduled in his planner with a reminder alert.”
Mom laughs, and I would like to interject in my defense but I hear a truck pull up outside.
I’m a little nervous to leave them alone, mostly for my sake, but meeting the repairman is why I’m here. I leave them in the kitchen with a warning glare and head into the garage, leaving the connecting door open just in case.
The repairman’s name is Earl, or else he robbed Earl of his shirt. He saunters in, a guy in his late forties with a crew cut and goatee. He looks like he’s been doing repair calls already, with a bit of dirt on his hands and under his nails and a weary look of please let this be the last call of the day. I wanna get home for the game.
“How’s it goin’?” he asks, a little bit of a drawl in his voice. “Repair said it’s leakin’?”
“Yeah. It blew a fuse not too long ago, but I replaced that. It’s definitely past its shelf life, but Mom won’t let me replace it. I’m hoping you can talk her into it.”
“I hear ya, man. Moms are the best, but danged if they aren’t stubborn when it suits them.” He smiles congenially. “Let’s see if we can limp it along or if it’s finally done for.”
He gets to work, lying down on the floor of the garage to check underneath the water heater.
“How are you boys doing? Thought you might want some water too. It’s a hot one.” Mom holds a water bottle out to me, and Earl pulls his head out from the water heater.
It takes all of point-oh-two seconds to see his face go from ‘old lady mother’ to ‘holy shit’ when he sees Mom. “Thank you, Mrs. McWarren,” he says, taking the water.
“Oh, it’s Ms., not Mrs. My husband passed on a long time ago, but please, call me Donna,” Mom says.
“Well, thank you . . . Donna. I’m Earl.” Mom smiles while Earl takes a big swallow of the water. “That hits the spot. It's a scorcher today.”
I feel like the lamest third wheel ever, and though I know Mom is single and probably dates, I don’t need to see her getting picked up right in front of my very eyes.
“So, what’s the diagnosis?” I lift my chin toward the old water heater.
“Honestly? This thing should have been replaced years ago. I’ll give credit to whoever’s been patching this thing,” Earl says, looking my way, “but it’s about two steps from blowing up on you.”
“Replace it. And send the bill to me,” I tell Earl.
Mom is having none of that ,though. “Absolutely not, Kaede. You head on inside and get my checkbook so I can pay Earl myself for the heater. And the matter is not up for discussion.”
Okay, one—I think Mom just shooed me inside so I wouldn’t interfere with whatever flirt fest she’s got going on, and two—not many people can put me in my place, especially in front of strangers, but Mom is one. Maybe the only one.
The matter isn’t closed, though. If I have to, I’ll sneak a little money into her coat pocket or the fruit bowl in the kitchen to help make up the difference. I do it all the time, and she usually just thinks she’s forgetful and didn’t remember setting aside her change from something. I’m happy to be her secret twenty-dollar-bill angel.
Inside, I find Courtney standing at the stove stirring eggs like she’s made herself right at home. I can’t explain what the sight does to me. It’s something warm and bright and deep.
She looks over her shoulder when she hears the door close behind me. The smile on her lips is full of ‘I know something you don’t know’, and I can’t wait to hear it. “What?”
; “Your mom is your biggest fan, did you know that?” Courtney is tiptoeing me toward something I’m certain is going to be ridiculously embarrassing.
“What did she say?”
“I never knew how much of a catch you are,” Courtney teases lightly. “According to what your mom told me, you’re the catch of the year and the country’s most eligible bachelor.”
I groan, rubbing my temples. Maybe bringing Courtney here was a bad idea. “Oh, God, I’m sorry.”
“And she’s really hoping you find someone special to give her grandbabies while, and I quote, she’s young enough to get on the floor and play around with them, end quote. She assured me that she wants to be an involved grandma. Again, her words.” Courtney’s eyes twinkle, and I know she’s enjoying the hell out of this.
Thing is, Courtney and I would make some beautiful babies. Dark-haired, dark-eyed, honey-complexioned babies with a brilliant combination of brains and beauty.
I stare open-mouthed at Courtney, horrified both at my Mom’s overbearing selling of me like I can’t get women on my own and my own wayward thoughts. Courtney laughs and stirs the eggs like it’s par for the course.
Mom comes into the kitchen behind me, Earl hot on her heels. I raise a brow his way when I see his eyes on Mom’s ass, but he’s too caught up in her to even notice my unspoken threat.
“Did you find my checkbook? Earl can get a new tankless setup here tomorrow afternoon.” Mom flashes him a look like he’s promising baskets full of kittens and puppies that will never grow old, always stay sweet and snuggly, and never once piss or shit on the floor, not the water heater I’ve been trying to get her to take for years.
“Service call payment today. Water heater payment tomorrow, after it’s installed and working properly.” It sounds harsher than I mean it to, but I’m a little on edge with Courtney at home in my kitchen, Mom getting picked up right in front of me, and little baby Courtneys dancing through my head.
Earl holds his hands up. “Of course. No payment needed today, either. I didn’t fix anything yet.”
Mom activates the Mom Look that I’ve seen in my nightmares since I was a kid. “I’m sorry for Kaede’s rudeness, Earl. Why don’t you come on in? I was just making brunch for the kids and you’re welcome to join.”
My Big Fat Fake Engagement Page 16