by S. E. Hall
So occasionally I use Triple D for my own purposes. Sue me. I don’t think Laney really minds, anyway. And now, with her sated and purring beside me, we can discuss her awful decorating ideas. And if she continues to argue, well, I’m more than happy to distract her again.
Inside Laney is the tight, warm haven where I’d spend every waking minute if I could. It’s only then that she completely lets go, trusting me to take her away from everything else; the place she goes when I’m buried in her is made of total contentment, somewhere she’s safe, cared for, loved, and she has no other worries in the world.
The minute I slip from her, though, my challenging little hellcat is back with a vengeance, testing me…her mind, mouth and spirit reminding me why I am so in love with her.
But softball yellow walls? Not happening.
She’s still lying on her back, eyes closed and small smile on her lips when I stroll back in from cleaning up.
“Why you smiling, gorgeous?”
“I’m happy,” she answers, not opening her eyes or making any attempt to move.
“Then I did my job.” I lower myself and crawl over her, burying my face in the sweetness of her neck. She smells of me, of us—the best scent in the world—Dane on Laney. “I love you, Disney,” I whisper in her ear.
I tell her as often as I can without feeling like a sap. Hell, I’d tattoo it across my forehead if she asked me to. She needs to know that even though one look at her turns me into an animal and I’d like to fuck her paralyzed, she means everything to me on every other level as well. If I could never make love to her again, I’d still want all that makes Laney, “Laney” to fill my days.
“I love you too,” her brown eyes now open and look adoringly into mine, her mouth turning up in a smirk, “and I’m still painting the room like I want.”
Infuriating woman. I wasn’t kidding before, sometimes I really think she tries my patience on purpose because she’s actually as insatiable as I am. “If you want more of this,” I bite her chin and roll my hardening dick against her, “all you have to do is ask. You don’t have to ugly up the place.”
“Get off me you, you—ugh!” She slaps my chest and bucks her hips wildly, trying to toss me off her. All it does is excite me more. “I’ll paint this whole damn place chartreuse if I want!”
Oh, she’s getting mad now, cheeks bright pink and fire in her eyes, which are narrowed to slits and zoned in on me. A-fucking-dorable.
“You think so, huh? Care to make a friendly little wager?”
I’m not sure why I even ask. Laney couldn’t turn down a bet if her life depended on it. I can’t wait until her 21st birthday—we are most definitely spending it in Vegas.
“Absolutely!” She purses her lip and waits in challenge. “Name it!”
Honestly, I’ve been waiting for the ideal time for the chance to give her something I’d gotten for her weeks ago. Her betting addiction is playing right into my hands. “How about we both design one bedroom and let the Crew judge. Winner takes all?”
“I refuse to negotiate with you sitting on me!” She squirms underneath me, trying to escape. “Dismount, you beast!”
I throw my head back in hearty laughter, she cracks me up, but I do move off her as soon as I’m gathered.
“Sheesh,” she sits up, frazzled, straightening her hair and clothes, “you’re such a brute!” She shoots me a playful glare.
“Now that you’re off me,” I tease with a straight face, “let’s talk terms. We’ll each take a room, same budget, same amount of time. The Crew votes when we’re finished. Sound good?”
“No help though,” she points at me and wags her finger, “you can’t hire people to come in and do it for you. We have to do all the work ourselves.”
“Deal.” I offer her my hand to shake on it.
“Not so fast! What do we win?”
“What do you want?” I counter, waggling my eyebrows at her.
She rolls her eyes at my suggestiveness and twiddles her fingers in contemplation. “Hmmm… Hmmm…” She’s really straining, trying to come up with a doozy. “You have to take me on a date that costs $50 or less.” She grins. “Something sincere that comes from your heart, not your money.”
“I can do that.” I close in on her now, wrapping my arms around her waist. “And if I win, you have to accept what’s in the envelope I give you.”
“Huh?” She peers up at me sweetly.
“If I win, I’m going to hand you an envelope. You have to promise to accept whatever’s in it.”
“It. Can’t. Be. Money.” She pokes my chest with each word.
“Okay.” I kiss her nose.
“Or the deed to anything.”
“Okay.” I chuckle and kiss her chin.
“Or the key to a car.”
“Would you stop?” I squeeze her tighter, smothering her whole face in kisses now. “It’s nothing like that. I get it, no money, just me.”
“Okay then.” She burrows deeper against me, pacified and snuggly. “It’s on.”
“Um, excuse me, can I help you?” I ask the very sweaty, very in need of a belt man currently behind my duplex, flashing his ass crack like a pole dancer.
“Hi there, you must be Laney.” He sticks his cigar butt in his mouth and offers out his hand. “I’m Hank Procter from Hank’s Handyman.”
I hesitantly shake his hand and smile slowly. “How do you know my name and what are you doing here?”
“Dane hired me. I’m here to build your deck.” Of course he did.
“A deck? Do you have some plans for me to look at, maybe a business card?” I have no idea if you draw up plans for a deck, but it felt right asking. If someone’s building anything on my precious little bungalow, I want to know ahead of time, approve it, and give my thoughts! I’m not trying to be a brat or ungrateful, but this is my first “place” and I’m super excited. I want to help make the big decisions, like I’m really a part of it and it’s really mine. Is that so much to ask?
“Of course.” He smiles warily, perhaps reading the aggravation on my face. “Let me just run to the van and get the drawing and a card for you. Be right back,” he says as he hurries around the corner.
Great, I scared Hank.
I whip out my cell phone, pushing the buttons with much more force than necessary. My foot taps as it rings, my annoyance growing with each second I’m not afforded the opportunity to unload. “Baby,” he answers, voice warm.
“Don’t you ‘baby’ me, Michael Dane Kendrick.” If he could see me, he’d know my foot is still tapping incessantly and the hand not holding the phone is propped angrily on my hip. “Would you like to tell me about your friend Hank and why he’s in my backyard?”
Is that laughter I hear on the other end of this phone? It has to be a bad connection—he wouldn’t dare! What am I thinking? Of course he’d dare. Well, enough is enough, I want some say!
“Are you laughing at me?” I growl.
“Why yes, yes I am.”
“Ughhhhh!” I yell, not moving the phone away from my mouth, sorta hoping I pierced his eardrum. “Dane, why didn’t you tell me? We could have designed the deck together.”
“Laney, there’s no height to work with, and limited yard space, so it’s not a real intricate deck to design. It’s not a big deal, babe, just somewhere to sit.”
I’m sure he has a point, and I should be grateful, and I can still plan stuff like the plants, the chairs, candles, maybe string some lights. But while it’s “just a deck” this time, what will it be next time? Too bad he’s not here right now. I have a secret tactic that, according to my stats, has a 99.4% success rate. I call it Pussy Persuasion, but never out loud. Plans this surefire and brilliant must be kept on the DL, and while it sounds funny in my head, it’s kinda crass out loud. Anyway, seeing as how he’s not here, I should probably just give in and quit fighting him in the interest of saving my energy for battles I might actually win.
I sigh into the phone, exasperated. “Fine, thank you
for the deck.”
“For you,” his gritty voice replies.
Just like that, in those two words he uses to tell me what takes others sonnets to convey, I’m reminded that he does do it for me—from a good place, the place within him that loves me, wants to make me happy, yearns to take care of me and make my life easier, happier and completely tangled up in him. See? It takes me all that to analyze what he eloquently summarizes with “for you.”
Anger dissipated, I try a different approach, one that can be accomplished over the phone—the sweet and vulnerable girl voice. “Can you just try to understand that I’m really excited to have my own place for the first time, and I want to be involved in things? I love the idea of a deck, but I kinda feel left out. Okay, babe?”
“I hear you, baby. I didn’t even think of it like that. We’ll discuss things from now on, promise,” he says sincerely, not at all trying to simply pacify me.
“Thank you. Now, I bought some paint for the room I’m doing. Do I have time to get started on that or do we have plans?” I ask, my tone warmer.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to hire—”
“We have to do it ourselves, remember? That was part of the bet,” I interrupt him. “I mean, if you want to send someone in to paint your room, be my guest. Just let me know when our date is,” I tease him.
“No, no, I remember now. I’ll paint mine, you go ahead and start painting yours. Go wild, baby, I have several conference calls and a late meeting. I’ll call or text you an ETA when I have an idea when I’ll be done.”
“Okay, I’ll talk to you then. Love you.”
“I love you, Laney Jo,” he answers, somewhat solemnly, “but I’m still winning the bet.”
“Puhleeese.” I giggle before hanging up.
Despite jamming to “Stereo Hearts” by GCH while I paint like the natural Picasso that I am, I hear my phone ding and jump off my stepstool, wiping my sweaty brow, to check it.
Bennett: Where r u?
Laney: At the duplex painting. U?
Bennett: Lol, next door. That must be your music, thought it was guy out back. Almost done?
Laney: I could be. Y r we still texting? Walk over here.
I chuckle to myself, setting down my phone and walking over to turn off the music.
“Yoo hoo!” she calls out.
“Hey, girl, back here!”
“Heyyyy,” she lets out a long whistle, “looking good in here. I love the purple!” She claps her hands and bounces in place. “Isn’t it fun, fixing up your own personal dollhouse?”
“Yeah.” I laugh, pulling in her in for a quick hug. She’s like walking sunshine, you just can’t help but wanna hug her. “But it’s not purple,” I waggle my finger at her, wanting to clear up this terrible misconception, “it’s called Champagne Elegance and it’s a silkier version of -lilac.” I perfectly mimic the way-too-excited-to-sell-paint-for-a-living saleswoman who basically chastised me where I stood for using “ugly, mundane words” like purple, yellow and—gasp—red.
“Don’t tell Dane you got a sneak peek. You’re one of the judges and shouldn’t know which room I did, okay? You were never here.” I use my best mobster voice, brushing my knuckles under my chin like a boss. “And not to sway your vote, but the fridge came today and there’s a bottle of wine in it that I’d love to share with you, Votie Voterson.”
“Yay! Tate’s working and our furniture,” she looks pointedly around at my barren space, “is already in. Let’s do girls’ night at my place! Can we?” Her face is hopeful. “I miss my Laney time.” She pooches out her bottom lip and gives me irresistible puppy dog eyes.
“I can hang ‘til Dane’s done at work. Can I shower there?”
“Of course you can.” She wrinkles her nose and lets her eyes drift in the area of my pits. “Please do.” She giggles. “I’ll grab the wine, just head over when you’ve wrapped up here.”
I nod, heading to the sink to rinse my paintbrushes. As I watch the swirls of muted purple spin around and disappear down the drain, I lift my chin and smile. This bet with Dane is gonna be like taking candy from a baby. He’s been too busy to even start on his room, and I’ve been working like a dog, almost done with the second coat of paint in mine. The curtains are on the rod and new switch plates and outlet covers have been purchased, both ready to go up as soon as the paint’s dry. I’d decided against the softball theme and am going with a tranquil space, different hues of light purples, sage greens and lots of candles. It’s gonna be great!
Finished up with the rinsing, I do a quick walk-through, flipping off the lights and locking the door behind me. I turn to walk the whole ten steps to Bennett’s, letting out a screamed “Oh!” as I catch myself with one hand on the bricks, looking down to see what I’ve tripped over. Looking right back up at me is one very miserable, very pregnant dog. Bassett hound? Beagle? I don’t know, but she’s definitely in no mood to move, belly dragging the ground.
“Are you lost, sweetie?” I bend down, gently petting her head. “Huh? You have a collar, somebody must be missing you.”
“Charlie!” The yell is followed by a sharp whistle. “Charlie, come ‘ere, girl!” rings through the evening air.
Charlie? This dog is most definitely female.
“Over here!” I yell.
“Oh, hi,” says a man whose good looks even the enclosing darkness can’t hide. “Charlie,” he too squats down closer to the hound, “girl, how’d you get out? You can’t have those puppies on a stranger’s porch.” He chuckles lightly, giving Charlie a scratch behind the ears, her tail wagging slightly.
I giggle at the poor dog’s obvious discomfort at something as simple as a flick of the tail and the man looks up at me.
“I’m sorry,” he shakes his head, embarrassed. “I’m Tucker Lucas, I live next door there.” He points to the right with a shift of his head and offers me his hand. “Did you just move in?”
“Yeah, well, almost,” I babble. “I mean yes, I’m moving in, getting things ready. I’m Laney Walker.” I extend my hand to his. “Nice to meet you.”
“You too.” He smiles, his white teeth glowing in the dusk. “Sorry about Charlie here. She’s getting stir crazy waiting for the puppies.”
“What kind of dog is she?”
“She’s a beagle. Although she’s not too miniature right now,” he laughs.
“She’s precious, but miserable I’m sure.” I stand, glancing around awkwardly and running my hands down my pant legs, out of things to say.
“Um, so very nice to meet you, Laney, and welcome to the neighborhood. You’ll love it here, everyone’s real friendly. Come on, Charlie,” he hoists the grunting dog into his arms, “say goodbye to Laney.”
“Bye, Charlie.” I grin at the sweet animal and rub her head. “Night, Tucker.”
“Night, neighbor.”
I watch him walk away, smirking as he lugs the mama across the lawn, then turn and head to Bennett’s door. “Knock knock!” I call out as I open the door.
“Hey!” Bennett pops in front of me, her face concerned. “What took you so long?”
“I met our neighbor. His pregnant dog wandered up on my porch.”
“His?” She wiggles her eyebrows and grins.
“Yeah?” I give her a questioning look, not quite catching what she’s throwing.
“Describe.” She rolls her fingertips together, a curious smile twisting her mouth.
“I don’t know, short, bald, probably seventy, seventy-five. Why?”
“Oh.” Her shoulders slump and she frowns.
Seriously? Has she seen her boyfriend lately? He’s almost as hot as his little brother, thus the reason I could care less that our neighbor is, in fact, very easy on the eyes. And when I say easy on the eyes, I mean God was good to him, but he’s got nothing on the youngest Kendrick man.
“I’m kidding you, Ben. He’s cute, probably thirty, blond hair. Seemed very nice.” I shrug, heading to the kitchen in search of the wine I had planned. “Why do
you care anyway? You and Tate okay?”
“Of course we are—perfect. I was just curious. I’d simply rather have some eye candy in the hood than,” she contemplates, “well, than not.”
“Slut,” I cough into my hand, trying not to laugh.
“Only a look slut, I never touch. I love my Taterbear.”
“Taterbear?” I snort, slamming the fridge door shut and bugging my eyes out at her. “I think I just threw up in my mouth a little. How am I supposed to look at him now?”
“Oh, hush.” She pushes on my shoulder, her cheeks now the color of her hair. “Don’t you and Dane have bedroom names?”
“Oh my God, Bennett! You call him that in the bedroom?” I’m nearly shouting now, bent over with my hands on my knees, bracing my body’s full-gut laughter. “Please stop talking, my ears are bleeding!”
“You’re so mean, Laney,” she whines, “I’m never telling you anything ever again.”
“Thank God!” I wheeze out, still hee-hawing at her.
“Come on, bitch, grab your glass and I’ll give you the grand tour. If you can compose yourself long enough,” she says haughtily, and I think I hear a muttered “skank” as she leads us down the hall.
“So you just saw the kitchen, and this is the hall,” she gestures with her hand, “and the spare bedroom.” She opens the door, to a fully-furnished, painted, room.
“How the hell did you get everything painted so fast?” I ask, it only now registering that her kitchen and hall have a fresh shine as well.
“Tate hired painters.” She shrugs a shoulder, looking at me like I’m crazy.
Maybe I am; her side is organized and beautiful, while mine looks like the do-it-yourself project that it is.
“And this,” her smile grows wide and her eyes twinkle, “is the master.” She opens the door with grandeur, stepping aside to give me room to see.
Oh, it’s something all right. The walls are a deep red, the bed a dark brown and prominent…but not as much as the pictures on the walls.