Mr Right Now: A Romantic Comedy Standalone

by Lila Monroe

  The guy I saw him with at lunch. “Right. What happened to the hip new night club?”

  Drew leans against the arm of the sofa. “I realized that having bass thumping through the building all night would get old pretty fast. If anyone’s making music in this place, it’s going to be me.”

  He gives me a wink that says it’s not just literal music he’s talking about. A tingle spreads over my skin.

  “So what was wrong with the person today?” I ask, resisting the urge to sidle closer to him. The food is on the way now. I should probably practice a little patience.

  “It started off well enough,” he says, shaking his head. “Sixty-something woman looking to set up an art studio—sounds lovely, right? Then in the middle of discussing the details she starts talking about how her figure drawing classes will need, er, nude models for some of their exercises, and she’d love to have me join in if I was up for it.”

  I laugh. “And that idea didn’t appeal to you?”

  “I’ve got to say I was a little weirded out. Especially when she got this expression like she was about to start drooling over the idea.” He chuckles. “So, I think I’d better keep looking.”

  “Hard to blame her, though.” I reach out to trail my hand down the front of his shirt, loving the feel of him. Loving the spark that leaps into his eyes at my touch. “I mean, given the chance to be inspired by a body like this …”

  Drew leans in. “And what are you inspired to do with it?”

  I arch my eyebrows at him. “I guess you’ll just have to wait until after dinner to find out. I didn’t bake those lava cakes for nothing.”

  “Lava cakes? Is that what’s in there?” His head twists around to contemplate the box. “I’m thinking dessert before dinner sounds like a good idea.”

  “They’re not ready yet. I’ll have to throw them in the oven for a bit to get them just right.”

  “I suppose I’ll just have to distract myself then.” He rests his hand on my waist. My heartbeat speeds up. “With your scintillating conversation, of course,” he adds with a smirk. “Any leads on your end, as far as getting back into the baking action—on a professional basis, I mean?”

  “Nothing major yet, but I’m picking up some private clients,” I say. “Other than you. As much as I appreciated your patronage.”

  “Hmmm. As long as you don’t appreciate anyone else’s quite the same way.” His thumb strokes over my side, the warmth of his hand blazing through the thin fabric of my dress. “You’re going to knock people’s socks off, Maggie. It’s just a matter of time.”

  The flush has gone to my head. We haven’t had anything to drink, but I feel suddenly tipsy. My voice comes out breathless. “You know, there’s only one person who’s clothing I have any interest in knocking off.”

  He takes a step closer, leaving only an inch between us. “Oh, yeah?”

  “Yeah.” And then, best intentions be damned, I raise my head and plant my lips on his.

  Drew doesn’t hold back. He angles his head to deepen the kiss at the same time as he slides his arm right around me, bringing me flush against him. A pleased hum sounds in his throat. His mouth plunders mine, wanting and decisive. He warned me he might ravish me, and that’s exactly how I feel. Ravished, devoured, about to be consumed by the fire he’s lit inside me.

  God, this man has skills.

  He lowers his face to kiss my jawline, my neck. Each press of his lips is scorching. My hand finds its way under his shirt, tracing up over all that taut skin. He cups my breast, teasing his palm against the nipple, and I whimper.

  “Wait,” I say, before my brain takes leave completely for areas further south. “Just so we’re clear … This … what we’re doing … ? It’s … ?” I trail off, looking for some direction. I mean, it’s not every day I get to indulge my fantasies with a former crush, and I’m ninety percent sure Drew Delaney isn’t the “take things slow and serious” kind of guy—the fact he’s got me half undressed in like ten seconds flat is testament to his skills—but still, the cruel fact is, my life is way too much of a mess to even think about opening up and putting my heart on the line to anything other than a triple coffee-chocolate éclair right now.

  “It’s … hot,” he answers with a smoldering grin.

  “Uh huh,” I’m distracted by his fingers teasing over my stomach. “And fun.”

  “Definitely.”

  He keeps teasing me, caressing one breast and then the other, as his tongue has its way with mine, and fuck it, “hot and fun” is good enough for me. I arch against him. The hard length of him presses against me through his jeans. God, I don’t have the words for how much I want it inside me.

  But Drew obviously doesn’t believe in rushing. His deft fingers find the zipper at the back of my dress and he pulls it down, slowly as he walks me backward. My shoulders hit a wall, and then he’s charting a path of kisses down my body. His mouth takes an agonizingly slow, steady trip down over my collarbone, to the swell of my breast. Then he shoves my bra down and licks my nipple into his mouth.

  God, that feels incredible.

  I moan, gripping his hair. His hand slips up under my dress, and he eases a finger along the edge of my panties. Another moan breaks from my lips as he slides over me. I strain my hips into the pressure of his hand.

  More, please. More of everything.

  “Now, where was I … ” Drew muses. “Before we were so rudely interrupted.”

  “Right about … there,” I gasp as he tugs my panties down and pushes my dress to my waist.

  He sinks to his knees, kissing the inside of my thighs. Then his mouth closes over my clit, and all I can do is hold on tight and beg for more.

  Drew laps over me, keeps me braced against the wall with one hand on my hips. The other teases my slick opening, nudging and probing until I want to scream. And all the while his tongue darts and flicks over my clit, driving me insane. I clutch at his head and shoulder as the heady pressure within me builds. Every movement of his mouth sends a fresh wave of pleasure through me.

  One finger, and then another, curls right inside me, finding the sweet spot there. I cry out as he sucks hard, pulsing his hand at the same time. Devouring me like I’m the best meal he’s ever had. My hips buck, and then I’m coming, hard, with a blaze of pleasure that takes my breath away.

  I sag against the wall, unsteady. Drew kisses me between my legs once more, and then rises, holding me. He kisses my neck and murmurs by my ear, “Bedroom. Now.”

  He could suggest we jump out of a plane right and I’d probably agree to it. The bedroom? Fantastic. “Yes, please,” I gasp, still coming down from the high of my orgasm. Drew grins and gives me a look so full of filthy promise, I swear I almost come all over again. He grabs my hand and yanks me after him down the hall toward—

  The doorbell buzzes.

  I groan in disappointment. “Food. Right.” Did the delivery guy have to get here quite that fast?

  “You stay there,” Drew says. “The second I close that door, we’re picking right back up where we left off. I am so far from finished with you yet, Maggie Hayes.”

  If I was blazing before, I’m now on the verge of incinerating. I tug up—and down—my dress and reposition my panties as he lopes to the door, in case the delivery guy takes a peek in. Which turns out to be a very wise move, because the next thing I know, a tall, almost gangly guy with shaggy black hair, an intense five o’clock shadow, and an incredibly familiar set of striking blue eyes comes sauntering past Drew into the apartment.

  “Charlie,” Drew growls, his shoulders tensed. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

  Charlie. That’s why he looks so familiar. Category 5’s youthful joker looks a little worse for wear after the last ten years, but that rogue-ish twinkle hasn’t gone anywhere. And neither has the oblivious air of entitlement that always rubbed me the wrong way. He strolls through the apartment as if he owns the place and tosses the duffel bag he’s carrying on the sofa. Then his gaze catches on me. I
cross my arms over my chest, willing my cheeks not to burn.

  “Well, hello. Charlie Stone. Glad to meet any friend of Drew’s.”

  “Maggie,” I say, and glance past him to Drew.

  “Charlie,” Drew says, striding after him. “This really isn’t a good time.”

  A knock sounds on the door, which is still halfway ajar. A guy holding a couple plastic bags bulging with food pokes his head nervously inside. “Delivery for Drew Delaney?”

  “Sounds like I arrived right on time to me!” Charlie says. He grabs the bags while Drew is paying and already has the pitas and dip open on the island before Drew turns around.

  I guess date night is over.

  Drew’s coming to the same conclusion. His voice comes out harder than I’ve ever heard it. “Charlie, again—what are you doing here? You ever think of calling first?”

  “We talked on the phone last week,” Charlie says carelessly, waving a piece of pita at him. “I’m here for the charity event—it sounded like you’re all up to speed on that. I just need to crash here a couple of nights.”

  “I’m not up to speed at all. What is even going on? You signed us up for something?”

  “Yeah. It’s going to be great. We’ll perform one of the hits, and then the charity place will auction off a date with each of us. They’ll be raking in the dough, we get to remind everyone what superstars we are—win, win!”

  “You signed me up to be auctioned off?” Drew splutters. I can’t help cracking a smile. If we were going to be interrupted, this is at least a lot more entertaining than last night’s cop.

  “Look,” Charlie says, shooting a smile back at me. “Your gal is on board. It’s an amazing cause, man. All the money goes to help kids in the hospital. How can you say no to that?”

  “He’s got a point,” I say, teasing. “You can’t find a more worthy cause than sick kids. If you’ve got to sell yourself for something, I mean.”

  Drew aims a mock glare my way, as if to say, You’re not helping. “I’m really not up for this, Charlie. Maybe if you’d brought the idea to me ahead of time—”

  “Well, you can’t back out now,” Charlie says, looking genuinely concerned. “They’re all set for it to be the both of us.”

  Drew opens his mouth, closes it again, and sighs. He looks at me again, but I just grin. “I haven’t seen you in action in at least a decade. I’ll be there. Wednesday, right? Good to meet you, Charlie.”

  “You too,” he says, through a mouthful of hummus.

  I start to head for the door, but Drew blocks my path.

  “You—don’t move,” he says, glaring at Charlie. “And don’t eat our goddamn food.” Drew draws me out to the living room.

  “I am so sorry about this. Give me ten minutes, I can get rid of him.”

  I set my hand on his chest, still enjoying the flex of his muscles against my palm, but not with quite the same heat as a moment ago. I give a regretful sigh. “It’s okay. The moment’s passed.”

  “You mean, that idiot killed it.” Drew rakes his hand through his hair, looking about as frustrated as I feel.

  “Tomorrow night, then?” he says hopefully. “I’ll definitely have him out of here by then. And I don’t know if I can stand to wait much longer than that.”

  “I’m catering a bachelorette tomorrow evening,” I say, with some regret. “But … if you’re still up, I could give you a call after?”

  “Ah, so that’s what I’ve been reduced to—your late-night booty call.”

  It’s nice to hear that teasing note back in his voice. I grin. “Count on it.”

  12

  Maggie

  Let it never be said that Maggie Hayes can’t deliver a rocking party. I crack my knuckles first thing in the morning and get to work pouring and sifting and beating—not half as dirty as it sounds, except in the batter splatter way. By the time six o’clock rolls around, I’ve got a spread of treats to warm the heart of anyone with a smutty mind. Mom wanders by the kitchen, takes a look, and walks away shaking her head.

  I may actually have gone a bit overboard, but throwing myself into the baking felt so good, I don’t really care. Anyway, this is my first proper client since Brooklyn, and that’s worth pulling out all the stops. I grab the drinking game and naughty scavenger hunt sheets I printed off, and swing by a favorite shop of mine on the way downtown. No bachelorette could be complete without a pecker piñata and a chance to pin the junk on the hunk, after all.

  Ava’s eyes grow round when she meets me out front of the bar that’s hosting the party. “You are a superstar,” she says as we hustle the goods inside.

  I certainly feel like one. About fifty women are crammed inside amid streamers and thumping dance music. One woman opens my box of cock pops and squeals as if I’ve just made her year.

  “Oh my God. These are the best! Carmen, get a load of these.”

  Soon mini penis cakes mounted on sticks are bobbing throughout the room—and disappearing into hungry mouths. The bride-to-be, Sara, sticks the hunk poster to the wall with a cackle of glee. The girls pin a veil to her sparkly tiara between bites of my infamous pink cake—“Oh, hell, these balls are heaven,” I overhear from a blonde waving a fork coated in coconut flakes and icing.

  Everyone gets their phones out and starts snapping away. “Remember to tag me!” I call. “Sugar Mama Bakery.”

  Ava pulls me over to show the photo she uploaded to her Instagram account: my twenty-inch dick cake in all its frosted cum glory. She managed to capture it before the girls dug in, and the likes are already skyrocketing.

  “You’re famous!” she says, and I laugh.

  “Only with the best people,” I tell her.

  I figured I would just drop off the supplies and be done, but this group is already four drinks to the wind, and won’t take no for an answer. They drag me along for the scavenger hunt, and I find myself fluttering my eyelashes at the bartender to earn a free shot. The girls brandish the phone numbers and condoms they’ve scored. Blondie starts belting out a Britney Spears song in the middle of the room. Someone convinces a cutie by the bar to give Sara a piggyback ride. She squeals with laughter as he jogs her around the room, her Bride-to-Be sash fluttering behind her.

  “Time for shots!” Ava lines up another row of glasses, and I gulp another down, whooping at the burn. OK, so maybe I shouldn’t be getting tipsy on the job, but it’s not like they’re giving me much of a choice here. These women can drink.

  “OK, time for the main event.”

  I look up. Everyone’s bustling around getting ready a circle for presents or some sort of game, and Sara bounds over to me. Her face is flushed, her eyes bright. I’m pretty sure she’s had a lot more than two drinks by now. And by all appearances, she’s having a blast. Mission accomplished!

  Or not quite. “So when is the stripper getting here?” she says in an over-enthusiastic undertone.

  Uh, pardon? “Stripper?” I repeat.

  “Yeah. I mean, how can you have a bachelorette without a guy getting naked, right?” She giggles. “My last chance to do some proper ogling before the big day.”

  Shouldn’t that have fallen into Ava’s domain? My expertise is baked cocks, not the real deal. “Sorry,” I say. “I don’t know—”

  “Oh, please,” she says almost desperately, clutching my arm. “You did such an amazing job with everything else. I know you can find someone awesome.”

  Then one of the other girls grabs her and tugs her away. I quickly text Ava. Is there a stripper on the way?

  She meets my eyes across the room, hers going wide. I know before she mouths Shit that she forgot.

  Okay. Maggie can handle this. I’m a superstar, right? I give her a thumbs-up, and her expression relaxes. I feel good about that for the five minutes it takes me to call every number I can search up for male strippers in the city, which isn’t a huge amount.

  Voicemail. Voicemail. “Sorry, we don’t take last-minute bookings.” “I’m afraid Alfonso is on another job.�
�� Voicemail. Shit indeed. I can’t find anyone else to try. Apparently stripping isn’t a popular career choice for men in the Philadelphia area. It’s not as if it’s that hard. All you need is to be able to groove with the music and have a body worth looking at …

  Hold on. I do happen to know someone who fits both of those criteria. And who happens to live just five blocks from this bar.

  And who I could maybe sweet talk into getting naked … in front of me. And an extra fifty people?

  It’s worth a shot.

  I hesitate, but then I see Sara making hopeful eyes at me from across the room. After everything I’ve been through in the last couple months, I need to know I can pull off one job fully to the client’s satisfaction. It can’t hurt to at least ask, right?

  I try texting Drew. When he doesn’t respond within a couple minutes, I duck out and hoof it down the street on unsteady feet. He mentioned he turns his phone off when he’s working in the studio. Please let him be there.

  At his building, I buzz the apartment just to be sure, and then the studio. My heart thumps several anxious beats before Drew’s low voice carries through the speaker.

  “Hello?”

  “It’s Maggie,” I say. “Can I talk to you for a sec?”

  Drew opens the studio door with a smile. “I thought you had that gig tonight,” he said. “Is everything okay?”

  “Er, sort of, but not completely …” I pace back and forth a couple of times and then just blurt it out. “I need a really big favor. But it would totally save my ass. Obviously I wouldn’t normally ask something like this, but I figure it’s worth a shot …”

  Drew looks curious. “What, Maggie? Just ask.”

  I stop, take a deep breath, and look at him. “I need a male stripper at that party. Like, right now.”

  His eyebrow quirks up. “I don’t know what kind of company you think I normally keep, but I don’t actually have any stripper friends I can just call up and— ”