Cocky Doms

by Lee Savino

  “Evie.” A rumble at my back makes me turn.

  Warmth rolls up my back, Bear’s voice like a blanket settling over my shoulders.

  Blondie’s eyes are round as dinner plates. We both crane our necks to look up at the mountain that is Bear. He bends and kisses my cheek.

  Oh my. There go my panties.

  “Hey,” I hug him and grab my drink like a shield, sipping it to hide my expression.

  “What you drinking?”

  “Sex on the beach.”

  His gaze heats. I sway on the stool.

  “You hungry?”

  “Yes,” I say before I can rethink it. I’m supposed to pretend I’m only a wee bit peckish and stick to a salad.

  My stomach chooses this moment to growl. “I didn’t eat lunch,” I admit.

  A disapproving look. “Baby, you gotta eat.”

  My stomach agrees.

  “Are you okay to drink on an empty stomach?”

  Probably not. “Umm...”

  “I’ll order us some wings. Any allergies?”

  I shake my head. Bear heads off to confer with Sawyer, who has re-emerged from the back. I run a finger around the rim of my glass. I didn’t think Bear could get any sexier, but him insisting on feeding me is my new favorite thing ever.

  The blonde leans in quickly. “Are you with both of them?” Her eyebrows shoot so far up her forehead they almost disappear into her hair.

  “Uh…” my blush marches across my face, unfurling a red flag of shame. “It’s sorta a group project.”

  Bear returns with a beer and settles a hand on my back. We make small talk while Sawyer serves up hot wings and gives me a glass of water. My resolve not to eat in front of the guys dissolves at the sight of buffalo sauce. Bear seems to like feeding me as much as I enjoy it. At least, he watches me with a crinkle around his eyes, nursing his beer, looking pleased. I forget myself and fill my belly. Bear 1, Diet 0. Poor Blondie fidgets, trying to catch Sawyer’s eye, but finally gives up and heads to a table, head bowed. She’s not used to being ignored.

  I’m not used to attention, but I’ll take it. Having two guys interested in me must have sprinkled some sort of alluring magic dust over me, because the minute Bear and Sawyer are distracted by a sports thing on the big TV, another guy sidles up to the bar and offers to buy me a drink.

  “I’m good,” I say, hoping he won’t insist. I don’t have to say anything more, because Bear steps close. His arm slides around my shoulders, an obvious signal. Guy code: back off, this one’s mine. In case the man can’t read guy code, Bear says, “This one’s taken.”

  My insides spasm happily. I try to hide it.

  “If you’re interested, she’s single,” I point to the blonde at the table, looking lost. The guy’s eyes light at her ten outta ten good looks and he heads off.

  I swivel to face Bear. His arm loosens but doesn’t go away. “Taken, huh?”

  He dips his head close. “You thought any more about our offer?”

  It’s only all I can think about. “Maybe.”

  “You gonna pick up other guys before giving us our answer?”

  “No. You two are about all I can handle.” I sound as flippant as if having two guys interested in me is something that happens every week, as mundane as laundry. “I’m just wondering... if I say yes to judging the competition, how is that going to work?”

  Sawyer joins us. “I figure we take turns. One of us goes first, then the other. And we repeat a few times.”

  “In one night?” I squeak.

  “I was thinking we take different nights, over the course of a few weeks.” Sawyer’s eyes twinkle. “Unless you wanted to get it over with in one night—”

  “That’s all right,” I say quickly. “I’d like to be able to walk afterwards.”

  Bear chuckles.

  “A few weeks?” This is more involved than I thought.

  “At least,” Bear says. “We each get different nights, spread over a month. Give you time to recover.”

  I laugh weakly, but he seems dead serious. “A month seems really spread out.”

  “You won’t be bored,” Sawyer promises. “Foreplay is half the fun.”

  Foreplay? And I thought this was going to be wham, bam, thank you ma’am, times two. “Won’t you guys be bored?” Alternate nights mean they’ll be waiting their turns.

  They exchange cryptic glances.

  “Oh no, Evie,” Sawyer says. “I think we’ll be plenty entertained.” He heads to get drinks for a crowd of workmen who just walked in. Bear hovers over my shoulder.

  “Ready to go?”

  The plate of wings is now a pile of bones. Oops. I’m not supposed to eat on dates. One of Auntie Jen’s rules. I should protest about dinner and bow out so I’m not tempted to demolish a whole cow in front of him, forever losing the chance to convince him I’m as thin and poised as Blondie. But he puts a large hand on my back, the subtle scent of his cologne washing over me, and I’m helpless to resist.

  I hop off the stool and his hand swallows mine.

  “Say goodnight to Sawyer,” Bear instructs.

  “Goodnight, Sawyer.”

  “Be good,” Sawyer calls back, winking at me, but pointing a more serious finger at Bear.

  Dinner at Tex’s turns out to be easier than I thought. My menu has no prices on it.

  “You eat meat?” Bear asks before I can request a new menu.

  I hesitate. Is that a double-entendre?

  “Steak,” he clarifies.

  “Yes, definitely.” Auntie Jen’s voice screeches in my head and I add, “But I’m not really hungry.”

  “Hmmm,” Bear looks skeptical.

  The waiter comes and Bear orders for us both. I have a mini mental freak out over whether I can eat steak or not in front of a man and decide to take two bites before declaring myself stuffed. No touching the bread or mashed potatoes. Then Bear turns to me, asks about my work, and before I know it, I’m chatting about clients and tax deadlines and my desire to run my own firm. He listens with serious intent, like I’m the only person in the world.

  Next time I look down, my plate is empty of all but crumbs. Oops. I’m sated with more than just food, drunk on Bear’s attention. He even listens to me complain at length about having to go dress shopping.

  “I mean, black is my color, but who wears black to a wedding? I’ll look like the Grim Reaper.”

  “Who says black is your color?”

  “Oh, my aunt.”

  “She blind?”

  I sputter a laugh. “No. But she sees things a certain way. She has high standards, and I am not up to them.”

  “Hmm.” His grunt makes me think he has a not very high opinion of my aunt.

  Having fun? Sawyer texts.

  Oh yes. This strip club has great food, I joke. And I can dance off the calories.

  Take pictures! He sends back with about a million exclamation points. I smirk as I put my phone away.

  “Having a good time?” Bear asks.

  “Yeah.” He and Sawyer are so in sync it’s scary. Which reminds me of something I wanted to ask...

  “Have you and Sawyer ever... you know,” I lower my voice, “shared a woman before?”

  “You gonna say yes to the competition?”

  “Maybe.” I toy with my fork. It’s tempting, so help me.

  Bear stretches an arm along the back of the booth, behind me but not touching. “What can we do to make you feel comfortable?”

  “You’re already doing a lot. And you never answered my question. Have you shared before?”

  “A few times. Why? Do you want us to share you?”

  I drop the fork with a clatter. My blush answers for me.

  “We want you a few times alone,” Bear muses. “But we can do a night all together. If you really want.”

  “I haven’t said yes yet,” I point out with as much dignity as I can muster while my blush marches across my face, taking no prisoners.

  “Mmm,” he murmurs, a fi
nger lightly tracing my shoulder. “What are you doing Sunday night?”

  “Nothing,” I narrow my eyes.

  “You want to meet up?”

  “Like a date? I don’t—”

  “It’s not a date. You gotta get comfortable with us.” His big hand strokes my shoulder. It’s nice. “Think of it as pregame. The carnival’s in town.”

  “That sounds fun.” And pregame makes it part of the competition.

  “I’ll pick you up at seven.”

  “If it’s not a date, then I should just meet you there. Although I would like to ride in one of your rumble cars sometime.”

  “Rumble cars?”

  “The muscle cars you have all over your feed.”

  “All over my feed, huh?”

  Uh oh, busted.

  “You checking me out, baby?”

  “I had to be certain you weren’t serial killers,” I tell him seriously.

  Bear throws his head back with a body-shaking laugh, complete with flashing white teeth. Happiness curls through me.

  “And you’d figure that out from my Facebook?”

  “Well, you know. Women have built-in bastard radar.”

  Another chuckle. “Did I make the cut?”

  “Yes. You and Sawyer. Will you both be at the carnival?”

  His face goes blank. “You want us both there?”

  “Uh, yeah, if I’m going to get to know you both. That’s the point of this, right?” Cause it’s not a date.

  “Meet me at the carnival. It’ll be you and me.” His hand slides up my back and I fight the urge to arch like a cat. I’m already used to him touching me. “Sawyer can get you another time.”

  Is it wrong to love them fighting over me? This competition would be hella good for my self-esteem. Too bad I’m going to say no.

  “The carnival,” I agree, because even if I should break this off now, it’s easier to resist chocolate cheesecake than say no to Bear.

  Chapter 3

  PREGAME

  My fingers plucked the edge of my shorts as I wait by the carnival entrance. I don’t often wear shorts, or a tank top this skimpy, but today is hot and I don’t want to end up a sweaty mess. Amish wear is out. Besides, these shorts are loose enough that I feel comfortable in them. They won’t ride up or stick to my legs. I usually don’t wear them out of the house in case my aunt sees me and lectures me about showing cellulite.

  The crowd parts and Bear emerges. The sun streams around his wide shoulders, the soft beams caressing his profile. If I listen hard, I can hear the faint chorus from a heavenly angel choir. Mr. Perfect.

  He grins when he spots me, and I wave like a dork. Grin stretching under his mirrored shades, he ambles my way and looms over me. For a moment I’m afraid he’ll kiss me in public and I’ll melt into a puddle of goo, but he just puts his hand at my back. Again, with the touching. I could get used to this.

  No, no, no. I will not get used to this. This is not a date. This is a pregame. Whatever that is. What does pregame entail? First through second base? When the competition starts, we will be jumping straight to third base. Homerun, right away. But now we have this pregame thingy. Does that mean we’ll start at first base? What is first base anyway? From what I remember from school, it’s kissing. Second base would be touching—on the naughty bits. In high school I called it groping, but Bear and Sawyer will have more finesse.

  So, third base is sex. But what about shortstop? Is that oral? And if there are only three bases, how do we classify a ménage à trois? Is that a double header?

  I suck at sports. And sports metaphors.

  “Whatcha thinking about?” Bear asks me while we wander through the crowds. He bought food and beer and once again I forget my solid vow to never eat in front of a man. Another thing to think about.

  “Uh, nothing.”

  “You’ve been frowning for the past five minutes.”

  So much for poker face. “I’m a little worried about all this,” I say as offhandedly as I can.

  Bear guides me to the side of the walkway and sets me to face him. “What if you didn’t have to worry?” He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “What if you could just relax and let us do all the work?”

  “Lie back and think of England?”

  “I’d prefer you to think of me.”

  Shiver. “I could do that.” I’m not sure if I can completely stop my brain, but Bear seems confident in what he’s doing.

  “You don’t have to worry,” he tells me, and the tension eases out of me as if I’ve been waiting all my life to hear someone say that. “Just let go and let me lead. Can you trust me?”

  I open my mouth but before I can answer, I catch a glimpse of a familiar face.

  “Oh no.” My cousin and her perfect fiancé stroll up the walkway, flashing their thousand watt smiles, model ready. The carnival could take pictures of them and use them in advertising. Happy couple having a fun time.

  I grab Bear’s arm. “We gotta hide.” I tug him into a random exhibit. He follows willingly, which is what allows me to pull him behind me in the first place. We emerge from a dark anteroom into a narrow hallway, where our distorted images bloat in all directions. Funhouse mirrors. Great. Because I don’t fear my reflection enough.

  “Why are we hiding?” Bear sounds amused.

  “That was my cousin. I didn’t want her to see us.” I realize how insulting this sounds. “Not that I’m embarrassed to be seen with you. It’s more that I’m embarrassed for you to be seen with me.” We round a corner and I avoid looking at the reflection. “It’ll get back to my aunt. She meddles. Besides, I’m not supposed to wear shorts…” I trail off, ducking down random corridors, trying to find my way out of this maze. “Aha!” I throw open a door painted black to match the walls, but it’s a closet.

  “Evie,” Bear catches my arm. I risk a glance at the mirror’s and focus on his reflection. His face is carefully blank. “Slow down. Why aren’t you supposed to wear shorts?”

  Crap. Shouldn’t have said anything. “My aunt thinks my legs are too short for them to look good. I’m supposed to cover up.”

  A rumble that sounds like a growl. “What does she want you to wear?”

  “I don’t know. She’s never satisfied. Maybe a burka? If it will get me off the hook to go wedding dress shopping, I’ll seriously considered it. A burka, I mean.” Gah, I’m rambling. “I think that’s the way out.” I start for the perceived exit but with a half growl, Bear pulls me back.

  “Evie—”

  “Can we just go? This place is freaking me out.” Truth is, it’s getting hard to avoid looking at the mirrors. I don’t need to see myself in a fat mirror. I look fat enough in a regular one.

  Without another word, Bear heads to the left, drawing me in his wake. We reach the exit and I heave a sigh. I peek out into the walkway. “They’re gone.”

  It hits me as we enter the alley. Bear just got a front row seat to my particular brand of crazy.

  I duck my head so my hair falls over my face. “Maybe we should just go.”

  “Evie—”

  “I’m nuts.” I shake my head, unable to meet his eyes. “That was psycho. I didn’t mean for you to see that.”

  “Hey,” he says, hands on my shoulders. “You’re not ready for your family to see us. I get that. I got this.”

  “Okay,” I mouth, still not looking at him.

  “You didn’t answer my question. Will you trust me?”

  I bite my lip and nod.

  “Out loud, Evie.”

  “I trust you.”

  “Thank you.” He gives me a squeeze. “If we see your cousin, we can duck out. Unless you’re tired…?”

  “No.” Now that my freak out is passed, I don’t want to go home. “I want to stay. With you.”

  A detour to a stall and he buys a ball cap, settling it gently on my head.

  “A disguise?” I joke.

  “A memento.”

  Warm tendrils curl through my body. No, no, I scol
d. No feelings. Feelings bad.

  It’s not until we’re sitting on a Ferris wheel, easing our way into the sky that I accept the happy feelings are here to stay. Bear keeps a hand on my back, stroking my hair. It’s the most intimate I’ve felt with a man, and we have all our clothes on.

  Our seats swing gently as we rise above the carnival. Night has fallen and the wind has a chill. I shiver a little and he tucks me into his side.

  “Cold, baby?”

  “I’m good.” I study his features. His body is pure power, muscles hewn from rock. His face isn’t handsome in the classical sense, but the dark eyes, strong nose, and blunt chin add to the image of masculine power. His jawline is so strong you could break a fist on it. Pick him up and set him down in another time, he’d be a warrior, a gladiator, a mountain of muscle who can hold off an army.

  And somehow, with me, his voice and touch are so gentle. “Whatcha thinking?”

  He followed me through the fun house and didn’t freak out at my freak out. I might as well share.

  “You asked me what I was thinking earlier. I said I was worried, but I also was thinking—during this pregame, what are the rules? Is there touching? Or more than touching? Like, first base? Although I’m not sure what first base is anymore. I figure third base is... you know.” I mouth the word ‘sex’ like it’s a big secret. “But I forget which base is oral. And what about shortstop?”

  I’m babbling but the corner of his mouth and eyes are crinkled in what I hope is amusement.

  “The bases worked in high school, but now I think we need more stages. Maybe we could use a different sport for scoring.” I think for a bit. “Like... tennis. First stage is love.” My eyes widen when I realize what I’ve said. “Not actual love! That’s just where you start. In tennis, I mean. ‘Love’ in tennis means ‘nothing’, though I don’t understand why they use the word ‘love’ at all—”

  Bear slants his head and brushes his lips against mine. My own lips part and his taste slices through me: heat and beer and a yummy flavor that’s all Bear. His hand comes up and cups my cheek as his lips drink from mine, slow sips at first, then longer pulls, claiming more of me. His tongue slips into my mouth and electricity zings my nipples.

  He pulls back and I feel slightly tipsy.