Report For Booty (Kinky Chronicles, #3)

by Jodi Redford

  Report For Booty

  By

  Jodi Redford

  “Report For Booty”

  Copyright 2015 Jodi Redford

  Edited by JL Stalker

  Published by Jodi Redford

  Cover by Amie Stuart

  T his is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people.

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information storage and retrieval system-except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a magazine, newspaper, or on the web-without permission in writing from the author.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Report For Booty

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Epilogue

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Other books by Jodi Redford

  Perfect Chemistry

  Kinky Claus

  Frisky Business

  Report For Booty

  A Kinky Chronicles Crossover story

  M ason Gamble and Nash Vincent are pros at making people sweat. As former Army Rangers who run the toughest, ball-busting fitness boot camp in Michigan, they take great pride in that fact. But thanks to the knockout brunette housesitting next door, suddenly they’re the ones experiencing excess perspiration. Fortunately, the perfect opportunity to be neighborly presents itself courtesy of a package delivery snafu.

  Regan Wallace has trust issues. Specifically, trusting that her best friend won’t make good on her threat to send a Strip-O-Gram for Regan’s birthday. Is it any wonder she’d jump to the wrong conclusion when two gorgeous, camo-garbed hunks land on her front doorstep? Woops. The crazy part? They don’t seem the least bit scandalized or offended by her boneheaded blunder. Judging by the sinful heat in their eyes, they’re all too happy to provide her with a little two-on-one dirty dancing. For a woman recovering from a bad breakup, fielding the interest of two sex-on-a-stick men is both surreal and exhilarating. Indulging a three-way fling? Completely out of her comfort zone. But with her stay limited to a week, some no-strings-attached sex might be precisely what she needs to get her confidence back in stride.

  None of them are prepared for the consequences of a sexy fling feeling like so much more. As Regan’s stay draws closer to an end, Mason and Nash realize there’s no way in hell they’re letting the perfect woman slip through their fingers. And when it comes to fighting for her love, there are no fitter warriors for the ultimate battle to her heart.

  CHAPTER ONE

  G rimacing, Regan Wallace inspected the metallic blue thong pinched between her fingertips. “Your guys agree to wear these getups?”

  “Trust me, they’ve worn worse. Much, much worse.” Harper freed Regan of the skimpy undergarment and tossed it in her shopping basket. “You should see some of the requests we get. Crazy pants, man.”

  “Don’t you mean crazy banana hammocks?”

  “Heh. Good one.” Harper snatched a matching cape and added it to her stash of skimpies. “Ya know, while you’re in town you should stop in to see a show.”

  Harper’s uncle owned a local male strip club called Sinners, and she handled the off premise end of the business. Bachelorette parties and such. In other words, a daily grind—pun intended—of body oil and G-strings. Compared to Regan’s house and pet sitting service, it was clear which of them lived the wild life. “Thanks, but think I’ll pass.”

  Harper rolled her eyes. “You are such a wuss. A little adventure now and then would do you good.”

  “That’s okay. Apparently Steven was doing plenty of that for the both of us.”

  “That motherfucker,” Harper growled, immediately bristling at the mention of Regan’s cheating ex.

  “Not quite accurate. We both know he’d much rather fuck their daughters.” Although it’d been exactly four months since she’d caught him in bed with the neighbor’s eighteen-year-old daughter, the memory still delivered a hefty sting.

  “He’s lucky you only kicked him out. If it’d been me, I would have chopped his balls off.”

  “I considered it.”

  A gleam flashed in Harper’s eyes. “You should totally come to the club and get a pic of you surrounded by a bunch of beefcake. We’ll send it to ass-wipe with the caption ‘Look who’s the filling in a hunk manwich’ .”

  “I appreciate the offer, but I doubt Steven would care. Besides, you know those places make me nervous as hell. I’m always worried I’ll get peer pressured into slapping some stripper’s ass. Or worse.” She shuddered.

  Harper grunted. “How are we even friends?”

  “It’s been a mystery to me for years.” Laughing, she ducked to avoid getting pegged by the thong Harper lobbed at her. She stooped and grabbed the dinky article of clothing from the ground. “Besides, these do absolutely nothing for me.” She pitched the underwear into a nearby bin.

  “Fine. Then how about this?” Harper held up a pair of itsy bitsy camouflage booty shorts and waggled her eyebrows. “Perfect for your G.I. Joe fetish.”

  Why did I ever tell her about that? “It’s not a fetish. He’s hot, that’s all. Hello, freakin’ Channing Tatum played him in a movie.”

  “Whatever you say, Ms. Denial Isn’t Just A River In Egypt.” Her expression devious, Harper tucked the shorts into her basket. “But I do seem to recall it’s somebody’s birthday tomorrow. You never know, a visit from G.I. Joe might be in your future.”

  Regan’s gaze veered from her friend’s sparkling one to the item sitting not so innocently atop Harper’s growing pile of purchases. “So help me God, if you send me a stripper I’m never speaking to you again.”

  “Like never never? Or a day or so never?”

  “ Never. With an additional lifetime of oh hell no never.”

  “Killjoy.” A sigh falling from her, Harper led the way to the adult store’s checkout. After handing over a ridiculous sum of cash for the clothing—apparently the less material involved, the more it cost. Like that made any sense—they headed out to the parking lot. Harper dumped her bag on the backseat and turned to wrap Regan in a hug. “I’m sorry I can’t get away tomorrow. Uncks is out of town, and its amateur night. Someone’s gotta be there to supervise that train wreck. And guess who the lucky girl is?”

  Regan grimaced. “Sorry. And don’t worry about it. I’ve got a hot date planned with Buzz and Woody.”

  “OMG, you name your vibrators too?”

  “Har har. They’re my client’s guinea pigs. Try not to be jealous.”

  “Considering some of the duds I’ve gone out with lately, a guinea pig would be a step up.” Harper crossed to the driver’s side of her car. “I’ll see you on Friday, though, right?”

  “Absolutely.�
��

  “Sweet.”

  After blowing Harper a kiss, Regan hopped into her Volvo and headed toward the expressway. The traffic on 94 was blessedly light, enabling her to shave ten minutes off her return trip to Algonac. She pulled behind the small queue of cars lined up for the Harsens Island auto ferry just as her cell pinged, announcing a text.

  If Buzz and Woody stand you up, you should come visit me at the club.

  If there was one thing Harper excelled at, it was persistency. Regan returned her phone to its spot near the gearshift and lowered her window, a balmy breeze stirring off of the south channel of the Saint Clair River. The attendant manning the cars waved her forward and she dutifully cruised up the loading ramp, its metal supports clanking beneath the tires. She pulled behind the Ford Escape. The transport vessel rocked in the water, the sensation slightly unsettling.

  Once they squeezed in the last car, the ferry operator tooted his horn and started the slow crawl across the water. Despite its snail pace, she enjoyed every second of the ride. Back home in Grand Rapids, she didn’t get to travel on a ferry every day. This was a treat she intended to savor.

  Sooner than she would have liked it to, their transport docked on the adjacent end of the channel, and she and the other vehicles debarked. Veering off from the pack, she followed the twisty, double-lane main street that circled the left side of the island, where the majority of its full time residents lived.

  Roughly two minutes later, she pulled into the driveway fronting the Llewelyn’s white clapboard cottage. She’d immediately fallen in love three days ago when she’d first stepped into her client’s house. It might not be the poshest or most lavish place she’d sat, but it was certainly the homiest. Everywhere there were signs that it was a lived-in abode with a lifetime of happy memories. After the disastrous breakup with Steven, it felt good to be surrounded by all those positive vibes.

  Refusing to dwell on her ex, she trekked into the kitchen, grabbed a couple of carrots from the fridge, and carried the veggies into the family room. Buzz and Woody darted from their small huts, their excited squeaks earning her laugh. “Yeah, yeah. I know it’s the grub you’re thrilled to see. Not me, you little squealers.”

  She tossed the carrots into the pen and the guineas snatched their loot before zipping back into their dens. With that important task taken care of, she returned to the kitchen and fetched a cold bottle of iced tea and a book. She settled on the padded porch swing and rocked contently, her paperback momentarily forgotten while she watched the two jet skiers ambitiously chasing the wake of a massive freighter. Curling her feet beneath her, she twisted the cap from the tea and quaffed a refreshing sip. How easy it would be to get used to scenery like this every day. Although, the winters had to be brutal. The other day she’d spoken to one of the local shopkeepers and discovered the previous January they’d been without power for over a week after a bad ice storm. He and his wife had bunkered in for the long haul, existing on canned goods, wine, and heated rounds of Scrabble.

  Actually, that sounded pretty damn fantastic too.

  “You’re boring, Regan. Jesus Christ, can you blame me for wanting to spice things up?”

  No matter how hard she tried to, she couldn’t push Steven’s recriminating voice from her head. Was she really that bad? Surely she wasn’t the only woman on the planet who’d rather curl up with a good book than go out clubbing every night. But if you listened to her ex, that’s what she should have been doing. There was no question that they were polar opposites in that area. No doubt his eighteen-year-old floozy was a regular party animal. Probably that’s what attracted him to her. That and the perky boobs and nonexistent ass.

  Glumness settling over her, she glanced down at the slight muffin top hanging over her shorts. She reflexively sucked in her tummy and sighed.

  CHAPTER TWO

  “I f she’s out there today I’m going to walk over.”

  “And do what? Introduce yourself as the creeper who’s been spying on her the last three days?”

  Mason Gamble crossed his arms over his chest, chuffing. “It’s damn well called reconnaissance. And you’ve been doing it too, motherfucker.”

  Nash awarded him one of his patented killer grins. Unlike the ladies, it did nothing for Mason, and he had no problem telling him such. As former Ranger brothers and current business partners and roommates, their relationship consisted of lots of dogging and a good challenge now and again. It’s what kept them on top of their game. Plus they respected the hell out of each other. They’d been through hell and back together, on the combat field and normal civilian life. After saving Nash from a life of crime back when they were kids, the man had stuck to Mason’s side like glue. You didn’t find loyalty like that every day.

  In addition to that, they worked like a well-oiled machine. A huge benefit when it came to running a business. Their goal was solitary—ensure their clients reached peak physical performance. Though shit knows, a good portion of them probably thought he and Nash were the devil. When it came to busting their clients’ asses into shape, they might be right.

  Case in point, the profusely sweating individuals struggling through their last round of chin-ups. Their arms had to be jelly after powering through fifty pushups and sit ups, followed by a five mile run in thirty minutes. Did Mason give a rat’s ass? Fuck no. Because by the time he and Nash were done with them, they’d be doing twice as many in half the time. It’s what made his and Nash’s guerilla boot camp both popular and the most grueling in the state. They didn’t pussy around. Their program was hardcore and got results. By the end of your sixty days, you were soldier ready. No ifs, ands, or saggy butts about it.

  Each of their clients finished their sets and Nash distributed towels and bottles of water. Greg, their oldest client in the group, accepted his allotment before thudding onto the grass. “Don’t mind me while I puke my lungs up.”

  Despite his claim, he didn’t so much as heave. Good sign. Greg’s endurance was obviously improving. Mason patted him on the back. “You’re doing great. Keep it up.”

  “I don’t think I can even stand .” Groaning, he swigged a hefty portion of his water.

  After their cool down, the quasi soldiers in training packed up their stuff and headed for their vehicles. Mason and Nash followed them to the small parking lot situated at the start of the trailhead. They stowed their own gear in the back of the Hummer and jumped inside the sweltering vehicle. Still, blistering hot seats didn’t compare to the Registan Desert during the harshest heat of the day. Which amounted to every fucking second.

  “So what is your game plan for approaching Ms. Luscious?”

  Mason grunted. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

  “Hence why I’m asking.”

  “Sure. So you can steal my line.”

  Nash shrugged out of his over-shirt and tossed it toward the back. “Now why would I want to scare off a fine woman like that?”

  “If you think you have a better shot than me, you are sorely mistaken. Shit, all she’s got to do is get a whiff of ya and she’ll run for the hills.”

  “In case it passed your notice, I’m not the only one reeking up this vehicle.”

  Mason discreetly sniffed his armpits and winced. “Yeah, we could both use a shower.”

  “Thanks for the invitation, but for the last damn time, I’m not scrubbing your back.”

  “You wish.”

  Chuckling, Nash folded his arms behind his head, relaxing into the seat as Mason nosed the Hummer in the direction of the park’s exit. “Of course, we’re assuming she wouldn’t be down for getting neighborly with us both.”

  He and Nash were no strangers to sharing women. When you spent that much time with a guy, in and out of combat, it was a natural progression to extend your teamwork in other areas. The bedroom being one of them, in their case. And truthfully, just the thought of the little brunette nex
t door being sandwiched between he and his best buddy was enough to make his balls ache.

  It wasn’t that he was a horn dog. Not that he was a saint either. Far from it. But he didn’t make a habit of trying to hook up with strange women. Only there was something about her that appealed to him. Big time. And he wasn’t just talking about her knockout tits. Though, Christ alive, she had a brick house body that didn’t seem to quit. Like Nash, he’d always preferred a woman with some lush curves. He’d always considered Marilyn Monroe the epitome of a goddess. So Ms. Luscious—as Nash descriptively nicknamed her—more than fit the bill. She was sexy and beautiful as all get out. Unquestionably so. But it was the sweetly innocent air about her that did it for him.

  The first time he’d noticed her, she’d been sitting on the porch swing, the overhead starburst light bathing her in a mesmerizing glow. He’d been so dumbstruck, it’d taken him several seconds to move from the spot he’d become rooted. Of course Nash had to witness that. Jackass still liked to rib him about it three days later. Despite trying to convince his buddy—and himself—that his reaction had been more a reflection of his surprise at seeing an unfamiliar face staying at the Llewelyn place, he’d failed at selling the story. To both of them. Suitably grumpy over that fact, he’d ducked inside his and Nash’s bungalow and put the brunette out of his mind. For at least a couple of hours. The next two mornings, like clockwork, he’d spotted her on the porch, her nose buried in a book.

  Yesterday he’d begun his mission to snag her attention. Going so far as to walk past the cottage three times in a row, whistling an off key tune guaranteed to earn him some stares from passing bicyclists. And potentially some tomatoes, if anyone happened to have them on hand. Fortunately they didn’t. His efforts went over like a bag of bricks. She never once looked his way.

  Well today it ended. Enough of this dicking around. It wasn’t like him to play coy or hesitate over approaching a woman he had some serious hots for. Time to get his goddamn mojo back on track.