Just a Fling

by Charity Ferrell

  He snaps his fingers. “That’s where you’re wrong.”

  “How am I wrong? You playing for the other team now?”

  “Pussy is the only field I play in, sweetheart. When I say we don’t want the same thing, I’m not referring to sex. I’m in a bad place in my life right now and not sure a no-strings attached and only fun sex relationship is the best way for me to pull out if it.”

  I gape at him. “You’re in a bad place because of what happened with your ex?”

  He drums his fingers against his chin. “She’s a part of it, yes, but not all. Cameron cheating isn’t the only bad shit that’s happened to me.”

  “You want to talk about it?”

  “I don’t think a therapy session would be fun for either of us. Shit, it’d probably be a contraceptive more than anything. I’d scare you away.”

  “Nothing you could say would scare me away.”

  His gaze darkens. “Trust me on this one.”

  His face tells me he’s finished with this conversation, so I decide to go a different route.

  “So, no fucking. No heart to heart conversations. What’s your plan of making it up to me then? And FYI, I have enough shoes.” That’s not technically true, but I’m trying to make a point here.

  His mood changes from intense to laid back as a smile builds on his lips. “How about dinner and a board game?”

  The fuck?

  “Your idea of redemption is feeding me and Monopoly? You’re such a tease.”

  He’s playing dick games, goddamnit.

  “Sure is.” He smacks his leg and brings himself up from the chair. “Now, what sounds good for dinner?”

  Sex. His cock.

  I get up and trail him to the kitchen, pouting the entire way. “How about you surprise me?”

  He opens the fridge and starts moving things around. “Let’s see what I have to work with.” He looks back at me. “I want to give you a heads-up that this won’t be my best meal considering you don’t have much in here.”

  “It will be better than anything I throw together.” I stroll over to the wine fridge and grab a bottle before pouring us a glass. I leave his on the counter and take mine as I sit down behind the island. “I’ll relax and enjoy the show.”

  He stops what he’s doing to look up at me. “That’ll work, but only on one condition.”

  “What’s that?” I have a hateful relationship with conditions. Blame it on Tillie’s condition-loving ass.

  “You let me pick the game we play.”

  Is he actually for real about this whole game night thing?

  I narrow my eyes at him. “Seriously? I thought you were joking about that.”

  He shakes his head. “The only way you’re getting out of a game is if you put on an apron and start helping.”

  “Fine, one game.”

  He grins. “Scrabble it is.”

  “What’s up with you Barnes boys and Scrabble?”

  He stops to look up at me again, his brows furrowed. “You played Scrabble with Dallas?” He looks almost pissed off.

  “Yes?” I answer, blinking. “The little shit is the most competitive person I know.”

  “Scrabble is the game of the Barnes family,” he explains. “We’re all competitive. We can’t be beat.”

  I chug down the rest of my glass. “I don’t know. I play a pretty mean game.”

  “Scrabble it definitely is then.”

  I slide out of my chair to pour myself another glass. “Then a repeat of what happened after yoga?”

  He shakes his head. “Seven letters, one word.”

  “You suck?” I guess. Not one word, but close enough.

  He laughs. “Nice try.”

  “Do you not like wine?” I ask, noticing his untouched glass.

  He shrugs. “I’m more of a beer guy.”

  “I’ll be sure to have the fridge stocked.”

  He grins. “Appreciate that.”

  Twenty-One

  Hudson

  I’m busting my ass to prepare the perfect meal for Stella.

  I know my way around the kitchen, but it’s been awhile, so I’m a bit rusty. I decide on honey-glazed chicken. I have the recipe down pat. It might sound boring, but it’s far from that. My chicken could win awards. It actually did in a Blue Beech cook off. I’m not claiming to be Bobby Flay, but I can throw down.

  My parents made sure we learned from the both of them growing up. My dad took us under his wing to work in his repair shop, and my mom spent the weeknights teaching us how to cook and clean. Those cooking lessons paid off when Cameron and I got our own place. My ex’s idea of a home cooked meal was pouring a box of mac and cheese into boiling water. I’d get lucky sometimes and she’d add hot dogs to her infamous pasta. Her specialty.

  But I loved the woman, and when you love someone, you accept their flaws. Over time, you actually start to love them.

  Stella sips her wine and keeps her attention on me as I move around the kitchen. I marinate the chicken, slide it in the oven, and start slicing veggies before tossing them in a skillet along with the seasonings. I don’t have all the ingredients I need, but there’s enough for me to work with.

  I’m doing a lousy ass job at keeping our relationship professional already, and I doubt cooking her dinner and drinking together will help that. I consider myself a strong man, but the force of Stella Mendes is breaking me down.

  We make conversation, talking to each other in excitement, and words jump from my tongue like fire as we throw out question after question.

  We’re both giving.

  Both taking.

  I want to know every detail of her life—every flaw, quirk, every fucking thing about her. In order to get that, I give her mine—convincing myself I’ll put those bricks back up later. I’ll only cave for tonight.

  She rolls her eyes and calls me basic when I say my favorite color is green. I laugh when she declares hers is sparkles. Whether it’s a real color is decided after a five minute debate where I’m declared the loser. Her go-to food is tacos and guacamole. I’ll remember that for the next time I cook for us. Mine is anything that pairs well with beer. She demands I clarify, and I finally cave in and admit it’s burgers and ribs.

  She talks me into having a glass of wine. My mouth waters as I load our plates with food. She grabs the bottle of wine, and I carry our plates outside to the patio. One thing I’ve come to love about Cali is the weather, especially in the evening. It’s not too hot. Not too cold.

  And the view is incredible.

  Stella lights the candles on the table while I set down the plates. I pull out her chair before taking my seat across from her and then something hits me.

  I slide my chair out and get up. “Shit, we forgot glasses.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Stella says, stopping me. She snatches the bottle and takes a drink from it. “It tastes even better this way.”

  I smirk. “I think I’m rubbing off on you, Hollywood.”

  “I agree.” She leans in with a wild grin on her face. “I like it.”

  “Oh, really?’

  “Yes, really.” She looks around the yard. “Thank you for making me dinner and suggesting we eat out here. I’ve never truly been able to enjoy my backyard like this. I mean, I do yoga occasionally, but other than that, it’s never used.”

  “You’re not out here all the time? You couldn’t get me to hang out anywhere else if I lived here.”

  “You do live here.”

  A smile tugs at my lips. “Good point.”

  “It’s nice enjoying it without the stress. Whenever I entertained, I was always too worried to enjoy it. Everything had to be perfect because I was scared of people judging me. By the time it was all done, it was more of a headache for me.”

  “Tell me you’ve at least done something fun out here. Got wild? Skinny dipped?”

  “I wish, but no. I’ve honestly had such a great time hanging out with you in the kitchen and out here—the places I’ve never made
use of.” She picks up her fork but doesn’t take a bite. “You make me feel so comfortable and allow me to be me. I can drink wine from the bottle and fuck cushions up without you gossiping behind my back.”

  She snags the cushion from the chair next to her and throws it across the yard.

  Why do I feel so excited at her confession?

  Why am I lighting up like a fucking firework knowing I make this chick feel good?

  And why the fuck am I feeling the same way?

  This California air must be fucking with me.

  “That’s where you’re wrong. When you go to bed, I’m calling all my friends and telling them you’re a monster for drinking out of the bottle.”

  She snorts. “I’m so sure.”

  Our food is getting cold, but I don’t care.

  I want this conversation.

  “This has been an exciting night for me, too,” I say.

  “Yeah, right.” She flips her hair behind her shoulder. “Says the guy who’s spent his life protecting people and shooting firearms. You do all kinds of crazy stuff, and Dallas has told me plenty of stories about the trouble you caused when you were younger. I doubt making me dinner and watching me drink is fun for you.”

  “Not saying it’s the best entertainment I’ve had, but I’ve never enjoyed getting to know someone as much as I have you, and I’ve never been so happy about someone proving me wrong.”

  “Proving you wrong how?”

  “About who you are. I was a dickhead for judging you at first.”

  “At least you have the balls to admit it.”

  “I’m not afraid to admit I’m not always right.” I can write a book of everything I’ve done wrong in my life, including stopping us on the couch earlier. I should’ve hunted for a condom.

  “Glad I proved you wrong.”

  Our conversation is interrupted by the sound of her stomach grumbling.

  I point to her plate with my fork. “You take the first bite.”

  “Why?” She narrows her eyes at me. “You trying to poison me?”

  I throw my head back. “Jesus, no. It’s rude for the chef to take the first bite.”

  “All right, but FYI, if I’m taking the bite to my death, I stuck a note somewhere in my room that says if I die, you did it.”

  “Damn, you’re untrusting. Taste my food before I take it as an insult.”

  She cuts off a piece of chicken, takes a bite, and immediately goes in for another. A moan escapes her while she chews, and I shift in my chair. I’ve never enjoyed watching someone eat.

  Maybe it’s because she’s eating my meat.

  Fuck, that was lame.

  “Holy hell,” she finally says. “This is unbelievable. You weren’t kidding about your kitchen skills. Your breakfast was good, but this dinner is incredible. I’ll forever be asking you to cook for me. Consider that your new j-o-b.”

  I hold my hand up. “Whoa there, don’t be getting too excited. This won’t happen too often.”

  I go in for my first bite while she takes her third. She wasn’t exaggerating to pump up my ego. Even with a few ingredients missing, it’s good as fuck.

  I’m slower in clearing my plate than she is because I can’t stop watching her.

  My cooking is good, but it’s not the best part of this meal.

  It’s her. Her company. Her conversation.

  I’ll never forget my time with Stella. The memories will stay with me as I board a flight to Iowa when it’s time to leave and life my life—remembering this as one of my favorite pit-stops.

  I’ll never forget her sipping wine so dark it stains her lips the perfect crimson red, or the view of her taking long breaths between her laughs when she’s excited. No matter what, I’ll forever remember my time in California with the woman who was out of my league.

  I’ll always have that what if in the back of my mind.

  What if we weren’t living in two different worlds?

  What if I was willing to give up everything and move here?

  What if she was willing to do the same?

  “I have a confession to make.”

  I take my last bite and look up at Stella. “Go on.”

  She sips on her wine looking guilty. “I’m not exactly a Scrabble master.”

  I set my napkin down next to me and slide my chair out from under the table. “That’s my cue to go. I can’t hang out with Scrabble imposters.” I gesture to the wine in her hand. “I’m okay with you chugging from that bottle but lying about Scrabble is where I draw the line.”

  She rolls her eyes. “The first time I played was with your brother.”

  “Did you not have a childhood?”

  “If by childhood you mean my mom dragging me from audition to audition and then forcing me to get my hair lightened, then yes, I had the perfect childhood.”

  My stomach drops at her answer. “Shit, I’m sorry.” Her response pisses me off. My parents made us work around the house and do chores, but they never stopped us from going out and having fun.

  “It’s fine. I eventually had my fun when I started making my own money.”

  “I take it Scrabble wasn’t at the top of that bucket list?”

  “Can’t say it was. I tried getting Willow to play it with me once, but that girl is the queen of short attention span. We lasted two rounds before she decided we needed to catch up on what the Teen Moms were up to.”

  “Priorities.”

  “You know it. Therefore, game nights never became a thing for me.”

  “Surely, you have friends other than her?”

  She used to hang out in the clubs with people all the time, at least that’s what Lucy told me when Dallas first took the job. She was nervous he’d fall under the seduction of the women around him.

  “As of lately, no. I lost most of them in my breakup with Knox.”

  “What? Like a prenup? You got the curtains and fine china, and he got the crew upon going your separate ways?”

  “Something like that. They had to choose, and they chose him.” She shrugs. “I’d rather keep to myself now anyway. The last thing I need is someone finding out about this whole Eli scheme and blabbing about it.” She’s acting like it’s nothing, but there’s no doubt it bothers her to lose people she thought had her back. Maybe money and fame don’t buy happiness.

  She scrubs her hands over her face and takes another sip of wine. “I have an idea.”

  I arch a brow. “Your ideas are never good.”

  “Let’s make a wager.”

  “Do proceed.”

  “Scrabble winner gets to choose how we end the night.”

  “In other words, the winner gets to decide if I spend the entire night fucking you in that pool or not?”

  She flinches, my answer catching her off guard, and warmth swims over her cheeks. “Exactly.”

  “That doesn’t make me want to win.”

  She winks. “Be a gentleman and lose.”

  “I wouldn’t count on it. I told you us Barnes men are competitive about our board games.”

  “Bring it.”

  “Arousal?” Stella screeches around a fit of laughter so loud I’m sure she woke the neighbors.

  We’re still outside finishing off our second bottle of wine and battling over Scrabble.

  “How the hell did you get those letters?” She reaches over the table, grabs the box, and starts searching through it for evidence I’m cheating. “That can’t happen in real life.”

  I hold up my hands. “Playing fair and square over here, Hollywood. Don’t be pissed because the Scrabble Gods are in my favor.”

  “The Scrabble Gods must be trying to tell you something if you have the letters to spell arousal.”

  She has a point.

  I’m still mind-blown I’m trying to win when the outcome of losing means we have sex.

  I point to the board. “Your turn.”

  She runs her manicured hand over her chin and dramatically debates her next move. Her eyes squint before a sly
smile spreads across her plump lips. I run a finger over my mouth and remember how delicious she tasted this morning.

  I scoot forward while watching her spell out her word, and my mouth drops when she finishes.

  “Balls deep?” I question, going back over the letters as if there’s a mistake.

  And she thinks my ass is cheating?

  “That’s two words.”

  “Says who, Webster?”

  I signal down to my lap. “Says the guy with balls.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Okay, well says the girl who’s had her fair share of working with balls, I get some say.” Her hand flies to her lips as her face turns red. “Dear God, can we act like those words never left my mouth? This is what happens when I drink too much wine. I start talking about my experience with balls.” She smacks her forehead. “See! There I go again!”

  I can’t help but burst out in laughter, and she gives me a look that falls between dirty and annoyance.

  She’s right about the alcohol. It’s getting to us. I never imagined I’d play Scrabble so damn kinky. Add Stella and booze to the equation, and this is the best damn game night I’ve ever had.

  “Care to share some of those working experiences?” I ask but then stop her before she answers. “Scratch that. I don’t want to hear about any of your past experiences. I’d rather you show me about how you work with them and let me experience it myself.” I glance down at my now-stirring cock growing more excited from this balls talk.

  She jumps up from her chair. “Excuse me while I go drown myself.”

  I stand, meeting her at the pool, and spin her around to face me. “Come on, it’ll look bad on my resume if my employer drowns while I’m on the job. Don’t be embarrassed. My dick likes your balls talk.”

  She attempts to pull away to block her face, but I stop her. “I appreciate you trying to make me feel better and all, but that so did not turn you on.”

  I move my hand to hers and bring it straight to my aching erection. She doesn’t flinch or move her hand.

  This action right here seals our fate.

  “Still think I’m lying?”