Nuts About You: A Testicular Cancer Anthology

by Anthology

  A Testicular Cancer Anthology

  Copyright © 2017

  All rights reserved

  Anthology Creator: Louise Rogers-Thomas

  Cover Design provided by: Bink Cummings

  Cover image from: Big Stock

  ** Warning **

  This content is for mature audiences only.

  Please don’t not read if explicit language, violence, sexual situations including anything kinky or taboo offend you.

  All stories is this anthology are the work of fiction, any names, places, characters and other things that are mentioned in this book are the result of the authors imagination.

  Content

  Accidentally on Purpose by S.E. Hall & Ashley Suzanne

  Ashes to Ashes by Tess Oliver

  Without Question by Lucy Felthouse

  Nutt Cracker by Skye Turner

  Since I Now Have You by S M Phillips

  There’s No Place Like Home by Jade C. Jamison

  Love Letters by Jamie Lake

  Love Thy Neighbour by J. A Melville

  Right Here Waiting by T.a. McKay

  A Pet’s Reward by Don Abdul

  Taco Tuesday by Xavier Neal

  Corban by Esther E. Schmidt

  First Ink by Amy L. Gale

  My Wicked Stepsister by T.S. Irons

  Catching Mallory by Xana Jordan

  The Ball In My Court by T.H. Snyder

  A Beautiful Heart by Michelle Rene

  Thank You

  Accidentally on Purpose

  by

  S.E Hall & Ashley Suzanne

  “Excellent decision driving back, Jameson. I can’t possibly imagine why this would be a terrible idea,” Brenna, my drop-dead gorgeous, usually maintenance-free personal assistant snaps at me from the passenger seat.

  While yes, it’s my fault we’re in a car instead of a plane, it is for good reason. Between business, travel, and leisure, I’ve been a pretty terrible son to the amazing people who raised me and passed down the family business—Chancellor Chemicals—when they retired. When I realized the conference Brenna and I attended just happened to be a short drive to my parents’ place, I knew it was a sign from God— “go visit your parents, you ingrate!”

  I knew Brenna wouldn’t be happy about exchanging the second leg of our round-trip, first-class tickets for an SUV. I also knew I’d need a damn good excuse to offer her because there was no way I was admitting it took me so long to figure out I was a mere twenty-minute drive from my parents’, so I dodged her inquiries at least three times. But deep down, and pushing me right back into “sub-par son” territory, the biggest reason I’d done it was to be around her. Wanted her at my side for the entire weekend. I’m a selfish man, and I won’t apologize.

  “It’s not that bad. We’ll be back before you know it,” I respond, less than truthfully. The forecast had called for snow, but I’m quite certain at no point did the weather man say, “Stockpile water, canned food, and extra blankets.” The bastard flakes now falling are bigger than a quarter in size and coming down faster than the wiper blades can dispose of them.

  The smart thing to do would have been camping out at my parents’, but I didn’t think Brenna would go for it. They hit it off pretty well, but I wouldn’t say Brenna’d be comfortable sleeping in a stranger’s guest room.

  “Do you think if we turned around we could find a hotel or something?” Brenna asks, as if reading my mind, knowing we should take cover.

  “No,” I answer honestly. “Between the holidays, the convention, and being in such a rural area, I’m pretty sure any hotels that actually exist around here are booked. You’re more than welcome to check Google and call, though. I wouldn’t mind getting off the roads. They’re getting bad.”

  “Well, that’s a hard no.” I glance over at Brenna, who’s just thrown her phone to the floorboard and crossed her arms over her chest. “No service. Not even one tiny bar. Great.”

  Having grown up with three sisters, I refuse to verbally acknowledge her tantrum and continue driving down the highway, never going faster than thirty miles per hour. This is going to be the longest ride back to Chicago ever, and Brenna’s never going to let me live it down. The snow’s falling faster by the minute, and I’m starting to feel a bit nervous.

  Neither one of us changed our clothes after the convention was over, which shouldn’t matter, except when Brenna decides there’s something in the backseat she needs more than the safety of her seatbelt. That’s when it becomes a thing.

  “Move your arm,” she quips, and I wordlessly move my elbow from the console between our seats. The tight, form-fitting, black skirt—which seemed professionally appropriate during my speech and dinner—bunches up over her thighs as she squeezes herself through the small gap. Dangerous road conditions joined by her dangerous curves are a beyond-hazardous combination.

  It takes every ounce of willpower I possess not to run my hand up her thigh and feel the contrast between the nude stockings and skin that I’d be willing to bet a million dollars is softer than silk.

  She finally gets settled back down in her seat and when she clicks her belt in place, her eyes catch mine. “What are you staring at? Watch the road, Jameson.”

  I suppose I’m a lunatic with a death wish, my eyes drifting back down to her skirt which has now ridden up even higher. And fuck me…from this angle, the thin lace strap of her garter shows. God damn, that’s sexy.

  With a lift of her ass off the seat, she pulls the hem of her skirt down and crosses her legs at the ankle. “It’s a garter belt, Jameson. Lingerie. You’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all. Can you get back to driving us home now? I’d like to make it back before Christmas.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I chuckle. “I would’ve never guessed you to be so…feisty? Maybe that’s not the right word, but you’ve sure been mouthy on this trip.”

  “Am I on the clock?” she asks.

  “If, by that, you mean are you getting paid, then yes, I suppose you are.”

  “Then I have nothing else to say.”

  “Okay, I’ll play along. No, you’re off the clock. Everyone’s entitled to a break, and you’ve not taken one in way too long.”

  “Good,” she retorts, shifting in her seat to face me. I angle my head to watch her and the road, but she corrects my posture. “Road, Jameson. Watch it. I’m not dying because you want to have a face to face.” I smile and do as she asks. Never thought I’d see the day when I took orders from my assistant.

  “Now, as far as my garter belt is concerned, it was an accident that you saw it, but it was definitely purposeful that your stare lingered just a little too long. I’m your assistant, you’re my boss. I’d very much appreciate it if you’d keep your eyes on my work, not on my assets.”

  “I agree. And concede. But, in my defense, I am a man, and your assets were within inches of my face. I’d be doing the entire male population a disservice if I didn’t pause to appreciate what you bring to the table.” I smirk, unchecked. For so long I’ve fought, ignored, and denied my attraction to Brenna—now it’s the hot topic and I’m thoroughly enjoying it.

  She groans in frustration but continues her rant. “Secondly, I’m not mouthy. I’m pissed. Big difference. We could’ve been home hours ago. Or at least, I could’ve been home hours ago. My presence wasn’t required for the visit with your parents. That was personal time. Yes, I know you’ll compensate me, but still, I could’ve flown home. Don’t get me wrong, your parents were lovely, but you should’ve at least asked if I minded before you pulled in their driveway.”

  “You’re right.” I nod curtly, unable to conjure up a legitimate argument.

&nbs
p; “I’m right?” I risk a swift glance at her face, only to see it slightly contorted in shocked confusion, as if she didn’t think she’d win that argument so quickly or easily. Finally, after a moment, she amends her question into a statement. “I know I’m right. That’s why I said it.”

  “Jameson, listen. I get it. Ninety-nine percent of the time, I’m at your beck and call, never questioning anything, and do exactly as I’m told. I’d like to think I’m a pretty perfect assistant. But this time, you took advantage of my amicability and used it to your personal benefit. I’m not your wife or girlfriend. I get paid to do an array of services, none of which include things you should be doing on your own, like visiting your parents. Especially when I’m sure they would’ve preferred spending quality time alone with you. This isn’t the first time you’ve done it, either. Remember…”

  She goes on, but to be honest, I kind of block her out after hitting a patch of black ice. Luckily, I recover quickly enough that she doesn’t seem to notice. When I do finally focus back on what she’s saying, she’s reeling off quite the list.

  “I type memos, manage your calendar, write your speeches, pick up your dry cleaning, and…anything else you all too often decide you need done. I, however, am not your date for corporate functions or dinner parties. Are we clear, going forward, as to what my expectations of this job are, and where they begin and finish?”

  After hearing that last part, my last thread of tolerance is frayed. This went from a playful discussion to her dictating her job duties to me. As far as I’m concerned, a personal assistant does what’s requested of them. And while there’s no formal description of her responsibilities written up, I’m almost positive that I get to decide them as I see fit. After all, I pay her well over five figures.

  “Okay, I get it. Sorry about staring at your ass. But this whole thing about you deciding, after months of working for me, what you’re willing to do and not do should have been discussed during your interview and our meetings, not while we’re driving in a fucking blizzard. If you’d like, file a grievance when we get back. And that’s the last of this conversation we’ll have.”

  “Jameson!” she screams, not out of anger, but rather fear. I whip my head back toward the road and see a jackknifed semi-truck dead ahead.

  With all my might, I firm a death grip on the steering wheel and slam on the brakes. The car begins to skid. The rear end sways to the right, leaving Brenna’s side vulnerable to impact, which cannot happen. Now pumping the brakes to safely slow us down, I counter-steer through the fishtail. As if God’s watching out for us, the SUV stops just inches from the semi, our passenger side landing in a ditch.

  Shoving the car in park, I quickly unbuckle and reach over to pull Brenna away from the door, where gravity has her pinned.

  “Are you okay?” My voice shakes as I ask. Her eyes are wide open, as is her mouth. I run my hands frantically over her body and from what I can tell so far, she doesn’t seem to have any major injuries, but she’s in shock and not responding to my question.

  “Brenna?” I soften my voice. “Look at me, sweetie.” She still doesn’t answer…or move.

  “Brenna!” I repeat frantically this time, using a gentle hand to slowly and carefully turn her head toward mine. When our eyes meet, I notice a small cut above her right eyebrow, but it’s not bleeding too badly. “Are you okay? Where does it hurt? Talk to me, sweetheart.”

  “Are we dead?” she asks, and I can’t help my faint smile.

  “No, honey, we’re not dead. But you have to answer me. Are you hurt anywhere?”

  “I don’t think so. Maybe my head, a little bit. How’d we manage not to die? And why are we sideways?”

  She’s lucid and a bit funny. Thank God.

  “I put the car into the ditch instead of into the semi. Not the greatest idea, since we’re stuck here until help arrives, but at least we get to live to see another day.”

  Brenna nods her head and goes back to staring out the window at what could have been the site of our demise. I need to call into roadside for help. Pulling out my phone, I unlock the screen and see nothing but a little ‘X’ over where the service signal should be. Nothing. Reaching over and around Brenna, I find her phone and get the same results.

  Not ideal, but not catastrophic, either. Surely the semi driver has service on his radio. “Brenna.” She looks over at me. “I’m going to go ask the truck driver to call in for help. Will you wait here? Stay safe?”

  “Yes,” she whispers.

  “Good girl. I’ll be right back. Do. Not. Move.”

  “I won’t.”

  The second I step out of the SUV, I wish like hell I had more than a suit jacket and loafers on as I make my way to the semi through the rapidly accumulating snow. Climbing the steps, nearly slipping and falling, I knock on the window of the driver’s side. A few moments later, an older man emerges from the back of the cab and cracks the window.

  “Hello, sir. My name’s Jameson Chancellor. Myself and my assistant, Brenna Dillinger, just wrecked a few feet away. Could I please use your radio to call for help?”

  “Help’s on the way. It’s gonna be a while, though. Big accident up on 80 they’re trying to clear. Told me it’d probably be morning before they had someone able to get out this way.”

  “Okay,” I drawl, trying not to panic. Staying in control is what I do best. Uncertainty and I don’t mesh well. “You seem calm enough. What’s your suggestion? I doubt I have enough gas to run the car all night, and it’s dangerously cold already, only going to get worse as night falls.”

  “I can spare a blanket, but if it’s you and the girl…you say she’s your assistant?” I nod my head. “You might have to bust right past those professional lines, Mr. Chancellor. One blanket won’t be enough for the both of you and you’ll need to conserve body heat.”

  I know exactly what he means—would’ve even without the “helpful” wagging of his eyebrows—but after the clear-as-hell discussion Brenna carried on about only moments before the wreck, I doubt stripping down with me is going to suddenly be listed in her “job description.” As I ponder on how the hell to save us tonight, the man disappears into the back and returns just as fast.

  “I’ve got a few of these protein bars. The wife makes me take ‘em everywhere. Blood sugar problems. At least ya won’t starve.” He rolls the window down further and hands them to me, along with a quilt. “I have a few of ‘em,” he says, motioning to the blanket. “But I don’t have anybody to help keep me warm, so one is the best I can do.”

  “It’s greatly appreciated, sir,” I say, taking the quilt and protein bars from him. “Will you please let me know if they radio you back and say help can come quicker?”

  “Sure will. Stay safe over there.”

  I all but run back to the SUV and jump into the driver’s seat. Placing the survival items on the console between us, I notice the color’s resurfaced in Brenna’s face and her pupils aren’t as dilated.

  “I’ve got good news and bad news.”

  “Bad first,” she demands.

  “We’re probably going to be stuck here all night.”

  “Well, then, what the hell’s the good news?” she scoffs, a little snort of “we’re fucked” included.

  “I’ve got a blanket and dinner.”

  “Jameson,” she groans, exasperated. “What exactly are we going to do with one blanket and a few protein bars?” She peers over at the gas gauge. “And with only a quarter tank of gas left, how long do you expect to stay warm? We’re going to freeze to death.” She visibly shivers at the thought.

  “Well, the truck driver said the best way to stay warm without a source of heat is to use our bodies.”

  “So basically more bad news? We have to snuggle together under this blanket?”

  “Probably naked,” I add, bracing for her blowback.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, this is my life. Stranded in a snow storm and going to sleep naked, with my boss, under a single blanket to avoid certain d
eath. This is the kind of shit they make movies about. What’s next? A masked freak with mommy issues slithers out of the woods with a chainsaw?”

  “Tell you what,” I sigh. “While you toss confetti around your pity party, I’m going to get everything situated in the back so when we do run out of gas, we don’t waste time freezing our asses off having to do it then.”

  Without waiting for her no doubt sarcastic response, I jump out the driver’s side and climb in the back. Tossing our bags in the trunk space, I start with the passenger side, pulling on the second-row seat lever and laying it flat. Moving across the SUV, I do the same with the other one until the back is one large, open space.

  Next, I unzip my bag, pulling out some of my thicker clothing: sweatpants, a hoodie, and a sweater. After removing the drawstrings from the items that have them, I bunch everything up at the hatch of the trunk so no cold seeps in or warmth escapes. Tying both ends of the strings together, I make one long strand and button the collars of my dress shirts around it. Attaching each end to the built-in hooks on both sides of the vehicle, I accomplish a makeshift curtain in order to keep as much heat as possible in our refuge.

  “What the hell are you doing back there, MacGyver?” Brenna asks with a snicker. Finally, she’s acting a little carefree again.

  “Trying not to let you die so you can kill me later, when you’re at your best. You alright with that?”

  “Sounds like a phenomenal plan, Mr. Chancellor. I like the way you think.”