Calendar Girl: November
Book 11
Audrey Carlan
Contents
Calendar Girl: November
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
The End
Excerpt from December Calendar Girl (Book 12)
Also by Audrey Carlan
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Calendar Girl: November
This book is an original publication of Audrey Carlan.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not assume any responsibility for third-party websites or their content.
Copyright © 2015 Waterhouse Press, LLC
Cover Design by Tibbs Design
All Rights Reserved
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic format without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
Ekatarina Sayanova
Editing someone’s story
is like critiquing a woman’s child.
It’s not easy to do without being hurtful.
Somehow, time and time again,
you are able to do that for me.
You edit with grace, compassion, and consideration.
I am undeniably grateful for you.
Under your guidance and with every story,
I become a better writer.
Thank you.
Chapter One
Snowflakes. Unique, fragile, and no two were alike. Absolutely fascinating. I caught one in my mouth as they fell from the sky. It melted the instant it touched my tongue. The flurries held me spellbound as several fell onto my eyelashes, momentarily distorting my vision. I blinked them away and exhaled. A cloud of mist from my heated breath mimicked a plume of smoke. Holding my hands out wide, I spun in a slow circle, allowing the featherlight flakes to land on my face and open hands.
“If you’re done playing in the snow, can we go into the hotel already?” Wes laughed. “I’m freezing!” He pressed his frozen nose into the warmth at my neck. He circled his arms around me from behind, hugging me close. I covered his arms with mine.
“It’s so cool! It rarely snows in Vegas and definitely not in LA.” I watched in awe at nature's wonder.
He snuggled against my neck, placing a layer of kisses up the column. “It is cool…as in my balls are freezing, and my dick has turned into an icicle.”
“Well, I always did love flavored ice.” I giggled and spun around, bringing us face-to-face. “Thank you for coming with me. Honestly, I wasn’t ready to be away from you.”
Wes smiled in the way that made me want to jump him. Good Lord, my man was smokin' hot, even bundled up wearing a beanie.
“Who would pass up two weeks in New York City with a beautiful lady?” He leaned close, rubbed our noses together, and pecked me on the lips.
Liar. When the show told me I had to go to the Big Apple for a couple weeks and film celebrities for Dr. Hoffman’s special Be Thankful segment as well as my Living Beautiful weekly piece, he didn’t seem all that interested. Said he avoided the East Coast like the plague during the winter months. Guess the Atlantic Ocean wasn’t warm enough or the waves conducive to a hardcore surfer…and the temperatures compared to California’s Gold Coast were positively frigid.
I’d settled on the fact that I’d be without Wes for two weeks, which for me was too soon after his captivity. The mere thought of being separated from him for any length of time gave me hives, but I did everything I could to act unaffected. He was on the road to recovery and doing incredibly well with his therapy. The last thing I wanted him to think was that I didn’t believe he could handle himself for two weeks without his overprotective girlfriend to watch over him.
It wasn’t until I’d made plans to interview my buddy Mason Murphy, star pitcher for the Red Sox, and Anton Santiago, the Latin Lov-ah, that he changed his mind. One night last week, Wes confided that he'd had an entire session with his therapist, Anita Shofner, about the men I still had in my life. He knew I took calls regularly from Mason, Tai, Anton, Alec, Hector, and Max. Of course, he didn’t mind calls from Max, my long lost brother, or Hector, because he was gay and in a committed relationship with Tony. He admitted to being a bit jealous of the other four men. He’d met Anton and appreciated that the Latin Lov-ah had helped me through a difficult time, but he straight up did not trust him due to his reputation for being a ladies' man. Even Mason, who was head over heels in love with his PR gal, Rachel, had his hackles rising.
Did I say anything about it though? Nope. Not if it got my man to come to NYC with me. I knew it was cruel, but when he’d asked what I’d be doing with the men after I interviewed them, I just shrugged and told him I'd do whatever they wanted to do. Five minutes later, Wes was packing a suitcase.
* * *
“When are we meeting with your friends?” There was a hint of irritation in his tone. His reaction to seeing Anton again and meeting Mason was odd. My guy had always been really down to Earth and comfortable in his own skin. Only, after the experience in Indonesia, he still hadn’t gotten completely back to his easy-going self. His therapist assured me it would take time and to continue to give him something good to focus on—that being us, and our burgeoning relationship.
“This evening, we’re meeting with Anton and Heather. He’s planned dinner for us at his pad. Mace and Rach don’t come in until later in the week.” What I didn’t tell Wes was that Anton had offered us the use of his penthouse in Manhattan for our stay. I knew Wes wouldn’t be thrilled. When we were in Miami, he liked Anton well enough, but that was when we were just admitting our love for one another. We were too busy worrying about what the other thought to be concerned with anyone else around us.
Taking our time, we unpacked our things into the hotel dresser drawers, showered, and made love. I could feel the tension seep right out of Wes’s pores when he released inside of me, words of love spilling from his lips.
While I lay there catching my breath, a Mia blanket over my man, I felt Wes lift my left hand, bring it to his lips, and kiss each finger. Then the sneaky bastard slid something weighted over my bare ring finger.
“When are we going to get married?” he asked out of the blue. We were both naked, had just had some intensely pleasurable, drowsy after-travel sex, and I was lying limp on top of his chest. I’d ridden him for all I was worth and would likely have the fingerprint marks on each hip to prove it.
I blinked and pushed my hair out of my face, setting one hand on top of the other over his heart. I liked feeling his heart beat under me, knowing it was mine.
“Is that a proposal?” I quipped.
His eyes narrowed, and he tipped his chin toward my hand. I looked down at the band of diamonds sparkling back at me. “We’ve already discussed this.” He added, “You know that you’re never getting asked. You don’t have the option to decline.” His words were firm, leaving no room for compromise.
Pushing up, I sat naked on top of him and focused all of my attention on the most exquisite ring I’d ever seen, which now adorned my fin
ger. It was a single band of diamonds all the way around. It wasn’t ostentatious like most engagement rings. No, this one was simple yet sparkly. A ridiculous amount of twinkly diamonds filled the inside of a band that wrapped all the way around my finger. It wouldn’t get caught on anything. I could still ride Suzi without worrying about my riding gloves. It was simply perfect.
Tears filled my eyes. “So you’re really not going to ask me?” I choked back a little sob while staring at what was apparently an engagement ring.
He sat up, looped an arm around my back, pushed his heels against the mattress, and propelled backwards until he was sitting up against the headboard, me straddling his lap.
He tunneled his fingers into my hair, keeping my face level with his. “Do you really need me to ask?” His eyes were a brilliant green as he forced me to look him in the eye.
“Need? No. Want? Kind of,” I admitted while water leaked from my eyes.
Wes sighed and rubbed his forehead against mine. “Don’t make me regret this,” he whispered, his voice shaking with what was probably his anxiety—even worry—about how I would respond. “Mia, my love, my life, will you marry me?”
I looked into his eyes and could see concern, as if I might say no. Not in a million flippin’ years would I deny sealing this man to me for eternity. “Instead of another ring, can I have another motorcycle?”
Wes blinked, tipped his head back, and laughed.
I kissed his chest as he lost it, and I pecked and nipped my way up his neck to his ear. “Yes, baby. I’ll marry you.” I said the words I knew he wanted to hear.
He tightened his arms around me. “I’m going to make you so happy.”
I looked him dead in the face. “Then you are getting me a new motorcycle?” I responded hopefully.
He shook his head and kissed me—over and over until my mouth was so bruised I could barely feel his lips pressed to mine.
“When?” he growled into my ear, moving his way down to my bare breasts. Looked like round two would commence in two point five seconds.
“Um…next year?” I answered, gripping his head to my breast as he latched onto one erect peak.
“Mmm. Okay, January first it is.” Wes mumbled around the erect tip. He plucked my other nipple and sucked hard on the first.
“Oh yeah.” I moaned. “Wait…what?”
* * *
I knocked on the door to Anton’s New York City penthouse. Wes stood at my side, arm around my waist, holding me close. The door opened just when I was about to knock again. I was actually surprised I had to knock at all, since the front desk had called up.
“You’re here!” Heather said, bouncing up on her toes. She wore a pair of open-toed boot stilettos that made her already tall frame hit extreme goddess stature. Her blond hair was rock star cool as it had been when we were in Miami. She was wearing a skintight hot pink long-sleeved shirt that said Pink is the new Black in white lettering across her bust. The shirt was slouchy and tucked into her skinny jeans with a studded belt for a look that conveyed “I’m a badass.” There were fuchsia streaks throughout her hair that made her look ultra-hip. Hell, she was ultra-hip.
I really needed to get out with the girls more. Ginelle had been bugging me for two weeks to go shopping with her in LA. I’d have to do that when I got back.
Heather pulled me out of Wes’s arms and into hers, swayed me left and right, and then held me at arm's length and looked me over. “Girl, didn’t I buy you clothes in Miami? Why aren’t you wearing them?” Her nose crinkled up in a way that wasn’t meant to be bitchy, just honest.
I groaned and shook my head. “I’m comfortable.” I tugged at my long-sleeved concert T-shirt from the Lorde show I’d seen with Maddy last year. That chick had brought the house down, and the shirt was damn cool. I’d paired it with a pair of my tight faded jeans, complete with shredded holes in the thighs, and a pair of two-inch shit kickers, as Max called them—though I’d never kicked any shit in them and they were relatively new. Cindy had sent a pair to Maddy and me to remind us of what was waiting for us back in Texas. They were really cool, too. Black leather, an interesting design on the toe, and a more square than pointed toe. The best part? They had this rockin’ buckle on the outside where the ankle was.
Heather clocked the shoes. “Hmm, the boots are cute.”
Wes cleared his throat behind me.
“Oh, snap. Heather, you remember my boyfriend, Wes?” I gestured to Wes’s shoulder.
“Um, I think you mean fiancé, sweetheart.” He smirked and winked.
Heather’s eyes widened as if she’d been electrocuted on the spot. “Holy black balls, Batman! You’re getting married! That is so awesome!” She pulled both of us into a combo hug, looping one arm each around our necks. “Heck, yeah. Anton is gonna love this. Weddings are his gig!”
I snort laughed. “How’s that? Seeing as he’s never been married.”
“Yeah, but he’s been engaged a bunch of times!” she said flippantly. She led us through the spacious penthouse to the kitchen, where we found Anton moving his hips against the six-burner stove to a beat only he could hear. The room smelled utterly divine. I caught a whiff of something sizzling that reminded me of food south of the border.
“Who’s getting married?” Anton spun around, wooden spatula still in hand. “Lucita! You? Tell me it isn’t so.” He crossed both hands over his heart and shrank back against the counter’s edge.
I laughed. Wes didn’t. He slung an arm over my shoulders. “Yep. Show ’em your ring. We’ll be getting married on the first of January.” His words were filled with male pride.
I held up my hand and looked at Wes, confused.
Anton’s eyes widened. “So soon. Wow. As my grandmother would say, you do not lollygag.” He grinned and winked.
“We did not set a date.” I cocked my head toward Wes.
His eyebrows rose sharply. “I believe we did right before we came. Remember?”
“Anything discussed during the heat of coital bliss does not count. That’s coercion!” I puffed out my bottom lip.
Wes grinned and shook his head. “Too bad. You agreed. Now all that’s left to decide is where.” He tunneled his fingers into the hair at my neck where he proceeded to massage the tension still there from a full day of travel not to mention the weight of getting engaged. I still hadn’t even called Maddy or Gin. They’d freak if it got out before I’d had a chance to call them.
“We’ll talk about this later. Okay?” I leaned up and kissed him once, and then twice for good measure so he’d know I wasn’t blowing him off.
He curled his hand around my cheek to cup my face. With ease, I turned my head and kissed his palm. His eyes were leery, but I could see that a lot of that likely had to do with where and who we were hanging out with tonight.
“Okay, sweetheart. Later. As in, tomorrow.” His response was firm and held an edge of authority.
A compromise was a compromise. “Agreed. Now, Anton, tell me what you’ve been doing. Your last album rocked, by the way!”
“Oh, Lucita, that album was the shiznet. Did you like that one song where I dubbed over a chick's voice?”
“Totally! And Heather, how’s the role of manger treating you?” The last time I’d seen them, she had just been promoted. Anton had not realized how much he was taking advantage of his best friend and personal assistant. And when he was about to lose her, he offered her more to stay. As far as I knew, it was all peaches and cream.
Before she could answer, Anton butted in, which was not at all unusual for him. He loved being the life of the party. Suited his profession of top performing and selling rapper, too. “H is asombroso…how you say? Amazing! The shows she’s pulling off, the clothing deals. Fantástico! Best decision I ever made, promoting her. Glad I thought of it.”
“You!” Heather and I yelled at the same time and then fell into a fit of giggles.
“Okay, so maybe I didn’t come up with it. But I agreed with it.”
I rolled my
eyes. Heather smirked and crossed her arms.
“Whatever, Anton. What are you feeding us?” I asked, coming around the counter and bumping into his hip.
He didn’t even flinch from stirring the sauce he was watching like a hawk. “Ah, a staple for me and my familia. It is arroz con pollo.”
“I recognize the word chicken, but what is the rest?”
He chuckled. “Pretty much rice and chicken.”
“Pulling out all the stops, I see,” I said, deadpan.
Anton pushed my hair off my shoulder and ran his thumb down my cheek. “For you, lucita, the world.” His tone sounded serious, but the twinkle in his eye belied the mischief.
I snorted. “With chicken and rice?”
His eyebrows narrowed. “Hey, don’t joke. Everyone loves chicken and rice, si?”
“Si, Anton. Wes, you want something to drink?” I turned around and faced Weston. His eyes were plunging daggers straight into the back of Anton’s head, and I hadn’t a clue why. “Wes?” I asked again until his green eyes focused on me. “A drink?”
Heather came over and yanked open the fridge. “I’ve got some Cristal chilling, which I think we should pop now, in lieu of the martinis I was going to make. We certainly have a reason to celebrate since you’re getting married! Oh my God! Are you just dying?” She asked as she went over to a cabinet and pulled out four champagne flutes.
I inhaled full and deep and let all the tension slip out of my shoulders as I held my hand up and stared at my ring. “Dying, no. Happier than I’d thought I’d be at this moment in my life? Damn straight!” I looked at Wes, and his entire body seemed to soften, the edge he’d had a minute ago gone with my words. His shoulders no longer looked as though they were as high as his ears, and he held his head in the palm of his hand, elbow resting on the kitchen bar in a lazier, more casual resting position.
Calendar Girl: November: Book 11 Page 1