by RC Boldt
Unwrapping another, I smile down at the wrapper in my hands.
I’d suffer blue balls my entire life if it means I get to spend each of those days with you.
“Jack.” I sigh into the phone. I wish he were here right now so I could thank him and tell him… “Where are you?”
“Open your door, Sunshine.”
I still before turning slowly, eyeing my door. The hand holding the phone drops to my side. My feet carry me to the door, and when I open it, I’m greeted with a sight I’ve ached for.
“Jack Westbrook,” I murmur, drinking in the sight of him in soft, worn denim and a long-sleeved gray Henley. “How did you manage all this?”
Closing the distance, he steps inside and shuts the door behind him. Resting one hand on my hip, he dips his head, and eyes bright with emotion, he presses a kiss to my forehead.
“I had the wrappers specially made and used my time before and after work for two days unwrapping those damn chocolates and rewrapping them with my wrappers.”
“You had Clint and Maggie in on this,” I murmur, realizing he must have given the chocolates to Clint and had him nab my usual stash. Then he’d used the key I’d left with Maggie in the case of an emergency.
“I had to enlist their help with something this important.” His eyes search mine. “I should’ve fought harder, Sarah. I’m sorry.”
I press a finger against his lips and speak softly. “No. I was wrong…and scared. You were right.”
His brow furrows, a crease popping up between his eyebrows, and he tips his head to the side. “I’m sorry. I didn’t quite catch that last part. Can you repeat it?”
As my lips part to do so, I catch sight of that telltale sparkle in his eyes. Shoving against him playfully, I scoff. “Nice tr—”
His lips swallow my words, and I kiss him back with everything I have, going to my tiptoes, and wrapping my arms around his neck. Jack’s fingers thread through my hair, tilting my head to deepen the kiss.
And that’s when I realize what I’ve been missing.
Jack doesn’t taste sweet and indulgent like my chocolates. He tastes like something far more decadent, far more delicious, and far more addicting.
Jack tastes like love.
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
Jack
One Year Later
“Just give me a little peek.”
I grin at the screen, watching her try to scowl at me and fail. The corners of her lips are twitching, and her blue eyes sparkle with amusement.
“I am not going to point the phone down there, Jack.”
I give her a pointed look. “You never had an issue with FaceTiming me with your vagina before.”
Sarah releases an exasperated sigh. “That happened once. And we both know it was an accident.”
“Best accident ever.” I flash her a smug smile.
“I need to go, or I’ll be late.”
I can hear Maggie and Clint’s voices in the background complaining about bad luck and letting me see Sarah’s face. Luckily, neither of us cares about any of that.
Her expression softens into one of those tender smiles I’ve come to know. I classify those smiles as mine.
“I love you, Jack,” she murmurs. “I’ll see you soon.”
I wink. “I’ll be the handsome guy with a blue balls boutonniere waiting for you.”
She raises her bouquet, filling the screen of my phone with the same blue flowers and baby’s breath before lowering it. “I’ll be the woman heading your way with these in tow.”
“Love you, Sunshine.”
After she murmurs her goodbye and we disconnect our FaceTime, I turn to Ry, my best man. “All set?”
He slaps a hand to my back. “All set.”
As we head toward the front of the large ballroom of Saratoga Springs’s historical Hall of Springs, I take in the sight of the large pillars at the front and the tall, ornate ceilings. No doubt about it; this place is beautiful in its own right.
However, the one sight which literally robs me of breath—because of the indescribable beauty—is the moment I watch Sarah approach, walking down the white linen runner leading to me. It’s not because of her dress—which is gorgeous. It’s not because of her makeup or the fancy, elegant way she’s styled her hair.
It’s because she’s walking toward me with the intent of becoming my wife.
The moment she draws near, smiling up at me after handing her bouquet to Maggie, I take her hands in mine.
“Hey, Sunshine,” I whisper, waiting for her to realize I’m pressing something into her palm. Luckily, I’ve already told the minister to wait for my cue. I wait as Sarah curiously looks at what I’ve given her.
Her eyes lift to mine, rich with curiosity before she carefully unwraps the single, foil-wrapped chocolate. I wait for her to read the words I know are on the inside.
Suddenly, Sarah throws her head back on a laugh, her eyes sparkling as they lock onto mine.
“Ready to do this?”
Nodding, she rewraps the chocolate, hands it back to me, and I quickly pocket it. “I’m ready, Jack.”
On that cue, I nod at the minister, and he begins the ceremony. And throughout the I dos and afterward at our reception, I recall the message in that foil-wrapped chocolate I’d given Sarah earlier. Hell if that message isn’t God’s honest truth.
Can you believe blue balls ended in our incredible happily ever after?
EPILOGUE
Sarah
Four Years Later
“Mommy! Look what I have for you!” The blond-haired, blue-eyed toddler runs up to me.
Flashing a knowing smile at Jack as he and Ry return from getting coffees around the corner, I bend down to greet my daughter and accept the flowers. “Did you bring me flowers, Ella?”
“Daddy said they’re special ones.” She nods as if to affirm this fact, her adorable face solemn. “He got them from Ms. Paisley’s shop.”
Reaching to smooth back the young girl’s hair, I press a kiss to her forehead. “They are special. When you get older, I’ll tell you the story behind these flowers.”
“When I’m older next year?”
Laughing softly, I smile down at my daughter. “Maybe a few more birthdays.”
“Can Mauve and I have a chocolate?” With eyes a dark shade of blue like her father’s, she peers up at me.
“As long as you’re careful not to make a mess.”
“Promise, Mommy.”
Reaching into my purse, I withdraw two foil-wrapped chocolates and press them into Ella’s palm.
“Thank you!” Ella darts off to Mauve who’s on one of the swings at the playground, her little legs pumping as she goes to and fro.
“Nice one, Westbrook.” I turn to narrow my eyes on my husband, setting the flowers on my lap. He hands me my coffee before taking a seat beside me on the bench overlooking the playground.
“I can’t imagine why you didn’t tell your daughter the name of those flowers,” Ry comments from where he sits on the other side of Maggie.
“Hey, cupcake,” Jack admonishes. “Don’t throw shade.” Barely concealing his smirk as he raises his coffee to his lips, he adds, “You’ve got napkin notes, and I’ve got flowers and chocolates. It’s clear who the suave one is here.”
“Simmer down, you two.” I roll my eyes at their friendly ribbing before Jack rises from the bench to heed Ella’s request to push her high on the swing. He takes my hand and presses his lips to the top of it before slipping something into my palm. Ry follows suit and rises from his seat on the bench. Knowing Mauve will want the same, he leaves Maggie and me sitting alone.
We watch in comfortable silence as the two men push our daughters on the swings, smiling at the happy squeals as they go higher.
“Sarah?”
“Yes?” I turn to my best friend, but her eyes are trained on the sight before us.
“Did you ever imagine this?” Her cheeks have that trademark rosy glow that only accompanies a woman who’s blissf
ully pregnant. One of her hands rests on her large belly.
Shaking my head, I peel back the foil-wrapped chocolate Jack slipped me. “Never in a million, sweetie.” My breath catches at what the message on the inside says.
With glistening eyes, my throat grows tight with emotion when I meet my husband’s eyes from across the playground.
As my best friend and I sit here watching our beautiful families, I allow the chocolate to melt in my mouth, and my hand holds the foil wrapper tight.
I’d love to make another beautiful baby who has your smile, Sunshine. What do you say?
Holding my husband’s gaze, I mouth my answer.
“Yes.”
Dear Reader,
Thank you so much for taking the time to read this book! I’d love to hear what you thought about Sarah and Jack’s story. If you would be so kind as to leave a review on the site where you purchased the book, it would be appreciated beyond words. And if you send me an email at [email protected] with the link to your review, I’ll send you a personal ‘thank you’!
Please know that I truly appreciate you taking time from your busy schedule to read this book! If you’d like to stay up to date on my future releases, you can sign up for my mailing list (I’m the most anti-SPAMMY person ever—promise!) via this link.
ALSO BY RC BOLDT
Standalones:
Out of Love
CLAM JAM
Out of the Ashes
The Teach Me Series:
Wildest Dream (Book One)
Hard To Handle (Book Two)
Remember When (Book Three)
Laws of Attraction (Book Four)
Stay Connected to RC Boldt:
Facebook
Website: www.rcboldtbooks.com
Twitter
Instagram
Facebook Readers Group
Intrigued by Maggie and Ry? Keep reading for a sneak peek of CLAM JAM.
CLAM JAM
PROLOGUE
My name is Maggie Finegan, and I’m the continuous victim of a “clam jam.”
To answer your questions:
No, I’m not Irish—I was adopted.
And, yes, clam jamming is a thing.
I’ll wait until that one sinks in. Taps toe of shoe quietly.
Okay, ready? I’ll go on. It’s a pretty crazy story. It all started one dark, stormy night—wait, don’t roll your eyes at me, people. Fine. So it might have been more of a typical Upstate New York overcast kind of day. I had left work early since my boss, whom I fondly referred to as Sybil, left work at lunchtime for a meeting in the city. I took advantage of him skipping out early, knowing that I could hurry home and clean up the apartment I shared with my fiancé, Shane, and set the mood to get lucky. Things had been a little off lately, with both of our work schedules usually residing in the “heinously hectic” realm, and I wanted to remedy this.
Sliding my key in the lock of our apartment door, I stepped one heel over the threshold, and my favorite pair of Jimmy Choos slipped, sending me off balance. I barely caught myself as one hand flew out to brace against the entryway wall to steady myself. Prepared to take offense with whatever object had made me nearly land on my butt, the next moment happened in slow motion.
You know what I’m talking about. Slooooow moooooooootion. Where a moment in your life is too freaking weird, crazy, or just all-around effed up, and your brain does some weird thing with the synapses, immediately slowing everything down. Like an out-of-body experience. That’s what I had going on. Because the offensive object that had me nearly falling on my butt was a pair of woman’s panties.
Fact: Those panties weren’t mine.
You know. In case you were wondering.
My slow motion continued as I bent down to make sure my eyes weren’t playing tricks on me because, yeah, that was my initial thought. They might be my panties. Because no way would my fiancé be getting “jiggy”—thank you, Will Smith, for that term—with someone else, right?
Go ahead. Say it. Say exactly what you’re thinking. Maggie, what the hell is wrong with you? Stop being delusional!
I kicked those panties to the side, slid my briefcase’s straps off my shoulder, and set it in the corner of the entryway. Walking down the hallway, I could hear my heels clicking along the hardwood floors. And do you know what I thought the entire walk to the bedroom—to our bedroom? I thought, Wow, these floors are gorgeous. And those oversized windows looking out onto downtown Saratoga Springs have a gorgeous view. I’m so glad I chose this apartment.
Weird, right? I think I had an idea of what I’d find in that bedroom, and my mind had officially gone into full-blown protective mode.
The noises were the worst. Let’s be real here. I get that, in the heat of the moment, you’re probably going to have harsh breathing and some moans, but what I heard as I approached that bedroom was something you’d likely find on the Discovery Channel. Elephants mating, perhaps? Something large scale. Maybe if wooly mammoths still existed, that would be the closest thing to what I heard coming from that bedroom.
That’s right. I know you’re cringing right now. It was absolutely mammaliciously awful. Yes, I made up that word, but you have to understand that mammals everywhere were shaking their heads in disgust at that moment.
I’m going to fast-forward a bit now because I’m pretty sure you know how what I call “the discovery” went. They both shrieked, he pulled out of her—out of her mouth, by the way—and claimed it wasn’t what it looked like.
Because, you know, his penis inside of a woman’s mouth was one of those blind taste tests or something. Like back in the day when they were all like, “This is Coke? Wow! I can’t believe it. I’ve drunk Pepsi my whole life.”
First of all, you should not be that amazed and mystified by a freaking beverage. That’s just lame.
Let’s move on.
I kicked them both out. Luckily, his name was not on the lease since he’d moved in with me. Not so lucky was the fact that this place was on the pricey side of things, so I’d have to watch my spending on happy hours, takeout, and dinner nights out.
Here’s the quick rundown:
1. I left all of Shane’s belongings outside the door. ALL of them.
2. Okay, so I might have tossed some of his things in the trash. My bad.
3. Luckily, our lead building attendant, Mr. Charlie, has adored me from day one and once I informed him of what went down, he told me not to worry about anyone reporting the overabundance of crap piled up near the trash chute.
4. I Craigslisted the hell out of that mattress. Because God only knows what had gone down—pun intended—on that thing when I hadn’t been home.
5. I did the whole bawling my eyes out to my best friend, Sarah, between bouts of inherent desire to maim Shane. Because, let’s be honest, that’s what women do. After too much Pad Thai—wait, I’m kidding; no one can have too much Pad Thai—at my pity party, I made some new decisions about my life.
a) I was not going to date for a while. Now, I’m not saying I refused to ever date again because, really. It’s not like I have my sights set on being that woman with seventy-two cats or anything. Plus, I’m allergic, so that’s a no-go.
b) If I were going to be single, footloose, and fancy-free—thank you, Auntie Patsy, for that phrase that I hope never spills from my lips again—I’d need to get a roommate because I’d need the extra money. You see, I’m not a fan of women who expect guys to buy them drinks. We all know those drinks often come with expectations. The single’s world is flooded with douche bags, you know. Then again, so is the attached world, as my situation served as a prime example.
c) My roommate could in no way be a straight man. It couldn’t be a woman, either, because I’ve never been able to cohabitate with another female. I know it’s weird. But it is what it is.
d) I couldn’t exactly put out an ad for a “gay roommate” because, uh, discrimination? Who doesn’t want to get slapped with a lawsuit and has two thumbs up? This girl.
/> This is the point where the story really begins. Get comfy. Well, as comfy as you possibly can when preparing to read about a year of my life being clam jammed.
Shall we begin?
CHAPTER ONE
Maggie
One year ago-ish
October
Saratoga Springs, New York
Holy shadoobie. This guy is hot.
No, scratch that. He’s the kind of hot teenage girls spell out as H-A-W-T. He’s that kind of hot. And he’s applying to be my roommate, which means only one thing.
I have to send him packing.
There’s no way in h-e-double hockey sticks I’ll be able to maintain any self-control around a guy like this. I mean come on, people. It’s like the moment you decide to diet, and you catch a whiff of pizza or walk past a bakery when they’re putting new pastries in the display case.
Temtorture at its finest. I know, I know. I made that word up—a mix of the word temptation and torture. It’s accurate, though, isn’t it? You know you shouldn’t have it because it’s so bad for you, but you know once it touches your tongue, it will be so gooooood.
Wow. That sounded more sexual than I expected. Because I wasn’t exactly thinking of having this guy’s anything touching my tongue. But now, the seed has been planted, so …
“I appreciate you taking the time to meet with me.”
Ryland’s voice brings me back from my not-so-G-rated thoughts. I am a terrible, horrible, no-good person, just like that Alexander kid in those children’s books they turned into a movie. I nod, trying my best not to let his lips mesmerize me because, whoa, they’re so nice and full and soft looking. And his hair makes me want to run my fingers through the short, light brownish-blond strands.
Sigh. Long, long sigh. There I go again.
“I admit”—he leans in, and I find the sparkle in his eyes captivating—“I was grateful you chose to meet in this spot since my company’s offices are right above here. I had a few things to take care of this morning. And the fact that your apartment building is within walking distance is another plus.”