by Zoe Lee
• • •
Dunk
“Um, thanks,” Daisy said, tugging her hand free.
Perfume like fruit salad, melon and honey.
She took a step back, holding the glass like a shield.
Pale gold skin flushed like a cantaloupe and glistening with sweat.
She raised the glass and hurriedly swallowed the last of the wine.
Taste like passion fruit and vodka.
“Whoa,” Dunk exhaled, the sensory memories almost overwhelming him, the scents and colors matching the woman in front of him. “Daisy.”
“Y-yeah?” she stammered.
He was aware of her two friends eyeballing him, suspiciously.
He clasped a hand carefully around her elbow and drew her away from her friends, away from the easels and the tables, until they were hidden from view by the Young Adult Bestsellers bookcase.
Her eyes were on the floor.
“Daisy Rhys,” he repeated dumbly.
Because, seriously, how could he have forgotten her? She was beautiful, always had been. He hadn’t known her very well before Jamie and Leda’s engagement, but they’d been in the bridal party—well, her officially, him honorarily—together. She was sweet; she’d cried silently the whole ceremony at the courthouse that day, hours before they’d…
His sharp hips, caught by soft inner thighs, cradled and held tight. Her slim, strong arms wrapped around his neck, tangled up in his tie thrown over one shoulder. Her gigantic doe amber eyes glittering with passion as they’d made love.
“Dunk.”
“Yeah.”
“What?”
“What?”
She gave a low, exasperated sigh. “Why did you bring me over here?”
“You’re my sex Cinderella,” he blurted out.
He cringed at himself, then facepalmed and dragged his hand slowly down his own stupid face.
“What?” she yelped indignantly, crossing her arms.
“Sorry!” he apologized. “Shit. Sorry. This isn’t… I mean, I was looking for you, but I didn’t remember that it was you, which… rude.”
That incoherent crap, miraculously, made her crack a tiny smile. But she was still flustered and confused, and embarrassed. He didn’t mind flustered or confused, but embarrassed, no, that wouldn’t do.
Focus, you moron.
“Okay, sorry.”
“Dunk, just take a timeout for a second,” she suggested, and there was helpless laughter in her voice as she took pity on him.
He blew out a big breath and then met her eyes squarely. “I woke up after Jamie and Leda’s wedding and I thought… that I had had a dream. A great dream. Well, the best dream, really. But then… hickies. I saw hickies.”
“Oh, God,” she whispered, even more embarrassed now.
“No! They were awesome,” he reassured her as quickly as possible. “But. Okay. This next part, it’s not pretty, and I’m really sorry about it. But I didn’t remember it was you, okay. So I started looking. Or, Aden sent me on a… treasure hunt? Well, he and Chase held the guest list hostage?”
She took a second to process that and then ventured, “Like Prince Charming trying to find Cinderella?”
“Exactly!” he exclaimed, relieved that she was getting it.
But then her face went a little pale and then a little pissed off. “So you’ve, what, been tracking down all the single women who were at the wedding and…” Her voice dropped to a furious whisper. “Having sex with them to see if they’re your Cinderella? Your sex Cinderella?”
His eyes widened so much he felt them go dry in terror.
“What the hell? No! What kind of guy do you think I am?”
“Um… the kind of guy who has sex with me at a wedding, forgets who he had sex with, and then gets sent on a treasure hunt by his so-called friends to find her…?”
“Fuck my life,” Dunk whispered, hanging his head.
Then he snapped his face up, fully expecting to get slapped.
But instead, Daisy burst into giggles so loud, he expected all the birds in the trees to burst into song right along with her, just like Cinderella.
“You owe me a steak dinner,” she declared once the giggles fizzled out.
“Pardon me?” he asked, at a total loss.
Her face settled into a stern expression—or, as stern an expression as someone as enchanting and beautiful as Daisy could make—and she raised one finger to poke him in the chest. “You owe me a steak dinner,” she said again. When he just shook his head, still completely confused, she explained, “Sex Cinderella, Duncan McCoy? You owe me an apology. And I’ll accept one in the form of a steak dinner, the most expensive kind of dinner.”
“You want to go to dinner with me.”
He couldn’t even imagine what the hell his face looked like right now.
“Yep,” she chirped.
“Well okay then,” he agreed. “Never let it be said I can’t apologize.” He pulled his cell out of his pocket, unlocked it, and passed it to her. “If you give me your number, I’ll call tomorrow to set something up. I, uh, I need to check the football schedule so I don’t plan a date when there’s a game.”
She finished inputting her information and handed back his cell. “Okay. But if you forget to call me, I’m going to be super duper pissed.”
He grinned, because it was hard to take anyone’s threat of anger seriously when they said ‘super duper’ out loud. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Don’t call me ma’am,” she groaned, then dragged him back out to the easels, where all of the women were Definitely Not Staring at Them. “Go finish your painting,” she told him. “I’m going home. I need a bubble bath.”
“Can I—”
“Quit while you’re ahead, Dunk,” Daisy advised.
“Uh huh, sure thing,” he practically babbled. “Night, Daisy.”
He scooted back to his easel and ducked his head to hide his grin.
His miserable attempt at a tree and wall in a French field or whatever sat on the easel. It was a lost cause, but he couldn’t care less. He’d accomplished his goal for coming: he’d found his sex Cinderella.
Better still, he had a date with her.
“Where’d you disappear to, Coach?” one of the women near him drawled, not-so-subtly trying to uncover what he and Daisy had been discussing.
The other women equally not-so-subtly peered around their canvases.
“Just catching up about Jamie and Leda’s wedding,” he mostly-lied easily, smiling up at all of them briefly as he carefully put away the borrowed art supplies. Suzie helped him get the canvas into a big plastic baggie with handles, since it was basically dry now, while he fielded other curious, lightly probing follow-ups about him and Daisy.
Finally he extricated himself from the women, after hugging almost all of them, except Daisy and her friends, and waved as he left.
He drove home and took Tugger for a walk around the block, happy his parents had loved the idea of adopting a dog of his own. Once he was in bed with a book, Tugger chewing a rope toy next to his feet, he texted Aden and Chase that he’d found—and remembered—Daisy. He was feeling magnanimous enough that he even thanked them, although he sent a picture of himself flipping them off when all he got back was the tears-of-laughter smiley face.
Chapter 6
Daisy
A couple weeks after the wine and paint madness, Daisy was waiting for Dunk to come pick her up for their date. She’d thought about making him meet her, but she didn’t have a car and the wind was a little strong and sharp tonight. So she was pacing around her tiny apartment, refusing to admit that she’d spent way too long getting ready.
It would be ridiculous to worry at all about what to wear on a date with Dunk McCoy. She’d only seen him not in sweatpants and a tee shirt twice, and the first time had been at the wedding. The other time was at the wine and paint where he’d been in old jeans and a soft, faded Henley, the vee neck deep enough to tempt her with the hint of his chest hair.<
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Besides, she knew she was beautiful. It wasn’t something she felt proud of, or ashamed of either. She’d simply inherited good genes, the same ones as her two blood-related brothers, only they were much taller than she was. Her third brother, who was adopted, was just as handsome, for that matter. While she didn’t hide her beauty, she hadn’t earned it. All she did was put in some effort to stay in half-decent shape and use product to keep her winding curls from turning into a frizzy nightmare. And anyway, they had already had sex, so she had nothing to worry about, really.
And yet she was still pacing.
Maybe it was because they’d already had sex.
She wasn’t ashamed of what she’d done, and it wasn’t the first time she’d slept with someone she wasn’t dating. But it was the first time she’d had a first date after sex, and maybe she felt pressure because of that. She knew Dunk would never expect anything from her just because they’d had sex once before. After all, women talked, and women loved Dunk; they loved him because he was fun and happy with having some fun and then just moving on. He’d never been expectant or put demands on anyone.
A horn blared, startling Daisy out of her thoughts.
Then it sounded again.
Daisy huffed, locked up and went outside, her eyes already rolling because was Dunk seriously honking instead of coming to her door?
But when she hurried down the front walk to chastise him, she saw him standing next to his truck wearing what looked like a police officer’s cap without the badge, holding up a sign.
Chauffeur hat, she realized as she read the sign and erupted into laughter.
DAISY (who deserves a steak dinner because Dunk’s stoopid)
“Hey, Miss Daisy, I’m here to drive you,” he announced cheerily.
She rolled her eyes again—like she hadn’t heard Driving Miss Daisy jokes before—and let him help her up into the high cab.
“How have you been?” Dunk asked as he put the truck in gear.
“Pretty good,” she said. “Did you hang up your painting in a place of honor, like right above your flat screen?” she asked teasingly.
He looked over at her and said seriously, “No, but my mom did.”
She laughed and reached over to squeeze his strong, capable forearm where it was draped over the gearshift, veins rising over sculpted muscles.
Then, before she started petting him or something, she gently tugged off the silly hat. His dirty blond hair, longer on top and buzzed at the neck, was a little rumpled, so she ran her hand through it to smooth it down.
He flashed her a quick smile as he turned onto Maybelle Square and circled it to The Orchid Hotel, grabbing a lucky free space in front.
“You’re taking me to Lorenzo’s?” she asked in surprise.
“I promised you steak,” he said as he helped her down to the ground, his hands firm at her waist, so big they spanned from her ribs to her hips.
It was solicitous, not salacious, and his gaze was level on hers, gentlemanly. She bit her lip and slid one hand around to the back of his neck, tugging it so his lips were within reach. She brushed them gently with her mouth, not sure where the boldness came from, but he only smiled at her and stroked her cheek with his thumb.
Their fingers tangled together as they walked into the hotel, through the lobby, and up to Lorenzo’s Cocktail Lounge on the top floor.
It was one of two fancy restaurants in town, the kind of place women with big, sparkly engagement rings went with men who looked comfortable in ties. But the great thing about Maybelle was, no one would mind Daisy in her black pleated skirt and a loose dark pink angora sweater that nearly slid off her shoulder. Definitely no one minded Dunk, in another pair of dark jeans and a gray Henley this time, but that was mostly because people just loved him.
“Hey, Coach,” the hostess said, lighting up like a Christmas tree even though she had to be in her fifties, coming around her stand to hug him.
“Hey,” he answered, hugging her happily. “How’s our star soccer girl?”
“Oh, you know, just trying to survive calculus,” the hostess replied with a wink. Then she looked at Daisy and said, curiosity light in her voice, “I see your reservation right here. So let’s get you to your table.”
Dunk set one hand lightly on the small of her back as the hostess lead them to a cozy table for two.
“Here you are now. Enjoy your night.”
“Well, I’m already having a great night,” Dunk said as he actually held out Daisy’s chair and pushed her in, “but we’ll see how Daisy feels after she watches me try to eat a steak without making a mess.”
The hostess, who definitely didn’t look the type, grinned wolfishly and winked again, this time at Daisy, and bantered back, “If it ain’t messy, you ain’t doing it right. Isn’t that so, Daisy Rhys?”
“Um,” Daisy said eloquently, fighting a blush.
“Your server will be right over,” the hostess said, that wolfish look disappearing under her usual dependable-mom vibe as if it had never been.
Dunk thanked her, then cocked his head to one side, his hair cascading across his forehead in this carefree, sexy way. He opened his mouth, but paused and said, as if he’d planned to say something else but changed his mind, “I really might make a mess of myself eating steak, though.”
“You can tie one of these fancy cloth napkins around your neck,” she told him. Then, not knowing where it came from, she let her eyes drift over his tight shirt and added, “Not that anyone would mind if your shirt got so messy that you had to take it off.”
He grinned like a maniac.
But then his mouth flopped open and he slapped his hand to his forehead. “Damn, Daisy, I forgot to tell you that you look real nice tonight!”
“Uh oh,” she teased, since he looked so upset about it, as if he had a set of instructions that he wasn’t following perfectly. “Guess that’s strike one.”
“Good evening, y’all,” a server said, bouncing excitedly up to their table. “What can I get y’all to drink to start off with tonight?”
“Daisy? Do you know what you want yet?” Dunk asked innocently.
You, Daisy thought, while she flipped open the drink list binder and quickly chose a wine she liked, putting it aside while Dunk ordered a beer.
“So, Daisy Rhys,” he said. He said her full name like he had to use it because he still didn’t believe she was right there, and it made her warm and flattered. “Tell me about yourself. I only know the basics about you.”
“You know more than that,” she laughed.
He honest to God flushed at that, but recovered quickly. “Damn, Daisy, that was a real good line. You keep that up, I’m going to have to give you an IOU on the steak dinner and smuggle you to my truck to make out.”
“I’m a grown woman,” she laughed. “Why would I make out in a truck?”
“It’s a great truck,” he protested indignantly, as if she’d slandered the truck itself.
“Yeah, which a thousand girls already know,” Daisy laughed, rolling her eyes.
“Daisy!” he gasped, putting one hand on his heart like a terrible kid acting in his first high school play. “A man’s truck is sacred. You don’t bring a thousand girls to make out it in it.”
“No?” she retorted skeptically.
“No,” he said firmly. She watched him try to keep a straight face, but he cracked after only a few seconds before he chuckled. “It’s a great truck, but it definitely couldn’t handle a thousand girls at once.”
While Daisy was trying to pick out a good comeback, their server came back with their drinks and asked if they wanted to order appetizers.
“I’m sorry, Daisy is such a great date, I didn’t even look at the menu,” Dunk told the server, smug instead of contrite. “I’m thinking some bread, plus… I don’t know what this is, but I want you on tapenade me, Daisy.”
The server snorted while Daisy smacked Dunk’s shoulder and then buried her face in her hands, giggling helplessly. “Shut up,
” she managed.
“Okay, got it: no puns in front of the server. Such a prude.”
“Dunk,” she groaned.
“I’ll be serious,” he promised, then schooled his face into a thoughtful scowl. “How does this sweet cheese and meat plate sound to you, Daisy?”
“Why, thank you for asking, Dunk, the cheese and meat plate sounds fantastic, as long as you won’t be offended if I avoid the prosciutto.”
“What!” Dunk yelped. “That’s it, I’m throwing in the towel on this date.”
Daisy laughed, since it was easy to tell he was kidding.
“Coming right up,” the server said, backing away.
“Is it just fancy Italian prosciutto you hate, or all ham?” Dunk demanded, aghast when Daisy shrugged and spread her hands.
“Here’s your bread,” a bus boy said, setting down a basket and leaving.
Dunk took a giant breath and shook his head. “At least you’re not a vegetarian. I honestly wouldn’t know what the hell to do with a vegetarian.”
“No, I like meat,” Daisy promised him before she could think it through. His face lit up and she took one of the rolls out of the basket, tore it in half, and shoved it into his open mouth. “Don’t say a word.”
Dutifully, his eyes twinkling, he chewed the bite.
Daisy put a roll on her plate, then offered him another one. “Do you want some butter?” she asked as she scooped some out for herself.
“Daisy Rhys, are you trying to butter me up?” he asked.
She fought a smile as she met his gaze. “You’re on a roll, Dunk.”
Delight exploded onto his face, his grin so wide she could have probably stuck two whole rolls in there easily.
He grabbed her hand and held it, then looked down at their hands and flexed around hers before easing into a sweet clasp.
“Don’t think I missed how you never answered my question,” he said, his head cocking to one side again. “I didn’t ask you out to test out my puns on a new, unsuspecting, captive audience of one, you know.”
“I thought it was to apologize for the… Cinderella thing.”