by Bromberg, K
I answered, and before I could get a word in edgewise, Mama said, “Darla, do you like minty condoms?”
“You mean, like as a late-night snack?” Because the thought of talking with Mama about Trevor and Joe’s penises encased in condoms that went inside me made a giant air horn blast off in my head.
The throaty smoker’s laugh that greeted me was that of a stranger, not the soft, sad Mama who loved me. She sounded like a woman with a past, a woman with a sense of the sensual divine, and it made my head spin for a minute.
“If you like to gobble ’em—”
“Mama! That ain’t what I meant!” I groaned with horror. “Why are you asking me about condoms?”
“You’re making Trevor wrap it, right?”
Let’s stop here for a minute, because you know I’m with both Trevor and Joe, and I know I’m with both Trevor and Joe, and Uncle Mike is pretty fucking sure I’m with them both (though he’s still a bit weirded out that Trevor proposed to Mavis the Stolen Chicken while high as a kite and traveling naked), but Mama?
No. Just… no.
Mama can’t know I’m with them both, and that is a sore spot in my little sweet threesome.
Then again, Joe hasn’t told his parents about me at all. At. All. Trevor’s mom has heard about me, though. But not the fact that Joe’s all naked and at attention in the room at the same time.
We have a lot of invisible people getting up in each other’s nude skin.
“Can we change the subject?” I asked archly, clearing my throat. “I am not pregnant and will not be pregnant, and why are you asking about minty condoms? And before you answer that, ewwwww. My vagina does not need to taste or smell like a cough drop.”
“Taste?” Mama gasped.
Time to turn the tables.
“Are you calling to ask for advice? You find yourself a man?”
Yeah. Right. Mama’s parts had been retired since my daddy died two decades ago. She was about as likely to go off and find a friend with benefits as I was to join Joe’s mom at her Pilates class.
That same disconcerting laugh, deep and knowing, poured through the phone like a demon’s whisper. “No. But these romance writers are having all these giveaways now, and the sweepstakes forums are full of these contests. One of them includes a big win of mint condoms, and I wondered why any woman would want that inside her. Wouldn’t it feel like shoving a tube of Ben Gay inside your pink tunnel?”
My mouth formed a giant O and I pulled the phone away from my ear as if it had transmogrified into Satan’s face. Who in the fuck was on the phone with me? Because it sure wasn’t my mama.
“But… no… Mama… the… those are for the mouth.” Those last words poured out of me like vomit. Oh, God, I was going to throw up all over this beautiful linen envelope as I tried to explain oral sex condoms to a woman who had last had sex when the television show Full House was still in original episodes.
“Why would someone need a condom for their mouth? Makes no sense—ohhhhhhhhhh.” Mama’s voice went down to a whisper. “For when you… oh.”
Kill me now.
“I guess mint would taste a hell of a lot better than spooge,” were the next words out of her mouth, and I swear if there’d been an old-fashioned letter opener on the desk, like in those Mad Men episodes Joe liked to watch, I’d have plunged it straight into my ear and pierced the drum, giving myself a homemade lobotomy or brainectomy or whatever so that I never had to properly comprehend my mother’s use of the word “spooge.”
It took everything in me to tighten my core and force out the next words. “Mama, there isn’t a delivery truck about to deliver a pallet of mint condoms to Josie’s front yard, is there? Because we only just got rid of all that kitty litter two weeks ago, and if you expect me to use up an entire pallet of condoms, I’ll need a few lifetimes.”
Silence.
Aw, shit. “Mama?”
She cleared her throat. “No. Nothing like that. But you will be getting two large packs of them and some, uh… hang on. Let me read the letter here.” Shuffling sounds came next, giving my heart a chance to resume its normal rate, and for my stomach to stop doing the two-step.
“You win an assortment of sexual aids and lubrication devices, along with those condoms.”
What in the hell is a lubrication device? The words came so close to flying out of my mouth, but if I had to hear the answer from my own mama’s lips I wouldn’t ever have sex again. Hell, I would take fishing line and a rusty nail and sew my pissflaps together at this rate.
“Um… thanks?” I said.
“Darla, I was trying to win the $250 gift card. It’s not my fault some of these writers give away these specialty prize packs. You also get an assortment of—oh.” The way her voice went quiet made me cringe.
“I’ll just look at it all when it comes. You don’t have to detail it—”
“Chocolate penises.”
Bucket! I needed that pile of sawdust and a bucket for vomit emergencies at the gas station right now. I was going to be sick.
“Well, thank you much, Mama. Now—can we change the subject to something that doesn’t involve procreation?”
“No one’s saying anyone has to procreate. Just have the fun associated with—”
“STOP! STOP IT! We are done with this topic! Thank you for the prize, but I need to be done before my vagina joins a convent in self-defense!”
“My diabetes landed me in the hospital yesterday,” Mama blurted out over my little hissy fit.
That stopped me mid-rant. “Hospital?” I rasped. “Oh, Mama, why didn’t you say somethin’?”
“I am saying somethin’ now,” she said primly.
“What happened?”
The room suddenly looked foreign to me, all modern and freshly painted, with carpeting that had no stains, complete baseboards and real potted plants a service came and watered. The hues of the walls were designed to be soothing, but right now I was anything but serene.
Mama was in crisis and I—I was here. Here. Hundreds of miles and a lifetime away.
“It’s those test kits,” she said in a hushed voice. “My insurance don’t cover as much as it used to.”
“And you’re not testing enough?” I couldn’t keep the exasperation out of my voice. She’d been like this when I lived at home, and there was nothing I could do about it sometimes. That woman was as stubborn as… well…
Me.
“You can buy your cigarettes but you can’t buy test strips?” I blurted out. I knew the words would make her righteously pissed at me, but I couldn’t help it. Hurt seeped through my statement because she should have told me. Should have asked for help. Should have turned to me, her only daughter—
Who had left.
Now guilt took over.
“I quit, Darla.”
Knock me over with a feather. “You quit smoking?”
A triumphant tone popped into her voice, and it made my eyes go wide. “I am using the patch and it’s expensive, but I’m saving so much money. And Mike got me one of those electronic cigarettes. It’s helping.”
“But the e-cigs have nicotine!”
“Not the flavors I use. Cotton candy is my favorite.” She sounded like Buddy the Elf, her voice was so infused with pleasure.
Mama quit. Mama quit smoking. I couldn’t imagine my own mother in my mind’s eye without a ciggy between her fingers, always searching for an ashtray to rest a lit one, or to flick ash.
“And you still can’t manage the testing strips?”
“It’s not just that. The machine died. Insurance…” She sighed. “And a pipe burst, and Mike’s not getting the miles he normally gets…”
“Let me send you some money,” I said quickly. “Cash my checks.” Unlike Aunt Marlene bugging Josie constantly for money, my mama had never, ever asked. Wouldn’t take. Wouldn’t hear of it.
“No!”
Remember the stubborn part? I kept sending her checks, around a hundred dollars a month, but she just returned th
em. Uncashed.
“Yes! If you’re gonna send me lubrication devices and condoms that taste like a breath mint, the least I can do is send you money to help save your life.”
“Darla.” One word could bring tears to my eyes. It was the closest thing to “yes” she could manage.
“Okay then, Mama, case closed.” My heart was breaking. “You safe? Jane still coming to help you?” My old high school friend was my mama’s home health aide.
“Jane’s the one what got me to the hospital, Darla,” she said sadly, the spark in her voice now gone.
“Then Jane deserves one of your winnings. She need some kitty litter?”
The laugh we shared almost took the tears out of my eyes.
Almost.
Mama said her goodbyes and hung up, and it was like the earth had shifted direction.
I could take a wild guess at how much money a broken pipe cost. What the trailer needed was an overhaul, all-new plumbing, and a new heating system. We plugged space heaters in and played the game of Pop Goes the Fuse Box every winter.
Four figures, I guessed. Even my hundred-dollar checks wouldn’t help.
Fuck.
A deep sigh filled the room, and given that I was the only one in the room, it sounded like me. Confused. Confounded. My fingers brushed against the envelope on my desk.
Breaking the seal seemed like a sacrilege, my fingers tracing the lines of the paper’s folds, the weave like linen in printed form.
I smelled it, just to see if it smelled like fresh cash. That’s what it reminded me of.
With a shaking finger, I slid the tip under the open corner and felt the tear of the envelope’s lip like I felt my own hymen breached back when I was a virgin.
(Quit laughing. I was one once, too.)
Then my eyes must have looked like Jack’s a minute ago as I drank in the words.
Dear Ms. Jennings,
You are cordially invited to join me…
And then my phone started buzzing like mad.
Read the rest of Random Acts of Fantasy right now free in Kindle Unlimited!
Other Books by Julia Kent
Suggested Reading Order
Her Billionaires: Boxed Set (A New York Times Bestseller!)
It’s Complicated
Completely Complicated
It’s Always Complicated
Random Acts of Crazy (A New York Times Bestseller)
Random Acts of Trust
Random Acts of Fantasy
Random Acts of Hope
Randomly Acts of Yes
Random Acts of Love
Random Acts of LA
Random Acts of Christmas
Random Acts of Vegas
Random Acts of New Year
Maliciously Obedient (A USA Today bestseller)
Suspiciously Obedient
Deliciously Obedient
Shopping for a Billionaire Boxed Set (Books 1-5) (a New York Times Bestseller!)
Shopping for a Billionaire’s Fiancee
Shopping for a CEO (A USA Today bestseller)
Shopping for a Billionaire’s Wife (A USA Today bestseller)
Shopping for a CEO’s Fiancee (A USA Today bestseller)
Shopping for an Heir (A USA Today bestseller)
Shopping for a Billionaire’s Honeymoon
Shopping for a CEO’s Wife (A USA Today bestseller)
Shopping for a Billionaire’s Baby (A USA Today bestseller)
Shopping for a CEO’s Honeymoon
Shopping for a Baby’s First Christmas
Little Miss Perfect
Fluffy (A USA Today bestseller)
Perky (A USA Today bestseller)
Feisty
Hasty
Our Options Have Changed (with Elisa Reed) (A USA Today bestseller)
Thank You For Holding (with Elisa Reed)
About the Author
Text JKentBooks to 77948 and get a text message on release dates!
New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author Julia Kent turned to writing contemporary romance after deciding that life is too short not to have fun. She writes romantic comedy with an edge, and new adult books that push contemporary boundaries. From billionaires to BBWs to rock stars, Julia finds a sensual, goofy joy in every book she writes, but unlike Trevor from Random Acts of Crazy, she has never kissed a chicken.
She loves to hear from her readers by email at [email protected] ,
on Twitter @jkentauthor,
and on Facebook at facebook.com/jkentauthor
Visit her website at jkentauthor.com
Iron Crowne
CD Reiss
Byron Crowne is a gentleman on the outside, and a pure savage on the inside.
I detest him. I can't resist him.
He’s awakened desires I didn’t know I had.
When he touches me, I need to fight him . . . and I need him to win.
Our one night stand bruises my skin and leaves dents in the walls, but the sheets aren't the only thing we shred that night.
And suddenly, the stakes are higher than ever.
Olivia Monroe lights a fire in me that died a long time ago.
I’m a different man when I’m with her. I need to own her, take her, mark her as mine.
Everything changes when she might be pregnant and for the first time in my life…I’m powerless against this stubborn, untamable woman.
She’s the one in control and I have an impossible job: Prove I’m worthy to be a father.
Chapter 1
OLIVIA
I was on my back. My legs were spread, and my underpants were on a chair by the door. The lights had been dimmed. The crashing of ocean waves came from the speakers, and a mobile with seagulls spinning at the ends of the strings hung from the ceiling.
A light rap at the door was followed by the sound of it opening and quickly closing.
“Hello, Ms. Monroe,” Luciana said with her gravelly Spanish-accented voice.
I raised my head enough to see her. She was in her fifties and wore teddy-bear scrubs that clashed with her seriousness.
“Hey,” I said. “You got a haircut.”
She put down a tray of instruments. “You like it?”
“Love it.” I put my head back on the little paper-covered pillow. “It makes your eyes look huge.”
“My son says I won’t attract a husband. I told him good. Men who say no to short hair before they even talk to you? Not my kind.”
“They’re trouble.”
“Exactly.” She sat on the stool at the foot of the table. “How are you feeling today?”
“Fine.” The air conditioning went on, spinning the plastic seagulls. “Dr. Galang says everything looks good.”
“Yes.” She snapped on her gloves. “Let’s see. Open up.”
I hadn’t realized I’d been clamping my knees shut. I opened them with a cringe.
Seagulls.
The ocean.
Wind in my face.
Smell of salt water.
“Just relax,” she said as if it was the easiest thing in the world.
Luciana inserted something inside me. It didn’t hurt, but on the whole, I would have rather been on the beach.
“How do you say?” She placed the syringe at the opening of my vagina. “Third time is lucky?”
“Third time’s the charm.” My face tightened as she moved a tube through my cervix.
Sand in my toes.
The ocean at my ankles.
“Try to relax.” The syringe entered.
Breathe, breathe, breathe. Third time’s the charm.
“Trying.”
Laughter of children.
Finding a whole shell in the sand.
“What are you doing today?” she asked to distract me, as always, and as always, I took the hint and talked through the process.
“After this, I have to go up to Bel-Air.”
“Fancy.”
“There’s a greedy developer building too close to a creek we’re
trying to recategorize as a preserve. He’s from a rich family that has more money than God, and I’m going to beat him.”
“I don’t think God is so interested in money. Or the winners.”
“Probably. I’m just tired of seeing guys like that walk all over everyone.”
“You got my landlord to fix the toilet with one letter.” Luciana removed the syringe and plopped it back on the tray. “You’ll get this one too.”
Her landlord was a two-bit scumbag who’d never expected to hear from an actual lawyer. He’d been easy. Byron Crowne was another order of magnitude, but I took the vote of confidence in the spirit it was cast.
“I will.”
“Good.” Luciana pulled the blanket over my knees. “Think happy thoughts. Babies like it when mamas are calm.” She stood and picked up her tray.
“I’m borderline serene. I’m feeling so tranquil I could fall asleep.” I closed my eyes to prove my point. “Actually, I’m thinking of taking a nap.”
I was actually thinking about traffic to Bel-Air.
“Sweet dreams.” The door clicked open, then closed.
I was alone. Finally.
Wind in my face.
Smell of salt water.
Traffic on the 10.
Battling a man with infinite resources.
Winning anyway.
* * *
The first time I met Byron Crowne, he was breaking ground on the most disgusting, showy, look-how-big-my-dick-is spec house ever conceived. Ninety thousand square feet. Five pools. Thirty bathrooms. A moat. A literal moat. All of it was perched on the only Bel-Air hilltop with 360-degree views.
He was known throughout Los Angeles as the King of the Spec. He bought premium property, tore down whatever was on it, and immediately petitioned city councils for environmental abatement so he didn’t have to do impact studies. He promised jobs, community input, and the actual moon. Then he did what every spec developer did—turned it around to sell at a huge markup.