Nome-o Seeks Juliet (An Odds-Are-Good Standalone Romance, #2)

by Katy Regnery

  I’m not used to Cody coming up behind me and putting his arms around me.

  (Ultimately nice, but potentially hazardous when I jump about a foot into the air.)

  He’s not used to me leaning up on tiptoes to kiss him out of the blue.

  (He freezes in surprise before loosening up, which makes it feel like I’m kissing a marble statue for the first two seconds or so.)

  Neither of us quite know what to do after dinner...do we attack each other and fuck? Or do we hug goodnight and go get the sleep we dearly need?

  (Tally three nights for amazing fucking and three for excellent sleep.)

  And if we do sleep, do we sleep together? Does he even want that? Do I? In some ways, sleeping next to someone, all through the night, is almost more intimate than sex.

  (Times we’ve slept together through the night: zero.)

  It’s been a strange week, I think, leaning over the fenced paddock to watch the dogs play on Friday. Our attraction is a living thing, connecting us through currents of energy that I can almost touch. But we also live together, and work together, and there’s a lot we haven’t figured out yet.

  But I will say this: our conversations, both while working and sharing meals, have become more playful, loaded with innuendo and come-ons. It’s the sexy bridge between coming to terms with what we’re doing and what we’re feeling, and I love it.

  “Hey, beautiful,” he says, coming up behind me.

  I glance at him over my shoulder. “You talking to Cheyenne or me?”

  He chuckles. “Cheyenne.”

  “Dog fucker.”

  “You kiss your father with that filthy mouth?”

  “Yes, I fucking do.”

  “Got anything leftover for me?”

  I jump him. Literally. My arms wrap around his neck as my feet leave the ground, and he catches me, cupping my ass as I lock my ankles behind his back and slam my lips into his. He pivots around, so he’s resting his back against the paddock fence, and kisses me back. His tongue is hot and wet, sliding against mine the way his cock slides against the walls of my pussy. Just thinking about it turns me on, and I moan into his mouth, wanting him now, despite the fact that we’re outside and fully dressed.

  “Can’t do it,” he says, lifting his mouth from mine, but looking down at me with dark eyes.

  “Why not?”

  “I have to go somewhere.”

  Interesting. “Where?”

  He loosens his hold on me, and I slide down his body, making note of the bulge in his pants. Wherever he’s going must be important, because his cock wants to stay here. I guarantee it’s only got one destination in mind.

  “Last Friday evening of every month, I take two dogs to the Quyana Care Center over at the hospital.”

  “Oh! Like, therapy dogs?”

  He nods. “Yep. It’s good for them to socialize somewhere unusual and be forced to mind their manners even surrounded by a thousand interesting and different smells. And it’s good for the patients there.”

  “Kids?” I ask.

  “Nope. Elders. Older folks.”

  “Wow. That’s so nice. I love it.”

  “It’s a win-win for everyone. Dogs look forward to it. Some of the old guys in there used to race. All of ’em used to have a dog or two.”

  “Can I come?”

  He grins at me. “I was hoping you’d want to.”

  “You weren’t sure?”

  He shrugs. “I don’t want to make assumptions about you. I just want you to be yourself, so I can get to know the real you. I’d prefer it.”

  I reach up to cup his face. “The real me would really like to come along.”

  “You comfortable managing two dogs?” he asks, his eyes twinkling. “If so, we could maybe bring four. You’re good with the girls. I mean, you’re good with all of them, but you seem to be getting especially close with the girls.”

  “I am,” I say, deciding that this is the right moment to talk to him about something important. “In fact, I wanted to talk to you about racing an all-female team at the Qimmiq.”

  “You’re asking me for Chey?”

  “I know she’s one of your swings, but I am. She’d be my alpha, my lead dog.”

  “Okay.” Cody nods. “Who would you have beside her?”

  I take a deep breath. “Augusta.”

  “No,” he says, shaking his head firmly. “She’s not ready.”

  “I disagree,” I tell him. “She’s strong, she’s young, and she’s devoted to Chey.”

  “Then she should be your swing dog behind Cheyenne.”

  “She’s ready for more, Cody. I know it. I can feel it.”

  “I believe in following your gut when it comes to dogs.” He stares at me hard for a moment. “Okay. Once the snow starts, we’ll try it both ways. Gus behind Chey, and then next to her. If she can handle lead, we’ll give it a go.”

  I start smiling because this means...this means... “I can race the girls?”

  He chuckles at me. “You can.”

  I throw my arms around his neck, hugging him with unrestrained delight. “We’re going to kick ass!”

  “I pity the other teams,” he says, holding me tight.

  When I draw back, I capture his eyes with mine. “Kiss me.”

  His lips touch down on mine, soft and gentle, brushing tenderly. It makes my breath catch, the way this man can be so deliberate, the way he can take his time when he wants to, even after years of deprivation.

  He clasps my bottom lip between his, then changes the angle of his head, sealing his lips over mine and seeking my tongue with his. My fingers caress the back of his neck, plunging into his thick hair as he presses me against the fence. The straining bulge of his erection is back now, bigger and harder, pushing intimately against my sex through layers of jeans and underwear.

  I want him.

  Fuck, I want him now.

  “We’ll be quick,” I promise, taking his hand and leading him to the back of his house.

  I open the sliding door to his room and step inside. My fingers are faster than his, so I unbutton and unzip his pants before mine, but just as my jeans skim over my hips, he lifts me, impaling me on his rock-hard erection without declaration or permission.

  “Fuuuuck,” I moan, licking and biting at his throat as he anchors his hands under my thighs and thrusts into my already pulsing pussy.

  He steps to the side and my back hits the bedroom wall, giving him more support as he continues to pump into me. I hold onto him, taking him, letting him thrust as deep and hard as he can while layers of clothing separate every part of our bodies except our faces and where we’re intimately joined together.

  His fingers dig into the denim covering my legs and I know he’s about to come, so I clench his cock as hard as I can, sucking on his neck until I leave a hickey, and crying out with each hard thrust.

  He calls out my name, “Juliet! Jul-i-et!”

  And then I feel his body shatter all around me, his muscles convulsing as my pussy milks his cock and he drops his forehead on my shoulder, panting against my throat.

  “Fuck...” He mumbles through short, ragged breaths. “Fuck, Juliet...Fuck...”

  I know he’s sated and that makes me so happy I giggle softly.

  “Did you...did you come?” he asks, leaning his head up to look at me.

  I shake my head with a satisfied grin. “Nah. But it’s okay.”

  “Fuck it is,” he says, shuffling awkwardly to the bed, still holding me, the jeans around his ankles making his movements jerky and spare.

  His cock slips from my body as he lays me down on my back with my legs hanging over the bed. Then he kneels down on the floor between my thighs, parts the lips of my clit with his fingers, and for the first time ever, he loves me with his mouth.

  Stroking me slowly, he keeps his tongue firm, but broad (which I love) and doesn’t flick my clit with a fast, pointy tongue (which I hate). He finds my magical bean with ease and puckers his lips around it, then l
aves it with his tongue. The pressure’s good, like he’s not scared of the action that area just received, like the tastes and smells of our recent lovemaking are a turn-on, not a turn-off, and soon I stop analyzing the fact that his face is between my legs, closing my eyes and throwing an arm over my head. Because it feels...good. No. N-no. Oh, my God. It feels...way better than good. Cody’s got the sort of perfect-porn eating-pussy skills that should make him illegal in several southern states.

  Fuck, but this man knows how to love a woman’s clit.

  I writhe beneath him, my hips bucking up off the bed as I feel my first miniorgasm come and go, leaving tiny tremors in its wake and making me sound off with moans and whimpers.

  He chuckles softly—and sweet Jesus, a man has never laughed on my slit while licking and sucking—and I come again.

  These are baby Os—lovely but small, like the waves you consider while surfing, even as you wait for a giant one to sweep you away. My fingers curl into his comforter as he nuzzles my clit with his nose, then kisses it again. His tongue follows in those long, firm, broad strokes, and—fuck me—I can hear my heartbeat start thundering in my ears, or maybe it’s my breathing all fast and sharp. I don’t know. I don’t care. It’s so good. So good.

  In and out...in and out...here we go...fuck...fuck...fuck...

  “Codyyyyyyy!” I scream, clenching his head between my thighs as I catch that mega wave and my body explodes into a million pieces, stiff, then writhing, as I ride that beautiful fucking surf, vibrating like a violin string, and cumming like it’s the first time.

  When it’s over, I swear to God, I am a grateful ragdoll—a sated mess of muscleless girl, covered in winter clothes and seeping cum from her slit. I have single-handedly found the golden ring that every woman’s reaching for. I just had it in my hand. I can have it again whenever Cody’s willing to share it.

  I hear him leave the room for a minute, then return, and when he lies down beside me with his legs hanging off the edge of the bed next time mine, his face smells like soap. I roll my head to the side and look at him, smiling like I’m drunk or high or both.

  “Where...the fuck...did you learn how to do that?”

  He grins at me. “I wasn’t always like this.”

  I roll my head back, staring up at the ceiling.

  “Were you popular?” I ask. “In high school?”

  “Yes,” he answers. It’s a definitive answer. Absolute.

  “Lots of girlfriends?”

  “Whoever I wanted,” he says, almost dismissively.

  “And now?”

  “I only want you.”

  “Was I your first since...”

  “I lost my fingers?” he asks. “Yeah.”

  I roll to my side, leaning up on one elbow, my body still rippling with lovely aftershocks every two or three seconds.

  “I’m sorry for what happened to you.”

  He looks up at me, his green eyes so clear and beautiful, they break my heart a little. “I didn’t see it coming. One minute I was whole, the next...I wasn’t. The me I knew was...gone.”

  “Not gone,” I whisper. “Just...broken.”

  “Broken,” he murmurs. “Yeah. I was broken. I am broken.”

  I don’t say anything. I want him to talk...which means my only job is to listen.

  “Did you know Viola saved me from a fire? She saved my life,” he says softly, still staring up at the ceiling. “I lived in a loft over my friend’s parents’ garage, and my friend used to smoke a lot of weed downstairs. One day, he left a joint lit when he left. It started a fire.” He clears his throat. “I was drunk upstairs, lying on my shitty couch, and I could smell the smoke, you know? It woke me up, and I had a choice to make.” A tear falls from the corner of his eye, sliding into his hair. “I didn’t move. I stayed there on the couch. I breathed in the smoke. I...I decided to die.”

  I am desperate to comfort him, to touch him, to let him know that I’m a safe place to tell a terrible story, but I don’t know what to do. I edge closer, letting the front of my body press gently into the side of his. He doesn’t lean toward me, but he doesn’t move away either.

  “But I could hear barking from down below. Nonstop. Just...loud barking. My landlords had a dog, and suddenly, it occurred to me that he could be trapped inside. You know, downstairs. And I...I couldn’t bear the thought of a dog dying too, just because I wanted to.” He swipes at his eyes with the backs of his hands, then folds them on his chest. “Anyway, I pulled my body off the couch and somehow made my way down the outside stairs. There was smoke everywhere. Thick and acrid. Flames lapping up from below. I could hear sirens but couldn’t see the strobe lights yet. Another minute or two, and I would have been trapped. I would’ve...died.” He takes a deep breath and glances at me. “Turns out it wasn’t my landlord’s dog. It was Vi. She was standing in the middle of the driveway, and when I got down the stairs, she ran over to me, wagging her tail and licking my sooty face. She was a neighborhood stray I’d been feeding now and then. Probably a year old at the time. Maybe younger. She knew I was up there. She saved my life.”

  I’m so choked up, I can barely speak, but I manage to murmur, “I’m ...so g-glad, Cody.”

  “For a long time, I wasn’t.” He finally rolls his head to the side to look at me. “I loved Vi for her good intentions, but I wondered if I should have died in Kandahar packing up that IED, or in that garage. I wondered if fire should have gotten me one way or another.” He caresses my cheek with the back of his two-fingered hand, staring into my eyes. “A lot of days I woke up and I wanted to die.” I reach for his hand, turning the palm to my lips, and kiss the scarred skin there. When I open my eyes, he’s staring into my soul. “I don’t want to die anymore, Juliet.”

  I freeze, blinking at him.

  The implications of this statement—that, perhaps, I am part of the reason he doesn’t want to die—are overwhelming to the point of daunting. What if I let him down? What will happen when I return to school? Will he fall apart? Will he want to die again? I can’t be responsible for his happiness. Not yet. It’s too much too soon.

  He must see the play of emotions on my face and continues.

  “Oh! No, no. Not because I have forever-plans for us,” he says. “But because...after meeting you, I know that being with someone again is...possible. I didn’t know that before I met you.”

  I take a ragged breath, feeling relieved on one hand, but unexpectedly sad on another. Because, honestly, I don’t know how I feel about someone else having that sweet forever with Cody. A hot streak of jealousy slides through me like a bolt of white lightning, singeing a path to my heart.

  Confusion makes me cloudy, but one thought clarifies quickly through the mist of doubt: a man as good as Cody would have found someone eventually.

  I place his hand over my heart. “Forever was always possible.”

  “Maybe,” he says. “But I didn’t know it, until I met you.”

  And then, because all the words that need to be said for now have been spoken, I draw his body against me, into the comfort of my arms. I cradle him there, anchoring him to me until our barking dogs remind us that there are elders waiting for a visit, and that life, in all its beautiful and terrible forms, must continue.

  ***

  Cody

  “Hey, look who’s here! Waqaa, Cody!”

  We walk into the Quyana Care Center, or Quyana House, as it’s called by the locals, and some of my favorite folks are hanging out in the small reception area, waiting to greet us.

  “Waqaa, Ethan,” I say, greeting an older gentleman from Gambell. He’s wheelchair-bound and frail, but always has a kind word for me and my dogs. “Good to see you. How’re you doing?”

  “If Travis, here, would stop stealing my dessert at dinner, I’d be golden.”

  Travis Miklahook, reaching out to offer Dover a scratch behind the ears, gives his cousin, Ethan, a dirty look.

  Both Ethan and Travis are Siberian Yupik from St. Lawrence Island, a large islan
d off the coast of Alaska that boasts two towns: Gambell and Savoonga, each home to about seven hundred souls. Closer to Russia (35 miles to the west) than to Alaska (150 miles to the east), both Travis and Ethan are far from home, receiving chemotherapy and radiation treatments at the hospital here in Nome.

  The last time I visited, the nurse told me that they likely won’t make it back to the St. Lawrence. Each man is in the last stages of terminal cancer.

  “You brought four dogs this time, Cody?” asks Travis, his voice raspy and thin.

  I’ve got Dover and Boston on harnesses with one double leash, and Juliet has Cheyenne and Salem on another.

  “I’ve got a helper with me,” I tell him.

  Ethan looks up at Juliet, then back at me. “No offense, but she’s prettier’n you, Cody.”

  “I couldn’t agree more, Ethan.”

  “How come you got her helping you? Is she your sweetheart?”

  Juliet grins at him. “Maybe I should be your sweetheart, Ethan.”

  He chuckles, clapping his frail hands and reaching for Cheyenne, who steps forward to let herself be petted.

  A nurse peeks into the room. “Oh, Cody. You’re here. Come on back. The residents are waiting for you in the common room.”

  “You did good with them,” I tell Juliet as we head down the hall, forcing the dogs to heel, even though they want to run.

  “I love older folks,” she tells me. “My grandpa was one of my favorite people in the world.”

  “You’re lucky. I never knew my grandparents.”

  “What do you mean? They passed away before you were born?”

  “Complicated childhood,” I say, pushing open a door to our left.

  Her eyes linger on my face for a moment before she precedes me into the room where we’re greeted by ten of the fourteen Quyana House residents.

  Sitting in wheelchairs, in easy chairs or at tables, I know from experience that many of the elders have hidden pieces of sausage or bacon in their pockets, just so they can share a little treat with my dogs. The dogs know it, too: their tails start wagging as they lift their noses in the air and breathe in the smells of breakfast food.