Until Merri: Happily Ever Alpha World

by Suzanne Halliday

  “Ouch. Never mind. I’ll figure something out.”

  She was gasping and slack-jawed when he suddenly got up from the table, took his plate, and marched to the kitchen sink.

  What the hell is wrong with you? Her inner voice scolded. Pretty it up any way you want, but he’s asking for a date. Take the bitch boots off and remember what’s at stake.

  Her eyes swung to his back. His posture was rigid. She mouthed a pithy swear and stomped up to him. He turned slowly and leaned against the counter. Her eyes widened at the expression on his face. He was hurt.

  Chapter Two

  Things got weird when Merri lost her chill. He knew selling her on doing anything social with the radio club was a long shot, but she shifted into bitchy overdrive before he had the chance to try. The last thing he wanted was to start shit.

  Fuck.

  Water from the sink faucet splashed the front of his shirt. He adjusted the flow and finished rinsing his dish.

  Tom sensed the second she joined him in the kitchen. He squeezed his eyes shut for a second and took a deep breath. If only she knew how keenly aware of her he was. Would it make a difference or just completely fuck up their friendship? He wished he had the answer.

  Turning to face her, he rested his butt against the counter. Her eyes searched his face. It was a risky move, but he didn’t hide his feelings.

  She spoke softly. “I’m sorry.”

  He nodded. What else could he do? Her voice was low. He heard the regret and reached for her hand. Drawing it toward him, he pressed her fingers against his chest and covered her smaller hand with his bigger one.

  It was an intimate move—one he wasn’t sure they were ready for—but she didn’t draw back or resist in any way, so he went with it.

  Something told him to stop fucking around and be straight with her. The anxiety he felt every day during the war did not compare to the free-falling panic he was experiencing at this moment. The war was life or death. This was bigger and involved his soul.

  “Merri,” he began slowly. “I’m not asking for a favor, and falling back on an IOU was a dumb fuck move.”

  Her eyes narrowed, but she didn’t look away.

  “Do you understand what I’m getting at?” He asked the question in a hopeful way, but she looked more scared than excited.

  First, she shook her head. Then she gave a jerky nod and bit the fuck out of her lip. “Um, I, uh, think I, uh, need you to, um, say it?”

  A slow-moving smile crossed his face. She didn’t normally end a statement with an upward inflection. As a matter of fact, she got wound up about her disdain for lazy language and thoroughly disliked the trend of uptalking where the end of a statement sounded like a question.

  She was out of her comfort zone, and he wasn’t unhappy about it. He gave her what she asked for and waited for a reaction.

  “Millicent Merriweather, would you be my date for the radio club banquet?”

  A little tremor—so slight he wasn’t sure it was real—made the fingers pressed to his chest flutter. Her eyes swept down to look at their hands. When she looked up, he saw a glint of what he prayed was happiness.

  “Hmph.” She leaned back slightly to get a better view of his face, and in doing so, her pelvis shifted forward—coming in direct contact with his groin.

  His eyes widened. She turned a lovely shade of red but didn’t back off.

  “Is this real or a pity date?”

  He laughed involuntarily. “A what? A pity date? What the hell does that mean?”

  “It means, bozo, that I would like clarification. Is this a real thing? Like a guy-girl thing or am I just feeling sorry for your dateless ass and saving your bacon in public with your whole family on hand?”

  “Ohh.” He chuckled. “Yeah, I see what you mean.” Tom paused for effect and then lowered his face close to hers. “Alex, I’ll take Real Date for five hundred.”

  Merri was a Jeopardy fanatic. She turned watching the half-hour game show into an event complete with shouted insults and lots of exasperated body language. She gasped oh, so slightly at his clever phrasing. This time when she smiled, he didn’t need to wonder if she was happy. The emotion was visible on her face.

  “I enjoy a good wordplay,” she murmured.

  He answered, “I know.”

  “Are you sure about this, Tom? You know what everyone will assume.”

  His shrug was indifferent. After what his ex-wife, Laurel, had put him through, he no longer gave a flying shit what people assumed.

  “If they don’t have anything better to do than be nosy and full of gossip, that’s their problem.” His nod signaled a belief that people who get all up in other people’s shit were a special breed of asshole. “And yes, I’m sure,” he added.

  Her eyes searched his face. “And your folks? Henry and Grace? Even if we blow off the raised eyebrows, your mom will corner me in the ladies’ room first chance she gets. And then she’ll get my mom on the phone, and ugh, it’ll be a whole thing. Agie will weigh in, and then I’ll have to drown myself ’cause you know how I feel about her finger-wagging bullshit.”

  Every word was true. Forcing their relationship out of the friend zone will affect a lot of people, and tongues will wag whether he was okay with it or not.

  He touched her hair. She had soft, wavy curls that hung below her shoulders. Her gaze softened.

  “All that and more,” he drawled. “I don’t care. Do you?”

  One side of her mouth curled up. She snorted softly and made a face. “Honestly? No.”

  The time-out whistle sounded in his mind. The referee called for a midfield conference. Don’t push. Think with the head on your shoulders—not the one behind the zipper.

  Right, right. Moving too fast would only create problems. He was in it to win it this time—no more fucking around. Merri was worth it, too. Her friendship made his whole world better, and he didn’t want to do anything to jeopardize what they already had.

  Swiftly kissing her nose, he took her by the arms, gave her a gentle squeeze, and set her a few steps back.

  “Okay, so here’s the four-one-one. Friday after next. Cocktail reception at five. Dinner at six. Awards ceremony followed by an after party with a live band in the Wisteria Room at the Roosevelt. Very classy! Cash bar but you know how that goes. You can expect drinking, food, and dancing. Oh, and pictures. The club hires a photographer. They’re annoyingly social media friendly. Yes to Janet being there but good news. I heard she’s dating someone. I think that lets you off the hook. No lesbian loving for you, sweet cheeks.”

  “Dress code?”

  He almost laughed. Almost. But thought better of it. This was how her mind worked. She needed all the pertinent details spread out in front of her so she knew what to do. Merri hated being the odd man out.

  His informed response? “Uhh.”

  She rolled her eyes.

  “Here’s a thought,” he told her with a wink. “You could call my mom and ask her. That way, she won’t be surprised when we show up together, and maybe some of the gossip can be stopped before it starts.”

  “Hold up,” she grated with a sniff. He always paid attention when she sniffed. “When you say I should call her so she won’t be surprised, does that mean you’re not saying anything first? Do I have this right? Are you throwing me into the ring by my lonesome and expecting me to tell your mother we’re dating?”

  Had he stupidly walked straight into a wall? Yep. He was in the midst of chuckling at his buttheadedness when his friend, the girl he’d known since she was in a training bra, reacted by shoving against his stomach and punching him in the arm. Hard.

  “Ow,” he groused. His laughter and the way he rubbed where she punched had cartoonish overtones.

  “Tom Franklin,” Merri snarled. “You dick!”

  He kept laughing. How could he not? When he took a mental step back, all of this was laughable as fuck.

  Reaching for her until she smacked his hands away, he made a lame attempt to explain
. “Hey, come on. Try to be nice.”

  She snorted. Disbelief, amusing as it was, moved on her face. When she crossed her arms and arched one brow, he fell for her all over again.

  “Cut a guy some slack, would you? I finally found the balls to ask you out. Can’t we call that a win?”

  “Do you hear the words coming out of your mouth?”

  “Yes, ma’am, and that’s why I think letting you handle the ’rents makes us even.”

  Her adorable face went through a fascinating series of contortions from incredulity to understanding to sly to comical. He’d never be bored around her. She was real—not like his ex who revealed herself to be a manipulative whore.

  When she continued to gawk and didn’t speak, he reached out again, catching her unaware, and gently tickled her at the waist. As expected, she giggle-wiggled, and yelped, “Stop!”

  “Just checking,” he drawled. “I get nervous when your mouth goes quiet.”

  She dissolved into deep laughter. “Oh my god, I think I need a time-out. What’s happening?”

  “You were a bitch and forced my hand. I asked you out. You haven’t actually accepted, by the way. When you asked a chick question about dress code, I tossed you to my mom. Now we’re pretending to argue about explaining ourselves to the folks.”

  “We’re pretending?”

  “Well, I am.”

  Twinkling chocolate eyes held his gaze as the kidding around evaporated. “I’ve never been on a real first date. When I was younger, and especially in college, hanging out replaced going on dates.”

  Her blush reappeared. He took a chance and said what was on his mind. “My dad harps on endlessly about the old ways being the better way. I don’t think I got it till right now.” He smiled. “There’s something to be said for doing things right. Asking you out feels good.”

  “It does,” she agreed in a breathy murmur.

  Someone else wouldn’t notice her hesitation, but he did. He knew her so well. She wanted to say something but stopped to weigh the words.

  “Um, so … does this mean we’re a couple?”

  His body wanted to pin her to a wall, grab her tits, and put his tongue in her mouth—for starters. Over the past year, he’d spent plenty of jerking off time thinking about how perfectly she fit him. He had a particularly erotic fantasy involving her luscious body impaled on his cock while he stood, held her thighs open, and fucked her till she came in a flood.

  “Tom?”

  “Yes,” he growled as the lust monster breathed fire on his feet.

  She stepped forward—so did he. For what felt like an eternity, they locked eyes. Their faces moved closer. Kissing her was inevitable but not right now. Not when he was struggling to keep his shit together. Merri deserved something a thousand times more memorable than being mauled in her kitchen. He wanted to unleash a slow burn and drive her mad with want. Tom was sure their first kiss would change everything, so he wasn’t going to risk it over a hormonal rush.

  One time, not so long ago, she read a romance book Cyndi sent her in the mail. The story concerned a shy virgin who had several bouts of lip tingles. Thinking the wording was poetic license, she nonetheless thought the heroine was something of a twit.

  Merri was going to need to revisit the story because wouldn’t you know? Her lips tingled as Tom’s mouth closed in on hers. Delicious anticipation, more than a decade in the making, gave her the shivers. Every fantasy she entertained about Tom Franklin began with a kiss. She held her breath and then …

  “I gotta go,” Tom growled. He stepped around her and went to the living room.

  What the hell just happened? She shook her head to clear her thoughts, barked, “Why?” and ran after him.

  She found him searching for his keys. He was muttering and gave off a vibe she couldn’t understand. Did she do something?

  “Whatever you’re doing, stop!” she yelled with her hands up like a crossing guard. “Look at me, Tom. Tell me what’s going on. Is it me? It is, isn’t it? I came on too strong,” she quietly added in afterthought.

  He stared at her with the space of the room between them. She loved his face. It was masculine and, depending if he was in a shaving mood or not, kind of rugged. Now that he had a business to run, he kept his hair trimmed. He also had a nearly imperceptible little bump on the bridge of his nose from taking a punch during a bar fight. When he had his glasses on, you couldn’t see it, but if he was wearing contacts, the reminder of his former testosterone-fueled military years gave him a rakish air.

  Even nerds could kick ass.

  “Look,” he said in a tight, controlled tone. “I doubt if it’s possible to come on too strong, but no, you didn’t. It’s me. You’re my best friend. I’ve wanted to ask you out and take things to the next level for a long time.” He gestured with his hands to show his frustration. “But if shit goes south and I lose your friendship, well”—he put his hand over his heart—“I don’t think I could take it.” He sighed heavily, and a pained expression spread on his face. “After all, I’ve already fucked up a marriage. What if …?”

  Because the shortest distance between two objects was a straight line, she climbed over the back of the sofa, stepped off the cushions, and walked to where he stood. She understood his worry about messing with their friendship, but there was something else too. Something she took pains not to blurt out because after all, what went on between him and Laurel was none of her business, yet …

  “Hey. You did not fuck up a marriage. It takes two, remember? Laurel wasn’t cut out to be a military wife. Handling long separations is hard, but Tom, she made choices, and she’s an adult. Don’t shoulder the responsibility for what she did.”

  “You always say that.”

  “Yes, well, this time I’m going to tack on an addendum. She didn’t hide that she was cheating. There, I said it. And I’m not sorry. Did I see things because she’s BFFs with my sister? Yes. But I never said a word. By then, you and I were friends.” She rolled a shoulder. “I was looking out for you, not her.”

  “Your sister hates me.”

  “No, she doesn’t.”

  “Merri, she said it to my face. Laurel had a whole rap about emotional abuse and PTSD. All of her friends turned on me. None of it was true. Was I distant at times? Well, fuck yeah. I was bouncing back and forth between deathly hell and suburban tranquility, but she made me out to be a monster. Her fucking lawyer marched into a divorce meeting armed with studies and facts about veterans and spousal abuse. I couldn’t believe it. She wanted a divorce? Fine. Nice knowing ya. But she turned something simple into a soap opera. My parents were horrified and embarrassed.”

  She knew all this as it was happening, and her heart ached for her friend. Laurel went on a one-woman slash-and-burn crusade. It didn’t matter to her that she stuck a fork in Tom’s reputation or that his parents were hurt. She wanted what she wanted and walked away with a house and who the hell knows what else. Luckily, she also left town for greener pastures and bigger wallets. Agie was still in touch with her. Their squad of gal pals got together twice a year for a girls’ weekend, and Merri recalled that one of the last times was in New Orleans where Laurel now lived.

  “Well”—she sniffed—“fuck her. She flew off on her broomstick, and nobody cares about her bullshit. It’s fine to be bummed because something you took seriously didn’t work out, but stop framing what happened as a fuckup on your part. It wasn’t.”

  He started to say something, but she put her hand across his mouth. “Nuh-uh. Enough. Now about that other thing you said. About our friendship. Don’t you think I’m concerned about that too? And I have to say this, okay?”

  Tom looked at her with wide eyes and let her continue. “I hope you don’t feel like you have to do this because I’ve been so obvious.”

  A slow, amused smile appeared on his lips. “You think you’ve been obvious? When? And where was I?”

  “Wow. Really? My flirting game sucks that bad, huh?”

  “Man, both of
us are lugging some baggage. How do friends with a long history find the one square to start on?”

  She extended her hand. “Hi. I’m Merri. It’s never okay to call me Millie, so don’t believe anyone who tells you otherwise.”

  They shook hands, and she went for it.

  “You have a Clark Kent meets Bill Nye hotness.” She eyed him with comical longing. “And I like your bike. My dad always says never date a man whose bike isn’t a Harley.”

  “Is that so? Well, my mom’s been telling me to find a girl with Minnie Driver’s hairstyle.” He eyed her with the same amusing approval. “You’re cute. Nice tits.”

  A light bulb went on inside her head. She gave him a childish pout, turned around, and wagged her butt in his direction. “What about this?”

  Tom Franklin was the only man on the planet she’d let get away with calling her by the suggestive nickname.

  He swatted her ass and chuckled. “Yeah, yeah and sweet cheeks, okay? You have sweet cheeks, so don’t be surprised when I express my appreciation.”

  “So,” she cooed with eyebrow-wagging charm. “I bring the tits and ass. What do you bring besides the Bill Nye Clark Kent mashup?”

  Grinning like a fool, he winked. “Go out with me, sweet cheeks, and I’ll show you what else I’ve got.”

  When he asked before, she just gave in but didn’t say the word. This was their snarky reset.

  “Okay,” she said with a happy smirk. “I’d love to go out with you.”

  “Next Friday, then? I’ll pick you up at four thirty.”

  “In a car, I hope. No way am I riding on the back of your motorcycle.”

  “I’ll be wearing a suit,” he told her. “And yes, in a car.”

  “I can’t wait,” she said in an excited murmur.

  And she meant it too. They were going on a date. Holy crapoli!

  Pulling off the road, Tom guided the massive Harley down a side road to a nondescript two-story warehouse. He pulled around the back of the building and tapped a remote control on his key ring. A two-bay garage door slid upward. Slowing to a crawl, he maneuvered his 2013 Harley Fat Boy into the building, eased it into its spot, and cut the engine. A few seconds later the garage door shut.