  Photo by Toa Heftiba on Unsplash MARGOT
“Hello?” Craning my neck over the back of the couch, I call along the long hallway that runs the length of the condo to the kitchen and front door. “Margot,” Charlie calls back. “Have you heard from Ari?” “Uh, no. Should I have?” I’m about to haul my not-inconsiderable bulk off the couch when Charlie and Jax appear. Charlie notices I’m getting ready to stand up – it takes a bit of prep these days – and places a hand on my large baby bump. “Don’t stand up. You stay there with your feet up. We’ll find her.” “Uh, it’s Toronto. The woman managed to live in LA for years without coming to harm. Hell, she hitchhiked across Mexico.” “Don’t remind me,” Jax growls, his face darkening. “We’ve had words about that.” “She’s probably getting her hair done.” “Vicky does her hair,” Jax replies promptly, frowning as he looks at his phone. I think that’s someone back in San Remo, where they live. “Okay, maybe she’s just gone shopping?” Honestly, these two fuss over that woman worse than old hens. If I were her, I’d be deliberately winding them up. Hell, maybe that’s what she is doing. “No, her last text to me was that she was on her way home.” Jax is still frowning at his phone, and now Charlie’s expression matches his. As they stare at the device, it beeps. Jax swipes to read the message, his eyes widening and his face darkening. “You have got to be fucking kidding me,” he breathes, shoving the phone at Charlie in disbelief. “What’s happened?” I swing my legs off the couch again, but Charlie catches them with one hand, setting them back on the throw pillow I was using as a footrest. “Ari’s gotten into one of her scrapes. We’ll sort it out. You stay here.” “What about dinner?” “We’ll order in when we get back.” Jax has already retrieved his phone, tugging his jacket on as he hurries down the hallway. “Hurry up, man,” he calls over his shoulder. “I know my wife. If we don’t get there, she will try to fix it herself, which will only make things worse.” Okay, I’m officially confused and a little intrigued. Personally, I think Jax and Charlie go over the top with “fixing Ariel’s messes,” but that’s their business. Also, I think they enjoy it just a bit. As the front door slams behind me, I settle back against the couch, picking my book up with a smile. I like it when Jax and Ari visit. There’s never a dull moment. I also like how much Charlie looks out for his sister. He’s going to be an amazing dad when our daughter arrives. I only feel sorry for anyone she meets in eighteen years. Rubbing my swollen stomach, I hum, turning my attention to birthing facts. I can’t wait to meet our daughter, and I can’t wait to see Charlie holding her. It’s going to be a beautiful sight. CHARLIE “You never should have let her go off on her own,” I snap at Jax as he pulls the Jeep he hired at the airport into traffic. His eyebrows shoot up. “It’s Toronto. I thought she’d be fine. It’s been a while since she’s needed bailing out. I thought she was getting better.” I snort, rolling my eyes. Ari doesn’t get better at not getting into messes. This is just who she is. You’d think her husband would know that. He’s shaking his head, gripping the steering wheel tightly, and muttering. “When I get my hands on her, I’ll paddle her ass.” “Uh, dude. That’s my sister. TMI.” “Then you shouldn’t have let me marry her.” “Just because I think you two are good together doesn’t mean I need to know about your sexual punishment methods.” Jax flashes me a grin, throwing his phone into my lap. “Call her.” “What if she doesn’t answer?” “Call her again.” I stare at him. Is he an idiot? Has living full-time with my sister rotted his brain? It can happen. Too many dance workout videos will do that to you. “If she doesn’t answer the first time, what makes you think she’ll answer the second?” Jax shrugs. “We have an agreement. If she doesn’t answer three times in a row, I’m allowed to turn on the Find my Phone app.” He’s had that option this entire time, and I’m only hearing about it now. Why? “Uh, fuck that. I’ll just turn it on. We’ll find her without having to waste time calling three times.” Jax snatches at the phone, his eyes glued to the traffic as I hold it out of his reach. “No. Call Ari three times. I’m not about to invade her privacy without following the stipulated rules.” “But we already know she totaled Margot’s car.” “Do I butt into your marriage?” “Uh, no. But I’m not married to my trainwreck of a sister.” “Hey, that’s my wife you’re talking about.” “That doesn’t make my statement any less true.” He grumbles but doesn’t argue. Sighing, I quickly try calling three times. Every time, it goes to voicemail. Rules followed. Can we finally be sensible now? “Okay, now can I just fucking find her?” “Yes. Turn it on.” Finding the app, I tap it, enabling the locator device. It pings immediately. “She’s less than a mile away.” Jax steps on the gas, following my directions. Sure enough, Ari is sitting on the side of the road, waving sheepishly to us as we pull up behind Margot’s car. Jax is out of the Jeep, pulling her to her feet and checking her over carefully as I stare at the car in front of us. The back is caved in. How the fuck is Ari standing there looking like she doesn’t have a scratch on her? Jax tugs Ari into a tight hug, kissing her fiercely before leading her to the Jeep. They stop at my window. I gesture at the car. “How the hell aren’t you laid out on the sidewalk? The trunk is practically in the back seat!” Ari winces, glancing around Jax’s bulk at the car. He has her anchored to his side like he’s never letting her go. “I wasn’t in it.” “What?” I ask, gesturing again at the car. “Where were you?” Jax asks. “And why did you think it would be okay to text me, ‘I’m totally fine, but Margot’s car is undrivable’?” “Well, it’s the truth. I am fine, and there’s no way that car can be driven.” “Next time you’re in a car accident, I expect a phone call, Trouble.” Ari glares up at him mutinously. “I wasn’t in a car accident. I was standing near it.” “That’s even worse.” I cut through their bickering. “What happened to the car, Ari?” She sighs, gesturing at the vehicle. “There was this lady pulled over and looking under her hood. I pulled in behind her, leaving plenty of space, and went to make sure she was okay.” Jax groans, rubbing his eyes with his forefinger and thumb. "Trouble, Trouble, Trouble. How many times do I have to tell you? You don’t get out of the car if you’re alone. It could have been a plan to jump you.” I nod in agreement, but Ari is already rolling her eyes, drawing a growl from Jax. “But it wasn’t. She really was having engine trouble. I was calling her a tow when this guy came barreling around the corner and hit the back of my car. So, it wasn’t my fault.” “He wouldn’t have hit the car if you hadn’t stopped when you were alone, which I told you not to do,” Jax points out. Ari pouts, pressing herself against him as he glares down at her. “But if I stopped helping people, I wouldn’t be me.” He growls something too low for me to hear, and she blushes, giggling. Gross. I don’t need to know that stuff about my sister and best friend. Digging out my phone, I glare at Margot’s car. We were considering upgrading to an SUV now that the baby is close to coming, but I didn’t need the vehicle written off to arrange that. “Oh, here.” Ari hands me a piece of paper. “I got the guy’s insurance details. They were going to organize a tow once you arrived.” “Why didn’t you call us? Or answer our calls?” Ari shrugs. “I texted to let you know, but then I talked to the guy, his insurance, and the police. I knew you were coming.” “You didn’t tell us where you were,” I point out, the insurance company hold music playing in my ear. Ari rolls her eyes. “Uh, Find my Phone?” Jax bites his lip to stop laughing while I glower at them. This is the last thing I need. I want to be home with Margot, sitting on the couch, rubbing her feet. I finally get through to the insurance, organizing a tow. Jax and Ari are making out on the sidewalk while I ignore them. Honestly, those two. It’s dark by the time we get home, Jax piggybacking Ari up the stairs. Margot is laying out the takeaway Thai food as we step into the kitchen, her eyes roaming over the three of us. “Did you get everything sorted?” Ari blushes, stepping up to her, looking shamefaced. “I wrote off your car. I’m so sorry, Margot.” Margot blinks at her, dropping the serving spoon and looking her over. “Are you okay?” “Oh, I wasn’t in the car.” Margot blinks, shrugging her shoulders. “Then it wasn’t you who wrote it off. We were thinking of upgrading to an SUV anyway.” Jax and Ari disappear to wash up for dinner, and Margot carefully sits on my lap. I wrap my arms around her, resting my head in the crook of her neck as my hand strokes over her bump, our daughter kicking beneath my hands. “The car got written off?” “Some kid lost control around the corner and smashed into the back where she was parked. She was helping a woman call a tow truck.” “Thank goodness she wasn’t in the car.” “Thank goodness I don’t have to worry about you two getting into trouble every time you leave the condo.” Margot snorts. “It’s hardly her fault someone rammed into her. You said she wasn’t even in the car. That’s just bad luck.” “Yeah, and it follows Ari like a bad smell. I think she might be cursed.” Margot rolls her eyes, hooking her arm around my neck. “There’s no such thing as curses.” “Oh yeah, tell that to Ari’s constant bad luck. Everyone else in the family is extremely lucky.” Margot looks pointedly at my chair. “You got blown up and have no legs.” “Yeah. And that’s how I met the most amazing woman in the world, who is about to have my baby. That’s extremely lucky.” With a giggle, Margot presses a kiss to my cheek. “Okay, well, Ari’s bad luck landed her Jax. Isn’t that lucky?” Hmm. I hadn’t thought about it that way. Maybe she’s not unlucky. Maybe it is the universe drawing her to Jax. “You’re right.” “I usually am.” “Jax is the one who's cursed.” Margot’s giggles cut off as I capture her lips with my own. That poor sod might be cursed, but I’m blessed and wouldn’t change anything in my life. Not when all the best things are currently balanced in my lap. The End.  Photo by krakenimages on Unsplash  THELMA The town car pulls up out front of the modest, two-story home. It’s nothing like the luxurious condo between West Queen Anne and Uptown I grew up in. I love it on sight. The house is between the White Center and Highline neighborhoods and is only a fourteen-minute drive frown our Downtown condo. Jimmy slides out, holding the carrier bag full of fancy wine and whiskey that I insisted on bringing. His hand appears to help me out as I cradle the ridiculously huge bunch of flowers I got for his mother. The driver nods, pulling away from the curb as Jimmy tangles his fingers with mine, leading me up the paved driveway, past Trey’s truck and his parent’s Volvo wagon. So, this is where Jimmy grew up. It suits him. The front of the house on the ground level is a single-car garage, which is closed, so Jimmy leads me through a tall wooden gate, alongside the cream clapboard-sided house, to the front door, on the side near the back. Pulling open the decorated grill, he hammers on the blush pink wooden door, opening it before anyone can answer. We step directly into the kitchen, and Lucille, Jimmy’s mother, turns with a huge smile, wiping her hands on her flowered, ruffled apron. “You’re here!” she cheers, wrapping Jimmy into a tight hug. Releasing him, she accepts the carrier bag, sits it on the counter, and turns to me. “I’ll just blow kisses at you,” she laughs, kissing her hand and waving it at me, turning to use a damp cloth to wipe the flour off Jimmy’s shirt that transferred from her apron. Once he's clean, she drops the cloth into the sink, taking the flowers from me with a huge smile. “Oh, they’re gorgeous, Thelma! You didn’t have to. I love them!” “Hey, they’re from both of us!” Jimmy protests, earning a look of shade thrown his way. “Oh, hush. You are no more responsible for these flowers than your father is for your birth.” Jimmy smirks, holding up a finger. “An inch of credit is still credit.” He laughs, snatching a beer from the fridge and retreating out of the kitchen as she throws a tea towel after him. Stooping, I pick it up, hanging it on the towel rack over the cabinet door under the sink. “Is there anything I can help with?” I look awkwardly around. Mom caters these things. I’m not a useless cook, but a pumpkin pie from scratch or an enormous turkey like Lucille is basting is a little out of my expertise. “Not at all. I’ve got this. I only need to finish basting and pop it in the oven, and then I’ll be right through. Why don’t you pick a nice wine, pour us a glass and take them through to the living room? I’ll be in shortly.” Flashing a grateful smile, I unpack the wine carrier, selecting a nice Semillon and pouring two glasses. Lucille points her turkey baster at the archway Jimmy disappeared into, and I offer a smile as I steel myself and walk through. Five faces turn to me as I take another deep breath. Jimmy grins, holding out his arm from where he stands near the maroon leather couch, and I walk right under it, snuggling against his side. Trey vaults out of the matching maroon easy chair he is lounging in, relieving me of Lucille’s wine glass, which he sets down on a cute World’s Best Mom coaster near the easy chair. I wave to Hogan and Gayle Houston, Jimmy’s grandparents, and they beam back at me, Hogan turning his attention to the football game on the TV while Gayle continues to grin at me. Ed, Jimmy’s father, stands and kisses my cheek, turning to bellow at Trey, who has sunk into his fabric Lay-Z-Boy. “I paid for that chair. Get your sorry ass outta it, boy!” “I believe you’ll find that Jimmy and I bought you this as a Christmas gift five years ago, Dad. Find another seat.” Hogan shakes his head, striding into the kitchen, muttering about ungrateful brats and needing another drink. Gayle rolls her eyes, shuffling over on the couch until she’s seated in the middle, closer to Hogan, and pats the empty end spot. “You come and sit here, Thelma. I want to hear all about the trouble Jimmy has been getting himself into. I’m sure there’s lots of it.” Giggling, I leave Jimmy as his mouth drops open and cross, sitting beside Gayle as she pats my leg. Her eyes drop to my wine, and she laughs. “I owe Lucille twenty dollars. I was hoping for a happy holiday announcement, but she thought you’d still want to focus on your career for a little while.” Oh. Oh. My cheeks burn as my eyes meet Jimmy’s. He is also red with embarrassment, although he looks like he’s trying not to die from laughing. She’s talking about my getting pregnant. How mortifying. At least she’s being good-natured about it. “Yeah,” Trey pipes up, saluting Jimmy with his beer. “Why haven’t you knocked your wife up yet? You’ve been married for over six months. Get on with it.” Jimmy flips his brother off, but Trey winks at me while his grandmother glares at him. “It’s cute when a senile old lady like me asks. You just sound like an idiot,” she scolds him. I can’t help the giggles busting out of my lips. This is nothing like Thanksgiving with my family. We never have the football on. Dad and Artie usually sneak into the den to watch portions at a time while pretending to use the bathroom. And no one laughs and teases this much. It’s a much more somber affair. JIMMY
Shit. Thelma will never agree to come to a holiday event with my family again. They’re grilling her about babies, about work. She’s going to bail and refuse to come back. I meet her gaze across Pop’s head, my eyes stricken, but she’s giggling, pressing her fingers to her mouth to try to stifle the sound, and I relax. Thank goodness Mom and Dad come in to break the tension. Mom drops into her easy chair, snatching up the wine and saluting Thelma before taking a sip. Her eyes flutter closed as she smiles. “That is the best wine I have ever tasted,” she sighs happily. “You’ve been cooking. I’m glad you have a moment to sit and enjoy it,” Thelma offers, sounding nervous. “I’ll second that!” Dad agrees, shooting Trey a glare. “Last chance, boy.” Trey studiously stares at the TV, pretending not to have heard. Dad shakes his head, handing his beer to Mom and crossing to the Lay-Z-Boy. This is typical for when we all get together, but Thelma watches with wide eyes as Dad unceremoniously drops into Trey’s lap, squashing him into the chair. “Help!” Trey calls, his voice muffled by Dad’s back. “You were asking for it,” Pop calls back. “Now pipe down. I want to listen to the commentary.” Thelma giggles again, sipping her wine and turning back to Nanna. “We haven’t talked much about kids,” she admits. Mom is listening carefully now – so am I. “But I would like to keep focusing on my career for another few years. Maybe when I’m closer to thirty.” Nanna and Mom managed to hide their disappointment well, and I sag with relief. Thelma is twenty-eight in February. Thirty gives me two years to selfishly have her to myself before I have to share. I can live with that. Mom beams, holding out her hand to Nanna with a gimme gesture. “Pay up, Dolores.” Thelma blinks in surprise, a confused frown crossing her face as Nanna grumbles, digging into her purse at her feet and pulling out a crisp twenty, leaning forward over the coffee table to slap it in Mom’s hand. With a smile, Thelma stands, coming to stand beside me, slinging her arm around my waist. I lean my head down to hear what she is going to say. “I thought your grandmother’s name was Gayle?” she murmurs, taking another sip of wine. I bite back a grin. “It is. Mom calls her Dolores, and she calls Mom Alma. No one knows why.” Thelma nods. Whatever she was about to say is cut off when Trey gives another half-hearted yelp, and Dad finally gets off him. With an exaggerated gasp for breath, Trey stands, shuffling out of the way so Dad can claim his chair back. He moves toward us, grinning and waggling his eyebrows at me. Mom catches the look and speaks before either of us can. “No wrestling in the house. You take that outside!” Thelma’s head whips around, her eyes darting between Trey and me. “Wrestling?” she whispers. Trey grins cockily, cracking his knuckles. “Oh, it’s not wrestling. It’s Jimmy’s punishment.” I smirk back at him. Trey usually beats me. The man coaches a middle school wrestling team. But I have a secret weapon this year. I got Grady Quinn from the Rothwell Agency to show me some moves. Trey isn’t going to know what hit him. Dropping a kiss on Thelma’s cheek, I move to follow Trey outside. “You sit and enjoy your wine. Don’t let them give you a nickname!” Thelma sinks into the seat next to Nanna as we leave the room. I’m in the kitchen when I hear Mom’s bright exclamation. “What do you think of Beryl? I think it suits you.” The door to the backyard swings shut, cutting off Thelma’s giggles. Beryl? Ah, I can live with it. If it makes Thelma giggle, it’s okay in my book. Trey lets out a war cry, and I spin, ducking out of his grasp before he can take me to the ground. Right. Time to put these new moves to some use. I have a twin to wipe the floor with. THE END.  Photo by Ashley Winkler on Unsplash  CHAPTER 1
NAOMI Viper was laughing when he left, taking the sedan to the airport because I was scrubbing the skirting boards. They’re gleaming, and I had to give up my compulsive straightening and spot-cleaning campaign to shower and make myself presentable. Vicky laughs, swiping the mascara over my lashes and capping the wand. “You look amazing, but understated. She’s going to love you.” “We don’t want kids,” I blurt out, wincing as Vicky blinks at me in surprise. “We decided we don’t need to get married to be together, and we don’t want kids.” “And you think his mother will hate you because of that?” “Wouldn’t you?” Sighing, Vicky shrugs, packing away her hair and makeup kit. “I wouldn’t know. I can’t have kids.” Shit. My cheeks flame, and my mouth drops open. “Shit. Sorry. I mean -.” “Don’t stress, babe,” she laughs, straightening and picking up her bag. “I’m okay with it. I only mean, surely having her son happy would be enough for her, you know? And Viper sure as shit is happy these days.” “You think so?” “Babe, I have eyes. I know so.” Grinning like a maniac, I wave her off, smiling and continuing to straighten the flowers. I bought a few bunches to brighten the place up. Viper rolled his eyes. After all the flowers he bought me finally died, this place smelled like a florist shop for a week. I think he was getting used to having his house smell normal again, and okay, maybe I went slightly overboard. The garage door rattles, and I freeze. After he bought us the car, Viper had an automatic door opener installed, so I don’t have to mess around opening and closing it at night. It was super sweet of him. I’m like a deer in the headlights, halfway between the kitchen and the dining room, a dusting rag in my hand as the door to the garage opens. Shit. I drop the dusting rag onto the kitchen countertop, flashing a megawatt smile as Viper steps into the house carrying a suitcase, followed by an immaculately dressed blonde woman in her late fifties. I can see Viper around her eyes. Setting the suitcase down next to the table, Viper beams at us. “Peaches, this is my mom, April Martin. Mom, this is Naomi.” I stretch out my hand, blinking as I’m swept into a tight hug. “It’s so nice to meet you finally!” she cries, holding me tightly. “Damon has told me so much.” Stepping back, April Martin keeps her hands on my arms, looking me over from head to toe. “You’re even more stunning than the picture he sent through.” My cheeks flame. Viper sent a picture of me? I hope it was a nice one. Viper gathers the suitcase again, walking it through to the spare bedroom. April looks around, her eyes sweeping the open-plan living space before coming to rest on me again. “I’m glad you made the space your own. When I took all my things, I tried to make it only seem like half a bachelor pad. It looks much better now.” Sagging with relief, I offer her a smile, remembering the manners Mama taught me. “Would you like some sweet tea?” “I’d love some.” Viper reappears, slinging his arm around his mom’s shoulders. “Come on, Mom. We’ll have it out on the back porch.” They move through the house as I fetch the sweet tea I made earlier, setting it out on a pretty tray with glasses and some cookies. Picking it up, I take a deep breath, walking through the house and out onto the back porch, where April and Viper are seated on the comfortable patio furniture, looking out over the back garden. I’m growing flowers. I used cuttings of some ones Viper bought me the night of Lisa and Palmer’s wedding. The night he told me he loved me. “It looks amazing out here!” April beams, reaching for her glass of sweet tea. “That’s all Peaches. I hate gardening.” Viper grins, saluting us with his glass. I laugh, rolling my eyes at him. “He mows the lawn.” “As he should,” April agrees, clinking her drink with mine. Her eyes linger on my bare left hand and the claiming tattoo there, tightening a little, though she doesn’t mention it, talking about her flight instead. VIPER Mom is dancing around the subject, and I wish she’d get to the fucking point. Finally, she looks pointedly at Naomi’s hand, at the viper head laying on her left ring finger, and sighs. “You aren’t thinking of getting married?” And there it is. Naomi opens her mouth, but I beat her to it. “No. We’re not.” Silence reigns as Mom’s lips tighten. “I see. May I ask why not?” Snorting, I roll my eyes at her. “Because marriage doesn’t mean shit to me.” Mom looks scandalized, pressing her hand to her chest. “Damon! How can you say that? I apologize for my son,” she says to Naomi, who looks mortified. “You don’t have to apologize for me. Peaches knows the score.” “That you’re stringing her along without hope of a ring?” Mom’s voice is rising in volume and pitch, a sure sign she’s getting agitated. “I’m not stringing shit. Peaches knows I’m all in. Forever. We don’t need a fancy party, a piece of paper, or a priest to make this more real.” “You don’t need it, no. But every woman wants it.” Naomi’s eyes widen, and she stands abruptly, knocking over an empty sweet tea glass in her haste. Blushing, she quickly picks it up, loading everything on the tray and hightailing it back inside, mumbling something about not wanting to get involved. Fuck that. She is involved. The person who isn’t is my fucking mother. Turning to the woman, I shoot her a venomous glare. “I’ll thank you for not getting involved in my relationship.” “What kind of relationship do you expect it to be without a hope of a wedding? Why are you so against it, anyway? Naomi seems like a lovely woman.” What does that have to do with anything? “Naomi is lovely. That’s why she’s mine. That’s why this is forever.” “So, marry her?” “No.” “Why not?” “Why would we? So we could be as happy as you and Dad?” Mom shrinks like a balloon I just burst, pressing her lips together and blinking rapidly, trying not to cry. Fucking hell. I shouldn’t have let her get to me. “Things between your father and I were… complicated.” Bullshit. “Complicated? Mom, he cheated on you at your wedding reception, kept cheating, and left after three years. That’s not complicated. That’s fucked up.” “That’s life.” “Not my life. Not with Peaches.” Mom sighs, shaking her head and running her hand over her eyes. “Damon, you are not your father.” “No? I was a legacy prospect to the Hawks. I patched in, same as him.” “And you’ve risen higher than he ever did. He died in jail, Damon. He was miserable so much of the time.” “Oh, great. Something else for me to look forward to.” “Are you expecting to die in jail?” What? The snort escapes me before I can stop it. “No.” “Are you planning to cheat on Naomi?” Fuck that. “God, no.” Mom shrugs, settling back in her chair and fixing me with a hard stare. “See. Nothing like your father.” Yeah, I already knew that. I have no desire to be like that man. I like to think I modeled myself after Archer. The old secretary was a good man, loved his wife, was loyal to the club, and kept his nose clean. He was also more of a father figure to me than my dad ever was. I shrug. Exasperated, Mom sighs again. “So, there’s no reason not to marry that girl.” “We are happy not getting married. She’s mine. I’m hers. That’s all we need.” “And when kids come along? Are you going to have those fashionable hyphened surnames?” Ah, fuck. I was hoping to have these conversations separately. I shift in my seat as Mom narrows her eyes at me. “We don’t want kids.” “Naomi is a young woman. You can’t know that for sure.” “She seems certain.” “Oh? As certain as she is about not getting married?” Yeah, as certain. Peaches is fine not having either of those things. We’ve talked about this. There were fucking rose petals involved. “Yeah. She’s certain.” “Because she sure took off in a hurry instead of staying to defend your position.” “Maybe because she just met you and wants to impress you, and you don’t seem happy with our life choices?” Mom harrumphs, turning to look at Peaches’ flower gardens again while I stew in silence. She’s sure… right? CHAPTER 2 NAOMI Hugging my knees to my chest, I stare at the bedroom door, willing it to open. The house is quiet. Dinner was weird. Everything felt awkward after that scene on the back porch, and Viper has been distant and moody. I have no idea what is going on. Maybe his mother not liking our choices has him second-guessing being with me or something? I hope not. That would kill me. The door creaks open, and my eyes lock on Viper as he slides into the room, dropping his sweats and crawling into bed, looking up at me as my eyes find his. “You okay, Peaches? I’m sorry about my mom.” “I’m okay,” I whisper back, my heart clenching as his fingers stroke my bare arm. “Are you okay?” In an instant, he is sitting up in bed, drawing me against his chest, his face buried in my hair. “Do you want to get married, Peaches?” I… what? Drawing my head back, I stare at him with wide eyes and a gaping mouth. “Was that supposed to be a proposal?” He shifts awkwardly, sighing and releasing me to scrub his face. “I don’t know. Mom’s all up in my head. I need to know if you’re only saying you’re happy with not getting married because you think that’s what I want to hear. I don’t believe in marriage, but I’d get married for you. If that’s what you wanted.” The sincerity is bleeding through his tone, and my heart cracks for him. Kneeling on the bed, I wrap my arms around his neck, sighing with relief when he wraps his around me too. “I don’t want to change a single thing in our life. Marriage made none of our parents happier. We’re happy. Having rings and a party isn’t going to change that or make us happier.” Viper sighs, resting his cheek on my shoulder as his arms tighten around my waist. “And kids?” “You know I have no intention of having them. I change diapers all day. I sure as hell don’t want to come home and change them.” He snickers. “There are other aspects of having kids that people like.” “They smile at me and hug me all day too. I get the nice aspects. I also get to sleep until I wake up in the mornings.” Viper’s lips press against my neck, and I smile into the dimly lit room. That’s a sure signal this conversation is almost over. “No marriage, no kids?” “No marriage, no kids. Just us, forever.” “Forever,” Viper whispers, his hands sliding up my back, taking my silky pajama top with them. “Now, stop worrying about what your mom thinks, and kiss me already, Damon.” “I aim to please, Peaches,” he breathes, his lips clamping down on mine as he tips me backward, covering me with his body and pressing me into the mattress. I can live with this forever. I’m looking forward to it. THE END  Photo by Taylor Gray on Unsplash  SHELLEY
Amity got the maid of honor pick. I suppose I should be annoyed or whatever. Sophie and I have been besties since middle school. But I can’t find it in me to be upset. Amity is the right choice. I hate every decision Sophie made for this wedding – from the flowers to her dress – because none of them are what Sophie from last year would have picked. I don’t know what happened when that ring hit her knuckle, but it clearly transplanted a WASP’s brain into my vibrant, gorgeous friend. Standing in my silky, forest green gown, clutching the stereotypical wedding flower bouquet with too much baby’s breath in my hands, I watch with more than a little sadness as Sophie glides down the church aisle on her father’s arm, her layered satin skirt swirling around Mr. Martindale’s legs. For the last eleven years, the Sophie I have known wouldn’t have been caught dead in that dress. The Sophie who asked Amity Hamilton to be her maid of honor is beaming, looking like all her Christmases have come at once. Ugh. Kill me now. Can you mourn someone who isn’t actually dead? I mean, the Sophie I love pretty much is dead. Now there’s just a facsimile copy of her mother standing in front of me, smiling blandly at Hugh Sharpley as they join hands. For the first time, I’m not upset that Sophie is moving an hour and a half away to LA. She can’t go far enough. If she was closer, I might be tempted to visit her and torture myself some more with the Sophie who used to be. Their custom vows are corny, all about being soulmates. They couldn’t have been more different two months ago, but looking at the two of them now, with their bland smiles and slicked-back hair… yeah, they’re totally the same. I’m sure they’re in love, but I can’t help but think of how Palmer and Lisa look at each other… like they can’t tear their eyes away. Palmer looks at Lisa like he wants to devour her. Hugh looks at Sophie like he wants to put her in a glass case and charge people an entry fee to view her. Finally, it’s over, and we’re ushered out of the church and into cars to be taken to a three-hour photoshoot. Sophie is on the dancefloor, laughing and dancing with Hugh. For a brief second, our song came on, and her eyes lit up, finding mine. But before we could break out our self-choreographed dance, someone spoke to the DJ, and the song abruptly cut out. I thought Sophie – as the bride – might have demanded the song come back, but she simply shrugged and turned to dance with Hugh again. So I’ve retreated to the bridal table, drinking champagne and watching Sophie morph into her mother – who is dancing a few feet away from her – and wishing I was anywhere else. I catch Amity’s smug smirk thrown in my direction, wrinkle my nose, and dig my phone out of my purse. SHELLEY: Want to fuck? I stare at my phone, lying on the table in front of me, sipping another glass of champagne. It’s a satisfyingly short time later that it buzzes. MERCH: Always down kid. Where are you? That’s more like it. SHELLEY: Society wedding. Pinedale. The Nathan. MERCH: You got a room? SHELLEY: I’ll go organize one now. MERCH: Text me the room number. I’ll be there in 20 minutes. Draining my flute, I stand, ignoring the called protests as I slip out of the room, making my way to the reception desk. “What can I help you with tonight, ma’am?” The young man in his shiny vest behind the counter smiles at me. “Yeah, I need a room for tonight, please.” He bites back a smirk. I may be playing up how buzzed I’m feeling. That way, everyone will think I’m getting a room because I need to lie down. I do need to lie down… in a bed with Merch going to town on my body. “And my bag is being stored here. Can you have it brought up?” “Of course, ma’am.” Taking the key from the smirking hotel employee, I tuck it into my purse, making my way to the elevator bank. As soon as I’m alone in the elevator car, I dig my phone out of my bag. SHELLEY: Room 674. Sixth floor. I’m not expecting him to answer. He’ll be on his motorbike. Stowing my phone again, I step out of the elevator, find my door, and let myself in. The room is nice, and I close the curtains, crossing to the phone. Picking it up, I call for room service. “Ma’am?” “Can I get a bottle of champagne and a fruit platter brought up with my bag?” “Of course, ma’am.” MERCH Parking my rig down the street from the Nathan, I make sure my leather jacket is zipped up to my chin and stride through the marble-filled lobby, beelining for the elevator bank. This time she’s on the sixth floor, not the eighth, but this place is the same. The same plush carpet and the same eerily silent hallways. I left the clubhouse to come here, but I have no regrets. The groupies can’t take a fucking hint, so they were all over me. I was half an hour away from texting Shelley about a hookup when she texted me. Locating room 674, I hammer on the door, my eyes fixed expectantly on it. A society wedding? She’s going to be dressed as Michelle. I remember my last encounter with Michelle… it’s a good memory. The door swings open, and I blink. She’s not just dressed as Michelle. She’s like Michelle but supercharged. Stepping into the room, I kick the door shut behind me, drinking in every inch of Michelle. Her hair is elegantly piled on top of her head, diamonds sparkling at her ears and wrists. Her body is covered in a dark green, silky dress, which leaves one shoulder bare and sweeps the floor. “You look like a princess,” I smirk. Shelley grins up at me. “I was a bridesmaid.” “You look good.” “Thanks.” A small smile tugs at her lips, a blush covering her cheek. Tearing my eyes away from her, I glance around the room. The same as last time – except for the room service trolley with champagne and a fruit platter – that’s different. There is also a small black suitcase on the luggage rack. My eyes stay glued to it, my eyebrows raising. “Are you staying the night?” “That’s the plan,” Shelley agrees, pouring herself a glass of champagne. Good. That means I can fuck her as many times as I want before leaving. No time like the present. Spinning, I pluck the champagne glass out of her hand, drain it, and set it down on the trolley beside where the bottle is sitting in an ice bucket. “Hey! That’s was mi-.” Shelley’s words cut out as I grab her, hauling her against me, my lips crashing down on hers. Moaning, she opens her mouth, allowing my tongue in to plunder. She tastes like strawberries and champagne. Walking her to the wall, I press her against it, lifting her and pinning her with my hips. As our tongues clash, our mouths fused, I shrug out of my leather jacket, dropping it on the floor and bunching her skirt until it is around her waist, gathered between our stomachs. She’s wearing a thong and moans against my mouth as my fingers rub her clit through the barely there lace. “You want my dick, kid?” “God, yes,” she pants, clinging to my shoulders, pressing her hips forward, grinding against my fingers. I think I can oblige. Still rubbing her clit, I retrieve a condom from my back pocket, tear the packet and roll it on, positioning Shelley and thrusting in hard. “Shit! Yes!” Her head tips back, resting her fancy bun against the wall, her eyes fluttering closed. God. She’s so fucking beautiful when I’m inside her. “Hold tight, kid,” I mutter against her ear, nipping her earlobe. “I’m going to fuck you until you can’t remember where you are.” “I am so on board with that plan, Merch,” she murmurs back, gasping, her words catching when I keep my promise, gripping under her thighs as I hammer into her. Clinging tightly to me, Shelley gasps and mewls as I suck on her pulse point, occasionally swirling my tongue. Her back slaps against the wall in time with my punishing thrusts. “Shit! I’m gonna come,” she gasps, her eyes flying open. Her pussy is fluttering, clenching down on my dick. Fuck yeah. “That’s it,” I coax her, groaning as I thrust deep and come. Shelley’s silky green dress falls to the floor, covering up her gorgeous legs and that lacy thong I want to get better acquainted with at some stage tonight. Throwing me a smirk, she walks across to the room service trolley, pouring another glass of champagne. There is a second unused glass, so I dispose of the condom, zipping my dick away and moving across to pour my own drink. Shelley turns to me with wide eyes. “You aren’t leaving?” Smirking back at her, I kick off my motorcycle boots, get comfortable on the bed, and flip the TV onto some football game. Shelley is still standing beside the trolley, studying me with raised eyebrows. I salute her with my champagne, taking a sip. “Oh, I intend to fuck you at least twice more before I leave, kid. Get comfortable.” A slow smile crosses her face as she sets down her glass, slowly shimmying out of her dress while my eyes drink in the sight of her strapless lace bra and matching lacy thong. She kicks off her heeled sandals, collects her glass, and slides into the bed beside me. I can’t keep my eyes off her legs or pussy, visible through the lace. “I can’t wait,” she murmurs, her eyes glued to the touchdown happening on the TV. Me either. Setting my glass down, I slide a hand up the soft skin of her inner thigh, loving the way her breath catches. Maybe I’ll fuck her three times before I leave. We do have all night. THE END |
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