Jen Frederick's Blog, page 14

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Blog Post 2

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Blog Post 1

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Blog 1

Charlotte Chronicles Part XL

Nathan

 

Her name wrenches from me like my heart is being pulled from my chest. She turns to  look at me and I see her anguish which compounds my own pain. What can I say? That I didn’t mean to hurt you. Intentions are meaningless. Acts matter.

The guy by her side tugs on her hand again. I want to drag him by his neck and throw him into the ocean. Roll a few logs over his face until he is unrecognizable. Doesn’t he know that Charlotte is mine? That she’s been mine since the day she was born? Time, distance, separation, none of that will sever our bond. None of it.

I hold my breath for what seems like forever. She’s here standing in front me more beautiful than I can remember. How long had it been since I last laid eyes on her?

Only seven hundred days eight hours and forty two minutes. Nearly two years.

“I want to see you,” I manage to gasp out. My tone is a mistake. It’s too harsh and she shrinks back.

The boy toy next to her places a protective arm around her shoulder and glares at me.  Cubby and Gonzo step up beside me which is even worse. Three SEALs glaring down at two innocent people. Or one innocent person. The other one—the male—is two heartbeats away from being demolished.

“Is there a problem here?” One of the gate guards designed to keep the public from bothering us while we train wanders over to diffuse what he sees as a tense situation.

“No, we’re leaving,” she says and reaches up to squeeze the man’s hand. Yes, he’s definitely losing that hand first before I dismantle the rest of him.

“I’m on shore leave in two days. I’m coming for you.” I yell after her.

Her gait breaks and the boy has to reach down and right her. But she doesn’t glance back. Not once.

I’m standing there as my woman leaves on the arm of another guy as my best friend, teammate and some random Navy gate guard looks on but the only burn I feel is from loss, not humiliation. I don’t care what these guys think of me. What matters is that Charlotte is walking away from me with a man who she has had close enough that he answers her phone.

But she’s here and she’s not doing any goddamn bird watching. There are two types of people who come down to this stretch of the beach. Those that want to run and those who are watching us run. She wanted to see me and …that’s as far as I can process why she’s here given that she won’t talk to me.

“I thought you were confident she’d say yes. Since she’s turning you down, the best option is to get drunk and laid. I say an early evening visit to McPs.”

“She looks good walking away. I’ll say that.” Bride cackles. He makes a slapping motion with his hand against the air.

“Do you want to get drowned?” I say evenly despite the adrenaline firing through my body. I’ve got aggressions and I want to take them out on someone. Bride’s a good target. “Because that’s how a guy gets drowned.”

“Not now man,” Cabby says recognizing the tenseness in my frame.

“When?” Bride is unhappy we aren’t having fun with each other. Taking the piss out of a team member is our version of a kiss and hug.

“Never,” I answer and start running. The sting is too sharp and though I run for miles, it doesn’t fade. My legs are tired, my lungs scream for air, but the only thing on my mind is her.

<<< >>>

Charlotte

 

“You look wrecked,” Reese says when we get back to the Del.

“I am. Seeing him in the flesh is heartwrenching.”

“When did you last lay eyes on him?”

I drop onto my bed and curl into Reese’s warm comforting body. “Nearly two years ago. He was on leave and visiting his parents. They have this home on Lake Michigan north of the city. I was in the city too, helping Adnan Rabanah move. His wife wanted to see a home next to Michael Jordan’s old house. I popped into say hi to Aunt Grace and Nate was there, drinking chocolate milk at the kitchen table.” I smile ruefully at the memory. “He looked up and there was this brown milk mustache framing his upper lip and he was shirtless, wearing shorts and tennis shoes. I wrestled with the urge to leap over the counter and table and lick the chocolate off his mouth and then start exploring other areas.”

I’m not sure who was more surprised–him or me. He bolted out the back door saying he was going for a run. I waited there for over three hours and he never came back. I think that’s when I realized I was waiting for nothing.

“But you still haven’t moved on,”

“I want to.” I stare into the white ceiling of the hotel room searching for answers. “I don’t enjoy being lonely. Most of the time, it doesn’t matter. I have such good friends. You, Lainey, Nick. There’s always someone who will go out with me. And if I really want someone to get physical with, there are lots of available men. But  since forever, I’ve felt tethered to Nate and it’s more than having lost a boyfriend or a lover, but my best friend.”

Reese sighs. “I don’t believe that three one night stands are going to do it for you.”

“I need more?”

“I think you need to sleep with someone you care about. Maybe Nick?

“I couldn’t sleep with Nick!” I shudder. “It would be sleeping with my brother. Which is gross.”

“I don’t get how sleeping with Nick, who is not related to you, is incest but sleeping with Nate, who is Nick’s brother, is not.”

“You don’t have to understand. It just is.”

He knocks his fist against the top of my head. “You need someone like me but who’s straight. Who loves you and would be invested in making it good for you. Plus if you like him, you’ll feel less like cheating and more like…a friendly get together without clothes on.”

“I…I actually know someone like that.”

“Who?” Reese thought he knew all my friends but my relationship with Colin Matthews is quiet. We like it that way because it’s pressure free for him. But he’d sleep with me. He’d made advances before and I’d always turned him down–not because of Nathan but because I wanted Colin to have someone who loved him with her whole heart, not just a portion of it.

Could we sleep together without ruining our friendship?

“Just a guy. It’s someone I met when I was in treatment in Switzerland.”

“The LA guy?” Reese says knowingly.

“Yes him,” I admit. If there’s a job in LA, I always take it. Colin and I knock around privately. If you don’t want to be photographed and aren’t really into the scene, it’s easy enough to get around anonymously. Colin would always roll his eyes at the fake outrage by some celebrities when they are photographed eating the “motherfucking Grove.”

I peek up and his eyes are glowing with curiosity but before he can interrogate me, his phone rings and then mine.

“Charlotte Randolph here.”

“It’s Lainey. Why did we decide to buy a bar? Why?”

“Because it seemed like a fun investment at the time?”

“I’m tearing my hair out. We lost another server because she started sleeping with one of the Mustangs and after he stopped calling, she couldn’t be here when he flaunted his single status. Her words; not mine. Our policy of no sleeping with the customers needs to be better enforced.”

“Should we require them to take oaths of chastity before allowing them to don the apron?” I joke.

“We should have opened a trendy bar somewhere other than here where we served drinks with umbrellas.”

“Then order umbrellas and we’ll see if we can drive the Mustangs away.”

“And Nick will start wearing them behind his ear and we’ll have to put up a velvet rope to keep everyone out,” she grumbled. Lainey and Nick were like oil and water. She said he played too hard and he said she inability to smile more than once a week was scarring his young adulthood. Reese and I speculate that it is a sexual attraction but a lot of the time it does appear that they don’t like each other. Lainey, in particular, doesn’t seem to respect Nick and Nick, god love him, doesn’t appreciate all that Lainey has gone through.

And if there isn’t any respect between two people any kind of sexual attraction will leave them both unhappy. I don’t want that for either of my friends.

“Because she quit, I need to stay here and tend the bar but Nick came in this morning to tell me that there’s a rookie that needs help transitioning. He signed his rookie contract and he’s got a boatload of family obligations. I can’t really deal with it all so Reese needs to come home. I gave the rookie Reese’s number.”

I glance over at Reese who is throwing things into his case.

“I think they’re talking right now.”

“Great and I’m sorry for taking him away from you.”

“No problem. I’m going to get things wrapped up with Christian soon. Maybe a week.”

“I made a reservation for you at Tower23 if you’re tired of the Del,” she suggested.

“Out of the zone of danger?”

“It seems to me that if you’re a recovering alcoholic, you don’t stay next to a brewery.”

This made me laugh. “The Naval Base is a brewery?”

“I hear from Reese that they are churning out high quality products on a daily basis,” she proclaimed. I laugh a little more and say goodbye.

“Sorry, honey,” Reese kisses me on the cheek. “Call your LA guy. Go down to the Gaslamp district. Pick up a nice guy, take him to a nearby hotel, screw his brains out and come back here for the night.”

“Sounds like a lot of work,” I say hugging him back.

“Do something,” he orders. “Don’t stay here. Don’t go to the beach. Get out and enjoy yourself.”

“Yes, dad.”

He opens the door and leans down to give me another kiss on the forehead. “I hate leaving you.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll be fine. Call me when you land.”

“I will.”

We hug again. I linger in the door as he walks down the hallway, past a few room service trays and a guy fiddling with a lock. The man, a big one with broad shoulders, turns to watch Reese’s retreating back before turning to face me.

“Nate,” I gasp. My hand flies to my throat. Hurriedly, I back into my room but I’m not fast enough. His foot and hand are in the doorway and it flies open.

“It’s been a long time Charlotte,” Nate says grimly.

Charlotte Chronicles – Part XXXIX

Undressed, the holiday novella featuring Noah and Grace, is for sale. Undressed was part of the anthology Snow Kissed so don’t buy it again if you’ve already purchased Snow Kissed. Or you can and that would be really kind, but just know it’s duplicative.

Noah and Grace’s happy ever after hits a stumbling block in the form of one shady professor threatening Noah’s scholarship eligibility. Noah is given the choice of throwing his New Year’s MMA fight for a big payoff or accepting that the true meaning of love isn’t measured by the thickness of his wallet but the depth of Grace’s big heart.

Amazon | BN | Smashwords |  Kobo | iBooks

<<<< >>>

Next, did you miss Chapter One of Taking Control? That’s right here!

Nathan
After we land, after we are debriefed, after we given instructions on our next training session, and then debriefed again, I am free. I run and errand then call Nick.

“Hey big bro! Good to hear your voice.” His relief is evident although unstated. I know he worries—that they all do. I wonder if she still does.

“I was thinking about coming out. I’ve got shore leave starting in a couple of days.”

“That’d be awesome. I’m back at camp, but I’m sure you can find something to do to occupy your time.”

“Great. I’m booking a flight right now.” I hesitate because I’m going to ask him about Charlotte—a subject that has been off limits for a couple of years now since we got into a fight about how I never should have started that shit with her.  Nick’s abundant use of profanity rivals almost anyone on my TEAM and we are all notorious for being unable to have a conversation without at least a fuck spit out every other sentence. “Is anyone else in the family around?” I ask casually but he knows. We’re brothers. How could he not?

“Charlie? She’s actually close to you. A boy of hers got traded to the SD Commandants…In fact, I got a call from her the other day. You got shit to tell me?”

Charlie? That’s what the Reese fuckhead called her. “Since when is Charlotte suddenly got a boy’s nickname?” I’m annoyed and ignore the rest of the question.

“Since when do you care?” he shoots back. “And answer the goddamned question. Are you bringing home some girl to mom?”

“What the fuck are you talking about? Where’s Charlotte?”

“She’s in fucking San Diego. I just told you that.”

“I’m not bringing anyone home to Mom,” I say. “Where in San Diego. This is a big fucking town.”

“I don’t know,” he huffs. “I’m guessing wherever it is you buy rings because she apparently believes you are planning to propose to some Southern California girl that none of us have ever met.”

I filter through his words, turning them over in my head, trying to grasp the full meaning of them and as they tumble into place, I’m both elated and worried. “I’m only ever going to marry one girl, Nick.”

There’s a long pause on the other end. “Well…” he says. I’ve apparently dumbfounded him. “Well. Good. Good.” He begins to laugh, a loud but almost kind of painful sound. “I can’t fucking believe it. It’s taken you longer to get your head on straight than the mission to the moon, but you have, right? I got her cell phone number. You need that?”

“Yeah.”

He reels it off for me. “She usually stays in those boutique hotels so who knows where she’s at in the city. Fuck. Let me check my messages again…no, she never said where she was staying. Hold on. Let me text her.”

While I wait for a response, I feel a burn of jealousy toward Nick. He’s got her cellphone number. He can text her with ease. But all of this is a situation of my own making. I’m the one who broke us and I’ll be the one to put us back together.

“She’s at the Del,” he says finally with a laugh. “You lucky son of a bitch. She’s right next door.”

“Thanks.” We spend the next fifteen minutes catching up on everything else. He doesn’t like the rookie wide receiver they drafted. He spends too much time yukking it up to the media. Nick likes everyone to keep their excesses on the down low. Want to bang a supermodel? That’s fine just don’t brag about it when you do. He thinks its a distraction. The only thing you should be known for is your play on the field, not off of it.

After I ring off, the blonde hair I saw in the window at Tiffany’s when I was holding one of the diamonds up to the light springs to mind. I didn’t even consider at the time that it could have been Charlotte because what were the odds? But she’s here and like Nick said, next door. The Hotel Del Coronado is an institution that sits right up the beach from where we train.

I settle in for the night. Tomorrow I’ll shave, put on one of my service uniforms, and throw myself at her feet.

The next morning, a knock at my apartment door while I’m shaving sets my heart thumping. I know it’s not Charlotte yet I can’t stop hoping.

“From the look of disappointment on your face, I’m guessing you thought I was the pizza delivery guy.” Cabby says. “Want to go for a run?”

I glance at my watch. It’s barely past six and though the sun is shining, begging forgiveness probably works better if I don’t wake her up too early. “Yeah. Let me finish up and I’ll be out.”

“You really going to propose to letter girl?” Cabby asks following me to the bathroom.

“Charlotte,” I say. “And yes. Why not?”

“Because relationships don’t work for guys in the field. You got to have the ability to de-stress yourself in the time honored fashion of fucking.”

I scrape the soap and hair off my face, tapping my straight edge against the sink. I want to be smooth when I see her again so that if she allows me to kiss her—no when she allows me to kiss her—I don’t scratch one inch of her smooth skin.

“That’s not a problem,” I say.

“Are you fucking serious?” Cabby asks in astonishment. “Have you really gone without sex for nine fucking years? Are you even human? I thought the Monk nickname was a joke. Like calling a tall guy shorty or the lean guy Fat Bastard.”

There’s no reason to respond. I look at him steadily in the mirror while finishing my business. “More to life than getting your rocks off.”

“I’ve seen you with women. I’ve seen you leave bars with women,” he accuses and trails behind me as I move to the bedroom to pull on shorts and a pair of running shoes. After spraying myself down with sun screen that will be sweated off around mile six, I grab my keys and phone. “Are you impotent?” he finally whispers.

“Nah man.” I rubbed my nose. “It never felt right. None of those girls were Charlotte. I knew I was breaking her heart by shutting her out. Couldn’t compound it by sleeping with another woman.”

“You are a monk. A sick one.” Cabby mutters. “If she doesn’t say yes, will you finally have sex? You’d be a better teammate if you had sex.”

“She’s going to say yes and fuck you Cabby. I’ve been the best damn teammate you ever had.”

“No sex for nine years?” He shakes his head and starts the Jeep. “Nine years. I can’t go without for like nine days. You are the best goddamn teammate I’ve ever had because if you can function with that much sperm backed up in your pipes, you’re a super hero of some kind.”

<<< >>>
Charlotte
When Reese arrives, we head out for some reconnaissance before we hit the clubs to find victim number 1. I need to see Nathan. Knowing he’s so close and laying my eyes on him one more time is intolerable.

“This is a bad idea,” Reese says. “Seeing him will only fuel old fantasies. You need to move forward.”

“I promise you will enjoy this.” We stop before we get the guards who prevent tourists from getting too close to the training sailors.

Spreading a blanket out, I pull Reese beside me. “Pretend like we’re having a romantic breakfast.”

I feel like the biggest perv but they’re too far away for me to see anything but sweaty flesh and facial hair so I pull out my binoculars

“Do you see him?”

No, I … wait.” I zoom in and there he is. Bare chested, his skin glistening in the sun from oil? sweat? He’s wearing black shorts with a thin white stripe down the side. There are tattoos on his shoulder and arms but none on his chest. His hair is longish and starting to curl at the bottom but his face is completely smooth. There’s his square jaw and his dark brows, furrowed. His lips are slightly open. I wonder if he breathes out of his nose or mouth as he runs. As he moves, his pectoral muscles bunch and release. The binoculars slip lower and I trace my way down his ridged abdomen to the tops of thighs and down to his feet clad in black boots. I want watch him all day.

“This is a bad idea.” Reese says and grabs the binoculars. He adjusts them and sucks in a breath. “Oh my god, Charlie, I could get into this stalking thing. The guy on the right totally ticks my bear fetish. I thought all the military dudes had to shave. I dated this one Army guy. Baby face. He could’ve used a little facial hair.”

“Special forces,” I mutter  as two bare chested men jog up to the guard, point at us and then run off. “Um, maybe we should leave?”

“I’m not done stalking,” Reese says pulling away from my hand. Finally he drops the lenses on the blanket and falls back stare at the sky. “Now that you’ve seen him are you ready to go out and forget him?”

“I just had to see my Nate one last time.”

“He hasn’t been your Nate in 9 years.”

The bucket of water Reese throws on me is ocean cold. With a deep breath, I get to my feet. “You’re right. Come on. Let’s go home. I have so much to do for Peyton and Christian before we go out tonight.”

“Not to mention going to the pedi/mani and blow out appointment I made for you.” Reese bends over to pick over the blanket.

“Leaving so soon?” I whirl around and there’s Nate, not even remotely out of breath with three other guys standing slightly behind him. I’m the breathless one. In fact, my heart is pounding so strong and loud, I’m afraid it’s going to burst out of my chest. My airways are closing down and I’m lightheaded. Reese shoots me a worried glance and wraps his arm around me just as I begin to sway. “We’re bird watching asshole.”

We all swivel and to look at the nearly empty sky. “Oh sure there aren’t any now but this is the migratory path of the fondue biplatypus and it only flaps through North America during a very discrete time period. If you’ll. Excuse us we don’t want to miss it.” Reese flicks the blanket and sand goes everywhere. I’m the only one who flinches though. Nate and his crew stare impassively at us, arms at their side, as if they’re ready to draw on us but given their shirtless chests and tiny shorts, I wasn’t sure what they’d pull out. Reese tucks the now folded blanket under his arm and then grabs me and starts marching us off. I follow in a daze.

“Charlotte,” I hear behind me. Nate sounds almost…anguished. I turn back but Reese won’t let go of me. “Come one Charlie. We’ve seen enough to know that bird is never going to land here. It’s a flightily, stupid bird. We’ve been waiting for it to come home for years, but it never did. It was off in other countries and places feathering the nests of dozens of other birds and is too busy to fly home. It’s dead by now and if it isn’t, it should be.”

“Fondue biplatypus? What the fuck is that?” Another guy mentions.

“Charlotte.” Nate says again but Reese is right. Nate and my relationship is dead now. And if it isn’t, it should be. I turn away and thread my fingers through Reese’s.

“You’re right. That bird is dead.”

Taking Control – Chapter One

On September 8, 2014, the long awaited sequel to book 1 of the Kerr Duology will be released. Are you ready for Ian Kerr?

I thought I needed only one thing in my life–the money and power to crush one man. But the moment I laid eyes on Victoria Corielli, my thirst for revenge was replaced by my craving for her.

No rule would keep me away; no obstacle too large to overcome. Not her will, not our differing social positions, not my infamous past. When she lost everything, I helped her pick up the pieces. When she trusted me with everything, she sealed her fate.

I’ve convinced Victoria she can put her heart in my hands. Now I have to protect it–from her shady stepfather and my business rivals, from enemies known and hidden. I’ll do anything to keep her. And I might have to prove it, because now Victoria”s risking more than her heart to be with me; she’s risking her life.

Add it to your Goodreads shelf today. Curious about book 1? Read more here.

Chapter One

Come ti vidi

M’innamorai,

E tu sorridi

Perchè lo sai.

  

When I first saw you I fell in love and you smiled because you knew.

― Arrigo Boito, Falstaff, II,ii

 

Love weakens you. That’s the conclusion I’ve come to as I gaze down at the woman slumbering next to me. Victoria Corielli is a slip of a thing. My hands span her slender waist. In her stocking feet, the top of her head brushes my chin. While she has muscular legs due to her previous occupation as a bike courier, the rest of her is on the slim side—more due to poverty and illness than the intense dieting socialites engage in.

Despite her size and diminutive nickname, she’s powerful. With a word, a look, a gesture, she can bring me to my knees.

As if sensing my scrutiny, her body shifts under the sheet, a heady susurration forms as luxurious cotton brushes against equally luxurious flesh.

Ian.

My name on her lips is hardly more than a whisper but it’s enough to send me from contemplative to alert in a heartbeat. It was only hours ago that we fell asleep and yet I find cannot leave her alone.

I lift one of her legs over my hip and ease into her. She greets me with a murmur that is half gasp, half pleasure.

“If this is a dream, don’t wake me,” she moans.

I huff out a chuckle. “Surely reality with me is better than your dreams.”

Her lids flutter open and in the moonlit bedroom, her eyes look wide and endless. “I don’t know. I was having a pretty good dream.”

“What were you doing?” My movements are slow, almost careless. There’s no hurry and that, in and of itself, is an aphrodisiac. I can have her as many times as I need, for as long as I need but I know I won’t ever be sated.

“I was with this guy. He was tall, dark haired. Wore a big cape.” She smiled sleepily. “He pinned me down and held my wrists together and told me that I was going to have to suffer endlessly for my sins.”

“And what was your response?” I roll her onto her back and gather her wrists together, pulling her body taut beneath mine. In the recent weeks, Tiny had been too sorrowful to play with me like this.

“That his endless punishment couldn’t start soon enough.”

Dropping my head to her neck, I breathe in the scent of her warm, aroused body. We’re both drunk on each other and I inhale, wanting to take her inside me and finding it nearly impossible to get close enough. Beneath me, her body tightens like a bow string, quivering and taut.

“Now,” she growls digging her nails into my hips. “Come with me now now now.”

Her command is my undoing. Whatever idea I had about slow and tender went out the window. I took her then, hard and fast, pounding her until we both explode—her release is screamed out and mine is expelled through gritted teeth.

Collapsing to the side so I don’t crush her, I pull her limp body close.

“Sorry,” I murmur into her hair, pushing the sweaty strands to one side to expose her temple for a kiss. Her head tucks itself under my chin.

“For what? Waking me with an orgasm.” She says sleepily. “Please be sorry every morning.”

“It’s not morning yet, bunny.”

She cuddles closer and I stroke my hands through her dampened hair and down her back, this time to soothe her and soon her even breathing tells me she is asleep again.

I get up and dispose of the condom and return with a warm washcloth. She flinches when I press the cloth against her center but doesn’t wake. With a frown, I realize this is the third time tonight we’ve made love. I need to be more careful with her.

Returning to the bathroom, I toss the cloth in the hamper and then stare into the mirror. Waking her for a third time like some randy teenager with no self control is not like me, but then I haven’t been normal since I met her.

When I first saw Victoria—or Tiny as her mother called her—on the street delivering a package, I wanted her. I liked the way she carried herself—self-assured and comfortable. I thought her long, blonde hair would look tempting spread out on my pillow. I imagined her thighs would be steel-hard from the biking. She made me laugh when she kicked the doorframe of the store after realizing the shop owner, who needed to sign for the delivery, was missing.

She made me hard when she stared at my lips like she wanted to taste me.

 In those few minutes of interaction between us, I saw a panoply of emotions—vulnerability when she considered my request to play hooky and enjoy a day in the park followed by a night in my bed; frustration when her customer was absent; and iron discipline when her sense of  responsibility overrode all else. Her unfettered emotionalism was refreshing. But it was when she ran from me and my direct offer of pleasure that my appetite was whetted.

I was well and truly caught.

I hadn’t actively avoided love, but I hadn’t sought it out. Why should I? I’d spent most of my thirty-two years fixated on making money. And there were few bedroom doors closed to me. Reasonable attractiveness—made infinitely more so by the thickness of my wallet—ensured that bachelorhood in New York City was easy and entertaining.

Maybe too easy because her refusal unwittingly transformed her into an irresistible challenge. The more she denied me the more I wanted her. Her mother was ill with cancer, and Victoria believed she couldn’t juggle both my interest and her concern for her mother’s wellbeing.

My arrogant belief was that money would solve her problems, making it easy for her to slip into my bed. After all, money had solved most of my issues, except one. But the more cash I threw at her, the more barriers she erected.

Even now, I’m not sure how many walls I’ve managed to tear down, how far inside the citadel of her heart I stand which is why I probably woke her for a third time. Why I can’t keep my hands off her. I’m afraid that all I have binding her to me is the response I can generate in bed.

The world I live in is inhabited by people whose lust for more—whether it’s power or money or influence—drives them to the basest of actions. Show a weakness and someone will attempt to leverage it for their own benefit.

Tiny had only one thought in her life—to save her mother. It was a story I understood all too well, and the ending was as tragic as I’d suspected it might be. Tiny’s mother lost her battle with cancer.

In slumber, she seeks my touch, the one thing that has given her pleasure in the weeks after her mother’s death.

Some might say that I was a lucky son of a bitch—in the right place at the right time—because she needed someone, anyone, after her mom passed. But I make my own luck. Tiny’s special, and I’ll do anything to keep her.

There’s a danger that she’ll wake up from her grief-induced fog and realize that I’m a manipulative asshole who is more trouble than he’s worth, but I have time and proximity on my side. I’ve bought my way into her heart and life. I’ll lie, steal, and cheat to stay there because nothing is worth more than her.

She might not want my money, but she wants me. And I’m completely devoted to seeing that she is replete with satisfaction during every waking moment. I simply don’t know if that is enough—for both of us.

She finds me there in the pre dawn hours, still staring blindlessly in the mirror.

“What’s wrong, Ian?” she asks wrapping her arms around me waist and pressing her face into the valley of my spine. “And don’t say nothing because someone who’s perfectly at peace doesn’t stand in his bathroom looking into the mirror for hours. Is it Richard Howe?”

A sharp bitter laugh escapes me. “I hate that you even know his name. His existence should be unfamiliar to you. He shouldn’t be allowed to breathe the same air, walk the same streets, eat at the same tables as you.”

Her hand squeezes my shoulder in reassurance. I snort in disbelief. It is Tiny’s mother who passed and she is in need of comfort yet here she is trying to saturate me with the warmth and solace of her body.

“Is it me? Am I preventing you from from taking action?”

Pulling her arm around my waist, I try to answer. “It’s not you. It’s never been you.”

“Why have you waited so long to pull the trigger on him? Metaphorically speaking,” she rushes to add. “I’m not suggesting you should have murdered him or something but why the kid gloves? The man embezzled money and blamed it on your father. He…hurt your mother and because of him you had to grow up on your own. You have had the power to ruin him for years.”

Her explanation of the horror my life had turned into after my father’s death is laughably euphemistic. My father had a heart attack after being blamed for a seven figure embezzlement  orchestrated by Richard Howe, my father’s protégé. My mother killed herself in an Atlantic City jail after prostituting herself to Howe. I’d left that jail with her few effects vowing revenge…and then I met Tiny.

And somehow the need to have her in my life had superceded my desire for retribution. At least momentarily.

Tiny is correct. Richard Howe is the scum of the earth. The ironic thing is that he is the one that brought us together.

I’d been good at compartmentalization, putting each person or activity in its own separate mental file drawer. Trying to ignore the strength of my developing feelings for her, I thought to use her against Richard. But she wouldn’t remain in one area, instead, her influence crept into every aspect of my life.

I was wholly unprepared for the depth of my feelings for Tiny. Or, more likely, I had been denying them. I wanted her but hadn’t realized until the moment I saw them together, not even touching, that I’d rather burn the whole world down than have another man lay a finger on her.

I tried to swallow down the rage and allow Tiny to lure him in, but as each minute ticked by and he stood close enough to touch her, my anger was stoked hotter and hotter. And when he took her on the dance floor and placed his fucking hands on her my restraint was ripped to shreds. There would be no joy in my life without her. I wished I had realized it earlier.

“Do you know what you’re doing?” Kaga had asked me at the time. “If you walk out there, he’s going to know what she means to you.”

“If I watch him try to touch her ass one more time, you’ll be visiting me in prison.” I’d said.

That he even knows her name is my own goddamn fault.

I rubbed my forehead. “When I first returned to the city, I had these grand ideas that I’d storm his townhome and wrench a confession out of him. It didn’t take long to realize that he’d never confess. I kept making money and in the meantime, I’d buy up his debt. About eight years ago, I had enough of his debt that I could have made it difficult for him but then at a party, his wife approached me. I don’t think she remembered me or she knew who I was. She just came up out of the blue and started telling me about how she’d volunteered at a woman’s crisis hotline and how empowering it was. Would I be interested in donating?”

“So she stayed your hand?”

“Yes. Every time I was in a position to do something to Howe, I’d see her at an event. She’d share her latest charitable activities with me. She was doing things that could have helped my mother. Could I be the instrument of her ruin as Howe was for my mother? I found I couldn’t. And I felt sorry for her because Richard cheated on her regularly. She had to know about his infidelity. Discretion wasn’t important to him although he rarely hunted in their social circles. He preferred the working class—waitresses, models—which are often one and the same in the city. Women he viewed as disposable. It was clear to everyone that she loved him. Her eyes would follow him across the room and now that I have you, I really see it. How deeply devoted she is to him.”

“You thought that a scandal would separate her from him.”

“Yes, even if it would be painful, if I could decouple her from him then I wouldn’t have her wounds on my conscience.” I shook my head. “I’ll think of something else.”

She presses her face close to my chest. Between my arms, I feel her trembling. “What is it?” I ask urgently.

“You’re amazing Ian Kerr.” She rains kisses on my shoulders and at the base of my neck.

“If you were another woman, I’d say you were buttering me up for something but since you won’t even take what I’m willing to give you without argument, I’m going to have to ask. Are you on drugs? Because I distinctly remember you calling me an arrogant asshole more than once.”

“That was before I realized that you needed me help to correct your character flaws. I’m here now.”

“You’re like a missionary then, to save me from myself?” I’m only half joking.

“That’s right and from all the other women in New York City. I’m sacrificing myself on the altar of Ian Kerr’s pleasure in order to prevent heartbreak and sorrow across the city.”

“You deserve sainthood.” I pulled her tight against me and kissed her in gratefulness for driving away my moodiness.

“In honor of my impending deification, will you take me to bed and make me see heaven again?”

“Mmmm,” I murmur against her lips. “I’m sorry but no. You’re too swollen and tender.”

She draws away from me although the circle of my arms doesn’t allow her to get far. “Are you feeling sick? Because I swear I heard you turn me down.”

“I’m not turning you down. I’m…delaying our gratification until later.”

“Delayed gratification is for suckers. I want you now.” She looks determined but I get my way. Always.

Picking her up, I carry her back to the bed. “I’ll take care of you bunny,” and slide down her body until I’m kneeling between her legs.

Softly, tenderly, as if she were a virgin, I stroke her delicate lips. Her clit slowly emerges, as if jealous of the attention given to her other body parts. I lick my thumb and rub it lightly across the tip.

“Ian,” she moans. My name on her lips in that breathy tone has the same effect as mainlining aphrodisiacs. My already-erect cock throbs in response. I’m starting to believe in soul mates and life in the hereafter, because one lifetime won’t be enough with Victoria Corielli.

Sliding my palms under her ass, I lift her to my mouth.

There is so much for me to learn about her body, about what she wants and where she wants it. We haven’t even started talking about fantasies. I’ll do her any way that turns her on, in every place, and in every position. I know she likes my mouth between her legs, but her enthusiasm at giving me pleasure isunexpected.

When she has me in her mouth, her eyes become heavy-lidded with desire and her juices drip down to coat her thighs. She sucks me as if my cock is the only thing she’s ever wanted  and she’s afraid it will be the last time she can pleasure me.

The memory of her excitement at giving me head spurs me on. Her voice—hoarse after I’ve fucked her throat hard—telling me how much she loves sucking me off echoes in my head, a mental soundtrack I replay repeatedly. I need to hear her screams now. Those noisy affirmations of how much she needs me are the most amazing morning wakeup calls in the world.

I’m too horny right now to lick her slowly. I need to feel her orgasm all over my face, to have her thighs clench my head in a vise grip, like nothing is ever going to separate the two of us.

I suck at her lips, separating the folds with my tongue. Placing my thumb—wet from her arousal—on her clit, I tease her with tongue and lips until her thighs are moving restlessly beside my head, bumping my ears.

The taste of her is making me wild. My cock is thick and hard and even the expensive sheets are chafing my sensitive skin. Inside her, my mental caveman grunts. Need inside her.

I thrust my fingers inside, curling them forward until I find that small, spongy spot that makes her cry out.

“Oh shit, Ian.” The hand on my head tightens and my scalp begins to protest, but the pain brings a smile to my face. She’s getting there. It’s heaven down here. I could live here, her juices sustaining me for days. Opening my mouth wide, I engulf her pussy. Every little crevice is explored and sucked until her whole body stiffens and arches in front of me. Her soft walls are starting to convulse and her thighs tighten.

“That’s it, bunny. Just let go.” I lap at her, maintaining the rhythm that brought her to the peak. She pulses her hips against my fingers and mouth. I torture her with my lips, tongue, and fingers until she’s crying out my name and pulling and pushing against me at the same time. Wrapping my free arm under her thighs and up around her waist to hold her against my mouth, I devour her as she bucks against me. A wild, keening sound erupts from her, and I suck down her come as it streams onto my tongue.

 “Have I told you that I love you?” she whispers and pulls me to her for a fierce kiss. Her teeth nip at mine and then our mouths are fused. For long moments, the only air that we breathe is through each other. Breaking away, she pants and presses soft kisses along my jaw and down my neck.

“Only once today.” I smooth her hair back. We’ve made a mess of it. The long blonde strands are tangled and matted, but she’s never looked sexier. My gut tightens at the thought that others have seen her in this just-fucked state.

“What’s that look for?” she asks, smoothing a hand across my sweat-dampened skin.

“I’m a jealous fucker.” Roughly, I kiss her as if I can brand her with my mouth. No one but me will ever get to see her this disheveled again.

“Are you just figuring that out, because it was pretty evident a few weeks ago when you dragged me out of the bar by my hair.”

“It was by your hand, but if you’re okay with the hair dragging, I can pull that off the next time we’re out.”

She pinches me lightly. “No, I’m not into the hair dragging thing. I’m not against a little hair pulling, though.”

“Is that right?” My tone is light, but her words have made my cock harder than marble.

“This can’t be comfortable.” Her hand dips down to stroke me and I shudder at the caress.

Comfortable? No. “It’ll go away if you ignore it,” I lie.

“I don’t want to ignore it. I want it inside me.”

I shake my head. “You’re too sore, bunny.” I rub a finger over her lips, shiny and plump from our kisses. “I’ll hurt you.”

“I’ll feel worse if you don’t,” she pleads.

Her gentle begging makes me even harder, and I feel a twinge of guilt that her helpless desire turns me on even more. A decent man wouldn’t feel good about hearing his woman beg. Hell, a decent man probably never refers to his companion as his woman. But since I raised myself from the age of thirteen, I’ve developed my own rules and my own code.

I want. I take. I keep.

Tiny belongs to me now, and I’m not letting her go. She’s mine to love and to care for. Right now that means controlling my own need to fuck her again, no matter how hard she begs for it.

<<<< >>>>

Prepare yourself for Ian Kerr. Add him to your Goodreads shelf today.

Curious about book 1? Read more here.

Charlotte Chronicles XXXVIII

Nathan

The operation to rescue the wealthy American couple is green lighted. It’s almost a relief to concentrate on something else other than Charlie and that dead motherfucker Reese. In fact, as we practice our extraction moves over and over, there isn’t room to think of anything other than where I’ll be, the positioning of my teammates, when we take the shot, infiltrate the ship, rescue the hostages. But all too soon the op is over and we are riding in the helo back to land where we’ll catch a flight on the oh so comfortable C5 Galaxy back to San Diego. 

While everyone else around me was sacked out like good little seamen, lying on a crate or propped up against a pallet using their rucksacks as pillows, I couldn’t sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw my  Charlotte being molested by some asshole named Reese. When I got back to land, I was going to need a leave of absence. Three or four days is all I would need to find out everything about this Reese dude and destroy him. Then I’d…my plans fell apart there. Mostly I thought I’d pick up Charlotte, shove her in my rental and bring her back to San Diego with me. I’d put her in my bed and wouldn’t let her leave until she admitted she still loved me.

Daniel Sykes, the CO of my SEAL Team Nine, must notice my agitation because he gets up from his cozy bed of wood, metal, and rough cloth to come sit next to me.  “When I was a Petty Officer Second Class, my girlfriend who I’d dated since the ninth grade broke up with me because she was in love with her lab partner, Darryl. Maybe his name was Dennis. I decided that Dennis could go to hell and that Alyson was missing me. So I fly home after a two month mission and head straight for her apartment. Alyson was entertaining the asshole. There was some shouting. Some tears. I punched him out. And if it wasn’t for the fact that she had some feeling left for me, old Dennis might have called the police and then my CO would be called and I’d have gotten kicked off the teams.”

“LT, you know I’m not going to do anything that would dishonor the Teams,” I assure him. But I knew how to play this game. We’d gotten into plenty of trouble off base in the past but so long as no local law enforcement had to be called, it was all good. My destruction of Reese would be silent and deadly. The law enforcement wouldn’t even know I was in town.


“I’m merely saying I recognize that look on your face. Probably everyone of us has worn it at one time or another. Don’t let your heart lead you into trouble. I’d hate for you to end up having a black mark on what has otherwise been a stellar career. You given any thought to OTS? You’d be a good mustang.”

Mustangs were enlisted who went to Officer Training School or OTS and made the jump from enlisted to officer. As an officer you got paid more and you had more responsibility. I didn’t really care for either. I liked being enlisted. It’s where work got done not that I didn’t admire the shit out of LT Sykes, but I didn’t want to deal with his headaches either.

Plus, enlisted men are more fun to hang around and even though rank is pretty fluid on the Teams, when we’re out of the theatre and back at base, there are definite lines of separation.

“I’ll think about it sir,” I hedge but LT has known me long enough and is smart enough to read my hesitation.

“You do that.” He stands. “And get some sleep. That’s an order.”

I force myself to sleep by mentally assembling and reassembling my gun and then pointing it. I wake up to Petty Officer Second Class Tom Cheung describing his next door neighbor. “Girl is so stacked I don’t know how she is able to walk upright.”

“You offer to help her like a gentleman right?” laughs Senior Chief Michael Hale.

“Course I do. I say Miss Emily, why don’t you take my arm and press your precious titty against my biceps while I walk you to your car.”

“That’s real courtly of you, Bride.” Everyone calls Cheung Bride because one night during a training op, he’d somehow got his sheet tucked into his shorts and it trailed behind him like a goddamned train on a wedding gown.

“She let you stick your face in those tatas?” Ensign Ryan Elison pipes up. Elison’s so new he squeaks when he walks. He’s eager to please and desperately wants to fit in but he’s replacing a guy that we all really liked who’d bitten it on a fucking up training mission. None of us hold it against Elison, but even he knows that immediate acceptance isn’t going to come.

“Ensign Elison, this is a delicate mission. A man only gets a few chances in his life to see a rack this spectacular. I’m not going to rush it.”

“You’ve been gone for two months,” Chief Petty Officer Rick Gonzales interjects. “She’s probably moved.”

“Am I a SEAL?” Bride asks. It’s a rhetorical question. “Do I not know how to plan, execute said plan, and then achieve my objective?”

“I thought I was in charge of planning,” LT says wryly and we all laugh when Bride flicks him off.

“What’re you doing when you get back Gonzo?” Bride asks

“I’m going to see if sweet honey over in Oceanside still has room in her bed for me. Her going away blow job was stellar. I need to measure it against her welcome home one.”

“And if the going away one is better?” Ensign Elison asks.

“Shit, sir, then I’ll get a going away one which I’ve already told you was Spec-fucking-tacular. I’ll get gone with a smile on my face. Even a bad blow job is just fine.”

“What about you Jackson?” Elison asks.

“I’m going to propose,” I say. It pops out but it sounds right.

“Shit didn’t even know you were dating anyone.”

“It’s the letter girl, right?” Bride offers.

“Who’s the letter girl?” asks Elison. He doesn’t know my history with Charlotte unlike Cabby who’s been with me through BUD/s, the Naval school where they try to sort out the SEALs from the wannabes by trying to kill you every day. Cabby who’s been silent this whole time looks at me like I’m half out of my mind. And I am. No question. I won’t ever be right again if I don’t get Charlotte back.

With a sigh he turns away and redirects attention at Elison. “Ensign we need to give you a nickname.”

Elison sits up straighter. A nickname means he belong

“I’m leaning toward Howdy Doody,” I offer.

“Fuck you, Jackson,” he retorts which is good. We don’t want a mealy mouthbreather serving with us.

“He doesn’t do that,” Bride laughs.

Elison immediately colors and stammers out an apology. “I-I-I didn’t mean it like that. And if you are gay, I’m okay with that. Not that you have to tell me. It wasn’t an advance. I wasn’t coming on to you.”

This makes Bride laugh all the more. “Don’t you know why we call Jackson Monk, Howdy?”

It was his blushing that made the nickname stick and as Elison’s face falls in dismay, he mutters a little sullenly, “no.”

“Because in all the time he’s been on the Teams, he’s never touched a person. Not a guy or a girl, isn’t that right, Monk?” Bride says. He used to sneer it but after a few fists in the face and then a lot of liquor afterwards, we’d come to an understanding. We didn’t talk about my sex life…until now I guess. I let it go because he wasn’t wrong.

I’d had plenty of opportunity. Every SEAL does. There’s always someone out there who wants to say they banged an elite warrior and many who look at us as tickets out of whatever poor circumstances they’re in only to find that it was better to be single than tied to a guy who was gone half the year on secretive missions that they could never talk about. A guy who spent more time with his SEAL team members than his own family. Lots of women got sick and tired of that quick.

I’d tried a few times. I’d followed a few women to their homes or apartments or hotel rooms but ultimately I’d left them dissatisfied and angry. As for me, each time renewed my belief that celibacy was my punishment. I’d turned my back on Charlotte. My inability to follow through with any other woman has to do with the fact that while I was able to walk away from her, every part of me including my stupid cock still believes we belong to Charlotte Randolph.

“Is it the letter girl?” Elison is the only one brave enough to ask. He doesn’t know better but I don’t care–not at this point.

“It’s the letter girl,” I affirm.

“Will she say yes?”

“Am I not a SEAL that knows how to plan, execute said plan, and achieve my objective?” I mock but my anger is self directed.

Elison nods his head. Truthfully, I think she’ll say no but I’d keep asking until I was too old to form words and my body was dust.

Charlotte Chronicles XXXVII

Charlotte

The tension hits me the minute I walk into the suite that Christian’s family is currently staying in. Despite the hefty per night price tag, this place is too small for Christian, Peyton, and their two year old. I make a note to move housing up to the top of the list. Ideally Peyton and their child should have stayed behind while I looked for the right property and Christian met with his new team. 
I’m not sure whose idea it was to have the whole family here but no one is happy making the large three room upper story suite feel like a stifling linen closet. My eyes slide from the scowl lined face of Christian to the tense one of Peyton. Only Peyton even attempts to smile at me when I arrive.
“How is sweet Christie doing today?” I announce as I advance toward the sofa and scoop up their beautiful baby girl into my arms.  I rub my nose against her baby soft skin enjoying the pats of her tiny hands against my cheek. 
“Fine despite the ungodly flight. I don’t understand why they didn’t send the team plane for us,” Peyton says with a dark look.
“Babe, I couldn’t ask for that.”
“You asked for the trade,” she shot back. “Maybe think about your family next time.”
I settle onto the sofa next to Peyton. “Hey, Peyton. I’m here. I’m going to take care of everything. You will love it here. The beach and the sand will be awesome for Christie. And the Commandants are a great family organization. You know Shelly Hoffman, too, so it’s not like everyone here is a stranger.”
Some of her anger is deflating. “I haven’t talked to Shelly in forever,” she admits.
“I’m sure she understands.” Why wouldn’t she? Being the significant other of an athlete is its own special club, harrowing, exciting, but with a lot of emotional baggage. 
“Thanks Charlie,” she gives me a hug. We play with the baby for a little while longer until Peyton takes her off to have a mid morning snack in one of the other rooms giving me time and privacy to talk to Christian.
“It’s a mess,” he admits when we sit down at the table. “Get us out of here asap. And go to Tiffany’s. This is something Pey Pey has been wanting for a while now. I was going to buy it for her birthday but…” he trails off. He’s worried that she won’t be around for her birthday. A bracelet isn’t going to convince her not to leave, but I’m not a couples counselor. I am an errand girl though. I take a photo of the diamond and gold bracelet he has on his phone. “Do your magic.”
“I will. You concentrate on making this trade worthwhile.” We run over a few broad ideas of what he wants in a home and a personal trainer and then I dismiss him to get into the details with Peyton. Having facilitated their move two years ago on an opposite coast, I’m able to show her three properties. 
“I’m thinking Rancho Santa Fe. You’ll be living next to other athletes, bankers and even the occasional movie star. There’s not a lot of racial diversity, but it’s better than it was say ten years ago.” 
Peyton presses her lips together. “I’m having my mother move up. She wouldn’t have liked Baltimore, but San Diego would be okay.”
“See,” I nudge her slightly. “This isn’t so bad. I’m sure Christian was thinking of you when he asked for the trade.” 
When she gives me a don’t bullshit me glare, I raise my eyebrows and move on. We both know Christian thinks of his career first and his family second but I do think he loves Peyton. They’ve been together five years which is like thirty in real life terms. After contacting a real estate agent as well as giving Peyton instructions on two different parks and an indoor play area that she can take Christie to, I head over to the Fashion Valley Mall and the Tiffany store.
When I get there, I pause to peruse the small black box displays of necklaces and watches. I haven’t seen mom and dad in months what with my business taking off. I need to get back to Chicago. I talk to them once a week but it’s not the same. A delicate necklace with a citrine oval unfaceted gemstone with tiny delicate gold leaves curling around the edges catches my eye. It has my mom written all over it and the price tag is one that even I could afford without dipping into my trust. Just beyond the black display block mounted on a thin steel pole, my gaze is arrested by a tall, broad shouldered man leaning over a counter. As he straightens and his dark, military short hair comes into view, my heart skips a beat. 
No, Charlotte. It is not Nathan. Not every tall, dark haired male in San Diego is Nathan. 
But I can’t tear my eyes away. I will him to look at me. The sales assistant is pulling out a tray and setting it in front of him. He lifts a shiny object from the tray and holds it up, turning slightly so that the light catches it. And I see it. And then him. The drumbeat in my ears is so loud it’s as if the percussion section of the entire band is standing right next to me. My breath is becoming shallow and harsh but I can’t wrench my eyes away. I eat up this glimpse of him. My eyes hungrily rove over his lovely face, the strong nose and square jaw and full lips that are pursed slightly. His head cocks to the side, as if he’s trying to peer around the window display…at me? I duck to the side, pressing up against the gray granite exterior that frames the glass windows. Numerous mall shoppers walk by, probably staring at the strange girl plastered flat against the wall unmoving. Minutes pass but I can’t leave. Nor can I go inside. 
“Miss? Miss? Miss? Lady!” 
The last word filters through the muddled brain and I look up to see a police office and mall security guard standing in front of me. Their hands are on their hips, close to their weapons and they appear confused and unhappy.
“Sorry,” I mutter. “I’m just leaving.” The security guard follows me all the way to the parking lot. When climb into my rented Ford Focus, though, I’m still too shaky to drive off. Instead, I fumble in my purse and grab my phone. The second speed dial button is Nick.
Can’t answer the phone. Text me because I don’t listen to vmx. 
Ignoring his instruction, I babble a message. “I’m in San Diego. I saw Nate at Tiffany’s. He was buying a ring. Or looking at one. Is he getting married? Is he really getting married and no one told me?” 
Hanging up before Nick hears me sob on his message that he might never listen to, I start the car and drive back to my hotel. I could call Aunt Grace, his mother. I could call my mother. Both would know the truth about Nate’s relationship status. Unless…unless this is some woman he’s kept secret from the whole family and will marry her and spring her on us the next time we all get together as a family.  
Finally, I break down and call Reese. “I need you to come here,” I say without preamble. 
“You having problems with Christian?”
Oh god, Christian and Peyton. The bracelet I’m supposed to buy to soften the trade is still unpurchased and the whole to do list for them sits untouched in my purse. Sitting up, I fumble for my bag and find the little orange notebook that I’ve picked out for Christian. Opening it up, I glance unseeing down the list. I can’t concentrate. Throwing the book across the room, I say, “No. Not yet. That’s not important. I saw him.”
“Who? Christian? You’re supposed to see him. He’s your client.”
“No, Reese. Pay attention. Nate. He was in Tiffany’s looking at diamond rings.” I start crying, sobbing really. “He’s getting married.”
“Back up the horse, honey, what happened? Start with why you are even at Tiffany’s.”
Hiccuping, I try to get myself under control. “I had to go to buy a bracelet for Peyton. She’s pissed about the trade. Christian was trying to buy his way back into her good graces. When I glanced in the window, I saw him. He was a staring at a tray of engagement rings.”
“You don’t know that,” Reese says. “He could have been buying something for his mom—like a cocktail ring or something. Why do you think it was rings?”
“He was holding one up as if he was trying to decide if it was big enough.”
“She’s probably a huge bitch and they’ll be divorced within the year.” Reese tries to comfort me. 
“Maybe.” But for the time I was in San Diego, what if I ran into them. He’d be all smiles and wanting to introduce me to her. She was probably tall and really, really blonde. Like a Nordic goddess. I needed a barrier, something or…someone to deflect some of that pain. “Come here. Be my boyfriend,” I beg.
“Oh honey. You know I don’t swing that way.” 
“No, I mean, come to San Diego, and do this job with me. That way if I run into him and his fiancé—“ I almost gag at the word, “—I can smile and say, here’s my super hot boyfriend Reese. Nice to meet you.” 
I hear rustling and then a zipper being pulled. “Okay, I’m packing. I’m not posing as your boyfriend though. That never works because according to all the books I’ve read, you’ll fall in love with me and then I’ll have to break your heart.” I start laughing just as Reese intended. “But I am flying out on the first plane because I love you and you’re my best friend. At the very least we can stalk him and find out exactly who this wench is and then you’ll be all prepared for a random meet and greet. How hot is it there?”
“Really hot.” I answer. Drawers are being opened and shut as Reese selects his Southern California wardrobe. 
“How many guys you been with since him?” he asks suddenly.  I can’t answer because but he reads the silence perfectly. “Charlie. No.”
Defensively, I say. “I dated.”
“You’ve been separated for how long?”
“Nine years,” I mumble. 
“Nine fucking years?” He yells into the phone. “You haven’t played hide the sausage in nine years?  Charlie, I’m so disappointed!”
“I’ve done other stuff,” I stammer. “I tried but whenever it came down to it, I couldn’t do it. I felt like I was cheating on him.”
“No wonder you are hung up on this guy. I’m packing right now. We are going down to the Gaslamp District and you are going to get laid. Dr. Reese prescribes at least three one night stands. Then we can think about a nice guy that you will date for a period of six months or so before moving on.”
“Why three one night stands?” I ask, curiosity getting the better of me.
“It takes at least two to actually enjoy it.” A zipping sound signals he’s done packing. “You are a grown ass woman but you’re still stuck on your high school sweetheart because you don’t know what kind of sex you can have with a man. Let me tell you that being with a guy who actually knows his way around a body is a hell of a lot different than a teenager. Plus, older guys have more stamina and are just way more damn creative.”
Telling Reese that I thought Nate was pretty amazing as a seventeen year old would only result in more lectures about boys versus men so I keep my mouth shut. 
Reese sighs. “Repeat after me. I’m a grown ass woman.” 
When I don’t immediately parrot his sentence back, he barks, “Say it Charlotte.” 
“I’m a grown ass woman.”
“I’m a grown ass woman and I deserve to have an adult relationship.”
“I’m a grown ass woman and I deserve to have an adult relationship,” I repeat obediently. “What’s the point of the one night stands.”
“Shock to your system. It’s like a cleanse. You need to flush the bad toxins out of your system and put new, good ones in.”
“Isn’t a cleanse like fasting which I’ve done for, oh, nine years,” I point out.
“Unfortunately for you, the cleanse has gone on for so long, that you’ve been revirginized. A one night stand will or three will wake you up to the possibilities. Shit, you’ve enshrined this guy for so long. You’re going to need three one night stands. First guy who even breathes on your lady parts is going to set you off.”
“Okay, that image is kind of gross, particularly coming from you.” 
“I’ve got more where that comes from. Prepare yourself,” he sings into the phone before he hangs up.
Reese’s irreverent attitude is just what I need. Picking up the discarded notebook, I start in on the list of todos. My business is what saved me these last three years. Letting myself fail at this is not an option. 

Charlotte Chronicles, Part Two – Episode XXXVI

Part Two

Charlotte

I pull on the t-shirt Reece threw to me and ask, “Okay, how do I look? Slutty bartender?”

“Not really. More I slept too late and I’m too lazy to do anything about it.”

“Thanks. That’s really nice, Reece.”

He shrugs one shoulder. “That’s what girlfriends are for. Who was it on the phone?”

I look. Unknown caller.

“Must’ve been a telemarketer.”

“What time do you have to be at Stack’s?” Reese asks me, pushing up from the sofa where we’d both fallen asleep. We’d been up all night massaging the belly of his pregnant horse. My fingers felt stiff and sore.

“I’m opening it up. Lainey has her ultrasound at three. I’m wondering whether I’ll even be able to grip a glass.” I raise my hands and flex my fingers wincing at the ache.

“You look like you’re auditioning for cat woman,” Reese jokes. “More jazz hands.” His fingers waggle obscenely at me.

“No thanks.”

“You should take that cool drink of water home with you tonight,” he advises lying back on the sofa. Obviously he has no plans on getting up.

“Who’s that?” I ask absently checking to see that I have everything I need. Keys, credit card, ID. Bag full of notebooks. Phone.

“The head bartender. Martin? Maxwell? Mysterious Man?”

“You mean Michael?”

“Yeah him.” Reese growls low in appreciation.

“Michael is…” I pause because I’ve never really noticed Michael. I have a vague memory of someone dark haired and tall.

“Tall, built, hot. Did I mention built? Did you not see him at the flag football game last week? We were sitting right next to each other!” Reese is completely affronted.

“There were a lot of nice chests on display.” I say weakly. I remember the flag football game or at least I remember going to the park with Reese and Lainey but I was making out my schedule for this week.

“It’s all those professional athletes you know,” he accuses. “You’ve become numb to ripped bodies. You think everyone has them.”

“I don’t,” I protest but maybe he is right. There’s no shortage of sculpted abs and amazing physiques in my circle. Maybe I have become desensitized to them.

“Get out of my sight,” he says throwing a pillow at my head. “I can’t be around someone who doesn’t drool over a good man chest.”

“I promise to work on my drooling. I’ll even try to sexually harass Michael during work. In the meantime,” I throw the pillow back. “Will you please double check my schedule and plane tickets? I’ve got a million and ten things to do when I get to San Diego tomorrow.”

“I liked you better when you were a romantic!” Reese calls out after me. “When you cried at soda commercials and tampon ads.”

It’s not until after the door closes that I answer him. “I didn’t,” I say to the empty stairwell.

When I was a girl I used to think writing letters, for example, was super romantic. But after years of writing and receiving almost no response, years of waiting only to be left alone time and again, I woke up finally and realized that romanticism is simply a cover used to conceal decay and sickness.

Men cheat on their girlfriends. Girlfriends cheat on their boyfriends. At least some guys know that they can’t be in a relationship because they’re too busy sampling every type of woman as if God created the female in a buffet form just for their pleasure.

It’s not that I don’t believe in love. I just don’t believe it’s for me. I had my one great chance at love but when it was exposed to a few harsh conditions, it collapsed like a shitty ass umbrella in the Windy City.

I believe in friendships like the one I have with Nick and Reese and Lainey. I believe in the love of my parents. God knows they’d do anything for me. I believe in long walks in the park, the surprise pleasure of a warm summer rain, the rotation of the spiral pass, and the glory of the no hitter. I believe in a lot of things but I don’t believe in love.

When I arrive at Stack’s, the doors are propped open. The summer heat is baking into the concrete, loosening the odor of the Las Colinas streets. For a swanky neighborhood, sometimes the smell of all that progress stinks.

“Why do you have the doors open?” I ask Filmore, the manager of Stack’s.

“Smelled like someone died in here last night,” Filmore explains.

“It’s awful out there.”

“Was worse in here.”

Seeing that I wasn’t going to win this battle, I stick my purse under the bar and tie my apron on. “Should I cut the limes first?”

He nods. “When’s Lainey coming in?”

“Appointment is for three. She’ll come after.”

“I’m going to be in back counting bottles. When Michael comes in tell him to record the opening bank and then he can come back and finish up inventory.”

“Got it.”

“Gonna miss you,” Filmore says reaching over the bar to pat me awkwardly on the shoulder. “Seems like it was only yesterday, you plopped down here asking me about all the good places around the Mustang’s training facility.”

“A good bar owner knows everything,” I say affectionately.

“You should reconsider. You know you’re going to be heartsick without all of us hassling you.”

“Maybe so, Filmore, but there are these things called high speed trains and airplanes. I can be here in a couple of hours.”

He cuffs me on the shoulder on more time and heads to the back whistling. Looking around I take in the wide oak paneled walls, circular wooden tables and cheap stage that has been my home away from home for three years and sigh. Maybe I’m still a teensy bit romantic because this rundown joint looks beautiful to me. When I came here three years ago, I was heartsore and running away from home trying to find myself. Here I found Lainey, a bar waitress with one kid, a bad boyfriend, and a big heart. And Reese, a man child looking for love in every conceivable wrong place but still smiling no matter how many times the guy of his dreams turns out to be a cheating bastard.

I’d started a business and found comfort in new friends and a good career. On most days, this is good enough. I’m only feeling nostalgic because I’m leaving. When Nick got drafted by the Mustangs, I came with him to ensure the transition from college to pros went as smoothly as possible. I bought groceries for him, made sure his clothes were cleaned, paid his bills, and generally made it so all he had to do was concentrate on football. Oh, and women. He had plenty of time for women. I was the buffer between him and everyone who wanted something from him. Every rookie he came into contact envied him.

When he won the Super Bowl his second year out, my little business expanded from one player to ten and then from ten players to twenty nine.  Now Forget Me Not, orF’Me as my players like to call it, aids the transitions of professional athletes in nearly every major city and for every major sport as they are drafted or traded. Each athlete is handled by one person.

I find them places to live close to the training facility along with restaurants, grocery stores, schools, nannies, dry cleaning, and churches. And I take care of all the details back home—getting a house sold, making sure all the bills were taken care of, finding that lucky pair of shoes that was left behind. All the player has to do is pick up his bag and leave. I, or one of my employees, takes care of all the details.

And because I am scattered brained I have to write things down. I have written lists, electronic lists. I keep a master list of my lists. I used to have my own players and I kept track of them by assigning them to a single notebook, color coded according to their new team colors. Because of the expansion, Lainey, Reese and I are the fallback people. If there’s an emergency or something falls through the cracks one of the three of us take care of it.

And tomorrow I’m flying out to San Diego to take patch one of those cracks. A baseball player, Christian Glass, has just been traded from the Royals to the San Diego Arrows. This is his second trade in two years and his family is going crazy. I promised Christian I’d come out personally and help with the transition.

This is a big deal for me, even though Christian doesn’t know it, because I never, ever go to San Diego. That’s where Nate is stationed, part of the West Coast SEAL teams. Despite San Diego being a huge city, I always worry about seeing him in some random place—like a shopping center or a bar or a grocery store. In every scenario he has his arm draped around a woman and I know if I ever see that, whatever is left of my childhood will be crushed. As I told him in my last letter, I will always love him.

I just don’t want to.