Take Me, page 14
Kaleb frowns. “No, but—”
“And Orfy and Scrumpy are both okay?”
My brothers are nodding but still looking twitchy. “It can wait,” Jake mutters, and Kaleb agrees. “Break a leg.”
“Thanks.” I pivot so Erika can stick on my fake eyelashes. She’s managed to put on her costume, so all that’s left now is me grabbing my skirt. “A little privacy, please, gentlemen?”
Jake rolls his eyes. “Like everyone here hasn’t seen it.”
Good point.
Erika blushes as I peel off my jeans and kick them aside by a beer keg. Guess it’s a good thing we’ve already crossed the seeing-each-other-in-underwear hurdle.
“Jesus, dude.” Jake looks disgusted. “Haven’t we talked about wearing underpants?”
Whoops. Forgot about that.
“I missed laundry day for the wedding.” Guess I’m going commando under a skirt tonight. Good thing my stage isn’t high off the ground.
“For fuck’s sake.” Jake stomps out the door, and I glance at Kaleb.
“What’s his deal?”
“Beats me.”
My big brother returns ten seconds later with a red pair of boxers. “Here.”
“Please say they’re clean.” Not that I’m in a position to be picky. I pull them on as Erika pretends to study the side of a fermentation tank. “At some point we need to talk about why you keep underpants in your truck.”
Jake mutters something about needing a change of clothes when he’s at sea for long stretches. As I pull on my skirt, Kaleb looks at Erika. “Swear to God, he would have gone to school naked if one of us wasn’t looking out for him.”
That’s probably true, since we didn’t exactly have the world’s most present parents. But now’s not the time for dwelling on that. “Ready?” I ask her, and she nods.
“Let’s do it.”
I grab Erika’s hand and head for the stage. “Later, losers,” I call to my brothers.
We bound through the bar, leaping onto the stage just as The Carpenters croon to an end. Snatching two mics off the stand, I switch them both on and hand one to Erika.
The crowd goes wild when they see us, cheering and yelling and chanting for Kenny and Dolly. “The fans love us,” I murmur as Erika takes her position.
“Should a guy who nearly went freeballing in a skirt really have fans?”
“I don’t make the rules, babe.” Grinning, I lift the mic to my mouth and address the cheering crowd. “Howdy, folks.” I toss my Dolly Parton tresses and do a little hip wiggle. “What do you say we get this night started with some island magic?”
The crowd goes nuts, shrieking and whistling as I shimmy my oversized assets. The music starts, and Erika cues up her Kenny Rogers swagger. She belts out the first few lines, doing a damn fine impression of the late, great country crooner. I chime in next, hitting Dolly’s high notes as well as I can. Not too well. That’s the point with this routine.
But something feels different this time.
Maybe it’s how we keep touching. We’ve done it before, clutching each other in a choreographed embrace. We grind our bodies against one another through the chorus like we always do, singing about relying on each other—uh-huuuuh.
Only this time I’m hyper-aware of Erika’s body pressed against mine. Of just how thin this skirt is; that these boxers don’t hold me in quite as well as my normal, snug briefs.
By the time it’s my turn to howl about sailing away together, I’m half hard and hoping this song ends soon. It’s disorienting, to be honest. Never in my life have I felt aroused by my pal while performing a cheesy pop-country hit dressed in drag.
And I’ve sure as hell never felt turned on by a woman wearing a beard and gray chest hair. We warble our way through the final lines of the song, hands clasped together in a sweaty tangle.
Then we’re taking a bow and clambering off the stage to a hearty round of applause. Three different people get up and beeline it for the signup sheet. Two more start pawing through the costume box, one guy laughing as he pulls out the sequined jacket and jeweled glasses my customers love for their Elton John numbers. A lady shouts in triumph as she finds the cone-shaped Madonna bra buried at the bottom of the box.
I guide us away from the stage to a quiet corner behind one of the speakers. We’re not exactly hidden, but we’re not on display anymore. Catching my breath, I hold up a hand for a high five. “We did it.”
“Yeah we did.” She smacks my palm with a glance at the far corner table where Kaleb and Jake sit swilling their beer.
Frowning, she grabs both my shoulders. Peering at me from under her gray Kenny wig, she looks deep in my eyes. “Okay, I’m just gonna say this fast so you can have whatever reaction you need to have without an audience.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” I’m reeling a bit, seeing Erika so serious behind her gray beard.
She spins me around so my back is to my brothers. Holding my gaze, she tightens her grip on my shoulders. “Annabelle and Neil are dating.”
“I know. She wanted to see other people, so—”
“They’re dating each other.”
“What?” This must be a joke.
“I’m not joking,” she says, reading my goddamn mind. “Neil dumped it on me at the diner today, and I’m sure that’s what Annabelle’s been trying to tell you. That’s it. That’s the big fucking thing they’ve been dying to talk to us about.”
“Holy fuck.” My body goes numb. It’s not anger or sadness or even hurt. Just… shock.
“I had the same reaction,” she continues. “Which I why I wanted to give you a chance to do it without your brothers turning it into some man-to-man talk, or Annabelle giving you poor-baby eyes. I thought you should hear it from a friend.”
“Friend,” I repeat like a big fucking idiot.
She’s right. Better to hear it like this—fake boobs and rhinestone bustier aside—than to have someone peering at me with a face full of pity.
“I need to sit down.”
“No, you don’t.” She squeezes my shoulders. “You need to show those motherfuckers they can’t get to us.”
She’s right once again, and I nod. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.” I’ve got this. I do. “Fuck having people feel sorry for us.”
“That’s right. Fuck them.”
“Yeah, fuck them.”
“Mace?” She lets go of my shoulders and searches my eyes. “You okay? What’s going on in your brain?”
“How long?” I don’t know why that’s the first thing I ask, but it is. “Were they seeing each other in secret for months?”
“Neil says no, but who really knows. He claims it’s been less than a month.” She licks her lips, and my gaze snags on her mouth. “They’re moving in together. Neil’s leaving the Navy, and they’re planning to shack up at her place.”
Jesus Christ. “How are you handling it?”
“Me? I’m okay.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah.”
I’m conscious of the crowd buzzing around us. Of the DJ cueing up a Carrie Underwood song, which is always a popular pick. At the bar to our left, three women sit whispering, glancing our way every few seconds. One of them points our direction, and I bite back the urge to curse my decision to live in a small fucking town.
“What are the odds?” I ask softly. “That your ex and mine would wind up together?”
“Do you think they did it just to piss us off?”
God, that’s a devious thought. “No. Annabelle’s not like that.”
“I don’t think Neil is either.”
We need to move soon. People are starting to notice us here behind the speakers. I wasn’t kidding about the hot new couple thing. We’re the best gossip since Kaleb locked lips in this very bar with America’s advice column queen.
I should walk over and talk to my brothers. Or go mill around glad-handing customers, maybe without these gigantic boobs banging around on my chest.
“Thank you for telling me,” I say.
“You’d have done the same for me.”
I would have. “Sorry you had to find out from Neil.”
“Would you have rather gotten the news from your brothers?”
“God, no.” With Kaleb and Jake, I’m the family goofball. With Luce, I’m her pain-in-the-ass twin.
But with Erika, I’m just… well, me. I glance at my brothers, who might’ve just noticed us over here. Jake glares at the speakers and says something to Kaleb. “They mean well,” I say as I look back at Erika. “But I’m grateful you saved me from the compassionate bro squad’s ‘we need to talk’ brigade.”
“Glad to do it.” Her mouth quirks under the beard. “Couldn’t have you getting blindsided while wearing a skirt and your brother’s underwear.”
“You’re a good friend, Erika.”
“So are you, Mason.”
Something in my chest starts to throb. Maybe it’s gratitude. Maybe it’s knowing there’s nobody else who knows me like she does. Who can see me stripped bare—figuratively speaking—and take me just how I am.
My brain starts to bounce with those bright, naked thoughts. I’m suddenly conscious of how close she’s standing. Of Erika’s pebble-gray eyes holding mine. The heat of her body, the fern-leaf smell of her skin.
All the longing I felt on that stage surges back to the surface. “I want to kiss you right now.”
Erika blinks. “Um—”
“To give the fans what they want.” That’s not even remotely why I want to kiss her, but she nods like that makes perfect sense.
“Yeah. Okay, yeah.” She tugs down her beard, stretching the elastic at the base of her skull. “Gotta keep up the act.”
I don’t know why, but I feel the need to insist this is only for show. “It’s nothing personal.”
Dark pupils flare as she licks those plush lips. “Why would it be personal to mash our mouths together and swap spit?”
“It’s just that everyone’s watching, and half the town probably knows what our exes are up to.”
She winces, and I know she feels just like I do. Having everyone staring and pointing and feeling sorry for us—it’s the worst fucking thing in the world. “I don’t want their pity.”
“What do you want?” My voice sounds rumbly and low, the polar opposite of Dolly Parton.
She looks at my mouth, then lifts her gaze back to mine. “You.”
My heart hits the back of my throat. I know she doesn’t mean it like that, but for one-tenth of a second, I feel what it would be like to have Erika crave me. That power, that thrill, has me pushing her back toward the wall. I cup the base of her skull in one hand as our mouths crash together and her lush body molds against mine.
And then I forget what this looks like to anyone else. We’re not two best friends faking their lust for each other, or even two cross-dressing clowns at the edge of a bar. We’re just Mason and Erika, two people who know how to touch one another. I know without thinking how to tip her head back to deepen the kiss. How to glide my hand down to the small of her back just to feel her shiver.
Her arms wrap around me as my tongue grazes hers, and she makes a soft sound in the back of her throat. She’s tender and sweet, fiery and filthy, everything I need in this moment. She’s grinding against me like we’ve fucked forty-six thousand times, and the only thing keeping us from doing it now is a cheap satin skirt and my brother’s underpants.
A series of catcalls rings in the back of my brain. Somebody shouts, “Get a room!” and I break the kiss just to say that’s a really great plan.
“Let’s get out of here.”
Her gray eyes look dazed, and her lips are the shade of crushed cherries. “Okay.”
Catching her hand, I tug her through the crowd toward the door. There’s no way out without seeing my brothers, and both guys look up as we pass by their table.
“We’re going to go have sex now.” As soon as I say it, I urgently hope it’s the truth.
Jake scowls and sets down his beer. “You’re not supposed to announce it, dumbass.”
Kaleb just shrugs. “Worked for me.”
“See?” I was here the night he kissed Brooke by that booth over there. “Tell all your friends that Big One’s is the key to getting laid.”
“Wait.” Jake’s surly scowl deepens. “We’ve gotta tell you something.”
“We know.” It’s Erika’s turn to drag me toward the exit. “Our exes are swapping gravy, and it’s great.”
“Good for them,” I agree. “Erika and I are moving in together.”
Her hand jerks in mine, but it’s the only outward sign that I’ve just taken things a little too far. “Yep,” she shouts, waving to my brothers and the rest of the crowd. “Much easier that way to have all this sex.”
“Tons of it,” I agree. “Good night, everyone!”
We’re practically running by the time we reach the edge of the parking lot. Her truck is parked next to mine, and she lets go of my hand to fish out her keys.
“Wait.” I put a hand on her driver’s side door. “I’m afraid if we go in separate vehicles, we’ll chicken out and not really do this.”
“Oh, we’re doing this.” Her palm hits my chest so hard I stagger back. “Um, maybe lose the boobs first.”
“Right.”
“And the wig.”
“On it.” I rip off the hairpiece and stuff it in my truck toolbox.
“Is this nuts?” She holds up a hand before I can answer. “Doesn’t matter.”
“It’s not nuts.”
“Yeah?”
“It’s just… practical.” It’s the first thing that pops into my head “We need to do this to make things convincing. To make our fake-dating plan official.”
“That makes sense.”
It makes no sense at all, but far be it for me to admit that. Desperate to touch her again, I pull her into my arms for another quick kiss. It’s supposed to be quick.
Instead, I wind up pressing her back against the side of her truck, sweeping my tongue into her hot little mouth. Her nails rake my back through the satin pink shirt, clawing me tighter against her. Threading my hands through her hair, I make myself stop and take a step back. “Maybe ditch the hairpiece.”
She nods once and rips off the beard. “I’ll meet you at your place in five.”
“I’m so fucking glad I live close to work.”
I run to my driver’s side door, yanking it open and shoving my key in the ignition as Erika peels out of the parking lot. I completely miss a stop sign while wriggling off the pink satin jacket, and I’m definitely doing forty in a twenty-five zone. Guess this is one of those times to be grateful Erika’s got that souped-up engine. Mine’s not too shabby, so we screech to a stop in front of my house in four minutes and thirty-two seconds.
Throwing open the door, I hit the ground running and head up my walkway with Erika right on my heels. “You stripped while driving?” she shouts from behind me.
“Yep.” I notice that she did the same. Lucky for her, she just wore her costume over her leggings and tank top. She’s ditched Kenny’s jacket and pants, but she’s still wearing the button-down shirt.
“Your neighbors are watching you sprint up your walkway wearing a bustier and your brother’s boxers.”
I wave to Mrs. Olafson as she drags a wheeled trash can to the end of her driveway. “Garbage night, huh?” I call to my neighbor. To Erika, I offer a shrug. “I couldn’t get the damn thing unhooked without taking both hands off the wheel.”
“Betrayed by women’s fashion,” she muses. “Glad I’m not the only one.”
“I’m just glad you got rid of the chest hair.” We’re at the front door now, and I’m so fucking glad I don’t lock it.
“Hurry up, Mason.” Because a two-second pause to twist the knob is too damn long to wait before touching each other again.
We tumble through the door in a tangle of hands and arms and legs. I’m backing her toward the bedroom when Scrumpy starts barking.
“Sorry, buddy.” I manage to tear my mouth off Erika’s long enough to stoop down and pet my dog. “I know we’re both dressed kinda weird.”
“Don’t worry,” Erika assures him. “We won’t be wearing these clothes much longer.”
For some reason that seems to appease him. He trots to his bed and curls up to gnaw on the tiny black tire Erika bought him as a chew toy.
“Does he need a walk?” She kicks off her shoes and starts to unbutton her shirt.
“He’s had three today.” I need to touch her again. Need to take off my clothes and her clothes and lay her back on my bed—
“Wait.” I squint at the V of her cleavage where her skin looks chafed and red. “Are you still sore from those sticker things?”
“That’s from the chest hair, dummy.” She unbuttons her shirt. “Gotta stop putting things on my boobs.”
“Except my hands, right?” I help with the buttons, eager to have her topless again. “You’re sure you’re not hurt?”
“The only pain I’m feeling is an intense, urgent, desperate, dire need to feel you fucking me as soon as humanly possible.”
“Right.” Holy shit. Her words leave me dazed, and so do her hands on the waist of my boxers. I’m almost too dizzy to stop her, but I need to get out of this bustier. “Could you please unhook this stupid top?”
Laughing, she glides her hands up my back. Her fingers make quick work of the hooks as her eyes lift to mine. “This is just revenge sex, right?”
“Revenge?”
“Not the right word.” She’s kissing my chest now, her voice coming out a blurred echo. “It’s about sticking it to our exes. Or showing the whole fucking town we’re not objects of pity.”
“Yeah.” I’m not sure that’s right, but I’m sure I can’t think with her tongue flicking over my nipple. “Sounds good to me.”
“What would you call that?”
“Beats me.” I want her too badly to hassle with labels. “Maybe it’s more about getting what we deserve.”
As the sequined bustier drops to my feet, I push Erika’s shirt off her shoulders. It falls to the ground as she strips off her tank top, leaving her wearing just a bra and her leggings. Dragging her hands down my chest, she gives a low growl of hunger. “I deserve this.”
