Chapter Three
Regan
I unlock my shop and we step through the front door. It’s dim, the only light coming from the display spotlight in the front window showcasing the two mannequins I’ve outfitted with some of the second-hand clothes donated to keep my boutique afloat.
Lucas stops walking and I almost run into him. “Didn’t this used to be a bookstore?”
I gesture to the left wall, lined with bookshelves. “Still is, only now I’m a boutique as well.”
He narrows his eyes. “When did that happen?”
“Years ago. You’re not very observant, are you?”
“Seeing as I’ve never had use for a bookstore or a boutique…” His words trail off as he eyes me up and down as if he’s just now really noticing me. “Why do you dress so funny?”
It’s not the first time I’ve been asked that question. I stopped being offended by it a long time ago. Right around the time I stopped caring what other people thought of me.
I hold out a leg as if modeling my candy-stripe tights. “You don’t like my choice of attire?”
His eyes sweep over my short white skirt and my pink fuzzy sweater. I can practically feel his gaze caressing every one of my curves, and it makes me all tingly inside. I almost laugh, because this is Lucas Montana, the kid who used to be my little brother’s best friend. I’ve fantasized about a lot of guys in this town, but not him.
And now I’m wondering why. Because he’s no longer that pimple-faced kid who hung around my house all hours of the day despite the fact that his own parents lived in a mansion that dwarfed our place. Now—he’s a man. A tall, dark, handsome, incredibly well-built man.
I knew this had hookup written all over it when I invited him here. So I shouldn’t be surprised that he’s looking at me this way, like he’s a starving man at an all-you-can-eat buffet.
It’s laughable, though, how completely opposite we are. I stare at our reflection in the antique mirror on the wall. Lucas is wearing khakis and a light-blue dress shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows. My guess is he was even wearing a tie earlier. It’s a rare occasion that I see him in anything but business attire. Jeans sometimes, but almost always a button-down shirt. And more often than not, a suit.
My insides get all squirmy thinking of what lies under his shirt. But with the way he’s looking at me, I realize how nervous I am at the idea of what I think is about to happen.
This is Lucas Montana. He’s been engaged four times. He may be five years younger than me, but I’m guessing he has a lot more experience. And I’m positive he hasn’t had a two-year dry spell.
“Hurry,” he says, looking at the time, seeming to forget all about the question he asked me. “We only have three minutes left.”
Right. My birthday. “This way,” I say, leading him to the door that goes up to my apartment.
He races to the top, tripping halfway up and almost face-planting into the stairs. Sitting on the step, he braces himself with one hand as he slowly lists to the side. “Shit. I might be a little drunk.”
I giggle. “You think?”
He looks up at me. “You have a nice laugh.”
Joey meows loudly from the other side of the door. He hears me coming and is getting impatient.
“What the hell was that?” Lucas asks, looking around the stairwell.
I hold out a hand. “Come on. I’ll introduce you to Joey.”
The moment I’m through the door at the top of the stairs, Joey winds between my feet, rubbing against my calves. I reach down and pick him up, kissing him on his head.
“Hey, little… fuck!” Lucas withdraws his hand quickly as Joey takes a swipe at him with his claws.
“Joey,” I admonish, putting him down before he scurries off to hide. I turn to Lucas. “I’m sorry about that. He’s usually very friendly.”
Lucas glances around. “He’s not gonna like, pounce on me, is he?”
I laugh. “Joey? No. He’s the sweetest thing, I assure you.”
“Sweet. Yeah.”
“Really, he is.” I step into the kitchen and open my small liquor cabinet. “Pick your poison.”
True to his word, he doesn’t say anything about my collection of cheap booze. “It’s your birthday. You pick.”
I get two shot glasses from my small stack, and, just to egg him on, I fill them with strawberry vodka.
“Geez, woman. You drink like you dress.”
Pushing his shot glass against his chest, I ask, “And how is that exactly?”
“I don’t know.” He shrugs. “Different.”
“Different good, or different bad?”
“I’m going to plead the fifth on that one and just toast your birthday.” He raises his glass and checks the time. “We just made it under the wire. To you, Regan. Happy birthday.”
I clink my glass to his and we down our shots.
Wiping his lips, he does his best to hide the pucker of displeasure. I know he’s accustomed to high-end liquor and fine wine, so I cut him a break. But I still tease him by refilling our glasses.
He takes both shot glasses from me, still full, and sets them on the counter. “We both know that’s not why you invited me here.”
All at once, chills from anxiety and warmth from desire flood through me.
I don’t have to say a word. He can tell by the look in my eyes that I’m up for this. Whatever this happens to be.
“You’re about to make a very big mistake,” he warns.
“What is it they say about big mistakes? That they come with big rewards?”
“That’s risks, not mistakes.”
“Tomato, tomahto.”
“I like the way you think.” He takes a step toward me. “And you have no false impressions over what this would be? Because the only reward you’ll be getting tonight will be my big cock.”
I giggle. But secretly, I’m flushing with anticipation.
“I’m a grown woman, Lucas. I’m allowed to have a one-night stand. It doesn’t make either of us bad people, you know.”
He inches closer, leans in, and whispers in my ear, “You’re so fucking sexy.”
Part of me is surprised to hear him say it. He’s the clean-cut businessman and I’m the eccentric shop owner. We’re complete opposites in every way. I’m sure he’s just saying it in the heat of the moment.
“I had a huge crush on you in high school,” he adds.
Remembering what he said at the bowling alley, I tamp down the pheromones for a second. Apparently my curiosity is stronger than my libido. “So let’s get back to that. What did you say about my dad catching you, um…” I shift awkwardly.
“Choking the chicken? Beatin’ the meat?”
My cheeks heat. “Yeah, that.”
He runs a finger up and down my arm, sending electric impulses straight to my core. “It was that time I went to the beach with your family, right before you went away to college. Jesus, you wore that red bikini. I was watching you from the bathroom window and, well, I was fourteen, I had a huge boner, and you had curves into next week. So I started going to town when the door swings open and—”
My hand flies to my mouth. “My dad walked in on you?”
He presses into me, making sure I can feel his erection. “Are we going to waste this talking about your dad, or are we going to do something about it?”
I take his hand and pull him to my bedroom, shocked by the bold move. It’s quite uncharacteristic of me. “Option number two,” I say, throwing him a sultry look over my shoulder.
I don’t turn on the bedroom light. Through the years, since David anyway, I’ve become more and more secure about my plus-size body. But having that security doesn’t mean I want to see myself jiggle around while a gorgeous guy rides me.
It doesn’t occur to me until I’m lying down and he’s peeling off my skirt that we haven’t even kissed. I suppose maybe that’s typical of a one-nighter. I try to think back to the only other one I’ve ever had. The one with Tag Calloway. Yes, he’s now my best friend’s husband, but this was way back when he was a player. I think he may have even slept with me on a dare. I push that thought away as I try to remember if Tag and I kissed. I can’t recall, so maybe we didn’t. And if we did, it wasn’t memorable.
Through the dim light coming in from the living room, Lucas stares at my brightly colored tights. “Your legs look like barber-shop poles.”
“Your shirt makes you look like a banker,” I quip.
He chuckles and unbuttons it, tossing it to the side. “Do I look like a banker now?”
I almost want the lights to be on, because if he looks this way in the dark, I can’t imagine what his sculpted abs would do to me in the light of day. I reach out and run a hand over his taut tummy. “No. Definitely not.”
He skims a hand along my outer thigh. “Then do you mind if I unwrap my present?”
“But it’s not your birthday.”
“It’s not yours anymore either.”
I scoot up on the bed and poke my toes into his ribs. “Unwrap away.”
He crawls up my body, hovers over me, then lowers his head until his lips are just above mine. “Happy birthday to me,” he says, right before his mouth devours mine.
His lips are just like the rest of his body. Strong. Firm. Sexy. And oh, so demanding. They part slowly, allowing my tongue to slip inside, and the kiss becomes so much more than I ever expected considering this is a one-time thing.
I’ve done a lot of kissing in my life. Mike Gordon was the first boy I kissed. We were in seventh grade when he caught me kissing my fist behind the middle school auditorium. Instead of laughing at me and humiliating me by telling everyone he’d caught me doing it, he said I could use him for practice. What I didn’t know at the time was that he was the one using me for practice. He had a crush on an eighth grader and didn’t want to seem inexperienced. Mike and I made out every day for weeks. He moved away twenty years ago, and I still credit him for making me the kisser I am today. I may not be good at other things, but kissing I know.
“Mmm,” he mumbles against my lips. “You taste like strawberry.”
“ You taste like strawberry.”
He laughs. “I suppose I do. Now, less talking, more tongue.”
“You started it.”
Our prolonged make out sesh surprises me. While I’m not complaining exactly, part of me is wondering how long I have to keep this up until he pops my two-year cherry.
His lips ravage my neck. I crane my head back to give him all the space he needs. It feels sooooo good. I just know I’m already soaked down there. Lucas Montana may be even better at kissing than I am.
He licks the deep V in my neckline. “Let’s get to that unwrapping.”
Urging my sweater up and over my head, he then strips off my leggings and drops them both on the floor. He kneels back on his haunches, eyes raking over my body in the dim light. Don’t cover up, don’t cover up , I implore myself as the heat of his gaze consumes me.
“Holy shit.” His head shakes. “I’m living out my childhood fantasy.”
My eyes settle on the huge bulge tenting his khakis. Never being one to be forward, I surprise myself… again … by reaching out for him. As my hand skims along the outline of his impressive erection, I figure turning thirty-five has empowered me somehow.
He unbuckles his belt and loosens his pants. When I slip my hand beneath them and into his tight boxer briefs, he inhales a sharp breath through his teeth. “Fuuuuuuck.” He grabs my wrist and closes his eyes tightly, almost in meditation. “If you don’t want me to shoot my load like I would have in high school, you’ll stop that and let me have you like I want you.”
I giggle and put my hands out to my sides.
As I watch, he sheds his shoes, pants, and underwear, and gets a condom from his wallet. He’s back to kneeling on the bed, his erection standing tall and proud, and, wow, I can’t tear my eyes away from it. He’s so… big .
All of a sudden, I’ve gone from wanting him to end my dry spell to wondering if he’s going to break me.
“It’ll fit,” he says, as if it’s not the first time a woman's eyes have nearly popped out of her head at the sight.
I guess it wouldn’t be. If you’re a guy with a huge penis, there are bound to be concerns.
“As long as you’re ready.” He grins then rips my panties clean off me and plunges a finger inside. “Jesus,” he mumbles when he finds me most definitely ready. He quickly puts the condom on and hovers over me for a second. “Regan fucking Lucas.” His head shakes again. “Your brother would kill me if he knew what I’m about to do to you.”
I reach around and grab his ass cheeks. “Good thing he’s not here then.”
He sinks into me and I moan. At the stretching. The fullness. The incredible feeling of having more than a silicone-covered piece of machinery inside me.
Going slow at first and getting me used to him, he carefully glides in and out. When I don’t resist, he speeds up. Oh god, this is good . It’s exactly what I’ve been missing. But when some of those familiar tingles build in my lower belly, I get all up in my head like I used to.
I tell myself this is different. He’s different. He has no expectations. No demands. And besides, I’m older now. I’m not doing this for anyone but myself.
Let go already.
I try and try and try to relax and let it happen. But the more I try, the more I know it’s not going to.
I sigh in disappointment.
Lucas takes it as a sign of enjoyment. So I go with it. Just like I always have. I make the appropriate noises. I squirm and buck my hips and even give a little shout. I’m very convincing. Not my first rodeo. And he’s drunk. So, how much attention is he really paying?
“Uuuuuuungh!” he calls out, spasms, then stills.
He collapses onto me, fully sated and spent.
I stare at the ceiling, ashamed.
He rolls to my side. I think he’s watching me, but the light from the doorway is behind him so I can’t be sure. Maybe he’s just basking in post-coital bliss. I lean back into the pillow and envy him.
“You okay, Regan?”
So he was watching me.
I turn my head and smile. “I’m great. But tipsy and tired, so…”
He chuckles. “So, you’re kicking me out.” He hops up, ties off the condom, and throws it in the small trash can by my dresser.
“I open early on Saturdays.”
“Right.” He pulls on his boxers and the rest of his clothes then sits on the chair in the corner to put on his shoes. “Are we… good?”
I grab my robe off the bedpost. “I know what this was, Lucas. Believe me, we’re fine.”
“So you’re not going to go all batshit crazy the next time you see me?”
“Why would I do that?”
“Isn’t that what chicks do after a drunken hookup?”
I tilt my head. “Lucas, this isn’t your first one-night stand, is it?”
He shrugs. “I’m more of a long-term-relationship guy.”
I cover my mouth and laugh. “Oh my god, it is.”
“Yeah.” He stands, looking out of sorts. “So I’m not exactly sure how this works. Like, do I say thank you and leave? Obviously, I don’t stay and cuddle.”
Still snickering, I say, “Thank you will do just fine.”
Joey jumps on the bed, rubbing himself on my thigh. He doesn’t settle next to me as he usually does. He stands, tail twitching.
“Okay then.” Lucas leans down and pecks my cheek with his lips. “Thank you.” Joey hisses and Lucas pulls back quickly. “He really doesn’t like me, does he?”
I study my cat. “That is super strange.”
Lucas walks through my bedroom door and turns. “See you around, Lucas ,” he says with a wink.
“Yeah.” I lift my chin. “See you around, Lucas.”
He smiles. Then he’s gone. A moment later, I hear the front door shut.
Joey curls up next to me. I cock my head and wonder what his problem is. Animals are usually very good at judging people. Lucas is a nice guy. Why wouldn’t Joey like him? Joey likes everyone.
“Well then,” I muse aloud, “it’s a good thing he’s not going to be a permanent fixture in my life.”
I lie back and relax, not bothering to go down and lock up the shop, and think of how I’m glad it was Lucas up here and not one of the McQuaids—or at least one of the McQuaids from back in the day who would blab all over town about their conquests. I doubt Lucas would do such a thing. He is a nice guy, despite the fact that he’s a total commitment-phobe. Which is completely fine with me. I’m the last one who needs to be committed to anyone more than the furball at my side.
Still, though, part of me wishes I could have a do-over of tonight. I’m thirty-five. Isn’t that the age where women become more sexually aware? More in tune with their bodies?
Feeling defeated, I reach over and open my nightstand, determined to get the release I deserve, and shuffle through my plethora of toys until I find just the right one.
“Shoo, Joey,” I say, pushing him off the bed. “I need a minute.”