Chapter 4 #2
The whole point of our agreement was that our hookup at that hotel was a one-time deal. One night only. I didn’t need anything more.
Why did my Kteer howl at that thought?
Scowling, I gunned the truck back to the apartment.
Jocelyn
“You’re getting married?” I yanked my phone away from my ear to stare down at it, as if that would make my bestie’s announcement more believable. “When? Where? To who?”
“To whom,” came Kesha’s amused correction. “Anytime you can replace ‘him’ for ‘who’, the word should be whom.”
She wasn’t making any sense. “What?” I blurted as I slammed the door to the dryer closed and straightened. “You’re getting married to him? Who’s him?”
“There’s no him—well, okay, obviously there’s a him.
Well, I guess that’s not obvious. I could be marrying a woman, but I’m not.
” She sounded flustered. “I’m just trying to explain when you use who versus when you use whom.
See? You’re marrying he doesn’t work, the same way You’re marrying who doesn’t work. It has to be either him or whom—”
“Kesha, shut up about the grammar for a minute.” With a grunt, I lifted the full hamper to the metal counter and pulled my phone from between my shoulder and my chin.
One of the benefits of doing my laundry at two in the morning was that no one was at the laundromat to hear me cut her off.
“Go back to the part where you’re getting married. Whom are you marrying?”
“See? That was great! You used it properly—”
“Kesha! Stop messing with me.”
I could hear her smile. “Just a guy.”
Oh no. I propped my hip against the counter and cupped my phone to my cheek, lowering my voice even though there was no one here to hear me. “Are you in trouble? Do you need help? Cough once for yes.”
There was silence from the other end of the phone, and I could feel my heartrate increasing. “Kesha?” I whispered.
“I was trying to figure out how to answer without using grammar, but now I’m concentrating on not coughing. Hold on, I gotta get some water.”
My breath whooshed out of me in relief, and I slumped against the warm laundry. I could hear her puttering on the other end of the line, and I shook my head. She knew I was dying for an answer and was dragging this out on purpose.
I used the opportunity to slip my EarPods in and switch the call over to them, so my hands were free. When I heard her clear her throat—I rolled my eyes at her attempt not to cough—I asked, “Can you hear me okay?”
“Yeah, why wouldn’t I? Are you trying not to cough too? Are you in trouble?”
“I’m in the laundromat.”
“So…yes?”
I shook out one of my pairs of trousers—God bless wash-and-wear work clothes, am I right?—and tried to make my voice stern. “There’s no one here but me and my uniforms. Spill the beans.”
“Uniforms? Oh, you mean your work wear?”
“They make us all wear black trousers.” I folded them with abrupt motions, the topic a long-time irritant of mine. “Shirts are whatever color, as long as they’re bright and button-up, and oh my God why are we talking about this?”
“Because I love you, and I care about your life.”
Kesha was using her Mommy tone, which is what I called it when she got all sugary and well-meaning.
I wasn’t falling for it.
With the practiced ease of one who spent her work shifts refolding shirts that customers had held up to them, then decided they didn’t want and tossed down again, I creased the arms of my favorite blouse before tucking them under.
With a light tone, I tried again. “Kesha, who are you marrying, and why?”
When she blew out a breath, I could tell she was done teasing me. We’d met in grad school—her for English comp, me for archeology—and although life had taken us in very different directions from where we ever thought we’d go, we’d remained close for over a dozen years.
“So, you know how I told you Milo and I had that summer trip planned?”
“To that island, yeah.” Kesha had scrimped and saved for months to afford the rental. “His bestie lives there, right?”
“Jay, yeah. The two of them have been planning it since last summer, and after the stress of this school year for him, I couldn’t say no.”
I tucked another shirt into the stack. “I know, hon.” Milo had been struggling, and his mama right alongside him. “I wish you’d let me help.”
She snorted into my ear. “You’re treading water as much as I am, Jocelyn. This is my gift to him, and I can pay—”
“Okay, okay, yeah, you’re right.” She was.
I had a steady paycheck, but it was a job I hated, and not so far above minimum wage that I could afford to be generous, even with her.
My lease was up for renewal next month, and I was praying the landlord wouldn’t raise the rent.
I needed to bank money for that possibility.
“Should’ve married me, Kesha. Then Milo would have health insurance, at least.”
I mean, not good health insurance. I was considering letting it drop, just to save some money…
She sighed again. “I know we used to joke about getting married for the insurance benefits—and pooling resources. If you lived on Eastshore, I would seriously consider it.”
Frowning, I began to match socks. “What does that mean?”
“Jocelyn, everything I’ve read about Eastshore makes it sound…well, like an idyllic place to grow up. The elementary school is just what Milo needs, and he and Jay are over-the-moon about becoming brothers—”
“What?” I screeched, a sock dropping from my hand. “You’re marrying Milo’s friend’s dad?”
“I connected with him. He’s…he’s really nice.
We’ve been talking for a while, and this seems…
” Kesha blew out a breath that turned into a groan.
“It’s really scary, but I think I’m going to do it.
I’m breaking my lease, Milo and I are loading everything into the car, and we’re moving to Eastshore Isle. ”
Oh, holy shit.
I took a deep breath, tossed the last pair of socks into the basket, and braced my palms on the counter. Staring at not much of anything, I murmured, “This is big, Kesha.”
She was silent for a moment, then agreed. “Really big. But…I’ve done my research. He’s a good guy, and it’ll make Milo and Jay ridiculously happy. We have an agreement—Korrad and I—like a prenup and everything. If this goes sour, the boys aren’t going to be hurt.”
I trusted Kesha to know what she was doing, but…damn. And who was named Korrad?
Are you sure it’s not supposed to be whom? I tried out the trick. Him was named Konrad. He was named Karrod. No, no, it was definitely supposed to be who. Also, what was the guy’s name, again?
Wait, what had I been thinking about?
Oh yeah. “How long have you been planning this?”
“We’ve been talking about a month now. It started out just as logistics, but his texts are funny and interesting, and…he’s a good guy,” Kesha repeated. “We made the decision a few days ago, and we’re going to do it this summer.”
Without meeting him. “Damn,” I whispered.
“Hey, it’ll be fine. I’m looking forward to it,” she assured me.
“He’s sent me pictures, and Jay has sent pics to Milo, and his dad is hot, okay?
We agreed that it would only be in name, and for the kids, but frankly, I’m looking forward to sharing a house with a guy who looks like a hockey player. ”
My brows went up.
Kesha had skated growing up in upstate New York, and had always been disappointed Milo hadn’t been more interested in lessons. She was a big fan of the Orc Hockey League, and she was the one to introduce me to the deliciousness that was giant males slamming into one another behind glass.
Boy aquarium, is what they called it online, but the Teal Terrors—Kesha’s favorite team—were far from boys.
I’d been a little obsessed with the thought of orcs—a night with an orc—since then, and that’s what led me to set up a MonsterSmash profile.
Which is what led me to Brakkor.
Kesha was still talking, trying to convince me—or herself?
—that this was a good idea, but suddenly, my brain had gone numb.
This had become a frequent occurrence over the last few weeks, much to my chagrin.
I’d been working, or cooking dinner, or doing something like laundry, and all of a sudden, something would remind me of how Brakkor had made me feel, and my mind would absolutely blank as my pussy got all wet and… needy.
Damn, that male had broken me for all other males, hadn’t he?
It was a good thing I’d snuck out of the hotel room before he’d been awake. If I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have been able to resist sticking around for another few hours. Or days. We agreed on one night, and that’s what we got.
Best. Night. Ever.
“Jocelyn?” Kesha’s worried prompt dragged me back to the dark laundromat and the pile of clothes waiting for me.
“The wedding is on the beach in two weeks. A Friday evening. I was fine with just going to a Justice of the Peace, but Jay wants us to do the whole real wedding thing, and his dad is paying for it, so…”
I pinched the bridge of my nose and squeezed my eyes shut. “You’re sure this is what you want? Not the beach wedding, thing,” I hurried to clarify, knowing she could be pedantic, “the marriage thing.”
I heard her take a deep breath, then hold it. “Yeah. Yeah it is. It’s best for our boys. For Milo.”
Well… “Okay, sounds like a plan then. Two weeks, huh? Am I invited?”
“Jocelyn, why in the world do you think I called you?” I grinned at her exasperation. “I’m not going to have anyone there but Milo, so I need you. Will you be my maid of honor?”
“I’d be honored.” Could I afford a beach vacation? No, not really. Would I move hell and high water to be there for my bestie? You bet your ass. I reached for my pile of warm clothing. “Now, tell me all the details.”
Anything to distract me from the aching emptiness between my thighs.