Unplanned (Songbird Ridge: A Year in the Life #6)

Chapter 1

One

Nico

Only ten more minutes ’til my lunchtime smut.

I use that term in the best way possible.

I daydream for a moment as I stare across the gorge. Wondering what Becca is up to right now, looking hot in her office suit and her hair in a bun, her glasses making her look so smart.

A crackling sound brings me back to reality, followed by the raspy voice hollering at me over the radio.

“Quit staring at your fucking phone, Nico. We’ve got a half-mile backup.”

I switch my flag from “Stop” to “Slow” and watch the cars ease by on the cliffside mountain roads.

I hate flag duty, especially out here, but knowing what my dirty girl packed for me at lunch makes it worth it.

Don’t get it twisted. Becca doesn’t pack my food.

What am I, an infant? I know how to assemble a fucking sandwich.

True, she wishes she could get up early enough to trash my salami and Doritos, forcing me to eat a piece of lettuce once in a while.

But Becca’s hours are crazier as a legal assistant than mine are on a road crew.

That’s one advantage of working for the state.

For the record, I wasn’t staring at my phone. I was checking the position of the sun. And before you begin to doubt that I know how to tell time that way, first of all, I practically grew up outside. Secondly, I don’t have a damn thing to prove.

Anyway, I’m right.

When break time finally comes, the boss radios me again. “Now you can go stare at your phone on your own time, Nico.”

Dipshit.

I mutter some worse words as I hand off my flag to one of my coworkers and move off the asphalt to find shade alongside a dump truck and open up my lunch box.

Stare at my phone during my lunch break? Nah. My woman is low tech.

I wish I had more privacy for reading Becca’s note. Sometimes, the crew heads to the nearest rest area or a local diner, and I can lock myself in a bathroom stall to look at what Becca made for me. Take it all in.

I shove the sandwiches aside and snatch the folded slip of white paper. I shift to my right, shielding the note from prying eyes.

It reads: “I’m sitting at my desk, thinking about the first time I took you in my mouth. I spent all that time on just the tip, and you were so patient with me…”

Fuck me.

I crack open the Cheerwine, dying of thirst, remembering Grad Night 2021. A hard-wired, core memory.

Some of the senior class parents had hosted a party at someone’s lake house, but it wasn’t my type of party. Long story short, Becca and I and a few others ended up climbing the fence at an abandoned amusement park up near Beech Mountain. One thing led to another, and… yeah. That was a good night.

But that night is nothing compared to how good we are together now.

The downside, though, is that we both work so much that we only see each other late at night before passing out cold in our bed.

All part of adulting, I guess. It’s not like it was in school.

We thought we were busy back then. Looking back, I have no regrets about how much school we ditched, how many nights we snuck out of the house, or how much we were punished for lying to Becca’s parents when we’d ditch Wednesday night church.

We always found a way to be together, and we made the most of that time.

The adventures we had. I could write a book. Let’s just say I was on a first-name basis with most of the local cops by the time I was seventeen.

We work ridiculously hard now, but it makes the moments we have together even sweeter than ever.

Soon, Becca and I will be on our honeymoon, spending two weeks on an all-expenses-paid cruise around the Bahamas. Just one more month and then two whole weeks off. I haven’t had two weeks off consecutively in I don’t know how long.

The note continues, “…and when I looked up, you were so frustrated, you had tears in your eyes, but you didn’t get mad about it.”

Why the hell would I get mad? Damn, woman. I was grinding my teeth, barely able to breathe as Becca’s wet mouth took me so tentatively, haltingly. She’d stopped to whisper, “Am I doing this right?” Blinking up at me with those big, hopeful eyes.

“Please… more… and watch your teeth…” I blurted out.

I cringe now. But that was six years ago, and Becca was my first everything. We’ve learned so much about each other since then. And Becca was so appreciative of me saying what I wanted. After that, she was like a house on fire.

How could I be mad about any of that?

The note in front of me reads, “I want to do it like that tonight. Exactly the same. Except without the trespassing charges.”

My wife has me right where she wants me. That hard rod inside my jeans aches, pressing against my zipper. And it’s likely going to stay like that for the rest of the day.

Dirty notes or sexting at lunchtime are nothing new. But Becca’s different.

I love her for using college-rule paper, ripped from a notebook and folded up tight five or six times.

It feels like passing notes in high school, which makes it feel extra nice and dirty.

And there’s always a sketch. I’m not talking about crude dick doodles.

I mean a real, thought-out, skilled pencil sketch.

Today’s image is a set of glossy, parted lips.

A little swollen. A hint of tongue in the shadow in between.

Smeared lipstick. Not just any lips. Those are Becca’s lips, and they are lifelike. Fucking eager.

My heart kicks. My already sweaty body feels ten degrees hotter now.

Folding up the note, I carefully slide it into my overstuffed wallet. Eventually, I’ll need to do something with all these notes. Like a scrapbook or something. Or maybe an individual gilded frame for each one on our bedroom wall.

Becca would kill me. So, I have to do it at some point, just for a laugh. But it’s not funny. She’s incredibly talented, and I want her to see what I see.

The only thing worse than ending lunch break with an erection is ending lunch break with an erection and an empty stomach.

So I rip through my lunch, futilely hoping that maybe two ham and bacon sandwiches, a bag of Doritos, and three chocolate chip cookies will take my mind off what Becca just did to me, and ease the throb.

But when I finish off my lunch, I’m still going out of my mind.

I wash it all down with the rest of my soda and stare out at the scenery.

It’s a shit assignment, but it pays well, and at least there are trees and mountains everywhere you look.

This gets me thinking…wouldn’t it be more fun to hide away in a mountain cabin for two weeks? No, it’s not all-inclusive, but I like cooking alongside Becca. We rarely get to do it except on weekends when her boss doesn’t make her come in.

Cooking pancakes for ourselves would be fun.

Hell, I’d even eat a salad if Becca made it, if it meant I wasn’t expected to be social with other people besides her.

I think on a cruise you’re supposed to see other people and do activities other than staying in your cabin, giving each other rim jobs. Lame.

Maybe someday we’ll do the cabin thing. Or a beach house. Becca likes beaches more than she likes the woods. Right now, though, the cruise is being paid for by Becca’s dad, so I’m just showing up and doing what I’m supposed to do.

And I’m not rocking that boat. I do what I have to do to get along with this family.

Whatever. In the end, I’ll be married to the best woman there is. Doesn’t matter to me where we get married, or where we honeymoon, as long as we’re together, and away from her meddling parents once and for all.