Chapter 19
NINETEEN
Waylon parted Frankie’s lips with the tip of his tongue and found no resistance. In fact, her tongue darted into his mouth the second he offered the invitation. He groaned, excited by her eagerness.
There is nothing better in the world than a woman who wants you .
And Frankie was giving every indication that she did want him. Her hands ran over his back and through his hair, causing his skin to prickle with goose bumps.
God, what am I doing? This was Frankie, his Adventure Buddy, his gal pal, his not-a-girlfriend, who—Jesus!—he’d almost fed a damn MRE to as a joke.
No romance. That’s what we agreed on from day one. No dating, no romance, just two adventure buddies doing fun stuff together.
The sudden image of her bare ass waggling in the air at him from his bed filled his brain like an incoming nuke.
Not fun bed stuff. Outdoors stuff. Like hiking with Snoopy. Not doing it doggie-style .
But her soft touch when she’d wrapped her arm around him had brought his cock roaring to life. And now she was kissing the life out of him .
God, she tasted so sweet, so good, as he realized just how much he’d wanted her from the moment she’d looked at him in the rec center. She’d gone from an intriguing—sometimes infuriating—woman, to an Adventure Buddy he could talk to about anything, and now to this.
Was it right?
Did he care if it was right or wrong?
Yes and no, in that order.
Then she whimpered under him and his heart stuttered.
No! He broke their kiss.
“Pixie, I’m sorry. Oh, God, I don’t mean to be forcing you to do anything. I misread the situation.”
“No, you didn’t misread anything.” She kissed him quickly, confusing him even more. “I want this. More than anything.” When she went in for another kiss, he stopped her, pulled her close, and rolled sideways until they were both on the bed lying face to face. She tucked her head under his chin and pressed her cheek against his chest.
“Pixie, talk to me.”
Her body heaved. His t-shirt was suddenly wet.
“You’re crying.” Unexpected tears made his eyes prickle. He felt his Pixie hurting, and if it wasn’t anything he did, then he had no idea what was causing her pain. “What is it? You can tell me anything.”
“It’s not you,” she reiterated, her voice muffled against his chest.
“Okay.”
“It isn’t.”
“All right.”
She shifted until she buried her face in his neck and he let her cry while he held her, hoping that his arms were enough. His mind raced through all sorts of scenarios. Had a man hurt her in the past?
“You can talk to me, Pix,” he whispered as he stroked her hair. “You can tell me anything. You’re safe with me.” The words came out before he could think about them. Safe. With him .
Finally, she said, “I’m ugly. ”
Waylon flinched. “What? What do you mean? You’re beautiful. Jesus , you’re beautiful.”
“No. Under my nightshirt. I’m ugly.” She hiccupped. “ It’s ugly.”
“There is not a damn thing ugly about you, Pix, inside or out.”
She shook her head. “There is.” And then she added so quietly he barely caught it, “My scars.”
Oh . Wow . He never would have thought her surgical scars would bother her—not his Pixie, so full of life she practically roared every morning to greet the day.
“You’re afraid to let me see your scars?”
She nodded into his chest. “Women aren’t supposed to have scars.”
“Who told you that?” Though he was pretty sure he already knew the answer.
“My mother. She says men hate scars on women, that they…get turned off.”
Oh, fuck me. That insufferable woman .
Waylon tilted Frankie’s head up so that she could look right into his eyes.
“No, no, she’s completely wrong. I love a good scar, Pixie. That scar means you have a story. That scar means I get to hold you in my arms. It means the woman I?—”
Love .
“—care deeply about is alive and with me.”
She hesitated. “You’ll still want me if you see it?”
He squeezed her gently. “More than ever.”
Then she blinked as if his words had just caught up to her. “You…care about me?”
I love you .
Waylon shut that thought down quickly. He barely knew her. And love wasn’t real anyway.
But he couldn’t deny the warmth flooding his chest, the tender way he felt about Frankie. It didn’t have to be full-blown love to care about a woman. Right ?
Waylon stroked her cheek as gently as he could. “Yeah, I care about you greatly, Pixie.” He kissed her forehead. “No scar’s gonna change that. It’s gonna do the opposite. It’s going to show me how precious you are and how lucky I am to have you in my life. And if you aren’t ready for more, I can hold you all night.”
She was already shaking her head wildly. “I want more. I really, really want more.”
“Then trust your body and don’t be afraid,” he whispered. “Jump, Pix. Jump and I’ll catch you.”
She inhaled sharply at his words. Then she shifted out of his arms and sat up. He sat up with her. She grabbed the hem of her nightshirt and pulled it over her head. In the faint light coming from his windows, he could see the marks cancer had left her.
“Even this?” she asked, and touched the scar under her right breast, slightly larger than the one on the left.
Waylon only chuckled and shook his head. “A little scar like that? Doesn’t bother me.” He leaned forward and planted a kiss in the middle of her chest, then moved down and feathered his lips over first one scar, then the other. He left Frankie gasping.
He looked up into her eyes, a moment’s sadness there. “Someone tell you they’re ugly?”
She nodded. “My mom. Last time I saw her. She wouldn’t leave me alone until I showed her. Just the one on the right. She looked at it like it was a disgusting worm and asked why I hadn’t gotten plastic surgery yet. That no one could love a woman who was so disfigured.”
Waylon closed his eyes as his fists clenched. He took a calming breath and opened them. “You believe her.”
“Yeah.”
“It’s not true.”
She looked away. Waylon reached out. His fingers brushed her chin and she looked back at him.
“Let me show you how little it matters.”
Waylon gently pulled her into his arms. He kissed her tenderly, caressing her back and shoulders. His hands traced delicate patterns over her skin until he felt her shiver under his fingers.
Slowly he lowered her down, his body covering hers like a warm blanket. He trailed kisses along her jaw, down her neck, grazing her collarbone. He wanted her to forget her self-consciousness, to feel beautiful, the most desired woman in the world. Because that’s what she was to him.
Waylon slowly dipped his head and pressed a tender kiss to the scar on her right side. Frankie gasped and shivered, her body tensing up at the sensation. He soothed her with soft words of reassurance as he continued to rain gentle kisses along the length of the scar, his lips like feathers against her skin.
“I’ve never wanted a woman so much.”
“You...you really mean that?”
“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t,” he replied.
Frankie ran her fingers through his hair, clutching him close.
He moved lower, his tongue leaving a wet trail down her stomach. He gripped her hips, holding her still as he reached the waistband of her panties. They were soaked through, the thin fabric clinging to her, teasing him with its outline. Waylon hooked his fingers into the sides of her panties and pulled them down, revealing her glistening pink folds.
He stroked her thighs as his cock hardened to an impossible degree, until he couldn’t take it anymore. He buried his face between her legs. Waylon dragged his tongue through her folds in one long, slow stroke, from the base of her pussy to her clit. Frankie gripped the sheets, twisting them as he repeated the motion, over and over, adding a spiraling swirl around her clit until she was moaning and shaking with need. When he finally closed his lips around her clit and sucked, she nearly came off the bed.
“Waylon!” she moaned.
Waylon moved back up her body, kissing her all the way, until he was face to face with her. There was no hesitation now, no shaking, no tears. only warmth and desire in her eyes .
Frankie leaned upwards and captured his lips in a searing kiss. Waylon moaned into her mouth, deepening the kiss as his arms wrapped around her. He pulled back only to open the nightstand drawer and take out his wallet. He opened it and found a condom. Waylon looked into Frankie’s eyes again and she nodded.
“Yes,” she breathed. “Please. I need to feel you inside me.” She slid out from under him and sat up. Frankie plucked the condom out of his hand. “But first, you’re wearing way too much clothing. Let me hang onto this,” she held the condom up between her first finger and thumb and shook it, “while you fix that problem.”
Waylon looked down at himself. “I should, shouldn’t I?” He grabbed the back of his tee and pulled it off in one swift move, then tossed it into the hamper beside his dresser. He pulled his boxer briefs down and savored the look of pure lust on Frankie’s face when his cock sprang free.
“Yup. You will now forever be known as Waylong.”
He laughed as the briefs joined his tee in the hamper.
Frankie reached out and her fingers circled his shaft. Waylon groaned at her touch. It was true—he’d never ached for a woman so much. He’d been a fool to fight his feelings for Frankie.
“You’re so beautiful, Pixie,” he murmured. “Every inch of you.” Then he closed his eyes in ecstasy as her hand moved up and down his cock until it wept. Waylon groaned, his hips bucking into her hand as she tightened her grip and started pumping him. She set the condom on the bed then cupped his balls, rolling them gently in her palm as she worked his cock.
“Fuck, Frankie,” Waylon growled, his voice rough with need. “You’re going to make me come if you keep that up.”
She smirked, leaning up to give him an open-mouthed kiss. “Good,” she whispered against his lips. “But I want you inside me first.”
Waylon didn’t need to be told twice. He grabbed the condom off the bed and tore the package open, then wrapped his hand around Frankie’s, stilling it .
“Let me,” Frankie said.
“No way. If I let you put this on me, I’ll end up coming in your hand.”
She let go of him and he rolled the condom on in one swift motion. Frankie lay back against the pillows and Waylon spread her legs. He rubbed the tip of his cock up and down her soaking wet pussy. She closed her eyes and arched her back.
“You want this, Pixie?” Waylon stopped and pressed against her entrance.
“God, yes, please, Waylon. I can’t stand it.” She reached down to grab his cock but he caught her hand and kissed her palm, then placed it on her belly. He lined himself up, then pushed inside her slowly. God, she was tight. Every inch he gave her felt like heaven.
“More,” she moaned. “Please.”
Waylon sank himself into her hot, wet pussy up to the hilt. He paused, savoring the feeling of being inside her. He reached between them, his fingers finding her clit and rubbing frantic circles around it as he pumped in and out, gently at first, then faster and harder as he felt Frankie clenching around his cock. It didn’t take long before Frankie came again, her pussy clamping down around his cock like a vice as she screamed his name.
Waylon wasn’t far behind. With a growl, he buried himself deep inside her and let go, his cock pulsing as he came. He collapsed on top of her, both of them gasping for air as they came down from their high.
“Damn, Frankie,” he panted. He pressed a kiss to her sweat-soaked forehead. “You’re going to be the death of me.”
Frankie laughed, the sound like sweet music to Waylon’s ears. He rolled off of her and pulled her into his arms. They lay there, tangled together, as their breathing slowly returned to normal and they drifted off to sleep.
“So, I can’t stand it anymore and we’re going to do something about this,” Frankie said over breakfast the next morning.
“What?” He took a sip of coffee.
“This. It’s no good.”
Waylon nearly choked on his coffee as his heart stopped. Frankie leaned across the table and awkwardly tried to pat him on the back. “You okay?”
“What? No! Not that. That was,” her eyes practically rolled back in her head, “ amazing , and we should do more of it. I’m talking about your apartment , Waylooong.” She winked.
Waylon tried to ignore the stirring that caused, since they’d made love twice before getting up and eating, and one more time with her would probably send him to the ER.
“What about my apartment?”
“Buddy.” She looked him dead in the eye. “It’s not you.”
Buddy?
“What do you mean it’s not me?”
“It’s bleak. The only life in here is real Snoopy,” Frankie pointed at the puppy sniffing around their feet hoping for crumbs, “and stuffed Snoopy,” she pointed back toward his bedroom. “So, like I said, we’re doing something about it. Today.” She crossed her arms, signaling the end of the discussion. Then she told him their plan for the day.
“We’re going where ?” Waylon asked.
Frankie grinned. “Come on. Or are you chickening out?”
“Chickening out? Nope.”
“Okay then, finish your coffee and let’s go.” She stood up and grabbed her empty plate and silverware, then headed for the kitchen. She turned suddenly, and with a mischievous gleam in her eye said, “You have five minutes.”
Waylon laughed. “Gimme ten.”
“Eight. Clock’s ticking.” Then she strutted into the kitchen, taking Waylon’s heart with her.
After dropping Snoopy off at Watchdog, they drove south on I-25 through Denver, past the amusement park—also on Frankie’s list—and the stadium—which was not—until the massive blue box rose from the ground like a square piece of the sky. Four giant letters dominated one side.
“Here we are, good old IKEA.” She glanced at Waylon. “You’re serious, you’ve never been here?”
“Dead serious.” Waylon eyed the giant blue warehouse like he was looking for snipers. They drove into the covered parking lot. Waylon got the impression that they’d driven into some sort of spaceship. The place was totally alien to him at least. He parked and opened Frankie’s door for her. She hopped out and walked toward the store-end of the parking garage, determination in every step.
“Couldn’t we have done this online?” Waylon asked when he caught up to her.
Frankie abruptly stopped, turned, and put her hands on her hips. “Chicken,” she said. “Of course not, I told you this would be an adventure.”
God, it was fun to get a rise out of her. She looked like an angry baby chick, the way her hair was standing up in all directions. “I have a feeling it’s payback for the MREs.”
She pursed her lips and tilted her head. “Maybe a little. But it’s also going to be fun. You’ll see.” She laughed and grabbed his hand, dragging him with her, and it felt like the most natural thing in the world.
They took a baffling number of escalators before they even got into the store itself. The first thing Waylon noticed was the sweet smell of cinnamon rolls.
“I promise I’ll buy you an entire box when we’re done,” Frankie said. There she went, reading his mind again.
“So how does this even work?” Waylon said, already confused as he looked around .
“It’s the easiest thing in the world. There’s a dotted line that we follow. That will take us through the entire store. Everything’s set up like rooms, so you don’t even have to guess what things will look like together or how much space they’ll take up. You’ll see. It’s kind of like being on a movie set, actually.” Mischief returned to her eyes.
“What are you thinking?” Waylon asked.
She didn’t answer him. Instead, she grabbed his hand again and led him along the dotted line until they reached a display that looked like a living room.
“Isn’t this nice?” she asked, running her hand along the back of the couch. “And this rug is perfect.” She cupped her hands around her mouth. “Lucy, I’m home!”
To Waylon’s dismay, half the store stopped and looked at them. Frankie just grinned, completely unbothered by the attention, while Waylon felt his face heat.
“Frankie,” he hissed under his breath, stepping closer. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Having an adventure.” She batted her lashes at him, then turned back to the imaginary living room. “Lucy! You’ve got some ‘splainin’ to do!”
Waylon glanced around, expecting people to be annoyed, but instead, amused chuckles rippled through the crowd. An older couple actually clapped.
“Oh, God,” he muttered, running a hand over his face.
Frankie elbowed him. “Come on, Beefcake. Live a little. Haven’t you ever wanted to be in a sitcom?”
“No.”
Her eyes gleamed. “Well, how about a soap opera then?” She grabbed his arm and pulled him toward a kitchen display. “Ooooh, perfect! Here we go.”
“What—”
Before he could protest, Frankie turned to him, her expression morphing into pure soap opera-level angst. She clutched his arm, eyes wide with mock devastation .
“Waylon, the cinnamon rolls you made for me… I think I’m allergic to them!” Frankie dramatically pressed the back of her hand to her forehead, spun around three times, and stumbled toward a barstool beside the countertop.
More laughs came from a few nearby shoppers, as Waylon realized to his horror that they now had a small crowd following them.
“Your turn. Go on!” she whispered. Then she grabbed her throat and pretended to gasp for air as she made the funniest faces.
More laughter.
Waylon’s jaw worked as he stared at her. He was torn between mortification and something dangerously close to having fun.
She peeked at him through one half-opened eye, her mouth twitching.
And then, telling himself he was a damn fool, he gave in.
Squaring his shoulders, he stepped forward and grabbed her shoulders. “No, Frankie! Don’t give up now! You’ve still got so much to live for!”
Frankie sucked in a breath. “But what’s the point, my darling, if I can’t have your cinnamon rolls?”
Waylon exhaled dramatically, then lifted his gaze to the heavens. “I’ll find another way to show you my eternal love and devotion, Pixie. I swear it. Wait.” He snapped his fingers. “Waffles.”
The audience—their actual audience—laughed and applauded.
Frankie turned and did a little bow, beaming. “Thank you, thank you. We’ll be here all day. Tip your waitress. Try the meatballs.”
As the crowd dispersed, Waylon chuckled, shaking his head. Frankie looped her arm through his.
“You’re ridiculous, you know that?” he told her.
“And you love it,” she said, nudging him.
He didn’t deny it.
They followed the dotted line deeper into the store, pausing every now and then to test out chairs or inspect lamps and knickknacks. Frankie couldn’t seem to stop grinning, and Waylon found himself watching her more than paying attention to the furniture. God, she made everything fun.
“Okay,” she said eventually, plopping onto a sleek black couch. “We’ve been through the entire showroom. See anything you like? What’s your vision for your space, Beefcake? You want a man-cave? Or maybe you want everything in pink?”
Waylon grinned and sat beside her, stretching his arm along the back of the couch. “I don’t know.” He looked around. “Something simple. Functional.”
Frankie rolled her eyes. “Okay, like what you already have. That’s not why we’re here.” She grabbed his other hand in hers and ran her thumb over the top. “What makes you happy ? What’s you ?”
Waylon hesitated. What made him happy?
Frankie .
He looked at her hand in his. “Comfort,” he said finally. “And warmth. And maybe…a little color. Not pink though.”
Frankie beamed. “Now we’re talking.”
“And I…” He hesitated. “I want to keep the checkered tablecloth.”
Frankie’s eyes went slightly unfocused. “Why’s that?” she whispered.
Because it will always remind me of our first date .
No way was he going to say that . So he shrugged. “First real tablecloth I’ve had in a while.”
Frankie tilted her head and grinned. “First real tablecloth in a while, huh?”
She stood abruptly and rubbed her hands together. “Come on, Beefcake. Let’s put together a home.” She caught what she’d just said at the same time he did. “For you,” she added quickly. “A home for you and Snoopy.”
A home.
Waylon didn’t know why that single word almost knocked the air out of his lungs. It had been a long time since he’d thought about a place that way .
Camille never did .
He glanced at Frankie, who was already marching ahead, acting completely unbothered by what she’d said. Or maybe just pretending she hadn’t said it at all.
Probably for the best .
Still, the word stuck in his head like an earworm he couldn’t shake. And just like that, with his heart in his throat and a woman who should have terrified him but somehow made everything feel right , Waylon let himself imagine—for the first time in a long time—what home could really be.
And then, just as quickly, he slammed the door on the thought. No. Not for me. Not with her. Not with anyone. He wasn’t built for that anymore. He was having a fun day with his Buddy. A good time. An adventure.
No strings.
He focused on the present. On Frankie marching ahead, already running her fingers over throw pillows like she was picking out a horse for the ranch she grew up on. His blood heated.
Stop thinking about that .
He followed her back through the winding IKEA maze, letting her chatter on about area rugs and coffee tables. He threw a blanket over the part of himself that had started hoping for more.
An hour later, they were in the loading area, fitting a pile of flat-pack boxes into his truck bed like they were playing Tetris. The sofa and a few other things that couldn’t be flat-packed would arrive at his apartment via delivery truck later.
“I still don’t know where I’m going to put all this,” Waylon muttered, shifting the last box, labeled L?VBACKEN, into place. He jumped down to the pavement.
“This is just a start,” Frankie said, wiping her hands on her jeans. “We didn’t even look in housewares for kitchen stuff.”
“You really think I need this much furniture?”
Frankie smiled, brushing against him as she leaned into a shopping cart and pulled out the last, crucial item. “Nope. I know you need it. Along with this well-earned box of cinnamon rolls.” She held the box in one hand and tapped his chest lightly with her other fist, playful. Casual. Like nothing had changed.
Like he hadn’t just spent the last hour trying—and failing—not to imagine what life would be like if she were always in it.
But this wasn’t the time for thoughts like that. This was fun. That’s what they agreed on.
She stretched, then pushed off the truck with a grin. “Come on, Beefcake. We’ve got a full day of putting this stuff together ahead of us. If you play your cards right, I might even let you use an actual screwdriver instead of that weird little doohicky they always include.”
Waylon caught her by the waist before she could escape and pulled her close to his chest. He’d meant to give her a quick kiss and let her go, but those eyes held him captive the same way they had on day one. He brushed a stray curl off her forehead as he gazed into her eyes. Her cheeks pinkened. Then he kissed her, slow and sweet, leaving them both breathless.
Frankie pulled back just enough to smirk up at him. “Let’s just keep this fun, okay?” she said, her tone light. “Nothing romantic, nothing…you know.” She shrugged a shoulder, “Just buddies who adventure. Together. Sometimes in bed. Easy-breezy, just like we both wanted. Want. Still want. Right?”
Waylon chuckled, low and rough. “Easy-breezy,” he echoed, brushing his thumb over her cheek before stepping back.
The second she turned to get into the truck, he let out a slow breath and rolled his shoulders like he could shake her words off.
No strings. No big feelings. Just fun.
And that was exactly what this was.
Exactly what he was used to. Exactly what he needed.