Sexy to Go Volume 2 Read online

It seemed that everywhere she looked, Calum was there. Ella flipped through the channels on her TV, trying to avoid seeing repeats of his TV show or trailers for the new series or more trailers for his new film. How was she supposed to get over what happened when his face was everywhere?

  It had been two days since the hotel and, rather than getting better, the ache in her heart was getting worse. Her mother had called her on Skype, taken one look at her unbrushed hair, the black rings under her eyes and her sallow complexion, and begged her to go to the doctor. Ella lied and said she would.

  She looked around at the scrunched up tissues and empty crisp packets and chocolate wrappers and thought vaguely that she should clear up. She didn’t move.

  The doorbell rang. Ella glanced towards it in annoyance. “Go away,” she muttered.

  When she didn’t answer, it rang again. Sighing, she wiggled her feet into her slippers and shuffled to the door, fully intending to tell whoever it was to leave her alone.

  Calum stared at her when she opened it, the anger on his face shocking her. “You left me again,” he said. “You keep leaving me.”

  He walked past her into the tiny flat and stood looking out the window. “I thought you’d gone back to the States. I didn’t know what to do so I searched for you online and found out you live here, right down the road from the hotel.” He turned to look at her, his face filled with pain. “Why did you come to see me, Ella? Was it just for the sex? Was it just so you could say you’d shagged Calum Greene?”

  Ella closed the door and took a couple of paces towards him. “No, of course not. I never intended that to happen. I just wanted to see you again.”

  “Then why did you run away? Did I pressure you? Did you...” he closed his eyes and swallowed, “...did you not want to do what we did?”

  “I...” She started to say she hadn’t run away, but the truth was she had. “I didn’t think you wanted me. And I couldn’t bear to hear you tell me that. You’re engaged to another woman.”

  “I’m not engaged to Mia. I don’t even love her. It’s been eleven years, Ella. I didn’t know where you were or who you were with. For all I knew, you were happily married with loads of kids and hadn’t thought about me for years.” He ran a hand over his jaw. “I thought you’d forgotten about me. I was with her because I didn’t think I’d ever see you again. But the only woman I’ve ever been able to love is you.” He stared at her for a few seconds, then crossed the room in three strides and cupped her face in his hands. “Tell me you still love me, Ella. Tell me I have a chance of being with you.”

  She stared up into his face, her heart hammering in her chest. “I have never loved anyone but you.”

  His eyes dropped to her mouth and his lips brushed against hers before claiming her with a deeply passionate kiss, and Ella stopped holding back and gave herself up to him, body, mind and soul.

  When he pulled back, he looked into her face with tears in his eyes. “Don’t ever leave me again.”

  She shook her head. “Never.” She’d never felt such joy and she almost burst into laughter. “Only, next time you come over, could you call first? Just so I can make sure I don’t look like something the cat has dragged in.”

  He laughed and made a show of looking her up and down, taking in her messed up hair, her make-up free face and the pyjamas she hadn’t changed out of when she’d hauled herself out of bed at midday. “I swear I have never seen you look more beautiful.”

  Ella smiled. “Liar.”

  He drew her back into his arms and touched his forehead to hers. “You are always beautiful to me, Ella. I once told you I would never, ever stop loving you.” His lips hitched up on one side in the special smile that was only for her. “I never have and I never will.”

  *******

  When UK born and raised Nerika Parke decided to turn her writing hobby into something more serious, it came as a bit of a surprise to her that she seemed to be a natural romance writer, because her favourite TV shows usually involve zombies and spaceships (although not necessarily together).

  Having learned to embrace her soft, gooey side, she now spends all the time she can writing intensely romantic stories about ordinary people (and sometimes ordinary ghosts) who find extraordinary love. She is the author of the Love After Death and Nothing Less Than Paradise series’.

  Find her at https://www.facebook.com/nerikaparke or http://nerikaparke.weebly.com/

  An Arresting Development

  Leigh Ellwood

  “I am related to an award-winning actor. I have bungee-jumped off the New River Gorge Bridge. I blew a cop to get out of a speeding ticket.”

  On hearing the last one, Wynton Keynes choked on his beer. Droplets of foam sizzled down his lip and rolled over his chin to the general delight of his friends. He reached for a napkin, thinking that everybody else at the party expected Diane’s friend to speak so frankly during this round of “Two Lies and a Truth.”

  Mitch Lowry canted his head to one side and grinned at him. “Speaking of white stuff dripping from a man’s chin…is that your final answer?”

  Wyn glared at him, but only for a moment as he shifted his concentration. He had on a new Polo shirt and didn’t want it ruined on the first wear.

  “Caught you by surprise, guy?” Mitch needled him. “You don’t think I look the part to seduce a cop?”

  “My name is Wyn, not Guy. I don’t judge books by covers, either.” Wyn balled the red tissue square in his fist. Mitch’s choice of words bothered him, as though he assumed things merely on sight. Wyn was gay, after all, and on the outset looked like any man. Not to say that gay men looked different. No hip-swaying, finger-snapping caricature here, but he didn’t think less of anybody who acted with flamboyance.

  Diane’s friend, by comparison, rocked an athletic frame that drew appreciative glances from every woman at the party. A few men, too, but Wyn suspected some of his straight male friends wanted to look like Mitch in their own pants rather than get into his, and therefore studied him for inspiration.

  Such tight jeans, too. One couldn’t see it now, for how Mitch lounged on the carpet with his back against the couch, but Wyn called up the image of Mitch’s firm ass molded in denim. He couldn’t deny wanting to bury his face between two such globes. Memories of his last romp in the hay fuzzed in his head. A former boyfriend he refused to name, even to himself, for fear he’d materialized like Beetlejuice and cause havoc.

  The teasing aside, this Mitch seemed nice. Diane had squired the man around the living room and kitchen like a prize pet, though Wyn didn’t mistake how he shied from her touch when she got clingy. The two were neighbors, and that’s all Wyn got from his friend about him. He didn’t press for more information after the ferocity in her gaze stunned him back to the snack table.

  “Which is it, then? What’s the truth?” Diane spoke now. Apparently everybody at the party wanted his guess. They stared down Wyn with eager expressions.

  The bubble burst. Wyn looked up from the wad of napkin. He held the room’s attention, with Mitch folding his arms. “Which is it?” he repeated. “I throw the question to you.”

  Damn it. Wyn hated this game. According to the rules, if he got the question right he could pick on somebody to solve his puzzle. A wrong answer meant he had to down a shot of tequila, and Wyn often wobbled after a tiny sip of rum. Beer was okay, but not hard liquor. No telling what a taste of whatever rot-gut booze Diana brought would do to him. At least they weren’t playing for money.

  On top of that, he couldn’t remember the other two possible “lies.” He only heard “blew a cop” in his head over and over, while the image of Mitch’s mouth locked around a thick cock attached to a blue uniform teased him.

  Hollowed cheeks, fluttering eyelids. Those pale, full lips sliding up and down a velvet-smooth shaft while thick fingers raked through his hair…

  “Come on, Wyn,” Diane whined. “There’s a time limit. Doo doo, doo-doo…” The crowd around them giggled and murmured and fed off Wyn’s emba
rrassment.

  He crossed his legs to ward off a hard-on. That never worked, though. He’d have to bolt after this round.

  “Fine.” He took a deep breath. “I’ll say blowing the cop is one of the lies. I imagine if you had done that, he probably ticketed you anyway.” Laughter exploded around him, and the surge bolstered his confidence. “Anyway, the only cop in town worth blowing is Maggie’s husband, and I doubt he’s into experimentation.”

  He gestured to his friend and her husband, Officer Mike, who raised his beer can in silent salute. “Sorry, gentleman. The only same-sex action I’d be interested in involves my wife, and you can guess how that’s going.” Mike ducked as Maggie mock-huffed and playfully clawed at him.

  “All right, stop it.” Diane pinned Wyn with an arched look. “What is it?”

  “Why is this so important to you? You have a side bet with somebody?”

  “You’re stalling. Answer.”

  He was, and it worked. His memory restored, he offered a shrug. “Mitch, are you related to anybody famous?”

  The other man nodded. “I am.” He dropped a name so renowned that it impressed even Wyn, who couldn’t name one current box office draw outside of an actor turned Marvel Comics hero. Sixty-hour work weeks at the clinic, coupled with the time spent at The Warlock’s Cave with his gamer friends, severely hampered Wyn’s knowledge of pop culture.

  Non-Hobbit and comic related, anyway.

  Polite applause died away. He whistled. “That’s cool. Do you get invites to all the award shows?” he asked Mitch.

  “I wish. Once in a while I’m cc’d on a selfie taken with the President or whoever. That’s as close to Hollywood as I’ll ever get.” Mitch laughed.

  Diane, sitting next to Wyn, leaned over and nudged him. “Okay, big boy, your turn.”

  Wyn rubbed his hands together. Somebody would require a shot soon. “Let’s see…Diane…”

  * * * *

  Eventually everybody ran out of lies and truths, and somebody turned up the music. While his friends danced, Wyn grabbed his third beer of the party and savored the cool September night. Maggie and Mike owned a large, beautiful home overlooking the Chesapeake Bay, complete with private access to the beach. Wyn slipped out the sliding glass door and kept to the wooden path, kicking away the soft brush growing up between the slats.

  It felt good to stand outside and let the gentle crash of distant waves calm him. Growing up, he loved the beach and spent every day of summer vacation either in the surf or creating sand metropolises. Peak season crowds kept him indoors these days, to say nothing of the pull of various role-playing games. Wyn sipped his beer and thought of the upcoming Orc’s Lair tournament. He purchased a new expansion deck and couldn’t wait for the weekend.

  He glanced back at the party, the dancing and laughing and mingling in the living room. Mostly people he’d known since high school, and some of Mike’s friends from the force who’d become part of the circle. Diane had nagged him to come, though he had little in common lately with everybody present. They remained nice enough people, but they didn’t share his enthusiasm for games and geekery.

  He’d tried to explain Orc’s Lair to one of Mike’s buddies and his friend Jeff as they gathered around the hummus and pita platter. Wrinkled brows and twitchy lips met his gaze. “Wasn’t Ork where Mork came from?” asked Jeff. “Nanoo-nanoo.” The other guy laughed and rolled his eyes, dismissing Wyn’s passion as “kid stuff.”

  Better to stand out here and relish the excitement of a game he loved, he decided, than stick around and feign interest in football and stock car racing.

  “Hey, Wyn, whatcha doing out here by yourself?”

  A shadowy figure emerged from the patio doorway, and he groaned at Mitch’s approach. He wondered if Diane anticipated a match between him and the hunky blond, despite her clinginess. No other gay men—that he knew, he never asked after Mike’s friends—had come. Mitch was a looker, though, but a tad arrogant for his tastes. Not that he had much luck finding love in gamer circles, but at least those guys were kindred spirits.

  He doubted Mitch knew Joss Wheadon from Shredded Wheat. What could they possibly have in common? Taylor Swift could write endless verses about their differences.

  “Damn, bet this is an awesome view in the daytime.” Mitch stopped about a foot short of Wyn’s personal space and pointed at the moon with his beer hand. “Great for star-gazing, too, I bet. If there wasn’t so much cloud coverage, we could probably see everything.”

  Wyn agreed. “Yeah, that’s the advantage of an upscale neighborhood. Fewer lampposts, so no glare.” The one light on Mike and Maggie’s property, at the base of the path, barely backlit his companion. Even so, Wyn appreciated his companion’s form and the sharp lines of his handsome face. The gentle ocean breeze passed between them and tousled Mitch’s hair.

  Must feel nice to run a few fingers through it…yeah, maybe they’d last a few dates, long enough for one night of hot sex before boredom set in.

  He shook the thought away and returned his attention to the sky. “I take it you have a telescope?”

  “At home, yeah. I was totally into astronomy growing up. Trips to the planetarium, camping under the stars. Wanted to be an astronaut, the whole deal.” Mitch sighed, and Wyn watched the man rock on his heels. Wooden slats creaked beneath them. “It’s why I enlisted in the Air Force.”

  “Really?” Wyn detected a frown creasing Mitch’s features, made clearer when a series of lights strung along the hand rails lining the path flickered to life. He guessed some timer at the house triggered them.

  “You probably know how that turned out. Otherwise, I’d be on the International Space Station,” Mitch continued, then pulled long on his beer. “Anyway, I did my time and got the honorary discharge.” He seemed to wait for Wyn to ask what he did for a living now, but the temperature had dropped in the short time they talked, and Wyn eyed the distant warmth of his friends’ house.

  “I’m sorry about that,” he told Mitch. “It’s disappointing when you can’t reach a goal, especially when others keep moving it.”

  “You wanted to be an astronaut, too?” Mitch smirked and fell in step when Wyn started back up the path.

  “Grad school. You need an advanced degree to teach college. I don’t have the money.”

  “A brainiac like you couldn’t get a fellowship? Diane says you’re the smartest guy here.”

  Wyn shrugged. “Maybe, and I did get a full ride to Virginia Tech for my BS. Grad school money, though…it’s a challenge, more than you’d think for specialized programs.”

  Mitch patted his shoulder. “Come on, there are ways around that. You can apply for loans, and there’s no expiration date on going to school. At least you’ll always have the opportunity. I don’t see the space program being revived anytime soon.” Mitch’s voice took on an annoyed tone that grated his spine. The man had a point—he found it easier to sulk than revisit the possibility of taking entrance exams and researching programs. Besides, if he couldn’t get his Master’s online he’d have to move, which he didn’t want.

  He’d settled comfortably into the rut of work-gaming-sleep, work-gaming-sleep that it left no room for change. Or excitement.

  Or sex.

  Not that anybody had offered.

  “Maybe. I’ll think about it,” he said, hoping to end the conversation. They came to the edge where the path met the back deck and Mitch spoke again.

  “You were wrong, by the way.”

  Wyn glanced back at him, frowning. “You don’t think I can get into grad school? You barely know me.”

  “Rather, you were incorrect. I wasn’t truthful during the game. I’m not related to anybody famous that I’m aware.” Mitch shrugged. “Don’t know why I lied. I suppose I’m not ready to get all TMI with people I just met.”

  It made sense, somewhat. Wyn loved his privacy and rarely asked personal questions. Six months of gaming at the Cave and he still didn’t know the last names of many gaming regulars. Hi
s two lies and one truth turned out rather tame compared to Mitch’s, though. Enough for Diane to deduce. “Am I to assume, then, you did blow a cop for personal gain?”

  “Would it upset you if I didn’t do any of those things I mentioned?”

  Like I give a shit. “Only if I had money on the line.”

  Mitch grinned. “Maybe I’ll come clean at the next party.”

  “Like how the cop came in your mouth?”

  “Hey, buddy. I may not have bungee-jumped off a bridge or had sex in a public place, but my life is anything but boring. I’ve definitely done more than sit on my ass playing Dungeons and Dragons while the world passes by.”

  “Hey!” A flash of anger heated Wyn’s face.

  “I know. Your name’s not Buddy.” The blond could-have-been astronaut laughed and walked back into the house.

  * * * *

  Days after Maggie and Mike’s party, Wyn still fumed when he had occasion to recall certain events. He didn’t lose much sleep immediately over Mitch’s potshot at his lifestyle, but over the course of the week he’d finish up paperwork or settle in bed with a John Scalzi book and that familiar, snide voice would tear through his brain. You’re boring. You play high school games while the rest of the world is making a difference. Nobody wants to fuck you. Nyah.

  Of course, Mitch never said any of that to his face, but who knew what went on in the guy’s mind? It bothered him so much he skipped the Thursday night campaign at the Cave.

  As the clock ticked closer to the end of his shift, Wyn felt worse for letting his paranoia take on Mitch’s voice and taunt him. What did it matter to anyone how he spent his free time? How could anybody, Mitch included, shame him for wasting his life and assumed he contributed nothing to society? He helped people in need at the clinic, and once during a card tournament at the Cave an acquaintance remarked how he looked forward to such events and hanging with everybody there. Surely Wyn’s presence at the time accounted for something.