Velvet Kisses by Addison Moore
“What?” In one quick move her knees are tucked up beneath her, that bottom lip of hers is pursed out front. Marley has pouting like a child down pat. I hate to admit it, but I’m a little partial to pouting. “I’m here—for you, cowboy. Do I have to draw you a map?” She says the words as her finger slips down her body, stopping abruptly just below her belly. “You, my friend, are about to be crowned king of this jungle.” She picks up my hand and leads me between her thighs. “Now—is the king ready to rule over his subject? Because this little servant girl is ready to please his majesty.”
“Clever.” I carefully withdraw my hand, trying to steady my thoughts a moment. I’d be lying if I didn’t just admit she threw me off balance. I haven’t had a good role-playing session since God knows when. I think I’m due a throne or two. I shake the thought out of my head.
“Can’t. I’ve relegated you to little sister status so that whole let’s-welcome-my-snake-to-your-jungle routine won’t be happening.” I think my dick is ready to abdicate the throne of my being. I’m not sure what’s gotten into me, maybe I’m being serious, maybe I really am too old—up past my bedtime and all that other good shit, or maybe, just maybe, something in me demands to protect her from all the perverts in the world, and I happen to lead the perverted pack.
“Little sister?” She sings the words out in a string of giggles. “That’s pretty kinky.” Her nose wrinkles, cute as hell. Okay, it’s sexy as hell, and I’m seriously starting to doubt my sanity around this girl.
“Not kinky. In fact, I’ve got a little sister, and, if I saw her having an exchange like that with her boyfriend—”
“Ex! Ex-boyfriend.”
“Whichever—the point is, I wouldn’t want some random stranger—who she was quite disdainful of just a few minutes prior, trying to take advantage of her.”
She sulks against the cushion. The mask of seduction slides right off her face as if she’s just agreed with me on some level.
“Whatevs. So where’s this little sister of yours? She go to Lambert, too? I don’t remember Annie mentioning a sister.”
“That’s because Blake doesn’t have one. My father has another brood in New York. I’m the product of his first failed marriage—the kid he stuck on the ranch with the nanny. Nice gal, Sevilla. You would’ve liked her.”
“You weren’t raised by your mom?” Her eyes widen the size of silver dollars, and the fire reflects in them true as a mirror. On all of God’s green earth, I haven’t seen eyes that big and beautiful.
“I split my time between my parents. When I was at the ranch, I was with Sevilla. My dad was too busy with work. He’s an investment broker in the city, thus the spare family—Piper and Cade. One girl, one boy in the city. He didn’t need me anymore. Not to worry, Sevilla had a German Shepherd she let me name. Called him Dad for thirteen good years. Best Dad a guy could ask for.”
Marley gives a hard sniff as her chest bucks.
“Let’s make a U-turn.” I pat my hand over the cushion behind her. “How about you? What’s your story?” I fling my arm up over the back of the couch. “I’m guessing boarding school started at nine. Mommy and Daddy have yearly memberships to the country club, and, when you turned sixteen, you were introduced to high society by way of a debutant ball—white dress, low kitten heels.” My boxers twitch because I very much approve of the visual. “Maybe a garter belt tucked underneath. You seem a touch wild.”
Her lips twist up in a knot. “Let’s see—my father is in prison serving his fifth year out of seventeen. My mother lives with her junkie boyfriend.” She shudders. My eyes ride up and down her body, seeing her in this new light. My heart breaks for Marley. “I, too, have a sister—older—married and divorced so many times I lost count—has four beautiful children with three different daddies. She was my role model up until…” Her words trail off as she dazes off into the fire. “Anyway—I don’t have a role model anymore. I thought I’d be my own, then Will cheated, and I didn’t want to be anything to myself. Does that make sense?”
“Oddly, it does.” I shake my head as thoughts of my solitude lifestyle run through my mind.
“I swear I’ve never met anyone like you.” She sets her gaze to mine strong as concrete.
“And I’m sorry you’ve had it rough, Marley.” Her name rolls off my tongue, familiar like it’s been waiting to escape for a very long time.
“I’m sorry I had to bore you with the details.” She scoots in until the sweet scent of gardenia cushions between us. “Look”—her mood plummets as she glances down at her thighs, her finger absentmindedly rubs over my arm—“I’ve never done this before.” She nods toward the hall. “You know—had a one-night stand. But I want to.” Her eyes widen a notch with conviction. “I write this article.” She shakes her head. “Sex and the Coed. I need to—how do I put this—”
“Research?” I’m not sure I should be hand feeding her words. After all she’s the writer.
“Yes!” Her entire face brightens as if I’ve just agreed to something salaciously delicious. “You seem rather eager, at least you did back at the bar—before I chickened out and called you a—”
“Narc?”
“Yeah, that.” She wrinkles her nose again, and I hold back the grin fighting its way to the surface. “Anyway, I’m sort of down a boyfriend—not that I ever want him back. God no.” She gives a mean shudder. “I sort of just need a partner in crime or a—”
“A study partner?” This is bordering on ridiculous and a possible felony. Is it legal to team up with a coed for sexual research? I bet we could get a grant for that if we really put our minds to it.
“Yes! Wow, you’re good.” Her hand glides up the length of my arm, the look of lewd promise glistening in her eyes. “So, are you in?”
“What is it exactly we’ll be studying?” I’m amused we’re still having this conversation.
“I’ll be studying.” She buries her finger into my chest. “You’ll be teaching. What do you say?” She wets her lips in anticipation. Marley is a pageant queen who belongs with some sweet kid who’s willing to ride off into the sunset with her. She’s just jaded right now and desperately seeking rebound sex.
I don’t need to probe anymore to figure out what type of education she’s seeking so I do the only thing I can—give her an answer.
“No.”
Man of my Inappropriate Dreams
Marley
Sex and the Coed
Today’s outfit, up-cycled boho patchwork skirt paired with a loose fitting pirate top in ecru. Knee high riding boots with gold-toned buckles. Just because it’s a freezer out there doesn’t mean you have to put your fashion needs on ice!
Sex tip of the day: Sexperts agree, if the gym isn’t for you then try an aggressive workout in the bedroom! Nothing burns calories like a good roll beneath the sheets. If you aren’t exerting energy like you’re running up a hill then you’re simply not doing it right. And, if you’re not doing it right, practice, practice, practice!
Not doing it right? I stare at the screen a moment too long. How about not doing it at all? I’m a fake. I’m a faux whore. I’m a coital charlatan. The only carnal knowledge I’ve gleaned over a two-year period is that sexual relations come sparingly and only if you beg. Will and I weren’t exactly putting the mattress springs to the test. And now I know why, he was too exhausted after thumping other girls. I’ve always suspected we were half-heartedly interested in one another to begin with. We started out as group dating, then our friends slowly placed us on the couples rack, and we just never denied the title. Somewhere along the line I convinced myself I was in love. I’m not sure Will ever took it that far.
The door to the Hallowed Grounds coffee shop swings open, and I glance up in the event it’s Mr. James, my famed non-suitor. I can’t believe he turned me down like that. As soon as the sun rose over the horizon, I took off to the carriage house and begged Blake for a ride back to my dorm. God, that baby of his sure is adorable. Annie and Blake really do have it all.
I frown at the group of girls bleeding into the establishment. I have a few minutes before my first class. It’s been a week since the humiliating episode at hand, and my obsessive brain can’t stop ruminating over that perfect man I had the fortune, or misfortune, (I’ve thoroughly examined this from both angles), to meet.
But, it’s a new semester. Spring will soon melt away the grief of winter and—I hope—erase Will from my memory and vice versa. He’s been haunting me all over this ever-shrinking campus, promising me sunshine and roses, threatening me with boxes of expensive Belgian chocolate. I’ll admit he almost had me at rocky road fudge.
The door whooshes open again, and it’s two girls I recognize from the Black Bear, Laney and Baya. I wait for them to get their drinks before flagging them over.
“Hi!” I bounce up and extend my hand. “I’m Marley, Annie’s roommate. We’ve met, but it’s usually dark, and I tend to wear the war paint pretty thick on a Friday night. You’re welcome to take a seat here if you want.” I turn to Laney. “My sister, Jemma, and your sister, Izzy, are close friends.”
“Of course!” She wraps her arms around me without warning. “God, would you look at that skirt?” Her eyes dip to my patchwork boho, and I can’t help but smile. I pulled this thing off in four hours. “I have to have that!”
“Ha! Thanks. It’s just something I whipped up myself. Not a big deal really.”
“Are you kidding? It’s amazing.” Baya’s hair is set in dark gold ringlets. Her skin is perennially tan. “Hey, where’s Annie?” She does a quick sweep of the vicinity.
Laney moves her sea of dark hair from one shoulder to the other. “Let me guess, she’s with baby Ben. I’m telling you that kid has her wrapped around his little finger.”
“She can’t be with Ben—or Blake for that matter.” Baya pauses to take a swig of her drink. “It’s the first day of classes. Bryson had a long talk with her last week. No missing school.”
“So he’s finally okay with Blake, huh?” Baya gives a quick nod as I continue, “I’ll admit it’s a beautiful thing the way her brothers watch out for her. I’ve always thought it would be great to have a couple of protective big bros. You know, a couple of strong men who can beat up little twerps who choose to cheat and yank out my beating heart.” I pull apart my bagel as if it were Will’s limbs.
“Someone had an eventful winter break.” Laney taps her ice tea over the table, pulling me out of my homicidal tirade. “So who’s the little twerp and what did he do?”
“You don’t know him. Correction, you don’t want to know him. Will Richie. He’s some guy I dated about two years too long. We went to different universities until about five minutes ago. He transferred to WB.” I make a face. “Lucky me, right?”
“Let me guess.” Laney’s lips contort. “He wants you back?”
“Apparently—and in the worst way. I’ve had flowers show up at my door every day this week. Anyway, it’s not happening. There’s not enough flora or fauna in the world for me to welcome back that misery.”
“I don’t know.” Baya butts her shoulder into Laney’s. “Sometimes old flames are the right flames.”
“Relax, I’ll tell her.” Laney butts back. “My then boyfriend and I had a misunderstanding a while back. We were together for years and then, well, things—people—got in the way. We reconnected last year, and now”—she wiggles a sparkling rock at me—“I get to be Mrs. Ryder Capwell for life. We married this past summer.” Her shoulders cinch to her ears in excitement.
Baya leans into her. “In a double wedding with me!”
“Wow!” I marvel. “Double congrats. That’s really cool. But I assure you that won’t happen with Will and me.” The door opens as another anxious group of coeds rush in, and suddenly I find myself crestfallen. Then it dawns on me, I’ve subconsciously been waiting for Wyatt to come back into my life. Me, a damsel in distress waiting to be saved from my underused vagina by a knight in shining penial armor? Go figure. “Say, do either of you know Wyatt James?”
Did that just bubble out of my mouth?
They exchange quick puzzling glances.
Baya holds up a finger. “Isn’t that the guy Izzy dumped?”
“Yes!” Laney interjects. “Izzy mentioned something about him. He’s Blake’s brother, right?”
“He is, but I don’t know too much about him.” Baya leans in. “Is there something in particular we should be made aware of? Is he a perv? Is he bothering you, too?”
“No. God, no, he’s not bothering me. I mean maybe he’s a perv.” I bite down over my lip. “But I mean that in a good way. Anyway, never mind. It was stupid of me to ask. But speaking of asking.” I sink in my seat a little. “Do you think there’s any way I can get a job at the Black Bear? I’ll wait tables, wash dishes, mop the liquor off the counters with my tongue. I’m pretty desperate for cash.” To say the least. There’s a reason I scour thrift shops for clothing. Up-cycling isn’t just for fashion, it’s to keep me from pulling a Lady Godiva every single day of my life.
“Sorry.” Baya freezes with a grimace. “In fact, I think all the bars are at capacity. You might want to check in again before summer. We usually lose half the staff.”
“Summer? I’ll be a professional dumpster diver long before then.”
“Oh, I know”—Laney’s bright pink nails click over the table—“Ryder mentioned they’re having to hire temps at the office all the time. Maybe he can squeeze you in at Capwell Enterprises part time? Ooh.” Her expression sours as if she’s just realized something horrible. “It’s a weekday gig.”
“That’s totally fine. I only have classes Tuesdays and Thursdays. I sort of arranged it that way. It’s my last semester before I head into the business program next fall, and that’s five days of suffering a week. I thought I’d take it easy for now.”
“Awesome!” Laney brightens. “If you’re up for it, I’ll pass your info along. He might be able to get you to speak with human resources later this afternoon.”
“Thank you!” I jump up and pull them both into a hug. “You have no idea how grateful I am.” I check my phone. “Perfect. I’ve got two minutes to get to my first class.”
“Me, too.” Baya scoops up her things. “What do you have?”
“Pre-Business, Entrepreneurial Management.”
“So do I!” She hops a little too exuberantly.
“Let’s get out of here. I’d hate to be late for the first class.” I wave to Laney. “See you at the Black Bear.”
“Wait”—she calls—“give me your number!”
I shoot her my number and take off into the crisp winter air. A new semester. A new beginning.
Baya and I stride over toward the business department. The bare branches of the maples reach to the sky with their skeletal frames. The lavender pink sky fills in the background with its early morning blush. I can see the new buds, still tight in their cocoons, promising something brilliant and wonderful just around the corner. It’s as if the entire world is promising something better, something new. Spring semester has thrust itself in our face like a delicious pie we should take careful savoring bites of.
But all I want to take a bite out of—all I can think about—is Wyatt James.
The man who told me no.
* * *
Entrepreneurial Management holds the promise of being long and droning. But thankfully, there’s not a hint of Will anywhere to be seen.
The doorway darkens with a tall, beanpole of a familiar boy, and I sink in my seat.
“Spoke too soon.”
“What?” Baya whispers sliding in close. “Is that—?” Her eyes flick from him to me. “Is that the cheat?”
“That would be the twerp in question.” I cringe as he heads in our direction.
“Morning ladies.” He sits down in the row in front of us, that familiar cologne of his wafts over as if it too were waving a friendly hello. It’s sweet, too overbearingly sweet. I’ve told him that on several occasions. I made it a po
Neither Baya nor I return the greeting, instead we focus our attention on the professor who just cleared her throat for attention.
Professor Nicholson is a young, beautiful woman with her hair pulled back in a tight ballet bun and librarian rectangular glasses, sort of a cliché in and of herself because you can tell she’s drop dead gorgeous beneath all those academic layers. Here she’s simply a caricature of her real self. It’s funny because I’m almost certain I’d never have that thought about a man. A man could never be a caricature of himself in a university setting. We would never say I bet he’s drop dead gorgeous when he’s not hiding under all those layers of academia as if his glasses, his pocket protector, were simply props for the classroom. Women seem to have a lot more alleyways that lead back to stereotypical conjectures—the slutty librarian—the naughty teacher. It’s as if we can never fully be one without society wanting to peg us as the other—but only if you’re beautiful. Beauty is never the curse, it’s the sexualization that comes with it.
“Penny for your thoughts.”
I blink back to reality to find that Will has snaked his way beside me.
Crap.
“I’m having deep thoughts about the hyper-sexualization of women. Hint, your kind doesn’t bode well in this philosophical debate. Buzz off.”
“Buzz off?” he mouths looking slightly stymied by my word choice. I figured fuck off might raise a brow, turn a head, garner the attention of the professor in a manner I’m not interested in. Buzz off I can say all day without offending anyone but Will. I like that. Target offenses are my new pet project whenever Will has the balls to pop up in my life.
Professor Nicholson claps her hands. “I would like each of you to spend the next half hour meeting your classmates and breaking off into small groups of two or three. The goal this semester is to start a business with your partner or partners and have it up and functioning with a profit margin by semester’s end. You’ll be graded on your progress along the way. The team with the most sales will be awarded a ten thousand dollar cash prize, donated to the university by alumni, to be split among your group.”