#yes it's indeed for a my candy love high school life au

[idk-i-want-mcl-content]

monster high ocs save me

save me

save me monster high ocs

[ryctone]

Okay but with all the hype for the new event I forgot I made a Dark Choco & Croissant fic based on @the-wereraven's Golden Child!AU lol;;

Srry if the pace is weird I wrote this when it was late and I just wanted to write fluff of these two; Also Raven, I put some of my headcanons in these hope u don’t mind TwT.

(Warnings: Fluff, so much fluff and Dark Choco being a good older brother for a sick lil Croissant. YOU’VE BEEN WARNED.) enjoy!

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The prince carried himself with elegance and grace. So much in fact, that his metal shoes touched the yellow-stone flooring with utter gentleness, soft and delicate as a trail of kisses. Despite the circumstances.

He didn't expect to receive a letter from the Cheese Kingdom that day, even less being informed that Golden Cheese's daughter; his pupil, was sick. Dark choco just had to see for himself, specially after how... peculiar this sickness was. He just wanted to make sure she was okay.

The guards at the door were already familiar with the heir of the Cacao Kingdom, since both their rulers are very close allays and knew he'd do no harm to the already i'll princess, granted him access to pay her a visit.

He entered the room and was greeted by-

“Hi, Choo.” came a little voice, muffled by the many blankets covering it before slowly revealing a little freckled face with golden eyes. Dark Choco paused mid-step, then smiled to himself.

Princess Croissant Cookie wasn’t just any cookie, that was certain. In the years since first being instated as his pupil of the throne by Golden Cheese herself; to show the young princess of Cheese Valley the ropes of ruling when the times comes; she had gone onward and upwards in proving her virtue and worth at such a young age, making for herself a dear place in the prince’s heart.

“Yes, it’s me. Hello Croissant!” The long haired prince proceeds to sit at the edge of the sumptuous bed.

“It’s really nice...that you’re here.” It was not the usual voice the little cookie addressed him with. Not the un-selfconscious, innocent delight and adoration of Croissant’s voracious curiosity. Rather, this was the voice that croaked and groaned, miserable enough to get the week off from school and not even enjoy it, though being Croissant, fell a little short. She had never enjoyed missing out on learning for anything, as Dark Choco well knew.

It hadn’t been the first time the prince had nursed his student through an illness, though it had been a while since the last time, and the fact this wasn't a normal sickness.

“I’m really glad you’re here. Thank you.”

The innocent sincerity touched Dark Choco, as it always did. “Of course, Cross. Your mom sent word to me as soon she knew too. You were quick to figure it out.”

The sick golden child made an aimless, sweeping gesture with her hand. “The first hundred degrees I went above normal were a bit of a clue. Candyneritus!” she suddenly exclaimed, knocking a few beetle and bird plushies about the floor.

“Candyneritus!” the little cookie cried out again. “Candynnnnnerrrrriiiiiiitus!” Dark Choco feared his student slipping into a moment of delirium. “I’m sorry,” Croissant said sullenly. “Is mom okay? I hope I got away from that sick cakehound quick enough.” She groaned and turned over.

“She is. She doesn't seem to have any symptoms according to the nurses. But is best to keep her out of your range until you’re feeling better and it can be disinfected completely.”

The freckled cookie nodded. “I hope she’s not worried...” she worried aloud.

“Only as much as you are.” Dark Choco said warmly.

“How do I even catch a Cakehound disease anyway? I’ve never heard of it happening, or read of it, or even read a story about it! Even for you, Choo, this has to be a first.” 

Dark Choco accommodated the shifted blankets to cover his little student. “Indeed it is, I’ve never heard of it, let alone seen it happen.”

Croissant gave a throaty chuckle, which quickly descended into a cough. “It shouldn’t even be possible. It’s too terrible to be allowed. I’m all achy and dizzy and shakey...and that’s not even a real adjective! Or is it an adverb?” Croissant grumbled and kicked some of her blankets off. “...I’m cold now,” she intoned quietly. “I’m sorry, choo.”

“Don’t think anything of it, Cross. You’re not well.” the prince said as he tucked her in with her blankets once more.

“I know. I’m trying to think straight, but I’m sick and tired of being sick and tired.”

“If you’d rather sleep, I could—”

“No! Please, stay?” Her winged form scrambled and scooped her way through the blankets and pillows until she was more or less grabbing Dark Choco's arm. Her wide, wobbling eyes pleaded wantonly. She shivered, then buried her head in the remaining cushions that weren't on the floor to keep warm.

“Croissant. It’s alright. I'm here.” He said in a reassuring tone, seeing her act like this breaks his heart a little.

“I think it’s my high magic quotient,” she said irritably into the fluffy pillows. “Anycookie would be immune, because cakehounds are really magical too, so any flu that targeted them would have to be adapted specifically for that. The Candyneritus thinks I’m a cakehound, so now my body thinks it is one too, and is fighting it that way. My magic is tricking itself.”

Dark Choco paused, then looked back to his student. “That was surprisingly succinct.”

“Well, I am sick, but that doesn’t mean—” She sneezed. The thick, viscous kind of sneeze perpetrated by only the true mucous exporter. Right in Dark Choco’s face. Croissant looked more sheepish than an actual cotton candy sheep. Dark Choco just casually whipped it out with a gloved hand; he has to remind himself to clean up later.

“I was actually considering much along those lines as well.”

It might have just been the fever, but Croissant’s eyes took on a particular shine. “You mean it?”

“I do.”

“I think like you do? I always,—I mean, I wondered and maybe, maybe I hoped that...I’m glad.” Her head and eyelids sank respectively. “Choo?”

“Yes?”

“I know...I know I’m not really thinking straight, and I’m kind of scared and everything’s still hurt, but...but...”

“I love you.”

Dark Choco drew a gasp. Suddenly his poise and calm were fleeting things before him.

“I love you. You’re like the brother I never had. And...and...and usually I’m so worried about one thing or another, or thinking things through so much, but...but, I can barely hear myself think right now. I’m just babbling, but it’s nice for once not thinking and just saying.”

“Cross.”

The winged child found the strength to dredge her head up from the pillow. “I love you, and I don’t say that enough and maybe no cookie says it enough even though we mean to, and especially not enough to you because you’re so much, so amazing, and for everything I’ve done and been and learned... Everything I’ve learned, and I find out there’s two more things I didn’t know and-”

“Croissant.”

“...and how much you’ve done for me, because maybe a tower full of books is what I used to think was the biggest gift to me you ever gave, but I’m just a silly, sick cookie and when I’m better I’m going to be so embarrassed but I want to say it anyway, because it wasn’t the tower or the books that means so much; it’s every time you make me smile, or inspire me, or challenge me to grow, and I realize now that you’ve been treating me my whole life as... Me, and not just a spoiled lil' princess to put in a pedestal and I love you for everything and why am I crying and smiling at the same time?”

Exhausted, Croissant dropped softly to her caramel-colored bed. The occasional tear going down her cheeks with a sniff. “And now I’m scared,” she whispered. “Because I don’t know what’ll happen once I’m through the fever or if I’ll even—”

“Cheese Croissant Cookie” Dark Choco said, being firm yet gentle with his tone. “It’ll be okay. I’m here, and I won’t leave you. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“But how—”

“Don’t concern yourself with that. You just get some rest and I’ll be right here.” Croissant sniffled and shivered. “Just sleep now.”

“I think...” she mumbled as her eyes drooped. “I think I can, now. I’m not so afraid with you here. I’m glad I said what I said.” 

“Sleep, Cross. I’ll watch over you.” Croissant murmured something as she sank softly into sleep. After a little while and in the privacy of the utterly spacious room, Dark Choco smiled.

“I love you too.” He whispered to the sleeping little cookie before him. Dark Choco listened to Croissant’s breathing and, in the glow of the setting sun outside the window, felt himself richer than all the marbled cheese towers.

[elexica]

Last Chance Christmas - Chapter 1 {{December 20}}

In honor of the season, I’m pointing my fic Second Chance Christmas on Ao3, and cross posting here! Summary:  The radio had droned on about an incoming polar vortex. How could the weatherman have known that his ex-husband would be on the plane? - - - Following an acrimonious divorce, Joey and Kaiba have managed to co-parent the kids without seeing each other for three years. After Kaiba is caught in a blizzard, Joey is forced to spend the holiday with his ex-husband, and confront certain feelings that he thought were dead. Tags: Jounouchi Katsuya | Joey Wheeler/Kaiba Seto, Kaiba Seto, Jounouchi Katsuya | Joey Wheeler, Tenjouin Fubuki | Atticus Rhodes, Tenjouin Asuka | Alexis Rhodes, Getting Back Together, Post-Divorce, Reconciliation, Family Fluff, Family Feels, Family Drama, Dysfunctional Family, Christmas Romance, Christmas Fluff, Fluff, Domestic, Fluff and Angst, rekindling relaitonship, Christmas Angst, No infidelity!, AU-gust 2020, ygocollablove

Other notes:  Kaiba and Joey were married and have two children – Alexis and Attius (from GX, but you do not need to see GX). This is a get-together-again fic. The divorce was not amicable, but no cheating/infidelity. They’re about 40 in the fic, in honor of them being 40 in 2020 if they were 15 in 1995. Joey is half-American, and his mom and Serenity live in New York, too.

Chapter one under the read more! 

The sleet fell heavily against the car, turning the view through the windshield into an impressionist painting of abstract asphalt and splotchy red break lights.  The drives to the private airport in Westchester were always the worst.  Even though Kaiba rarely accompanied the kids on the flight from Japan, even the haunting proximity to the shiny private jets and the trappings of his ex put Joey on edge.  Not because he longed to be driving the expensive cars parked in the lot or any other petty envy, but because the whole place always reeked of Kaiba’s ghost.  How the man could haunt the freeways and tangled overpasses from thousands of miles away was yet another unsettling superpower of his ex-husband.

The sleet, the traffic, and the eerie nature of the drive allowed frustrated ruminations to wind their way into Joey’s head.  Like the suction cups on the edges of an octopus’s tentacles, little doubts and regrets clung to his mind.

Was it petty to fly the kids back and forth from Japan in the dead of winter for only a week?  Yes, of course it was.  But the custody arrangement hadn’t even demanded that Joey allow that week.  The kids were in school in New York, and it was his year to spend Christmas with them.  They spent the full summer break in Japan every year.  It was Joey’s only time of year—and even then, only every other year—where they all could spend time off together.  He didn’t want to give it up without a fight.  And Joey was still a fighter.

When Mokuba had announced his wedding date for the first week of the kids’ Winter break, Joey was so tempted to force some other concession out of Kaiba.  Joey had been invited as well, but the thought of attending turned his stomach something fierce.  He could see it in his minds’ eye: watching his family, his children, and his closest friends, dressed to the nines, celebrating something so pure.  And him, looking at the ruins of the most significant relationship of his life.  It felt like a mockery, to stand there and watch Mokuba enter a beautiful marriage while he stewed in the wreckage of his own.  Plus, Joey’s self-destructive streak was supposed to have died with his relationship.

So, what remained was that precious promise: every other winter break.  And this one was his.  Sure, his ex-husband was one of the greatest negotiators in the business world, but Joey had thrilled, just a little, and with more than a little guilt, at the thought of bringing him to his knees over this.  The opening was his to take.

He hadn’t quite calculated all the way out—indeed, the long game was Seto’s specialty.  And once Atticus had been informed that he would be both a performer at his uncle’s wedding reception, it was game over for Joey.

Of course, that was so Kaiba, ever on the offensive, always flipping the script.  Stuck negotiating over Christmas and coming to this frustrating solution.  He was a cruel rival and a bitter adversary.  An altogether dreadful ex-husband.

Weaponizing Atticus’s precious enthusiasm was a perfect move.  Which left Joey messing with the logistics and driving in this awful weather.

. . .

The radio had droned on about an incoming polar vortex.  How could the weatherman have known that his ex-husband would be on the plane?

Joey hadn’t noticed him at first—he was too busy catching Atticus’s tackle hug, and patting Alexis gently on the head.  All that warmth and love had blinded him to the frigid bastard standing at the other side of the gate.

But one his heart was full again, the primal part of Joey’s brain was triggered.  Like he could sense the predator lurking, he looked up and saw those stupidly long limbs.  He’d know that silhouette from a mile away.  “What’re you doin’ here?” Joey shouted.  It was so reflexive that he forgot to hide the vitriol from the kids.

Kaiba stalked over slowly, as if he was trying to take too long, waste all of Joey’s time.  “Waiting on my return flight plan,” Kaiba said.  His voice had gotten more gravelly over the years, but his cadence remained  almost robotic.

“Alexis was scared of flying home in the storm!” Atticus laughed, still embracing his father.  “And she said the only way she’d fly back was if Oto-san promised he’d pilot!  It was so cool dad!  Did you know he could fly planes?!”

Joey forced his mouth into a pinched smile.  “I did know that.  That was very nice of him.”

Kaiba looked at him.  “The children anticipated being in New York for Christmas.  I am still a man of my word.”  Joey wondered if he was tired from the 14 hour flight—he certainly didn’t look any worse for wear.  

Frankly, he didn’t look much different than the last time he had seen him, three years before.  He was still unfairly trim and perfectly composed.  The only noticeable changes were the introduction of a few grey hairs, scattered among the deep brown and a pair of wire-frame glasses that looked like he’d always had them.  His black turtleneck was as clean and tight fitting against the prominent muscles of his shoulders and chest as it had been.  His dark jeans were still the same stupid level of tight that looked a little like he hadn’t realized he wasn’t a teenager anymore.  Between the black Armani loafers and black Burberry trench, he looked like he was about to return to a casual Friday in the Financial District and get drinks at the most expensive bar he could find.

Joey had not anticipated seeing anyone other than his kids, and maybe Isono, and felt instantly exposed.  Without the pressure of having to be Kaiba’s arm candy at events, Joey had put on a fair amount of weight, and settled into something of a dad-bod.  He was wearing his comfiest jeans and a puffy winter coat.  The worst part was the recognition in Kaiba’s eyes—it was the same coat he’d had when they were living together, only more faded and a little tattered at the edges and unzipped.  It revealed a shirt that he’d acquired as a volunteer at a concert-fundraiser for Atticus’s youth orchestra.  It was an unnecessarily bright green, mercifully faded by the washing machine.  His white chunky sneakers looked just like ones he had in high school—and only a little less scuffed up.  Overall, the look was one meant for a quick trip to the grocery store, and the last thing he’d wanted be wearing to see his ex-husband for the first time in years.  Joey braced for some comment to that effect.

“Well, I’m glad they’re here.  We should get going, after all—how many days are there until Christmas?” Joey asked Alexis.

“Five!” She announced.

“Yep!  And the tree isn’t even up yet!”  Joey said, in mock shock, and smiled at the kids’ surprised faces.

While Atticus was bemoaning how much crucial Christmas celebrating needed to be done in the next five days, a member of the airport staff approached Kaiba.  Kaiba stepped away to discuss the flight plan, but Joey kept an ear out.  It’s not eavesdropping if it’s your ex-husband, after all.

“Mr. Kaiba, this airport is being closed, effective immediately.  The entire metropolitan area is bracing for a significant blizzard, and you are absolutely not cleared to fly.”

Joey couldn’t make out his husband’s harsh whispers, but relished in how they were tinged with a light panic.  At least the bastard was freaking out a little.  It felt nicer than he would ever admit to know that he made his terrifying ex-husband a little scared.

“Mr. Kaiba, we cannot permit that.  I will personally be turning off all lights on the runway and not approving any plans that you submit.  It could not possibly be worth dying to avoid spending a few days in New York.”

“That is not your determination to make!”  Kaiba’s voice was slightly heated, which was another signal that Joey had gotten to him.

“I’m sorry sir.  You are a valued customer, but it would be deadly for you to depart at this time, and I refuse to be a part of such a flight plan.  As soon as I can permit take-off, I will personally contact you.”

With that terse statement, the administrator marched off.

Kaiba stared at the ground with a combination of fury and focus.  After a few terse breaths, he whipped out his phone and began tapping away.

Joey was about to tell the kids to say Goodbye Oto-san!  But deep down, Joey had done the math too.

“Dad, is Oto-san going to be able to stay with us for Christmas?” Alexis said, looking up with pleading eyes.  “Like we’re a family again?”

Alexis was smart as hell, and even at age six was a master of strategy.  Someday, Joey thought, she’ll be devastatingly skilled at Duel Monsters.  Today, she was inconveniently cunning.

“It depends on what arrangements he wants to make,” Joey deflected, hating that an offer slipped through the cracks.

Kaiba looked up from his phone.  For a second, he did look a bit tired from the flight.  From his life.  It was humanizing, and Joey tried to discard it.

“I could stay in a hotel in Manhattan, and visit,” Kaiba proposed, grip on the phone like a vice.

“That’s not what families do…” Alexis whined.

Kaiba’s jaw clenched.  Joey was familiar with this face—Kaiba was acutely aware of his compromised position.  It felt like they’d never finished the dreaded conversation.  The energy that hung in the air was the same as that trite explanation of divorce.

It still was sickening when Atticus echoed the conversation from three years prior.  “We’re still a family, Lexi.  But Dad and Oto-san can’t stay in the same house anymore because it isn’t—”

It was too much, and Joey couldn’t help himself, “Of course your Oto-san can spend Christmas at the house.  If that’s what he wants.”

“If I’m cleared to fly back to Domino sooner, of course I should return to work,” Kaiba answered the unspoken question, and trailed the group back to the car.  Atticus was already sharing stories of how well his performance at the wedding had gone.

. . .

The house was a nice house—large enough, with a pretty backyard and a pool in a good neighborhood.  It had more expansive grounds when they had been together, but the family didn’t even use the stables or tennis courts, and Joey had sold them off to people who would actually enjoy them.  Kaiba had forced his hand when it came to the mortgage and upkeep, but other than the house and the kids’ schooling expenses, Joey had refused any formal alimony.

At the time, Joey had thought it was a brilliant plan.  If Kaiba really wanted to value his work over all else, then he would have to suffer through watching all of that effort not change a damn thing for his family.  Joey refused to be truly dependent, fifteen years of the golden handcuffs had been more than enough.

Now it was a little embarrassing that the house hadn’t changed a bit more.  Since Kaiba had been gone, more of the children’s artwork graced the ornate walls.  No interior decorators had been hired, so any new pieces of furniture clashed with the pre-existing scheme.  It looked more lived-in, and Joey tried to take some pride in that.

Kaiba was examining a particularly poor crayon representation of the Red Eyes Black Dragon.  The scale was completely off: the face was much too big and the eyes bulged grotesquely.

“Don’t say anything mean,” Joey whispered harshly at Kaiba.  He was shocked when Kaiba obeyed him.  “Now, who wants hot chocolate?” Joey offered, and the kids practically cheered.  Atticus was en route to the kitchen already.  “Seto, could you start a fire in the living room?”

Kaiba nodded, turning towards the room from perfect memory.

The milk was quickly heated, and the cocoa mix dissolved like magic, swirling into a pleasant warm desert within minutes.  Joey had wondered if Kaiba would come into the kitchen to join the family, but he remained in the living room.  The kids ran off to the playroom to mess with whatever new game Yugi had sent them home with.

In the soft lighting of the warm fire, Kaiba looked frustratingly, devastatingly, untouched by time.  In brighter lights the fine webbing under his eyes and frustrated crease between his brows brought attention to forty years of an overburdened life.

But instead the fire burned away the years.  With his glasses stowed away, he looked like the exact same man who he had fought with in the same damn seats three years ago.  Hell, he looked like the same man he’d dueled on the beach of Duelist Kingdom island.

“How much do you want?” Kaiba had asked in that god-awful conversation.  Kaiba spoke coldly, as if it wasn’t his husband standing before him but an uppity secretary demanding a raise.

Joey had the messy manilla folder out.  The old prenup looked fresh other than the creased corner, the bends around the staple proving that someone had read it.

Without a word, he handed it over to his husband.  Kaiba skimmed it, eyes quick and calculating.  Then he tossed it in the fire.

“You’ve always been a terrible negotiator,” Kaiba said, pouring a bit more whiskey in the glass on the coffee table.  The liquor was erasing the bored look in his eye.  For the first time in a long time, Kaiba’s glare looked a little unhinged to Joey.  Like he was as a teenager—barely suppressing his manic energy.  Kaiba took a long, slow sip of his drink before returning to the conversation.  “I’m not trying to hold out on the father of my children.”

“Say what you want, and it’s yours.” Kaiba’s words sounded completely empty of passion, drive.  Everything that Joey had fallen in love with.

The combination of venom and possession in those words made Joey’s blood boil.  How impersonal, as if there was no other important relationship there.  Nothing else that he could recognize.  Just the father of my children, like a job title.  And wasn’t that just like Kaiba?  Generosity as the ultimate weapon.  Proving he cared so little for the entire situation by abdicating any role.  Take whatever you want—none of it matters anyway.

With the paperwork in flames, Joey’s lawyer would have told him that he was entitled to half of everything his husband owned, including those valuable shares of Kaiba Corp.  If Joey had been thinking cruelly and carefully, he might have realized then what he only contemplated years later: that he had been the only person who could have taken Kaiba Corporation away from Seto Kaiba without a fight.  Those shares and the right collaborator… Joey could have taken the whole thing in a matter of months.  Ousted Kaiba, put his ex of the street.  Reminded Kaiba what that felt like.

But of course, Kaiba had played three steps ahead, and even his evaluation of Joey’s demands was insightful.  He had correctly assumed that Joey wanted nothing to do with the company.

“I don’t want any money.  I don’t need it.  I can figure something out on my own.  I don’t need you for that,” Joey said.  Honda had been pissed at him about it when Joey had called the next morning to tell him that terrible bargaining position.  Honda supported any way to make sure that Kaiba got the fullest “Fuck You” that Joey could manage, but he was floored that Joey wanted to have to work, and budget, and live like he hadn’t spent the last fifteen years of his life in a world where money was ethereal, unimportant.  So plentiful that it had lost absolutely all value and meaning.

Kaiba laughed villainously into the whiskey, campfire scent bubbling up.  “Keep the house.  Our children shouldn’t have to move.  This is more instability than they deserve anyway.”

Joey didn’t push the issue.  The instability stung, and the fact that he repeated his parent’s pattern of getting divorced with young children was absolutely searing on his heart.  Instead of mourning, he let the bitterness curdle.  And Joey couldn’t help remarking, “I’d be surprised if they noticed a difference.”

Kaiba said nothing, kept his face schooled in that icy way that sickened the blond.  But it was imperfect to the skilled observer, and his eyes heated up, eyelids becoming just a little wider.

“They should continue to attend their current schools, this cannot interfere with their education,” Kaiba droned, as if it was just another term of a perfectly standard consumer contract.  “And they should spend the summer in Domino.  We can switch off for the winter holidays.”

Part of Joey was waiting for Kaiba to suggest that they split the kids up.  A perfect 50/50 of the children.  It was the worst thing that Joey could think to do, really.  Shove in Joey’s face that he had made the same mistakes as his parents, had learned nothing.  Demonstrate, viscerally, that Joey was going to dissolve their marriage and hurt his kids in the same way that he had been hurt.

But it never came.  In the moment Joey felt so defensive.  So certain that Kaiba would exploit every vulnerability—that was the man he knew.  Ruthless in every sense.

In the years that passed, Joey realized that he wouldn’t have married someone so evil that he’d do that.  That Kaiba’s own pain should have been enough to guarantee he had no interest in splitting the siblings.  But in the battleground that their living room had become, Joey couldn’t trust anything.          

“Fine.  But otherwise, I don’t want to see a cent of your goddamn money.”

This line, which Joey had considered so fucking crystal clear became the core of their most prominent post-break-up arguments.

Joey had always been a crowd favorite at the kids’ daycare, and his transition to part-time employee was seamless.  A quick mention of the divorce was all that it took to silence any lingering questions.  He was good with kids, warm and patient, and he wasn’t far from his own.  The job paid enough, the hours weren’t demanding.

After Kaiba had returned to Domino City full time, the economics of the problem became apparent.

Simply put, the mansion upkeep was entirely unreasonable on Joey’s salary.  Everyone was aware of this, especially Joey.  He was planning on letting the gardens narrow to a level that he could manage on the weekends, drop the security teams, just let everything mellow out.  The household manager was fired on day one.  The maids on day two.  The house was never as spotless, but the traces of dust and dirt were a small price to pay for the lived-in feel that grew.

But the bills never arrived.  No emails, no letters, clearly they were rerouted.  Gardeners that Joey had fired showed up Monday, as if they hadn’t gotten the news.  No house staff returned without a request, and Joey really was going to let it slide.

But the next month Joey received a notice that the utilities had been overpaid.  Not by a terribly extravagant amount, but by about a thousand dollars.  Joey knew better, but he resisted looking the gift horse in the mouth for just one month and accept the refund.

The next month, the refund doubled, and Joey wasn’t going to take it.  When Kaiba answered the phone, Joey didn’t even give him the opportunity to pick a greeting.

“I told you, I don’t want the money.  I’m gonna send it back to you, what’s the address again?” Joey demanded.

“Put it in the children’s trusts.  Put it towards—” Kaiba’s answer was harsh and quick.

“I don’t want the money, Kaiba.  I don’t need it.  They don’t need it.  We’re fine without it.”  Without you, Joey almost shouted.  But Kaiba was smart enough, right?  He should be able to understand that much.

“Fine.”  Kaiba hung up first to spite Joey’s victory, but the refunds on the utilities stopped.  Over the last few years there were a couple more schemes.  Refunds from the school.  Overpaid property taxes.   Every time Joey whined to Honda, his friend told him to give up and just take it.

But Yugi had a different guess.  Yugi pointed out that, well, every time Kaiba came up with a new way to slip money to Joey, Joey called to clear it up.

“I don’t know how many people he talks to, Jounouchi-kun, but maybe… he just wants to call.”

What an entirely too human thing for Joey’s ex-husband to do.  “He has my number, if he wants to talk, he can try, instead of buying it.”

Yugi had shrugged and wisely changed the subject.  The whole thing left an odd taste in Joey’s mouth.  Even though Joey was the one who had asked for the divorce, Kaiba had done his utmost to seem entirely unaffected by the whole thing.  Joey had been prepared for a knock down, drag out fight.  Instead, Kaiba kept such an impartial face, it was as if the dissolution of their union didn’t perturb him in the slightest.  As if it were some sort of contract terminated at inconvenient time, and no more.

Mind returning to the present, Joey scanned Kaiba’s face in the glow of the fire for any sign of humanity.  Any indication that their separation had bothered Kaiba just a fraction of the way it had hurt Joey.

Finding none, Joey handed off the warm mug of hot cocoa.  If Kaiba realized it wasn’t coffee, it didn’t show on his face.

“So, anyone miss me at the wedding?”

Kaiba gulped down some “Your friends were there, of course.  I think they would have preferred to see you than me.” Kaiba took another pensive sip at the cocoa mug.  “Atticus was right.  His piano performance was excellent.”

Kaiba pulled out his phone.  The screensaver of a Blue Eyes White Dragon melted into a sea of icons.  KC must have released a new model in the intervening years.  Joey took a bit of joy in the fact that he hadn’t even noticed.

The screen dissolved into Kaiba’s photo album within a few taps.  The grid was full of almost identical images of their kids at the wedding, and Kaiba had to scroll for a bit before tracking down a video.  It pricked at Joey’s chest, just a touch, to see how many duplicate photos Kaiba had taken of the little subjects.

Finally, Kaiba pressed play and there was nine-year-old Atticus, fluffy brown hair tamed in the back just barely in a tiny low ponytail.  Between the hair and his light blue suit, he looked like a baby Mozart, Joey thought.

The image of him at the white grand piano began to move, and the boy played some classical music that Joey couldn’t identify if his life depended on it.  It sounded pleasant, the notes flowing and smooth—clearly the little guy had been taking his lessons seriously.

“He is good, huh?” Joey smiled, looking at Kaiba.  The radiant satisfaction in Kaiba’s eyes hurt to look at for too long.

Kaiba handed him the phone and stood up.  “I’ll check on them.  They’ve been quiet for too long, I don’t trust it.”  Kaiba rose with his usual dignity.  Even without the trench coat, the man swept out of the room with such presence.  For better or worse, Joey’s house had lost the melodrama without him marching about.

His ex-husband’s phone sat heavy in his hands.  The new release was slim, all flawless and shiny and new.  It was a little hot.  And it was unlocked.  He could search through anything—did Kaiba really still trust him that much?

Joey smirked, and continued to look through the wedding pictures.  The rest of the reception looked very precious.  There were many attempts to capture a decent shot of Mokuba and his new wife Yui smiling with the kids.  From the number of goofy pictures and the relative paucity of serious ones, it had been an uphill battle for Kaiba to get one decent picture that he could put on his desk.

The next series appeared to be taken by Atticus, a legendary phone thief, and was largely shots of Kaiba’s arms and hands grasping for his phone.  Joey’s own phone had more than enough pictures like that, and sometimes he couldn’t bring himself to delete them either.

There were a couple of cute shots of Alexis challenging Yugi to a duel.  She could read the majority of the cards.  Joey didn’t know how she convinced Kaiba to let her bring her duel disk to the wedding, but he was always a sucker for the kids.

There were some pictures what were just Kaiba and Mokuba, and Joey couldn’t help but gaze at his ex-husband.  Standing next to his brother with that small smile that looked so hauntingly like the photo in Mokuba’s locket.

They weren’t teenagers, but the pang in Joey’s chest was not convinced.  

The next few photos hurt even more, just Kaiba and the kids.  Alexis, duel disk still strapped faithfully to her arm, appeared to have requested to be held, and Atticus stood in front making little peace signs and sticking his tongue out.

Kaiba was smiling that tiny, genuine way—still.  Through rows of photos, he didn’t stop, except for a few when Atticus jumped to try and steal his sister’s duel disk.

Joey’s eyes pricked with tears, and all of that curiosity was silenced.  He had meant to do some snooping—follow up on some headlines about a secret lover that Honda had sent him—but any curiosity was stamped out.

Joey decided it was because he was sad to miss their friends, not their life together.  And that everyone had been playing quietly for too long.  He abandoned the phone on the couch to see what had happened in the playroom.

The playroom was a nice, cute space.  Light blue walls, big windows facing the gardens, plush tan carpeting.  Back when they had maids, the room was always tidy, but now Joey had given up.  It was for the kids to play in, anyway, so if the train set and crayons and common Duel Monsters cards littered the floor, who really cared.  Against the wall, there was a fairly large grey couch that had seen better days.

It was almost too much, to see Kaiba, passed out with a book in his lap, and the kids on either side snoring away.  Alexis’ hair dripped over the side of the couch.  Atticus was leaning against his father.  Joey leaned over to collect Alexis first to take her to her bedroom.

The soft vision was hard to face, and Joey couldn’t resist the simple thought that “this is what I wanted.”

At the movement, Kaiba stirred.

Joey resisted smiling at the spacey, sleepy face.  Kaiba blinked tiredly, slowly collecting himself and gathering his bearings.  It took quite a lot of effort.  “I’m putting them to bed,” Joey said.  Kaiba nodded and ruffled Atticus’s hair.

By the time Atticus had been dropped off at his room, Kaiba was missing.  But Joey had a decent guess where to find him.

. . .

“So, who’s the secret lover?” Joey asked, wandering into the room that had once been Seto’s study.  Joey hadn’t changed anything about it.  He hadn’t even removed the decanter of expensive Japanese whiskey or the two crystal glasses that sat next to it.  To be honest, he hadn’t spent time in the room at all, except occasionally dusting when he remembered.  After the kids were asleep, it was Seto’s usual haunt back in the day.  Seto was nothing if not a man of certain preferences.

The decanter was already wide open, and Seto was making significant progress in draining it.  He looked quite at home for a man who had been threatening to stay in a hotel.  His cheeks were just a little flushed and Joey could tell the liquor was affecting him because Seto laughed at Joey’s comment.

“Please.  You don’t have some sort of web alert on my name, do you?” Kaiba said, raising his glass like there was something to celebrate.

“Nah.  But Honda does,” Joey answered, and was rewarded with another one of Kaiba’s signature cackles.  It was close enough to friendly that Joey decided to take the companion chair in the study.  Joey hadn’t sat in that chair even once in the three years since Kaiba’s departure.  Leaning into the plush velvet, he realized he had missed it.

“Of course.  There is no one, naturally, just that endless speculation.  A man continues to take care of his appearance and he can never do it for his professional image and personal health,” Kaiba pulled his phone from his pocket, scrolling absently.  “It must be for a lover.”  The echo of blue light from the phone contrasted the warm yellow light from the study’s art-nouveau inspired banker’s lamps.  It traced Kaiba’s high cheekbones in a flattering manner.  It made Joey instantly more insecure about his own softer face.

Between the baggy sweatpants and charitable flannel bathrobe, he felt like no one would accuse him of taking up a new lover.  If anything, he had spotted a few unflattering headlines in the last couple of years.  The attention died off dramatically after Kaiba was all the way out of the picture.  “Well, I’m sure you’re not worried about me finding anyone else.  Don’t think anyone’s interested these days, I kinda let myself go.”

Kaiba’s eyes snapped away from his phone and back to Joey with a fierceness that Joey hadn’t expected.  “First of all, I do not tolerate anyone talking about the father of my children that way,” Kaiba spat, the liquor making him slur the edges of some of the words.  “And second,” Kaiba huffed a short breath, “you really have no idea what’s going on in my head.”

“Y’know what, Kaiba,” Joey challenged, “I really fucking don’t.”

Kaiba downed the rest of the drink.  “I was thinking that you look just as attractive as the day I met you,” and Joey could spot that hunger in his eyes, seductive as ever.  “Your hair is still always tousled, like you’ve been playing outside all the time.”

Kaiba returned his full attention to the decanter.  “And I can’t look in your eyes without my heart absolutely aching,” Kaiba said as he refilled his glass.  He sounded a bit angry to deliver the compliment.

The heat rose in Joey’s cheeks with the compliments.  Joey released a sad little laugh before commenting.  “Why do you gotta hold back on stuff like that ‘cept when you’re drinkin’ or whatever?”

Kaiba didn’t answer.  He put his drink down and leaned in, so close that the heat of his breath tickled Joey’s cheek.  Kaiba’s hand floated up to Joey’s face, the pad of his thumb running tenderly over the stubble on his jawline.  Those haunted blue eyes saw straight into Joey’s soul.

“Even though you have done nothing but break my heart for the last four years, you are just as irresistible as ever,” Kaiba whispered, before pulling Joey in.  There was no force behind the touch, as if he didn’t quite believe he was allowed to.

Maybe, Joey thought, if he hadn’t had such a dry spell, if he wasn’t so intoxicated by Kaiba’s praise and presence, then Kaiba wouldn’t have been allowed to.  But the combination of loneliness, yearning, and unspoken regret was too heady.  Always, Kaiba had to be too powerful.

And the kiss could have been their first kiss.  It could have been the kiss that sealed their marriage at their wedding.  It could have been the kiss after Joey first saw Kaiba hold Atticus.  The kiss after they brought Alexis home from the hospital.  It was tender and warm and peaceful.  It was so right it felt like nothing had every happened to them, between them.

It was soft, and chaste.  And too loving.

After Kaiba released, he must have noticed the tears that had leaked involuntarily from Joey’s eyes.  The next kiss was not nearly so pure.

For one thing, Kaiba couldn’t seem to resist sticking his hands in Joey’s hair and pulling him in.  If that first kiss was asking for permission, the second was to put Joey on notice that he was going to be devoured whole.  It was hot and the lingering whisky all but burned Joey’s mouth.  The campfire smell was almost too much—a warning that this was a bad idea.  That they were both vulnerable and volatile and misguided.

But that hot mouth once again overpowered good sense.  It always did, after all.  And Joey only broke the make out in order to rise from his seat and straddle Kaiba’s hips in the opulent chair.  It was clumsier than the last time they had done this, and Joey felt a bit insecure and out of shape, too much on display.  But before the could undo his bold move, Kaiba grabbed him by the hips, long fingers artfully playing with the band of his sweatpants, dancing under his shirt and to his back.  Kaiba smoothly scraped his nails down the soft flesh.  Kaiba’s efforts were rewarded with a full body shudder, and he smirked back, as if to say “I’ve still got it.”

Joey moved in for another kiss, just to get that stupid, self-satisfied smirk off of his face.  He was interrupted by his own moan at the sweet sensation of Kaiba grabbing and kneading at his ass.  It was sexy as hell, and he felt so wanted.  Like Kaiba was drinking in every second of his time with him.  Like the last four years had faded away—or maybe never happened.  

Joey knew enough signature moves to reduce his partner to a quivering mess.  He decided to run his own nails over Kaiba’s scalp and was instantly pleased when Kaiba purred into his mouth.  Putty in his hands.

As they proceeded, Kaiba continued to make desperate, needy noises.  After his shifted his hips up and whimpered, Joey determined that something was up.

Well, something else.

After he pulled back and rose shakily to his own feet, he offered a hand to his partner.

Kaiba stumbled.  He caught himself, but only by relying on Joey’s stability.  He looked a little dizzy just to be standing.

“Goddammit.  You’re really drunk Kaiba.  And you probably didn’t even take breaks or shifts on the flight over, so you’re exhausted too,” Joey sighed.

Joey should have caught on faster, should have known better.

“This is so totally you, so fucking classic.  You haven’t changed.  This is why I fucking left, and never looked back.  You’re exhausted and want to pull something and just… I really just get the dregs of you.  Like you give your all to every single thing on earth, anything, so that you’re a mess by the time that you get to me.  I’m the last priority every damn time, below even your desire to fuck off.”

“Jou…” Kaiba said his name on the exhale, and it evaporated in the room.

“You haven’t changed a bit in three years. I’m wasting my breath, you’re too much of a mess to even appreciate this.  But I’ll tell you I feel like you bought me, and our relationship comes last.  I’m your child-rearing assistant, the head nanny, and you don’t even have to try to be my partner.”  Joey could feel his face going read with anger.  “I get the worst of you, every time.”

Kaiba was silent.  One of the most frustrating things about Seto was that no matter what he was going through, the processing power of his mind was rarely genuinely diminished.

“I am a good father.” Kaiba said, more to himself than to Joey.

“Yeah, but you’re a shit husband.”

Joey regretted it the second he said it.  Hearing it out of his mouth felt unpleasant, like he was possessed by someone else.  Someone a lot crueler, more dismissive.

Kaiba had no comment, no stinging rejoinder.  He leaned onto Joey’s shoulder, long brown strands falling against the flannel bathrobe.

“C’mon, you can sleep in the guestroom.” Joey’s arm wound around Kaiba’s waist as he dragged him through the hallway.

[mrsbenedictbridgerton]

Don’t Buy Me No Flowers -Chapter 3

A chance meeting over a crushed bouquet of roses is enough to convince Killian Jones that Emma Swan is the woman for him.

Florist AU

FF.NET / AO3

Henry Mills knew he was a smart kid. Besides being told just that by pretty much every grown up he knew, he also was a lot more self aware than your average eleven year old. Indeed, he looked at other kids his age whose only concerns were computer games and who made the soft ball team and just knew he was different. That isn’t to say he wasn’t interested in the same things they were - he had a lego collection to rival any elementary schooler. But he had passed the age when he was solely wrapped up in himself and instead his awareness of the world, and those around him, was starting to colour his attitudes and behaviour.

He liked to watch other people - kids and adults -figuring out as best he could what was going on in their heads. What motivated them. In that was he was a thinker, an observer, but also a man of action. After all, how many eleven year olds could have not only located their birth mom but then successfully got to their apartment - in another state- with just a pilfered credit card? He was actually even pretty sure his adoptive mom had been somewhat impressed by that, despite the fact she had yelled at him for a good half hour when he finally returned with Emma in tow.

Currently the one person who had taken up a lot of his thinking time was his mom - his birth mom that is. It had only been a few months since she had made the move to be closer to him. Having her around just felt right, like all the time before he had found her, there had been this nagging feeling that he was missing something and now everything just felt… complete. He knew she was happy too. Sometimes he caught her looking at him, when she didn’t think he noticed, with a contented smile on her face.

But, still, there was something missing. He knew she had had a difficult life, she’d told him enough for him to work that out (he was smart, after all). Yet there was something more, loneliness he decided it was. Even though she had him now, she had been by herself for a long time. She reminded him of his other mom and how she had acted before she had found her fiance, Robin. Prickly and defensive. Since she had started dating the local park warden, she had been so much more relaxed. He knew she would deny it but Robin had somehow completed her.

Henry being a problem solver, decided that if he could do something about his other mom’s singleness that would make her happier. It worked for Regina, it should work for her too? He just had to find a suitable guy and Storybrooke wasn’t exactly full of eligible men of the right age. He’d been looking and so far all his efforts had proven that every guy was either way too old, way too young or way too married.

So it was quite unexpected when the opportunity to do something about his mom’s predicament literally walked into him.

Sat upon the mayoral desk, legs dangling, Henry jabbed at his phone, sighing as he saw the time. His mom had promised to take him to the park after her meeting but it seemed to be taking forever. Shoving his phone into his pocket, he decided to take a walk to the vending machine in the lobby area of the town hall. His mom never kept anything other than fruit in her office and right now, he needed candy. He reached for the handle of the etched glass door, just as it swung open, almost slamming him in the face.

“Hey!” he cried, jumping back as an extravagant arrangement of flowers descended upon him.

“Oh!” The large floral display dipped to one side and a smiling face looked down at him. “Sorry lad, didn’t see you there.”

“Clearly,” Henry replied, folding his arms as he assessed the stranger before him. The stranger matched his look, drawing back on his heels as he registered the strangeness of a elementary school kid hanging out in the mayor’s office.

“And you are?” he asked, arching a brow.

“Henry. Henry Mills.”

“As in Mayor Mills?”

“I’m her son,” Henry quipped. “And you are? Other than a florist.”

“Trainee florist, lad. And it’s Killian Jones.”

Killian shifted the bouquet into one arm so he could reach out his right hand. Henry accepted his handshake, it was warm and firm.

“Hmmm.” He gave the trainee florist a cursory look. “And you’re … British?” he asked, an idea just beginning to form in his mind.

“Quite perceptive for a child, aren’t you?” Killian teased as he walked forward and placed the arrangement upon the austere black desk which dominated the room and set the tone for the monochrome, modernist style that Henry’s adoptive mother loved so much. His back to Henry as he primped and rearrange the blooms, he was unaware of the boy’s critical gaze.

Henry was sure he was about the same age as Emma and he was also pretty sure Killian was what she would think was attractive ( and he had an accent - wasn’t that what girls liked? ).

Finally, Killian turned back to face him, a grin brightening up his face. “Listen, I’ve got to be getting back to the shop…”

Shaken from his thoughts, Henry matched Killian's smile, “Cool - great, I mean.”

Killian gave him an odd look, one eyebrow raising.

“Nice to meet you,” Henry added, interlacing his fingers behind his back and trying to look as innocent as possible.

“Aye,” the man nodded as he edged towards the door. “You too lad.”

As the door shut, Henry sighed happily. He knew just how to put a smile on his mom’s face.

He really had the best ideas!

/

Whoever had heard of Teachers Day? Mothers Day, yes. Even Grandparents Day was a thing. Emma had even indulged in National Cheeseburger Day, but this one was new.

Her son had texted her the night before insisting that he needed a bouquet of flowers for his homeroom teacher and that she had to help him choose. (Which she took as meaning he didn’t want to spend his allowance on those flowers.)

She’d waited for him at the bus stop as usual, expecting he’d want to pick out one of the little posies that they sold in the grocery store for such occasions, but no.

“Mom, everyone will have the same ones! Miss Blanchard is special and she deserves real flowers!”

She’d learned quite quickly that arguing with Henry was a tricky proposition. The kid had a comeback for everything. And truthfully, she couldn’t disagree with him right now. His teacher was pretty amazing if the enthusiasm Henry had for his studies was any indication.

“Fine,” she’d sighed, letting him take her hand and drag him down Main Street towards… Frozen Blooms.

A sudden tightness in her chest was accompanied by a breathless sensation that she struggled to place for a moment.

Killian.

Oh God, she thought, quickly assessing her crumpled shirt and unbrushed hair. She hadn’t been counting on seeing him, well, ever. She’d given her number to him a week ago and he hadn’t called. So she’d assumed…

Damn.

Here she was, walking into his place of work again, how would that look? Hell, she could only hope he wasn’t working. She could pray he had the day or the afternoon off. She wasn’t great with rejection, even in the ambiguous circumstances of a number given upon a paper napkin after the strangest non-date lunch date. Her mind was full of these thoughts, Henry walking in step beside her… when suddenly, Henry broke into a run, his backpack bouncing round as he raced with unexpected speed towards the store. It took Emma a moment to react, muttering a soft ‘urgh’ before she raced after her son.

 /

By mid afternoon Elsa had already left for the day. She’d been gradually reducing her hours and with only four weeks left until she gave birth Killian was thankful that she was finally taking the time to rest. He also saw it as confirmation that she trusted him with her business, which gave him an unexpected feeling of pride. He was spending the afternoon going through the accounts for the month ahead, getting a feel for the responsibilities he would be taking on while Elsa took her maternity leave.

When the door to the store sprang open, the bell clattering loudly, Killian quickly raised his head. He opened his mouth to speak but the kid in the doorway beat him to it.

“Killian!” the boy smiled, stomping into the store, straight towards the countertop where Killian was reviewing the next day’s bookings.

“Hello… lad,” Killian replied, his surprise barely masked. After a moment’s pause he added, “Henry, isn’t it?”

“”Yeah, Henry,” the boy replied, staring up at the Killian with his arms folded on the countertop. Being not a great deal taller than said countertop, it was a somewhat amusing sight. A few seconds passed where the boy grinned and Killian stared, a little bit lost for words. It wasn’t often that they got pre-teen customers, Frozen Blooms being securely in the mid to high range price category.

Finally, the boy spoke. “My mom’s on her way,” he explained, hitching his thumb at the door behind him.

Killian tipped his head to the side. The mayor didn’t ever visit the store. Her orders were placed by phone. By her assistant.

“Your- um, okay…”

The words had barely left his mouth when the door rang again - this time a little more gently.

And if he’d thought the boy’s appearance had confused him, the woman who now entered had an altogether different effect.

“Emma?” he asked, his brows furrowed.

“Mom!”

Before he had a chance to speak further, the boy was running over to the door and dragging Emma Swan towards him. Emma Swan whom he had not seen for a week and was beginning to think would never see again.

It took a moment for him to collect his thoughts. Then, he addressed the boy.

“Wait. I thought you said that the mayor was your mum.”

With a roll of his eyes, Henry gave Killian a pointed look. “She is. My adoptive mom. Emma is my birth mom.”

For her part, Emma was barely less composed than Killian after her dash along Main Street. If she had thought she was prepared to see Killian, she was wrong. She’d wanted to play this all cool, like she wasn’t affected by him and his handsomeness and his Britishness and his… his Killian-ness . Instead, after only seconds in his presence, she felt flushed and anxious and like this was one huge mistake that her pride was going to take a while to recover from.

Killian met her eyes and she gave him a wary look, a wave of heat rising over her, before she pursed her lips and turned to her son. “Kid, he doesn’t need your life story,” she warned.

Killian cleared his throat. “Actually I think it’s pretty cool. You’re a lucky lad getting two mums.”

Henry shrugged, with the easy innocent nonchalance of a child. “I know. Hey, can I go look at the flowers? Maybe you could talk to my mom while I browse?” His brows raised at that and Killian got the impression that flowers were not the only thing on the boy’s mind that afternoon.

“Go ahead.” Killian gestured to the displays. Henry quickly slipped off his backpack which Emma deftly grabbed before it fell to the floor and then he wandered off among the buckets of blooms.

Emma waited until he was out of earshot. She quickly licked her lips and shifted Henry’s bag onto her shoulder. “Sorry he’s - he can be hard work.”

Killian was looking over her shoulder, watching Henry smell the blooms, lifting them gently to his nose, running the petals between his finger and thumb. “I think he’s delightful. We met yesterday when I was delivering flowers to the town hall. Hence the confusion.”

“Ahh,” she sighed, relaxing her hip against the counter as Killian fixed his full attention back towards her. “I see.”

So her son had met Killian and suddenly developed an urgent desire to purchase flowers. Go figure. She’d never really thought of Henry as a matchmaker, but he always had a scheme or ‘operation’ as he liked to call them in the works. It wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility that he was trying to fix her up. After all his adoptive mother was happily in a relationship with a step child to boot. Kids always seemed to see things simply. Maybe he thought that the secret to making her settled in Storybrooke was to match her up with some guy.

And he had chosen this guy. Go figure.

For a minute or so, the pair watched the boy, fully engrossed in his interrogation of the flowers. The silence was not uncomfortable. Emma shoved her hands in her back pockets and began to imagine this interaction might be over as painlessly and easily as a swift purchase could make it.

But then she hear the silky burr of his voice, just low enough for her to hear him.

“I’m actually really glad you came in.”

She slowly pivoted on her heel, lifting her chin and feigning nonchalance. His cheeks were tellingly reddened and she relaxed, just a little. She was pleased to see he was at least a little flustered by the situation.

“Oh?’ she asked.

He smiled softly. “I’m embarrassed to say that your telephone number met with a wet end in the washing machine.”

“Huh?”

“I put it in my pocket - for safekeeping -”  He blushed even deeper, crimson red and, god damn, she liked him.

It was now or never. Brush it off. Laugh. Play the fool. Or- seize the moment. Give him another chance.

Her heart really couldn’t take being hurt, but still…

“Give me your phone,” she ordered, stretching her hand across the counter.

He raised a brow but complied, pulling his mobile phone from his back pocket and slipping it into her hand, their fingers brushing with a tingle of electricity. Biting her lip, she typed in her number.

“No excuses this time.”

She handed him the phone back as Henry rushed up with a handful of pink blooms. Perfect timing to avoid an awkward moment.

“Mom I want these.”

Killian’s attention, which had been transfixed upon Emma, immediately switched to the boy. He placed a warm expression upon his face and took the flowers from his hand.

“Peonies. Good choice lad. Shall I wrap them for you?”

Henry nodded. “And pink ribbon too. Miss Blanchard loves pink.”

Emma ruffled her son’s hair as Killian turned away to the workspace behind him. Henry wore a happy smile on his face and he folded his arms as he watched Killian curl the ribbon.

“What?” Emma asked, now in almost no doubt of her son’s intentions.

“Nothing,” he grinned sweetly in reply.

Yeah right, Emma thought. But strangely for her, she left it at that.

/

It was almost ten by the time Emma got to the dishes she had Henry had created. He’d decided today he wanted to cook rather than go to Granny’s, so they’d spent the afternoon making tacos and then settled in to watch a movie before she had to take him home.

She was already looking for a place with a second bedroom so he could stay more. The times he did sleep over, she used the couch pullout but she knew he was getting older and needed his own room.

The last suds were draining away when her phone chirped. She wiped her hands and picked it up.

-Hey. It’s Killian.

Her heart rate picked up a little. A flutter in her chest that she quickly metered. She moistened her lips and walked to the couch, tucking her legs under herself as she composed her reply.

-Hey Lieutenant. I see you did not lose my number this time.

She smiled as she tapped send.

-Once is a mistake. Twice would have just been careless.

Emma felt the dimples press into her cheeks as she read his reply.

-That’s very true

There was a minute or so’s pause, where the little dots indicating he was typing teased her.

-How’s Henry?

-Back at his other mom’s. He only stays with me on weekends. Better for school.

-That makes sense.

She was mentally deciding what to say in reply when he texted again.

-Are you busy then?

Her heart rate skipped up once more. A rose flutter in her chest. She bit her lip, tentative fingers composing a reply.

-Not really

Barely a few seconds later-

-How about a coffee at Granny’s? Much easier to chat in person, no?

Despite all her reservations, it was easy to make the decision.

-Give me ten minutes.

/

Killian played with his napkin as he waited. He’d been in his car heading to the diner mere moments after her reply. In fact, he had been itching to see her again since that afternoon. As soon as she had left the store he’d found himself unable to think of much else. Emma Swan. Emma Swan…

Had he ever been so taken by someone? Certainly not for a very long time.

Preoccupied, it was with surprise that he noticed Emma had arrived and was sliding into the booth across from him. She gave him a tentative smile as she shrugged out of her jacket. “So do you often frequent the diner late at night? Or are you making a special exception for me?”

There was teasing in her words, so the option was there to make light of her comment with his reply. But instead he found honesty falling from his lips. “Sometimes. I live with my brother and sister in law. Occasionally I just need some space, as wonderful as they are.”

For a moment, she studied him, as if soaking in the full meaning of his words. “That makes sense,” she finally said before quickly giving her order to the cheerful waitress who had stopped by the booth. “I actually grew up in foster care and had to share a room far more often than I ever had my own.”

“That must have been difficult,” he replied sincerely.

She shrugged as the waitress brought over a cup of strong black coffee. “I always appreciate privacy now for sure. But you know, whatever your reality is, especially as a kid, you deal with it. It was my normal.”

She focused on stirring in her creamer and sugar as she digested what she had just said. It wasn’t often that she talked about her childhood. Especially to someone she barely knew. The effect he had of making her feel comfortable sharing such things was a little unnerving. She shook off that thought and took a sip.

There was a moment of silence, companionable not awkward. Killian didn’t feel the need to say anything as she relaxed against the red leather of the booth, her hands clutched possessively around her mug. He appreciated the piece of herself she had just revealed to him. He had been right, she was an enigma whose layers he was eager to start peeling away.

That thought startled him back into the moment and a question he had had since that afternoon.

“Henry… you and the Mayor. How does that work?”

Emma smiled at the mention of her son’s name. “It’s complicated. I won’t lie. I was young when he was born.”

“His father?”

She shook her head. “He wasn’t on the scene. I decided that he would be better off being adopted into a family who knew how to raise a kid. I didn’t think I could be a mom.”

A frown line formed between her brows. He resisted the urge to reach out and smooth it away with his thumb.

He sighed softly instead. “You wanted to give him his best chance.”

She stared at him. That was it. Exactly it. Something in her heart softened, a part of her that she hadn’t realized she had let harden. No one had ever understood so easily.

“So, you tracked him down?”

She laughed softly. “Other way ‘round. He found me. And then I knew I couldn’t let him go again.”

Killian let out a soft breath. He was transfixed by the warm look that came over her face as she talked about the boy.

“That’s an amazing tale.”

Emma nodded. “Yeah. He’s a pretty amazing kid.”

The waitress came by and topped off their drinks. They both smiled in thanks.

“So, how are you ?” he asked, raising a sympathetic brow, hoping she understood his meaning. He didn’t want to mention the name of that fool again.

Looking up, Emma met his eyes. “I’m fine. The anger has faded and now I’m just concentrating on avoiding him until he gets the message. At least he never met Henry.”

“Oh?”

She gave him a pointed look, “I may be new to this parenting thing but I know I don’t want him to meet anyone I’m involved with until I know it’s going somewhere.”

“That sounds reasonable.”

Running her hand over an invisible mark on the table, she mused for a moment on just how easy this was. Talking like that had known each other forever. She decided to delve deeper.

“What about you - any kids?”

He shook his head. “No. Came close once, but that was a long time ago. She was older. Still married, if I’m honest. We were at different places in our lives.”

Without judgement, she nodded. She got it. “It is all about timing. I wasn’t ready when Henry was born, but now I feel it. I mean, ready to take on the challenge. I’m just lucky he gave me the chance.”

“And he is lucky to have you.”

She detected no falsity in his words. No underlying deception or motive. Her protective walls flickered about her. She was always wary of new people. Especially men. But he seemed, well, good. She’d learned to be pretty good at reading people over the years and she wasn’t picking up any hidden agenda. She was so used to men disappointing her that she wasn’t quite sure how to respond.

In addition, she was cautious to the fact she had just left one less than successful romantic entanglement. She decided it would be best to steer the conversation into more neutral and friend-like territory.

They shared tales of their moves to Storybrooke- although he avoided explaining in detail why he had left the navy, she knew that was a story left better for another day. She told him a little more about her job and how she spent quite a lot of time on the road, but was reducing that now that Henry was back in her life. Quickly almost an hour slipped by.

Reluctantly she drained her cup and looked at her watch. “I’d better go, I need to be on the road to Portland by eight.”

She started to stand and he followed, both pulling on their coats.

“I’ll see you out.”

“My car’s around back,” she explained, and he nodded, leaving some bills on the table for their coffee and waving a hand to the waitress to say they were leaving. They walked in silence to the back door of the diner.

Although it was almost June, there was still a nip to the air. As they stepped into the alleyway, the chill wrapped around them and seemed to seep beneath the leather of her jacket. She paused as the door closed behind them and shivered involuntarily.

Killian stopped behind her, running his hands over her arms, the instant warmth deeply pleasant and accompanied by an altogether more exciting feeling, overcoming the initial start his touch had evoked.

“Thank you,” she whispered, turning back her head to meet his eyes, still startlingly blue even in the moonlight.

She let herself drink in the moment. The warmth of his hands on her, the feeling of his body behind.  There was a buzz in the air. The only sounds were the distant echo of Granny’s jukebox and the chirp of the crickets who had begun to wake from their hibernation.

“Emma-“ he began, her name catching on his lips, his voice silky and stroking a flame of something hot up her spine.

Her breath hitched.  She saw his eyes flicker to her lips. They were alone. It was dark.

Private.

She should be cautious, her mind was telling her to walk away, take things slow. But her heart and her gut were louder. They told her that this was right, that this was a moment and a connection she needed to pursue.

Her instincts took over, her hand reached up to the nape of his neck, drawing his mouth to hers as she twisted to face him.

Killian was momentarily struck dumb. The sensation of her lips against his, her hands clutching him close caught his breath as they headed unexpectedly into a rapidly dizzying kiss.

They fit perfectly . His head dipped just enough to meet hers, his hands moved from her arms and sunk into the curve of her waist, drawing her close until his thigh slid between her legs.

Her lips were warm and soft, they parted eagerly, deepening the kiss, pulling them both further into the moment, the world around them fading to empty blackness. She was all gentle curves and the scent of sweet soap and leather.

She pressed herself closer to him. Her breasts crushed against his chest and she cursed the twin layers of leather she wore. Her hands clutched the nape of his neck more tightly, one slipping into his hair, drawing languidly through the silky strands until he groaned softly, the sound sending a tightening to her gut. He wanted this as much as she did.

The chill was all forgotten. She was now burning. Her skin, her blood, her very essence. His kiss, his touch, had ignited something she had long locked away. A recklessness and a desire she had told herself was lost to her. But here it was, rising to the fore as his wicked lips tore her away from reality and made her believe in the possibility of something more. She rocked against his leg thigh between hers. It wasn’t enough to ease the ache inside of her. Desperate, she ran an eager hand over the strong line of his jaw, cupping his face, pouring all she couldn’t say with words into the embrace.

Tightening his hands about her waist, he felt the surge of desire and want that their kiss brought with it. The need for more. He tried to temper this- it was not the time, nor the place. He already knew that Emma was special. If he rushed, if he didn’t take care, he would send her skittering away. Life had not been kind. He could relate to that. All these thoughts jumbled and tossed through his brain as he fought the urges of lust and needing- feelings he felt emanating in waves from her as she rocked her body against him and scored his burning skin with her eager fingers.

She ached for more, feeling wanton and desired. She was dizzy with unexpected need for him. It left her breathless, the tension creeping up her spine, a building sensation, like the twisting of a screw-

It wasn’t often he lost control. He was no innocent with women, even if he shied away from relationships. He knew how to seduce; how to tease and tempt. But she was the temptress here. Building the moment in a swirling, whirling blur-

Finally, she gasped, pulling back, sucking in a cooling breath as his mouth fell to her neck, his own shuddering breaths a pairing to her own.

His hands slowly loosened about her waist. She slid hers to his shoulders where they remained limply for a moment.

“I should- I should go,” she finally said, her voice husky and low. She didn’t want to go. She wanted to pull him back into the kiss. To drag him to her apartment. To take this to its inevitable conclusion. Yet something stopped her. An understanding that he seemed to share that now was not the time.

Slowly, he lifted his gaze to her. Nodding a grizzled, “Aye,” in reply.

He looked wrecked. His hair mussed, lips swollen, desire in his gaze.

Not now, was the unspoken understanding. But soon.

With a smile, she made to move away, but he caught her hand, quickly pulling it to his lips. “Goodnight Swan.”

A heartbeat passed.

“Goodnight Lieutenant.”

Then before she could give into the urge to pull his mouth to hers again, she slipped away.

A/N 

Apologies for the little posting gap, work and life slammed me hard! Two more chapters to go :D

Thank you for reading. J

[dontbethatshank]

Teach Me How To Listen (pt. 4)

Imagine: High School AU short-series - Newt pairing

Note: I’ve had several people ask when the next part would be up and how long this mini series would last. I’m not so sure yet - I had an original vision for this story but it has kinda drifted. So... let’s see! Sorry if it’s been so long. I’m trying to update like crazy this week for you all (:

2 hours.

The pizza came only twenty minutes after you arrived, but Chuck just had to show you this cool pocket knife he had found the other day. And the boys just had to beat Rainbow Road. And Newt just had to go buy ice cream to finish off the pizza. SO, after plenty of food, lots of yelling boys, and more than twenty rounds on Rainbow Road, the boys soon left, leaving you and Newt.

And so far, so good. It had been a little over an hour and tutoring had gone better than you expected. Newt’s notes were very organized, not as organized as yours, but organized nonetheless. And he picked up on simple dialect, his biggest problem being how to change the end or verbs to fit groups of people and genders it seemed. But he most definitely was not daft on the subject of Fench - he was quite smart and knew a lot about it, but applying it was harder than anything else.

With a closing sound, Newt sighed and leaned back into the couch, shifting to face you more. His head lulled back into the couch cushion, his legs sagged to the sides, widening his stance, and his arms laid limply across the pillow cushions. You raised an eyebrow, tucking loose hair behind your ear as you put down your book and pen, pulling your legs out from a sitting position and up to lay in front of you, your knees pulled to your chest. You looked at Newt, expecting an answer for his change of position and a reason for stopping you study session.

“I’m bored. Let’s do something,” Newt declared. You laughed and raised your eyebrow once more, daring him to throw out suggestions. You yourself were growing tired of this tutoring. Your legs were numb, your hips were sore from how you were sitting, your tongue was getting a weird static feeling from talking so much, and your head was overwhelmed with so many thoughts of French rushing past inside it. So to say you were up for an adventure of the sort was an understatement. Suddenly, Newt’s lips cracked into a shit eating grin, his body moving forward, elbows resting on now upright legs and his eyes twinkling with a bit of a glimmer.

“Have you ever been Amoria’s very own hot spring waterfall?” Newt asked, eyes dancing with curiosity. And honestly, no, you hadn’t. Amoria was a good sized city. It wasn’t a small town but was far from being a bustling city - it was a good pace with enough night life to have burger joints open until 2 am but not busy enough to have more than one 24 hour corner store. With curiosity getting the best of you, you leaned forward, excitement seeming to be magnetic poles bringing you and the blonde Brit in front of you closer. “Can’t say I have.”

And so here you are. Twenty minutes later, after Newt has thrown a random bathing suit at you, claiming it was a size too big for his sister that never got returned and would do fine for today, and grabbing towels and a small bag of “necessities”, you were sitting in Newt’s car, seat belt clicking into place as he backed out of his driveway “Where is this place anyway?” you wondered, you left leg shifting to be situated under you as your sight leg leaned lazily wedged between the door, the edge of the seat and the cup holders beside you.

“Old Tavern’s Twin Peaks,” Newt grinned, and you got instantly more intrigued. Old Tavern was a more country part of the city. Only about 15  people lived out there in big old farmhouses that had pools and car garages added on. Most had horses or housed horses for the city’s riders. And in Old Tavern was a small forest area, hidden behind two small hills nicknames Twin Peaks. A handful of old tree houses and small little huts had been built out there from far kids and the city’s teens over the years. You remember a year back going to a small bonfire out there. Valeria Montoya began letting people do body shots off her stomach and Nick Mansons brought weed brownies that had more than just weed in them and you left before 11 since someone had already lit their jacket on fire within the first hour. It was a good memory. Concerning. But good.

“Exciting,” you hummed out, turning the radio up and watching out the window. Newt was a short drive to Old Tavern and it was about a five-minute drive to Twin Peaks once you entered Old Tavern. So it was a short drive but just long enough for a few good songs. And so that’s what you did - humming away to “ Drugs and Candy” by ALT, watching as the trees passed, and glancing at Newt who seemed anxious to arrive at this supposed “hot spring waterfall” you had yet to hear about.

You now understood why you had never heard of the hot spring. Once you arrived, Newt dragged you on about a 25-minute hike up into the side of the hill, walking between one of the large rock formations into this almost hidden cove that had a small waterfall that ran into a good sized hot spring. Around it were trees, flowers, several dirt paths that had been walked one too many times, and random small bits of graffiti that were too artistically developed to be just tagging.

After hiding behind a few rocks to change, you came out, bathing suit on, skin covered in goose bumps from the cold, and was met with an equally bumpy Newt when grinned at you with chattering teeth and an icy hand. “You’ll love it,” he promised, squeezing your hand as he led you to the side of the hot spring. The hot spring and waterfall weren’t always connected it seemed. And the closer to the waterfall you got the colder the water got, but you figured it helped circulate the water at least, which was good. And although you were covered in goose bumps and your lips were getting a pale pink tint to them, you loved how everything looked around you. Leaves still fell from a few trees, littering the water and ground. Dying flowers shed their last petals, and brush still lived lively and bright around you. It was a pretty sight.

“Better?” you heard, hands grabbing your sides and pulling you further in, the water moving up your back and shoulders, enclosing you like a blanket. And yes. It did feel better. “God yes,” you groaned, eyes slipping shut as you loosened your limbs in the water and let out a sigh of pleasure. Newt laughed and moved his hands away, humming his own content feelings as he relaxed and sunk lower into the water. The hot spring had steam rising around you and it felt like the most amazing thing in the world. The mere thought of having to get out made you want to cry or scream - maybe both.

After every stressful in life, it was nice to relax - and somehow being with Newt made it even better. He was like a playful, charming, calm presence that made things seem lighter. Have a softer note to them. It was a nice change form the wild edge Teresa had or the daring, adventurous streak Minho presented when you were with either of them. Newt was just... a laid back, calming presence that made things slow down a fraction of a second.

“Thank you for bringing me here, God, how did I go my entire life without coming here?” you sighed, grinning as your eyes slipped close while you spoke. Newt laughed and you felt the water move as his body turned about in it. “I found it with a few friends - only 6 or 7 people know about this place. We’ve had a couple small bonfires here, Harriet did some art over there once. It’s kinda like a secret hideout, yeah?” Newt laughed, floating in the water and just relaxing into the conversation and mood of the atmosphere.

“Maybe I should have met you sooner. Could have seen this place sooner,” you joked, chuckling lightly to yourself. You felt Newt move again, but you ignored it, just assuming he was swimming or floating about. “I wish you had met me sooner too. But not just for the hot spring,” Newt laughed, and this time you opened your eyes to smile at him, humming.

Newt smiled at you, his arms, floating in the water just like yours, his hair dripping water down his face and sticking to his skin, but his eyes still wide and serene as always. He always had that presence to himself. And then, one minute you saw his eyes, glimmering with that small spark of curiosity from before, and the next, the pink lips that shook in the cold air were pushed on yours, the ice cold skin soon becoming a warming presence. And you were kissing Newton Issaics, the boy from a French class you weren’t even in on a sports team you held little interest in that had a warm glowing calming aurora to his name.

And you were kissing him back. And if it weren’t for the wetness of your hair and the nipping cold hair that bit at the damp skin around the tops of your shoulders and the back of your neck, the moment would have been a fairytale moment. Your arms around his stomach, his hand holding your chin and the other cradling the back of your head, surrounded by beautiful nature in a hot spring. It was indeed a fairy tale set up.

But life doesn’t end after the first kiss. It keeps going. it keeps going until second period on Monday morning.

a/n: Amoria is just a random name for the city? I don’t think I had written one for this one yet. If I had I’ll come back and change it. But yeah, that's it. Just wanted to let you all know (:

[ruthlessbookfish]

Dirty Deeds by Lorelei James

January 9

My Review

Nathan is kind of a jerk. He has a hidden agenda with Tate. Tate is looking to expand her sexual horizons. After a bad break up Nathan thinks Tate is just the girl to teach him about the more romantic things in life. 

The secret agenda thing is waiting to blow up anything they are building. When the “ish” finally hits the fan, I was proud of Tate. Even if people disagree with how she handled herself, I was happy she didn’t stick around in doormat form. As evil as it sounds, I enjoyed reading how Nathan suffered for his actions. When he should have been happy with the results, he was devastated.

 As a mom of two, I related to Nathan’s sister Val the most. I love when the secondary characters in the story are just as well written as the main characters. Dirty Deeds was an interesting read about a man looking for romance and a woman looking for a great roll in the hay. 

You know what they say, be careful what you wish for. 

**** I voluntarily read an advanced readers copy of this book****

Title: Dirty Deeds

Author: Lorelei James

Genre: Sexy Contemporary Romance

Release Date: January 9, 2017

Blurb

Sometimes to play dirty, you gotta dig deep…

Landscaper Nathan LeBeau knows exactly how to use his big equipment to make the earth move. The Native American bad-boy has a reputation for getting filthy—in and out of the bedroom.

So when good-girl Tate Cross needs dirt work done, she hires the wickedly hot and surprisingly intuitive Nathan—secretly hoping she’ll get more than just her flowerbeds plowed.

Smart and sexy Tate is exactly the type of woman Nathan’s been looking for. But he wants more than another fling, so he digs in his heels to prove to Miss-I-Don’t-Need-Romance that taking things slow will lead them to something real.

But Tate isn’t interested in being romanced—even when Nathan’s sweet and charming ways are hard to resist. She’ll use every tool at her disposal to convince the former player to play with her and that getting down and dirty together is as real as it gets.

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Excerpt

“The closest I’ve ever been to nirvana was during an orgasm.”

Tate Cross rolled her eyes. Where did Val come up with this stuff?

Undaunted, her friend Val shifted her pregnant belly. She broke the chocolate bar in half, sucking at the apricot filling oozing over her finger. “But this”—a satisfied moan escaped—“is running a close second.”

“I wasn’t talking about nirvana the place; I was talking about Nirvana the band.” Tate pointed at her vintage “Heart-Shaped Box” T-shirt.

“Sorry. I never understood that whole grunge thing.”

Tate narrowed her eyes. “But if we were talking about sweaty, grungy cowboys in tight jeans, whinin’ ’bout lovin’ the wrong woman, drivin’ off in dusty pickups to the local bar for a shot of pain-easin’ whiskey, you’d pay attention.”

“Country music always gets me hot.”

“No wonder you’ve been pregnant four times.”

A sly, dreamy look drifted over Val’s face. “This one was conceived when Rich brought home that Stetson and we played—”

“Baby roulette? Apparently Richard’s six-gun was fully loaded that night.” With a grin, Tate gestured to Val’s stomach. “Seems that elusive slice of sexual heaven has a high price.”

“Being pregnant isn’t bad.” Val lovingly rubbed her hand over her swollen abdomen. “And a great sex life is not elusive.”

“Maybe not for you. You have the perfect man.” Tate tamped down on a rare surge of jealousy. She doubted Val’s perpetual rosy glow was entirely pregnancy related.

“So sue me.”

Tate cocked a brow. “Your lawyer husband laughs at your lawsuit jokes?”

“Of course.” Val tipped her glass of milk against Tate’s in a mock toast. “My fabulous sense of humor is the reason he married me.”

Tate choked back a giggle; milk nearly squirted out her nose. How mature. Here she was trying to have a sophisticated conversation about sex and not act like the goggle-eyed ingénue Val remembered her to be.

Val smiled. “I’ll admit our compatibility inside the bedroom played a key role. Love at first sight. It can happen.”

“Not to me.” Tate snatched the candy from Val’s plate. Swapping sexual quips was one thing, forking over the last piece of chocolate fell into an entirely different realm. Mmm. She savored the sinful flavor; it was indeed close to orgasmic. Not that she had anything to judge it by lately.

“This is the first lunch we’ve had without my kiddos since you’ve come back to South Dakota and we’re discussing my sex life? I should be spellbound by your wild sexual adventures in Mile High Stadium. Or cavorting naked on the beach in Cozumel.”

“Get real.” Tate snorted. “There’s nothing to discuss.”

A cascade of auburn ringlets brushed Val’s heart-shaped face when she shook her head. “Then I’m sorry for you.”

“Me too.” Tate traced the ruffled edge of the crocheted place mat. “I have no life at all, besides getting this house ready to sell. I haven’t done the deed for…” Mentally, she counted back and shuddered. “At my sexual peak. What a joke. I’m supposed to be worried about my partner pleasing me instead of whether I’ve got enough AA batteries.”

Silence. Tate slid Val a sideways glance. Talk about bold statements.

Without missing a beat, Val said, “No judgment, but I couldn’t live without that intimacy. Connecting with Rich on an elemental level whenever, wherever we want.” A satisfied sigh gusted forth. “Except now we’re forced to be discreet.”

Didn’t Val’s beach-ball condition belie that statement? Tactfully, Tate didn’t point it out. “I’m the epitome of discreet.”

“You and Chris Taylor weren’t very discreet, if I recall.”

“That’s the only time,” Tate grumbled. “No one believed ‘Miss Goody-Two-Shoes’ boinked the school bad boy that night at the lake anyway.”

“How did you pull it off?” Val mused. “I mean, didn’t you find it awkward to roll a cold, wet Speedo over a stiffy?”

“Hah! Didn’t it just figure my first experience with a penis outside Playgirl magazine and his dick was more like a clammy, fat worm than the ‘throbbing rod of manhood’ I’d expected.”

She drifted back to the summer of her senior year she’d spent with Aunt Beatrice. It’d been easy convincing studly Chris to change her virginal status. But the quick tryst on his Harley hadn’t included passion, and Chris had been clueless on demonstrating carnal secrets. That flagging sense of disappointment still dogged her. Would she ever discover the powerful sexual connection her friends raved about? When?

“Forget Chris and his unimpressive rod. Although it makes sense why he’s fat, bald and married to his motorcycle shop.” Val paused and offered, “I could set you up with someone, if you’re interested.”

“Who?” Tate snapped back to attention. “Is he nice?”

“Of course he’s nice.” Val sniffed.

“Then nothing doing.”

“What?”

“Nothing doing. I’m done with nice. This little chat has reinforced my decision. The next affair I start will be purely that. An affair. No strings, no promises. Just sex. Lots of hot sex.”

Val daintily wiped off her milk mustache before expelling an unladylike burp. “Excuse me. Run that by me one more time?”

“You heard me. Sex. I want sex. The steamier, the nastier, the better.

Author Bio

Lorelei James is the NY Times and USA Today Bestselling author of erotic westerns in the Rough Riders series and the Blacktop Cowboys series, erotic romance in the Mastered series, contemporary romance in the Need You series, and the New Adult Rough Riders Legacy series, as well as several standalone novels and novellas. Lorelei lives in western South Dakota--yes, by choice--with her husband, and Copper, their crazy corgi who has made life more interesting during these first empty nest years...

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