Unattainable (42 page)

I blew out a large breath. “I’m not
Eva,” I told him. “There are just some things I won’t turn a blind
eye on.”

“
Darlin’,” he said,
laughing. “When Cage gets the gavel, what you do and don’t got a
problem with, that’s gonna be his fuckin’ problem to be dealin’
with, not mine.”

I narrowed my eyes. Darlin’ and
dimples. This fucker was pulling out the big guns.

“
This is so unfair,” I
said. “I never asked for this sort of responsibility.”

Unfazed, Deuce turned away from me and
started heading inside.

“
Yeah, you did,” he said
over his shoulder. “You made up your mind the day you decided you
loved my boy.”

Alone now, I glanced down at the
picture of Deuce’s mother and stared into the eyes of the girl
who’d never been given the crown she’d deserved, and I wondered
what had become of her.

“
All right,” I told her,
sighing. “What do you say you and me give this shit a shot? What’s
the worst that could happen?”

Realizing what I’d just said, I
wrinkled up my nose. “Wait,” I said. “Don’t answer that.” Tucking
the photo in the back pocket of my jeans, I headed
inside.

Everyone was already seated around the
table by the time I reached the kitchen. I slid into my usual chair
beside Cage, directly across the table from Ripper. Cage’s arm came
down heavy across my shoulders.

“
Oh, hell no!” Eva
suddenly yelled, slapping Deuce’s hand off the salt
shaker.

“
Reel it the fuck in,” he
growled, reaching for it again.

Ripper’s arm shot forward, grabbing it
before Deuce could. Deuce shot up out of his chair and Ripper sent
it flying over the table, straight into Cox’s waiting hand where he
promptly shoved the salt shaker down the front of his
leathers.

“
Come and get it,” Cox
taunted.

“
You are fuckin’ fired,”
Deuce said, glaring at him.

“
Reel it in yourself,
Daddy,” Danny said. “We want you around for a while.”

And a whole new wave of arguing
began.

Sighing, I glanced over at Cage, who
pulled me closer to him.

“
Don’t know what you’re
always complainin’ about,” he said, kissing my cheek. “You fuckin’
yell just as much as any of ’em.”

“
Yes,” I said. “But me
yelling doesn’t give me a headache.”

“
Gives me one.”

“
Giving you a headache
makes me happy,” I said, turning my face and pressing my lips
against his.

“
You’re a damn crazy
little shit,” he muttered against my mouth. “But I’ll keep
you.”

I tuned out the noise around us and
instead concentrated on the way his mouth felt against mine, the
way his lips and tongue moved in sync with mine.

He was mine. All mine.

“
Thank God,” I said,
pushing away from him. “I was so very worried I might no longer be
able to utilize my beer-fetching abilities.”

Grinning, Cage turned away from me and
as I went to carve into my steak, I found Deuce watching
me.

He winked. And I couldn’t help it. I
smiled.

And what did that old bastard do? He
smiled back.

Dimples.

They were going to be the motherfucking
death of me.

THE END

(Chocoholics
#1)

Can someone die from a
severe case of blue balls?

Yep, that just happened. I just typed
that exact phrase into the Google search engine.

My mother always warned me to stay away
from Google. She told me it was the devil. I’m twenty-five years
old and I still don’t listen to my mother.

According to Wiki, the answer is NO.
Just, no. Period. The end. No explanation whatsoever. You would
think the person answering these questions could have elaborated
just a little bit. Like, “No. You cannot die from blue balls, you
fucking moron. Why the hell are you even asking this question? You
do realize your internet history can and will be seen by everyone
you know at some point in your life, right?”

Note to self: delete internet history.
I need to consult my mom on this. I believe I came across a
contract between her and my Aunt Liz a few years ago…

You’re probably wondering why I’m
curious if someone can die from blue balls. You’re probably also
wondering how in the hell I can possibly be twenty-five years old
when just yesterday I was four. I know, it’s a tough pill to
swallow. I’m not a foul-mouthed, cute little kid anymore. I’m now a
foul-mouthed, cute adult. I take after my parents, so obviously I’m
good looking. That might sound conceited to you, but oh well. I’m
not one of those guys who are all “Awwwww, shucks. You really think
I’m good looking? Naaaaah, I’m just me.”

Fuck that.

I walked around for most of my
childhood talking about my penis to anyone who would listen. Owning
it when people say I’m hot isn’t conceited. It’s me being
comfortable with who I am.

So anyway, where were we? Oh, right.
Penis. Blue balls. Death by blue balls. There’s only one reason for
my earlier Google question: Charlotte Gilmore. The most beautiful
woman I’ve ever met and my best friend. She’s the oldest daughter
of my parents’ best friends, Liz and Jim Gilmore. She has long,
dark brown hair, big gorgeous brown eyes, and a body that takes my
breath away. Since we’re only three years apart in age, we grew up
together. I’ve been told that we used to take baths together when
we were little. Obviously the times we were naked in the tub never
left a lasting impression on her since no matter how hard I try, I
can’t get her to see me as anything other than a friend. The kiss
of death. The “friend” curse.

It’s all her fault that I even have
blue balls, although to be honest, I really shouldn’t blame her.
It’s not like she knows she’s causing me extreme pain. She has no
idea that every time I’m within three feet of her my penis perks up
like a meerkat when it hears a noise. It’s fucking Meerkat Manor in
my pants. My penis is like a magnet and she’s a hot piece of steel.
As soon as she walks into a room, the magnetic pull begins and I
feel like I have to hold on tight to something. Otherwise, my penis
will drag my body over to her and slam itself up against her, like
a dog grunting and humping some poor, unsuspecting person’s leg.
I’m like a fucking dog in heat when it comes to her. My poor penis
wants to hump her leg and she just wants to be friends. I feel bad
for my penis. He’s had a rough life. I love my penis and he’s
totally getting the shaft. Ha! See what I did there?

Anyway, I know what you’re thinking.
Who doesn’t love their penis? But this is serious, yo. My mom still
tells me stories about when I was a little boy and how much I
talked about my penis. I’m an adult and I have to worry about
inviting my mother to public events for fear she’ll tell everyone
the story about how I got my first boner to Barney the Dinosaur. Do
you have any idea how mortifying that is? A fucking purple
dinosaur. Why couldn’t I be normal and get excited about the
Victoria’s Secret catalog like all my friends? To this day, when I
see a dinosaur, no matter what I’m doing, my penis instantly
retracts itself up inside my body in fear. Even my penis is
ashamed.

So, anyway, where was I? Oh yeah, my
penis. I get it. I’m a guy and guys think about their penises a
lot. Maybe I’d feel better about this obsession if I had someone
touching it other than myself. I grew up surrounded by girls. All
of my friends are girls. Everywhere I look there are girls. And
yet, I still go home alone every night and touch my own
penis.

Okay, I don’t touch it every night.
That’s overkill. Maybe once a week.

Okay FINE! Every other night. I think
the problem is my job. I love my job, I really do. It’s not
something I grew up dreaming about doing, but I’m good at it, and I
make a pretty decent living doing it considering I’ve only been out
of college for a few years.

As some of you know, my mom is a pretty
famous person. She owns a huge chain of bakeries around the world.
She taught me everything I know about cooking and covering things
in chocolate. I always knew I would go into the family business
when I got older, and I did. No, not that family business. The
other one. Are you sitting down for this? Maybe you should be
sitting down. I, Gavin Ellis, am the Creative Director for one of
the largest sex toy stores in the world. I may have forgot to
mention that the chain of bakeries my mom owns is connected to a
chain of adult toy stores called Seduction and Snacks. Charlotte’s
mom, Liz, owns that side of the business.

So, while I don’t actually work in a
store selling dildos, I’m in charge of the entire product
development process for every single item Seduction and Snacks
sells. Considering the fact that my job has made me a genius when
it comes to pleasuring a woman, and I know the inner workings of
every single toy ever made, you would think that women would be
throwing themselves at me. Yeah, so not the case. You try being in
a bar flirting with a chick and see the look on her face when you
tell her you touch rubber penises all day. They all think I’m gay.
Or a creeper. Like I’m going to just whip a dildo out of my back
pocket and chase her around the room with it. That only happened
once, and I was really drunk. I swear.

And that’s me in a nutshell, since the
last time you heard about me. Tonight, I spent three hours with
Charlotte and let her cry on my shoulder because she got into a
fight with Rocco, her boyfriend.

~

“
So did you guys break up
or something?”

Please say yes, please say
yes.

Charlotte cried harder and pressed her
face into the side of my neck while I wrapped my arms around her
and held her close.

Is it wrong that I’m
thinking about pushing her back onto the couch and making out with
her instead of consoling her? I suck.

“
He just doesn’t
understand me, you know?” Charlotte whimpered and burrowed closer
to me.

You’re right. He doesn’t
understand you. I’m the only one who understands you.
ME!

“
Did you just say me?”
Charlotte questioned, pulling her face away from my neck and
staring up at me.

“
Uh, yes. Me totally
understand that he doesn’t understand you. Me
understand.”

I patted her back lamely and tried to
think of something un-caveman-like to say next.

“
What did you guys fight
about?”

I couldn’t care less but
I’m a good guy and good guys ask these sorts of
questions.

Charlotte sighed and scooted away from
me on the couch, brushing her long brown hair out of her face. “I
don’t know. I don’t even remember. It was something stupid. I
shouldn’t have come over here and unloaded all of this on you. He
really does love me and he’s a great guy.”

She looked up at me with wide,
expectant eyes, waiting for me to agree with her that he’s a super
human being. Yeah, not gonna happen.

He’s a troll who gets to
touch her whenever he wants. He can burn in the fiery pits of hell
for all I care.

Charlotte kept looking at me with those
gorgeous eyes, and I caved under the pressure.

“
You’re right. He’s
awesome. I’m sure you guys will be fine.”

Someone get me a bucket to
barf in.

~

I’m jealous, irritated, and horny after
holding her so close to me all night and smelling her skin. She
always smells like cherry almond. And since I’m slightly obsessed
with her, I know that’s because of the lotion she uses: Jergens
Original Scent. No, that’s not weird at all. Shut up. It’s probably
weird, though, that I stroke the snake using Jergens Original
Scent. How about we just pretend I never shared that little tidbit,
okay?

My best friend, Tyler Branson, called
me when I was on my way home from consoling Charlotte, and he could
tell by the sound of my voice that I needed help, so he made an
emergency trip to my apartment.

“
I think what we need to
do here is make a list,” Tyler tells me after he swallows a
mouthful of beer.

Tyler was my college roommate. I met
him on my first day when I moved into the dorms. I walked into our
room with my mom and dad carrying boxes of my crap behind me, only
to find him standing naked in the middle of his bed, hanging a
poster of Megan Fox on his ceiling.

Tyler likes being naked. Tyler thinks
everyone likes seeing him naked because he’s under the impression
he has the body of a Greek God. Tyler learned within seven seconds
of meeting my mother that women will point and laugh at him when
he’s naked. Tyler has been in love with my mother ever
since.

“
Seriously, bro. We need
to make a list. I’m tired of seeing you moping around on your
period every single day. You have the most epic job in the history
of the world, and that alone should make you happy, but I get it.
You need the girl. We’ll get you the girl,” Tyler reassures me as
he rummages through the junk drawer in my kitchen for a piece of
paper and a pen.