Spectacular Rascal: A Sexy Flirty Dirty Standalone Romance (10 page)

But what else is new?

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

From the text archives of Curved for her Pleasure

and Polka Dot Panties

To Curve from Panties: Okay, spill. I have to know how you did it.

From Curve: Did what? Finally managed to create a trail you couldn’t finish in less than ninety minutes?

Skill, Panties.

Skill and technique and a commitment to excellence.

And I checked out a book on tracking animals in the wild and tried to be smarter than a wild animal. It was tough, but I managed.

Panties: No, not that, though that was a nice surprise. I like it when you challenge me.

Excellence comes so easily that sometimes I get bored, you know?

Curve: *nose emoji* *beer emoji* *geyser emoji*

Panties: You just snorted beer out of your nose? Good. I hope the Holy Gail was there to see it and now understands that you are a mere mortal and borderline gross like the rest of the boys on campus.

Curve: Gail has a lifeguard certification test tomorrow. She’s home studying and resting up, but she has texted me several times.

I’m not one to sext and tell, Red, but I think how “gross” I am is the last thing on her mind…

Panties: So I’ve heard. So how did you do it?

Every guy at this school has tried to hook up with Gail Goodnight, but for three years she’s turned every one of them down. The Holy Gail, like her namesake the Holy Grail, is unattainable and mysterious and probably the secret to eternal life and happiness. But we all assumed no one would ever know for sure because of the unattainable part.

Now you’ve gone and proved everyone wrong.

How? I have to know.

What’s your secret trick?

Curve: There has to be a trick? The fact that I’m a nice guy with a decent sense of humor who’s easy on the eyes isn’t enough?

Panties: Sorry, but no, it isn’t. Better men than you, Curve, have stormed the Goodnight Castle only to be dismembered by its portcullis.

Curve: *drooling emoji* Me no talk big words so good.

Panties: Lol. You do, too.

You’re just not up on your medieval battle armaments.

A portcullis was a rapid response defense mechanism in medieval castles— incredibly heavy doors with iron spikes on the bottom. So when they dropped on invading enemies they tended to gore people to death.

Limbs were lost. Tears were shed. Dreams were dashed.

Much like the situation with the beautiful, boobilicious Gail and the horny and heartbroken boys of Penn U.

Curve: You’re not right, Panties.

There is something seriously messed up in that squirrely brain of yours.

Panties: Fine. If you don’t want to tell me, just say so.

But as someone who has a thing for an Unattainable, I could use some practical advice, and you’re probably the only person who can tell me what I’m doing wrong.

Curve: Aw! Panties has a crush! That’s so cute.

Panties: Shut up! I am not cute.

Curve: Precious little Panties is in lurrrvve! So who is he?

A fellow super-secret soldier spy?

A former Navy SEAL studying nuclear physics on the GI Bill?

The scary guy with the shaved head who runs the ROTC?

Panties: Ew. No. He walks like he has a pole up his ass.

Unattainable doesn’t go to school here. We met our senior year of boarding school, before he was accepted to West Point. I’ve been angling for some one-on-one time ever since, but he never bites. And aside from him, I’ve never had trouble landing at least a first date with someone I’m interested in.

I know I’m not the hottest thing going, but I make up for that with entertainment value, and it usually takes people at least one date to realize they have no interest in my particular kind of crazy.

Curve: You are highly entertaining.

So what’s wrong with this guy? Why is he too stupid to be into you?

And since he’s obviously stupid, are you sure you want to bother with his dumb ass?

Panties: I do. There’s just something about him…

But I’ve tried all my usual methods—insulting him, ignoring him, sitting on his lap when he least expects it, teasing him until he laughs so hard he pukes—but nothing is working.

He’s an uncrackable nut, the Archie of the Covenant to your Holy Gail.

Curve: But his name’s not Archie?

Panties: God, no. That would be a deal breaker right there.

Curve: Okay, so…

Though I agree that insulting people and ignoring them are usually excellent ways to show them you’re interested in a meaningful connection, I’m going to suggest a slightly different tack.

Panties: *drooling emoji* Thanks. Me no flirt so good.

Curve: No, you do. But you only flirt one way. You have the Red method down pat, but people have different needs, different proclivities, different buttons that they need to have pushed to start thinking of a friend as something more.

Panties: Proclivities. Nice.

Are you showing off because you didn’t know what a portcullis is?

Curve: Do you want an answer or not? Because I do have a game to watch and more beer to drink, and I was thinking seriously about whipping up some vegetarian nachos.

Panties: Sorry, sorry. I want an answer, but I’m confused…

So you’re saying I need to change my entire flirting style to please this guy? Isn’t that counter-intuitive? I mean, I want him to like ME, not someone I’m pretending to be.

Curve: You’re not going to pretend to be someone else.

You’re going to be Red, just Red focused on meeting the needs of her partner, instead of impressing him with her knowledge of medieval battle armaments or fucking with his head by running hot and cold with the insults and lap sitting.

Panties: Ouch.

Okay, first up I was kidding about my flirting style. And secondly, I am all about meeting people’s needs. Hell, I usually know what the person I’m with wants before they do—a side effect of being raised by a father who chewed my ass for fucking up first and explained how to avoid fucking up never.

I know how not to fuck things up, Curve.

And as far as I can tell, I’m giving Mr. Unattainable exactly what he needs.

Curve: Which is?

Panties: Someone who refuses to take his shit or pander to him because he’s beautiful. Someone who praises him when he’s the most wonderful version of himself—which is pretty wonderful—and refuses to let him off the hook when he’s phoning it in.

Someone who makes him laugh, which he needs. I can tell he has some sad stuff in his past, even though he never talks about it.

And I know he likes me. A lot.

But only as a friend…

So maybe it’s just…me? Maybe I have no sex vibe?

OMG, I can’t believe I just texted that. Delete it and forget it. Or if you can’t delete and forget, at least please refrain from teasing me. I can’t handle that on top of the Mr. Unattainable brush off.

This is why we should have stuck with notes in the hole! I would never have written something like that and put it in the hole.

Why didn’t I respect the hole?!

Curve: Lol. Relax, psycho. I’m not going to tease you.

You definitely have a sex vibe. You’re a little feral sometimes, but totally pounceable, and I hear some guys like the wild-girl-who-needs-to-be-tamed thing.

Panties: Thank you. And I think he would like it. If he gave it a try.

Curve: Great. Then assuming your guy is open to what you’ve got to offer, you just need to figure out what’s holding him back, the way I did with Gail.

So I’m going to share my magic trick, but you have to swear never to tell anyone. Dasher oath of honor, spit in your beer and hope to die.

Panties: *spitting emoji* *beer emoji* *skull and crossbones emoji* Done.

Curve: Okay, so…I call her sweetheart.

Panties: Excuse me?

Curve: I call her sweetheart. And ‘sweets’ sometimes, when the moment is right. She likes the mushy stuff, so I supply the mushy stuff. I think she likes that I’m willing to let the way I feel about her show.

You know?

Hello?

Panties…

Are you still there?

If you tell me you’re leaning over the toilet because my sweetness made you barf, I will never share anything private with you ever again. Ever. So choose your next words carefully, kid…

Panties: I’m still here. Sorry. My roommate came in with her Bang-O-The-Month, and I had to move down to the study lounge.

So you call her pet names? That’s it?

You whipped out a sweetheart or two, and she fell into your manly arms?

Curve: No. I don’t just whip them out. I
mean
them.

She is a sweetheart, and I care about her, and I’m happy to do what it takes to make her feel special.

Panties: That’s…really sweet.

So I guess you’re a sweetheart, too.

The sweetest sweetheart ever, sweetie sweets.

Curve: Stop.

Panties: But I’m serious, sweets. You take the cake. You’re so sweet the cake knows it’s going to taste sour by comparison so it just gives up and lets you take it.

Done. Mic drop. Cake out.

Curve: That’s it. You just got taken off the No Bullshit list.

Now you only get surface conversation and insults. And I’m going to put forward a motion to have your Dasher name changed to Farts with Wolves.

Panties: NO! I’m sorry. I really am. I just couldn’t help myself. You know I couldn’t. It was too perfect a set up.

But I’m truly grateful for the advice and happy for you and Gail. You two are going to have amazingly gorgeous babies and make the world a better place. Or at least a prettier one.

Please forgive me?

Curve: *beady eye emoji*

Panties: Please. I swear I’m sorry, and I promise I’ll take the sweetheart stuff to the grave.

Curve: You’d better. Or I will find a way to make you pay, feral squirrel.

Panties: Got it. My lips are sealed.

But for what it’s worth, if you were my man, I’d rather be called feral squirrel than sweetheart. It shows some originality, you know?

And it doesn’t make me want to barf. So, that’s a plus.

Curve: I’ll keep that in mind for the day I realize I’ve been secretly carrying a torch for your polka-dot-pantied ass.

Panties: You do that, Curve. You do that.

And maybe, if you’re lucky, I’ll have come around to a similar realization.

Curve: One can only hope…

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Cat and I face each other down across the island in her kitchen, which is large by city standards, as is the rest of her apartment, making me think she must do pretty well for herself, whatever kind of lawyer she is.

I’m not surprised, of course. It was clear from the moment I met her that Red could do anything she set her mind to.

Which is probably why this Nico thing is so hard for her. She’s the kind of person who is used to calling the shots and solving her own problems. For her to have hired someone to help her out of a mess, any mess, is completely out of character. She’s in unfamiliar territory, something I should have remembered before I lost my temper and control of my mouth.

“You ready?” I ask, doing my best to forget that I was talking dirty to her less than ten minutes ago.

But my cock doesn’t want to forget. It doesn’t give a shit how unprofessional it is to be coming on to my client. It just wants to get Cat naked and make up for turning her down all those years ago.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.” Her tongue slips out to wet her bottom lip, and I pretend I’m not thinking about biting it.

There are six shots of tequila and two beers in frosted glasses lined up between us and judging by the intense expression on Cat’s face she’s ready to open the confessional.

“You remember how this works, right?” She brings her hand to her mouth and licks the back of it, holding my gaze as she reaches for the saltshaker. “After each confession, we drink. And everything we say from the time we open Religious Advice until the final words of the ceremony is top secret, never to be repeated to another living soul.”