Spectacular Rascal: A Sexy Flirty Dirty Standalone Romance (23 page)

I am enough, more than enough, and she is…perfect.

I want to tell her that—that’s she’s perfect, flawless, the best thing I’ve ever felt—but I know she won’t believe me. Because back when we were younger, I was an idiot in a hurry to get the first peek at the glossy magazines hitting the shelves, too stupid to realize I was breezing right by a work of art without a second look.

Cat is a work of art. She’s the real thing, the kind of person who gets better, smarter, funnier, more fascinating with age. And I missed out on eleven years of her. Eleven years of Red growing and learning and changing, but also staying the same because she is a diamond in a world full of people made of glass.

I want to tell her that, too, that’s she’s a diamond—strong, clear, unbreakable, timeless—but I don’t because she starts coming and all I can think is—

Yes, God, yes. More, more, please, more, let me feel you like this forever, baby. My Cat. My Red. Mine, mine, mine.

Stay with me. Stay…

And maybe I say a few of those things as I come inside her, my cock jerking so hard I see stars. I don’t know for sure.

I only know that by the time I come back to my body, she’s cupping my face in her hands and looking up at me with a soft, sweet, wonder-filled look that makes me feel like the entire world has gone sideways and she’s the only thing still standing on solid ground.

And for a second I’m scared because,
fuck
this is happening fast, and I’m not even sure I know how to do the couple thing, at least, not the way I want to be able to do it for her.

But then she whispers, “Hey, Aidan,” as she brushes her thumb across my lips.

“Yes, Red,” I say, my voice rough, my throat tight.

“Do you want to push the beds together and make a blanket fort?”

I smile and nod, unable to speak for a minute. But when I can, I don’t take the easy out she’s given me. “How do you always know what to say?”

“Because I know you,” she says, kissing me softly before whispering against my lips. “But you don’t have to be scared. I don’t think either of us has to be scared. Not anymore.”

I nod gently. Because she’s right.

What is there to be scared of as long as she’s here? As long as I know that I get to wake up and do this entire day-into-night thing with her again tomorrow?

“Is it okay that I’m a little scared of fucking on the top bunk?” I ask, sensing it’s time to lighten the mood. At least a little.

She pulls away, a wicked glint in her eyes as she gazes up at me. “No, it’s not okay. You’re going to man up and fuck me on the top bunk tonight, and wake up tomorrow knowing that you’ve got what it takes.”

“What it takes for what?” I ask, grinning.

“To be a top bunk fucker, the best kind of fucker there is,” she says, grabbing the shampoo bottle and spraying a glob of amber liquid onto my chest. “Now get your ass cleaned up, soldier.”

I give her a mock salute and run my hand down my chest, dragging the glob of shampoo to my dick and getting things sudsy. “Give me ten minutes and the captain and his crew will be ready for duty.”

She smiles as she watches me work the soap around my cock. “Perfect.”

As promised, ten minutes later, I’ve helped her push the bunk beds together and drape the extra sheets into a tent and joined her on the double top bunk. There, I kiss her into an orgasm on my mouth, fuck her into yet another on the top bunk, and then threaten to have her again on the bottom bunk, but she falls asleep before I can coax her down the ladder.

And so I curl my body around hers and drift off to sleep, determined to get my rest so I can wake up and do it—and her—all over again tomorrow.

CHAPTER THIRTY

From the
UNSENT
draft emails of Catherine Elizabeth Legend

To: Curved4HerPleasure

From: RunPantiesRun

Re: Me After You

It’s been six months without any word. From you or of you.

I don’t know where in the world you are, or if you’re even alive, but I assume you are. I feel like I would know if you were dead. That’s probably crazy, but I guess I’m a little crazy. Or at least a complete failure when it comes to reading other people.

That’s something I’ve had to come to terms with now that you’re gone and all I have left are the things you left behind.

I’ve been over every saved note, every text, and every piece of Dasher memorabilia that was ever touched by your hands, Curve. My dorm room is an archeological dig of words and raunchy tee shirts and an eclectic collection of beer coasters.

But mostly words. So many words, but nowhere in any of it is there a promise of anything more than friendship. It lurks beneath the private jokes, and whispers from the careful curves of your letters in the notes I’ve read so often the ink is beginning to fade, but you never said anything outright. Never brought the truth out of the shadows or gave it a name.

But it had a name for me.

I was in love with you.

Maybe that makes you laugh, or roll your eyes.

Most likely it makes you feel sorry for me, the pathetic underclassman who took two years of friendship way too seriously. But I don’t care. I loved you. And not in the silly way the girls in my dorm “love” boys. You weren’t a crush, or some good-looking jock I put up on a pedestal and worshipped without knowing who you were. You were flesh and bone, laughter and secrets, beautiful and messed up in ways I knew I could help you fix if you’d let me.

The way you always fixed me. You helped me and changed me in a dozen different ways from the day of that first run to the day you left without saying good-bye.

And we both know I’m not crazy. You gave me a hundred reasons to think you might love me, too.

Last summer there was no doubt in my mind…

But now that I’ve gone so long without seeing your face…

I miss your eyes the most, I think. I miss looking into them and watching the world fade and blur until you’re the only thing in perfect focus.

Or maybe it was
me
that was in focus.

You made me feel like someone had finally seen me. Seen me and found no reason to be disappointed. When we were together, I forgot that I’ve spent my life letting down the only man who ever loved me. You knew all my secrets, and you liked me anyway. You knew what it was like to wander through a world of two-dimensional people without ever finding anyone real enough to hold onto until a September morning two years ago.

Or so I thought. I knew you were scared—I was, too, or it wouldn’t have taken me two years to kiss you—but I was certain you’d get up the courage to admit that you loved me eventually.

I sound pathetic, don’t I?

And I was. I was sad and pathetic for a long, long time.

But now there are days when I don’t miss you at all. Days when I don’t think about you, or wonder where you are, or care if you’re thinking about me. And on those days, I know I’m better off without you. Because I deserve someone brave enough to care, brave enough to give all the fucks because that’s what fucks are for. To give them away to people smart enough to treasure them.

But now it’s too late. Now I know I’m better off alone than wasting my time trying to convince a coward to be brave. I used to think I could be brave enough for both of us. But there’s no such thing as a courage transplant, and I need my courage to make my other dreams come true.

And those dreams no longer include you.

If you were thinking about contacting me, don’t. If you weren’t, take a minute to feel like shit—you deserve it—and then go back to forgetting me.

I’m already back to forgetting you.

Good-bye and good luck,

Catherine Elizabeth Legend

(Because after all this, for some stupid reason, I still want you to know my name.)

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

The next day dawns bright and beautiful, but Cat and I pretend it’s raining and stay in our bunk bed fort all morning. She makes coffee wearing nothing but a tiny apron she finds beneath the sink, while I fight to keep my hands to myself long enough to enjoy the show.

She’s fucking gorgeous padding around the kitchen, her pale skin glowing in the morning light and the dark red strawberries on the apron matching the red of her hair. I maintain control until she leans over to add sugar to my coffee and a nipple slips free and then, well…

Let’s just say my stepmother wouldn’t be happy to know what I had for breakfast on her table.

Later, after I’ve made Cat come loud enough to trigger a round of irritated honking from a pair of geese outside our window, I grab the scones Julie’s cook left on the front step. We crawl back into our fort to eat, because food in a fort is always twice as much fun, and make love on the crumbs before adjourning to the bathroom to wash the mess away.

We intend to wash quickly and head up to the main house to say hello to my parents, but washing the crumbs from Cat’s back turns into washing her hair and washing her hair turns out to be an unexpectedly sexy experience that ends with her palms braced against the slick shower wall while I take her from behind.

By the time we’re finally ready to interact with the world outside our love cottage, it’s lunchtime. We head up to the barn to find Julie enjoying lunch on the patio with two of her five tasting room workers, and my father thankfully out working on the grounds. Julie has brought extra pasta and vegetable salad and bread for Cat and I—just in case—and hands over a picnic basket without even asking us to stay and eat with her crew. She simply warns us that there will be “fancy dinner among the vines at eight” and that we’re expected to attend, and waves us on our way.

Cat and I take our picnic up to one of my favorite trees, climb it, and eat while watching the sailboats drift across the azure surface of the lake.

“This is the most magical place,” she says, lifting her face into a breeze that blows her hair over her shoulders. “I think I want to live in this tree.”

“It’s the best,” I agree. “I used to come up here to draw when I was a kid.”

“So those landscapes in your dorm room were yours,” she says with a smile. “I always wondered.”

“I can’t believe you remember them.” I tear off another hunk of bread and pass it over to her.

“I remember just about everything about Curve,” she says, using the old nickname. “I really liked him. Though, I have to confess, I like Aidan even more.”

“I’m glad.” I lean closer. “Because Aidan is pretty crazy about you.”

She tilts her head to the side, but when I try to kiss her she moves just out of reach. “Is this real, Aidan Knight? Because I can’t help feeling like I’m going to wake up any second and all of this will have been a beautiful wine buzz dream, and then I’ll be sad.”

“It’s not a dream, Catherine Elizabeth,” I say, dizzy from a hardcore sex hangover and the smell of her, so sweet and close. “The only thing you have to be sad about is that I’m taking you back to the stinky city on Sunday. But I promise to bring wine and a landscape painting or two to your place Monday night if that sounds good to you.”

“I would love that.” Her breath sighs out, warming my lips. “I can’t wait to have a Knight original on my wall. It will be my most treasured possession.”

“No, my cock insists that he should be your most treasured possession.”

She laughs softly. “So he belongs to me now?”

“From curve to balls,” I say, threading my fingers through her hair. “He’s all yours, beautiful.”

And then I kiss her, and it’s not long before I want to be doing so much more. But we’re in a tree, and though Cat is probably coordinated enough to pull off sex on a tree limb, I am not. So we pack up our lunch and hurry back to the cottage where I have her in our bunk bed fort, making love to her until the pleasure is so intense I’m pretty sure I’m going to die.

But I don’t die; I fall. I fall into her eyes and into her heart, deep down to the center of this person I don’t want to live without. And as I hug her close and she falls asleep on my chest, I wonder if this is a moment we’ll talk about later, when we tell the story of us. The moment when I knew I was falling in love with Red and she—hopefully—knew she was falling in love right back.

Everything is perfect.

So perfect, that a part of me worries that something is going to come along and spoil it. But after a moment, I force myself to dismiss the ominous feeling.

We’re safe at my parents’ place and soon all the bad stuff is going to be behind us.

I sleep the afternoon away and wake up in time to get dressed to take Cat to Julie’s fancy dinner without a care in the world. We hold hands as we walk through the vines, and I pretend not to stare at her, memorizing how beautiful she looks in the sunset, with her hair catching fire, her skin glowing, and her eyes glittering just for me.

We meet my parents’ friends, help uncork way too many bottles of wine, and settle in for four courses of decadent food. By the time we’re finished with our salad, we’re deep in conversation with the couple across from us and the older woman to my right. Cat’s so good with people, charming everyone, including my uncharmable father, but she’s only pure Cat with me. I get her unfiltered, which makes me ridiculously happy.