The Right Stud: a sexy romantic comedy Read online

  My best friend’s jaw drops, but I shake my head. “Don’t even bother—Mrs. C called it a week ago. She knows.”

  She looks from Mona to me, but I’m feeling my sparkling wine. I push through the growing crowd to the bar and place my palm on the glossy wood.

  The tall bartender looms over me, and I announce with gusto, “I’ll have a martini! No ice, two olives.”

  His dark brow lowers. “Dirty?”

  “You know it,” I wink, no longer intimidated by his glower.

  “Goodness,” Mrs. C murmurs behind me. “Somebody’s going to be barfing in the morning.”

  I watch as the man prepares the semi-complicated drink, and when he pours it into the tumbler, I hand it to the old lady behind me. “For you!”

  Mrs. C’s eyebrows shoot up as she takes it. “I haven’t had one of these in, well, I can’t even remember when.”

  A thin layer of ice floats on the top, and she takes a slow sip of the gin and vermouth concoction.

  “Oh!” Her nose wrinkles as she passes it back to me. “I remember why it’s been so long since I’ve had one of these—Christmas trees.”

  The music grows louder, a dance tune somewhere between Motown and David Guetta. I take a long sip of Christmas and toss my hands in the air. It’s the first time I haven’t felt like a boulder was squashing my heart in three days, and I want to dance.

  We’re out on the floor, bodies bouncing off us as we twist and sway to the music. Lulu is right beside me, twisting her hips with her eyes closed. Her hair swishes behind her in a silky curtain. Mrs. C is with us doing some sort of robot-style interpretive dance. The smoke machine goes off and lights streak through the bodies in thick bands. I close my eyes and forget everything as I’m swept up higher and higher…

  Three songs later, we’re at a high-top table, sweaty and ordering more drinks. Mrs. C frowns, holding the plastic drink menu close to her face.

  “I guess I read the website wrong. They don’t have karaoke every night.”

  “Thank heaven for small mercies.” Lulu holds her hair off her neck as she fans herself. “The last thing I want is to hear a bunch of drunks screaming off-key.”

  Mrs. C pats my arm. “We’ll just have to come back tomorrow night.”

  I’m shaking my head as the waiter appears to take our orders. Lulu and I stick to prosecco while Mrs. C orders a margarita. “And put a jalapeño in it!”

  That makes me smile. I reach out to cover the old woman’s forearm with my hand, giving it a squeeze. A Bruno Mars song blasts over the loudspeakers, and Lulu slides out of her chair, doing a little hip-twisty move.

  I’m about to join her when the door opens, and the air whooshes out of my lungs. I sit quickly, ducking to take a sip of my fresh drink as Monica struts inside wearing a red wrap dress with Kyle following behind her. His head is lowered, and he reminds me of Lulu’s Chihuahua the day the skunks got spooked. Cowed.

  “Well, look what the cat dragged in.” My best friend speaks loud enough for them to hear, and I cringe when Monica turns to face us.

  “Lulu,” I hiss. The last thing I want is a showdown on the night I’m getting back on my feet.

  Too late. Monica straightens her shoulders and marches her bony ass right to the high top table beside us. Kyle’s eyes meet mine, and his brow lifts slightly. He almost looks happy to see me. What a bastard. Monica not treating you right, dear?

  I don’t have time for his bullshit.

  “If your grandmother was here…” Mrs. C lifts the jalapeño out of her drink and starts to bite it. Then she seems to think better of it and lowers it into the icy, lime-green mixture instead.

  Only… Her words do something to my insides. I remember the day at The Silver Spoon and how Monica had tried to make me feel like a slut for taking in boarders at The Conch. I remember what a yellow-bellied coward she was when Jax put her in her place, and I know all of her arrogance is just an act.

  The music switches to a slow song. It’s quieter, and several couples start to dance all hugged up and swaying. I wonder if Kyle will dance with Monica, and I’m gratified to realize I don’t give a shit at all.

  They don’t go to the dance floor. They stand at that table, and Monica glares at me, wrinkling her nose. “You know, Kyle,” she says in a loud voice. “I’ve been thinking of doing some tarot readings of my own.”

  “What?” He frowns at her, clearly confused.

  “I was just telling Rayleen it wouldn’t be long before Ashton lost her house. I even predicted she’d be alone again.”

  My jaw clenches, and I weigh the pros and cons of fighting with words versus throwing my drink in her face. Lulu interrupts my violent plotting.

  “Hey, Ash,” she says, equally loudly while nodding toward Monica. “Don’t you have a dress just like that one?”

  Blinking the hot anger out of my eyes, I study the red wrap dress with tiny white polka dots and a ruffle around the hem. It’s the very dress I had on at lunch that day.

  “Well, I’ll be a—”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if she starts trolling home improvement shows next, pitching her bony butt as a sidekick. Kyle had better watch his back.”

  Monica’s eyes and mouth are round as saucers. She flounces around the table to stand beside my ex. “Don’t listen to her, Kyle. As if I care about anything she does.”

  No more acting like we’re not talking to each other. I slide off my stool and face my nemesis head-on.

  “I think you do.” My voice is loud and strong. “I think you do everything you can to copy me. Why is that, Monica? Is original thought really so hard for you?”

  Lulu steps around beside me, placing her hand on her hip. “They say imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.”

  “It’s the sincerest form of stupidity if you ask me.” My eyes are flashing fire, and strength is surging through my chest. I step to Monica, and she takes a step away, toward Kyle. “Maybe one day you’ll stop being a lying, fiancé-stealing, backstabbing copy cat and just be yourself. Unless… that is yourself.” I tilt my head and turn to Lulu. “Heck, I think I figured it out. That’s all she is.”

  “You wish that’s all I am,” Monica snaps while my back is turned.

  When I turn around, she cowers behind Kyle again. I’m undeterred. “I’m only going to say this once.” Our eyes meet, and she’s blinking fast. “Stay out of my way. I’m done with your bullshit.”

  Kyle starts to defend her, but I slice him a new one with my gaze as well. He shrinks back, and I feel good. Calm and good. And suddenly tired, as if a weight has been lifted.

  I put my glass on the table. “Let’s go, girls. This place has gotten too skanky for my taste.”

  With that I walk calmly to the exit. I’m ready to head back to The Conch.

  “That’s what I call a BURN!” Mrs. C calls to them, following behind me. “Did you hear what she said? Need me to spell it out for you? Stay out of Bad-Ash’s way.”

  She’s taunting, and I roll my eyes, grinning as I push through the door into the night air. Lulu is right behind me, saying goodnight to us before she heads to my brother’s. Mrs. C and I wait for the Uber.

  When we got back to The Conch, we had some decaf and shared a little celebratory cake before hitting the feathers.

  This morning, I’m lying in bed, luxuriating in the waves of power moving through me. I feel good. I feel at ease.

  Yet, I don’t feel happy. Not really.

  Pushing the blankets aside, I walk to the bathroom and splash water on my face. I lift the towel and touch it to my cheeks, thinking about the reasons everything is good, why I feel like I’ve grown and changed. Why something is still missing.

  I’ve said what I needed to say to the people who deserve to hear it. I’ve taken control back, but as those days were passing, while I was getting stronger, I was also falling in love.

  I really did, and it felt so true and real.

  Mrs. C is in the kitchen when I enter wearing a bright green sundress
. She’s in her blue and yellow pajamaralls with a red handkerchief tied around her head, and she’s pouring a mug of coffee. Rufus is on the curio, bobbing his head to George Harrison’s “My Sweet Lord” playing softly on the radio.

  “You’re up early.” I pass behind Mrs. C to get a mug of my own. “Didn’t you sleep well?”

  “I woke up in the mood to do some fishing.”

  “Oh?”

  She smiles. “Last night got me thinking about all the fish in the sea, which then got me thinking about how Mr. C and I used to love to fry up some fresh perch with red and yellow bell peppers, ground paprika, a little onion and garlic.”

  “So no breakfast for you?”

  She puts her cup on the counter and pats my arm. “I’ll catch us something good to eat for lunch instead.” With a wave, Rufus descends to her shoulder, and they head out the side door.

  I watch as she scoops up a cane pole and a small pail of dirt, and I realize she’s been up a while if she had time to dig for grubs. Then I wonder where in the world she managed to find grubs around here with all the sand.

  I shake my head as I walk over to the cabinet. Taking down my pale green mixing bowl, I pull out the dry ingredients. I step to the refrigerator and take out milk and eggs and a small basket of blueberries.

  My feet are bare, and as I start to fold the ingredients together, the ache expands in my chest. As proud as I am for how much I’ve changed, for standing up to Monica and walking out with my head high, it’s impossible to forget all the things that happened on the journey. I remember the days Jax and I spent together, starting with the kiss in that bar.

  But he lied to you, Ashton. My head refuses to budge on this, and I know it’s right.

  Still, I remember him walking around the house, studying it so intently that first day. I remember him saying he’d help me, and how impossibly happy I’d been. Why would he do all that work if he was only in it for the money?

  To get in your pants, you naïve child. Once again, my brain rises up to chastise me.

  But, oh, man, how amazing was it when he finally did get into my pants? I squeeze my thighs together as I turn the thickening batter with my wooden spoon. Reaching for the muffin pan, I give it a quick spritz with cooking oil before dropping portions into each of the cups.

  He sat on the floor with me in my closet, listening to me talk about the mural Granny painted. He rescued JC from drowning. He even crawled under that house to get rid of the skunk family.

  After that, my memories become a whirlwind of heat and lust and laughter and playfulness. We sat on the beach and talked and talked. We lay in his bed and talked and talked. We watched movies. We held hands. He defended me against Monica when I was still finding my feet. He introduced me to his family.

  We were just so comfortable in each other’s arms.

  What did he say that last day? I slide the pan into the hot oven as I try to remember…

  “I never let him explain,” I say to myself, my eyes drifting to the window.

  “Is it too late to try again?” I jump a foot in the air at the low male voice before spinning around to face him.

  My heart thuds, and Jax stands on the other side of the screen door, looking at me with so much intensity in his blue eyes.

  Twenty-Eight

  Ashton

  Is it possible Jax looks better than ever? He’s only wearing jeans and a light-blue oxford, but his eyes glow from beneath his lowered brow.

  “Sorry.” His expression is concerned. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  Clearing my throat, I manage to speak. “What are you doing here?”

  His chin drops, and he lifts the leather case he’s holding. “My producer loved the work we did. I put together a demo, and she’s pitching it to HGTV. We’re pretty confident they’re going to go for it.”

  Blinking quickly, I try to understand what he’s saying. “But… did you tell them my brother wants to sell? I could lose the house?”

  It still provokes a burning at the base of my throat when I say the words. My brother is giving me acid reflux.

  “If the show gets picked up, it’ll change everything.” He’s studying me so intently, I have to break his gaze.

  Glancing down, I slide my hands over the skirt of my cotton dress. A dark, wavy lock falls over my eye, and I remember I’m standing on the wooden floors in my bare feet.

  I’d never thought about how much I run around here barefoot until Jax noticed. Lifting my chin, I catch his eyes still on me, only now they look… hungry. It makes my skin hot.

  “How would everything change?” My voice is suddenly thick.

  “It would mean a lot of money flowing into the project. It would mean free restorations for the house, free publicity if you wanted to run it as a B&B.” He pauses, allowing his eyes to drift down my body to my feet and up again. It’s like a caress. “If this works out the way I want it to, the way I’ve wanted it to since the first day I was here, it could take things to a whole new level.”

  He’s saying everything I hoped might happen when I emailed him months ago, inviting him to come for a visit. Only… “What do you want to happen?”

  The blue in his eyes seems to darken, and I flush from head to toe.

  “I want to save this house. I want you on the show.” He clears his throat and lifts the leather portfolio he’s holding. “You’re a natural in front of the camera, Ash. Tara, my producer, and I agree you’d be a great addition, if that’s something you’d be interested in doing. It doesn’t have to be full-time—”

  Heat simmers in my chest with every word he speaks.

  Wait. He wants me on his show?

  “You mean I’d be like Jeffrey on The Barefoot Contessa?” Confusion lines his brow, and I hastily explain. “Jeffrey is her husband. She’s the main one on the show all the time, but he’ll pop in and sample something she’s made or she’ll say she’s cooking this for Jeffrey…”

  I’m rambling, but understanding dawns across his face. “It’s a cooking show?”

  “You’ve never heard of The Barefoot Contessa?”

  “Can I come inside?”

  Electricity flashes through me at his tone, and I swallow before wiping my sweaty palm over my middle.

  “I guess so.” Stepping forward, I reach for the door, but he’s already pulling it open.

  I take a step back, and his presence absolutely fills my kitchen. Another step back, and my butt hits the counter, my elbow slides a mug out of the way.

  “Would you like some coffee? I’m making muffins…”

  “They smell delicious.” He steps closer, and my stomach tightens. My head feels hot, and there’s no escaping him.

  Blinking fast, I search for anything to say. “So you were saying you want me to be on your show?”

  He places both hands on the counter, caging me in his arms. “The camera loves you.”

  “The camera?” I lift my chin, and our lips are a breath apart.

  “Mm-hm.” His warm breath skates over my cheek, and his eyes capture mine.

  So many memories swirl in our gaze, but a sliver of resistance remains in my brain. “I’m still mad… about before.”

  He nods, moving his face as if he’s inhaling my scent. “I should have told you everything.” Warm eyes hold mine. “I knew if I told Ben no, he’d find someone else to sell the place. I didn’t want anyone else coming in here. I wanted to be the one to save it. I wanted to be your hero.”

  “You barely even knew me.”

  “When I kissed you in that bar, I didn’t know you at all.” His face seems to dip lower. Or maybe my chin lifts higher.

  “I’m just another goat in the ocean to you.”

  A laugh rumbles deep in his throat as his hands move closer, capturing me in a full-on embrace. “You’re much softer than Jean Claude.” Dipping his head to my ear, he inhales lightly. “You smell better, too.”

  My hands slide up his arms to his shoulders. “So I’m a kitten in a tree?”

&nbs
p; “No.” He lifts his head so our eyes can meet, and his expression turns serious. “You’re an amazing woman. You’re smart and stubborn and loyal, and you’re a natural at doing my job. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you everything. I never wanted to hurt you.”

  “Don’t ever do it again.”

  “I promise I won’t.” His nose touches mine. “Can I kiss you now?”

  My eyes flicker to his full lips, and I stretch up to meet them. Soft and warm, they push mine apart, and his tongue sweeps inside, curling with mine and lighting me up like a firecracker.

  A little noise escapes from my throat, and the temperature in the kitchen skyrockets. His hands are on my hips, fingers curling as he gathers my skirt higher. I’m throbbing with need, clutching his face in my hands, scratching my fingers through his light beard. I’m ready to climb him like a tree, when—

  “The muffins are burning!” Mrs. C flies through the screen door with Rufus right behind her screeching.

  “Fucking teenagers!” The bird lands on the curio, shifting from foot to foot as he settles in his spot.

  We break apart quickly, and I grab a hot pad to retrieve the baked goods from the oven. Mrs. C is beside me holding long silver tongs in one hand and wearing an oven mitt on the other.

  “Save the lovemaking for later. Don’t burn my breakfast!”

  “You said you didn’t want any breakfast,” I fuss, holding the pan upside down and giving it a shake.

  The slightly over-browned muffins drop into the basket as Mrs. C leans over to inspect them, turning them quickly with the tongs.

  “I was halfway to the creek when I saw Studly here coming up the lane. Decided to double back and make sure you didn’t need any help.”

  Jax’s voice is a sly tease. “You wanted to spy on us is more like it.”

  “I did not!” The old woman draws up, crossing her arms over her chest. She only holds the pose a moment before breaking down with a wink. “That was some damn fine apologizing, though. Reminds me of the time Mr. C tried putting a Carolina Reaper on my nachos. That’s the hottest pepper in the world, you know, grown right here in our home state of South Carolina. Well, that was the final straw. I packed up, ready to drive to Mama’s when he promised never to pull a stunt like that again.”