Once Upon a Sure Thing (Heartbreakers #2)

I shake my head. “It’s our secret,” I say to this sweet kid who melts my heart, just like the woman in the other room does.

That’s the problem. That’s the big fucking problem. I care for them both too much.

I ruffle her hair, then I get the hell out of there.





Chapter 19





Miller



Miller: Hey, hot stuff. Told you I’m not the kind of guy who dry-humps and doesn’t text by six a.m.





Ally: I’m not sure you specifically did, but hey, that’s clearly another point in your favor.





Miller: Hooray for points. Ready for a busy day at prom?





Ally: You remembered what I’m reading today. :)





Miller: Does that surprise you?





Ally: It shouldn’t. You always remember. I guess I haven’t stopped liking it.





Miller: Keep liking it. It’ll keep happening. As for me, I’m all about the songwriting today.





Ally: Someone distracted you from songwriting last night. :)





Miller: Someone definitely distracted me, and I regret nothing.





But no regrets doesn’t mean we have a free pass to mess around again. Today, I vow as I turn on the shower, I will resist the irresistible. A little later though, because I need to take care of this morning situation first. It’s the same situation I faced last night when I returned home from Ally’s place.

The solution isn’t nearly as satisfying as the one she teased me with when I left. But the image of her mouth on me will do just fine.

Oh yes, that’s way more than fine.

That’s one of the ways showers are indeed much better than baths.



*

The moment of truth has arrived. With a deadly serious expression, I plunk the first Dixie cup on the counter.

Beverly rubs her palms together. “Honestly, I didn’t think you’d come back.”

I scoff incredulously. “Oh, ye of little faith.”

She rolls her eyes. “I knew you’d come back for the birth certificate. But I figured you’d forget all about the great test.”

I fix her with a don’t-ever-doubt-me stare. “There is nothing more important to me in this moment than testing the veracity of this candy’s flavor.” I take a deep breath. “Are you ready?”

She nods solemnly, brushing a few loose strands of hair back into her bun. “I am.”

I stare intently. “There’s no turning back, Beverly. Once you know, you can’t unknow this.”

She nods resolutely, like a soldier.

I line up four Dixie cups on the counter, showing her the contents of each one. Each cup contains a different color of candy—I doled it out in the hall before I came in. I move them around, Three-card Monte–style, mixing up the locations. Each one is marked on the bottom with the candy’s color.

I slide the first cup to her in the taste test. She closes her eyes, fishes for the red candy, and pops it in her mouth. She chews thoughtfully. “It definitely tastes like cherry.”

She works her way down the line, pronouncing grape, lime, and orange.

When she opens her eyes, I thrust my hands in the air in victory. “She shoots—she scores!”

Her eyes widen, and she smiles gleefully. “I got them all right?”

I tap out a beat on the counter. “You sure did, Beverly. You are a one hundred percent certified Skittle aficionado with taste buds like Giada De Laurentiis,” I say, then show her the marks on the bottom of each cup. “You, Beverly, have dispelled the notion of a Skittles Matrix.” I reach into the bag again and hand her a huge, unopened packet of Skittles. “Your reward.”

She clutches the bag to her chest like it’s a precious object, a teddy bear from her childhood returned safely. “Thank you. You certainly made my job a lot more fun. And I do appreciate it because this is the first job I’ve stayed in for a long time.”

I tilt my head to the side, my curiosity stoked. “What do you mean?”

“You name it, I’ve done it. I was a short-order cook. I was a retail clerk. I’ve worked in an auto parts store and as a receptionist at a nail salon. Then I found this job. I’ve kept it for five years and counting. That’s the longest.”

“What do you attribute the longevity to?”

“Honestly,” she says, lowering her voice to a whisper, even though no one’s nearby since it’s still lunch break, “the benefits. This job has really good benefits.” She spins around in her chair, grabs an envelope, and hands it to me. “Plus, every now and then you meet somebody who makes your day interesting.”

I flick open the envelope and verify that it’s Jackson’s birth certificate inside. “Thank you. I appreciate you doing this so quickly.”

She shakes her head. “Sweetheart, I have you to thank. You made my day. In fact, you made two days. I guess you’re one of the benefits now too, and so are these Skittles.” She opens the bag and shakes a few into my palm.

I pop a red one in my mouth, savoring the cherry flavor. As I leave, I linger on that word, letting myself think about benefits.

All kinds of benefits.

Everything snaps into place, thanks to the power of red Skittles.





Chapter 20





Ally



I’m walking on sunshine today. I'm shiny and new. Forget these young adult novels that pay my bills. Someone ought to hire me today to model skincare.

I’m positively glowing as I read a toe-curlingly, heart-meltingly delicious first kiss at a prom scene for my sports-radio heroine. “As the pop music plays, and the lights flicker across the dance floor, Taylor sweeps his thumb across my cheek and brushes his lips to mine. He’s soft and gentle, but full of longing too. I soar to the sky from a kiss at prom.”

I exhale, stretch my arms, and tell Kristy I’m going to take five.

She pokes her head into my side of the booth, holding up a hand to high five. “You are on fire today, girl.” I smack her palm. “Can I have some of what you're having? I want that flow when I'm editing.”

“It's one of those lucky days.” I smile, as if I've got a secret, only I don’t even know what that secret is. Except maybe it’s that orgasms make you feel better about everything.

Or maybe it’s that friendship and fooling around can coexist. Miller and I danced so seamlessly back onto familiar ground this morning, and I’m pretty damn ecstatic about that too. Who said a little nookie would ruin a friendship? Not this girl. We are all good. We slid back to our roles like the path was lubed.

Though that might not be the best word to use.

Because now I’m thinking below the belt again. Truth be told, I’ve kind of been thinking with my lady parts all day long. As I slick on some lip gloss in the restroom, checking out my reflection, those parts are thinking of Miller.

What if we had one more time? One more night? To truly get him out of my system?

I close the tube of gloss, leave the restroom, and nearly bump into our receptionist outside the door.

“Hi, Ally. You have a little gift, it looks like,” she says with a conspiratorial smile and a curious glint in her eyes.

Frowning, I check out the padded envelope she hands me, but there’s no return address—only the words From M.

“Thanks, Meg. I appreciate you bringing this to me,” I say, then spin around since I don’t want to open this with an audience.

Anything from “M” has to be personal. Walking down the hallway, I reach inside and tug out a clear plastic bag filled with red Skittles and wrapped with a red polka-dot ribbon.

A shiver rushes through me as I snag the card tucked under the bow.



Red Skittles are my favorite. They taste like cherries. That gave me an idea. Call me.

M





I stop near the stairwell door and hit Miller’s name in my contacts. He answers immediately.

“Tell me more about this idea,” I say, setting my hand on my belly.

“Remember at the ice skating rink when you said people struck deals and arrangements?”

I remember every detail of that day—when I felt the spark and sizzle for him. “Yes. Why are you asking?”

“I did a little research, and I learned that one of those arrangements is a friends-with-benefits deal.”