Until Merri: Happily Ever Alpha World Page 5

  “Oh.” Cyndi sounded disappointed. “So it’s a date with friends thing?”

  “Well, no,” she stammered. “I, uh, was a bitch about it, and things went sideways until Tom said he’d wanted to ask me out on a date for a long time.”

  “Wow. So you’re what? Exploring what’s behind door number one?”

  “That’s probably a good way of putting it. I think he was going to kiss me, but something made him run for the hills.”

  Cyndi sniggered. “Uh-huh. I bet you he was thinking something filthy. Did he have a stiffy?”

  “Oh, for god’s sake. What is wrong with you?”

  “Girl, eighteen years ago, that man was sex on two legs, and according to you, not much has changed. Men get erections when they want to fu …”

  “Shut up. I mean it. Don’t you dare jinx this for me.”

  “Nah, it’s cool. Remember who you’re talking to. I get it. It’s always been Tom. Thank god you came to your senses before that Shumpler moron waltzed you down the aisle.”

  She cringed. “Momentary lapse of reason. One I conveniently corrected once a certain hottie got divorced.”

  “This is your shot, Merri. Don’t screw it up. Close the deal however you can. Oh, and show him your boobs. Guys love the boob thing. And don’t drink too much. You know how you get.”

  “Sheesh, you! I’ll be thirty in December, and I assure you I have mastered my giggle reflex. Mostly.” She chuckled.

  “I’m so happy for you, sweetie. Tom’s a great guy—not an asshole—so he knows a thing or two about doing what’s right. And not to be a total shit or anything, but holy crap, what I wouldn’t give to see the expression on ole Abigail’s Botoxed mug when she hears you’re doing Laurel’s ex-husband. Ah! Fucking epic.”

  The same thought had occurred to her as well. Yes, she loved her sister. They were close as little girls, but Agie was a stuck-up snob who worshiped at the reality show altar. A weekend binge watching fourteen seasons of Kardashian fuckery was her sister’s idea of relaxing. She floated from guy to guy without batting an eyelash. As long as he had extremely deep pockets and could afford her arm candy lifestyle, she was good. Right now, she was dating some high-profile football player. There was even a chance they would get married. She hoped it happened for Agie because everyone deserved to be happy. But still, the idea of her freaking out about Tom was all kinds of satisfying.

  “Cart before the horse. First, I have to figure out a game plan for this date. Next Friday. Wisteria Room at the Roosevelt. Cocktails, dinner, dancing.”

  “Ooh,” Cyndi purred. “Fancy.”

  “Priority one is finding the perfect outfit.”

  “Send me selfies, and I’ll weigh in.”

  “You got it! Listen, I have to do some work before I leave. Tell George I said hi.”

  “Love you, lady.”

  “Love you too.”

  “I hate you,” Merri snarled before kicking a tire—as if assaulting the damn car was going to make a difference. “Ergh.”

  She yanked the back-seat door open and leaned in to gather her stuff. On the way home from Maplewood, when she stomped on the brakes at the crossroads to avoid getting squashed by a stop-sign-ignoring work truck, her workbag toppled over and sent shit flying across the back seat.

  Colored markers, the handful of mechanical pencils she used for work, loose change—it was everywhere. Stretching to retrieve the case for her reading glasses, a pithy curse left her mouth when she found it open and empty.

  “Futt buck my life. Really? My glasses?” She blew out an exasperated huff and searched the back seat. Rummaging around in the back seat wasn’t a lot of exertion, but it was enough to trigger hot spots of sweat on her body.

  Of all the sweats, boob sweat was her least favorite. She was fine with perspiration—it was a necessity—but every woman’s struggle with boob sweat was directly related to breast size. In her case, size and weight combined to create the perfect sweat environment, eventually leading to a damp bra.

  She found her glasses along with a tampon and two pantyliners. A random key and two hair elastics might or might not have come from the emptied bag. Spying the corner of a unicorn coin purse peeking out under the driver’s seat, Merri tugged the edge and pulled it out.

  A smile crept onto her lips. The kids at Maplewood gave her the kitschy accessory for her last birthday. She promised to use it for a full year until her following birthday when she turned the dreaded three-oh. Only a few weeks to go.

  The rumble of an approaching motorcycle made her head pop up. She scrambled ass first from the back seat and thumped her head on the way out.

  “This fucking car,” she growled. “It’s trying to kill me.”

  Tom slowed as he approached and pulled into the wide driveway alongside her car. There was no garage because the space had been converted to an addition on the three-bedroom house she bought from a husband and wife house flipping team. She loved this place. It was a grown-up home fit for a family.

  “Hold up,” Tom said as he swung his leg over the bike and took off his helmet. “Let me help you.”

  Merri looked down at her hands. She was holding her workbag, not a team of horses.

  “Hi,” he said before taking the bag from her hands. And then he kissed her. On the lips. It was a one-second hello kiss that left her gawking and speechless. “How was your day?”

  It took her a moment to pick her jaw off the ground. Tom’s vibe was couple-like.

  Was that a word? Couple-like? She wasn’t sure, but it was the first thing that popped in her mind—how normal and couple-like this felt.

  “Um, it was meh. End-of-year stuff. Cyndi called. She says hi.” Merri bit her lip. Cyndi had said no such thing.

  He grinned. Tom thought her best gal pal was a few bricks short of a steady load, and she had to admit that he wasn’t exactly wrong. Cyndi was a free spirit who took ownership of every tune she danced to—be it good or bad.

  “When’s Latoya bringing her rug rats for a visit?”

  She wrinkled her nose and made a face. “It’s Latour, and actually, I’m thinking of digging my Uggs out of the closet for a trip to the snowy north. Around Christmas.”

  His face froze. “Not for your birthday, though, right? Thirty is a big deal. I’m looking forward to celebrating with you.”

  How did the romance books describe her reaction? Loin tightening? Core melting? Lady boner? All of those things and more queued up in her mind. He wanted to celebrate with her? Oh. My. God. Maybe turning thirty wasn’t going to suck after all.

  “Between my birthday and Christmas, I think the only opening is between Christmas and New Year.”

  He nudged her toward the walkway to the front door. “I don’t work much in December. I could go with you.”

  She stumbled and had to do a hop-jump-skip to stay on her feet. He wanted to go with her? Uncertain how to respond, she changed the subject.

  “I made lasagna. All I have to do is pop it in the oven with some garlic bread, and the house will smell like Little Italy.”

  “You shouldn’t have,” he quipped. “But thanks.”

  Merri hoped he was still going to thank her when he realized she was setting him up.

  Two steps up and they were on her porch. Tom leaned around her and held the glass storm door open, making it that much easier for her to get at the lock.

  “Oh, crap. I forgot to check the mailbox. Do you mind?”

  “At your service, sweet cheeks. Here.” He shoved her workbag into her empty hands and bounded off the porch like a kid. Did he stay on the walkway? No. She rolled her eyes and blew out an exasperated breath as he and his heavy boots stomped across the grass, stepping widely over a flowerbed.

  He came back the same route, waving a magazine in the air. “How many Southern lifestyle magazines are there?”

  “I don’t care.” She chortled. “I just love magazines. Grandma kept a basketful next to her spot on the sofa. She had something for everyone.” Her smile was
wistful. Brenda Merriweather’s life and legacy loomed large in Merri’s heart and mind.

  Joining her on the porch after ignoring the last step, she felt her senses flutter as he stood close. His eyes sparkled, and the saliva in her mouth dried up.

  “I remember. Brenda was a hoot.”

  The reminder of how much history they shared was sobering. And exciting. Instead of getting to know each other, she and Tom had the benefit of a long association—the past few years during which they were exceptionally close.

  They came through the front door, her first followed by him hot on her heels. The tile entry was large enough for a doormat that read Wipe Your Feet.

  Merri looked around and inhaled. She adored her home. Being a well-known craft aficionado, she had a tendency to wander aimlessly through home stores and get lost on Pinterest looking for decorating ideas and cool stuff. To her, this house was a work in progress. The adorable renovated home was where she nested and dreamed about the future.

  Dropping her workbag on the floor and her keys into a bowl on a table near the front door, she glanced at her reflection in the oval mirror above the table. She was late getting out of work but had been smart and stopped on her way out of the school to freshen up and fix her face.

  Over her shoulder, Tom ducked slightly and peered in the mirror too. He ran a hand through his hair, bared his teeth as if he were checking for broccoli, and met her eyes.

  “We make this look good,” he drawled.

  She laughed. He was such a goof! But he wasn’t wrong. They made a cute couple.

  He marched around her, went into the kitchen, and yanked the refrigerator open. Tom had a thing about cold water. Also ice. He groused like an old woman whenever they went out and were served glasses of cold anything with a couple of sad looking ice cubes floating. To him, the proper way to beverage was to fill the glass with ice first—operative word: fill—and then add the liquid. Keeping a couple of ice-cold bottles of water on hand for him was an old habit.

  He called out, “What’s your pleasure, sweet cheeks?”

  “Options?” she called back.

  “V-8, gag. Something in a can called LaCroix. Peach Snapple, water, and a pitcher half full of something red.”

  Peering over his arm at the contents of her fridge, she considered the choices. “The something red is an herbal tea infusion. Hibiscus and cherry, good stuff.”

  “Is that what you want?” When he turned his head to look at her, their faces were inches apart.

  The same lip tingling she experienced before started again. She licked them, hoping to make the sensation stop, but it didn’t work.

  “I’m feeling peachy,” she murmured.

  He grabbed his water and a Snapple, then shut the fridge door. “Hold this.” He handed her the water while he vigorously shook the bottle, smacked it on the palm of his hand, nodded when the pop sounded, and cracked the lid.

  Gesturing toward the addition beyond the kitchen, she said, “It’s a little chilly. Why don’t you fire up the wood stove in the den?”

  She’d insisted on having a wood stove because during the winter it was damn chilly at night and in the morning. The house flippers had local contacts and helped her score a free-standing stove with great safety features and a smaller firebox that still managed amazing heat output. Plus, she liked the ambiance.

  They carried on a loud conversation while he got the wood stove going, and she put the pan of lasagna she threw together this morning into the oven. He told her about a modification he wanted to do on his Harley, and she rattled on about the holiday pie bake-off at the diner. She loved working at the diner even though a lot of people didn’t understand why she still had the part-time job she’d held since college.

  It was simple. She liked people. Liked shooting the shit with the regulars. Liked meeting new people. Liked being out in the world where every day was different.

  The way she saw things was like this—she wasn’t going to let a job determine her life. She wanted something different than nine to five, weekends at the bar, and no time for anything else. So she focused her schooling on acquiring a highly marketable skill with business accounting and bookkeeping. With a degree under her arm, she went looking for clients. What she found was a part-time gig at a private school that paid enough to cover the big stuff. Mortgage, taxes, electric and all the rest. The money she made waitressing paid for day-to- day stuff. Two part-time jobs worked in a weird way. The Maplewood account turned out to be fun. She loved the staff and the kids. Whenever she needed a jolt of positive energy, the school came through. And the diner? She’d been wearing the uniform for ten years, made her own hours, and enjoyed the family-like atmosphere. Winning!

  “Is it starting to warm up?” Tom called from the den.

  Between the oven, the wood stove, and the heater, her house was getting cozier by the minute.

  She checked her watch, glanced at the doorway to the den, and bit her lip. The evening entertainment would begin shortly.

  “It’s great,” she yelled. “Thanks. Look, I wanna get changed real quick, okay?”

  Merri didn’t wait to hear what he said. With no time to spare, she dashed off down the hallway toward the master bedroom.

  Washing his hands, Tom looked out at the backyard from the window above the kitchen sink, and he liked what he saw. It was just passing peak time for fall foliage, so the yard was a blaze of colors above a carpet of fallen leaves.

  The lights strung from the new pergola she had built on the back deck came on automatically. Merri had a thing about the setting. She created elaborate tablescapes when she entertained, had more seasonal decorations in carefully curated bins than Walmart did, and generally threw herself wholeheartedly into creating what anyone with a brain could see was a family home.

  His sexy sweet cheeks didn’t want a high-powered career. What she wanted was so simple and so transparent, it made his heart ache.

  Taking a swig of the water, he wandered closer to the refrigerator. It was covered with magnets and all kinds of shit.

  There was a picture of her and her dad on a fishing trip and another showing Denise Merriweather holding the puppy they got about a year ago. He smiled. It was easy to like Merri’s parents. He’d known them since high school because Agatha Merriweather was in his class and they hung out in the same group. Agie was also his ex-wife’s bestie, a situation he avoided like a zombie outbreak.

  Two tickets for the Nashville Ballet annual Nutcracker performances were tucked beneath a magnet that read Live Simply, Laugh Often, Love Daily. The sentiment perfectly described Merri’s outlook on life.

  He took another pull from the water bottle and leaned closer to check out a ripped magazine page. What the hell was he looking at? Frowning, he studied the picture intently. It looked like tents in a backyard setting with a small campfire and a bunch of lantern lights. A family gathered around the fire. Kids held sticks with marshmallows over the flames. A dog curled at the feet of the presumed mom and dad.

  A hand touched his back. Her energy flowed into his system. His heart skipped a beat, and he straightened, looking at her face. Curious, he pointed at the magazine page, and asked, “What is that?”

  She smiled. “It’s cool, don’t you think? Family backyard camping.”

  “Sure,” he murmured, “but why’s it on your fridge?” Genuinely intrigued by what was behind the significance, he stroked her arm, hoping to encourage a reply. “What’s this mean to you?”

  “Uh, well, I guess you could call it the law of attraction.” She shrugged, and it was so adorable he chuckled.

  “You mean like manifesting stuff?”

  Ask her a question about energy, karma, destiny, you name it, and Merri was off to the races.

  “No, no. Not that. To me, manifesting feels like an acquisition thing. Attracting is more esoteric. It’s not specific as much as it is expansive. And it’s not enough to just throw a net; you have to make room in your life for what you’re trying to pull in. It’s not
as complicated as I make it sound.” She laughed, pinning him with her chocolate eyes, and he recalled Brad’s words about how Merri was off the reservation but in a good way. The girl was unique, that was for sure.

  She went straight for it because, well, Merri.

  “You asked what that picture means to me. It’s simple, Tom. I’m turning thirty. My biological mommy clock is ticking louder, and this house is too empty.”

  “Are you asking me to move in?”

  He knew the question was messing with her in a big way and wasn’t surprised when she howled with laughter.

  Slapping her hands at her waist, she teased, “What part of mommy clock and an empty house translated into free room and board for you?”

  “I can help with both,” he drawled and applied some stealth tickling that almost put her on the floor from giggling.

  “Stop it,” she squawked and snorted.

  “Don’t wanna stop.” He grabbed her around the waist and pulled her against him. “Today was the best day I’ve had in years. It feels good, doesn’t it? Admitting how we feel?”

  “I admit nothing,” she sarcastically drawled before punctuating the statement with a sniff.

  He chuckled. “You want me to sweep you off your feet. Is that it?”

  The universe lit up with a trillion fireworks of happiness when the snarky imp inside her grabbed the spotlight. Until Merri, his life was boring and uninteresting, but now? Now, she kept him on his toes and thrilled him straight to his soul.

  “What I wanted, Tom, was a first date that did not involve fifty old-time radio operator guys who will all queue up to spin me around on the dance floor.”

  “Yikes.” He pulled a face and widened his eyes. She wasn’t joking. Men were drawn to Merri. Young boys at the school where she worked. Bikers and businessmen she met at the diner. Even the hilarious posse of senior citizens and aging tech geeks in a radio club. She had a vibe that was so friendly and encouraging, people flocked to her.

  She relaxed in his arms and leaned fully into him. It felt natural and easy as well as incredibly stimulating.