Until Merri: Happily Ever Alpha World Read online

  “Floor it!”

  With complete disregard for their safety, he pushed off with a hard shove and raced across the floor while Merri shrieked with laughter. Thank god he didn’t have neighbors because she was not trying to be quiet.

  “Franklin Merriweather for the win,” she hooted with arms up in victory when he finally slowed to a roll and parked her next to his bed.

  He looked her over, trying to decide what to dig from his wardrobe. Several options came to mind, but all were nixed in favor of a long, baggy T-shirt. That way, he’d get to see her legs, and what was wrong with that?

  Rummaging in a dresser drawer, he almost pulled out an Enigma T-shirt but thought better of it. The black fabric would hide too much, and if she was aiming to take off her bra, he was going to make damn sure he could see what was beneath the shirt.

  A faded, long-sleeve T-shirt with the word ARMY across the chest was the clear choice. It was well worn, and after a million times through the laundry, it was washed out and almost see-through.

  “How’s this? Long sleeves so it’s warm.” He reached into his sock drawer and pulled out a relatively new pair of thick white socks. “Put these on and pull ’em up. I bet they’ll make it close to your knees. Sorry, can’t help with fresh panties. I prefer going gonzo.”

  She snorted with laughter. “No, you don’t.”

  “How would you know, young lady?”

  A rosy blush spread across her adorable face. “Get real, Tom. I know everything.”

  He smirked. The smirk changed to a leer when he stepped close and fingered one of her long curls. “Need help getting changed? I think I have it in me to unhook your bra without embarrassing myself.”

  Her leer challenged his. “I’m just drunk enough to make me say and do dumb stuff so …”

  He got the message. “Understood. Will you be walking, or do I need to come back and get you?”

  “I kinda like having a designated driver.”

  “Also understood. I’ll leave you to it then. Give me a holler when you’re ready.”

  He was walking away when she called out, “Hey, wait! You didn’t say. Is there dessert?”

  “Oh, fuck yeah, there’s dessert,” he answered. “And there’s Scooby and the gang, so hurry it up.”

  He exited with a smile on his face.

  Merri looked at her reflection in the mirror. She wasn’t sure if it was the lighting, the alcohol, or the shirt, but she was mostly, sort of, almost sure that Tom’s ARMY T-shirt was transparent.

  She swung one side to the other, checking out her profile. Yep. The shirt was big and baggy but hung on her boobs like a cloth over a table. Not only that, but her nipples decided to make an embarrassing appearance.

  Making matters worse was her underwear situation. Instead of something semi-acceptable, she was sporting full briefs. And they were white. Her explanation for the practical panties had everything to do with working in a uniform, but the last thing her ego was interested in at the moment was practicality.

  Standing full-on, she surveyed her appearance from the top of her head to the thick socks pulled almost to her knees. Three things stood out. Her dark curls, protruding nipples, and knees. There was nothing remotely sexy about how she looked.

  Sighing, she mumbled, “Oh, well.”

  Her eyes swept around his bedroom. She liked the masculine vibe. Tom was a minimalist when it came to having stuff. Work stuff, guy stuff? Like cables and gadgets. Those he had plenty of, but he kept the personal stuff to a minimum.

  She’d draped her uniform and bra over a wing chair next to a tall window. The matching ottoman sitting alongside was covered with books. His love of reading was a plus in her view. Over the years, they’d searched through countless book stacks at flea markets and garage sales together.

  Her fingers smoothed a line on his bed. The comforter thrown sloppily over the mattress was burgundy and had a velvet-like texture. One side of the bed was stacked with pillows. The other side showed just one. Merri conjured up an image of him asleep on the pillow. Only, in her version, instead of unneeded pillows stacked beside him, it was her head and dark curls on the pillow next to his.

  What did JJ say? Get him in a situation with his pants off? She giggled softly and put her fingers against her lips to silence the sound.

  She and Cyndi were charter members of the Alcohol Made Me Stupid club, so Merri recognized it was the tequila taking over her thinking.

  “Ready when you are,” she hollered.

  Pushing the chair into position, she sat and rearranged the T-shirt for maximum coverage. When Tom walked in, the first thing he did was check her out. It dawned on her that maybe the transparent T-shirt was deliberate. Oh my god! Was this her tits and ass moment?

  An alcohol bubble burst from her mouth. It took the form of heavy giggles.

  “Something funny?”

  Shaking her head, Merri reeled it in before she said something stupid. Displacing the giggle-grin took concentration. Concentration she didn’t have after Tom stepped close and her brain registered his smell and the fact he took off his boots.

  Wait, her thoughts mumbled. That came out wrong. He didn’t smell because his boots were off; he smelled … oh, never mind. Arguing with tequila wasn’t worth it.

  He said something, but she was far too busy hanging on for dear life to make sense of his words. Her balance seemed a bit off, and for some reason, it was suddenly hard to remain upright. The world moved past in a slightly sideways fashion.

  She forgot all about up, down, in, out, sideways, and backward when she spied a can of whipped cream on what passed for a kitchen table. In her opinion, Tom had shit for taste in the style department evidenced by the slapped together discount store hunk of junk with a wad of folded cardboard taped on the bottom of one table leg to keep the thing from wobbling.

  Clapping like a demented seal in an animal show, she hooted with delight when she saw two ice-cream bowls and a couple of spoons.

  How did she know the bowls were designated for ice cream? The obnoxious design on each featured some tacky artwork and the words His Bowl on one and Her Bowl on the other. They’d picked up the kitschy set at an estate sale.

  “Welcome to, uh, the, uh, parlor.” Tom chuckled. She sniggered and looked over her shoulder. He was wearing the most adorable grin.

  “The parlor?” she said with an alcohol drawl. “Creative. How long’d it take you to come up with such a cool name?”

  “Eh, zip it, Tequila Tina. My material may be off, but it’s because you’re something of a distraction.”

  The chair stopped moving, but she didn’t immediately stand. Swinging her legs up in front of her, she straightened them and flexed her feet. “Do you like my socks?”

  “Very sexy. Now move your ass onto a chair and let’s do this.”

  She complied. Her feet felt like cinder blocks as she covered the narrow space between the rolling chair and the kitchen seat. Goddammit! When her butt landed on the unforgiving wood chair, the cold on her bare skin made her jolt.

  A decorative ice-cream scooper with a waffle-cone handle sat next to a squeeze container of Hershey’s syrup. Her mouth got excited. She never turned down a chance to indulge in ice cream.

  In the time it took Tom to walk to the freezer and come back with a tub of ice cream, she’d grabbed the whipped cream, torn off the cap, and squirted a blob into her mouth.

  He regarded her with an expression suggesting she was a naughty kid. She grinned through the mouthful of cream.

  “My bad,” she mumbled. “I just needed that in my mouth so bad.”

  His eyes widened a fraction, and he chuckled. The sound was husky and made her senses tingle.

  “What?”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Tom, drawled in a sexy voice. “Maybe choose your words more carefully.”

  Her eyes blinked. She stared straight at him. What? Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, she pulled on a curl, bit her lip, and shrugged it off.

  “Um, wha
t’s this?” she asked when he’d put some ice cream in her bowl.

  Showing her the tub, he teased, “It says chocolate.”

  “No, no. Not that. I mean what the hell is this?” She looked into the bowl as if staring into the abyss. “I demand scoops, not a half-assed lump.”

  “Was that scoops as in plural?”

  They’d eaten ice cream a thousand times, and he knew damn well her portion size began with two. Not one. Two full, rounded scoops.

  She stood and nudged him away with her hip. “Gimme that.”

  Taking the scoop from his hand, she dug into the tub and produced two beautifully rounded scoops, one after another, then held the bowl up for inspection. “That’s how we do it.”

  Returning to her seat, she grabbed the aerosol whipped cream and shook the can. “Observe.”

  With DaVinci-like focus on the masterpiece she was creating, Merri pressed the nozzle. Whipped cream made a distinctive sound. She smiled at the whooshing noise and carefully circled the scoops of ice cream until she’d built a tower of white fluffy cream.

  “There.”

  Tom applauded before handing her the syrup. “Drizzle or squirt?”

  It took a second—her brain was on tequila time—until she caught what sounded like innuendo in his tone. She rewound his words and fought to hang onto her composure when the possible meaning of drizzle or squirt exploded in her thoughts.

  A cough-snicker shot from her throat. She hoped that was going to be it, but within seconds, she was howling with laughter and slapping her hand on the table.

  In the driest tone imaginable and with a considerable amount of humor etched on his face, Tom said, “I see you got the reference.”

  She smirked, took the bottle, and squeezed. “I prefer a splurt over a squizzle.”

  He roared with laughter and handed her a spoon.

  “Hurry,” she snarled. “I can’t dig in until we toast.”

  “Message received, sweet cheeks.”

  He quickly dug into the ice cream and dropped a couple of sloppy scoops in his bowl. She got impatient and did the whipped cream honors.

  “One splurt,” he quipped with a suggestive wink. “There. All set.”

  She held her spoon up. So did he. “To ice cream—the best anti-shumpler-fuck of all time.”

  His grin grew enormous. “Is that what we’re calling your doomed engagement? A shumpler-fuck?”

  She tapped his spoon and dug in before everything started to melt. “Actually, I believe the proper form is referred to as being shumplered whereas a shumpler-fuck refers to the cursed car he sold me. I’m not sure, though. I’d have to confer with June and JJ. Oh, and Cyndi. She has opinions on the matter.”

  It struck her as funny that Tom nodded as he worked on his ice cream because Merri was ninety percent certain she was making no sense.

  Aw! Wasn’t he the cutest boyfriend ever?

  A thought occurred that she blurted out. “You know those guys, huh?”

  “Guys?” He shrugged. “What guys?”

  “Well, for starters, June’s hot as fuck boyfriend.”

  “He’s her fiancé and excuse me? Did you just call another man hot?”

  “Call ’em like I see ’em,” she replied. “He’s hot but don’t sulk. JJ thinks you’re on the same level.”

  “Jesus.” He chuckled. “Don’t say that around Brew.”

  “I know, right?” Merri laughed. “But anyway, you know them?”

  Tom shrugged. “We have shit in common. Bikes, vets, and out of control women.”

  Her spoon scraped the bottom of the bowl. She frowned. “All gone.”

  The cold ice cream in her belly made her shiver. “Now I’m cold.”

  “Yeah, that’s what happens. Tell you what, I’ll clean up, and you go wrap yourself in a sofa blanket.”

  “Sounds like a deal.” She wasted no time getting up and dashing off. Cold was her least favorite thing.

  Someday, maybe soon, he was going to draw dirty pictures and words with whipped cream all over Merri’s body. And then he was going to lick it off.

  Her surprising innocence both bothered and thrilled him. The thrilling part was easy to define. He liked knowing she wasn’t so experienced that she brought a ton of sexual baggage into the relationship. After all, she wasn’t a party girl, and her engagement was not what you’d call passionate.

  The bother he felt had everything to do with the increasingly erotic thoughts he entertained starring his best friend and newly designated girlfriend. He was trapped in a minefield of his own making. On the one hand, he wanted to pin her to a wall and kiss her into a coma. On the other, he was obsessed with doing things right and making every one of their “firsts” memorable.

  When she got up from the table after inhaling a double-scoop sundae, he was treated to a peep show of white panties. Sensible white panties. The lust factor those panties revealed surprised the fuck out of him. No thong or G-string ever made could compete with Merri’s fan-fucking-tastic ass in what were foolishly termed granny panties.

  Did he size her up for a dog pounding? Yes, yes, he did. The fantasy of her face down while his cock thundered into her from behind went off in his head like a flash-bang.

  Hurry up, you dumb fuck, his mind hollered. Get in there and join her under the blanket. Time to feel her up and get this party started.

  He’d never cleaned up faster in his life. When he joined her in the living room and found her giggling at Scooby Doo, he remembered she was inebriated and sighed. There were rules about these things.

  She patted the space next to her and opened the sofa blanket for him to get under. Huddling together wasn’t something new, but he was keenly aware of them making the jump from huddle to cuddle.

  “Hurry,” she squawked. “Velma is about to be brilliant.”

  Tom slowed his roll and considered the options. If he hesitated, she’d notice, but if he got under that blanket, well, he wasn’t sure how long his control would hold out.

  Exiting the friend zone wasn’t supposed to be so challenging.

  The second he sat, and she wrapped him closer to her, he regretted the decision. Merri had awesome tits. He’d seen them many times—covered by a bathing suit and a few times overflowing from an outfit or two—but right now, her tits were barely covered and, more importantly, pressing against him as she clutched his arm and wiggled even closer.

  He had half a heartbeat to process what she was doing before shit went supersonic. Velma and the gang were forgotten when her face snuggled into his neck. Taking him completely by surprise, she initiated what he was too afraid to.

  His hand came in contact with her bare thigh. The clang of warning sirens and flashing lights in his head were easily ignored. Tom tried to stay in his lane, but she was luring him out of the friend zone with her sweet scent, sexy bod, and libido-melting whimpers.

  How do you spell goner? G-o-n-e-r.

  “Mm,” she moaned. “You’re so nice and warm.”

  Her body wiggled closer. He didn’t know whether to look for an escape hatch or stick his tongue down her throat.

  The tongue-in-throat scenario won by a mile.

  He grabbed a handful of her hair and yanked her head until she was inches from his face and staring directly into his eyes.

  “You’re drunk, and the bro code says that makes you off-limits, but I can only take so much.”

  A slow, sultry smile moved on her face. His cock responded with a pulsing throb.

  “Are you going to kiss me? At last?”

  “Yes, goddammit, and I’m not apologizing for failing to make it special or memorable. You’re too fucking hot for your own good.”

  He held her by her hair and plundered her mouth in a way that left little doubt about his intentions. She dived into the kiss with gusto. Her tongue teased his. He answered with a groan-inducing tongue dance of stabbing swirls that made her tremble.

  She tasted like chocolate syrup and sex. He wanted to drown in her, and he might ha
ve if she hadn’t stiffened for no reason.

  Their kiss ended, and she retreated a few inches. Searching her face for a clue, he saw the problem and reacted swiftly. Throwing off the blanket, he went to help her up, but she was a step ahead and running toward the bathroom before his head cleared.

  Hot on her heels, he caught up in time to see her throw up into the toilet with an anguished growl.

  He laughed. What he’d failed to make memorable, she made unforgettable.

  Tequila vomit existed in a world of its own. He’d challenged quite a few bottles in his day and was familiar with the surprising wallop of the iconic drink.

  There was nothing for him to do until she puked it all out. The pungent aroma of thrown-up tequila mixed with the sweetness from the ice-cream sundae hung in the air.

  When it was over, and she slumped on the tile next to the toilet, her eyes lifted to his.

  “I guess we should be thankful I didn’t throw up in your mouth.”

  He couldn’t do anything but laugh.

  As he helped her off the floor and washed her face with a cloth, he made a joke out of the incident.

  “Kids, let me tell you about Mommy and Daddy’s first kiss.”

  She clutched her stomach and hunched slightly. “Don’t make me laugh.”

  He could see she was done as in stick a fork in her, she was at the end of her rope. Praying he wasn’t making a major chiropractic mistake, he swept her off her feet and carried her carefully to his bed. When he laid her gently on the mattress, she turned on her side and drew her knees up. Classic self-soothing pose.

  Pulling a cover around her, Tom kissed Merri’s head, and murmured, “Shut your eyes. It helps with the spinning. I’m going to take care of things in the bathroom. Call if you need me.”

  Her face burrowed into a pillow. “I’m never drinking tequila ever again.”

  And then she passed out.

  Chapter Six

  One eye drifted open, and she groaned. It was so bright Merri wondered if she’d fallen asleep next to a searchlight.