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  “Be less violent.” Her glare causes my laughter to cease. “Okay. Okay. I'm listening.”

  “So you know how my sister's wedding is finally approaching,” the annoyance apparent. Now if it's because it's not her or the fact she's had to help plan the thing is unclear. “Well, my parents have been trying to assign me dates for it, not accepting the idea of me going to any of the events solo. So I kind of had an unplanned outburst and told them I already had a boyfriend.” Running her fingers through her hair she gripes, “I was just...I couldn't take it anymore! There's more to life than trying to marry me off like some third world daughter you wanna trade for a goat.”

  “You're worth more than a goat.” She starts to smile. “At least two.” Her hand goes to hit me again when I catch it. “Quit that.”

  Letting her arm go she rests her head on the back of the couch in a defeated fashion. “It was stupid, but it's done. So, do you think you can help save me from the embarrassment? You're the only guy in my life I'd ever think about asking.”

  The confession lights that stupid thing known as hope inside my body. A foreign feeling. “What do I get out of this?”

  “Not sex,” she promptly inserts. “What do you want?”

  “Sex,” the joke makes her face frown at me.

  “You're not getting sex.”

  “So I just have to deal with permanent blue balls for an extended period of time?”

  “You can sleep around if you want.”

  “That would make me a shitty boyfriend,” I quickly point out. After a beat I say, “Alright. I'll do this for you, in exchange for you cooking for me three times a week.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yeah. There's only so much takeout food and frozen dinners a guy can handle. Besides Lordy can make chicken fried steak but it stops there. And that's trying to clog my arteries. I'm too young for a heart attack.”

  “Haven't you been having dinner with Clint and Haven?”

  “Sometimes.” I shrug. “But dinner in my apartment where I don't have to put on pants is more appreciated.”

  “You have to wear pants if I cook for you.”

  “Like actual pants or just bottoms?”

  “You have to have your dick covered.”

  “While you're here...”

  She giggles and shakes her head at me. “Three times a week....does it have to be dinner?”

  “Nope. I am an equal meal opportunist.”

  “I think I can do that.”

  “Naked.”

  “Michael.”

  “Fine. You can wear an apron.”

  “Michael....”

  “Fine. Fine. And heels. But you twisted my arm on that one,” the joke has me wiggling my eyebrows and her snickering in frustration.

  “You are a pain in the ass,” she grumbles sitting up.

  “And I don't just want you making the same shit every time. Like lasagna. That shits easy. You're a professional chef. Certified and shit. I want some chef shit occasionally.”

  Mandy slides over so she is straddling my lap, her mouth dangerously close to mine. Nothing more than a tip of my lips and they'd finally touch. “I'll make lasagna...” her punctuating the l has her tongue snaking too close to my lips. “And you'll like it.” The action is repeated as she breathes heavy in my space before popping up on another giggle.

  Uncomfortable I adjust the bulge in my jeans. I had that one coming. Fuck. I wish she had me coming.

  “Brunch tomorrow.” She grabs her keys and wallet from the dining room table. “I'll text you the address.” I nod and she places a hand on the door knob. With a sincere look on her face she smiles. “Thanks Michael. Really.”

  Before I can fuck the situation up and say something sentimental I reply, “I'm not wearing a button up shirt.”

  “Wear a button up shirt,” she snickers.

  “Damn it,” I grumble before the door shuts.

  I hate them. Grabbing the empty beer bottles I look up in time to see Lordy leaned against the wall in pajama bottoms, a stern look that reminds me of Grim on his face. Grim's displeased disposition rubbing off is the last thing I need. Slowly he shakes his head. “That's not going to end well. You know that right?”

  “Very few things in my life ever do,” I counter. “What's one more?”

  We all have mistakes that haunt us where we think no one can see. Demons that distract you from ever finding peace at night. Being a foster kid. Leaving behind the one person I ever really cared about to prove I wasn't just the household fuck up where ever I went. Getting my best friend stabbed on the job. Sleeping with women my other best friend was interested in to save him from heartbreak again. I've got plenty of shit that hasn't ended well for me, burning like flames on my soul. Why not add a little fucking gasoline?

  56 Days Until the Wedding

  The collar of my shirt feels like it's strangling me. I do not like shirts that button up. I do not like things this close to my neck. Sweaters are fine. T-shirts. Polos. Uniforms. All fine. However this. This feels like a tiny person is strangling me. But this is what Mandy wanted. Fucked up thing is, if she wanted me to wear a purple pimp suit with a green tie and cane I would. She's like my military brothers. Nothing I wouldn't do for her. That simple fact scares the fuck out of me.

  Getting out of my car I do my best to not gawk at the size of the house in front of me. Not even sure if you can call it a house. By definition I think it's crossed over into mansion. Or manor. Considering the fact I've never lived anything bigger than 1500 square feet, I don't feel I should have to know the fucking difference.

  “You're on time,” Mandy says crossing over to me. My eyes waste no time drinking in her legs that are barely covered in a skin tight white dress. The pair of bright colored stilettos she's wearing only make her legs look more delicious. Her gorgeous dark brown hair is pulled to the side of her face and pinned back with some clip thing. She looks like a slutty angel.

  Barely able to speak I stutter, “Th-th-that's what you're wearing for brunch with your parents?”

  “Yup.” She plants her hands on her hips. “They prefer I wear something classy to brunch.”

  “You look like my kind of classy,” I compliment and she rolls her eyes.

  “Try to focus,” she fusses.

  “Oh believe me I am,” my eyes wander over her ass again.

  “Michael!” Mandy snaps. “Seriously. What you need to know most importantly right now is that they buy this.”

  “Why wouldn't they?”

  “Because in the twelve years I've been dating, I have brought home a boyfriend once.”

  “Just once?”

  “Yeah. And that was only because my car was in the shop, so it wasn't on purpose. They weren't supposed to be home. They were supposed be skiing in Colorado. Anyway--”

  “Wait,” I hold up a hand. “Twelve years? You were...10 when you started dating?”

  “Quick math there. Did you use your fingers and toes too?”

  “You're lucky you're pretty,” I playfully smirk.

  She fights the urge to smirk back and continues, “Basically the first time they smell a lie, it's over. We're caught.”

  “No faith in me?” I lean against my passenger side spotting the front door to the house opening.

  “Have you met you?” her condescending tone makes me smile again.

  “You do realize you asked me right?”

  “I know,” she pouts taking two steps closer, a face similar to Mandy's now leaning against the door frame. “I was desperate.”

  “It happens,” my indifference makes her raise an eyebrow. “Oh what? Like you're the first girl to say some bullshit like that to me?”

  “I highly doubt I'm the first girl to do anything to you.”

  “We'll see,” I wet my lips. I can honestly say she's the first girl I've found myself falling in love with. At least I think this is love. Not real sure. Never done it before. I just assume that this is what that feeling of wanting to save her from every
thing is. “Hey, just remember not to knee me in the nuts for this.”

  “For what?”

  With a cocky grin I pull her body into mine and firmly press our lips together, her breath sucking mine out of me. Her natural reaction is to fight back, but I cradle her close, trapping her arms to my chest so that her hands can't follow their instinct to slap me. My hands softly run down her back giving her the clue to relax and she takes it, opening her mouth willingly for me to taste. I don't waste a drop of the sweetness I find on her tongue. Entranced by the flavor, I deepen the kiss desperate to consume as much of her as possible While our tongues become acquainted for what I pray won't be the last, I try to ignore the aching feeling in my chest I feel any time she's too close. The one that reminds me that most likely she's going to end up on a long list of failures. Just another face paired with a broken promise of saving her. Carefully, I draw my tongue away from hers, smiling at the whimper that she lets out from the action.

  In whisper I inform her, “We have an audience.”

  “Huh?” Mandy looks completely blank.

  My ego swells several levels. I did that.

  “Well, well, well,” the female says now from beside us.

  Mandy turns her body slightly but I don't loosen my grip. I want to keep up the charade. I also don't want to lose her in the one way I can't believe I get to have her. Even if it is a lie.

  “I've never seen my sister blush like that before,” the female smiles harshly.

  “That's because she's never kissed anyone like me before,” I add before extending my hand. “Michael.”

  Introducing myself only as Michael is as foreign as doing the girlfriend thing. Besides a very select few older adults, everyone calls me Glove thanks to my sex motto of 'no glove, no love'. Except for Mandy. When she says my name it makes me wish I was the man who deserved the name he was given.

  “Melissa.” She shakes firmly, eyes rolling across me. “My, my, my, Michael. You work out?”

  “Do not hit on my boyfriend,” Mandy jealously says pressing her body into mine. She fits perfect here. “Have you forgotten already you're getting married?”

  “Don't be so whiny.” Melissa rolls her eyes. “Mom and dad are waiting on the back patio. You're late.”

  “They said 11.”

  “And it's 11:06.” Melissa sharply snips.

  “That's my fault,” I step into the conversation. “We arrived on time and I wanted a moment alone with her. It's hard being away from her like I am.”

  “Aw.” Melissa looks touched and turns to head back towards the house.

  Mandy moves out of my grip, but takes my hand to keep up the image. Leaning over she whispers, “Nice line.”

  “Who said it was a line?” the comeback causes her to trip.

  Instinctively, my arms swoop around her to rescue her from face planting. Before I can ask if she's alright, Melissa calls back our direction, “Don't wear grown up heels if you can't even make it across the yard.”

  Mandy pulls her eyes tightly closed and mutters, “Bitch.”

  “A little.” I help her stand back up. “But let's make her jealous while we earn me those free meals.”

  “Free?” Mandy questions. “You're not paying for the groceries?” As soon as the look of shock comes on my face she smiles proudly. “Good. Now someone else looks like an idiot.”

  Shaking my head I follow her through the house passing a grand stair case in the front and several hallways before walking through a side door that leads to the backyard where there is a large glass circular patio table where her parents are sitting with Melissa.

  The lush green yard stretches further than I can see, with a tennis court in the distance and a swimming pool. At least I think it's a swimming pool. Could be a fucking private lake with this kind of house.

  “You're late,” the man I am rightfully assuming is Mandy's father says directly to her, a less than pleased look on his face. His jet black hair, dark features on his tanned skin, black on black suit, and stern expression remind me of a mafia don. Great. And I'm the one pretending to date his daughter.

  “Technically I was in the driveway so I was on time.” Mandy falsely smirks.

  “You weren't in my eyesight.”

  “Since when does that matter,” Mandy bites. “Curfew rules still in effect.”

  “Could you drop the spoiled baby sister act until I've had at least one mimosa and mom and dad have properly met that hunk of man next to you?” Melissa says as a maid delivers her a beverage on a tray.

  “Yes,” her father clears his throat standing. “Let's not scare the young man away just yet. I'm Donald Forrest. This is my wife Diane. You've met my other daughter Melissa.” My eyes briefly cut to her. It's obvious her and Mandy are siblings from their similar features and shapes. She waves seductively sucking the cherry off it's stem.

  “Michael Love sir,” I introduce myself with a firm handshake.

  “God, your last name is Love. Could you get any yummier?” Melissa giggles.

  Mandy snaps at her sister, “Isn't it a little early for you to be this drunk?”

  “Isn't it a little early for you to be dressed that slutty?” Melissa points.

  “Slutty dressing doesn't have a time code.”

  “And neither does being drunk.”

  “In Vegas maybe.”

  “Girls,” Diane hisses, the obvious answer to where their slender figures originate. “Behave.”

  Pulling Mandy's chair out, I help her have a seat before sitting myself beside her.

  “A gentleman. A pleasant surprise,” Donald states.

  I politely reply. “Yes sir.”

  Fancy meals, fancy people, fancy anything really isn't something I am comfortable with or understand. I don't get the point of so many forks. I don't see why you would want a napkin that could be used like a washcloth. However, over the last year or so, Mindy, the woman who is basically Grim's mother, has shaped my manners into check. Corrected everything from posture to properly waiting my turn to speak in more elegant situations. All that training required many button up shirts, ties, and jackets. Sure, the military teaches us respect and grooms us for proper ways to behave around those in higher rank, but Mindy has worked hard making sure all three of us are groomed off the field, insisting you never know when you might need it. At this moment, I wish I could send her a bouquet of flowers for teaching me what's going to help me survive this brunch from hell.

  “What is it you do for a living Michael?” Donald asks placing the napkin back in his lap at the same time the maid brings Mandy a mimosa.

  “I'm in the military sir,” I answer before informing the woman just water for me.

  “Branch?”

  Technically one that doesn't exit. Technically one that includes carrying out missions that are not necessarily sanctioned on paper.

  I clear my throat and shift in my seat. “I'm a Marine sir.”

  “Oh my God!” Melissa exclaims nearly spilling her beverage. “How do you keep getting sexier?”

  Mandy glares and opens her mouth to snip when I place my hand on top of hers that's resting on her thigh. I will my cock to stay still because the simplest graze of her thigh has it ready to spring. With rights. Her thigh is so fucking soft.

  “A Marine. A respectable choice,” Donald nods as if pleased with the answer.

  “Aren't they the most dangerous?” Melissa tries to flirt again pushing her lips at me. I've had women throw themselves at me before, but I can honestly say, never in front of their parents. Ha. I've met very few parents of dates in my life time.

  With my charming smirk I nod. “We are.”

  “Could you stop hitting on my boyfriend? Where's yours? Where's Doctor Dave?” Mandy mocks taking a drink.

  “Got called in. Busy life of a surgeon,” she sighs downing the last of her glass.

  “I look forward to meeting him,” I state.

  “I look forward to marrying him,” Melissa wiggles her eyebrows at me.

&nb
sp; “So,” Diane changes subjects back to me. “A Marine? Did either of your parents serve?”

  The humiliating truth of knowing nothing about the people who gave me their genetics tenses my frame. Confused by the shift, Mandy's eyes glance at me. Talking about my past isn't something I do. It's nothing any of us on the team do. The only things that have ever mattered are what we are preparing to face on the field together and staying sane off, in between missions. We've all got our pasts buried deep, so deep six feet would look shallow, but after our last mission as a team, I've learned no matter how hard you try to keep them concealed, they always come back to light. Often with a vengeance.

  “No ma'am.” I reply. Quickly I redirect the subject before they can push on further about my non-existent family. “Mandy tells me you run a small high end boutique.”

  Impressed at my memory of that, Mandy uncrosses and crosses her legs the other direction giving my hand another brief graze of creamy thigh. It's like she's giving me a reward for having paid attention to her over the past few months. Fucking A. That kind of reward could bring a man to his knees. And his face to her pussy.

  “I do. It's more a hobby than anything else. Where do you think she gets her wardrobe?” Diane giggles as plates of food are delivered to each of us.

  “I don't believe Mandy told me what you did sir. Do you mind if I ask?”

  “I own and operate one of the oldest wine companies in America.” The reason he looks like a Don makes so much more sense now. “It's a lucrative business but time consuming. One reason I'm glad my daughter has chosen a man that makes stable money with better hours.”

  “Barely,” Melissa mumbles shoving a forkful of eggs in her mouth.

  “How did you and Mandy meet?” Diane questions cutting a piece of thin sliced ham.

  “Through Haven,” Mandy answers snatching a piece of bacon off my plate.

  Mindlessly I mutter, “Brat.” Shit. I shouldn't have said that. Fuck. Her father's probably gonna kill me for treating his princess this way. Nervously I survey their responses. To my surprise they all look startled, but not upset. If my observation skills are correct her father looks impressed that I have the balls to speak his daughter in such a fashion.