The Lucky in Love Collection Page 10

  “Do I need my platinum card, Coach?”

  “Depends how many orgasms you want.”

  “Hmmm. Preferably multiple.” Damn, it is fun to talk about sex so freely with a guy.

  “That’s definitely the best kind.” He heads to the passenger door, and I follow. “Let’s find a dolphin for your clitorisaurus.”

  A laugh bursts from my throat. “Did you really just say what I think you said?”

  He swivels around, wearing a stoic expression. “It’s the scientific term.”

  “Then I would presume a cock ring would be used on your cock-o-rex?”

  I mentally high-five myself for saying cock so easily. It’s like the word has been set free after saying it out loud last night for one of the first times in my life.

  Cock. Cock. Cock. Cock-a-doodle-doo, indeed.

  Gabe raises an appreciative brow. “No more blushing when you dirty talk, I see.”

  “Cock.” I smile, showing off my skills.

  “Speaking of, mine’s not of the cock-o-rex species. That variety has tiny little balls,” he says, wiggling his arms like a Tyrannosaurus rex’s little limbs.

  “Perhaps it would work on your shaftceratops.”

  Hot damn. I’m getting good.

  His lips curve up in a playful grin. “Or maybe we could stick with names from actual dinosaurs. In that case, Giganotosaurus would be the way to go. Because . . . giant.”

  I tsk-tsk him. “Are you forgetting there was a Megalosaurus once upon a time?”

  “Dammit. You’re right. Mega is bigger. But my Diplodocus isn’t the star of the show today,” he says, tossing out one more actual dinosaur name. “Let’s go shop for you.”

  He opens the door to his truck, and I slide inside. He joins me, turning the key.

  “Hey, Gabe?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I know we’re not even at the sex toy shop, but you made it really easy already with the jokes.” Maybe that’s why I can rattle off these words with such ease.

  He flashes me a grin. “Humor is my favorite lubricant.”

  “I’m serious,” I say firmly.

  “So am I.” He pulls away from the curb. “Also, I’m glad you’re feeling comfortable.”

  “Me too.” I shoot him a friendly smile, my reassurance that I know the score. “How was your morning?”

  “Good. Saw my mom and dad. Went for a run. Learned some quantum physics.”

  That piques my interest. “Ooh, what did you learn?”

  “That some things make other things move fast and hot.”

  I laugh again. “Sounds like it stuck with you.”

  “What did you do this morning?” He flicks on the turn signal at the end of my block.

  “Perri and Vanessa held me hostage so I could be thoroughly tortured by the Pilates instructor. Those machines are insane.”

  He shudders. “I don’t understand how anybody chooses to exercise on that crazy contraption. It’s like a modern-day torture rack. One time, we were called to a Pilates studio because someone was actually injured on the bench.”

  I thrust my arms in the air. “That is literally all I needed to know. I’m going to share that with Vanessa and Perri, because I would do anything to get out of that class.”

  “You need to be careful. Those places are like death traps.”

  “What actually happened on the call?”

  “Did you eat breakfast today?”

  “Yes. Why?”

  He turns down Main Street. “I can’t tell you because I just had the dashboard cleaned.”

  “You’re joking, right?”

  “No. Yes. Maybe. Look, I’ve seen injuries from sex, and I won’t tell you to stay away from that type of exercise.”

  I laugh at his designation of sex as exercise. “Pilates does make you flexible,” I add, a little flirty since that’s the name of the game today.

  “How long have you been doing it?”

  “Couple years.”

  “Forget what I said. It’s not dangerous at all. Keep doing it. It’ll give you great flexibility in your sex life for years to come.” He winks at me.

  “You’re so thoughtful. Looking out for my sex-leticism down the road.”

  “Like a good coach.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “And is running good for your sex life?”

  He nods proudly. “Stamina, baby.”

  And now I wonder how Gabe’s is in bed.

  Stop. Just stop.

  “How many miles did you run?”

  “Eight.”

  Oh God, he must have great stamina.

  “That’s good cardio,” I say, deadpan.

  “And I have great stamina.”

  And I’m getting hot and bothered.

  “And I’m flexible,” I add, and now this is it—I have to stop flirting. “But running. That’s basically a modern form of hell.”

  “But how else am I going to burn off those coconut bars you’re making me?” He swings the truck to the right, and we head down a long stretch of road that’ll take us away from Lucky Falls.

  “I’m making you coconut bars?”

  “You didn’t think you were the only one getting something out of this? I’m happy to teach you, but I’m going to require some payment in the form of food.”

  I laugh, only too happy to provide for him in that department. “How about some coconut bars and dinner sometime this week?”

  “It’s a deal if it includes the striptease.”

  Ohhhh. I picture undressing in front of Gabe, and it terrifies me. “Are you serious?”

  He lifts an eyebrow. “Are you?”

  Am I? I let the scene play out, returning to the image of stripping down to my sexiest La Perla panties and bra, and I no longer feel terror. I feel thrills. Or perhaps I feel both, and I like the cocktail, thank you very much. “Yes. I think I am.”

  A grin that reaches halfway to Naughty Town spreads across his face. “You’ve got yourself a deal. But aside from the torture rack, did you enjoy your time with your girls?”

  I love that he calls them that. Vanessa and Perri are most definitely my girls. “I always love seeing them. Is that kind of crazy? I’ve known them since we were five, but we still have something to talk about every single time.”

  “It’s like that with great friends, isn’t it?”

  I nod as we cruise past lush green hills rich with grapevines and billboards beckoning travelers to stop for wine tastings and to sample all sorts of grapes. “We’re like sisters. We went on a trip when we were younger—we were thirteen, and our parents sent us to visit Vanessa’s grandparents on their horse ranch for two weeks during the summer—and the security guard at the airport asked if we were triplets.”

  Gabe chuckles. “The blonde, the redhead, and the brunette.”

  “Exactly! And sure, we could be fraternal triplets, but then he said, ‘You all look alike,’ and I think it’s because we had that sister energy. That connection.”

  “I definitely see that in the three of you.”

  “We thought that was the best compliment in the world. My mom said to the guy, ‘No, but they wish they were.’ And that was true. We wanted to be sisters so we could be together all the time. To hang out together, play cards, watch movies, go to the mall, get our ears pierced—we wanted to do everything. And now, as we all race toward thirty, we still love our time as a trio.”

  “It’s a rare and precious gift to stay friends that long. I’m glad you have it. I’m glad they’re your family.”

  “Me too.” I smile since he gets it. He completely understands our tight bond. “Speaking of family, how is your pops doing?”

  Gabe offers a small smile. “I saw him a few days ago, and he kept talking about a dog he missed. A female schnauzer, he insisted. He only wanted the female schnauzer. But he never had that kind of dog. He always had collies.”

  “What did you say when he was talking about a dog he didn’t have?”

  “I kept reminding him of Daisy
and Violet. Those were his collies. Eventually, we talked about other things. Baseball, the fire department, and the mac and cheese that Emily—my nana, his wife—used to make him. He had no trouble remembering the recipe for the mac and cheese,” Gabe says with a laugh.

  “Did he give you the recipe?”

  “Yeah, it was basically cheese, more cheese, and even more cheese.”

  “Sounds yummy.”

  “It was his favorite thing to serve me when I was at their house as a kid. All things considered, I guess he’s doing okay.” He drums his fingers on the steering wheel. “You know, he’s the reason I kick your ass at Words with Friends.”

  “He is?” Gabe’s talked about his grandfather frequently, and someday I hope to meet the man he admires so much.

  Gabe’s voice tightens, like this is hard for him. “When he first realized he was struggling with his memory, he pulled me aside and told me he was going to give me the most important piece of advice ever. Even though he knows and I know that his advice wasn’t a guarantee, he wanted me to do everything I could, so he said: ‘Do crossword puzzles, young man. Exercise your brain. I don’t want you to go through this. Anything you can do that might keep it at bay, do it. Don’t be like me.’”

  A lump rises in my throat. I knew Gabe loved his puzzles and his grandpa, but I didn’t make the connection before—that it was the older man’s words of wisdom that spurred him on. They led him to keep that part of him—his mind—as active and well-oiled as his body. It’s far too easy to neglect the brain, but that isn’t a choice Gabe has made, and that’s hella sexy.

  I’m tempted to squeeze his bicep, to run a hand lightly through his hair, something, anything. Instead, I keep my hands to myself and use my words. “You’re pretty damn sharp, Harrison, so I’d say both the brain and body workouts are doing the trick.”

  “Thank you.” He gives me a quick glance out of the corner of his eye. “Same to you.”

  Tingles swoop down my body from the compliment, and we’re quiet for a moment as I stare out the window, savoring the delicious view of curving hills and winding roads that bend through the towns I love.

  As if he can read my mind, he says, “We live in a beautiful place.”

  I sigh contentedly. “The only time I’ve lived elsewhere was college in Berkeley, and though I loved it, I’m so glad I moved back.”

  “I’m glad my parents retired here when my pops settled here after Nana passed. Gave me an excuse to move away from the city.”

  “I’m glad you moved here too, even though it’s sad that that’s the reason.”

  He tips his forehead to a sign up ahead. “Welcome to Petaluma. Now, why don’t they say, ‘Welcome to Petaluma, home to a fantastic taqueria, the closest Target, and one helluva sex shop’?”

  “You’d think the chamber of commerce would be all over that.” I gaze at the sign, but a gray mass on the side of the road snags my attention.

  No! There’s an animal on the shoulder. I jerk out my hand. “Gabe! Look!”

  He slows down then pulls over. We get out and walk around, and I gasp when I see an owl on the edge of the gravel, exactly where an owl shouldn’t be. “Is he okay?”

  “I’m not sure.” Gabe bends to one knee, taking a look at the creature, which is sitting up but not trying to fly away. “I’m no vet, but I’m betting he has an injured wing.”

  “Should we take him to Wild Care?” I ask, urgency coloring my tone.

  “Definitely. But we need to be careful how we move him. You stay next to the little guy.”

  I do as instructed, kneeling next to the small bird with a spotted brown coat. “You’re going to be okay, little buddy,” I tell him, though tears prick my voice. I don’t know what to do for him, but as I peer back at Gabe, who’s grabbing a blanket from the bed of the truck, he seems to know exactly how to help.

  He rejoins me on the gravel. Gently, with steady hands, he slides the hurt bird onto the blanket. Gabe is the picture of cool calm. “Go sit in the cab and put your seat belt on. You need to hold this little guy.”

  My heart speeds even faster. I do as he says, buckling in. A few seconds later, he carefully lifts the bird in the blanket then sets him on my lap. The animal wiggles a bit. “Just keep him here, nice and safe, okay? If he tries to wriggle out, put the blanket over him, since they like darkness.”

  “I can do that.” My voice is as jumpy as my skittering pulse.

  Gabe slides back in and starts the engine. The hair on my arms stands on end as I stare at the hedgehog-size creature with frightened yellow eyes. He’s settled down a little.

  “It’s instinct for you, isn’t it?” I ask.

  He glances over at me as he navigates back on the road. “What do you mean?”

  I nod to the owl. “This is why you do what you do. You’re naturally good at helping.”

  “Maybe,” he says quietly.

  “It’s not a maybe, Gabe. You knew exactly what to do with this owl. Did you always want to be a fireman? Well, besides being a pitcher?”

  “What kid doesn’t?”

  “But what made it serious for you?”

  His expression turns somber. “My nana had a heart condition. She didn’t realize it till one night when I was staying with them when I was younger. My pops called 911, and the firefighters were the first ones there. I still remember how unruffled and helpful they were.”

  “Were you scared?”

  “I honestly wasn’t, because of those guys. I watched them closely, and paid attention to what they did. They were calm and reassuring, and any time she had any trouble, that’s exactly how I tried to be with her—calm and reassuring.”

  My throat tightens. “Like how you were with Hedwig,” I say, glancing at the owl. "Even though Hedwig is a girl in Harry Potter, and I think this owl is a boy. But I’m honestly not sure, since I’m not an owl vet either."

  “Arden,” he chides, “we are not keeping him.”

  “I know. But he needed a name.” I clear the emotions from my voice as best I can. “Did you know you’d be good at it?”

  “I think so, but I also think it felt natural. Like something I could do. Well, if baseball didn’t work out. And that’s precisely what happened.”

  “Do you ever regret that baseball didn’t work out?”

  “Nah. How many guys get to have the two careers they want? I’m lucky—I got to play ball, and now I can do this. I can help people.” He squeezes my leg with his free hand. It’s not sexual. It’s friendly and comforting, like maybe he knows I’m a little nervous, a little jumpy in the role of his owl paramedic assistant. “And today we’re going to help this little guy.”

  A few minutes later, we take Hedwig into Wild Care and Gabe hands off the owl. After that mission, we head over to The Garden of Eden.

  As we walk inside, nerves flutter inside me once more, but I’ve found talking helps eradicate them. “There’s no one I’d rather go sex toy shopping with than the guy who rescued Hedwig the owl.”

  And it’s strange but completely true.

  21

  Arden

  There are no windows. The brick exterior boasts a sign for adult pleasures. Inside, the shelves are teeming with battery-operated boyfriends, replicas of penises, vibrating rings, jellies, lubes, and every flavor of edible massage oil under the sun.

  There’s something for everyone here, including an aisle with a buzzing corn-on-the-cob vibrator, half a woman’s torso made of silicone, and . . . feet. Feet of all sizes and colors.

  Gabe brandishes a pale plastic one. He mimes running the fake foot in front of his crotch. A blush creeps across my cheeks as he pretends to grind against it, then deepens as he fakes his orgasmic pleasure.

  I grab the toy. “Stop. You are not getting it on with a plastic foot.”

  “I wasn’t trying to get it on. I was trying to get off.”

  I laugh as I set down the toy I’ll never buy.

  Gabe scans the shelves, and his eyes light up. He points. “We have to
go see that.” He grabs my hand and guides me to a bright rainbow braid.

  I squint, studying the swath of colors. “Should I put that in my hair?”

  He laughs, then speaks dryly. “Sure. Or someplace where the sun doesn’t shine.” He turns it around revealing a silver plug on the other end.

  My blush shoots up fifty shades. “And this is why I need help. Because I actually thought—erroneously—that I could buy a rainbow braid for my hair here.”

  “Look at it this way. You could start a line of butt plug hair extensions.”

  “Yeah, that’s a hard no.” But I am curious about something, and since I have a living, breathing man in front of me, one who’s pretty damn open, I decide to ask him. I tug his shirt, pulling him closer as I drop my voice. “Would you ever want to use one?”

  He straightens. “On myself? No fucking way. Now, if you wanted to use one . . . would it be my first choice? Not necessarily. But if you wanted to try butt stuff, I’d experiment with you.”

  I don’t want to try butt stuff, yet something about his willingness intrigues me. “You would? Even if it’s not your thing?”

  He shrugs happily. “Of course.”

  “Why?”

  He steps closer. “Because if we were together, my number one goal would be to make sure you were . . . satisfied.” That last word lingers on his tongue, almost like a reassurance. With him, I can’t imagine I’d be anything but immensely pleased.

  I blink away the thought. I should not be thinking about how good sex with him might be. That’s not what this sex-ucation is about. I take a breath, survey the shelves, and spot a curve of raspberry silicone, like a stretched C. I raise a hand. “Okay, maybe this makes me a clueless idiot, but what is that?”

  We walk over to what’s billed as a couple’s vibrator and study it closely. I can’t for the life of me figure out where each end of this double-ended device goes, or on whom. “How do you wear this? Who wears it?”

  Gabe turns it on its side, showing me the instructions on the tag. My mouth parts in an O as I read. “The front of the sex toy hangs on the clitoris, and the rest of it goes inside the woman. Supposedly, it gives great G-spot orgasms while engaged in intercourse with a partner. But I don’t understand how I’m supposed to have this chunk of plastic in me while I’m having sex.”