Unattainable (Undeniable, #3)(97)

Unfazed, Deuce turned away from me and started heading inside.

“Yeah, you did,” he said over his shoulder. “You made up your mind the day you decided you loved my boy.”

Alone now, I glanced down at the picture of Deuce’s mother and stared into the eyes of the girl who’d never been given the crown she’d deserved, and I wondered what had become of her.

“All right,” I told her, sighing. “What do you say you and me give this shit a shot? What’s the worst that could happen?”

Realizing what I’d just said, I wrinkled up my nose. “Wait,” I said. “Don’t answer that.” Tucking the photo in the back pocket of my jeans, I headed inside.

Everyone was already seated around the table by the time I reached the kitchen. I slid into my usual chair beside Cage, directly across the table from Ripper. Cage’s arm came down heavy across my shoulders.

“Oh, hell no!” Eva suddenly yelled, slapping Deuce’s hand off the salt shaker.

“Reel it the f*ck in,” he growled, reaching for it again.

Ripper’s arm shot forward, grabbing it before Deuce could. Deuce shot up out of his chair and Ripper sent it flying over the table, straight into Cox’s waiting hand where he promptly shoved the salt shaker down the front of his leathers.

“Come and get it,” Cox taunted.

“You are f*ckin’ fired,” Deuce said, glaring at him.

“Reel it in yourself, Daddy,” Danny said. “We want you around for a while.”

And a whole new wave of arguing began.

Sighing, I glanced over at Cage, who pulled me closer to him.

“Don’t know what you’re always complainin’ about,” he said, kissing my cheek. “You f*ckin’ yell just as much as any of ’em.”

“Yes,” I said. “But me yelling doesn’t give me a headache.”

“Gives me one.”

“Giving you a headache makes me happy,” I said, turning my face and pressing my lips against his.

“You’re a damn crazy little shit,” he muttered against my mouth. “But I’ll keep you.”

I tuned out the noise around us and instead concentrated on the way his mouth felt against mine, the way his lips and tongue moved in sync with mine.

He was mine. All mine.

“Thank God,” I said, pushing away from him. “I was so very worried I might no longer be able to utilize my beer-fetching abilities.”

Grinning, Cage turned away from me and as I went to carve into my steak, I found Deuce watching me.

He winked. And I couldn’t help it. I smiled.

And what did that old bastard do? He smiled back.

Dimples.

They were going to be the motherf*cking death of me.

THE END

Sneak Peek: LOVE AND LISTS by Tara Sivec

(Chocoholics #1)

Chapter 1 – The List

Can someone die from a severe case of blue balls?

Yep, that just happened. I just typed that exact phrase into the Google search engine.

My mother always warned me to stay away from Google. She told me it was the devil. I’m twenty-five years old and I still don’t listen to my mother.

According to Wiki, the answer is NO. Just, no. Period. The end. No explanation whatsoever. You would think the person answering these questions could have elaborated just a little bit. Like, “No. You cannot die from blue balls, you f*cking moron. Why the hell are you even asking this question? You do realize your internet history can and will be seen by everyone you know at some point in your life, right?”

Note to self: delete internet history. I need to consult my mom on this. I believe I came across a contract between her and my Aunt Liz a few years ago…

You’re probably wondering why I’m curious if someone can die from blue balls. You’re probably also wondering how in the hell I can possibly be twenty-five years old when just yesterday I was four. I know, it’s a tough pill to swallow. I’m not a foul-mouthed, cute little kid anymore. I’m now a foul-mouthed, cute adult. I take after my parents, so obviously I’m good looking. That might sound conceited to you, but oh well. I’m not one of those guys who are all “Awwwww, shucks. You really think I’m good looking? Naaaaah, I’m just me.”

Fuck that.

I walked around for most of my childhood talking about my penis to anyone who would listen. Owning it when people say I’m hot isn’t conceited. It’s me being comfortable with who I am.

So anyway, where were we? Oh, right. Penis. Blue balls. Death by blue balls. There’s only one reason for my earlier Google question: Charlotte Gilmore. The most beautiful woman I’ve ever met and my best friend. She’s the oldest daughter of my parents’ best friends, Liz and Jim Gilmore. She has long, dark brown hair, big gorgeous brown eyes, and a body that takes my breath away. Since we’re only three years apart in age, we grew up together. I’ve been told that we used to take baths together when we were little. Obviously the times we were naked in the tub never left a lasting impression on her since no matter how hard I try, I can’t get her to see me as anything other than a friend. The kiss of death. The “friend” curse.

It’s all her fault that I even have blue balls, although to be honest, I really shouldn’t blame her. It’s not like she knows she’s causing me extreme pain. She has no idea that every time I’m within three feet of her my penis perks up like a meerkat when it hears a noise. It’s f*cking Meerkat Manor in my pants. My penis is like a magnet and she’s a hot piece of steel. As soon as she walks into a room, the magnetic pull begins and I feel like I have to hold on tight to something. Otherwise, my penis will drag my body over to her and slam itself up against her, like a dog grunting and humping some poor, unsuspecting person’s leg. I’m like a f*cking dog in heat when it comes to her. My poor penis wants to hump her leg and she just wants to be friends. I feel bad for my penis. He’s had a rough life. I love my penis and he’s totally getting the shaft. Ha! See what I did there?