Operation Foreplay

Book 2: Operation

by Christine Hughes

Genres: Women's Fiction; Contemporary Romance; Romantic Comedy

Synopsis

SLOWING DOWN THE SEX-CELERATOR . . . Melody Ashford hates waiting for anything- especially sex. But after a disastrous affair and a one-nighter with Mr. Micropenis, Mel realizes she's suffering from some bad bedroom juju. And no amount of hot, casual, or friends-with-benefits hookups is going to fix it. Instead, Mel's decided to resist the demands of her ladyparts. Saying no might have been no problem . . . except that her temporary roommate, Jared Myers, is all kinds of hot male sex on a stick. Now Mel is consumed by all manner of dirty thoughts, and remembering why she decided to "go slow" is getting harder and harder . . . (70,000 words)

Release date: November 10, 2015

Publisher: Forever Yours

Print pages: 354

Sample

Chapter One

When my biggest decision of the day is whether to bring red or white, I always bring both. And when those bottles are headed with me to Sarah’s house, I buy two of each and tell the sales clerk to keep the change. Of course, since it’s summer and summer can’t start without a cold glass of pink lemonade, I picked up bottles of Prosecco and pink limoncello and was hoping Sarah had some raspberries.

Still dressed in a gray pinstriped pencil skirt, sleeveless silk tank, and a pair of bright red power heels, I couldn’t wait to slip into nothing, crawl into bed, and sleep the night away. But tonight, that dream was going to have to wait. Sarah texted me earlier to let me know her brother Jared, who I hadn’t seen in years, was moving back to New Jersey. Of course, many would wonder why he’d move from Georgia to the Garden State. I, on the other hand, didn’t care. Not then. My plate was full enough with work, sleep, friends, and fucking my boss.

My feet started to cry as I made my way up to the fourth floor of Sarah’s apartment building. Seriously, where was an elevator when you needed one? I must’ve looked like I needed rescuing from my choice in footwear when I heard a male voice behind me.

“Need some help?”

I tossed my hair over my shoulder and plastered on my you-better-be-hot smile. If he was going to save me from my stilettos then I kind of needed him to look good while doing it. I laughed and said, “Sure,” as I turned to face the man. I nearly fell down the stairs as my knees gave out. Goddamn, he was hot. Dark hair, stubble, and big blue eyes. I envied his eyelashes and for a split second wondered how they’d feel on my skin.

“You okay?” He smiled as he grabbed my elbow and took one of the liquor store bags from me.

I slid my Prada bag high up on my shoulder and said, “Yeah. Thanks. My ass is gonna scream at me tomorrow after I climb all these stairs.” He climbed up to the next step so he was one below me and we were eye level. Something in that face was familiar, but for the life of me I couldn’t picture it anywhere but between my legs. I didn’t like the fact that I was obviously flushed and caught off guard. I mean, honestly, the flirtation game is my bitch. I own it. I wrote the rules and I could bed a man faster than anyone else I’d ever met. But this guy had me thinking stupid the second he curved his lips and flashed his bright blues in my direction. “My name is Melody. Melody Ashford.” I held out my hand.

“Nice to meet you, Melody. From what I saw, I’ll be thanking these steps while your ass screams at you.” He took my hand and I bit my lip, thinking it would quell the sudden throb between my thighs. For the first time, I wished I were wearing underwear.

I struggled to think of something clever to say but all I could think of was “Are you new?”

“I’m sorry?”

Oh my God. He had a dimple. Where do I know this guy from?

I handed him my bag and he climbed past me. “Are you new to the building?” His khakis fit his ass so well that my head tilted of its own accord and I licked my lips as if I were a lion on the Serengeti stalking my prey. If I had my way, and I always did, that man was about to be the new notch on my bedpost.

“Yeah. You could say that.”

“I think I would have remembered you.” I giggled. Inwardly, I rolled my eyes at myself. Giggle? Really?

“Would you now?” He continued up the next flight of stairs. “You have a good memory, then?”

“I’d like to think so.” I scrambled to keep up. Damn shoes. “Um, fourth floor.”

“Huh?” He called back down to me.

“I’m heading for the fourth floor.”

“I know.” He didn’t look back at me. I felt like I was talking to the back of his head. It was annoying.

“You know? What are you, some kind of mind reader?” I seriously should have taken the heels off a floor and a half ago but I couldn’t do that now. Not when I was stalking.

“Kind of.” He answered vaguely.

My head popped in view of Sarah’s door as he stepped onto the landing. My friend’s door opened and she stepped out.

“What took you so long? The pizza’s getting cold.” She hugged the man who handed one of my liquor store bags to her. “You went to the liquor store? You shouldn’t have!” She looked in the bag and pulled out the bottle of pink limoncello. “You bought this?”

The man looked confused, shrugged, and smiled.

“Um, no.” I held up a finger as I teetered onto the landing. “That would be me. I went to the liquor store. I bought that. I bought the pink limoncello.”

And suddenly I felt like a disheveled mess and Mr. Knight in a Pair of Khakis just tried to jack my party gift. Oh hell no.

I reached out and snatched—yes snatched—the other bag from him and handed it to Sarah while giving him the side eye as I leaned in to kiss her on the cheek. “Who’s this guy?” I whispered and thumbed behind me.

“You don’t know?” She laughed. “Well, it has been a long time. That’s Jared. All grown-up.”

Mother fuck.

All. Grown. Up. Indeed.

I turned slowly, horrified that the once skinny kid that was my friend’s brother who thought it was funny to annoy the hell out of me so many years ago was suddenly hot. Still annoying but hot.

“Hey Mel.” He chuckled and saluted.

“Ass Cheeks?” I said, bringing back the old nickname he earned when one of his high school Barbie doll girlfriends thought it would be funny to pants him at his graduation party. She grabbed the pockets of his jeans and instead of pulling his pants down, she ripped the ass right out of them. And he wasn’t wearing any underwear. Hence the name. Ass cheeks. I had a fabulous time calling him that. He didn’t like it so much.

“A Cup.” He replied, reminding me of the moniker he and his not-so-funny friends used for me before my plastic surgeon enhanced my shortcomings.

“Nice. Obviously that is no longer an issue.” I smiled and squared my shoulders. I had great tits. And I could tell he thought so, too.

“Apparently not. A little much, don’t you think? As least your ass is still kickin’.” He winked.

I wanted to be offended. To huff and throw drama around like glitter, but I couldn’t bring myself to do anything but stand there with my mouth hanging open like an invitation. I remember when I didn’t find him hilarious or adorable, just annoying and skinny. Then again, he was four years younger than me. How else was I supposed to look at him? He was some sort of Mr. Popular in his high school but when it came to his sister’s college friends, he had no game. But as I stared at him I knew that he knew he had my nonexistent panties in a bunch and I didn’t like it. Not one bit.

“Nice to know you’ve retained that high school charm. All the girls must love you.” I rolled my eyes and stepped through Sarah’s door.

“You two act like no time has passed.” Sarah laughed as she walked to the kitchen and pulled wineglasses from the kitchen cabinet.

I dropped my purse on the table and took up my spot on the far barstool. I crossed my legs and pointed my toes, debating if I should take off the shoes. Then I saw Jared try not to notice. Fuck my feet. The heels were staying on.

“Just like old friends, right?” Jared reached across the counter and tweaked my nose.

I smacked his hand. “Don’t do that. I didn’t like it then and I don’t like it now.”

He cocked an eyebrow and smirked. “So what have you been up to these past, what is it? Six years? I mean besides losing your sense of humor.”

“Eight. And I’m in finance.”

“Eight but who’s counting?”

“Exactly.” I took my glass from Sarah and downed the contents in one swallow.

Sarah snickered. “Melody has a sense of humor.”

“Thanks.” I raised my empty glass to her.

“Anytime. Excuse me.”

Jared watched with what I could only assume was interest. “Nervous?” He refilled my glass as Sarah headed to the bathroom.

“No. What makes you think I’d be nervous?” I straightened my shoulders.

“Oh nothing. So finance, huh? Interesting. I’m in finance myself. Figured out early on I was a numbers guy. All those sixes and nines—”

I choked on my wine. “Excuse me?”

“Did I say something interesting?”

I opened my mouth to say something that I am sure would have been fantastically snarky but I was instead saved by the group of people suddenly entering the apartment. Jared rolled his shoulders and stood. I watched as he confidently walked over to Drew, Sarah’s boyfriend, and shook his hand. I watched as Drew made the introductions. He started with Caroline and Brian. Caroline has been my friend for years and Brian has been Drew’s friend just as long. Care and Brian began dating just before Christmas, after she had a quite memorable one night stand with Brian’s former roommate. Next he introduced Berk and Danny, two of his close friends, and, finally, Brian’s sister Siobhan. I watched and bristled when Siobhan’s eyes grew as wide as saucers as she took in Jared’s wide shoulders, bright eyes, and full lips. I nearly fell off my chair when he turned toward me and winked. And don’t think I didn’t notice Caroline mouthing “ohmygod” in my direction. Even Berk betrayed me when he noticed Jared’s ass as he walked away.

“You okay, beautiful?” Jared interrupted the daggers I was throwing at Berk.

“Don’t call me beautiful, Ass Cheeks. You knew who I was on the stairs and yet you pretended you didn’t.”

“Sue me.” He took a long swallow of wine while keeping his eyes on me.

“I’d rather ignore you.”

“You couldn’t ignore me if you tried.”

“Ha! You’re full of yourself.”

“You could be full of me, too. All you have to do is get rid of that RBF.” He tweaked my nose again and walked back to the group.

“I do not have resting bitch face,” I called to him.

“What’s with tall, dark, and fuckable?” Berk pulled up a chair next to me.

“Jared? Hardly fuckable. He’s too into himself.”

“Sounds like someone we know,” Caroline quipped.

“I am not into myself.” I frowned when the two of them laughed. I handed Caroline a napkin to clean up the wine she spit all over the countertop. “Assholes.”

“Goddamn that boy is hot!” Siobhan jumped in the conversation.

“Seriously. That’s my brother,” Sarah added as she returned from the bathroom. “He is off-limits.”

Berk and Caroline saluted and giggled while Siobhan huffed. I ignored her. Not like I wanted any of what he had to offer anyway.

“Melody? That mostly means you.”

“Me? Why would I want your brother?”

“Um, because he has a cock.”

“I’m offended.”

“No you aren’t. Plus, he just broke up with his fiancée. He doesn’t need a dose of Melody on top of it.”

“Fine.” I rolled my eyes.

“He was engaged?” Caroline pouted, clearly remembering her own broken engagement. “Poor guy.”

“Oh, please. He’s so full of himself, he’s probably nailed half of New Jersey in the twelve hours he’s been here.”

“Jealous much?” Berk laughed.

“Ew. No.” I sipped my wine. “He’s not my type anyway. I have Zac.”

“Zac is married.” Sarah wrinkled her nose.

Yeah he was. And he was my boss. And because I was fucking my married boss I had no time for Jared and his shenanigans, no matter how good they looked in a pair of khakis.

Chapter Two

With nothing but a towel wrapped tightly around my head, I padded barefoot to the kitchen to open a bottle of wine. Turning up the music, I shimmied around the room as I searched the drawer for the bottle opener. I was giddy after checking the time; Zac would be at my apartment in an hour. For the first time since, well, the first time, he’d be on my turf. There would be no sneaking around the office, no stolen kisses when no one was looking. No rushing out of bed at three in the morning to take a cab to the train that would bring me home by four only to head back into the city by nine. He was coming to my place. My place. Sleeping over. Spending the night. Spending the weekend. And if I had a say in it, the weekend would be spent in bed.

I’d put on the slinkiest, smuttiest underwear I could find—purchased specifically for the occasion—perfected my barely there makeup, and dabbed on the expensive perfume he’d purchased for me during his last visit to France.

With thirty minutes to go, I pulled the towel off my head and used the diffuser to ensure the honey-blond curls he loved so much were intact and full. I lit candles, slipped on my slinky black dress in time to pay the Chinese delivery guy, whose eyes bugged out of his head when he saw the surgically enhanced cleavage I presented him with when I answered the door, and set the table. Looking around my ridiculously spacious apartment, I smiled because everything was perfect. Early dinner meant more time in bed. Or on the floor. Or in the shower.

After I polished off my second glass of wine, I shot Zac a text and picked at the dumplings. Within thirty minutes, there were none left and I was still starving. I checked out the market recap, then flipped through the channels until I landed on a sitcom that highlighted one of the characters turning thirty. I poured a third glass and lamented the fact that I’d be thirty in less than a month. I wasn’t not looking forward to it, but I didn’t see the big deal. Unfortunately my mother didn’t agree. Especially since she’d learned my friends were moving in a direction I clearly was not. I mean, who cared if Caroline moved in with Brian? Why did it matter if Sarah was dating Drew regularly? Who said I needed any of that? I was an attractive young professional woman. I was successful. And I liked to have sex. Lots of it. Though over the past few months I’d pared down the number of bedfellows to one Zachary Waterman. My boss. The things that man could do with his hands. The thought gave me goose bumps.

I reached across my chocolate leather sofa and grabbed a pillow to rest my laptop on. Maybe he’d e-mailed. I’d eaten both eggrolls and emptied the last of the bottle into my glass by the time I finished perusing the spam and department store sales advertisements. It wasn’t a total loss. I’d ordered a sexy new pair of peep toes to go with the entirely too expensive suit I’d purchased the week before.

I clicked off the television and walked to my bedroom, wine sloshing from my glass due partly to my overpour and partly to my impaired balance. I call it my drunken girl strut. Everyone has one.

Relighting a vanilla candle that had snuffed out, I picked up my never-used landline and dialed my cell phone to make sure it was still working. He was an hour and twenty minutes late. I took a deep breath and reminded myself not to panic. Of course, he was a busy man. He ran a multimillion-dollar company. There was no need to worry.

Refreshing my makeup, I told myself over and over again not to worry. The voice in my head, unfortunately, was growing more frantic by the minute. I was never one to get all swoony and girly over a man. I had no time for relationships, no time for anything other than casual and mutually mind-blowing sex. I had a black book. I had notches on my bedpost and a belt with more holes than I cared to admit. It’s not that I didn’t care about the guys I slept with, it’s just that I cared more about myself and my orgasms. Not a bad thing. I certainly wasn’t selfish—any bedmate could tell you. I just wasn’t relationship material. And it pissed off my mother.

So why was I all keyed up over Zac? What the hell made him so special that I’d sit home and wait for him? It was because he was unavailable to me in the relationship department. His wife would agree with me. I’d been involved with my still-married-but-going-through-a-divorce boss for the past five months. Not exactly going through, per se. More like promising-to-end-it-but-hasn’t-yet. My friends thought I needed a new hobby.

I dialed his number and was slightly surprised when it went straight to voice mail. I didn’t bother leaving a message. Instead, I threw the phone on my couch and slinked back to the kitchen to grab the second bottle. I sat on the floor between the hallway and the kitchen cracking fortune cookies that gave shitty advice. It wasn’t until that second bottle of Pinot sat unopened in my lap, mascara stained my cheeks, and he was officially two and a half hours late that I realized he wasn’t coming.

That isn’t true.

I realized it when he didn’t return my text.

Calmly I walked to my bedroom and stripped off the slinky black dress I’d picked out for the evening, now wet from wine spillage, and let it fall to the floor. I yanked on the rattiest pair of sweatpants I could find in my drawer and pulled my old college T-shirt over my head. Even that had holes in it. Perfect metaphor for my life at that moment. Full of holes. I was crying by the time I called Sarah. Her brother answered. Great.

“Why are you answering your sister’s phone?” I had no time for small talk. I was in crisis.

“She’s in the bathroom.” They were out somewhere. I could hear other people talking in the background.

“Get her.” The amount of panic I was feeling rose along with the pitch of my voice.

“You okay?”

“Jared, just get your sister.” The whisper slid through my clenched jaw.

“Are you crying?”

“Son of a bitch, Jared.” I had no fight in me.

“Geez, I’d tell you not to get your panties in a bunch but I know you don’t wear any.”

“Fuck you.” Maybe I did.

“You wish.” He chuckled.

Sarah came on the line. “Hey.”

“He didn’t come.” Unsteadily I made my way back into my living room.

“Oh, sweetie. I’m sorry.”

“I’ve eaten five dumplings and two eggrolls. I have a pile of fortune cookie crumbs in my hallway. I am going to open my second bottle of wine and eat the lo mein I ordered without a fork. I will gain ten pounds and I don’t care.”

“We’ll be right there.”

“I will stick my face in the lo mein and eat it like a caveman.”

“Do not eat the lo mein like a caveman. We will be there in less than twenty minutes.”

The best part about having two best friends was there were no questions when one of us was down. I didn’t have to ask. They’d be there. They’d answer the phone. They’d respond to a text and, barring a life-threatening accident, they wouldn’t be two and a half hours late.

I barely heard them come in my apartment. It wasn’t until Sarah plopped down on the floor next to me that I opened my eyes. Thankfully, I never opened that second bottle.

“You okay?”

I rolled my head and rested it on her shoulder. “Yeah. I’m okay.”

“Can I be blunt?”

“I don’t think it’s a good time to be blunt. Caring and understanding. Not blunt.” Caroline settled on my other side and handed me a cup of coffee from my favorite place.

“It’s okay,” I reassured her, “I can take it.” I sipped the strong black coffee and knew sooner rather than later, I’d be perked back up. I didn’t want to be perked back up. I wanted to wallow and woe-is-me in the dark depths that only sleeping with a married man could bring you.

“How long are you going to keep doing this to yourself?”

“Oh, at least another dozen or so times.”

Caroline was right. I didn’t want to hear what Sarah, the constant voice of reason, had to say.

“He’s married.”

“I am more than aware.” I rolled my eyes and tipped my empty wineglass, hoping to tease out one last drop.

“He’s done this to you more than once. He’s a no show. Doesn’t call. Doesn’t text.”

“That isn’t fair.” With a bit of latent enthusiasm, I shot forward and pointed a perfectly manicured finger at her. “The last time his mother was in the hospital.”

“And the time before that he was stuck in traffic and the time before that—”

“I think she gets it, Sarah. Just like I think it’s time for you, my dear, to get dressed.”

Caroline stood, scooped her hands under my arms, and pulled me to my feet.

“I am in no shape to go out. I’m drunk.” My point needed a drunken girl arm flail but I was too tired to attempt it.

“It’s nine o’clock. Since when does a bottle of wine stop you? You’re fine. Besides, if you stay here, you’ll be in a food coma. Jesus”—she walked over to the dining room table— “how much did you order?”

“A lot.”

“Drunk is fine. Drunk and holed up in your apartment crying about a married man who didn’t show up is not. Don’t be silly. We’re just going to Murphy’s. It’s time for target practice.” Sarah winked at Caroline. I had the feeling they’d been planning this for a while.

Target practice. Almost a year ago Caroline’s fiancé of five years broke up with her in the douchiest way imaginable—she walked in on him banging the intern. Needless to say, she retreated, hid, gained ten pounds, and became a disheveled mess. Until Sarah and I stepped in and forced her to see herself without Steve. Target Practice: Operation One Night Stand was born. After a few bumps in the road, Caroline ended up with Brian, the owner of Murphy’s Bar. He was supposed to be a rebound, someone to pull her out of her funk. Two weeks ago, they moved in together and bought a dog.

Go figure.

“I don’t need target practice,” I moaned as the girls walked me back to my room. “I don’t need to get over anyone.”

“No, you don’t have to get over Zac, necessarily. Maybe you just need some time away to get some perspective on what’s working and what’s not working as far as your naughty bits go,” Sarah piped in.. . .