Birthquake Read online

  “Perfection.”

  Oh shit. I said that out loud, didn’t I?

  “Hey!” She snaps her fingers in front of my face. “If you want to talk to my boobs, the least you could do is buy them a drink first.”

  “Sorry,” I mutter under my breath and silently curse myself. Why the hell did I sit here? Why couldn’t there have been an empty seat next to a little old lady who’d show me photos of her thirty-seven cats for the duration of the flight? Or even a seat next to Mr. Bronco over there. I turn my head to see him digging for gold. If his finger were up there any further, his brain might gnaw it off. But no, I’m sitting here making an ass of myself next to a beautiful woman.

  “You think I’m beautiful?”

  My eyes flash to her, and there’s no hiding the panic on my face. “Well … uh …” No use backpedaling, dumbass. Don’t be the guy who compliments a woman and then denies it. Ridiculous novels are full of assholes. Don’t be the asshole in this stranger’s life. Don’t be the guy she texts her girlfriends about in some horror meeting on an airplane.

  “Yeah, I do. From the little I’ve gathered about you, I think you’re beautiful.”

  Dammit! Now I sound shallow.

  “And nice. I think you’re nice, too.” I hate that it sounds like an afterthought. I hate that I can’t be remotely coherent around her.

  “Nice?” she asks cautiously.

  “What’s wrong with being nice? I’m a nice guy.”

  “That remains to be determined.” She smirks and playfully nudges me in the shoulder, quickly recovering by casually leaning against the window. “But if natural disasters are nice, then yeah … I guess you could say that I’m nice.”

  She’s a natural disaster, all right. This woman is an earthquake with a heartbeat and a smile capable of shifting the earth beneath your feet, but powerful enough to bring your whole world crumbling down. It absolutely terrifies me. And all I know is I want more of it.

  Of her.

  I shift in my seat and look more closely at her, trying to read in between the lines. “What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask.

  “It means that I am arguably one of the klutziest humans to grace this planet. Murphy’s Law exists because of me.”

  Has she not noticed my ridiculousness over the past hour?

  “Well, if you’re a self-proclaimed disaster, you are easily one of the most beautiful disasters I’ve ever laid eyes on.” I didn’t mean to call her beautiful, but I love that she’s fighting a smile as her cheeks blush, nearly turning the color of her fiery, glowing hair.

  “Thanks,” she says underneath her breath.

  The hum of the airplane’s engines take over, and she looks at me wordlessly. Dare I say awkwardly? I have absolutely no idea where to go from here. And so we fly …

  In complete silence.

  The descent into the Denver airport is brutal at best. I’ve never had a turbulent-free landing here. So when the plane seemingly drops three hundred feet from the sky, she panics and grabs for the armrest. However, she misses the armrest by a long shot and takes a death grip on my upper thigh, mere millimeters from my manhood.

  I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy it … just a little bit.

  “Oh my God! I am so sorry!” She immediately retracts her hands like she’s just touched a hot stove.

  No! Don’t be sorry. It is totally okay with me if you want to put your hand back there. “You know, if you want to grab my junk the least you could do is buy me a drink first,” I jest, mimicking her words from a few minutes ago. “Actually, that’s a lie. No drink needed. I’m easy like that.”

  She closes her eyes and shakes her head as she recovers from the moment. “Seriously … I’m sorry … I didn’t mean …” her voice trails off softly.

  “It’s okay. Really.”

  She offers me a small, apologetic smile. The sunlight angles through the window in just the right way where her hair catches fire light.

  And I’m a fucking goner.

  Marry me, you hilarious, kind and beautiful creature.

  As the wheels touch down, I’m desperate for us to ascend back into the clouds. The hour and twenty minutes in the air with her were not nearly enough for me.

  “Do you think when we both get back to Kansas City, I could eat you out sometime?” Shit! Fuck! God, just kill me now. “I mean, do you think I could take you out to eat sometime?”

  She nervously bites her nail as she considers my offer. “Yeah … I’d like that.” Her nerves subside, and she smiles sweetly, then reaches into her purse underneath the seat in front of her. She takes out a crumpled up receipt and scribbles something down on the back side. When she passes me the soft paper, she extends her hand to shake mine. “I’m Henley, by the way.” Her skin is soft, and I resist pulling it up to my lips to kiss her hand. There’s no way this woman tastes anything less than incredible.

  “Henley,” I muse softly. I love her name. I love her eyes. I love her boobs. I love how her hand feels tucked inside mine. I love that she hates the Broncos almost as much as I do.

  Awkwardly, Henley keeps her hand in mine, and we’re holding hands for a few moments too long for this to just be casual. She raises her eyebrows at me curiously and laughs before pulling her hand away from mine. I instantly feel the void and regret allowing her to let it go.

  But I’m quickly soothed when I look down at the paper in my hand and see her number scrawled underneath her scrolled name.

  “Um…” She hesitates for a moment. “You’re ... charming.” She bites her lower lip coyly like she is starting to understand the stronghold she has over me. But damn, I don’t care.

  And then it dawns on me what she’s looking for.

  “No, not charming. Jeff. My name is Jeff.”

  THE UNICORN

  “Things between you and lovah-boy seem to be going well. How long has it been now? Four months?”

  Tara is perched on the edge of my bed, speaking into her vodka glass like a microphone. She's less Oprah and more Wendy Williams. Oprah wouldn't conduct gossip interviews with a vodkaphone, would she? She'd be classier and come to the table with a cosmophone or maybe even a belliniphone for good measure.

  When Tara pushes the vodkaphone my way, I pluck the glass from her fingers and take a swig before handing it back to her.

  “Yeah … it's been almost five, actually.” I smile at my best friend as I pull my skirt up my legs and around my hips. I’m pretty sure I’ve fallen in love with him, but I don’t make mention of that yet. I'd never hear the end of it. Part of me fell in love with him at ten thousand feet amid all of his glorious awkwardness. Thankfully that subsided by our third date — just in time for my true awkwardness to arrive. I admit I put on a good front. But once you get to know me, it’s impossible for me to hide how utterly ridiculous I am. But apparently, he adores me in spite of that.

  “So you think he’s the one?”

  I turn back toward my closet to scour the hangers for my favorite cobalt blouse. “I think he’s the one for right now.”

  “Seriously, Hen? You haven’t dated in centuries. And now you have an awesome guy, with — and I quote ‘a package that makes your vajayjay squeal with fright and delight’ — who worships the ground you walk on, and you’re claiming he’s Mr. Right Now? I call bullshit. That man is a goddamned unicorn, and you know it.”

  “Whatever, Tara.” She knows it takes a lot to get me to open up about my relationships. It took me how long to pick up the pieces after Leo and I broke up. I’m guarded—and rightfully so.

  Ever since I first mentioned Jeff when I returned from my Denver trip, Tara has taken a keen interest in my love life. Probably because the last time I had a love life, she was a free-spirited single gal sowing her wild oats in college. Now that her days are spent knee-deep in peanut butter sandwiches and yelling at her kids to stop playing Star Wars with their penises, she’s hell-bent on reliving the glory days through me.

  I guess I can’t blame her though.

>   I pull my shirt off the hanger and slip it over my head, smoothing the wrinkles out with my palms. I turn to face Tara and raise my arms to ask what do you think?

  “Oh God. You’re not wearing that shirt, are you?” Tara guffaws as she tosses back the last of her vodka cranberry. She doesn’t get out very often these days with three toddler boys of her own and a husband who is one giant man-child—so anytime we’re together without the accompaniment of impressionable ears, she’s quick to hit the mommy sauce.

  “What’s wrong with this top?” Sure, it’s from college, but it fits, there are no stains, and it makes the ladies look great. “It’s always been one of my favorites.”

  “Do I really need to remind you?”

  I throw a questioning look over my shoulder at her and head over to my jewelry box to pull out a coral necklace for a pop of color.

  “This is the top.”

  “Theeeeee top?” I question in over-exaggeration and fist my hands to my hips. “That’s pretty vague, T.”

  “I can’t believe you don’t remember.” She sets her empty glass down on my nightstand and begins raiding my closet, tossing shirt after shirt onto the bed. “This is the shirt you wore the day that crusty knob shiner broke your heart.”

  Ugh. I don’t want to be reminded of him before my date tonight. “He didn’t break my—”

  “Shlllrrrp!!” Tara sounds, effectively shutting me up. “You refused to take that shirt off for four days because you said it still smelled of his aftershave and cologne from the last time he hugged you. You were pathetic. I deliberately spilled an ice cream sundae all over it while you loused around on the couch in hopes you’d finally change your clothes, but no. You didn’t. You took the damn spoon and scooped that shit up right off your tits and shoveled it in your mouth.”

  She’s right. I found little colored sprinkles and dried chocolate sauce on my boobs later that weekend. Not exactly one of my finer moments.

  “Dude,” I sigh. “Point taken. Those were some dark times. Let’s not revisit it, okay?”

  “So then change your damn top.”

  Fine.

  Hastily, I pull the shirt back up and over my head and grab the pink ballerina blouse that’s in her hands, making quick work of the pearl buttons. “Did I tell you he asked me to meet his family?”

  “No! When?”

  I bite the inside of my cheek to avoid a shit eating smile. “At the beginning of February. I’m headed back to Denver with him for his brother Chris’s wedding.”

  “Shut up! Not only are you meeting them, but you’re meeting them at his brother’s wedding? This is serious. Do you know what this means?”

  I roll my eyes. “It means I’m going to meet his family when we’re in town for his brother’s wedding. Nothing more. Nothing less.” I’m not doing a very good job of not getting my hopes up because I can read between the lines. I’m more than just a wedding date. I’m his girlfriend. A serious girlfriend. His girlfriend that he’s so serious about, he’s schlepping me across the Midwest to spend time with his family at an intimate affair. It means that he can see some kind of future with me beyond just this given moment. Because you don’t take just anyone to your brother’s wedding. And that? That is huge.

  Tara gives me a knowing look. She knows I’ve never been someone’s wedding date. She knows it’s huge, too.

  “It’s no big deal … really,” I bite back as I step into my nude-colored flats.

  I turn to the mirror, tousle my long auburn locks, and smile. I've always considered myself to be girl next door cute, but with these legs for days, I feel unstoppable.

  “You look hot, by the way.”

  “Thanks.” I smile, pleased with myself. If my memory serves me correctly, this is the same outfit I wore on date number four. The glorious date in which I gave him permission to dip his wick in the land down under. And dip he did.

  God, that was beyond incredible.

  I was quickly schooled in what is, and more importantly what is not, an orgasm through physical penetration. A lesson brought to me by the Female Orgasm Ad Council. Also known as Jeff Carrington, my current love interest.

  What I had assumed was the big O with Leo was apparently nothing more than a tiny blip in the ocean. A ripple from a small pebble on a glass lake. A … wait a minute … was that little twitch between my legs it? Let's just call it what it was: a sad, little disappointment, and an opportunity for me to perfect my acting skills.

  But sex with Jeff was no act. Oh, no! Sex with Jeff was a toe-curling, hair-fisting, back-arching, neighbors calling to make sure nobody is being murdered kind of affair that resulted in ten million angels dancing upon my g-spot. Yes, his cock was heavenly, and the experience was downright spiritual. It was enough to make me sing God’s praises, and not just mid-thrust either.

  Tara’s right. He is a goddamned unicorn. And I can't believe he's mine.

  More often than not, I spare Tara those intimate details. It's one thing to experience them for yourself and relive those memories on a rainy day with your vibrator. But it's another when your best friend is probing you for more information about how his “meat scepter makes my fish flaps feel.” And those are her repulsive and disturbing words, not mine.

  “So what else is new with you?”

  “Oh, the same old, same old. Cam is keeping busy at work, I’m keeping busy with the boys, and the boys are keeping busy with plotting my demise. It's just another day in paradise.”

  I laugh because I know it's true. Ever since the triplets started walking, Tara has grown more gray hairs than I can count. Wes, Miles, and Jack are ornery little terrors, and it's a miracle that she hasn't sold one of them off to the circus. Or considered running away herself.

  “And how are they?” It’s been a few weeks since I last saw them.

  “They’re fine. Growing like weeds. I’m looking forward to the day where I can drink with them and not because of them. They're with Cam for the next little bit until grandma picks them up for a sleepover. You're not the only one with a date tonight, and we are long overdue.” She wiggles her eyebrows at me.

  I love how much she and Cam are still head over heels for each other after all these years.

  “Oh! And thanks again for the series of books you gave the boys for their birthday.”

  “No problem. I hope they like them.”

  I had found this amazing ten book set of all the classic tales with a twist that appealed to boys. I figured the last thing Tara and Cameron wanted was a deluxe Lego set. I can only imagine the hell that comes with stepping on one of those fuckers barefoot.

  “Yeah, they’re awesome and are the cornerstone of our bedtime routine. But I've learned that no matter which fairy tale I read to them, the moral of the story that I take away is to always get your tubes tied.” Tara checks her watch and slips her shoes back on her feet.

  “Okay. Well, I’m gonna go. Grandma is picking the kids up in fifteen minutes, and the heavens need me right now.”

  I should be used to this kind of random remark from Tara, and after all these years of friendship, I should really know better than to ask. But still, I can’t help myself.

  “The heavens need you? Is that so?” I inspect my makeup in the mirror and pull out the gloss to touch up my lips.

  “Yeah.” She turns toward me and pauses a beat. “The kids are gone. And every time I climax, an angel gets its wings.”

  “Seriously, Tara?” I can’t help but laugh at her.

  She blows me a kiss as she heads for the door. “I just hope I’m not the only one getting a little lust and thrust tonight, love muffin. Just don’t make a mistake. Make sure he covers his snake!"

  I shake my head at her, trying my best not to smile.

  “What? If he goes into heat, make sure to package his meat!”

  “TARA!” God, she’s so crass! And apparently, she’s also a walking, talking billboard for safe sex, and not just because she has triplets.

  Tara slips through the door and po
ps her head back through the crack. “All I’m saying is that there’s nothing wrong with a little latex protection before his flesh injection! So sock that wang before you bang. Have fun tonight, Henley!”

  And then the door shuts before I can get another word in.

  PACKING BAGGAGE

  “Would you just try and relax, Henley?” Jeff says, stuffing some underwear into the side pocket of his suitcase. My nail beds are destroyed as I’ve been picking and chewing at them thoughtlessly for the past hour. I have been nothing but a basket case of epic proportions ever since the magnitude of this wedding invitation truly slapped me upside the head.

  It’s one thing for him to tell me to relax. It’s another to actually achieve desired levels of relaxation without the assistance of a Xanax, a bottle of wine, and my trusty vibrator.

  I fold my fingers in my lap and take a few slow and calming breaths, willing my nerves to settle the fuck down. But I still feel like I'm going to lose it.

  Jeff looks back to his dresser and pulls out an armful of fancy, colorful dress socks. I like to think I've done a pretty bang up job of hiding my annoyance this evening. But with each drawer shut and shirt ripped down from a closet hanger, I mentally shoot daggers in Jeff’s direction.

  Come to my brother’s wedding! he said.

  You can meet my family! he said.

  It'll be fun! he said!

  What he failed to mention was that the Carrington last name causes people to stop and stare at the mere mention of it. Revelation that his family is kind of a big deal surprised me. Apparently, it carries more weight than an elephant tap dancing to mariachi music once we crossed the Colorado border. An imaginary line we'll be crossing in a few short hours since we're taking the first flight out at o’dark thirty tomorrow.