Sure Thing Read online

  “Please let me come,” I whine. “Please, please, please.”

  “You are quite the delightful little surprise, love,” he responds as he rolls us over so I’m on top.

  “I am?” I gasp. This new position is unexpected and I pause for a moment. I don’t really like to be on top.

  “You are.” He cocks an eyebrow and taps my hip, indicating the ball is in my court.

  I usually feel conspicuous on top. Exposed. But fuck it, I’m never going to see this guy again and I want to come. And I am in control up here. Plus, the way he looks at me is exhilarating. Like my tits aren’t too small and my stomach doesn’t look pudgy from that angle. No, I see nothing but lustful attentiveness in his eyes. I run my eyes over his chest again and lift up on my thighs just a little and slide back down onto him. He really does have a nice chest. Sculpted and toned with a smattering of chest hair that’s hot, not unruly.

  “Touch yourself,” he commands and my eyes fly back to his. His hands have moved to my thighs, his fingers resting against my skin seductively.

  I swallow and avert my eyes for a second, then look back to him as I move my hand to my clit. Then I rub two fingers over myself while setting the pace on his cock. Rocking back and forth, in and out. He watches me intently and when his eyes drop to where we’re joined my fingers still for a moment until he says, “Don’t stop,” his voice low and seductive, lids low, a groan coming from his chest. So I keep going, emboldened. His lust is encouraging. Empowering. I pick up the pace on his cock and with my fingers until I come.

  It sneaks up on me, fast and hard. I drop my head forward, my hands braced on his chest for balance. He stills deep inside of me while I spasm around his cock, his hands on my hips holding me tight until the pulsing slows, and then he’s hammering into me from below, his own orgasm following with a ragged, “Fuck, love,” passing his lips as his eyes close, his head tilted back in ecstasy. His jaw tightens along with his grip on my thighs when he comes and I think he’s beautiful. I catalog his features in my memory before collapsing on his chest.

  That was perfect.

  The perfect one-night stand.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Jennings

  Bloody hell, last night was unforeseen. The American girl was something, I muse as I wipe the remnants of shaving cream from my jaw. I wonder if I should have gotten her number? But no, I’m only in Washington for another day before I have to board a godforsaken bus and play happy tourist. Besides, I never even got her real name—surely she wasn’t giving me her number.

  Anyway, she left without saying anything. Looked at the clock this morning and bolted out of bed. Dressed and was out the door within a minute. “Thank you!” she chirped with her hand on the door, her body already halfway into the hall. “It was nice meeting you!” she added as she released the door and disappeared from sight.

  It was very nice meeting you, love. Not sure I’ve ever heard it phrased quite that way the morning after, but very nice indeed.

  I love women. I love taking them to dinner. Walking them to their door. Caressing their cheeks as I cup their jaws and kiss them before they invite me inside. Most of all, I love fucking them. I love discovering what gets them wet. What causes their breath to hitch and their toes to curl. What combination of moves will make a woman scream my name and come all over my cock.

  Rose—or whatever her name is—is not what I’m here for, not at all. But she made me laugh. The way she lied about her name as if having an assignation with a stranger is a covert mission. Perhaps it was for her, but it still made me smile. And the way her eyes lit up when she asked if I was British, fuck. Later she asked me to “say something British” to her while we lay naked on the bed.

  I shake my head and laugh out loud at the memory. And that ridiculous champagne cocktail she was drinking. Another lie. That drink isn’t hip in any country. And I can’t recall the last time a woman ditched me after sex.

  Perhaps I’ll find her in the hotel bar again tonight. Maybe. Do I want to? I don’t normally look for a redo, but I wouldn’t pass on another night with that girl.

  Why the hell did I let her run off this morning? She caught me off guard with her exit; I was still blissed out on sex, and catching up on the change in time zones. And then she was gone, the scent of coconut gone with her while I committed the vision of her wide-eyed smile to memory. The look on her face when I made her come—multiple times. The vision of her hair spread across my pillow. The way she hesitated for a moment while astride me and then ran her fingertip down my chest before flattening both palms against me and rocking herself to another orgasm.

  I’m hopeful fate will be in my favor for another round with her.

  But first: Nan. I’m here for Nan, I remind myself.

  I finish dressing. Jeans and a t-shirt will suffice for today. I find my wallet on the floor with yesterday’s clothing and pocket it, dumping the clothing on top of my suitcase so housekeeping doesn’t trip over it. I glance at my watch and see I’ve got just enough time to make it to the lobby to meet Nan. Our guided tour of American historic sites this week didn’t include a stop at the National Gallery and she mentioned she’d be quite chuffed to go there, so off we go. Lord help me. Art’s not really my thing, but for Nan I’ll go along.

  I groan at the thought of all the work I’ll be missing this week. I do not have time for tourism, but it’s my turn so I’ll make the time. I’ll figure it out. Besides, I have my laptop. Certainly I’ll be able to get some work done while the bus is transporting us from city to city so I can keep abreast of business in the UK.

  I exit the lift at the lobby and make a cursory sweep of the bar with a quick glance. Not that I expect to see the girl sitting there at ten in the morning, but doesn’t hurt to look, does it?

  Nan is waiting for me at the lobby entrance and I wrap my arm around her, her scent as familiar as England itself. Then I push the girl from last night out of my mind and focus on the reason I’m here.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Violet

  This is the worst idea Daisy has ever had. And trust me, over the years she’s had some bad ideas. When we were five she insisted we were allowed to paint our own nails, ending in our parents replacing the carpet in our bedroom. When we were ten she told me she didn’t need to study for a math test because our brains were linked and since I knew the answers she would too. When we were thirteen she convinced me to switch clothes with her in the bathroom during lunch before afternoon classes—and take her science exam for her. We pulled it off but I was a nervous wreck, sure we’d be caught and tossed into kid jail. When we were sixteen she impersonated me and flirted with a guy I was too shy to flirt with myself. She got him to ask her, pretending to be me, on a date. So technically he was asking me. I think. Anyway, I was the one who went on the actual date—and I had my first kiss with that guy, so I guess the plan wasn’t a total fail.

  Following rules is my jam. Breaking them is Daisy’s.

  So why did I go along with this?

  This is sheer lunacy.

  I’m twenty-six years old. Way too old to be doing what is essentially a twin switcheroo. I pull out my phone and call Daisy while eyeing the Sutton Travel tour bus sitting in front of the Sheraton.

  “I can’t do this,” I tell her as soon as she picks up.

  She sighs into my ear. “I’m so tired of your bullshit, Violet. Pull on your big-girl panties and just do it.” That’s my sister for you.

  “Thanks, Daisy. That’s a very nice thing to say.”

  “You’re welcome. Look, no one is forcing you to do this. If you want to go back to my place and sulk on the couch for another six months you’re welcome to it. In fact, take my room. I’m not home anyway.”

  I sigh into the phone.

  “Exactly, Vi. What you need is a kick in the ass. An adventure!” Her voice lifts on ‘adventure’ and I know she’s about to ramp up her sales pitch. “Aren’t you bored, Violet? You should live a little.
Throw caution to the wind. Grab life by the balls!” She’s likely waving her arms around as she says this, knowing my sister. “You’re always the responsible one and really, where has it gotten you? Nowhere,” she adds unnecessarily. Because it’s true. I’ve always been the planner and yet here I am, jobless and living on her sofa.

  I take a moment to feel smug about the secret one-night stand I had last night. Daisy doesn’t know about that, does she? Nope. And that was super-unplanned. It was a spontaneous home run, if I do say so myself, and I know I’m smiling like an idiot as I recall last night. I don’t have another one-night stand to compare it to, but I’m fairly certain it was exceptional. I still can’t believe I went through with it, it’s so not my thing to hook up with a stranger. I’ve never even come close to hooking up with a stranger before. I totally nailed the one-night stand thing. Pun intended.

  I wonder if I might find him again tonight in the hotel bar or if he’s already checked out? Of course, if I sleep with him again it wouldn’t technically be a one-night stand anymore, would it?

  “Hello, Violet? Are you listening to me?” Daisy interrupts my smutty reminiscing and I snap to attention.

  “Yes, I’m listening.” I’ve really turned into a liar in the last twenty-four hours, haven’t I?

  “So it’s no biggie, Vi. Do it or don’t. Stay or go.”

  “It’s no biggie? You’ll get fired if I go home, Daisy. Because this tour starts in five minutes and you’re not here. Where are you anyway? Are you in an airport? It sounds like you’re in an airport. And how can you be so blasé about getting fired? Getting fired is a really big deal, Daisy.” I would know.

  “Getting fired is not that big a deal. I keep telling you that. Perspective, Vi. You’re not homeless or hungry, and getting fired is not an ending, it’s a beginning. A beginning to something bigger and better,” she says in that dreamy way that only my sister can. “Life changes every single day. You never know what tomorrow is going to bring, believe me. Seize the fucking day.”

  “What is so urgent that you’re willing to jeopardize this job anyway? It’s a pretty sweet gig for you.” Daisy’s main focus is travel blogging, but these tours essentially allow her to double-dip. She gets paid for doing the tours and during her downtime takes photographs and searches out hidden gems a large tour group couldn’t do, but which are perfect material for her blog. She’s built her blog from nothing to making a good income from ads and affiliate links and she works for herself so it’s easy to manage around her schedule with Sutton Travel. It’s ideal and she’d be crazy to give it up.

  “I’ve got a thing to do,” she says breezily.

  A thing. I’m not sure I even want to know.

  “I’m hanging up now,” she says. “Just get on the bus, Violet. You can fake your way through this tour. You’ve seen me do it, it’s not that complicated. And I gave you step-by-step notes.”

  “I’m gonna mess it up.” I swallow in dread. “How can I possibly give a tour I’ve only been on once?” I did tag along on this same tour last month when it was undersold and she had a few empty seats on the bus. I wasn’t really paying attention though. I spent most of that trip spying on Mark’s Facebook page, which is idiotic. But at the time it felt so necessary.

  “They don’t know that, Violet. We’ve been over this. No one on that tour is going to know you don’t know what you’re doing. None of them are even American. You can tell them whatever you want. Just smile and make sure you don’t lose anyone during a bathroom stop and you’re golden.”

  “You’re making the assumption that only Americans know American history?” I question her, for the tenth time. This idea is lunacy.

  “I’m making the assumption that you don’t have a job and you could use the paycheck that Sutton Travel is going to give me for this tour. Which I’ll transfer to your account.”

  Touché.

  But it’s true. And I have zero interviews scheduled for this week. Nada. I’ve been sending résumés for six months and I’ve done nothing but go on interviews for positions I don’t even want and don’t get offered. Which just makes me feel like shit because I can’t even turn down something I’m not interested in.

  “And I know that you can follow the script I wrote well enough to fake your way past an assortment of tourists from other countries,” she adds. “You’re not an idiot. It’s not like you’re going to mistake the White House for the Capitol Building. Just follow the cheat sheet I made for you.”

  “Just follow the cheat sheet,” I repeat. It’s ironic, since cheating got Daisy through most of high school.

  “The bus driver has the route and all the stops are prearranged. You’re handing the group over to local experts in Washington and Gettysburg. You’re practically just dropping them off and picking them up. You got this.”

  “Right.” I blow out a breath and eye the bus again. “And you haven’t done any tours with this bus driver, right? Tom? He’s not going to expect me to know him?”

  “Nope. I told you there’s at least a couple hundred drivers. I rarely saw the same one twice and I’ve never met this one. You’re good.”

  “Okay,” I mumble. “This is still a terrible idea.”

  “It’s a genius idea,” she replies, full of confidence. “Besides, if you don’t show up all those tourists are going to be stranded.”

  “That’s not true,” I reply slowly, rolling my eyes even though she can’t see me.

  “It’s sort of true. Your first airport pickup is in less than an hour. The company wouldn’t be able to get a replacement there that quickly. Just think of all those nice Canadians standing at the airport check-in spot wondering where you are.”

  “You mean wondering where you are,” I reply drily.

  “Whatever. They’ll be sad, Violet. Sad they came all the way to America and no one greeted them.”

  “Why are you singling out the Canadians anyway? Wouldn’t everyone be sad?”

  “I thought I’d pull on your heartstrings a little and everyone knows how nice the Canadians are,” she says, unabashed. “I bet one of them offers you a maple candy before the week is up.”

  “You’re ridiculous,” I mutter, but I’m smiling.

  “Love you, Vi. You’re my peanut butter.”

  “And you’re my jelly.”

  We end the call and I pin the Sutton Travel name badge with “Daisy” stamped on it to my top with renewed confidence. Daisy’s right. I can do this. And I really do need the cash.

  This is what happens when the company you work for is sold two weeks before you’re due to close on a condo and your job is eliminated. It turns out that banks frown on giving thirty-year mortgages to people without jobs. I’d already given notice on my apartment, most of my possessions packed into boxes ready for my move, when my world imploded. The boxes moved into storage and I moved onto Daisy’s couch.

  I lost my boyfriend at the same time.

  When I say I lost him I mean it literally. He’s alive—I just don’t have him anymore. Because we worked together. In different departments—nothing scandalous. He was the owner’s son—everyone knew about us, it wasn’t a secret and it didn’t get me any special favors, of course not. I’d never have wanted special favors.

  Except…

  When it happened I was the last to know. The very last. I was running an errand on my lunch break when the email was sent notifying employees that we’d been sold to a larger company. A larger company that only needed half of the current staff. A larger company that was relocating Mark to another city in a high-level executive position—part of the deal when his father sold the company, of course. When I got back to the office a human resources representative from the new company was there to offer me a severance package.

  Do you know what severance packages look like when you’re twenty-six? A week’s pay for every year of service. I’d been there for three and a half years. Three weeks of pay. They didn’t even round up for that half-yea
r.

  Within two weeks Mark moved to California for a new job and I lost my earnest money on the condo.

  He barely bothered to break up with me before he left. As in he barely said the words. Do you know how much it sucks when someone insinuates a break-up but doesn’t actually do it? It’s complete shit, is what it is. I basically had to break up with myself. Thanks, asshole. He said he was moving to San Francisco and I—stupidly, as it turned out—asked what that meant for us. He frowned at me and said something about it being a bit far, like I was dense for not getting it. “This is a really important time for me, Violet,” he said.

  Some girl named Lindy has him now.

  So I really do need this.

  As I approach the bus the doors slide open and the driver bounds down the steps with a huge grin. “Daisy!” he calls out, eyeing my tits.

  Fuck. He knows me. I mean her. He knows my sister.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Violet

  “Hey.” I smile and glance at his name badge. George. Fuck, fuckity fuck it. Tom was supposed to be the driver this week. Tom Masey, who Daisy assured me she’d never met. Not George whoever this is, who she’s obviously met. “George,” I repeat and put a little enthusiasm into it. “Hey!” I wonder how many trips they’ve done together. How well does he know her mannerisms? This is going to be so much harder if he expects me to act like her.

  He stops too close to me and flashes a smile, dimple flashing in his cheek. He’s attractive and as he slides an arm around my waist in greeting it hits me loud and clear how well he knows Daisy.

  I’m going to kill her.

  “George,” I say as I wiggle out of his embrace and try not to panic. “I thought Tom was my driver this week?”

  “He was. When I saw you had this trip I switched with him.” He winks. “He took my Boston to Maine tour.”

  “You can do that?” I question, then catch myself. “I mean, great.” I nod and tighten my grip on my phone, still in my hand. I need to call Daisy. Then I need to grab my suitcase and run. No way can I do this. No way in hell. “You know, I just need to make a quick call,” I say, pointing at the phone in my hand as I take a step backwards. But I don’t even make it a second step before George has slung his arm around me again and rotated me to the bus door.