Eight Dates With Romance: An S. L. Scott Valentine's Day Collection (3 page)

E
van and Mallory
have found their happily ever after and he wants to surprise her on Valentine’s Day ,

~
E
van~

I
’ve been standing
in front of thirty different heart shaped boxes full of chocolates for a half hour. I grab a pink one with lace edges and head for the counter. While I’m waiting to check out, I look down at the box. It’s awful and cheap and common in the worst of ways—totally opposite of my wife.

I toss the box in a bin nearby and leave. I have a few days before Valentine’s and plan to get her something awesome. What she deserves can’t be found at a drugstore.

Driving home, I look out at the waves crashing at break point. It’s still early and I’m hoping to get in a few waves before dark. Once home, I click the alarm on the Maserati and head inside.

It’s quiet, too quiet. I like when Mallory’s home before me. I drop my backpack by the door and go to the fridge. After grabbing a root beer, I open a bag of chips and head for the couch. Right when I sit down, I see a note on the coffee table.

X marks the spot of ecstasy and mortified.

I reread the note a few more times, each time not making any more sense than the first time.

Standing up, I walk around looking for other clues. My phone beeps. I look down and see a text from Mallory:
I’m lonely.

I text her back:
Where are you?

Mallory:
You have a clue.
No hints.

With a huff, I pocket my phone and start walking around. I check the bedroom, then the bathroom, though I know that makes no sense. I stand in the middle of our living room again and think—
hard
.

“X marks the spot of ecstasy and mortified.” A riddle. I can do this. One piece at a time. Mortified is easier since, well, ecstasy is kind of everywhere for us.
Mortified
. Where have I been mortified with Mallory?

The video store! But it closed down more than a year ago, so that can’t be the missing piece of the puzzle. I grab my keys and hop in the car, sitting there thinking. This is about Mallory and has to relate to her. She wouldn’t want to go there again, so that’s out.

When was
she
mortified? The pool at the compound …
think think think
.

I look up when an idea strikes, and peel out, heading toward the hotel resort. I park in guest parking and run across the sand to the surf shack I used to work at when I taught surf lessons. It’s also where she was once mortified when a manager busted us having sex in the shack.

Tacked to the back wall is a small note that reads:
Pride and Joy.

I rip the note down, knowing she means the Maserati. While walking back to the car, I survey the grounds. I haven’t been back here in almost two years and it feels like a lifetime ago. I had many good times back then, but they were worth giving up for the life I chose.

Just as I’m about to open my door, I spot a note on my seat. I pick it up and read it aloud, “I’d like to say it’s where it all began, but really, for me, it’s where the life I’d known ended.”

The airport. I have no doubt. I hop in my car and drive in that direction, remembering how she was all big green eyes that gave away her innocence despite the bravado. I lied to myself that day. She wasn’t my next fuck. She was everything from the minute I laid eyes on her.

I don’t have many regrets—I got the girl, after all—but if I could have wiped my slate clean for her … if I’d known I’d meet her one day … Shaking my head, I realize it’s all our mistakes and regrets that brought us together, so I don’t dwell on the bad, I just remember the good. Pulling up to the curb between the pillars where I saw her sitting on her suitcase, I put the car in park and get out. An airport security guard comes up as I stand there looking around for my next clue. I don’t see anything, no notes and not her.

“You can’t park here. Move it or I’ll ticket you.”

“I’m looking for someone or something.”

“Aren’t we all? Maybe you’ll find it inside that expensive car of yours. Why don’t you get back in it and keep moving.”

“Have you seen a girl about yay high with really great—”

“Move the car!”

“Fine.” I turn around and walk to my car, but when I take one last look back, I see something on one of the pillars. I make a dash for it and yank it down. I hear whistles blowing behind me as I discover it’s just a cab service number. When I turn around that guard is writing me a ticket. “Fuck!” I run. “I’m moving. I’m moving.”

“Too late,” he says, laughing.

I roll my eyes and snatch the ticket from the windshield, ball it up, and toss it to the passenger seat.

He steps up on the curb and waves. “You have a nice day now,” he says sarcastically.

I flip him the bird and drive off.

Before I get back on the main road, I sit at the stop sign trying to think what she meant in the last note.

My phone buzzes and I look down:
Did I mention when I was lonely that I’m also naked?

Mercy. Fuck me.
I rub my hand over my cock just picturing her naked … and lonely.

Think. Think. Think.
Maybe the chapel? I look in my rearview mirror at the airport behind me. I was positive it was the airport. Looking down at the ticket, irritation fills me knowing I’m going to have to deal with this shit tomorrow. The writing catches my eye, and I pick it up to read.
Damn, she got me
! She’s good. Very good, and sneaky. The note—
go to where I met Heaven.

Easy. The beach.

A car honks behind me and I drive to the beach where she met Heaven, although I would think she was in Hell at the time. After I park, I sit in the car, watching the waves. I let my gaze drift to the spot where I carried her ashore. She wasn’t breathing and for that few minutes, I prayed. I prayed to a God who’d let me down and destroyed me several times over. But for Mallory, none of that mattered. All that mattered was her. I walk slowly over to the spot and sit down. With my knees bent, I rest forward, remembering too much of the bad. I close my eyes and remember her eyes opening and she thought she was in Heaven. She saw the good in me when no one else did.

I watch a seagull as it flies above, something in the sand catching the sunlight. Reaching over to see what it is, I find a miniature surfboard key ring. The board is broken in half. Now that makes me laugh. I bought her a board for her birthday this past year—a paddleboard.

There’s a little tag taped to the surfboard. Two words:
Sex. Underwater.

I run to the car and text her:
I’m coming for you.

Mallory:
You will be.

Me:
Dirty girl.

Mallory:
You have no idea.

I gun it to my parent’s compound, utilizing the Maserati’s power and making it there in record time. After throwing my car in park, I kill the engine and grab the keys before taking off down the path toward the pool.

When I round the corner our eyes meet as I come to an abrupt stop at the edge.

“Looking for me?” she says with a smile.

“All my life.”

She swims closer. “You always did know just the right thing to say to get into my panties.”

Looking her over, I smirk. “Doesn’t look like you’re wearing any panties.”

“Exactly. Join me.” Dipping under, she comes up and her hair falls dark and long over her shoulders. She’s stunning, a water Goddess with bronze skin and eyes that shine brighter than the setting sun. And she’s mine. I kick off my flip flops and put my phone and keys on the grass before diving in shorts and shirt still on. The laugh that rings out when I come up for air is irreplaceable. Holding onto her, I kiss her hard, and we fall all over, breaking the surface and going under.

Her legs wrap around me and she leans her head back, relaxing in my arms. Pulling back up, we get air and move to the side. “Hi,” she says, her breath labored as she tries to catch it. “How was the hunt?”

“Worth the chase. Quite an elaborate plan just to get me to the pool.”

“This is more than just about swimming. I wanted to take you back—”

“I don’t need to go back. Life is too good now.”

She smiles and my heart races. I slide my hand down her body, between her legs, and touch lightly. Her eyes close as she leans her head back, a sweet sigh escaping her lips as I increase the pressure. Eye level with her boobs, I cover a nipple with my mouth and suck, nip, and squeeze with my other hand.

“Evan,” she moans, opening her eyes. “I want to come with you inside of me.” I don’t have to think, my cock is hard for her. Treading water, I release her and slip my shorts off and toss my shirt, moving back to her. “Kiss me again,” she murmurs and I do, entering her body.

Holding onto the edge of the pool, I start to move, slow at first, then pick up speed. Her fingers wrap around my forearms providing resistance and we find a rhythm of waves and groans, sighs, thrusts, and moans.

The warmth of the sun, the water around me, her body engulfing me, my thoughts lost to her in every way, I feel it--the tightness and the twisting beginning. I slip my hand underwater again, wanting to give her everything. I speed up, my hand and thrusts, getting us both closer. Mallory kisses me again and then wraps her arms tightly around my neck.

“Faster, babe,” she says, “harder.”

I give my all and feel the rise taking over. My thoughts start to scatter as I move faster and faster.

“You’re so sexy,” she whispers in my ear. “Take me.”

Moving my hand, I squeeze her breast, pressing against her. “You feel so fucking good, baby.”

“God, so do you. Come for me, Evan.”

With that, I fuck her hard until she’s pulling my hair and biting my shoulder while moaning my name. Best sound in the entire world. “Fuck.” My thoughts jumble from the overwhelming sensation of being inside her. Her tremors send me over the cliff, abandoning all reason as I fall.

“I love you,” she says, rubbing my back, and I feel her love.

Lifting my head from her shoulder, I touch her cheek and push the wet hair from her face. “You’re beautiful.”

Light kisses cover my cheek. “I’m the luckiest girl in the world.”

It blows my mind when she says stuff like that to me. “No matter how many years we spend together, I will always be the lucky one.” I kiss her again, long and slow, gentle with all the love she deserves. “I love you.”

“This time I’m draining the pool!”

Shit!
Mallory jumps into my arms, clinging to me as I turn around to find my mother standing there with her hands on her hips.

“I thought you moved out?” My mother asks.

“We did,” I reply. “But Mallory wanted to go down memory lane and that put us right back in your pool, so she’s to blame.”

Mallory hits my chest. “You suck.” Peeking over my shoulder with a beet red face, she smiles and adds a wave. The wave is a nice touch. “Hi, Claire. Thought you were in New York?”

I whisper, “You’re doing great. Totally distracting her from the fact that we just had sex and I was still in you when she caught us.”

She hits me again.

“Mallory, I thought you changed him, but I see you two together are worse than ever.” She smiles. “The pool water can be changed, but never change how much you love each other.” She turns around and opens the back door. “By the way, your father is putting on his swimsuit. You might want to make a run for it before he gets down here.”

As soon as the door closes, we hop out. I slap her ass as she grabs a towel from the lounge chair. Wrapping it around her body, she laughs. “We need to get out of here fast. I don’t want your dad to see us. Your mom was bad enough.”

She takes off running up the path, but I catch her, pressing her against the house. “One day, we’re going to relive the time we had sex against this wall.”

She adds, “We had a fight. I didn’t think I’d ever see you again. It was raining so hard that night.”

“You came to me, knowing that this, that what we share is bigger than the both of us. From the first time I looked into your eyes and every time since, I see eternity.” It doesn’t matter that we just had sex. As soon our lips come together, I crave her entire being and love her more.

With a soft smile, she asks, “What are you doing next Tuesday?”

The End.

Read More of Evan and Mallory’s story and how it all began in the Welcome to Paradise Series - Good Vibrations, Good Intentions, Good Sensations, and Happy Endings.

http://tinyurl.com/gwdjn8m

N
ick has been
in love with Hayley from the first time he saw her back in college. After many years of being her best friend, he goes after his happily ever after.

R
unning
my fingers through my hair to push it out of my eyes, I catch my reflection in the store window. I’m trying really hard not to be that typical self-absorbed L.A. guy, so I look away, refusing to be the one who checks himself out whenever he passes a mirror, or the one who only wears the latest fashion, even if that fashion sucks. I may have chosen to work in the TV industry, but I will not let myself get sucked into narcissism.

I eye up the large brass doors in front of me.
I’ll get in. I’ll get out.
No problem.

When I open the door, and step inside the large two-story department store, I see people everywhere. I gulp, and go in anyway, blending into the flow of all of the other aimless boyfriends and husbands seeking that gift that will win their women over on Valentine’s Day.

“May I help you?”

I turn to my right and see a leggy blond with a wide, toothy grin smiling at me. “Nah, that’s okay.”

“Shopping for the wife?” she asks more persistently while glancing down at my left hand ring finger. She steps closer when she sees it’s bare.

“Um, no—”

“Girlfriend?” She sounds anxious, and it makes me uncomfortable.

I shift out of some suit’s way, and say, “Yes, a Valentine’s Day gift.”

“Oh, too bad.”

This isn’t awkward at all. I just walk away, and start to question if she even works for the department store. I don’t dare look back. It’s best not to make eye contact sometimes. That can encourage unwanted attention.

“May I help you?”

My eyes meet another salesgirl’s wide eyes, and she smiles. She’s twenty-one tops. Way too young to be dressed in that short of a skirt, and she’s too flirty to pull off the ingénue image she’s going for.

Get in and get out. Focus on the mission.
“No, thank you. I’m good,” I reply.

“Yes, you are very good, very good looking indeed.”

I keep walking, not interested in the least, and mutter, “Thanks.”

I know I’m decent looking. Women … they can be obvious just like men when they see something they want. The difference is, I’m not open to the invitation. I’m not the guy who dates multiple women at once, and I’m not into games. I’ve wasted enough of my life with all of that.

Hayley means everything to me. She’s my heart and soul, and I waited seven years to be the one who gets to buy her something for Valentine’s not just as her friend, but as her boyfriend. No woman is going to make me forget how lucky I am that I get to ask her to be mine tonight.

“May I help you?”

For fuck’s sake!
Without turning to face the saleswoman, I huff in frustration and start prattling on. “I need a gift for my girlfriend, but I don’t know what to get her. I was thinking jewelry, but I don’t know. Then I thought maybe perfume, but she smells good just as she is. This place is too crowded and the sales people are too friendly. My mind is blank and I just want to leave.”

When I turn around, I see an older woman, maybe mid-sixties, pull her reading glasses from her nose, and then she lets them drop to hang from a beaded necklace. A kind smile spreads across her face, and she says, “Maybe I can help.”

Relief washes over me at her offer and the sincerity in her tone. This Valentine’s Day shopping really is pressuring. I’ve never cared this much about it before, but for Hayley—she deserves thoughtful and effort. “I’m sorry. I’m a bit frustrated and lost in here. I’m way out of my comfort zone, and I don’t want to screw this up.”

The lady tries to reassure me. “I understand. It’s important. She’s important to you. Hopefully, I can help.”

“Thank you. That would be nice.”

“So you said no perfume and no jewelry?”

“Actually, I wouldn’t mind getting her jewelry, but … this probably sounds cheesy. I was thinking about …” I went on to explain how Hayley’s exes since college all gave her red roses, lingerie, and jewelry on Valentine’s Day. Hayley found out later that two of the guys had slept with the salesgirl who sold them the gifts. “So it has to be original. She hates the holiday how it is. I just want to give her an amazing day, and remind her of the sentiment behind it.”

The saleslady has her hands clasped in front of her face and her kind smile in place again. “Tell me about her.”

“She’s beautiful—stunning actually. The first time I ever saw her was at freshman orientation at our university. She wore a white sundress, and I couldn’t take my eyes off of her.” She had long blond hair that was in this loose braid as if she’d just whipped it up like that. It was messy and yet, perfect with the strands hanging near her face. I look up embarrassed, realizing I had escaped into my own memories. “I paid a guy ten bucks to let me have the seat next to her.”

“She sounds lovely. Your girlfriend sounds like she likes gestures from the heart, something thoughtful.”

With that memory lingering in my head, I look up, realizing I’m not in the right place. There’s nothing in this store that I can buy that will express how much I’m in love with her. “I know exactly what I want to give her.” I’ll give her our memory, our first meeting, that moment—back to her.

“From the heart means the most,” the lady says, backing my intuition on the matter.

“And she has mine firmly in the palm of her hands. Thank you for helping me.”

She gives me an all-knowing look, well aware I’m not going to buy anything. “Go. Let that girl know how much you love her.”

It’s strange how we fall into patterns of what we are supposed to do as opposed to maneuvering around tradition to come to our own thoughts entirely. Valentine’s is set up as buy, buy, buy, but Hayley doesn’t want something cheap and easy. She deserves mind-blowing and considerate, something as special as she is, and more. Standing in the middle of this department store, and talking with this saleslady who is losing a commission when I walk out that door, reaffirmed what I already knew. I can’t buy Hayley’s love and affection, but I can give her all of mine.

I smile, and say, “Thanks for helping me find the perfect gift.”

She lightly taps my chest, right over my heart, and replies, “You knew all along. You just needed to be reminded.”

“Yes, I did. Thank you for that.” Hayley and I were never about stuff. We run deeper than mere possessions. We may have tried to fill our lives with careers, friends, and other lovers for seven years, but we ended up exactly where we were always meant to be—together.

So today, although I had no intention of doing so, I’m going to propose to the love of my life. I’ve had the ring for a while, confident in our relationship, but I wanted the moment to be perfect and not cheesy, not over the top, and not something we aren’t. When I woke up next to Hayley this morning, I didn’t know I was going to ask her to marry me. But that’s what I want to give her—my love for a lifetime—and if I have my way, beyond that.

She’ll never expect this from me on such a predictably romantic day, and I have to admit, that makes it more fun.

Leaving the store, my mind is set on my real mission. The burden is lifted from my shoulders as soon as my feet land back on the sidewalk. I tuck my hands in my pockets to fight the chilly day, and once I get in my car, I make the call to the drama department. I finally get a hold of the right person and make all the arrangements.

Back at our apartment, I scrounge through my drawers looking for two T-shirts. They must be old and well-worn. I find a blue one with our college logo on it and another with a faded Orange Crush on the front—two of my favorites.

I kneel down to the bottom drawer, and dig under the stacks of shirts until my fingers feel the box buried in the back, and I grab it out. I’ve always been curious how much Hayley snoops through my stuff. If she has been snooping, she hasn’t admitted to finding anything, and she’s horrible at keeping secrets. That makes me smile.

After a quick text telling her where to meet me and what time to be there, I clean up to look my best.

I drive over to the university, and walk across campus. Finding the right building is easy, my memory of going here for four years still fresh in my mind. I’m greeted at the door by my contact, and say, “I appreciate you doing this for me.”

He holds his hand out as he says, “No problem. I’m a romantic.”

I want to roll my eyes, but he’s doing me the favor, so I contain my sarcastic reaction and slap the twenty onto his palm.

“Two hours tops, Buddy,” he says, wadding the bill up, and shoving it into his pocket.

“It’s Nick.”

“Whatever. Just leave the place as you found it and all will be good.”

“Thanks again.”

“Good luck,” he says, and walks down the hallway toward the offices.

I enter through the double doors on the left and walk in like I did so many years earlier. Almost seems like a lifetime ago, but really it was the start of this lifetime, the life I’m living now.

Carrying the small bag down the aisle, I count five rows from the front and seventeen seats down. A heavy breath escapes me as I sink into the chair where it all started, where
we
started.

I lean my head back, and close my eyes. A vision of Hayley comes back to me so clearly
. She was scooting across the aisle to her seat, her braid in one hand as she played with the end, her large purse in the other. My body moved of its own accord and I was there, needing to talk to the guy following her, his eyes on her ass as she walked past him. I tapped him on the shoulder, and when he turned, I nodded. “That’s my seat.”

“No way, dude. I’m sitting next to the hot chick,” he said, a smug smirk on his face.

“I know her.” I lied, but I was willing to try anything to get closer to her. “We’re friends from our hometown.”

“Lame-oh. Not falling for it. Find a different seat.”

“What will it take to get you to give up that seat?” I looked over his shoulder, and saw Hayley digging a notepad out of her purse.

“Ten bucks.”

“Seriously?” I questioned.

“Seriously.” He crossed his arms defiantly over his chest and waited.

Everyone around us had settled in and it was now or never. “Fine.” I gave him the ten and slipped past him, flopping down in the seat right next to the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen.

She looked at me with a soft smile. I smiled, leaning forward, and whispered in her ear, “You’re hot. You want to go out tonight?”

She laughed, and something in that moment connected us together forever, and it wasn’t the lame pickup line.

“Hey there, handsome.”

Startled, I open my eyes while lifting my head up. Hayley is standing there in all her usual beauty, making me want to kiss her and smile, making me happy. “You’re here early.”

“I missed you.” She sits down next to me.

“Wrong seat.”

“What?” she asks, her eyebrows rise in curiosity.

I sit up, and point to the seat on my right. “You sat here.”

“Oh, did I?” She gives me a sly smile then gets up and sits in the right chair.

“Yep, you sure did. I’ll never forget.”

Leaning over the armrest, she kisses me lightly then asks, “So why did—”

I cut off her question with a deeper kiss, one that shows her how much
I
missed
her
.

When our lips part, her breath is shaky and my heart is racing.

We feel so much, always have, but showing our true emotions intensifies with every act shared between us. Staring into each other’s eyes, the silence is a pull, drawing us near again. With our lips barely touching, I whisper, “Loving you is the only option.”

“The only. Always.”

“Always,” I repeat, and press my mouth fully against hers while weaving my fingers into her hair.

When Hayley pulls back, she slumps into her chair with a huge grin plastered on her face. Her chest is rising with each deep breath she takes in, and she giggles. “You leave me breathless every time.”

“I’d waited years to kiss you like that, so I’ll make every one of them count.”

“You say the sweetest things to me.”

“I’m making up for losing seven years to stupidity.”

“Ha! In that case …” She leans over and kisses me again, my breath becoming hers and hers mine.

When our eyes slowly open, she drops back in her seat, and I slide down in my chair, leaning my head against the back. I readjust myself, uncomfortable in these jeans from my growing affections. “Is it bad that even though I planned this that I wish we were home in bed instead?”

She brings her hand over and runs her fingertips through my hair. “I love being here again though,” she says, looking around. “It’s comforting in the memories.” She tugs lightly on my earlobe. “Bed would be nice, too.”

With the release of a big sigh, she continues. “I love that you brought me back here and you know what seats were ours. But I really love how ruggedly handsome you are and that you have a soft center.”

“Like an M & M?”

That makes her smile. “I do love M & M’s, but I mean more that you have this caring, romantic side to you.” She twirls her finger at me. “I like the contradiction. You, my love, are a mushy-pants.”

I sit forward, and feign offense. “Mushy-pants? No, that won’t do.” I lean on the armrest between us, prepared to lay it all out for her. “You cannot call a man mushy-pants. There’s just no coming back from that—”

“But I mean it with love.” She winks at me.

“My macho ego can’t take the hit. I spent time at a women’s department store today. That about did me in as it is, so being called mushy-pants… just no with that.”

She knows I’m teasing, and strikes back in true Hayley style. “Your macho ego gets plenty of hits that you take rather well when I’m clothes-less.”

“You mean naked?”

“Clothes-less, naked. Tomato, tamahdo.” She shrugs.

“I’ll take you however I can get you as long as it’s naked or clothes-less. Deal?”

“Deal. So what other secrets you hiding?” Her gaze shifts down to the package at my feet.