June (Calendar Girl #6)

June: Calendar Girl

Book 6

By Audrey Carlan

Text copyright © 2015 Audrey Carlan

ISBN Electronic

ISBN-10:
1-943340-04-8

ISBN-13:
978-1-943340-04-0

All Rights Reserved

No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any printed or electronic format without expressed permission by the author.

Editing:
Red Quill Editing, LLC 

Senior Editor - Ekaterina Sayanova

Editor - Rebecca Cartee

www.redquillingediting.net

Cover Design:
Tibbs Design

Graphics Designer - Valerie Tibbs

www.tibbsdesign.com 
 

Dedication

Lisa Colgrove Roth

June is dedicated to you angel, 

because it’s an instrumental part of Mia’s journey,

the same way you are in mine.

When you joined my street team,

I had no idea I’d be receiving such a blessing.

Your endless promotion, support, and friendship

has helped me a million times over.

With love and gratitude for all that you are.

Chapter 1

June in Washington, DC, felt oppressive. The air made your clothes stick like a second layer of skin. Muggy and miserable. I worried that if I pulled my tank away from my chest it might pull off an additional layer of flesh with it.

The first step out of the airport delivered me into an overcast, sunless sky. This was not at all what I was used to, having spent the last month in Hawaii.

I scanned the rows and rows of cars waiting. One tall fella stood in front of a shiny black town car holding a sign that said, “Saunders”. I figured that was my ride.

“I’m Mia Saunders.” I held out a hand and the driver shook it.

“I’m James, your driver. I’ll be taking you where you need to go throughout your stay with the Shipley’s.” He took my suitcase and tossed it the trunk before opening my door. I climbed into the vehicle, trying not to allow my sweaty thighs to imprint the smooth leather. The flowy skirt I’d worn on the plane seemed like a great choice at the time. I should’ve gone for the standard yoga garb. I slicked the palms of my hands down the backs of my legs, wishing I had a dish towel.

“Is it always so humid?” I asked while pulling my phone out of my purse and hitting the power button.

“In June? Eh, it can be hot has the dickens, raining, or really quite lovely. You’ll probably experience it all this month. I will concede it’s been unusually warm this year.”

My phone blared. Rapid dinging signifying the messages that had arrived while I was in flight.

To: Mia Saunders

From: Sexy Samoan

Girlie, you’ve got some explaining to do. You bailed. Not cool.

I scrolled down to read the other messages. Apparently, Tai hadn’t cooled down after his first message.

To: Mia Saunders

From: Sexy Samoan

The gift… no words.

To: Mia Saunders

From: Sexy Samoan

I’m so mad you stole my kiss goodbye.

That’s when my fingers raced over the keyboard.

To: Sexy Samoan

From: Mia Saunders

Kiss your forever. That will heal all that ails you.

An unladylike snort left my mouth and the driver’s eyes popped up to mine in the rearview mirror. His eyebrows rose, but I just shook my head and looked back down at the other messages.

To: Mia Saunders

From: Wes Channing

Are you ever going to talk to me? It’s been a month. Don’t make me come after you.

Flying phalanges once again. There was no other way to express how quickly I typed back the most flippant message possible.

To: Wes Channing

From: Mia Saunders

I’m sure Gina kept you busy. I saw you happily sucking face on the cover of HotDirt smut mag.

After twenty minutes of stewing in my own irritation and glancing down every two seconds at my phone, he finally responded. He being Wes, not Tai, but I ignored it, trying to force myself to be cool. Instead, I thought back to my sexy Samoan.

Hopefully, Tai was getting ready for his first date with Amy right now. My heart fluttered thinking about how the Universe dropped her into his lap. Literally. She landed in his lap at dinner that night. I sure hoped she was the one. Mentally, I made a note to touch base with Tai in a week to double-check their progress. Something told me that she was it. His forever. As for me, I didn’t know when that was going to happen. Definitely not before this year was up. Thinking about Tai or the future did not help me forget the burning desire to read Wes’s message.

To: Mia Saunders

From: Wes Channing

Jealous?

Is it possible for a woman to cut a man’s dick off from three thousand miles away? Maybe, if I hired out a hit man. I had some extra money in the bank for emergencies. That made me snicker. Have his dick lopped off with the extra money I got from
fucking
him. I shook my head.

What game was he playing? Should I respond or just let him stew in it? Obviously, he didn’t like the month-long forced break. Served him right. He was hitting the sheets with model-perfect Gina DeLuca, while I was banging my own sexy Samoan.

It. Doesn’t. Matter.

I could tell myself that over and over and over again, but the end result still slapped me upside the head. It was impossible for me to stop caring. Wes would
always
matter to me. Not knowing what he was doing and who he was doing it with, ate at me like a piranha nipping at raw meat.

With Tai, I had an awesome diversion. Fun. He made every day more exciting than the last, and every night more scorching hot than I dreamed possible. It was easy to put my issues with Wes on the back burner because I was filling my mind with everything that a young, almost twenty-five-year-old woman should be enjoying. Now though, it wasn’t working.

“Is it going to be much longer?” I asked James.

He tipped his hat. “Sorry, Miss, traffic is atrocious at this time.”

Forty-five minutes. Plenty of time. If Wes wanted to chat, I’d give him his time. Technically, we were friends after all.

I pulled out my phone and hit his number, forcing a level of calm into my mind that I didn’t feel.

“She lives!” Wes’s California-soaked breathy timber came through the line, instantly stirring up some serious vibes.

“Hardy har har. What’s this shit about me being jealous? You know I’m not.”
Lie.

Wes sucked in a slow breath, possibly even a sigh. I could hear the sounds of the ocean in the background. He might even be on the beach having just finished surfing. Hearing those comforting sounds, even filtered through the phone, made my heart ache to be home. “I figured if I provoked you, you’d call.”

“Wes, what’s the deal?” Even through my own ears it sounded catty and a bit bitchy, which wasn’t at all what I intended.

“You tell me. Did you have fun in Hawaii?” His tone seemed to feed off mine.

I thought of Tai and licking those tribal lines from the tip of his shoulder all the way down his chest, ribs, hip, and thigh. All month, it had been my favorite past-time. Yum. A sultry, “Yes,” left my mouth before I could filter the inflection.

He chuckled. “That good, huh? Client or local?” The tension between us broke briefly.

I closed my eyes. “Does it matter?”

“Everything about you matters to me. Haven’t you gathered that yet?” His tone was sincere but dipped in regret. He was failing miserably at playing it cool, and we both knew it.

“Wes…”

He sucked in a breath through his teeth. “No, I’m not going to pretend I’m not upset you were off in Hawaii fucking whoever you wanted, yet you’re pissed at me for doing the same with Gina.”

He had a point. An excellent one. But that’s the thing about the heart and the mind. They are rarely balanced or realistic. He could make more sense than Deepak Chopra’s teachings, but it didn’t change the facts. Him being with Gina hurt. Badly. We were both hurting one another, and neither of us could find a good way around it.

My throat felt strained, tight, when I responded. “Look, Wes. I’m sorry. I get what you’re saying. I do. And you’re right.”

“Does that mean you’re going to come home?” Two heaping spoonfuls of hope laced his question.

Home. Where was home? In California, the tiny apartment I hadn’t stepped foot in within the last five months, or Vegas, in my childhood shack of a house, or is it on the coast of Malibu in the arms of a very dreamy man who likely owned more of my heart than I’d care to admit.

I licked my lips and huffed loudly. “Wes, you know I can’t do that.”

He groaned softly, each rumble sticking a knife in my gut. “Not true. You can. You won’t.” He emphasized each phrase.

I shook my head trying to clear the cobweb of emotions running a marathon through my mind. “I can’t let you pay my father’s debt.”

“Again,” he sighed. “You can. You won’t,” he said again. He sounded tired, weighed down by each word. And it was all my fault. I was doing this to him, to us. These chats were getting harder every time, and I still had half a year to go. It was anyone’s guess where we’d be at the end of this year. So far, we weren’t fairing too well as friends. We were constantly hurting one another without even trying.

An enormous pause lingered between us as I tried to think of what to say next, yet coming up with nothing.

“When can I see you again?” he broke the silence.

He still wanted to see me? I didn’t understand this man. Hell, I didn’t understand most men, especially not this one.

“Um, I don’t know. I’ve just landed in Washington, DC. Arm candy for an older gentleman.”

Wes’s laughter rang through the line. “A geezer? At least I know you won’t be giving it up to an old guy with a prescription for Viagra.”

“That’s not nice!” I playfully scolded. “Besides, he has a hot son who’s a Senator. You know me and powerful men…”

Wes’s laughter died instantly, that brief moment of peace shattered. The tension rose between us again. “You’re joking?” he asked.

Hook. Line. Sinker.

“Nope.”

“Fuck me,” he groaned.

“Gladly,” I shot back without thinking.

“When?” He didn’t miss a beat.

“When I see you next, silly.”

“Which will be?” He kept it going, but I was no longer sure he was playing around anymore. This thing between us zig-zagged, twisted and turned; it was never an easy road to maneuver.

“Don’t know. I guess I’ll see you when I see you.” I offered.

“Why me?” His voice was loud and frustrated, sounding like a man who’d looked up at the sky, held his arms wide, and yelled at his maker. “Why the hell did I have to go balls to the wall crazy for a nut job like you?” Then he laughed that throaty, beautiful chuckle that belonged only to him and him alone. The one that made my heart pound so hard it felt like it might burst out of my chest if I didn’t press my hand to it.

I shrugged, but he couldn’t see it. “If the Universe deals you a shit hand, bet against the dealer. Bye, Wes.”

Instead of waiting for him to say goodbye, I ended the call and took several calming breaths. It is time to get your eyes back on the prize, Mia. Warren Shipley. Your next client.

***

Warren Shipley did not greet me at the entrance to his mansion. No. The man that stood at the top of the stone steps when I exited the town car looked like he’d walked out of
GQ Magazine
. Aaron Shipley, the Democratic Senator for California leaned against the white column. I’d been around beautiful men. I’d been around giant alphas who could chop wood with their bare hands, but I’d not yet seen a man that wore a suit the way this one did. Pure perfection.

The dark charcoal fabric clung precisely to his broad shoulders, trim waist, and long legs, as if it had been tailored to fit his exact measurements. Probably was. His eyes were shaded behind a pair of black Ray Bans. Thick-looking, dirty blond hair was coiffed into that messy bedhead, yet styled look that was so popular right now. On him it worked, and it worked hard. It gave him that put-together appeal with a hint of whimsy. It was a lethal combination for a girl like me. Hell, for any girl.