Spiked Lemonade: A Bad Boy Sailor and a Good Girl Romantic Comedy Standalone (11 page)

“I doubt it,” he says. This man really enjoys toying with me and getting under my skin. “But if it does, I won’t leave you out or anything. Is that fair?”

Is he for real? “Mr. Jags, you mustn’t be serious if you’re insinuating that I might engage in an activity that involves more than two people.”

“Girl, you never know if you might like it until you try it. I’ll bet you haven’t seen a dick-pic before, either. Do we need to resolve that issue too?” Again, with the heat rushing through my cheeks. The thought of receiving a text message like that makes everything in the lower part of my body tense up.

“No one has ever sent me a picture of their privates if that’s what you’re asking me.”

“That’s exactly what I was asking you,” he says with a cocky grin. “Here let me see your phone.”

“Absolutely not, you pig!”

“I was going to put a spam block on your texts in case you ever receive a dick-pic. I wouldn’t want to scar you with something like that.”

These games are becoming a little too much for me. “Mr. Jags, if I haven’t received one before, I’m guessing I might have chosen the right people to surround myself with—people who don’t shove phones in front of their man-parts and take self-absorbed pictures of their miniature hot dogs.”

“Well you’ve now surrounded yourself with me, and I’d only take a picture of mine because we’re not talking about some wiener dog, we’re talking about a Boston sausage thing going on down here,” he says, pointing to his man-part.

I hate that he keeps directing my attention to parts of his body I’ve been strongly trying to avoid thoughts about. I hate that he knows
this
somehow too. “Clearly, I need to change my phone number.”

“Oh, I get it,” he says. “You just want to see it in person first. It is pretty impressive. I mean, my mom spent years telling me I was going to make some girl very lucky someday, and now I know why.” He jiggles his eyebrows at me before a rumble of laughter consumes the waiting area.

“You are so darn cocky,” I tell him.

“I’m all cock, what can I say? And I’m pretty impressed that you said cock. Just putting that out there.”

I place my hand over my face, needing to just stop looking at Jags for a few minutes. How did I end up in this conversation? I can’t believe I’m truly sitting here in a hospital waiting room discussing the girth of his…his…cock. There, I’ve said it, to myself.
Cock
. It’s not that horrible of a word, I suppose. It’s easier than spewing out
manhood
. Oh my gosh, did I just think that through?
Spewing manhood
?
I laugh a little to myself
. This guy is already rubbing off on me. Rubbing off…Rubbing it off. Okay, this needs to stop. Can he hear what I’m thinking? Why is he laughing so hard at me? I finally stand up and ask, “Could you please watch Tyler while I use the ladies room?”

“Of course,” he says proudly. “Text me if you need help with anything.”

JAGS

IF THAT CHICK
actually comes back to this waiting area after the restroom, I might be surprised. There’s a slight chance I came off too strong, but what can I say? That’s how I roll.

“Mr. Jags!” Tyler addresses me. “Come have a tea party!”

I chuckle once, wondering if this kid is serious but the longer I look at her, the more serious the expression on her face becomes. I haven’t known Cali long, but damn, this kid is all her. “You want me to have a tea party with you, kid?”

She looks down at the empty cup in front of her, lifts it up and brings it to her lips. “Yes,” she says before taking her first pretend sip. With her free hand, she pulls out the tiny little chair beside her. She does realize half of one of my ass cheeks wouldn’t fit on that thing, right? Actually, my ass crack might just swallow it. Wouldn’t that be embarrassing? “It’s rude for you to ignore an invitation.”
Definitely Cali
. I groan a little as I stand up, feeling the one hour of work I did on that site this morning tearing at my damn back. “You sound like my grandpa.” Tyler snickers at her own fantastic joke. What a little brat. That’s all Tango.

I slowly make my way over to the tiny table with the tiny chair to sit with the tiny little girl with a big attitude. She pulls the chair out a little farther and taps her hand against the plastic, motioning me to sit.

“Okay, okay. I’m going,” I tell her.

I gently place an eighth of my weight down on the seat and rest my knee on the other side of it. Tyler shoves a small teacup in my face, and I take it from her hand. “Drink up,” she demands.

I press the thing up to my lips and make a fake slurping sound. “Wow, is this your own recipe?” I ask her.

She looks at me with a raised brow. “You don’t make tea. It’s in a bag. Dummy.”

“Hey now, no name calling,” I say to her with an awkward laugh. Should I be disciplining Tango’s kid? Where is Sasha? I’m not a kid person, clearly. I’d probably be swearing up a storm to my kid if I had one. His or her first word would most definitely be “shit” or “fuck”. The thought makes me laugh a little. Yeah, not happening.

“You call Daddy names,” she says, closing her eyes and taking another sip.

I roll my eyes toward the ceiling and nod my head, totally at a loss for words. Can’t say she’s wrong.

“How’s the tea, kids?” Sasha asks, turning back around the corner. “Tyler, is that your special English Tea?”

“Of course it is,” she says, crooning to Sasha.

“Where are your famous cookies then?” Sasha continues.

“Well,” she cups her hand around her mouth. “There’s no oven here, so we just have to stick with the tea today.”

“You babysit often?” I ask Miss Perfect.

“Sasha is my best friend,” Tyler interrupts. “So if you’re trying to take her from me, go find another friend.”

Oh my God, this kid is something else.

“She does have a point. I shouldn’t be going around having more than one friend. It’s not right,” Sasha says with a wink.

“Okay, tea is over, you can go back over there now,” Tyler says, snatching the cup from my hand. She doesn’t have to ask me twice. Or…maybe she does.
Shit, I can’t get up
. I press my hands to my knee and push myself up to my feet. Another sharp pain in my back reminds me that I shouldn’t have gotten down onto that chair or helped Tango with that house build today. The workouts I do at the gym have nothing on putting up siding.

“Oh my gosh, are you okay?” Sasha asks.

“Yeah, yeah,” I laugh. “I think I pulled something today. I might need someone to rub it.”

Ignoring my comment, she curls her hand around my arm, helping me straighten up. “Do you need to see a doctor?”

“I’m close enough to a doctor,” I laugh. “I’m fine, really.”

“A doctor can’t treat himself,” she argues.

“Oh no?”

“You should really go see someone,” she tells me with her hand still looped around my arm. Her hands are so small in comparison to any of my limbs. I kind of like it.

“You’re right, I should,” I agree to appease her. Taking the few steps back over to the chair I was sitting in, I get a little enjoyment from the fact that she doesn’t remove her hand until I’m settled back into the seat.

She takes the seat next to mine and twists to face me. “Who are you really, Jags?”

Her question surprises me a bit, for more than one reason. “What happened to the mister part of my name?”

“I’m over it,” she says.

“And what do you want to know?”

“What’s your real name?” she follows.

“Oh, I don’t give that information out to just anyone. It could get out and then people would know what my parents call me. We don’t need that.”

“So, Jags isn’t your real name, then?”

I smirk. I suppose it could be, but what kind of name is Jags? I just wish my last name started with a ‘w’ so I could have been nicknamed “Jaws.” That would have been better. “No, it’s not my birth name, but it ended up becoming my call-sign, and now it’s what everyone calls me.”

“I don’t like it,” she says.
What the hell?
Who says that to another person about their name? I wouldn’t expect Sasha of all people, Miss Prim and Proper, to ever say something so rude to someone.

“How would you like it if I told you I didn’t like your name?”

“It’s my birth name, so that would just be rude,” she quips.

Her gaze is blazing into my eyes as if she’s trying to summon out all of my dark secrets by controlling me with her mind. “Well, what if Jags is better than my birth name? You’d feel pretty bad if I told you my name was Julep, wouldn’t you?”

“That’s not your name,” she says confidently.

“No, it’s Jackass,” Tyler says, covering her mouth as she giggles.

“Tyler!” Sasha scolds. “No way. We don’t use that language.” I guess I wasn’t completely out of line telling her not to call me names if Sasha is nearly shouting at her.

“Jags said it first,” she says, pursing her lips and looking back down at her tea cup.

Sasha’s angry mom-like squinting eyes look back at me. “I don’t remember saying that in front of her,” I say, holding my hands up in defense.

“You’ve got a dirty mouth,” she says to me under her breath.

“Don’t talk about my mouth that way,” I snap back in the same quiet volume.

Now she’s looking at my mouth. Is she wondering why my mouth is so dirty, or is she thinking about what it would be like to kiss it? I bet it’s the latter. She’s wondering if I’m a good kisser. Mirroring her action, I look at her lips too, and she immediately becomes uncomfortable as she adjusts her position within her seat. I love making girls squirm,
and I especially enjoy making
her
squirm.

“You really think you’re hot stuff, don’t you?” she asks, clearly taking her anger out on me for causing her a physical discomfort—one I bet she’s suddenly not feeling so discomforted by.

“Not really, actually,” I tell her truthfully.

“How many women have you…”

“A birdie told me you can’t say that delicious three-letter word—se-x-x-x-x-x.”

“And what birdie is that?” she says through an angered lilt.

“The birdie with a broken leg, obviously.”

“Jerk!” she says loudly.

“Auntie said a bad word,” Tyler sings from the corner.

“How many men have you…” I stop right where she did, just looking to get more of a reaction out of her.

Her cheeks immediately burn red, and I’m thinking if I stick around here, her face might permanently change colors. She nervously twists the loose strands of her blonde waves around the back of her ears and grunts, “That’s none of your business.
Rude
.”

A roar of laughter escapes me. She is aware that she just asked me the very same question, right? “Really, doll-face? You just asked me how many women I’ve fucked, then I ask you the same question in return, and you scold me?”

“Keep your voice down,” she says. “Tyler…”

Shit. I forgot about that little parrot in the corner. I turn to her, hoping she didn’t hear what I just said, but when I look over she’s staring right back at me. Don’t do it, kid. Your mom will kill me.

The corners of her lips curl into a slow, devious little grin. She stares me down for a long minute and then glances back at the book she’s paging through. Phew. Thank God.

“This whole thing here…” Sasha says, bringing attention back to her. Pointing between the two of us, she continues, “…is getting really uncomfortable.”

“I’m not uncomfortable,” I tell her.

“Well, I am!”

“So, I make you uncomfortable?” I ask coyly, leaning towards her.

She growls softly and stands up. I’m not sure where she’s going, and I don’t think she knows either, as she paces in small circles. “You’re…” She continues pacing back and forth, back and forth. Her cheeks have yet to turn back to a normal hue and she looks like she’s about to explode. “You’re a dirty-mouthed, manwhore,” she finally spits out.

I don’t think she means that as a compliment, but to me it is, and the only thing that could have made her cuter at this moment is if she would have stomped her foot while saying it. “Thank you,” I say, grinning. “Gosh, that’s so sweet of you. No one has ever said that to me before.”

“I’m sorry,” she says quickly. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“It’s okay. The truth doesn’t hurt me like you’d think it would,” I say, smiling widely.

She’s confused. I like that too. I knock my fist against the armrest of the chair I’m sitting in and push myself up to my feet, still feeling that shooting pain running down to the back of my knee now. I can’t help groaning as I stand up. I’d like to say I was doing it to get her attention, but damn, I must have done something this morning. When she glances my way, she drops her shoulders and stops pacing. My face is obviously betraying the pain I’m feeling right now. Sasha steps back over to me and places her hand on my lower back as I try to straighten out. “You really need to go see someone.”

“It’s just a pulled muscle,” I tell her, walking toward the adjacent hall.

“Where are you going?” she asks with concern.

“Bathroom. Want to give me a hand?” I grin and wink.

She growls and slaps her hands down by her sides. “You just can’t stop yourself, can you?”