Some Sort of Love (Happy Crazy Love #3)(15)

by Melanie Harlow

Easy there, caveman. Sit down. Order a drink. Say words. Make nice.

I took the seat next to her, and she slid the cocktail menu toward me. “I haven’t ordered yet, but I’ve looked at this already.”

“You’re much nicer than I am,” I said, dropping my keys and phone into my pocket. “I probably would’ve slammed two drinks by now and bitched to the bartender about how inconsiderate people can be.”

She laughed. “Really. No big deal.”

I called the bartender over and gestured for Jillian to go first.

“I’d like Blue Coat gin, please. Up with a twist, and I like it extra dry. In and out with the vermouth.”

I ordered a Sazerac and turned to face her. “I’ve never heard a woman so particular about her martini.”

She shrugged guilelessly. “I know what I want.”

“I like that about you. You’re discerning.”

“Some might even call it picky.”

I grinned. “Then I’ll take it as a compliment you’re even here. Tell me about your week.”

She sat up taller, clasping her hands around her knee. “It was good. I’d have liked to get a little more exercise, but it’s hard to make myself get up at five and go to the gym, and by the time I leave work around seven or eight, I’m usually too tired. And already craving a glass of wine.” She wrinkled her nose. “I’m not very disciplined.”

“You’re a doctor working long hours. I’d say that takes discipline.”

“Thanks. How was your week?”

“Pretty good. Busy. I’m working on a vacation house in Harbor Springs, so I had to make a trip up there and back in one day, which was a little hectic.”

“I love that area. We used to ski there all the time when I was younger.”

I nodded. “We did too. Every year I say I’m going to go again, and I never do.”

She put her hand on my arm. “I do the exact same.”

“Oh yeah? We should promise each other we’ll go together. And hold the other accountable.”

“Deal.” She held out her pinkie, and I stared at it. “Come on, give me your pinkie.”

Laughing, I hooked mine through hers. “What’s this, a pinkie swear?”

“Yes,” she said, her face grave. “It’s how the Nixon sisters seal deals, and we take it very, very seriously.”

“You have my word. We will go skiing.” I squeezed her tiny finger with mine—not too hard, since I probably could have snapped the delicate bones—and allowed myself the brief fantasy of making out with her in an outdoor hot tub while it snowed.

Then I had to adjust my pants again.

She took a small sip of her martini. “How was Scotty’s week? Get that math homework done?”

I groaned. “Barely. Homework is always a struggle. But he had a good week too, I think. There was one episode at school where he got frustrated and threw his pencil, but nothing major.”


“The thing is, he notices the difference between himself and the other kids now, academically. He compares himself and sees that he struggles to do basic things they breeze through.”

“Poor thing. Any word on the IEP?”

I clenched my jaw. “No. And I’ve called every day for two weeks. I’m beginning to think I need to just go in there and be an asshole until I get an answer on what’s taking so long.”

She sipped her drink again. “Have they told you what the holdup is?”

“I’ve been told it’s ‘administrative,’ which I think is code for bullshit. And I hate to be a jerk about it, but…” I shrugged. “I have to. I’m the only soldier he’s got. He won’t fight for himself. He just gives up.”

She set down her glass and patted my shoulder. “You’re doing the right thing. At least, I think you are.”

“Thanks. OK, enough about that. Tell me something fun you did this week.”

She tilted her head to one side and chewed her bottom lip as she thought. “Oh! I attended a sign language workshop. We have a few patients and parents at the office who use it, so I decided to learn some basics.”

“Oh yeah? I know a little sign language. It was part of Scotty’s speech therapy when he was younger.” I set my drink down and signed a few words at her, the only ones I could remember, which were basic things like please, more, play, toy, Dad. “Know what I’m saying?”

She looked adorably baffled. “Nope,” she confessed, laughing a little. “I have no idea.”

“Good, because it’s so dirty.”

Squealing, she grabbed my hands and pushed them down between us. “Hush, then. What if someone in here speaks sign language?”

“Then they’d know what I want to do to you right now.”

Her jaw dropped. Our eyes stayed locked. “Like what?” she whispered.

“You sure you want to hear it out loud?”

She took a breath. “Maybe you could whisper it to me.”

I leaned toward her and put my lips to her ear. “I want to set you up on this bar, throw your legs over my shoulders, and bury my tongue in your pussy.”

She gasped and brought a hand to her stomach.

So much for the gentleman.

“Then I want to pull you onto my lap and watch you slide down onto my cock.”

She made a small noise just then, something between a sigh and a squeak.

“I’d like to make you come so hard you forget to breathe. Would you like that?” I brushed my lips against her throat, just beneath her ear.

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Fuck, you smell good,” I said, inhaling the sweet scent of her hair and neck. Glancing down, I saw her chest rising and falling fast, her breasts straining against the material of her dress. I saw her hands flexing on her lap. And I saw those pearls at her throat, pictured her wearing them—and only them—while I slid into her.

Oh fuck. My cock is so hard right now.

I sat up straight and looked at her. “I’m just going to be honest, Jillian. I wish I had all night with you, but I don’t. I only have another hour, maybe. I’d be happy to spend it right here talking to you, if that’s what you want, but—”

“I want you.” She leaned over and whispered in my ear. “I want you right now.”