Not Quite Perfect
Page 59
He pressed his body against hers, distracting her. “So what did you have planned?”
She closed her eyes, trying not to think of how perfect he felt like this. “Out of town trip.”
His teeth grazed her earlobe.
“Without me?”
“Planned months ago,” she told him.
“Sounds serious.” His tongue replaced his teeth.
She wrapped one of her legs around his and leaned against the wall he was pressing her into. “Very.”
He kissed down her neck, the tops of her breasts. “I think you’re bluffing.”
“I don’t lie.” And what he was doing with his tongue felt amazing.
“What was it?”
“Important . . .” She arched into him.
“What was it, Mary?” His hand slid up her frame, took her breast with a gentle squeeze.
“I’m not telling.”
“I can stop doing what I’m doing until you tell me.”
She reached around and grabbed his ass, pulled him closer. “Don’t you dare.”
“Tell me.” One hand moved down her torso, played with the space between her jeans and her skin.
Just when she was sure he was going to dip lower, his hand stilled, his kiss stayed just outside of reach of her lips.
“Tell me.”
She attempted to capture his lips. He pulled away.
“Brat.”
“Tell me.”
Mary grabbed the back of his head. “Arizona. Mary Frances . . . my spring trip.”
Glen laughed before he resumed her desired position and possessed every sensitive spot on her skin.
First thing in the morning he pulled her out of bed and dragged her to the airport.
Looked like her exclusive boyfriend wanted to meet the only claim to family Mary had.
And he wasn’t taking no for an answer.
Chapter Twenty-One
Mary Frances lived in a two-bedroom, two-bath bungalow in a quiet neighborhood outside of Phoenix. The front porch was designed to sit on and watch the neighbors, the cars, the kids playing in the street. Not that Mary Frances did a lot of that. The woman held a part-time job at the library and volunteered for just about every organization she could to fill her days.
Glen and Mary pulled into the driveway in the rental they’d picked up at the airport.
“Are you sure we shouldn’t book a room at the hotel?” Glen asked for the millionth time.
“Mary Frances would be offended.”
“I’d think she’d be more offended that we’re sleeping together . . . her being an ex-nun and all.”
Mary shook her head. “And we won’t be sleeping together in the hotel?” She pushed the door open. “C’mon . . . she doesn’t bite.”
She made it three steps before Mary Frances, all five feet nothing of her, let the screen door slam behind her. Mary paused and let all the stress and worry of the past week float away.
She flung her arms around Mary Frances for a soothing hug. “It’s so good to see you.”
“You have to stop hugging me to see me.”
“Shut up.” Mary kept hugging.
When she did pull away and take a good look, her jaw dropped. “What is that on your lips?”
“Just a little lip gloss. It’s dry here.”
Mary ran her thumb over the other woman’s cheek. “Blush?”
Mary Frances batted her hand away. “I am allowed, you know.”
She wanted to squeal. Since when did Mary Frances wear makeup?
“Aren’t you going to introduce me?”
Mary turned to find Glen standing at the edge of the walkway, enjoying the reunion.
“Mary Frances, this is my friend, Glen Fairchild.”
Mary Frances looked him up and down, kept a snarky smile on her face. “When Mary called to say she was on her way and bringing a friend, I half expected a woman. I was starting to think my Mary was a lesbian.”
“Oh, my—”
Mary Frances cut her off with an evil eye.
“Word! How could you think such a thing?”
“Because I haven’t met someone you’re dating since you were in high school.” Mary Frances turned toward the house. “Let’s go inside. It’s getting hot out here.”
Glen walked in beside her, chuckling. “Lesbian,” he said under his breath.
Mary elbowed his ribs.
The house hadn’t changed. Sparse furnishings, very few knickknacks. A young picture of Mary on the mantel along with her college graduation picture with the both of them in it.
“I have iced tea or lemonade,” Mary Frances said as she led them toward the kitchen.
Mary walked around the familiar kitchen to help with the refreshments.
“Lemonade would be great,” Glen said.
The cupboard where the glasses normally lived now housed a half a dozen vases.
“I moved the glasses to the one on the left. Reaching that high was starting to hurt my back.” Mary Frances took the seat opposite Glen. “Tell me, Mr. Fairchild . . . how long have you known my Mary?”
“We’ve known each other for about a year. And please call me Glen.”
Mary Frances released a disapproving click of her tongue. “A year and I’ve not met you?”
“We haven’t been dating that long,” Mary explained. “We met when I went to that conference in Florida with Dakota. The one where she met Walt?”
Mary Frances nodded. “Yes, yes . . . the one where you and that sassy friend of yours ended up in a police car. I remember the story.”
She closed her eyes, trying not to think of how perfect he felt like this. “Out of town trip.”
His teeth grazed her earlobe.
“Without me?”
“Planned months ago,” she told him.
“Sounds serious.” His tongue replaced his teeth.
She wrapped one of her legs around his and leaned against the wall he was pressing her into. “Very.”
He kissed down her neck, the tops of her breasts. “I think you’re bluffing.”
“I don’t lie.” And what he was doing with his tongue felt amazing.
“What was it?”
“Important . . .” She arched into him.
“What was it, Mary?” His hand slid up her frame, took her breast with a gentle squeeze.
“I’m not telling.”
“I can stop doing what I’m doing until you tell me.”
She reached around and grabbed his ass, pulled him closer. “Don’t you dare.”
“Tell me.” One hand moved down her torso, played with the space between her jeans and her skin.
Just when she was sure he was going to dip lower, his hand stilled, his kiss stayed just outside of reach of her lips.
“Tell me.”
She attempted to capture his lips. He pulled away.
“Brat.”
“Tell me.”
Mary grabbed the back of his head. “Arizona. Mary Frances . . . my spring trip.”
Glen laughed before he resumed her desired position and possessed every sensitive spot on her skin.
First thing in the morning he pulled her out of bed and dragged her to the airport.
Looked like her exclusive boyfriend wanted to meet the only claim to family Mary had.
And he wasn’t taking no for an answer.
Chapter Twenty-One
Mary Frances lived in a two-bedroom, two-bath bungalow in a quiet neighborhood outside of Phoenix. The front porch was designed to sit on and watch the neighbors, the cars, the kids playing in the street. Not that Mary Frances did a lot of that. The woman held a part-time job at the library and volunteered for just about every organization she could to fill her days.
Glen and Mary pulled into the driveway in the rental they’d picked up at the airport.
“Are you sure we shouldn’t book a room at the hotel?” Glen asked for the millionth time.
“Mary Frances would be offended.”
“I’d think she’d be more offended that we’re sleeping together . . . her being an ex-nun and all.”
Mary shook her head. “And we won’t be sleeping together in the hotel?” She pushed the door open. “C’mon . . . she doesn’t bite.”
She made it three steps before Mary Frances, all five feet nothing of her, let the screen door slam behind her. Mary paused and let all the stress and worry of the past week float away.
She flung her arms around Mary Frances for a soothing hug. “It’s so good to see you.”
“You have to stop hugging me to see me.”
“Shut up.” Mary kept hugging.
When she did pull away and take a good look, her jaw dropped. “What is that on your lips?”
“Just a little lip gloss. It’s dry here.”
Mary ran her thumb over the other woman’s cheek. “Blush?”
Mary Frances batted her hand away. “I am allowed, you know.”
She wanted to squeal. Since when did Mary Frances wear makeup?
“Aren’t you going to introduce me?”
Mary turned to find Glen standing at the edge of the walkway, enjoying the reunion.
“Mary Frances, this is my friend, Glen Fairchild.”
Mary Frances looked him up and down, kept a snarky smile on her face. “When Mary called to say she was on her way and bringing a friend, I half expected a woman. I was starting to think my Mary was a lesbian.”
“Oh, my—”
Mary Frances cut her off with an evil eye.
“Word! How could you think such a thing?”
“Because I haven’t met someone you’re dating since you were in high school.” Mary Frances turned toward the house. “Let’s go inside. It’s getting hot out here.”
Glen walked in beside her, chuckling. “Lesbian,” he said under his breath.
Mary elbowed his ribs.
The house hadn’t changed. Sparse furnishings, very few knickknacks. A young picture of Mary on the mantel along with her college graduation picture with the both of them in it.
“I have iced tea or lemonade,” Mary Frances said as she led them toward the kitchen.
Mary walked around the familiar kitchen to help with the refreshments.
“Lemonade would be great,” Glen said.
The cupboard where the glasses normally lived now housed a half a dozen vases.
“I moved the glasses to the one on the left. Reaching that high was starting to hurt my back.” Mary Frances took the seat opposite Glen. “Tell me, Mr. Fairchild . . . how long have you known my Mary?”
“We’ve known each other for about a year. And please call me Glen.”
Mary Frances released a disapproving click of her tongue. “A year and I’ve not met you?”
“We haven’t been dating that long,” Mary explained. “We met when I went to that conference in Florida with Dakota. The one where she met Walt?”
Mary Frances nodded. “Yes, yes . . . the one where you and that sassy friend of yours ended up in a police car. I remember the story.”
