The Complete Series Boxed Set (29 page)

“Yeah, but she’s got two billionaires.”

Alex pretended to be offended. “You want me to turn into a billionaire?
I would think being a physician would be enough of a superpower.
”

“
Pffft
.” The sound Josie made was distinctly unfeminine. “I’ve worked with hundreds of doctors over the years. You’re all extremely human. Some are even subhuman. Give you a scalpel and you might be God for a few hours, but you all snore and drool and
hog cabinet space
like us mere mortals.”
 

“
I don’t think you’re quite human, Josie,” Madge declared. “Look at that plate of delicious new desserts Caleb made. How can someone sit here and have that in front of their face and ignore it?”
 

Josie’s eyes narrowed, making Alex laugh. She was so suspicious, and he knew her cranky outer shell just hid a soft, tender underbelly of vulnerability. “What are these? They look like little lobster cakes.”

“They are!” Madge cracked in a South Boston accent, the words coming out sound like she’
d
said “They ah!”

“Red cake with…”

“It’s pureed strawberries in a rich white cake, baked in little lobst
er
molds, then filled with a vanilla amaretto cream.” “
Lobster” sounded like “lobstah” coming from her mouth.
 

“What’s the glaze in the little cup next to it?” Alex asked. Each lobster cake had a little Boston Red Sox flag stabbed into the head.

“Toffee-caramel sauce—see how it looks like drawn butter?” Madge demonstrated for them, picking up a lobster and dunking its head in the sauce,
then
munching happily. The cake was headless, one claw hanging by a thin thread of confection.

Josie imitated Madge, and as her tongue poke
d
out between her lips, mouth stretch
ing
into a smile of anticipation, Alex felt something in him harden and soften at the same time.

God, he loved her.

She moaned. “This is so good!” As she bit down, a rush of cream from the cake’s center coated her lip,
making the hard part of him even harder as she licked it away
.

God, he
wanted
her.

Instead of reaching across the table and fucking her right there next to the little jukebox screwed into the wall above the salt and pepper shakers, he grabbed a cake, dipped the entire damn thing in sauce, and shoved it into his mouth, chewing furiously, hoping the blood that would be diverted to his digestive
tract would lessen his raging erection.
 

Then his taste buds kicked in.
The combination of thick, lush cake, the almond flavor of the amaretto, and the viscous toffee assaulted the pleasure centers in his brain, stomach engaged, salivary enzymes kicked into overdrive, the groan of gustatory ecstasy as involuntary as his hard-on.
 

“Jesus, tell Caleb he’s outdone himself,” Alex muttered as he and Josie both reached for the only remaining lobster on the plate.

Oh, no.

This would not end well. He normally deferred to her, but this was primal. His stomach growled; he’d come to the diner hungry and ready for lunch, and, unlike Josie, he couldn’t eat a few bites of something and be temporarily sated. Once his stomach had a single bite of food in it he needed to have enough for a full meal immediately.

There was no turning back. Her eyes flashed as
she
reached for the lobster, but he beat her to it.

And then she snatched the
ramekin
of toffee-caramel sauce.

They were at an impasse.

And neither would back down.

Madge cackled. “He’s got another tray of them in the back, you two. No need to launch W
orld
W
ar
III over a stupid piece of cake.” She popped the other half of her piece into her mouth and munched happily.

“W
e
’d like a dozen for here, and a dozen to go,” Alex said, not moving, eyes tracking Josie, who lifted the cup of sauce to her lips and pretended to suck at it. She became increasingly X-rated in her movements and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his blood obviously tormenting him. It did not cooperate and flee his groin for his stomach, but instead filed in an orderly fashion from root to tip, making his shaft throb with unmet need.

Two nights now of overnight
shifts at the hospital. T
his was the first time he’d seen Josie for nearly three days.

And they had to spend it talking with other people about their sex lives. Threesome sex lives. Josie had spelled it out clearly: he would “facilitate” the conversation between Mike, Dylan, Trevor, and Asshole.

Er,
Joe
.

A tray of these cakes would make it easier. Maybe if he sank into a sugar coma he could get through it.
He didn’t relish being shoved into the role of group therapy leader for a bunch of guys who were about as interested in being there as Josie was in becoming a submissive wife some day.
 

But he would do it because she had asked him—pleaded and cajoled—and sweetly explained that she was so worried about Laura and Darla that this was the only option she could think of. It was a rare flash of emotional intimacy that he craved, and as she’d unfolded before him, pure and true, he couldn’t say no.

The front door creaked open, and in walked the only man
he knew who was
as tall as
himself
, followed by a flash of blond hair at his armpit, then a darker man in between their heights. The first threesome was here, and he let out a huge sigh of relief, surprised by his own reaction. For whatever reason, it was easier to talk first to Mike, Dylan, and Laura than to the younger group.

“Younger” made him cringe inside, because they were only seven years his junior, and yet Trevor, Darla and Ass—er, Joe—were a generation away, it seemed sometimes.

“Hey,” Mike said in that casual, nearly stoic way he had, wearing the
Z
en of calmness so well.

Alex sto
o
d up to
shake
hands and realized he was still holding the lobster cake. Josie plucked it from his fingers in the split second he was distracted, then shoved it down the front of her shirt.

“
H
ah! Mine now.”

He leaned down and murmured in her ear, “If we weren’t in public I’d retrieve that with my teeth.”

“
Oh, really?
”
She took the cake out of her shirt and pretended to slip it in the front of her pants, making him belly-laugh.
 

Laura looked at them with an expression of curiosity and pure happiness, so pleased, he knew, that her best friend had found what he hoped was enough. Sometimes the relationship seemed a little too easy. He liked all of her friends, got along well with Darla, and Josie didn’t mind living the life of a partner to a doctor who was gone most of the time.

Other than
her
asking him to play Dr. Phil to a group of men who didn’t want to be there, his life
with Josie
was pretty damn perfect these days.
The moving-in-together business had a few bumps—mostly Josie’s ego and her weird wall of fear that he would somehow smother her with love—but otherwise it was just fine.
 

Better than fine.

He thought that
wa
s how Laura, Mike, and Dylan lived. Fine. Better than fine. If he and Josie had an annual income bigger than that of the starting lineup for the Boston Celtics, they’d be waaaay better than fine. Aside from a mountain of student loan debt, though, their financial future looked solid enough, and he wasn’t complaining.

Dylan’s hand shot out, fast and strong, his grip like a vise made from titanium. Damn. Alex squared his shoulders during the handshake, drawing on core strength to match the ex-firefighter’s tight clasp. Both men smiled, and Dylan’s eyes flitted away, fast, as if he weren’t quite convinced this meeting was a good idea.

Alex had to agree with him.

Laura gave him a warm hug that reminded him of his own mother’s embraces, sweet and confident, caring and pure. You knew where you sto
o
d with them both, knew you were welcomed and appreciated exactly
as
you were. No pretense, no airs, no affect.

That was refreshing.

Josie was a skittish little dog by comparison when he watched her give out hugs and handshakes, her body
trembling
a bit, as if all the kinetic energy drained her muscles and bones to the point of the shakes, removing some essence that made her come unglued. Time would improve it, he hoped, but it pained him to watch her struggle with something so casual and social, a little bit of protocol that he didn’t think twice about. Someone’s arms opened and you went in for the brief connection. A kiss on the cheek was a nice gesture. A handshake was a hello.

But for her, it all seemed to be land mines. When they were done, he would take her back to her—
their
—apartment and fix her a drink, and they would succumb to a few episodes of whatever new season of television she’d discovered, binge watching on the couch until their imaginations were full of someone else’s life, one easier to digest and analyze. Her nervousness would be purged and he would touch her in ways that charged her batteries, deepen
e
d their intimacy, and made life more comfortable for her.

An island of two.

That was for later, though. Right now, he had reluctant alpha men he was supposed to corral into some sort of pseudo-therapy masquerading as lunch.
And he had to act like he liked it. One cheesy grin coming up.
 

“You having a stroke, Alex?” Madge cracked as she settled Mike, Laura, and Dylan in the booth next to him and Josie. “You look like an altar boy who just drank all the communion wine.”

The group laughed and he let them, though Josie gave him the side eye. “Just smiling,” he said in as bland a tone as possible. The tip of Josie’s toe bounced against his shin. She fidgeted like this when she got nervous, and mistook his leg for part of the table.

“Cut it out, then,” Madge said. “You look creepy.”

“I look creepy when I smile?”

“When you smile like that.”

The grin faded all too quickly as the front door j
i
ngled, opened by three people, two of whom he liked and one he could do without.

“Josie!” Darla squealed as she rushed in and
took over the room. Her eyes were big and wide as she looked around Jeddy’s.
 

“
Y
ou act like you’ve never been here,” Josie said, taking in Darla.

“Not in the daylight, and not sober. Is the food good? Last time we were here I w
a
s so drunk I thought I ordered deep-fried Kit Kats dipped in tartar sauce.”

“You did,” Madge said dryly.

“And you
let
her?” Alex asked.
 

Madge shrugged. “Can’t stop stupid. If I did, we wouldn’t have two-thirds of our customers.” She gave Dylan a hard look that made him
do a double take.
 

“What does that look mean?”
he asked.
 

“Whatever you want it to mean,” she said sweetly. A little too sweetly, while patting Dylan gently on the cheek and then marching away to seat an eight-top group that had just come in.

Dylan gave everyone perplexed looks. “Why does she pick on me?”

Darla scooched in next to Josie and
flashed
Dylan a grin. “I’ve heard she only does that if she secretly likes you.”

“Or is preparing to use you in a ritual druidic ceremony as a blood sacrifice,” Mike deadpanned.

“Not sure which is worse,” Dylan mumbled.

Laura elbowed him playfully in the ribs. “Hi, Darla!” she said with a chirp that was a little too friendly. Alex gave Trevor a nod and a wave, then extended the same courtesy to Joe, who hovered above the group, stiff as a board and with a face you could turn into a kitchen counter. It w
a
s polished granite, without a trace of personality, a
n
d hard as could be.

And where all the worst messes took place.

Trevor, on the other hand, was all friendly smiles and handshakes, though Alex sensed a bit of apprehension in him as well. Darla’s voice was just a notch too loud, half a standard deviation off center, just nervous enough to make him wonder what in the hell these six (seven, including Josie) expected from today’s talks.

He knew one thing, though: they expected great food. And would get it.

Madge cruised by. “No need for menus. I have Caleb cooking up a collection of everything.”

“Everything?” the group intoned together, then laughed. All except Joe, who just stood there, bugging Alex more and more by the second.

“Everything you could want,” Madge added. “Coconut shrimp, our new strawberry lobsters, the toffee pistachio crepes…”

Laura pretended to wipe drool from her mouth. “Yum.”

“
And the same old crappy coffee.” Madge slid a series of carafes and white mugs their way, followed by a practiced swish of the hand as she sailed two pitchers of cream on the tables like a champion shuffleboard player.
 

“How do you do that?” Laura asked. Alex dug into his coffee, needing whate
ve
r fortification he could have for what was coming.

“Do what?”

“S
lide it down the table
so not one drop of cream is wasted.”

“Practice. Lots of practice.” Madge winked and disappeared. The scent of something garlicky wafted through the restaurant, followed by a distinct fryolater sound, like hot oil being breached by an ascending whale.

“That woman is a machine,” Mike said in admiration.

A
lex frowned slightly, then tried to shake it off, but Laura—always perce
p
tive—caught the micro-change in him. She reached for his hand and frowned. “What? I know she had a heart attack recently…”

He didn’t want to violate Madge’s privacy, so he played it simple. “
She’s fine.” His shaky smile must have been as bad as Madge had thought, because Laura’s look of alarm didn’t make matters any better.