The Sweetest Jerk #1 (The Sweetest Jerk Series) Read online

  It didn’t give me nearly the overwhelming satisfaction I’d hoped for.

  I took the tiniest solace in the fact that I wasn’t crying. Tears were more than he deserved.

  This man, the stranger from my worst New Year’s Eve, was the reason I’d sworn off dating. The guy whose mouth I conjured up whether I wanted to or not, when someone else’s mouth was trying to make me croon and failed miserably. The man who’d ruined me, because no one else had come close to making me feel the way he’d made me feel.

  And he had no idea who I was.

  CHAPTER TWO: JASON

  Well, that was interesting.

  For the first time ever, a woman had shut me down.

  Me.

  Jason Cox.

  The brain behind the Ghost app that facilitated all kinds of mischief, from discreet and untraceable communication, to helping the user up and disappear on anyone with the swipe of your thumb.

  The man who had shut the metaphorical door on countless women who forgot that I didn’t do relationships.

  I raked my fingers through my hair and narrowed my gaze, glancing back over my shoulder. I replayed the entire affair all over again. I glossed over unimportant details, like the sounds Scarlet made while I buried myself inside her. She had the mouth of a porn star, and it was about as sexually satisfying as whacking off staring at a computer screen. Don’t get me wrong, I could appreciate a vocal woman who threw in a cuss word or two while I was doing things to her body that made silence impossible, but like the silicone filled breasts and moans that were dialed up to ‘definitely faking it’, there was no authenticity.

  She’d gotten off, because I was damn good. I’d felt her body twitch and grip me like her very life depended on it, but I’d barely broken a sweat. My climax had flitted away like a damn butterfly. I’d been thinking about how I should have gone for the bride’s quiet cousin instead, because then at least things would have been real. She would have slapped me across the face when I suggested a quickie in the bathroom downstairs.

  Instead of enjoying the spontaneous delight of doing something so taboo with the clock ticking on my best friend’s march toward minivans and respectability, I’d been thinking about how there shouldn’t have been a march, or a bride, in the first place.

  And then I heard a knock on the bathroom door, that gave me something else to focus on besides Scarlet’s monotonous pants. She was just loud enough that it was obvious that the bathroom wasn’t being used for its intended purpose.

  Most people would have headed in the opposite direction, their faces warm with embarrassment, asking themselves a question they knew the answer to.

  Were they...having sex?

  But not her.

  A smile dashed across my face as I remembered the look on our surprise voyeur’s face. The embarrassment was a fleeting, involuntary thing. Even I would have at least arched my brow, maybe made a joke to alleviate the awkwardness. But once I could get a good look at the woman after Scarlet’s dress vacated the premises, lust and curiosity had surged through me like I’d just thrown back a shot. She didn’t apologize or avert her gaze. Not at first, anyway. Those round, ivy colored eyes stroked every inch of my hard-on first, and I knew, without even touching her, that if I’d slipped my fingers inside her at that very moment, her body would have sighed around me. Drenched me to the bone with her wet anticipation.

  The woman had covered her eyes when she realized she was staring and that I knew she was staring, but it was a delayed reaction. Like she was remembering that was what one was supposed to do in those kind of situations. But I’d already seen enough to know that she wasn’t like Scarlet.

  She was like me.

  Hungry for that intense, carnal connection that came when you stripped off the clothes and got down to business.

  Before I forgot how our story abruptly ended and set off back to the bathroom to finish what those eyes of hers had started, I remembered that I’d committed a cardinal sin. Two, if we’re getting technical.

  The first? Forgetting that at some point, the mystery woman and I had gotten very familiar. Familiar enough that she turned a single word, you, into the most lethal thing I’d ever heard.

  The second? Calling her some other woman’s name.

  Shayna. Or was it Shayla? I’d probably fucked the entire alphabet. Most of them blurred together in a kaleidoscope of lingerie and moans.

  I cast a final, almost remorseful look over my shoulder. I had better game than that, but I was caught off guard by her brazenness. By that fierce, type A bun perched on top of her head, paired with a blouse and pants, making her stand out from all of the faceless dresses and gowns. It took balls to stand out from that crowd and the defiance in her intrigued me.

  Unfortunately, I had to put my foot in my mouth by calling her some other broad’s name.

  Amateur move, Cox, I chastised myself as I moved up the stairs, fixing my tie. I only remembered Scarlet’s name because she’d been introducing herself to me since the rehearsal dinner, even quizzing me to make sure I remembered. Making her intentions, to be the next notch in my bedpost, crystal clear.

  When I hit the landing, the swell of music and the pull of the coming ceremony dragged me back to my duties like quicksand. I was half tempted to bound back down the stairs, wait for the chick I’d stupidly forgotten, and offer to whisk her away somewhere exotic for the weekend to make it up to her.

  Jessie’s screech from the end of the hall put a swift end to my plans.

  “Jason!” The key of her tone, somewhere between my mother and Mrs. Baxter, one of my babysitters growing up who made no secret of the fact that she hated children, set my teeth on edge.

  I almost walked right past her, knowing that ignoring the great Jessie Stone would have really made her lose her shit, but I’d promised Scott that I’d show the woman a modicum of respect, for his sake.

  I waited until she was within earshot and her staff had wisely ducked out of the line of fire before I answered her. “You know, Jess, usually when a woman screams my name, I’m at least getting some pleasure out of it.”

  She was not amused, her dark brown eyes glowing like coals. “Considering the fact that Scarlet just made her reappearance a few moments ago with her skirt all over the place, reeking of sex, and you’re still rocking a woody, I think you are good in the pleasure department.”

  I shrugged my shoulders. “It was alright.”

  If her hair wasn’t already gunmetal gray, dealing with me would have turned those strands the color of ash. “I am in no mood. Are you proud of yourself? Hm? You two have held up the ceremony. We are officially behind schedule.”

  “Sounds like we’ll have to save the lecture for another time, then.” I maneuvered past her, smiling to myself because I’d been in tense business dealings enough times to know what it felt like when someone was throwing darts at your back with their eyes. Darts dipped in the kind of poison that resulted in a slow, agonizing death. If tech giants with actual clout couldn’t do me in, I had no worries about a wedding planner, no matter how prolific she was.

  I reached the staging area, and Jessie’s right hand woman sighed with relief when her squirrely eyes landed on me. Her jet black hair defied the rules of gravity. The beehive even perked a few inches, then turned to stone as she waved at me wildly.

  “Mr. Cox!” She beckoned for me to get in place. “Thank GOD! Now we can start the processional.”

  From the ripple of heads that turned my way, male gazes giving me a high five and female ones running the gamut from envy to disgust, I figured Scarlet had either sent out a group text that we’d just banged or her fake moans had drifted up from downstairs.

  Confirming the obvious, Scarlet stepped into view, still fixing her dress, her cheeks still flushed and wild from our romp. She licked her lips when her dizzy blue eyes met mine, biting the bottom one suggestively.

  My gut twisted as I kicked myself for not waiting until after the reception, because the sooner I could forget about my lac
k in judgment and fifteen minutes I’d never get back, the better.

  I pivoted to the front with military-like precision, offering her my arm and nothing more. She snuggled up close like we were the prom king and queen, about to step up to some tacky flower arrangement and pedestal, grinning for our yearbook photo.

  “Maybe we could go for round two after the reception.”

  “Maybe,” I lied, keeping my eyes on the wooden double doors.

  The music pulled us down the aisle. I was the best man and while I thought Scott was making a colossal mistake, I scrubbed my face of everything but support. It helped that I’d been nursing my flask since this morning. I needed more than booze to get through the ceremony without objecting, though. I needed whatever he was drinking, which I was sure was liquid denial.

  Scott and I had become instant friends at a computer programming mixer our freshman year of college. While the other Silicon Valley bound dudes, unaccustomed to dealing with cute girls in real time, practically jumped out of their skin at a mere smile, me and Scott picked up the slack. We did the approaching, dancing and flirting and making a reputation that followed us until graduation.

  From the nerds, to the jocks, to the frat guys, our dorm became the place to be if you were looking for a good time. Hangovers and hook ups and keggers became a thing of legend. ‘Dating’ was a bad word. ‘Commitment’? Sacrilegious.

  And then he had to go and fall for the bossy class president who convinced him that maybe he was interested in that white picket fence nonsense after all, despite the fact that we knew better.

  He’d spent his childhood raised by nannies, shuttled between parents who used him like a chess piece in their eternal war. I’d been lucky enough to grow up in a two parent household, filled with daily arguments over everything from what was for breakfast to who Jason loved the most. They stayed together for me, a dumb decision they shared when they announced they were getting a divorce...at my high school graduation party.

  Love was for idiots. For those who weren’t smart or savvy enough to know the odds of success were not in your favor. I was a lot of things—an idiot was not one of them. Though I was starting to wonder if I wasn’t a little foolish for agreeing to attend when Scott’s soon-to-be wife started in on her sappy vows.

  “Scottie,” Denise grinned, flashing every bleached white tooth in her mouth. Smiling like she’d won the lottery (which considering as my partner in Cox Technologies Scott’s net worth was nearly toe to toe with mine, she had). “I know we’ve had bumps in the road-”

  My eyes flew to my friend and I saw Scott’s jaw twitch. It took everything in me not to clear my throat or shout ‘Amen!’. Was she talking about the time that she threw a vase at his head after a trip to Vegas? When I slept with a trio of Cirque de Soleil body contortionists while he conked out, being faithful to his crazy, possessive girlfriend? His fidelity didn’t matter because the fact that any women had been present at all had been cause for a meltdown.

  Or maybe she was referring to a recent bump? The bump that her wedding gown was strategically hiding? Like she’d hid the fact from Scott that she’d stopped taking her birth control?

  “-but I knew you were the one.” She artfully sniffled and the sound rippled across the crowd behind us. I cast a disgusted look at the lot of them. No way they were buying this high school production of ‘Future Ex Wife Gets Her First Marriage Out Of The Way’ bullshit, right? But a couple of them were fanning their eyes. Didn’t want to ruin their makeup.

  Then my eyes hit a wall. It was like I was looking into a mirror. Taking on a similar look of wariness at all the lovey dovey crap that was suffocating the room. Hallmark inspired tear gas that everyone else was oblivious to, except for us. We were choking on it.

  The woman’s evergreen eyes were tinged with incredulity.

  But not just any woman.

  Her.

  The woman whose name I’d forgot.

  Her lips fell open and her eyes turned to hardened jewels as she mouthed something under her breath and pointedly turned her gaze to other things.

  Still pissed at me, gorgeous?

  I was suddenly tuned into her, and her alone. The only woman in the room who wasn’t teary eyed, thinking of a cutesy hashtag for later. The only woman who wasn’t eating up this crap with a spoon, envisioning her very own fairytale wedding.

  Well, Scarlet wasn’t interested in fairytales much either. The vibes that were coming off her told me she was in XXX territory, her lust so palpable that every other groomsmen looked up to the task if I wasn’t.

  I had other plans.

  As soon as this farce was done and I smiled for all the pictures and congratulated my best friend on the biggest mistake of his life, I would find her.

  That brunette would be crying my name before sun up.

  CHAPTER THREE: NATALEE

  I found the one.

  I knew it from the moment I saw the perfectly crafted fondant. Before my fork even sliced through the beautiful exterior, I knew it would be perfectly proportioned, nothing like the other bakeries where I got a mouthful of overly sweet icing and crumbs of dry cake. It was slightly out of our budget, which was why Maurice’s was the last stop on our list. Usually, I was the partner who nickel and dimed to make sure we stayed on track, but Scott had been vigilant over the past month as we made our final arrangements, confirming cancellation and refund policies like he planned on returning everything, from his custom tux to the flowers. But we’d both agreed that since desserts was my area of expertise, he’d give me some reign to make the final decision.

  As the first bite sailed toward my lips, I knew that I’d cut back somewhere else if I had to.

  My lips wrapped around the fork and I drew the morsel inside, moaning before it even touched my tongue. I knew that Scott was probably rolling his eyes because mine were closed, savoring this moment and giving it all away.

  I’d agreed that I’d leave any future car negotiations to him because of his killer poker face. A few months ago, I’d sabotaged his haggling agenda when I saw the sedan of my dreams. Before I even took the car for a test drive, I turned to the salesman with dollar signs gleaming in his eyes and asked, ‘where do we sign?’.

  Apparently, I couldn’t be trusted to play my cards close to the chest when it came to wedding cakes, either.

  Everything about the bite - the moistness, the flavor, the texture - made my taste buds sing. I swallowed and let my eyes flutter, slowly pulling me from nirvana, ready to see a similar reaction as my fiancé took his first bite as well.

  But the cake wasn’t even on Scott’s radar, because he was too busy staring at his cell phone screen.

  Not just staring.

  My stomach did a backflip and definitely didn’t stick the landing, because he was enraptured, with a smile on his face that I knew well.

  It was his mischievous smile. That white hot curve that made me bite my lip and press my knees together because he flashed it when we were in public and he was dangerously close to doing something naughty, like stroking my thigh beneath the table.

  It had been months since he’d flashed that smile at me, and the moment I cleared my throat, it disappeared. He quickly put his phone to sleep, avoiding my burning glare.

  That smile wasn’t for me.

  The crazy girlfriend voice ran laps in my head, screaming questions I wasn’t sure I wanted the answer to. So I dabbed my mouth with my napkin, lingering until I could pull off a believable grin that let him off the hook.

  “I know work is busy-”

  “My bad, babe,” he rejoined the conversation, popping a bite in his mouth and flashing me a half-hearted thumbs up. “It’s delicious!”

  As we wrapped up the tasting and he looked antsy to get out of there (or have a moment alone to do whatever it was he’d been doing), the baker pulled me aside with a reassuring chuckle. “Don’t take it personal, I see so many couples and the groom is always on his phone, checking the score or counting the minutes until he can blow t
his joint.”

  I laughed with her, pretending like he was just like all those other men who preferred to coast through the wedding prep.

  But I knew Scott.

  And I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was coasting thorough it all because deep down, he didn’t want to marry me.

  *

  I couldn’t stop smiling because my cupcakes were slaying.

  There was so much to see and experience at the Mitchell reception, because Jessie Stone didn’t half ass on anything. The reception had been billed as a ‘Walk Through Love’. The moment the guests stepped off of the yacht and arrived at the private beach that was our oasis for the evening and into the wee hours of the morning, we were transported through Scott and Denise’s fairytale romance.

  We were treated to the full regalia of an Indian wedding the minute our feet touched the sand. The intoxicating lure of incense filled the air as festive drums and singing weaved in and out as dancers performed a number in multicolored saris. Apparently, the bride and groom’s first date was at an Indian restaurant. Servers handed out delicacies that the elite guests picked at, taking microscopic bites and gushing about how fresh and authentic everything was.

  Then they were taken to a tent, the sheer drapes letting in starlight as a DJ spun top 40 hits, complete with the lyrics emblazoned on a big screen for those who’d had enough to drink and were bold enough to try their hand at karaoke. Denise had shared one of her favorite memories, when she’d first said I love you after Scott belted out “...Baby One More Time” when they went out for karaoke in the city.

  The main event was a carefully curated ballroom that Tamara had jokingly said reminded her of Beauty and the Beast with gilded tables and an expansive dance floor, complete with life size photos of the happy couple visiting castles in Europe, one of which Scott had chosen to pop the question.

  It was a little lavish and theatrical for my tastes, but I couldn’t help but get caught up in the bells and whistles and glamor, especially when the statuesque, picture perfect guests, forgot all about diets and waistlines and scarfed down my red velvet cupcakes (Denise’s favorite) like it was their last meal. Many of them even came back for seconds, slipping my business card into their clutches and pockets like it was a dirty secret they couldn’t wait to share.