Hot Pickle: A Best Friend's Sister Romantic Comedy Read online

  Her elbow almost brushes against it, so I make a show of pinning the towel in place, pushing my raging cock flat against the leg she already checked.

  Jesus. What is with my body and this woman?

  “So, stand up,” she says. “I need to get the back of your thighs.”

  I breathe easier now that she’s behind me. Her hands find something behind my knee and the loofa works again.

  The wisps of her hair tickle my bare ass, and the fantasies roll up again. Her lips against my skin, kissing her way around. Those gorgeous eyes lifting to look up at me.

  Fuck. I’m full-mast again.

  “I’m going to spray you in a second, so you will need to set the towel aside.”

  Already? I have to get this sucker down.

  Come on. I grasp for anything to cool my jets. Spoiled meat. Toe jam. Roadkill.

  She stands behind me. “I’m ready for the first coat. We’re going to move over to the tent to catch the spray.” She walks to a corner of the room where a pop-up tent, similar to the one at Ride ‘em Shiny, is set up. She picks up a wand attached to a steel canister.

  Crap.

  I should admit it.

  So, I will.

  “It’s happening again.”

  The wand stills. “What is?”

  “Same as last time.”

  “Oh.” Her eyebrows arch.

  “Should I just…go?”

  Camryn taps the wand against her palm, her head tilted. The towel hides me, but with every motion she makes, I can feel my dick jump, whacking against my terry cloth.

  I’m a teenage boy, I swear.

  “We’ll have to prep all over again if you leave,” she says.

  “I’m glad to pay twice. I have no idea why I’m so out of control around you.”

  She bites back a smile. “You mean this doesn’t happen often?”

  I shake my head. “Not since I was sixteen.”

  “That must have been a very difficult high school experience.”

  “It wasn’t — oh, hell. I don’t know.” This is fucking ridiculous. I want to tell my cock to knock it off, but it seems to be enjoying this conversation and strains to get a better listen.

  “What will get you out of it?” she asks.

  My vision dances with possibilities. Her mouth. Her hand. Her body. God. Now it’s worse. My voice is strangled when I ask, “What do you mean?”

  “How did you get rid of it last weekend?”

  “You left.”

  Her mouth drops open for a moment. “Should I leave?”

  “You’ll just come back in again.”

  She glances around. “I don’t think I’m that hot.”

  I want to tell her exactly how hot she is, but I know all my blood flow is in the wrong head, so I keep my mouth shut.

  “Why don’t you take five behind the screen,” she suggests. “See if you can pull it together.”

  I nod. I don’t have any better ideas. As much as I want her to be my tanning artist, it seems having her hands on me is way too much.

  She sets her wand down. “Let me know when you’re ready.”

  I hold the towel in front of me, but I haven’t taken two steps toward the corner when my damn foot catches on the corner of it, and just like that, the towel hits the floor.

  And there we are, standing at attention.

  “Shit.” It’s all I can think to say.

  But then I add, “Sorry.” I reach down for the towel.

  I don’t even want to look at her, but when I do, she’s covering a smile with her hand. I can see it in her eyes.

  “It’s fine,” she says.

  “I feel like it’s an unsolicited dick pic.”

  A giggle escapes. “Even if you had worn your trunks, you’d be boinking out of here like a hot dog on the run.”

  I let out a long breath. Her humor is helping. I’m the one with the uncontrolled body parts.

  “I guess it’s too late for the modesty pouch?”

  “I’m not sure you’d fit. But let me grab one for when you’re ready. The spray isn’t toxic, but I prefer not to get it directly on your…you know.”

  She heads to a cabinet and passes me a small stretchy thing that reminds me of the pantyhose Grammy Alma used to hang over her shower rod.

  That’s calming me down.

  I step behind the screen, cursing my damn cock.

  What the hell is wrong with you?

  It seems to say, “Sorry, but she’s fuck-all hot.”

  I grip the towel in my hands. I have to get over this.

  Camryn calls out, “Don’t worry about the time. You’re the end of my day. Would you like some water?”

  Maybe to dunk this cock in.

  “No, thank you. So, what happens next?” I ask. Stalling, really.

  “We go to the tent. I work quickly so I can apply an even base,” she says, and it’s as if we aren’t discussing my fully erect cock right here in her living room. “You’ll face away and hold a lat spread so we can get an even coat.”

  She rambles on about dry times and peak color.

  And I get it.

  She’s not interested in me as a man.

  Or my dick, as a fuck toy.

  I’m just a client.

  She’s a professional.

  In fact, I’m probably handling it like a damn amateur.

  And there we go, all the way down.

  I stretch the bit of fabric over my junk and step out.

  “Oh, good,” she says, careful to keep her eyes up here.

  I move to the tent, and soon she’s spraying me like I’m nothing more than another mound of muscle to decorate.

  My reaction to her obviously isn’t reciprocated.

  And apparently, her ability to resist me isn’t nearly so hard.

  10

  Camryn

  Oh my God, that cock.

  Ninety percent of me is on task, evenly spraying tanning solution across Max’s naked back.

  The rest of me is absolutely dying.

  I may be stoic on the outside, but inside I’m on fire.

  I want to take pictures, make a life-size print, staple it to my ceiling over my bed so I can see him first thing each morning.

  God, I’ve got it bad, bad, bad.

  I release the nozzle to kill the spray. “Turn,” I tell Max. He has to face me now.

  I take care to only look at what I’m spraying, but of course, I have to make my way down.

  Of course, he’s back in control and covered up by the stretchy bit of nylon.

  I’m not sure if I’m relieved or disappointed. I mean, if he can’t keep it in his pants, like, literally, then he probably shouldn’t be my client. It’s a liability, not that I’d put him on the rack for sexual harassment or anything. But because a random hard-on isn’t something he should be worrying about right before going on stage.

  So, it’s good he got it controlled.

  We’re good.

  I finish out the coat.

  “I’m going to let you dry in privacy while I eat my sandwich,” I tell him, even though I’d rather stare at him the whole time.

  I tuck the wand away and hurry ahead to move the stool.

  Above the tarp, the oversized arms of the fan, a custom install I did myself, whir lazily, wafting a nice, even breeze on my face.

  I needed that.

  When I turn, Max still waits in the tent. I give him a quick nod and head off to the kitchen.

  By the time I return to my living room, Max is back behind the screen. I busy myself with picking up the tarp and towels, setting aside the things that will need to be washed and putting away the bottles of moisturizer and oil.

  I can’t possibly tan him for several more days, and I wrack my brain for a way to see him again before then.

  I should probably be a modern woman and ask him out. But something about the awkwardness of our encounters, plus our client relationship, make me hesitate.

  There’s also the not-so-small matter of my br
other.

  Max steps out from behind the screen. “What should I do with the…”

  “Keep it for next time,” I say quickly.

  He nods and sticks the modesty pouch in a pocket.

  This draws my gaze to the shiny red shorts.

  All is well down there.

  I’m almost disappointed.

  “I should see you tomorrow,” I blurt before my sense of caution can stop me.

  One of those devastating brows arches. “Really?”

  Hell. I have to think fast. My words rush out like lemmings falling off a cliff. “I want to see how this color looks on you. I can adjust the shade as we get closer. I had to guess.”

  He nods slowly. “I could come by tomorrow night. Unless you want to drop by the deli and see what it looks like in natural light.”

  I want to say both but check myself. We don’t need his employees to talk. And if Franklin ever goes there, and someone says something, we’re doomed.

  “It won’t get dark until after eight. Maybe meet at a park?”

  He nods. “It’s a date. I mean, a plan. I’ll bring sandwiches. I don’t want you to get sick of veggie, though. Is there something else you would like to try?”

  “Surprise me,” I say.

  “Are you vegetarian?”

  “Yes. No. I mean, I generally eat vegetarian, but I’m not opposed to meat.” Even the word meat makes my cheeks heat up.

  Guys, I’m a mess.

  Another quick nod. “I’m sure I can whip up something especially for you. So, what do I owe you?”

  I try to wave him off, but his face darkens. “I’m not going to take advantage of you.”

  “You’re not. To be honest, you probably shouldn’t have had your first tan for a few more days. But this is a very important meet. You are going to be new and I want to make sure you’re perfect.”

  And I desperately wanted to see you again, I add silently.

  “I’m sure it was good for you to straighten out my mess from Saturday anyway,” he says.

  “That, too.”

  “But I will be paying for the tans.” His voice is firm.

  “Absolutely. And I’m stupidly expensive. So, you better sell a lot of sandwiches tomorrow.”

  He grins at that. “Well worth it. I’ll see you tomorrow, then. The park at the corner two blocks past the deli?”

  “Sounds perfect. Don’t worry if you run late.”

  I walk him to the door. It could be my imagination, but I think we’re both hesitating.

  He’s so close that if I had a stepladder, I could lean in and kiss him.

  But I do not have a stepladder. And I should not kiss him.

  I hardly know him. This is only the third time we’ve crossed paths.

  But as we bid each other yet another farewell, and this time he walks outside the door, I think to myself, maybe not today. Or tomorrow.

  But someday soon…

  I will be kissing this man.

  And I can’t wait.

  11

  Max

  When I walk into Buster’s Gym the next morning, my mind is on Camryn.

  Buster himself stands by the check-in desk, greeting everybody. He’s sixty, tall, and built, his shiny bald head a fixture at his gym. He doesn’t have a list or an electronic scan for his members. He knows us all by name.

  “Franklin’s warming up,” Buster says. “And it sounds like we may be putting someone else’s name over the front door before long. Never had a winning bodybuilder here.”

  “I wouldn’t count on that,” I say. “Beginner’s luck.”

  Buster shakes his head. “No such thing. It’s all preparation and performance.”

  “I guess we’ll find out.” I cross the tiny entryway and poke my head into the weight room.

  Franklin sits on a bench doing bicep curls. He spots me, and I point behind me. “Let me drop off my stuff.”

  He nods in acknowledgment and turns back to his weights.

  The gym is busy at this time in the morning. I’m letting the deli crew open up, so I can get in a good, long workout. I’m buoyed by the thought of seeing Camryn later today. But I’m also conflicted because neither of us has told Franklin that we’ve seen each other again. Twice.

  It shouldn’t be a big deal. She’s a service provider, and I’m a customer. After all, Franklin himself put us together.

  But still. I know I’m hesitating.

  I shove my bag in a locker. When I slam it closed and spin the combination, I decide I’ll mention Camryn to him casually, in passing. It won’t stand out as anything important. But it’ll be off my back.

  When I return to the weight room, Franklin’s already stacking weights on the bench press bar so we can spot each other. He’s lucky to have found an open rack. The room is crowded, and the accordion door stretched across the opening to the annex means a member of the McClure team, all MMA champions, is working out inside. Their family frequently has closed workouts when someone’s prepping for a match.

  I try to imagine Buster taking down the sign that announces these famous fighters work out here and replacing it with my ordinary mug. Ridiculous. Bodybuilders don’t command the fame that fighters do. They’re on pay-per-view, after all. Even our biggest events at the international level are only promoted in snippets shown on sports channels.

  “Prepping a warm-up stack,” Franklin says. He’s about to grab another plate when he pauses and squints his eye at me. “I swear you’re darker than yesterday.”

  He’s given me an opening, so I take it. “Camryn’s touching me up to make sure everything’s even for the final coats. I don’t want to make the same mistake I did last time.”

  I don’t expect his reaction whatsoever.

  He slams the plate down with a clang.

  When he turns to me, his expression is nothing like I’ve seen before. Pure, unadulterated fury.

  “Do you mean to say you went over to her apartment without telling me?”

  Shit. He’s on me like a vulture on roadkill. There’s something more than what he told me, some rogue asshole coming onto her last year. Or the ex who broke her heart.

  They can’t be all that close. I lived with this dude for two years in college, and I’ve worked out with him for the last sixteen months. Camryn hasn’t gotten more than a passing mention.

  But I have to bring him down. He looks like he’s going to pop a vein in his forehead.

  “Wasn’t aware I needed permission. She let me know she should buff out all the extra crap she had to put on me to fix the Ride ‘Em Shiny disaster.”

  “And neither of you thought to tell me about this.” His face is mottled red to the roots of his hair, like he’s been sprinting in the heat.

  Damn. He needs to chill. “It was no big deal. Like twenty minutes of quick fixing stuff up. She’s a pro, dude. What’s your problem?”

  I say this as casually as I can, although inside I’m seething. What the hell does he think is happening between me and Cam?

  He holds my eyes for several long beats. I remain relaxed and slightly inquisitive as I return the stare.

  After a moment, he picks the plate back up and slides it on the end of the bar. “I like to know these things,” he says. “There are some real dicks in our business.”

  He passes me a plate, and I add it to the other side. “Well, I’m assuming I’m not one of them.”

  He moves into place behind the bar, and I lie back on the bench.

  His face, bright from the confrontation, hovers over mine. I’m not sure he’s calmed down yet.

  I slide my hands into place, but I don’t apply any muscle to the bar. Not yet. “Seriously, Franklin. She saved my ass, and I wanted to throw a little business her way. That’s it.”

  It’s not a lie. Even if I did want more, Camryn didn’t appear to have any interest in me beyond my worth to her as a client.

  Franklin positions himself close to the bar. “You should know she’s looking for some promising prospect to sin
k her claws into. She’s tired of the low-level scene and wants to go along for somebody’s ride.” His voice is low, like every word is a threat.

  “Good for her,” I say.

  “Don’t think that anything she does isn’t calculated toward getting her where she wants to be in her career.”

  This is a hell of a thing for him to say about family.

  “All that’s irrelevant to me,” I say. “I’m only trying to make sure I have a decent tan for the next competition. And we better get to work, or I won’t get it done before I have to go slap meat on sandwich bread, which is my real life’s calling.”

  My self-deprecation seems to work, because his face relaxes. He nods at me to lift.

  I jerk the bar from the rack and bring it to my chest. It’s only the warm-up weight, so I easily pump my reps and rack it.

  Franklin adds weight to both sides. “She’s been through some real shit. I watch out for her.”

  “It’s good she has you around,” I say carefully. I’ve never known Franklin to be anything but a training partner and a mostly absent roommate. Thinking back on other difficult moments, confrontations when things would inevitably go wrong between young, stupid guys all living together, Franklin was often swift to anger.

  I’d never gotten on his bad side before.

  Not that I am now. Not yet. I glance at the weights and lie down again. “You already added the fifty.”

  “You should push,” he says. “We want you clean and cut for next weekend.”

  We usually work up to this weight, but I lift it easily and balance the bar.

  Ten reps of this are something I definitely feel. I fumble a bit as I rack the weight. But I’m glad we’re talking normally again. “I should probably figure out the posedown part. I wasn’t ready for it.”

  “True. Your lack of confidence worked for you as a first-timer, but it won’t where you’re headed next.”

  Franklin adds twenty-five more pounds to each side. This creates a new high weight for me.

  He’s trying to make a point.

  I lie back down on the bench.

  “I’ll call Amy and get more lessons in before the meet.”

  Franklin moves into position. “That’s a plan. You got this opportunity fast. Don’t blow it.”