Her Dueling Daddies

Chapter 1-2

At 10:15 on a Tuesday, the mall parking lot is nearly empty. Which is good, because it means there aren’t many witnesses to my pre-shopping panic attack.

This always happens. The shaking, the cold sweats. I sit in the car, wishing I could just leave. My hangover isn’t helping. I don’t know if the sick feeling in my stomach is from legit queasiness or dread.

My phone lights up with the Darth Vader theme from Star Wars.

“Perfect,” I mutter and answer. “Hey, Auntie Jen.”

“Evangeline,” she trills, and I wince at the sound of my full name. “Have you got a dress?”

“Was just going shopping now.”

“Wonderful!” I hold the phone away from my ear as she prattles at full volume and speed. “Remember, something in black. Black is perfect for you—it’s slimming. Of course, you know that.” She fake laughs. “I know the family expected you to be a bridesmaid but the floral pattern in cream... well you know. Patterns aren’t very flattering on someone even a little overweight. And cameras add ten pounds.”

“Yeah, Auntie Jen, I get it.” I’m a fatty. Not the first time she’s pointed this out.

“It’s just too bad the diet I told you about didn’t go well. Genevieve would’ve loved to have you in the wedding party.”

My cousin Genevieve, the family darling. We were born on the same day but couldn’t be more opposite. She’s perfect. Beauty queen. Homecoming queen. Now she’ll be the first of us to get married. Of course, all my other cousins are younger and boys, but it makes my failure all the more obvious.

It’s not a competition, but it is.

“Don’t worry, I’ll find a dress. If anyone wonders why I’m wearing black to a wedding, I’ll tell them floral prints make me look like a couch.”

“Oh, Evangeline, you’re so funny.” Another fake laugh. Or maybe it’s a real laugh. It sounds super fake. “Remember, black is your color. Bye now.”

She hangs up and I get out of the car, slamming the door. How did my cousin get all the grace, poise, and beauty in our generation, plus a metabolism that could burn through a brick wall? It wouldn’t be so bad if Auntie Jen didn’t consider cellulite worse than a criminal record. It doesn’t matter that I’m generally a decent person. As soon as I outgrew a size four, I was officially the family’s black sheep.

At least black is slimming. Do black sheep look less fat than white ones? Are sheep even fat? Or do they just look that way because of their wool?

I stomp into the giant department store entrance, already wishing I could skip shopping and head straight to the frozen yogurt shop.

“Can I help you?” a saleswoman practically leaps on me.

“Just looking.” I continue ripping through the hanging dresses and the lady retreats from my scowl. After a few minutes, I find two appropriate dresses—black—and ready myself for the dreaded dressing room. Mirrors are never my friend but dressing room mirrors are the worst. I swear they’re all warped in a way that adds inches to my hips. They’ve never failed to leave me disappointed in myself. I end up vowing to go on a crazy diet, which leaves me wracked with hunger pains until I rip into a Häagen-Dazs while ugly crying. Which gives me more reason to hate myself.

And now I’m tearing up in a department store. Pathetic.

My phone rings again and I get a flash of relief at the generic ringtone. Talk about saved by the bell.

The name on the screen isn’t familiar, but my neurons stir at the sight: Bear.

“Hello?”

“Hey, baby.” Deep, rumbly voice, almost a purr. Oh yeah, the memory is coming back. Me, a bar, too much tequila, a guy with biceps big enough to be seen from space.

“Bear?” I croak.

“Yeah, baby. You okay?”

“Um... yes?”

“You didn’t call.”

Call? Was I supposed to—

Ooooh. He asked me to call him.

“Sorry, I... fell asleep. But I did drink water!” I crow. For some reason, I want him to know I obeyed.

“Good girl.” His approval warms me all over.

“Thanks for... taking care of me.”

“No problem.”

“Can I just say... I’m never like that. I never get drunk like that in public.”

“It’s okay, baby. No harm in letting go once in a while.”

“It was more that,” I blurt. “I was having a bad day. My cousin is getting married, and I’m happy for her, but she’s winning at life and I’m not.” As I talk, I cover my face with my free hand. My blush is creeping up from my neck, spreading like a stain. I need to stop. But something about this guy just makes me want to share.

“Why do you say that?” No sign in the deep voice that I’m boring him with my patheticness.

“‘Cause it’s true. We’re the same age. I’ve always been compared to her and I never come out looking good. For example,” I take a deep breath, “She’s a beauty queen and I’m... well, I’m me.”

Silence.

Yeah, this is humiliating. But I’ve given up guys, and it’s not like he’s gonna date me, so it doesn’t matter what I say. “And she’s getting married and I just broke up with my boyfriend.”

“He didn’t sound like a keeper.”

For a moment I’m confused. Did I tell him about my ex? Then last night’s whole conversation comes flooding back and the crimson tide of my blush advances. I’m about to turn bright red in the middle of the department store.

And then it hits me: the thing I’ve been trying to remember. It shines in the daylight with horrific clarity: don’t talk about not being able to orgasm with a man. That’s supposed to be a secret between me and my vibrator.

Damn tequila.

“Jerry was all right.”

“He just didn’t satisfy you.” Bear’s voice seems to get deeper.

“Um.” I can’t believe I overshared to two random guys at a bar. My cheeks are about to spontaneously combust. I duck behind a display lest the saleslady see. “No, he did not.”

“Actually, that’s why I’m calling. Sawyer and I have a proposition for you.”

“Sawyer?”

“The bartender. We’re friends from way back. We’d like to help you, and we think you can help us.”

“Oh... ‘kay.”

“You free for lunch?”

“Um, today?” I glance around. My feet have already taken me towards the department store’s exit. “I could be. I took off work this morning to run an errand.” I take a step and the sliding doors open. Above, a bird wheels lazily in the clear blue sky. Freedom.

“Meet me at the bar at one. I’ll buy.”

“What, like a date?” I cringe. Of course, he didn’t mean it like that. “I mean, I’m super busy today. And you know I’ve sworn off men forever.” I try to joke, but it comes out serious.

Bear is silent. He’s probably wishing he hadn’t called. Gah! Why did I say the ‘d’ word?

“What’s the proposition?” I ask as casually as I can. “I’m curious.”

“I’d rather tell you in person.” His voice is a low rumble.

“Oh? Is it something illegal?”

“No.”

Dammit, nothing I’m saying is coming out right. “What is it? Just tell me.” I detour from the exit and duck behind a shoe display.

“We want to help you orgasm.”

Apparently, I died in the bar last night, because now I’m in heaven. Or hell. Either way, my head has exploded because it takes some time for me to choke out, “Excuse me?”

“Sawyer and I are competitive. We’ve always been, since we met. We try to see who’s the best in everything.”

Now I have no idea what he’s talking about. But I can’t hang up. The memory of his big body hovering protectively over mine is imprinted on me.

And my libido is wide awake and listening.

“We’ve argued for a long time who’s better in bed. And this is our chance to find out. We talked about your situation last night and decided.”

My thoughts are running in circles, but they focus for a second. “You talked about me?”

“Yeah, baby.” Every time he says ‘baby,’ I melt a little bit more. “A woman like you should be satisfied in bed. You’re perfect for our competition.”

“What competition?”

“To see who’s better in bed. We’ll both sleep with you, get you off, and you’ll be the judge.”

I’m in the Twilight Zone. I’m on Candid Camera. In a second, someone’s going to jump out and shout “’Surprise, sucka’!”

I gulp. “Why me?”

“You’re a virgin.”

“What? No, I’m not.”

“You’ve never come with a man before,” he points out.

There’s no oxygen in the store. They really should do something about it. I’m surprised I haven’t passed out.

“Maybe I can’t,” I say casually, as if I’m the sort of person who talks about her s*x life with gorgeous strangers. Which, as of last night, I am.

The deep chuckle rumbles like thunder through the cellphone and stirs up things down below. I clutch a column to keep my knees from giving out. “I like a challenge.”

“Well… okay.”

A pause. “You agree?”

“I…” I have no idea what to say. On the one hand are two hot guys who want to compete to satisfy me in bed. On the other... what the hell is going on? “Are you sure you want me?”

The answer, when it comes, is gentle. “Yeah, baby.”

I can’t argue with that. What would I say? I don’t think I’m that attractive. I have cellulite. Are you sure you want me?

“Just think about it. I’ll call you later,” he says, and hangs up, leaving me opening and closing my mouth like a fish in the middle of the men’s section.