Big Dick Energy: A Meet-Cute Novel Read online

Laughing had garnished us plenty of attention; kissing over the table had catapulted the stares to the next level. Now that Cat had yelled out “dick” we’d hit the trifecta.

  “I’ve got the biggest dick,” I said.

  “Once more with some feeling.”

  “My dick’s so big that I gotta reel it up like a firehose,” I shouted. It might defeat the purpose, but I was also glad another table had gotten rowdy at the same time.

  “Ew, but hell, yeah!” Cat lifted her hand, and I high-fived it. “And that doesn’t mean you’re not feminine or that you have to wear an ugly, untailored pants suit.

  Ellie waggled her finger. “Nuh-huh. You put on one of your sexy pencil skirts that hugs your ass and makes everyone around you wanna be fabric. Prove to them you’ve got more than a banging body; you also have an intelligent mind that could crush their little peanut brains.” She lifted one of the nuts she’d snagged from the bar on the way in and fisted it.

  Then she opened her hand, so the dust and peanut bits fell to the table. With a smirk, she brushed it aside as if it were nothing. Then immediately gathered the mess up in a napkin, as we weren’t animals who thought wait staff should clean up after us.

  “If you’re wearing heels, all the better to do some ball crushing,” Cat said, stomping her heeled foot to the floor for emphasis. “In flats, you show them you can go faster, harder—”

  “Is anyone else getting turned on?” I asked, waving a hand in front of my face, and the gals snorted.

  “You’re a total boss babe; you just gotta embrace it.” Hands planted on the table, Cat lifted herself a few inches off her chair and put on the game face she used in the courtroom. “You glare and stand your ground. And anytime some dude thinks he can talk over you, you hold up your hand, Kamala Harris the shit out of them, and say I’m speaking.”

  “I’ll toast to that,” I said, lifting my glass. “You’re right—the both of you. I’m not going to sit here and whine about what I can’t control. I’m going to reach for that glass ceiling and slam my fist through it like so many amazing women have done before me.”

  The clink of our glasses filled the air, and I downed the last of my margarita. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna get a stronger drink so I can cling to this power vibe and make a plan for Monday.”

  “Less planning, more conviction behind what you’ve already planned,” Cat said, and that was all fine and well, but we both knew she researched like a mad woman before court.

  As I turned to walk away, Ellie smacked me on the ass, and I full on swaggered up the bar and lifted a finger. Exuding confidence was obviously working, as one of the big and beefy dudes slinging drinks rushed right over.

  “I’ll have a seven and seven tall with a lime.” I leaned over the bar and shot the musclebound booze-slinger my most confident grin. “You know what? Make it a double.”

  2

  Archer

  The blonde with the pouty lips caught my eye the instant I walked into Paddy’s Gaslamp Pub. Honestly, I had trouble not starting, and I certainly wasn’t alone. I nearly sent over a drink, but admittedly, I would’ve never guessed whiskey and 7-Up.

  I also didn’t want to interrupt the boisterous celebration she and her friends were having, complete with hugging over the table and cheek kissing, and inwardly my brain was screaming for them to fall together and… I shook away the fantasy, because the one who’d be kissing this woman’s lips tonight would be me.

  Long story short, I bided my time and now was the opening I’d been waiting for.

  Snagging the glass with the remains of my jack and Coke, I scooted down two stools, planting myself next to her curvy hip, and told the bartender to add her drink to my tab. Then I extended my palm and locked eyes with her. “Archer. And you are…?”

  “Able to pay for my drinks myself,” she said with an unimpressed expression on her face, not even bothering to glance my way. Yeah, she was a knock-out, but she’d also exuded a bubbly energy that left me thinking she was the sweet type. Some guys liked their woman on the volatile side, but in high school I hadn’t known the difference, and I wasn’t down for screaming matches and mood swings anymore—I’d had plenty of that at home. Taylor Swift got it wrong when she said boys only wanted love if it was torture.

  Holy shit, I just made a Taylor Swift reference. At least it’d stayed in my head, or I would’ve had to kick my own ass, but it was official: Izzie was slowly ruining me, one blasted track at a time.

  I’d text my tween halfsister and tell her so, but she’d only celebrate and think I was giving in, the way I had earlier today when I’d played chauffer to her and her giggling gaggle of friends.

  “I didn’t mean to offend. You just caught my eye from across the room. I figured I’d offer to buy your drink so you and your friends could continue entertaining us all with your celebration.”

  At that, she fully turned, fire in her eyes. It flickered for a moment, so I shot her my most winning smile. For some reason that fueled the anger, the muscles in her jaw tightening instead of relaxing. “Talk about egotistical. As if everything we do is for men’s entertainment. Meanwhile you line up at the bar and gape, imaging you have a chance at landing in the middle of our friendship sandwich.”

  She wasn’t totally off base, but I knew better than to admit that. One thing was for sure—I definitely overestimated the nice. Then again, she probably got hit on all the time, and I’d thrown out the bare minimum. In my defense, the past few days I’d been surrounded by so much girly shit I was in danger of losing my Y chromosome in all the pink. “While your friends seem fun, I’m more interested in you.”

  The woman rolled her ultra-blue eyes. “Do those types of lines usually work for you?”

  “Yes,” I said, one hundred percent genuine, too. Rusty or not, I’d never bombed this hard.

  “Typical.” She shook her head. “Minimal effort and you expect maximum results. Well, you picked the wrong girl tonight, buddy.”

  That was becoming glaringly obvious.

  A gruff voice filtered through my brain, one that I hadn’t heard in a while. Winning isn’t everything. It’s the only thing. Dad loved Vince Lombardi and took his football quotes as parenting advice, both on and off the field. I’d always been competitive to a fault, but it was who I was and how I’d gotten to where I was. It irked me to lose, and even now my skin stretched too tight.

  Not so much from the woman’s rejection, but because I’d read the situation so wrong. Half of winning was being strategic about shooting your shot.

  The bartender returned with her drink. I was no stranger to the gym—like I said, athlete through and through—but I couldn’t compete with Mr. Roids. Luckily, she seemed as uninterested in him as she did in me.

  Wait. That last part wasn’t lucky, and how many drinks had I downed between talking to the manager and giving up on my buddy’s arrival? We hadn’t seen one another in a handful of years and had planned to meet up after signing some paperwork and discussing the upcoming project with my new boss. But after some blow up with his fiancée, my buddy texted to say he’d be unable to make it, and that was a good reminder of why it didn’t matter if Blondie wanted to leave alone. I already had two needy females to attend to this month—make that three counting the yappy Yorkie that ruled the roost.

  “Well, if you’re sure you don’t want to take a load off…” I tilted my head toward the stool at her side.

  She eyed the worn vinyl, inspecting it as if it might be made of spiders. So that was a no. With that over and done, I shrugged a shoulder and tipped back my drink. “Fair enough. Can’t blame me for trying. That way I could pull out my flashy-thingy, make you forget everything I’ve said, and start over.”

  Okay, the rambling also meant I should zip my lip, cut myself off, and call it a night.

  I did a double take when no snarky comment came from the woman at my side, and fuck me, one corner of her mouth was lifted in… an almost smile? She brought her thumbnail to her mouth and bit at it, an
d just like that, I was sucked into her orbit all over again. “Is this the part where you admit you’re used to tracking down aliens, so you’ve forgotten how to talk to women?”

  I threw my hand to my chest as if she’d wounded me. To be honest, my ego was twitching like a squashed bug, one last leg kicking in case it did any good. “More like I thought you might be an alien.”

  A startled sounding hah burst out of her, and with the other half of her mouth getting in on the smile, I almost gave up all pretenses of pride to fish for another line to lure her in. Not that it’d work with someone so hellbent on sass. “FYI, if I see a grumpy dude in a black suit, I’m telling him you’re abusing your flashy thingy.”

  I doubted responding that I’d like her to abuse my flashy thingy would earn me any points, although it might be fun to see those big eyes ignite again. Maybe I did have a bit of a hard on for unpredictable women after all.

  “Goodbye, Archer. Perhaps you’ll have more luck with the next woman who comes along. If I wasn’t so jaded…” She shook her head, as if she regretted adding that last part, and then she scooped up her drink and practically sprinted to her table.

  Was that an opening?

  I sure as hell wanted to take it as one. Women who ignited that zing of a challenge with witty retorts didn’t come along every day. Not to mention I was going to be in San Diego for at least a month, and Blondie would be a great way to kill some time.

  Considering the long list of tasks Mom had left me to deal with while she was out gallivanting with her husband, I needed to fit in some fun in order to remain sane. Already she’d mentioned how excited she was to learn tantric yoga in its birthplace of India, and how it’d allow her and Andre to do more in the bedroom.

  My gag reflex kicked in, and I considered ordering another drink in an attempt to destroy any and all conversations involving the man seventeen years my mother’s junior. Oversharing was an understatement when it came to Mom. Then again, Dad had gone the beating a dead horse route, never finding a single nice thing to say about his ex-wife after their divorce.

  Or before it, honestly. I’d felt like the white flag in the middle of a tug of rope until Izzie had come along. Mom loosened her grip after that. Which was for the best, as anytime I returned from my visits with her, Dad would comment on how soft she made me.

  I signaled for the bill, but the bartender ignored me to pour drinks for the ladies. With the tie I’d thrown on before my meeting with Doug Bishop, I probably looked more like an uptight banker than someone who occasionally played the guitar and paid his excess forward, so I tried not to take the slight personally.

  Maybe that’s why Blondie wasn’t impressed. I should’ve ditched the tie and undone a few buttons. Since I’d waited tables to put myself through college, I would still leave a hefty tip, and not just because I was hoping to get in good with the manager. With any luck—and after demonstrating my talents—she was going to help me get my other fix while I was in town.

  Finally, the guy dropped my bill in front of me. I tossed a pile of bills on top of the plastic tray and called, “Keep the change.”

  “Wait up,” the bartender said. “Your gal-pal left her card. I wouldn’t have wasted my time had I known she was with you.”

  Before I could tell him that the woman was hardly my gal or my pal, he was off to pour drinks for the coed flashing her cleavage. Unlike my mom, I didn’t like them inappropriately young and needy. Still, it’d been long enough since I’d seen breasts in real life that if I didn’t look away, they’d go all wavy, like a mirage in the desert when water was all you could think about.

  I glanced over at Blondie and her friends and wondered about her cleavage for longer than I cared to admit. I thought about calling over the manager to do the deed for me—delivering the card, not sizing up Blondie’s breasts.

  That’d call attention to the bartender and the security breach, though. Somehow, she’d declared me the douchebag when the bartender called pouring her a drink a waste and left me with her card.

  Don’t look, I told myself, but down my gaze went to the name on the bottom. Penelope Jones. That suits her.

  With a sigh, I started toward her table. I supposed in places like this, where dudes were stacked four deep, women did feel a bit like goldfish in a glass bowl, always on display. No doubt Penelope Jones got hit on constantly, and that not many of those men followed up or cared to get to know her.

  Not that I’d been going for a super deep connection myself.

  Being the temporary custodian of a twelve-year-old girl was opening my eyes to all sorts of things.

  Things I would’ve rather remained blind to, as I wasn’t interested in complications. Again, I’d had enough of that growing up. The only thing I liked to pour labor into was my work. When it came to designing buildings, the more intricate the better, and I couldn’t wait till Monday when I discovered more about the type of complex I’d always dreamed of adding to my resume. Then I’d win over the client and the project, and that’d be that.

  With a sigh, I raked my hand through my hair, mussing it so the longer strands would stand out, and strode toward Blondie and her friends. Before I arrived at the table, it’d be a good idea to decide whether I should casually drop off the card or look at this as the universe granting me a second chance.

  3

  Penelope

  “Oh no, that’s him.” I put my hand up to the side of my face, determined to avoid eye contact at all costs with the man from the bar. I’d snarked at him, high on all the big dick energy talk, before getting a good look at him. It’d been hard to remain firm once I’d gotten an eye-full of his collared shirt and tie. He had the sexy eye crinkles and hint of scruff, and for a moment, my tongue had tripped over itself as I’d struggled to come up with a proper response… one that didn’t involve inviting him to go ahead and take me right over the bar.

  While my nice girl instincts had kept me from saying a lot of stuff I wanted to, it at least had my back when it came to filtering inappropriate responses. As for the awkward comments that burst out of me, not so much.

  It’d taken a lot of fake-it-till-I-made-it confidence to stroll away, and there was no way I wouldn’t mess up the upper hand I might’ve gained with another exchange. Not that I needed the upper hand when it came to a guy I’d never see again.

  “I told you,” Catalina said, her voice as firm as my growing lady boner. Didn’t it remember guys that cocky would only appease it for a moment or two? Then they wouldn’t call, and I’d feel shitty, which would hinder my main goal of proving to my boss I was the woman for the soccer complex job. “You did nothing wrong.”

  I winced and chewed on my thumbnail, a bad habit I was attempting to break myself of—tomorrow, maybe. “I feel like I was too harsh.”

  “Like with the hairdresser who argued with you over how you wanted your hair?” Ellie skewered the last olive in her drink. She’d chewed on her plastic sword to the point I was surprised it still stabbed. “Or like with Ron, when you called him a selfish jerk in front of two people at your office and thought that counted as handing his ass to him?”

  I daggered a glare at my friends. “It’s hard for me, remember? I’m pretty sure ‘I’m sorry’ was my first sentence.”

  “Another thing you need to stop saying. Do you think guys with big dicks apologize?”

  “They don’t even apologize when they act like big dicks,” Ellie said, and then she widened her eyes and diverted her gaze to our empty basket of French fries, studying the grease splattered paper as though it contained profound literature. “He’s definitely coming over.”

  Catalina smacked her palms on the table, snagging my attention before I gave in to my urge to check out Archer, the deliverer of the funny Men in Black joke. “Don’t you dare apologize, Pen. Any guy who thinks he deserves your time is raising a red flag, and you’ve ignored those for way too long. The fact that he’s coming over here even though you rejected his advances only proves my point.

  Al
l three of us straightened as Archer approached, and I cursed whoever made him so damn handsome. Broad shoulders and the scruff that emphasized his chiseled jaw showed a hint of strawberry blond among the sandy brown that matched his hair. He was taller than I realized, on account of that whole being-seated thing, and as I took in his frame, sizing him up in the six-foot-plus territory, my teeth sank into my lower lip of their own accord.

  Tall guys were my kryptonite. Particularly charming ones with divots in their cheeks I longed to poke my finger into.

  Be strong, Penny. Be… whatever the opposite of kryptonite is.

  Superman, I guess, and those tights make it clear that the man-of-steel is definitely hung.

  “Hey, so I’m sure you remember me,” Archer said, and that fortified my resolve better than my superhero musings. He’d come over for round two just to tell me how memorable he was? Ugh.

  “Look, I don’t know how I can be any clearer.” I ran my finger over the thick-rimmed glass in front of me, my gaze focused on it instead of his face, until Cat kicked my shin under the table.

  “Ouch,” I said, bending to rub it, and now Archer was peering down my beaded tank top. He quickly glanced away, and I wondered how he’d react if I just stared at his crotch.

  Which led to me doing just that, and holy shit. Either the shadows and dim lighting were playing tricks on me, or… Well, it was time to practice pretending I had the bigger dick. The scene in Revenge of the Sith popped into my head, the one where drool-worthy Ewan McObi-Wan Kenobi told whiney Anankin he had the higher ground, as if that was all there ever was to a fight. Then the future Darth Vader told his mentor he was underestimating his power.

  All things I’d never ever tell Catalina I used for inspiration, because for some reason she refused to understand how amazing the Star Wars franchise was. We’d fought over it once in college and for our friendship’s sake, had vowed to never speak of it again.