Laura's Solo Honeymoon - The Ice Cream Shop Boy #1 (Erotic Romance) Read online

  Laura's Solo Honeymoon

  The Ice Cream Shop Boy #1 (Erotic Romance)

  © 2012 Mimi Strong

  Description: Laura is nursing a broken heart while on vacation in a seaside resort town. She was supposed to be there on her honeymoon, but she's alone. Two things are making Laura feel better: ice cream, and the young man who serves it to her. Shawn is trying to forget someone too. Laura and Shawn bond over their relationship problems and discover that when they're together, they seem to have no problems at all. Except for his ex, of course.

  Length: 12,500 words, or 50 book pages long. This story was originally released as a stand-alone novelette, but due to reader interest, was extended to a 3-part series. All three stories are now available.

  Spice Level: Erotic. This story contains super-hot sex, M/F. For adults, 18+ only.

  1: The Country Goddess, Herself

  I was hot, and ice cream was on my wish list, the sooner the better.

  I'd been in the sleepy little coastal town for a week. It had been raining five out of the last seven days. Some vacation.

  In life, things don't always work out as intended. Want to make God laugh? Tell him you have a plan.

  Lars and I had booked the trip and the room in the quaint little Bed & Breakfast for our honeymoon, but there I was, alone. Left at the altar. Lars came down with a case of cold feet the morning of our wedding, and I heard from sources both reputable and disreputable that he had a case of hot ass before the day was through. With my bridesmaid. I cried, and I cried some more, and then I stopped crying long enough to get on the plane, alone, and came here.

  Stupid Lars. He could have her; she could have him; I was over them both and wished the lovers the best (through gritted teeth.)

  That day was my last one there, and I was going to live a little, not sulk in my room with a stack of magazines and a bag full of marshmallow-based snack food.

  The sun was out, I was in a fairytale setting full of antique shops, cafes, and all that twee stuff tourists love, and on top of everything, I looked good. All that healthy eating and working out before the wedding had paid off.

  I didn't usually wear such bright colors, but I'd borrowed some samples from work, on the premise of research. That day I donned a form-fitting orange-sherbert-hued stretchy dress, my favorite sandals, and headed out to look for adventure. Or at the very least, ice cream.

  My destination was the old-fashioned-looking ice cream shop next door to the antique store that specialized in wooden rocking chairs. The ice cream was made fresh, locally, and the staff were equally wholesome—two young men with tousled brown hair, possibly brothers. I'd been in while the younger was getting the older one to buy him beer, and had gathered that one was not yet twenty-one. At twenty-seven, I was a little old for either of them, but their sweet-natured flirtations had been as good as the ice cream. I'd been there nearly every day of my brief stay in town, because those boys made me feel like I might be able to love again.

  I walked past the striped awning of the ice cream shop, sneaking a peek, but I lost my nerve to go in and kept walking, on to the antique shop. Inside, surrounded by antiques, the ladies who worked there chatted with me about rocking chairs, and I seriously considering paying to ship one back home. I said I'd think about it, and waved goodbye as I made my way back out the door, the bells on the handle jingling merrily.

  I summoned my courage and stopped in next door for my last ice cream.

  Elvis was playing on the vintage jukebox.

  The ice cream shop was quiet, with no customers but me. The younger brother was the one at work that day, and he stood behind the counter, fastidiously wiping down surfaces, his lean, muscular arms taking my breath away.

  “Just a moment,” he said without looking up.

  “I'm in no hurry.”

  He dropped the cloth in a sink and looked up, a big smile spreading across his face when he saw it was me.

  “You're getting to be a regular,” he said. “You might have to move here, ya know?”

  I smiled coyly back at him. “I'll talk to the-powers-that-be about opening a branch here.”

  He hooked his thumb into the tie of his apron and gazed at me. “Some sort of designer clothing place, right? That's where you work?”

  “You remembered.”

  His gaze swept over my body, down my bright orange dress, lingering on my hips, then back up again. “Is that, uh, dress from your company?”

  “Sure is.”

  “It's memorable. And I liked that other one, with the ...” He wiggled his fingers in front of his chest.

  I blushed, my cheeks hot from the attention, even though it was exactly what I wanted. “The green dress? With the ruffles down the front? I think I wore that yesterday.”

  “Yeah.” Now it was his turn to blush, and he looked down at his feet. “I know most guys don't notice that sort of thing, but—”

  He was cut off by someone coming in the door in a flurry. She stepped right up to the counter, in front of me, as though I wasn't even there.

  He said hello to her and leaned across the counter to kiss her. On the mouth.

  Figures, he'd have a girlfriend.

  As they talked, I wandered over to the wooden counter along the front window and had a look through the local newspaper. The front page news item was about a busted water main.

  A dog barked. I whirled around and saw the source of the barking, a dog inside the girl's purse. The dog had a pink collar on, with rhinestones, so I assumed it was a female. She yipped at me excitedly.

  The girlfriend groaned and dropped the purse on the floor, so the dog could climb out. She ran over to me, wagging her gray, fluffy tail.

  “Hello ...” I knelt down and checked her collar, “Princess?”

  Princess put her little front paws on my knee and licked my face. I laughed and petted her around the ears, making gooey baby talk at her. I'd had a similar dog, my beloved Sascha, bless her soul.

  The girlfriend said, sharply, “Stop it!”

  I startled and pulled away from the dog.

  She said, “Princess, don't lick strangers. We don't know where they've been.”

  I looked up, expecting the girl to say something lighter to me, or to apologize, but she didn't. With narrowed eyes, she gave me a look that was pure malevolence, the exact opposite of the reaction I was used to getting from folks around the small town.

  I stood and turned back to the newspaper, ignoring Princess, and her awful owner, but I was still listening.

  The girl was angry at her boyfriend, and giving him hell about … something.

  He tried to calm her down, saying, “Baby, I swear I overslept. I didn't forget on purpose to piss you off.”

  “Yes you did!” she said, yelling. “You're so selfish, and you do stupid things. You know, Eric never treated me like this. He didn't take me for granted!”

  “Aw, come on, Sharise, let's not bring Eric into this. Now let me make it up to you. Do you want an ice cream? My treat.”

  “Don't play cute with me,” she said angrily. “I don't want a free fucking ice cream. Are you trying to make me fat, so I have a big fat ass and nobody else will fuck me?”

  “Sharise,” he said, bringing his voice down low. “There are people in the store.”

  “Her?”

  I turned back to look at them, in time to catch the girlfriend giving me another hateful glare, and him, the poor guy, looking completely flummoxed. Something told me whatever he'd done, he didn't deserve the treatment he was getting.

  I knew girls like Sharise. She probably had emoti
onal problems, but until she grew up enough to get some help or take responsibility for her own emotions, she was going to take it out on anyone around her, as emotional punching bags.

  Lots of people do this, not just women, or men, and not just young people. Lars had quite the temper when we'd started dating, but I'd tried to show him patience, forgiveness, and understanding, while he worked his way through his issues. For the first few years, I believed him that every time he got angry at me, it was my fault. He blamed me for every failure in his life, and I'd believed him. Over time, he'd softened, and grown to trust me more, but right up until the end, we'd still had terrible fights about … I couldn't even tell you what. Half of the arguments were about whose fault it was we were arguing.

  But I was there to forget Lars, so I tried to put him out of my mind. I picked up the newspaper and pretended to be engrossed in the story about the broken water main.

  I probably should have just left, left them to their privacy, but … I didn't want to.

  The little dog started to bark, agitated that her owner was upset.

  I knew if I walked out, the girl would stay there, reaming out her boyfriend, and worse, I wouldn't get any ice cream. I held my ground, reading my newspaper, though I could feel the girlfriend hating me. Suck it, I thought. I wasn't leaving.

  The girlfriend ranted for a few more minutes, alternating between yelling at him for dating crimes committed over the past several months and yelling at the dog to stop barking. Neither was terribly effective at getting her what she wanted, so, finally, she scooped up the dog and marched out the door in a huff.

  After a moment had passed, I turned back to the guy at the counter. Completely ignoring what had just happened between him and his awful girlfriend, I stuck my hand out and said, “I'm Laura, by the way. We've been talking nearly every day, and I don't think I introduced myself.”

  He broke from his tense posture, like an iceberg melting in the warm sun. He put his hand in mine and gave me a firm handshake. “Nice to meet you, Laura. I'm Shawn.”

  We smiled at each other, still holding hands. He had a stubbly beard, as though he hadn't shaved in a week. His longish, straight brown hair fell down over his ears and across thick brown eyebrows.

  He said, “We have a new lemon cream today. Do you want a taste?”

  I said, “Absolutely.”

  He looked down at our hands, laughed, and let go of mine. “Sorry, I don't know where my manners are.” He crossed over to the cooler, putting glass between us.

  His mannerisms made me believe he might be … thinking we could be compatible.

  I know I was.

  My heart fluttered, and I got this excitement, anticipation of something that was absolutely not going to happen. The guy was younger than me, and … and what?

  I didn't have a husband, or even a boyfriend. I was absolutely free. Free to do what I wanted.

  The thought of all the possibilities before me made my skin pull taut, my nipples harden under the thin fabric of my dress. I should have been demure and crossed my arms over my chest to hide them. That's what I would have normally done, being the reserved person I am.

  I was still staring at Shawn, and noticed his eyes darting down to my nipples, so clearly visible under my dress.

  He took a step further away from me, to the edge of the ice cream cooler, putting more distance between us. I wondered how he was feeling right now, if he was thinking about me, or about that repugnant girl.

  I remembered how I used to feel after arguing with Lars, and how the adrenaline of the fight made me want to hit him with something or … made me agree to make love with him, even though I was still angry. We always had hot sex after a fight, and I felt like I was betraying myself.

  I wondered if Shawn had gotten excited during his fight with his girlfriend, or perhaps if he was excited by me. He kept looking at my nipples, and shyly resisted meeting my gaze.

  “I'll definitely try the new lemon cream,” I said. He grabbed a little plastic spoon, curled up a piece and handed it to me.

  After tasting, I said, “Zesty.”

  “Real lemon zest,” he said, then he handed me another tiny scoop with pink ice cream. “Wild cherry,” he said.

  I took the spoon with my other free hand and tasted. “Wow, that's tart.”

  He chuckled. “That batch could have used more sugar.” He scooped up what looked like chocolate and held it out over top of the cooler.

  I still had a little lemon and cherry on the two scoops I was holding, as I was taking my time. “Can't,” I said. “Hands are full.”

  He got a devilish look in his eyes and leaned over the cooler toward me. “Open wide,” he said.

  He made eye contact just as the chocolate ice cream went into my mouth.

  “Mm,” I said.

  He slowly withdrew the plastic spoon. “That's my favorite,” he said, no longer shy about making eye contact.

  “I can see why.” I looked down at the vats of ice cream in the cooler. Funny, I didn't want any of them. I didn't want ice cream at all. I wanted Shawn. I wanted him to put his hands on me, kiss me, press his body into mine. I wanted to slip my hand down the front of his jeans and make him forget all about that nasty fight he'd had with his girlfriend.

  His voice sounded deep and thick as he said, “Do you know what you want?”

  I looked up at him, saw the lust in his eyes, and flat-out asked him, “What time are you off work?”

  Without hesitation, he said, “Seven.”

  “Then I'll come back at seven.”

  “Seven-fifteen,” he said.

  I nodded, then turned, and left.

  I walked down the street, and when I was about a block away, I swear I finally took my first normal breath. The funny thing was, I hadn't even gotten any ice cream, except for the three tastes!

  Instead of further shopping, I scurried back to the B&B, back to the privacy of my room, where I gave myself a good talking-to about what was going on.

  First of all, I was not into casual sex. I'd only been with one man, Lars. Until quite recently, I'd assumed I would be with him forever, and his penis would be the only one I'd ever see, the only one I'd ever touch.

  But then he'd dumped me, in front of all our friends and family. And I was free.

  Now it was like … like life was an ice cream shop, with all these flavors, only the flavors were men, not ice cream. I didn't have to commit to one flavor for the rest of my life. With his fair skin, Shawn was vanilla. Lars was a mocha, but I could even have chocolate, if I wanted, and I was pretty sure I did. I wanted to try all the flavors.

  Lying on the floral-print bedspread in the twee room full of antiques, in the room I was supposed to be having honeymoon sex in with my new husband, I thought about entertaining a different man.

  “Shawn,” I said, enjoying the sound of his name on my lips.

  Then I giggled like a teenager and buried my face in the pillow.

  Next, also like a teenager, I phoned my best girlfriend Renee (my maid of honor, not my skank of a bridesmaid who was now with that scumbag Lars) and told her everything.

  Renee squealed and told me, “Go for it! Eat that ice cream!”

  Of course I didn't need her permission, but it was still nice to have.

  I watched TV in my room and read fashion magazines to pass the time before going to meet Shawn. The room itself was adorable and very soothing, with its pale pink walls. I wished I had the courage to paint my apartment back home, brightening up the boring apartment-beige walls. I wondered if my neighbor Charles had brushes I could borrow.

  I checked the time again, but it still wasn't seven.

  I wasn't quite full of marshmallows and candy, so I decided to have a light dinner, quite early, in the B&B's dining room.

  As I ate, alone, I started to feel strange about going to meet Shawn, this young guy I didn't know. My uneasiness only grew as I ate my dinner, by myself. I was a revolting person, unlovable, and that was why Lars had been cheating
on me. Going on a date with some guy, some boy, way younger than me was only going to make me feel worse about myself.

  I resolved myself to picking up one of the dog-eared paperbacks in the lounge and taking it up to my room as soon as I was finished eating.

  Something very unlike me had taken over when I'd flirted with Shawn earlier that day. Now, I had to forget all about him and his scruffy unshaven face, and the next day I would pack my suitcase and skulk out of town, and never come back.

  A man said, “May we join you?”

  I looked up to see the older gay couple who owned the B&B, hovering around my table.

  “Sure guys,” I said, and they joined me, each with a glass of red wine and rosy cheeks.

  “We were just talking about our favorite person,” one of them said.

  “And who is that?”

  “Dolly Parton.”

  This made me giggle, and I thought they were having me on, but they were absolutely serious. I asked them more about their love for Dolly, and they told me about their last trip to Dollywood.

  After I finished my salad and chicken, I followed them up to the attic, to the topmost room of the B&B, where they kept their Dolly Parton memorabilia.

  The room was a totally campy, absolutely fabulous, over-the-top shrine to the busty country singer.

  “You really love her,” I said as I admired the treasures they'd collected over the years: dresses, jewelry from charity auctions, signed photographs, and even one of her wigs. “Why do you love her so much?”

  The two fellows looked at each other, then laughed. One of them said, “She's the embodiment of love. She's a modern-day goddess, like Aphrodite, but real.”

  The bearded one, Al, whacked his partner playfully on the arm. “Don't be corny. Laura here will think we're silly.”

  The fellow with the smooth head and face, Bryan, said to me, “Would you like to try on Dolly's wig and her dress? It has magical properties.”

  I laughed and backed away.

  Al said, “It starts to work right away. The magic. Only takes a few minutes. Come on, be a sport, you're on vacation!”

  Bryan said, “You can kiss your broken heart goodbye.”