TWO WEEKS LATER...

“Cute kid, congratulations,” Trent repeated while Curt swiped through another of at least fifty photos of his newborn son on his phone.

“Thanks,” he said grinning proudly. Having come to the end of the camera roll, he glanced up. He must have seen a glazed over look in Trent’s eyes—fifty pictures of a sleeping infant would do that to anyone—because he shook his head and tucked his phone into his pocket. “Sorry for being that guy and boring you half to death, but after two girls, I finally got my boy. Now me and Missy can close the baby-making shop.”

Trent made a snipping motion with his fingers. “Who’s going under the knife, you or Missy?”

Curt grimaced, both hands protectively cupping his crotch. “Not me! I’ve heard horror stories, and nothing sharp gets next to my boys.” He added in a dubious mutter, “Minor procedure, my ass. But we lucked out. The kid was ten pounds and not about to come out naturally. Missy had to have a C-section. As soon as we heard it was a boy,” he mimicked Trent’s snip-snip, “we had the doctor do the deed while she was still on the table.”

“Bet Missy doesn’t consider much about a ten-pounder ‘lucking out.’”

“You ain’t kidding. My ears are still ringing from the cussing I took in the labor room.”

Trent chuckled, though he had sympathy for his friend. Missy was stunning, but she could bust Curt’s balls and did with regular frequency. He deserved it nine times out of ten, however. But the idea of a ten-pound baby made him shudder, as did one day having to face the dilemma of a doctor with a knife anywhere near his own boys.

“What about you, bud?” Curt asked. “When are you going to settle down and start a family. I know you love kids. Don’t you want any?”

“I’m waiting for the right woman first.”

“Yeah,” Curt agreed with a laugh. “A woman is a key piece of the puzzle. But what’s up with that, anyway. You’re a great catch. You’ve got a military pension, and you own a successful business. You’re fun to be around and a good-looking guy to boot.” Trent shot him a narrow-eyed glance, and he threw up his hands. “That’s not me saying it. All the women around here do.”

“Uh-huh,” Trent drawled skeptically, not cutting him any slack.

“Whatever,” he shot back with an eye roll. “My point is, you’re a year older than me and you haven’t even started. You don’t want to be trying to teach your kid to throw a spiral from your wheelchair, old man.”

“I’m thirty-five, not eighty,” he stated quietly.

“Yep, and haven’t found the right woman yet.”

“These things take time.”

“That’s what I’m saying. What about the woman who owns the frou-frou dress store upstairs?”

“Which one? There are over a dozen of those in this mall.”

“The hot blonde in unit C312. She does a bang-up business, same as you.”

“Belinda,” he guessed with a slow nod. “We’ve been out, twice. She’s easy on the eyes, but we had no spark. All she talked about was this designer or that, thousand-dollar shoes, and New York buying trips. Not my thing.”

“What about the little redhead at the lingerie store? She’s almost as hot as the blonde.”

“Carly?” he asked, although he knew precisely the redhead Curt was talking about. He also knew the man was dead wrong. She was without a doubt hotter than Belinda. If a woman didn’t have double-D breasts and a blouse unbuttoned to her navel showing them off, she lost hotness points with Curt. Trent preferred more subtlety.

“Yep, I think she has a thing for you. She asks about you all the time. Although she isn’t my type,”—translation, only a C-cup—“she’s cute, funny, and has a sweet curvy ass. A man of that persuasion might find her to his liking. I guess you could say she’s her own style of sexy.”

“Down boy,” he muttered, not appreciating him detailing Carly’s assets. “Remember the little woman who recently pushed out your third kid?”

“I’m married, bud, not dead, or blind. I love Missy, and I’d never stray especially since my woman gives world class head.”

All this came under the heading of too much information, as did Curt’s shit-eating grin. He’d known the guy for a decade, served with him too. He was a good guy but had always lacked a filter, and he talked incessantly. As usual, he was far from done.

“A guy can’t help noticing a sweet smile and curves. Carly has both, and I’m not the only one who’s noticed. She gets attention. I think knowing she’s around sexy underwear all the time and maybe wearing it under her clothes gives men ideas. And did I mention her ass is suh-weet?” He emphasized what he thought about it with a whistle. “Damn if it ain’t.”

“She’s a kid, man. Jeez,” Trent said with disgust.

Curt turned from his locker to stare at him a moment. “No, she isn’t.”

“To me, she is. She can’t be more than twenty. I saw her carrying textbooks once. For all I know she’s still in high school.”

“She takes classes at State. And she mentioned being twenty-something, once. I don’t remember how old she said exactly, but the ‘something’ means more than twenty, so she’s definitely legal.”

Annoyed Curt knew as much as he did about Carly, he observed in a tight voice, “I didn’t know you two were so close.” 

“She works evenings. We talk when I make rounds. And she closes several nights a week. Sometimes she has trouble with the alarm. I’ve had to step in and help more than once.”

He’d installed one of his own systems at Sweet Nothings within the past year. This was the first he’d heard about a problem. As their security provider, he became concerned. “What kind of trouble?”

“A problem with the keypad. I meant to say something last time I saw you, but Missy went into labor, and it slipped my mind. She says she can’t get the code in fast enough because some of the numbers stick.”

Trent glanced at the clock. “It’s still under warranty. If Benson ever gets here, I’ll swing by and run a diagnostic before I leave.”

“The owner, and Carly, since she usually closes, would appreciate it.”

Something about Curt’s familiarity with the girl set his teeth on edge. His irritation growing, he narrowed his eyes at the other man. “You seem to have more than a passing knowledge of her.”

“As I said, she’s friendly.”

“Funny, she always come off as rather shy, to me.”

Curt nodded. “This is understandable; I’m safe.”

“What’s that’s supposed to mean, that I’m not?”

“Be cool, boss,” he replied, hands raised palms out in front of him. “I only meant I’m married, so she sees me as safe. And, more importantly, I’m not the former military badass turned entrepreneur she’s got a crush on.”

This bit of logic made sense and defused his rising anger. “Right,” he muttered.

Curt grabbed his flashlight, Taser, and keys, and loaded them onto his belt. “I gotta make rounds.” Then he hoofed it toward the service corridor.

Sitting in the security shop, after his man left, he focused on the bank of eight wall-mount monitors above the alarm console. One by one, Trent scanned the live feeds.       They had surveillance cameras in dozens of locations but usually watched the four main entrances, the jewelry store upstairs, and a short corridor with only two shops where the manager kept reporting kids loitering in the corner where the lighting wasn’t the best. The man swore he smelled smoke, which alone was a problem, but because the pungent aroma the manager and his employees kept getting a whiff of wasn’t ordinary tobacco, it became a larger one.

Northpointe paid a mint in security fees, as did the individual stores many of which used his services. The large anchor stores, Nordstrom’s and Macy’s, had their own interior teams and security systems, as did Tiffany and Co. on the second floor. The upscale clientele and the shop owners would be livid to learn they had pot smokers lurking in dark corridors or anywhere on the extensive grounds. Trent knew he had to crack down on this pretty damn quick. Now, one camera stayed fixed on the location, and his circulating guards put eyes on the spot hourly. 

Rubbing his face with both hands, Trent sighed. He was tired from being spread too thin lately. The mall wasn’t his only contract; he had at least three dozen more, but it was his largest, accounting for half his annual revenue. It was also his biggest pain in the ass because it required running 24/7 guard shifts with four men on days, half as many on nights, plus one in the surveillance room round the clock.  That’s why he made a point of being at Northpointe regularly.

With men out, the frequency had increased drastically in the past several weeks putting him here almost daily.  But Curt was back tonight, and he’d hired a couple new guys. Yet here he sat.

He grabbed his coffee, took a sizable swig, and grimaced; it was stone cold. Even the power of the Yeti couldn’t keep it hot after a long eight-hour day. He glanced at the clock. Benson was five minutes late.

Trent went back to scanning the screens, paying close attention to the two other stores under surveillance: a boutique targeted to tweens and teens, and a video game store. Both were high risk for shoplifting, and each had incidents recently. He’d added them to the primary eight under near-constant monitoring, but it was a Monday night, cold outside, and there wasn’t much happening for early February.

He toggled through the other feeds until he got to the second-floor shops. The cameras operated remotely, and he was able to adjust the angle to see through the wide entrance of Sweet Nothings. Zooming in, he spotted tonight’s worker. A brunette, not the other evening-shift girl with the thick, shiny, red-gold hair, the one he tried telling himself he wasn’t looking for.

Carly, an uncommon name, short for something, maybe, but it suited her.  The girl was cute, definitely on the sexy side, but shy no matter that she seemed to chat comfortably with Curt on a regular basis. Trent got the impression he made her uncomfortable. Her cheeks turned pink every time he saw her. They deepened to a pretty rose if he spoke to her in passing or during check-in, something he did at many of the shops when he made his rounds. It was mostly friendly banter, nothing personal, but Carly seemed prone to blush whenever he was around. 

He’d noticed her curves during those encounters but tried not to spend time dwelling on the pretty shop girl who was much too young for him. But she seemed to be working a lot lately and was more visible than usual.  She’d often be doing something out front or in their display window when he passed. Seeing her there reminded him of two weeks ago, and the horrified expression on her face when she realized she was holding the naked mannequin by the boobs. Her expression had been priceless, as was the sight of her face flaming to crimson before she’d whirled and made a mad dash out of the three-sided fishbowl display.

He couldn’t deny it had added fuel to his fantasies later. Girl-on-girl, an idea which passed through every man’s mind at least once. Okay, probably a heck of a lot more than once, but few were able to make fantasy a reality and put it into practice. If they said they did, Trent would bet big money they were lying.

In his case, he’d seen plenty of action, especially while in uniform and stationed abroad, but a threesome had never been in the cards. Not that he’d wanted one. He appreciated adventurous sex partners but satisfying a pair of women was added pressure he didn’t need. He’d rather concentrate on one woman at a time, bring her to the heights of passion, and make her scream with pleasure.

Lately, there hadn’t been much passion or screaming. He’d had offers and opportunity, but he was tired of the constant pursuit and let down. He enjoyed sex as much as the next man, but bed-hopping, when it was quantity over quality, had lost its allure in his twenties. As he got older, Trent realized he wanted more than indiscriminate sex and to satisfy an urge. He wanted a connection and the more profound emotions that came from being with the right woman. And he wanted lasting commitment, like his parents, who were still in love after forty years of marriage.

Curt was right in one respect; he wasn’t getting any younger. And he sure didn’t want to be so old a father he had trouble teaching his son how to throw a football. With his days of travel and sowing wild oats behind him, he was ready to settle down with a wife and start a family. Seeing his friend practically glowing with joy over his newborn son, his family now complete, made Trent a bit jealous especially since he didn’t see the same happening for himself anytime soon.

For some reason, he attracted party girls and players. Why couldn’t he find a good girl? He’d settle for one who was slightly naughty but on board with him turning her into his good girl. In fact, he’d prefer it.

The idea immediately brought to mind a recurrent fantasy, of a woman lying naked over his lap, her round ass in his hands.  She squirmed as he stroked her skin lightly, letting his fingers dip between her parted thighs. Discovering her wet, he’d explore farther, delving deeper until she wriggled over his lap tossing her head, sending a mass of red-gold spiral curls in a wave of incredible color to the floor. The thickness covered her splayed fingers where they pressed flat on the hardwood, steadying herself while she waited, trembling with eager anticipation of what he’d do next.

When awake he managed to push thoughts of Carly out of his head. While asleep she invaded his dreams and now, evidently, his fantasies.  It made sense, after she’d been the subject of his recent conversation. Although Curt hadn’t told him anything new; he’d taken note of her sweet round bottom many times before. How could any red-blooded man not notice? Often, he’d dreamt of his hands on those perfectly proportioned curves, squeezing, rubbing, and kissing her glorious ass, and, yes, spanking it—especially spanking it—all before he bent her over and watched it, as he fucked her from behind.

Trent couldn’t deny he was an ass man—absolutely—though high round tits, a wet pussy, and a skilled mouth were also extremely high on his list.

What was the old saying, about having the best of both worlds; a lady on the streets, but a freak between the sheets? Or something along those lines.

He laughed, shaking his head.

Damn, Jacobs, if a woman got in your head and heard some of this shit, she’d slap you silly.

Russell Jacobs would frown on it, too. Still fit, even well into his sixties, his father seemed ageless, appearing at least a decade younger. Trent had inherited his looks and build from his dad and hoped he could expect the same as he aged. And he took after him in demeanor, as well.

He always preached being respectful of women. Trent had tried to be. Acting the gentleman by opening doors for his date, picking up the tab, and letting her set the pace for sex in the relationship. As for the spanking, he’d learned to tread carefully with his approach. Other than a swat or two at the height of passion, which most women didn’t seem to mind. The few times he’d taken it further and turned a woman over his knee for more had been when she’d was absolutely, and without a doubt, into it, and most often, had suggested it.

What were the odds he’d come across a woman who wanted marriage, family, to grow old and turn gray, and in between carve a full, happy life full of love with him? A woman who also suited him in bed, who liked what he did—beyond humdrum missionary but stopping well short of extreme. One who would understand his need for control in the bedroom and get off on it too. A woman who would not only enjoy being over his lap for play but if she was naughty and needed it, let him put her there for discipline as well.   

“No wonder you’re still single,” he grumbled aloud. “That woman does not exist.”He was about to change the live feeds back to the usual settings when Carly walked into the shot. She chatted with the other girl, showing a great deal more animation than she ever did with him. The camera zoomed in, Trent’s finger on the switch doing so without his conscious knowledge. It captured her eyes bright with laughter, her face glowing, and she quickly went past pretty, to fucking gorgeous.

When she turned and moved away, her long hair swept across her back, the thick glossy waves falling almost to her waist. The ends seemed to dance above her gloriously pert bottom in a short sexy skirt which hugged her hips and thighs to perfection. Damn. 

His body reacted. All of a sudden, he wasn’t so tired after all and found himself eager to check out the sticking keypad. But where was Benson?

As if his thoughts conjured his evening shift relief, the outside door slammed shut followed by the sound of boots clomping down the hall.