One Night Standards
: Chapter 16

Sammi glances over at me from the passenger seat of the blacked-out Range Rover I rented for today’s outing. “Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.” I send her a flirty wink, admiring my handiwork. She’s hardly recognizable in the clever disguise I put together for her—a huge white floppy hat with matching trench coat and dark, oversized sunglasses. She still looks posh enough to fit in where we’re going but it’s not at all her usual style and no one would pick her out in a crowd, much less identify her through the dark-tinted windows on this beast.

“You make driving look like foreplay.” The shameless hussy lifts her sunnies and peers up at me, gnawing on her lower lip. “Those veiny hands on that shifter thingy.” She vibrates through an exaggerated chill.

“The shifter thingy?” I shake my head, because she’s ridiculous.

“Mmmhmm,” she purrs. “It’s really turning me on.”

“You sure it’s me driving? Or the fact that we haven’t seen each other in a week?”

She shrugs, dipping her head toward one shoulder, then the next. “I’m sure it’s a little of both.”

“It’s this newsboy cap, isn’t it?” I reach up to pat the wool monstrosity.

“Oh, yeah.” She shifts around in her seat. “It’s making me wet.”

“Just wait til you see it paired with the peacoat on the back seat at dinner.”

“Ohhh.” Her brows waggle. “Something to look forward to.”

The GPS guides us to a massive iron gate before declaring we’ve made it to our destination.

“Here we are.” I reach through the window to the pad, inputting the code I was given.

“And here would be?” She looks around in a huff as the gates open and we proceed through. “All I see are trees and a road.”

“Patience, Li’l Bit.” My heart thrums wildly with excitement as I navigate the winding drive. “There,” I say when the enormous Victorian home comes into view.

“Are we visiting someone famous?” she asks, gaping at the immaculately kept grounds.

“We’re meeting a realtor.” I pull up beside the white Lexus already waiting in the driveway, throw the truck into park, and unbuckle.

“A realtor?” She looks out toward the house then back at me. “Shut up! Are you serious?”

“Figured after the shit show of last weekend, we needed to start looking for a place of our own.” I quirk a hesitant brow, biting down on the corner of my lip. “I hope that’s okay?” I couldn’t decide whether I should talk to her about it beforehand, but ultimately went with the element of surprise.

“It’s more than okay.” Her dimples make an appearance, settling my nerves.

“Perfect. Well, let’s go scope it out, shall we?” I run around to her side and open her door. “You can leave the hat and glasses in here. We’re far enough from public eye. There’s no one around to recognize us.” Lord knows I ditched mine the second that gate shut.

“This place is beautiful.” She glances around in awe.

“Reminded me of that dollhouse you and your dad built.”

Her mouth falls open. “You know, I was trying to figure out why it seemed familiar. That’s exactly what it looks like.”

“Well, hello there.” Our realtor Wanda comes out before we’ve finished climbing the steps, greeting us on the wraparound porch. “You must be Lyle and Sammi.”

“That’d be us.” I usher my wife up ahead of me.

The women shake hands and get acquainted.

“It’s so nice to finally meet you after conversing on the phone all week, Mr. Livingston.” Apart from a little flush in the woman’s cheeks, she keeps her composure. As a realtor specific to Boulder City, she likely has frequent run-ins with celebrities and knows how to handle herself accordingly.

It’s refreshing.

The guys and I regularly discuss how wild it is that we spent the first part of our lives wondering what it’d be like to be famous, only to get here and live for those rare moments when we’re treated like everyone else.

“Likewise.”

“All right.” Wanda makes a show of opening the door and waving us in, “Let’s get started.”

A musty smell assaults my senses the moment I walk in, but I school my features, not wanting to ruin it for my bride in case it doesn’t bother her. I’m sure it’s nothing the right cleaning crew couldn’t remedy if she fell in love with the place.

“Ohh.” Sammi clutches her stomach, her nose scrunched. “It smells like sewage in here.” Her body lurches.

“Bathroom?” I ask, trying to avoid a mess. I’ve come to recognize her “I’m about to blow chunks” face.

“Over there.” Wanda points to a skinny door beneath the stairs.

With a hand at the small of her back, I guide my wife toward the facilities, lifting the lid—

“Oh, hell no.” Li’l Bit moans, turning and making a run for the exit.

After dropping the lid to cover the massive dookie someone left behind, I chase after her, just in time to watch her empty the contents of her stomach off the porch onto what once was a lovely patch of purple flowers.

Wanda rushes out behind us. “Oh, my goodness! Is she all right?”

“She’ll be fine.” I smile back at the woman, while retrieving a wet wipe from Sammi’s purse so she can clean her face. “Someone left a souvenir behind in that bathroom.”

“Oh, gross.” Wanda’s face pinches.

“I’m fine.” Sammi plasters on a smile. “But I think we’re ready to move on to the next one.”

“Of course.” Wanda sprints back inside to turn off the lights and hopefully flush away the unwelcome bathroom dweller, before leading the way to option two.

The second house is a Greek Revival style home with massive white marble columns and enormous sprawling oaks. I can easily picture our little one climbing the branches that nearly hang to the ground.

“This is fancy.” The color has returned to my wife’s face. “Look at all the statues in the landscaping. Kinda looks like a museum.”

“Right this way.” Our realtor waves us over from across the expansive lawn.

“This place is really cocky,” I say, observing all the nude male statues along the way.

“Oh, but they’re all so tiny and cute.” Li’l Bit pinches two fingers together for effect.

I shake my head. “I’m sure it won’t take much to have them all removed.” I point to a near nude female statue with a sheet draped around her form, big ol’ titties fully exposed. “That one can stay.”

“I bet it can.”

“I already made a run through and checked all the facilities.” Wanda’s cheeks are radiating her embarrassment. “I’m so sorry about the last one.”

“Don’t mention it.” I hope my smile alleviates a little of her anxiety. It’s not like she left the shit in there—at least I hope not. What a plot twist that would be…

“Lyle…” Sammi gives my hand a tug, pulling me from my overactive imagination. “Let’s go see the inside.”

“The current owners of the home are huge art aficionados.” Wanda sweeps a hand around the foyer, presenting the massive headless trunks protruding from pillars in the walls. “They really poured their love of the human form into every facet of this house.”

Sammi and I share a sideways glance, but reserve casting final judgment until we’ve seen more of what this place has to offer.

The kitchen is a chef’s dream. No ass or titties in sight. My wife is enamored with the giant picture windows and ample natural light.

“Can you see it?” she asks, nudging me in my side. “A breakfast table there…” She points to a bright corner off to the side. “And our little girl doing her homework here at the island while we prepare dinner?”

“I can.” I can’t help but smile at her enthusiasm. “Little George is gonna color all over these white cabinets.”

“George?” She looks at me like I’ve lost my marbles. If I have, they’re likely somewhere on these grounds. Hah.

“After the king, of course.”

Her forehead scrunches. “Of England?”

“Of country music, babe. George Jones.”

“Oh…ew.” She shakes her head. “No. We will not be naming our child George.”

“So, you’re admitting it’s a boy.” I quirk a brow.

“No…But I’m sure we’ll have more babies and eventually one of them will be a boy whose name will not be George…or Hank…or Conway.”

Damn, she knows me well. Shutting down all my classic favorites in one swoop!

“Oh, my goodness!” The excitement in my wife’s voice has me running clean across the house to replace her latest discovery.

“What is it?” I go straight through the master bedroom to the en suite, where she’s slid down the wall, smothering on her obnoxious laughter while pointing a finger at the brass towel hooks.

Shaking my head, I go over there to check them out.

You guessed it, and if you didn’t, and haven’t yet caught on to the phallic theme of this house, there’s no help for you.

“They’re little dongs!” Leave it to my wife to state the obvious.

“I see that.” I reach to the floor to help her back to her feet.

“This place is too much,” she heaves, leaning on me for support.

“If you like that,” Wanda says, peering her head in, “get a load of the faucets.”

“We’re done here,” I say when I look over to replace my wife stroking the spout built to model a curved shaft.

“Lyle!” she screeches. “The knobs are balls!”

I give my head a firm shake and look over to our realtor. “I don’t think we’re classy enough for this joint.”

“Understood.” She snorts. “Let’s head out. I have one more on the list to show you two today, and I have a feeling you’re going to love it.”

I’m feeling a little discouraged on the drive to our third and final home of the day. If we don’t replace something we like that’s already on the market, we’ll have to build, and that will take time we don’t have. I want more than anything for us to be settled in our new home before the baby comes. But so far, our options just aren’t cutting it.

“This is nice.” My wife is clearly trying to cheer me up in complimenting the wrought iron gate. “Look at the little rose accents.”

“This is the one.” I dig deep for the excitement I started the day with that’s been quickly waning. “I can feel it in my bones.”

“Relax,” she says, patting my thigh. “We don’t have to replace a place today.”

I nod, knowing she’s right but also eager to be settled.

Sammi gasps so loudly when the house comes into view, I nearly veer off the road. “Holy shit!”

Li’l Bit gapes out the front dash. “It’s like Prince Eric’s castle.”

“Say what?”

“The Little Mermaid?” She eyes me briefly with disgust before turning back to admire the house.

It’s a Spanish-style estate with a red tile roof. The front is white stucco with gray stone and stained wood accents. The windows are arched to a point, and there are two balconies overlooking a courtyard that features a pond with a fountain at the center.

“You were right. This is the one,” my giddy wife proclaims as I help her out of the car and we start making our way toward the house to join Wanda.

“Pump the brakes.” I laugh. “We haven’t even been inside yet.” But I have to admit, what we’ve seen so far is hella impressive. “With the luck we’ve had today we’re liable to replace dead bodies hidden in the closets.”

“Funny,” Wanda says, catching the tail end of our conversation. “I truly believe we saved the best for last. This house just came on the market yesterday, and it won’t last long.” She glances around the property before bringing her attention back to us. “For obvious reasons.”

“We’ll take it!” Sammi has apparently lost her fucking mind.

“Let’s take the tour first, and then decide, huh, love?”

She gives me an annoyed glare and sulks. “Fine.”

Our realtor gives my wife an exaggerated wink before starting her spiel. “This Mediterranean-style home was originally built in the 1930s and has remained in the same family for nearly a century.”

“Wow.” I follow her through the gate into the courtyard, letting its history soak in. “Why are they letting it go now?”

“Mr. Cartwright’s great-granddaughter just inherited it after the passing of her father—her last living parent. She’s an only child who’s been residing in New York for more than ten years and has no desire to return to country living.”

We follow her inside through arched double doors into a foyer that features brick floors, an elaborate iron chandelier, exposed wood beams, and cream-colored textured walls.

“If you’ll follow me, I’ll show you to the kitchen.”

We walk through a brick archway on the left side of the foyer into a kitchen that’s about half the size of the one Sammi loved so much in the other house and lacks a lot of the natural light she was obsessed with as well. “Penny for your thoughts?”

“It’s so cozy.” My wife trails her hand along the granite island in the center of the room. “It feels homey, right?”

Her positive reaction has me breathing a huge sigh of relief. “I think so. I love the mixed elements…the exposed wood, the brick.” I move to examine the backsplash. “And I really like the pop of color these patterned tiles bring to the room.”

“Me too.” Sammi walks over to join me, smoothing a hand along my back. “My heart feels happy here.”

“Does it?” I press a kiss to her forehead. “Mine is happy anywhere yours is.”

“Such a smooth talker, Mr. Livingston.”

“Just comes natural.”

We finish the tour, falling more and more in love with the house with every room we visit. The downstairs features a master with an adjoining room that can serve as a nursery to start and be converted to an office years from now when we’re done filling our nest. There are two other bedrooms and three bathrooms downstairs, as well as a living room, den, kitchen, and foyer.

Upstairs there are three more bedrooms and bathrooms, one of which is a second master, perfect for when our parents come to visit.

But it’s the back yard that seals the deal for me.

“This back yard is an entertainer’s paradise,” Wanda says, leading us out through French doors off the kitchen to a veranda the length of the house. It’s fully furnished with lush couches and conversation sets. All the way to the left is an outdoor kitchen fit for a king—that’s me.

“Look at this view.” My wife stares out at the designer pool with stone accents blending it in with the surrounding landscape. There’s a colossal grotto I can’t wait to ravish her in, and a waterslide that would be any kid’s dream. Behind all of that is a pristine lake, the same one Rhett and Nick’s homes are built on.

“It’s incredible,” I say, imagining lazy days spent fishing off that dock. “What’d’ya say, Li’l Momma?”

“I say…” She throws her arms around my neck spreading a whisper of kisses along my collarbone. “Where do we sign, lover boy?”