Almost Married

By: Kylie Gilmore

The Clover Park STUDS Series, Book 2

Chapter One

Stephanie Moore's boyfriend of six weeks was a perfect gentleman. It was time to fix that.

“You could spend the night tonight,” Steph whispered in Dave Olsen’s ear as they slow danced at her friend Amber Lewis’s (now Lewis-Furnukle) wedding reception. They were in a gorgeous mansion owned by the town of Clover Park, Connecticut, that was frequently rented out for special events.

Dave startled at her words, veering right suddenly and stomping on her foot.



Steph cringed and stepped out of the danger zone. The man was a solid six foot two, and her poor toes couldn’t take much more “dancing” with him.

“Could you get me more champagne?” she asked. “No, make it vodka.”

“No problem,” he said, pushing up his black-rimmed glasses. “Be right back.” He stopped suddenly and kissed her cheek. “Sorry about all the toe crunching.”

She waved that away. “No worries.”

He left to get her drink. Steph took a seat with a sigh, smoothed out her lavender bridesmaid dress, and watched Amber and Bare slow dancing. No toe crunching there. They moved beautifully together. Bare whispered something in Amber’s ear, and she giggled. Steph wondered what it would take to get Dave to step it up a notch in the sex department, as in, maybe they could have some. At thirty-two, Steph was way past playing hard-to-get, and Dave, at thirty, really should’ve taken the hint by now. Subtlety seemed to be lost on him. She’d resorted to cleavage-revealing tops and multiple (casual) peek-a-boo bend-overs both for the frontal and rear views, with no effect. And when she’d grabbed his ass a few times during some marathon makeout sessions, he’d merely chuckled. Not exactly the effect she’d been going for.

Dave returned to her side with a glass of champagne and a vodka with lime. Thank God. She downed the vodka.

“Is that for you?” she asked, pointing to the champagne.

“I wasn’t sure which one you wanted, so I got both.” He took the seat next to her. “I’m not having anything since I’m driving.”

Steph downed the champagne too. Unfortunately, while it did help her forget about her poor crushed toes stuffed into silver Louboutin stilettos, it also had the effect of making her horny. She looked at Dave, who returned her gaze steadily. He had beautiful deep blue eyes behind those black-rimmed glasses. He was a middle school math teacher—a sweet, geeky, perfect gentleman. Dave was definitely not her usual type. But when he kissed her, he put heart and soul into it, and it was scorching hot. She’d found that out after their first date. The problem was—his hands never roamed. She would really like them to roam. It had been too long she’d gone untouched. So long she was almost pure again. A virgin in reverse. She giggled to herself.

“Would you like to dance again?” he asked. “I’m better at the slow songs.”

“That’s not saying much,” she blurted. Inhibitions down, honesty up.

He frowned, and she kissed that frowny face. “Let’s do the no-pants boogie,” she said.

At his confused expression, she made a small poke-the-finger-in-the-hole-multiple-times gesture at him. Still confused. The hell with subtlety. “Let’s do it.”

His eyes widened behind his glasses. “You mean like…” His face flushed, and he glanced around at the people dancing nearby. “Like, right now?”

She smiled at him dreamily, running her fingers through the silky dark brown hair at the nape of his neck. “Yes.”

He tugged on his tie. “But wouldn't you be more comfortable in a bed?”

Dave was so sweet, thinking of her comfort. She nipped his earlobe, and he jolted.

“After the reception, okay?” she whispered in his ear before she licked his earlobe and blew lightly across it. He held himself very still, and she wasn’t sure if she’d pushed him away or reeled him in. “A bed sounds great,” she added.

“That would be acceptable to me as well,” he said in a strained voice.

Just then the reception got rowdy as a disco ball spun and the DJ blasted “Saturday Night Fever” by the Bee Gees. She laughed, watching Bare’s antics with his John Travolta imitation. The man was a natural performer. He grabbed Amber and spun her onto the dance floor with him. Everyone flocked to join them.

“Come on,” she said, slipping off her heels.

Dave followed her onto the dance floor, giving her lots of space as she danced with one finger pointing up and down in the air. He smiled, just watching her. She boogied all around him, using him much like a stripper pole. This works much better, she thought, less toe crunching. One disco song followed another and Dave made an excellent pole—sturdy, steady, warm. She was all over him, spinning around him, leaning into him, hanging off him, wrapping her leg around his and swaying. But then “YMCA” by The Village People played, and she had to stop working the pole to do the hand motions.