Page 136 of Average Joe

“I’ll always win.” Such confidence.

“Yeah? Why’s that?”

Marley laid her head back, closed her eyes. “Sex sells, and men are pervier than women.”

“I’ll have to disagree with you there,” I argued.

“Whatever.” She waved her hand, brushing me off. “Set the date. It’s on.” Then she smacked her armrest. “And the charity has to be for battered women.”

My throat thickened with emotion. Abused women. For Alice. I swallowed that lump and stayed my course. “You realize you just agreed to marry me, right?”

“I did no such thing,” she mumbled, fighting a smile.

“I heard it. Ladies? You heard her, right?” I asked the room.

Ly and Trudy nodded in agreement.

“I did not!” Marley sat straight, shooting me a glare.

“You said ‘deal’ to my challenge.”

Christ, I was getting a boner. We needed to get home fast.

“Get on your goddamn knee and ask me then,” Marley challenged.

“Like every other average Joe out there? Seems boring.”

“Yes,” she insisted. “Just like that. A classic, everyday, ordinary proposal.”

I stared into twinkling eyes, half tempted to throw her over my shoulder and steal her away to the nearest courthouse. But that wasn’t us.

I stood, laid cash on the counter, and sauntered to the door. Before making my exit, I threw over my shoulder, “Nah, you need extraordinary,” then headed to the truck to hide my hard-on.

* * *

When you know, you know. The morning I met Marley, she’d only heard tales of me as the bad-boy ex-con. Still, she’d comforted me when I’d cried like a baby on Alice’s kitchen floor. That was the day I’d known, without a doubt, despite never before having met the woman, that she was the one.

Love at first sight. If someone had told me a year ago that I’d fall victim to that ridiculous sentiment, I’d have laughed in their face or knocked them into next week.

Funny how life proved you wrong.

Take, for example, I’d believed I had our contest in the bag. Con, Frank, and I had pulled out the big guns for our charity contest/event.

We’d recruited cops and firemen for the day, all of whom were more than willing to flex their hard-earned muscles to support a local charity. Two pet shelters had even hopped on board.

I mean, hot men with puppies and kittens? We couldn’t go wrong, right?

Our earnings were pretty damn close, but Marley proved to be the true champ. She’d dressed her girls in Seahawks colors, and every person who bought coffee was entered into a drawing to win season tickets or a premium suite for one of next year’s games.

Brilliant, right? It should’ve been my idea.

The girls worked mostly naked that day. Pasties and thongs, their skin lightly dusted with blue, silver, and bright green glitter.

We’d advertised in the paper, as well as social media, but our following was nothing compared to Pink Sweets, and her blast had gone viral. Two news stations had stopped by to cover the story.

So, a good day for everyone around. So successful, in fact, we agreed to make it a yearly event.

Marley was right. Sex sells. If we decided to stay in the “sexy” coffee business, we could turn what was considered an immoral endeavor by most into something positive for the community.

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