Friday, August 2, 2013

Peekie Boo Friday...Geoff's Teddy

All of Breathless Press's amazing titles are on sale for 40% off! That includes mine! *shakes, rattles and rolls*

So to commemorate this fine occasion I'm putting one of my biggest Breathless Press sellers on Peekie Boo Friday! Woo Hoo

Swing over and get a Teddy for yourself...enjoy! *winks*

Fuzzy is an unsatisfied ladies' man. Geoff's a bear-loving man who satisfies. Problem? Convincing a straight man that satisfaction might be just around the bend.

Overall Fuzzy has a good life. He loves his family & friends, he enjoys his job and he never hurts for a date. The ladies seem to love the furry Fuzzy -- so why does he feel like he's missing out? And why does a surprise dinner with a strange man interest him more than a flirty hot waitress?

Geoff knows who he is and what he's after. He's searching for a big hairy man to wrap around him. But none have been right -- until he's manipulated into dinner with Fuzzy. Tall and broad, Fuzzy claims he lives up to his name. Everything that Geoff wants in a boyfriend. Except Fuzzy is straight.

When an opportunity arises -- Fuzzy is obliged to crash at Geoff's for the night -- Geoff works his derriere off to see what else he can make arise. Because he's determined to capture this Fuzzy wuzzy all for himself.

Chapter One
Fuzzy followed Emery to his car. He narrowed his eyes and growled under his breath. He should have clocked out quicker. He didn't mind joining his bossman for dinner; quite frankly, he counted his blessings having a boss who also qualified as a good friend. No, he dreaded scrunching his six foot four inch frame into that tin box Emery called a luxury car. In his opinion, if he had to fold up into a pretzel to get in and out of the damn thing, it didn't deserve the title "luxury." But Emery sneered at the proposition of riding in Fuzzy's truck. So what if a touch of dirt—or a couple pounds—caked the sides of his baby from mudding last weekend? Mud or not, his baby drove like a dream and had real leg room.
He made a mental note to keep his truck clean during the work week, just in case an impromptu dinner invitation landed his way again.
"You sure you don't wanna take my truck? Why put miles on your new car?"
Emery stopped and flicked him a droll stare. "I'm not riding anywhere in that filthy excuse for transportation. You can move the seat all the way back, and you'll fit fine."
Fuzzy stomped over to the passenger side and waited for the telltale beep from the key fob. He adjusted the seat and squeezed in. Okay, he'd squeezed into worse seating, and as long as he didn't have to drive this contraption, he figured he'd survive.
"So what's up with dinner? Why the sudden invite?"
He watched as Emery shrugged his shoulders and immediately knew something brewed in that blond head. His bossman wasn't a shrugger. Oh no, he proudly vocalized his emotions rather than physically showing them. If he shrugged, that meant something stirred in him that he didn't plan to discuss just yet. Yeah, Emery would freak if he realized his team read him like a book, albeit a book with many missing pages. But that's what happened when you worked for someone as long as he had for Emery.
Figuring Emery had an agenda and getting him to admit to it were two entirely different things. If an explanation for his actions didn't automatically present itself, the president himself wouldn't pry one out of him.
"You do realize I had to cancel with Marisha tonight for this. Not something I would normally do; she's a sure bet."
"I appreciate your sacrifice, Fuzzy."
Fuzzy humphed. "Like you gave me a choice. Shouting at me after I punched the time clock that we're eating out tonight. What guy could say no to that?"
"You're right, most men don't say no to me asking them out." Emery chuckled.
"Yeah, whatever, you get what I mean. You owe me. Marisha ain't gonna say yes to another date without me begging a little."
"Marisha manages the movie theater?"
"No, you're thinking of Danielle. Boy, let me sing about that mistake. That woman freaked it ten ways to Sunday. She wanted to act out every scene from 9½ Weeks. Wouldn't have minded so much, but she wanted to play that dude's part." He shuddered and chuckled simultaneously. "Nah. Marisha's that sweet little nurse I met when I tripped it to the emergency room. Remember last week when I dropped that damn heavy dolly on my foot?"
"I remember banning you from hand trucking anything anymore. Too bad you didn't listen."
"What do you mean 'too bad'? Doc said my foot did good considering, and I got me a date with Marisha. Well, had me a date with her. Now I guess you're taking her place for the night. Just remember, I don't put out on the first date. I'm not that easy."
They both belly laughed. "Yeah, right. I'll remember that. How many times has that line gotten you into the woman's bed on the first night?"
"No comment."
"Seriously, Fuzzy, don't you grow weary of a different girl each night? You're thirty-eight years old. Don't you see yourself settling down?"
"Do not suggest that I need the whole white picket fence with a wife, two and a half kiddos, and a dog yapping out back. Geez, I love kiddos, as long as they are returnable at the end of the night. I'm not the father type. I'm the spoiling uncle type."
"I'm not suggesting a family. More along the lines of a relationship that lasts longer than a month. That seems like a decent place to launch a new chapter of your life."
Fuzzy focused out the window and considered Emery's words. They stung a little, not because Emery meant them mean or anything. Maybe because they hit a little close to home. He just never found a woman who held his attention longer than a couple of hours, and half of them didn't even hold his attention that long. But he couldn't tell these things to his boss or anyone at work. There they referred to him as the ladies' man, the one who every night had a different piece of tail. How would they react if he confessed that he believed something might not work right in his head? He figured he had faulty wiring if he didn't enjoy his bachelor lifestyle. He’d spent enough years perfecting this way of life, putting on a damn good show for the boys. What snide comments would the truth bring?
"Yeah, maybe I should start searching for something a little longer term. Too bad you can't just decide to do that and wham, it happens. Right?" He snapped his fingers and chuckled to ease some of the seriousness his words brought.
"Well, Fuzzy, sometimes your hands are full and you need someone else to snap their fingers for you."
Emery shrugged again, and Fuzzy understood that this particular conversation had officially ended. He glanced back out the window. They stopped at an intersection, and he read the sign the lamp post illuminated.
"Where're we going? This is the turn for the turnpike on-ramp."
"There's a restaurant I read good reviews about. It's not too far from here."
Yeah, his bossman definitely plotted something tonight. Fuzzy would just have to bide his time until Emery felt damn good and ready to tell him. Sure as he sat in this tin can he knew this night promised entertainment.
Just over an hour later they pulled into the parking lot of a steak house. Fuzzy eyed the restaurant, wondering what about this place had tweaked Emery's interest that they'd had to drive an hour and a half to eat dinner here.
"What're we doing here, boss?"
Fuzzy waited while Emery found a parking spot. Finally, he switched off the car and turned to Fuzzy. "Figured you'd like a nice steak for dinner."
Yeah, right. "You get that I love you, man. But we passed two acceptable surf and turfs just to get here. What's so special about this one?" He leaned forward and peered at the building through the windshield, not noticing a damn thing special enough to warrant wasting time and gas.
"Ambiance." Emery's weak answer persuaded Fuzzy of nothing. "Come on. You turning down a free porterhouse?"
Fuzzy shrugged his shoulders as he maneuvered his way out of the sardine can. He followed his boss into the restaurant.
A cute little number led them directly to a table on the left side of the restaurant. "Well, thank you, honey. Hope the food here matches the exquisite service."
"The food almost does..." She took a step closer to him, jutted her hip out, grazed his thigh, and tilted her head back to where he could see her hazel stare. "Almost." A saucy uplift at the corner of her mouth completed her show.
He cleared his throat. "Yeah, well, in all fairness, I should probably save my judgment until I thoroughly sample both, don't you agree?" He winked and watched her walk off with a sexy blush highlighting her cheeks.
He turned to Emery, fully expecting a smart-ass comment, only to find his boss's attention otherwise taken. He followed Emery's gaze straight across the dining room to a couple of guys drinking some wine.
"Hey! That dude... That's Mr. Falls from your grill out, ain't it?"
"Yes, Fuzzy Wuzzy, he's from my barbeque the other week."
"Don't call me that!" Damn it, Emery knew he hated that nickname. Being called Fuzzy was bad enough. Well, until he realized the girls loved it, so he let it stick. He'd let it slide for too many years now to even attempt to fight it. But he would never okay Fuzzy Wuzzy.
A light popped on in his head, and he nodded in understanding. "I get it. So what do I call him? He's the reason for our dinner road trip, ain't he?"
"Yes, he is, and as long as your name isn't Ryder, you may call him Ritch."
He couldn't hold back the snort. "Yeah, I got that feeling from your impromptu get-together. Hey, I'm gonna go to the little boys' room." He headed away from both the tables of interest toward the back of the restaurant. Emery's voice halted him.
"Hey, Fuzzy, meet me over there when you're done."
Fuzzy glanced over at the two unassuming guys that Emery chin-nodded to. Yep, interesting indeed. "Sure thing. You've got five minutes to wrap it up; then I'll be there."
Emery's wingman. He never thought this day would happen. Well if that didn't beat all. Ryder would eat this shit up next week at work!
He finished in the bathroom, quickly but not too quickly out of respect for Emery's plans. Oh yeah, Emery planned and plotted. That's what he did best. He always weighed every move before he acted. His meticulousness made him a master at chess and Tetris.
Fuzzy worked his way over to the threesome. Before he arrived at the table, he overheard the ending of Emery's statement to the lil man seated with Ritch. So, the lil man would be eating with him tonight. No biggie as long as he got his steak. He enjoyed his meat and potatoes.
He stood behind Emery's chair as his boss made the introductions and asked if he would eat with the lil man, Geoff, who stared at him, mouth working like a fish out of water. Fuzzy studied him in return. Did this guy have a screw loose or something?
"Oh. My. God. You're a bear! A real live bear! Fuzzy Wuzzy was—"
Yeah, Fuzzy stomped that train of thought.
"Look, lil man, you don't want to finish that sentence. First of all, I can snap you in half like a twig. Second, it's false, trust me. I have hair, a lot of hair." He grinned and ran his hand over his shirt, his thick, full chest hair easily felt underneath the thin material. He did love his fur.
Geoff gazed up at him with what Fuzzy could only describe as a Cheshire cat grin. "It would be a horrible shame to allow you to eat your, um, steak alone. The question is, you up for it?"
Fuzzy shrugged. He didn't care who he ate with as long as they kept their mouth closed while chewing and didn't take anything off his plate. "Yeah, sure. Come on, lil man. My table's over here." He tapped Emery on the shoulder and headed back to his table where the server waited, eyeing him like her own personal chunk of meat.
Damn, what a cutie—so why didn't walking toward her smiling face excite him? Why did his mind wander to the lil man hopefully following him who botched up his name?
Geoff focused up at Fuzzy with those big brown eyes, like he wanted to hang on every word Fuzzy uttered. Not hero worship exactly, but Geoff made him feel a part of the group almost. Oh Emery, Ryder, and the other guys at work kinda included him that way too, but with them, he had to live up to a reputation he didn't ask for and steadily resented. No, something seemed different with Geoff. Fuzzy sensed he didn't have to brag about his latest conquests or put a show on about how much he enjoyed his bachelorhood. He could just sit back and enjoy a peaceful meal without the drama of his real life. This would be a damn good dinner.

Chapter Two
Geoff watched Fuzzy's tight denim-clad ass as he followed him to the table. Those jeans left nothing to the imagination. He would love to bounce a quarter off those buns.
He quickly forgave Emery for using him like a cheap five dollar whore because now he got a free dinner with a man who fit the bill of a serious wet dream. The idea of those huge hands lifting him up and owning him made his cock twitch in his pants. Shit, he had to school his erotic daydreams if he wanted to get through this meal. Nothing would happen with him and Fuzzy. That didn't mean he couldn't enjoy Fuzzy's company and use this time as good fantasy fodder later.
He sat down across from Fuzzy. "So Fuzzy Wu—" The growl emanating from Fuzzy's throat sent tingles all up and down Geoff's spine. Damn, why did this man have to bat for the wrong team? The female species just wouldn't appreciate how to properly take care of a man like this. "Yeah, about that—if you hate the name so much why have Fuzzy as a nickname? Oh no, please tell me Fuzzy isn't your birth name!"
The growl blended into a chuckle that made the tingle in his spine move further south. "No, my birth name is not Fuzzy. My parents never dabbled in the hippie scene, and I don't believe they enjoyed recreational drugs either."
Geoff sat there for a few seconds waiting for Fuzzy to continue, which never happened. The waitress returned, and Geoff took his turn growling. She flirted up a storm with Fuzzy, and he returned every bit of it. With Geoff sitting right there.
Geoff had to remind himself that Fuzzy had every right to flirt. They may be dining together, but they lacked the biblical "together" part. He couldn't wrap his mind around the fact that he would not get to touch Fuzzy, taste him, and find out if his body indeed was proportionally correct in all ways. His ass clenched at that idea, and he groaned a little.
"Sorry, didn't hear that, lil man?"
Geoff gave one of his thousand-watt grins. "Nothing. Muscle spasm, that's all."
"I hate those, but sometimes when you rub them, the muscles tend to release. You have to rub hard though. You have to really knead the muscles to make them relax and loosen up. Is it your back? Do you need me to massage the area for you?"
"No!" Geoff's cock, now fully invested in this conversation along with his ass, pressed against his zipper. If he didn't change the topic right now, the threat of his body usurping his mind was real. "I mean, no thanks," —he read the waitress's nametag— "Sera, any specials tonight?"
He gave his ginger glazed salmon order to Sera and watched her walk away, all the while ignoring the gaze that drilled holes into him.
"You know, I may have meat mitts for hands, but I can give a damn good massage." Geoff finally returned Fuzzy's gaze and realized he'd hurt the bear's feelings.
"Oh, I have no doubt you can, Fuzzy. I have no doubt your hands are nothing short of magical. That's not why I said no."
"You mean you nearly shouted no."
Geoff ducked his head to hide his blush. "I might have said it a tad bit more vehemently than I should have."
"Nearly shouted it." Fuzzy over-enunciated. "So what? You have a problem with a man giving you a massage?"
This time Geoff held his groan inside. He played out how this conversation could go. Logically he figured Fuzzy accepted his sexuality. Hell, Fuzzy's boss was gay, and he didn't bat an eye at that. Honesty seemed Geoff's best bet, especially since he had no hopes of anything happening.
"I'm gay."
"Okay, and I'm a warehouse worker who will evidently stock your grocery store with goods at the beginning of the next quarter. Your point?"
Geoff ran his hand over his face. If his subconscious behaved and ceased picturing Fuzzy naked, then he could handle this conversation. If...
"No, I'm gay, and I have a certain 'type' of man that does it for me." He even used air quotes for a visual aid.
Fuzzy just continued to stare. Okay, so spelling it out seemed a necessity here.
" type happens to be big hairy bears."
"Oh man, that's just sick! We really don't have to have this conversation. We can eat dinner in quiet." Fuzzy's voice dripped with disgust.
Geoff backed his mind up and replayed what he'd just said. Obviously Fuzzy appeared okay with his sexual preference, so what caused the outburst?
Finally two and two added up to four in his brain. "Jesus, no!" He leaned forward and whisper shouted. No way could his dream man end up that dumb. "Not only...oh my God...wrong on so many levels and illegal to boot, how the hell would anyone, um, that without ending up mauled?"
 Much to Geoff's confusion, Fuzzy burst out in belly-busting laughter. "Seriously, lil man, you gotta lighten up some. I got what you meant before you even said the bear part. I just like watching you squirm."
Geoff's dropped his jaw, then slowly closed his mouth in an evil smile. "Oh, so you're a funny man, Mr. Fuzzy Wuzzy?" He purposefully emphasized the "wuzzy" part with a flourish of his hand.
"You do realize I'm a lot bigger than you, right? I can easily pound you into the ground if you keep calling me that." Fuzzy continued to laugh, albeit a bit quieter.
Unfortunately Geoff's extremities liked the sound of that chuckle as much as the empty threat. They deemed it a promise. He held in his groan and did exactly what Fuzzy evidently enjoyed: he squirmed in his seat. A pounding from this incredible and good-natured man appeared precisely what Geoff needed. Especially after witnessing Ritchie snag the man of his dreams.
Oh, he didn't harbor any romantic feelings for his boss. He envied the happiness that Ritchie now had. Witnessing his boss's joy, well,—that made him reassess his love life. If he could achieve something like that with a gorgeous funny man like Fuzzy...
"So, Fuzzy, if that's not your real name, then what is?" He drank in the blush that covered Fuzzy's tan cheeks as he returned to their original safer conversation. "That bad, huh?"
"Not on its own, no. But when you compare it with my nickname... Well, on my birth certificate it has me as Theodore Beough." He pronounced his last name as "boo."
Geoff processed this information and lost his composure with a laughing fit. "You're telling me your name's Teddy Boo, and you answer to the nickname Fuzzy? You sure your parents didn't do drugs?"
Geoff had to lean forward to hear Fuzzy's mumbled response. "It's Beough, not boo."
"They sound the same to me, Teddy honey bear." Geoff tried to cover the mirth in his voice to no avail.
Fuzzy's eyes got bigger, and he chuckled too. "Lil man, I can honestly say that no one has ever had the balls to call me that to my face, ever. Yours must hang to your knees!" He leaned to his left and thumped Geoff on the back. Geoff jumped in his chair from the pressure of that praise.
Want to find out? That train of thought sobered him up.
Sera interrupted with their bread and salads. Geoff decided to make sure she got a huge tip. Whether she flirted or not, she showed up every time he needed a breather from Fuzzy's endearing charm.
Their conversation flowed easily. Fuzzy proved to be interesting and amusing. Thankfully it never turned to dating or girls. Geoff decided his psyche couldn't handle that type of talk. He foresaw his jealousies getting the better of him, no matter if he had a right to them or not.
He thoroughly enjoyed watching Fuzzy eat his barely cooked steak, watching his jaws work through the meat and his throat swallow it down. Geoff in turn just picked at his fish. The ginger glazed salmon tempted his taste buds, but his appetite steadily decreased for salmon and increased for bear. He reached for the last piece of bread, and a tantalizing growl worked its way out of Fuzzy's throat and straight down Geoff's spine yet again. His hand froze, and he cocked an eyebrow at Fuzzy.
"You gonna take the last piece?"
Geoff left his hand hanging over the bread and grinned. "You've already had two pieces. I've only had one."
"But it's the last piece."
"We can get more."
"That always takes too long, and that's an end piece. I love the end."
Geoff closed his eyes as his mind wrapped around that sexy deep voice telling him this interesting tidbit of information. "Well in that case, I would hate to keep you from your favorite part." He picked up the bread, slathered it with butter, and held it out to Fuzzy. "Here. It's all ready for you to enjoy."
With unwarranted anticipation, Geoff watched Fuzzy reach for the buttered bread. As soon as their skin touched—fingers sliding against each other—Geoff's prick thickened, and his stomach tightened. He concluded this could be a very dangerous man to his self-assured personality.
If Geoff had to watch another round of Fuzzy biting and swallowing and groaning. Fuzzy ate very vocally, which caused all kinds of scenarios to pop up in Geoff's brain—and other places. An accident in his pants would be inevitable, something he hadn't done since puberty. So he attempted to fast-forward through the rest of their meal, anxious to return home so he could release this pent-up tension and put some of these fantasies to the test.
His plan ended up going to hell when the waitress sauntered over and handed an object cupped in her palm to Fuzzy. Oh yeah, she forfeited her big ass tip when she didn't just relinquish the mystery item to him but instead bent completely across Fuzzy's lap to also whisper in his ear. Geoff sat there patiently devising ways to remove her perky little ass from their table.
She finally straightened up a few moments later. Talk about the theory of relativity being played out in front of you. Now she returned to her chipper waitress persona and made a show of addressing both while still focusing on Fuzzy. "Well, anything else I can do for you?"
"No, honey, just the bill, and we will get out of your hair. Sorry for closing down the restaurant. Didn't even realize how late it got."
Geoff said a little thank-you that Fuzzy hadn't engaged her and flirted back like he had when they'd first sat down. Then what Fuzzy said rang in his mind. Huh? Closing? Were they really here that long? Geoff glanced around the restaurant, and sure enough it was practically cleared out. Ritchie and Emery were not among the stragglers. "Hey! Where did the bosses disappear to? Ritchie's my ride home, damn it. I don't have my moped with me."
Sera put her overly manicured nail on Fuzzy's arm and continued like she hadn't even heard Geoff. "If you want to stay, I can clear it with my manager."
"All right, sweetheart. We understand what you're throwing out there. Unfortunately for you, there are other problems right now. Just be a cutie and retrieve the check for us so we can leave."
It grated on Geoff's nerves that not only did she keep her hand on Fuzzy's arm but actually stepped closer to him, almost like claiming her spot with his bear. He shook himself out of his idiocy. He may be a vocal sort, but he usually never spoke outright rudely to anyone, and Fuzzy was hardly his anything. He opened his mouth to smooth over the situation—though he wouldn't outright apologize—but Fuzzy glared at him and halted anything Geoff might have said.
Without breaking eye contact with Geoff, Fuzzy removed her claw from his arm and handed her his credit card. He shooed her off to finish the transaction.
"You okay there, lil man?"
"Yeah, fine…no, I'm not." He sighed. "I'm just wondering how the hell I'm getting home and a tad bit pissed at the bosses for abandoning us here. I mean, it doesn't take a genius to figure that Emery most likely drove you also. In fact, I'm calling Ritch right now and asking him what's what."
"Don't bother. The waitress gave me Emery's keys. Evidently I'm driving you home tonight."
Oh, please do. Geoff grabbed his wineglass and downed it all in one gulp to give him the strength to refrain from saying what he wanted at that moment. Unfortunately, the glass didn't contain enough wine to stifle him. "Well, if you insist. But gently please. Rumor has it you can pound people through the pavement."
"Rumor huh?" Fuzzy chuckled again and stood as the waitress brought back the receipt. He signed the slip and pocketed his copy and card. "Okay, lil man, I gotta long drive after I drop you off, and I'm already feeling the sandman calling me."
Geoff followed him out. "Hey! Emery owed me a dinner. It's not fair you got stuck with the bill."
"Don't you worry about that. He'll pay me back. Oh shit!"
"What's up?" Geoff waited at the passenger door of Emery's car.
"I can barely get comfortable in this sardine can without the wheel in front of me. I hate the idea of driving this thing two hours straight."
Sometimes Geoff really detested when the wheels in his head turned. This didn't qualify as one of those times. Maybe he set himself up for a fall, and an ass kicking if Fuzzy's humor didn't hold out, but he really wanted to spend more time with this man. Would friendship suffice? Only one way to find out.
"Listen. I can drive us to my house, and you can crash there. You're tired and uncomfortable driving this, um, very expensive sardine can. Not a safe combination for a night ride. So stay with me tonight, and I can get my friend's car and drive you home tomorrow. The bosses can swing by and grab Emery's car. There's no doubt he's in town for the night."
He held his breath while Fuzzy contemplated his offer, sure that a negative response was imminent.
"Yeah, that actually sounds like a plan. I've got nothing doing this weekend anyway. You sure you can fit me in?"
Damn, would I like to try. "Oh trust me. That isn't even an issue."
He grabbed the keys that Fuzzy dangled and circled the car. He jumped behind the wheel and in seconds had the car's engine roaring to life. Elevator music filled the car with its smooth, mellow tempo. "Oh wow. He really listens to this?"
"Yeah, Emery has no taste. Imagine having this on the whole ride here! Let me tune this bad boy onto something that will do justice to these speakers."
Geoff watched those big fingers play expertly over the dials. He imagined how those fingers could play over his skin, tweaking his nipples and grabbing his ass, working their way between his cheeks. He couldn't help but wonder how great it'd be if Fuzzy did show some interest in him. Teaching Fuzzy how good they could have it between them.
"There. This sounds promising."
Geoff smiled when Van Halen's "Hot for Teacher" blared out of the speakers. "Tell me something, Fuzzy. Do you believe in signs, like something guiding you in a certain direction?"
"Oh absolutely. My mom's big on that type of thing."
Geoff threw the car in reverse and grinned at his bear. "Good to hear."

No comments:

Post a Comment