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  BOTH OF HER

  By Alisa Mullen & KATHY COOPMANS

  Copyright 2015 ALISA MULLEN & KATHY COOPMANS

  This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 Unported License.

  Attribution — You must attribute the work in the manner specified by the author or licensor (but not in any way that suggests that they endorse you or your use of the work).

  Noncommercial — You may not use this work for commercial purposes.

  No Derivative Works — You may not alter, transform, or build upon this work.

  Inquiries about additional permissions

  should be directed to: [email protected]

  Cover Design by Dana Lamothe

  Edited by Rose David

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to similarly named places or to persons living or deceased is unintentional.

  ISBN-13:978-1517589387

  ISBN-10:151758938X

  BOTH OF US THANKS:

  -First off, we have to thank Kimberly Russell Shaw for bringing the top mind fuck novelists of 2015 together for this collaboration. We had a blast working together. What a ride!

  -Thanks to our step-children, Helena and Melanie. We adore you.

  -Thank you Amy Gamache with Rose David Editing for being flexible with our different writing styles.

  -Thank you to Heather from Panty Dropping Book Blog for everything. You are amazing.

  -To Dana Leah who jumped on board and created the perfect cover.

  -Tessi and Dustin, thank you for creating the perfect cover for Both of Her. The moment our eyes hit this photo we knew it was the one.

  -We both would like to thank our family and friends. A lot of time is taken away from our loved ones when we write. More time was taken away when we decided to write this book together on top of continuing our own separate stories. We thank you for continuing to support us and allowing us to live our dreams, fulfill our passion, while standing by our sides.

  -For all the blogs who helped us spread the word. You all amaze us with your continued support and the awesome things you do.

  -To you the reader – you allow us to enter your life while reading our words. How can the two of us put into words our thanks to you? With so many books to choose from. You choose ours as one to read. Thank you from the deepest part of our hearts.

  A note from Kathy – I would like to thank Alisa for bringing the idea of Luca to my mind and collaborating with me on a story of one woman trying to find her true identity. It’s funny sometimes how you can find that certain person who you click with. You and I do. I look forward to our journey together!

  To Kathy’s Kinky Krew – we have never seen a group of women so dedicated like you. You all are simply THE BEST.

  A note from Alisa – I would like to also thank Kathy for helping to bring Luca to life. Without you I’m not sure Both of Her would have developed into the story that it is. You have been amazing through it all. I look forward to what the future holds for us.

  To my Boston Babes – What can I say about my girls? I love you all so much and appreciate everything you do for me. (Donkeys Rock – Et!) There you go! XOXO

  PROLOGUE

  How ‘Both of Her’ Started

  It is officially official. According to the black and white school uniformed clock in the mathematics lecture hall, Christmas break will start in less than eighteen minutes. I only have to listen to my Economics professor talk about the effect that holiday shopping has on the United States economy. I couldn’t care less, because I am broke. My family will be receiving coupons for free car washes from yours truly while I’m home on break. Actually, maybe I will mix it up this year, and bake some cookies to place under the tree in little gift bags.

  As my professor drones on, I imagine my mom’s smile and my father’s words, as they open the gifts I plan to give them. “Luca, it is the thought that counts, honey. We are always so proud of you.”

  They should be proud of me. Although I told myself I would never become a Yankee, I moved from sunny Jacksonville, Florida to take a spot as a third seat flutist at New York University on a full ride. I still have to pay for books and food, so I have a job at the little pizza shop right around the corner from my tiny apartment. Even while working, I still bust my butt off to maintain the GPA that NYU expects from me. I’m not stupid. I know that playing the flute will not be my only passion in life, so I am studying for a double major in business. I might be in college forever, but for now, I am living moment to moment and loving it. I don’t know who I will become, but I know I hate being broke. I also know the long lecture that takes up the mind numbing last minutes of the semester has absolutely zero to do with me. If it was me, I would succeed through all days of the year - whether it was Christmas or Valentine’s Day. When I start to work, like with my flute practicing, I will give it more than one hundred percent.

  As if an angel had fallen from the sky and landed on my professor’s shoulder, he clears his throat to announce that we should all enjoy our time off, before releasing us a few minutes early. With my final papers in hand, I do an inward high five when I see the ninety-three on the top of my page. It is a glorious Christmas present.

  As I walk out of class, I power up my phone to let my parents know that I am heading back to my place, grabbing my bags, and setting off to John F. Kennedy Airport to catch my six o’clock flight to Florida. I will deplane in Florida, wearing flip flops, no matter the temperature. It has to be warmer than the city that never sleeps. It is also the city that is so cold during the winter months that it actually kills the elderly. People don’t mention that part and they really need to. People require heat. Florida was where it was at. I don’t think anyone, but the obvious Floridians, have gotten the lifesaving memo.

  I actually feel bad for New Yorkers, notice that I don’t consider myself one, nor do I ever plan to. Despite that, the city and the surrounding New England states were expecting a large Nor’easter winter storm in the next day with temperatures expecting to drop below zero. I breathe a sigh of relief when I hear that I will be missing that shit storm by mere hours. By the time the blast of winter hits the city, I will be well over the clouds and storm alike, as I read the first of many romance novels I piled up. The poor things have been waiting for this vacation.

  Freshman year at the prestigious New York University was difficult to adjust to at first. I think about home and warmth often, which makes me miss palm trees and grass year round. I know I am an adult now, finding my way through a different experience and yes, New York City is an experience, but I am also a firm believer in the saying, “nothing is forever”. This southern girl will land a job as close to the equator as soon as she flips her graduation cap up into the air.

  A quick glance to the alarm clock on my roommate’s desk in our dorm shows that I am running behind schedule. I start jamming anything I see into a red duffle bag and dial a taxi at the same time. I’m always running late and it shows. I will end up in Florida with no toothbrush and thirty pairs of panties for a five day trip. The night before I’d been working nonstop on my final papers that I was confident I would be able to pack everything I need in the hour lag time between economics and when I need to be at the airport.

  It wasn’t. I am screwed in so many more ways than one.

  ***

  My mouth is full of cotton from being exposed to the dry air of the airport. It also doesn’t help that it has been gaped wide open for at least ten minutes. My eyes toggle from the snow flurries outside and the departure screen that announces all flights out of John F. Kennedy Airport are can
celled.

  Cancelled.

  Not delayed, not hold on, not we will get you on the next flight sometime or somehow. Nope. Nothing to help us figure out what the hell to do. They are all just cancelled. I can’t wrap my mind around spending the indefinite future at this airport with thousands of other irritated people, waiting to take off for the holiday. This has never happened to me before and well, what do people do? Do they just stand here like idiots? I look out the windows and back to the monitors.

  “But it isn’t even snowing!” I scream at the monitors. “You all are a bunch of pussies! This is what you’re trained for!”

  I hear a low chuckle behind me. I whip around to find a tall blond guy in what appears to be in a pilot uniform.

  “Please. Tell me what you really think,” he bemuses, crossing his arms over his chest.

  He is hot, yes. The whole pilot thing is really doing it for him, but fuck – this is the last person I want to find attractive right now.

  “Why?” I whine.

  “Why were they cancelled?” he asks, flicking his eyes up to the screens.

  I nod, giving him a “duh” look. “Yes, why they all are cancelled. You’re the expert.” Okay, I feel a little brazen and maybe a bit petulant.

  “Well, New York may not be in storm trouble right now, but there are two very large storms coming this way, one heading up from the south, the other heading from the west. Any flight that goes out today won’t be able to stop unless they are headed south of Costa Rica. It’s actually the worst weather I have seen in years.” His facial expression turns grim as he appears to think about something.

  “What? Sad you won’t be making your paycheck tonight? Some of us have families to get to, cities to flee from. Gah! This is so fucking ridiculous,” I yell out into the crowds of people who look like they want to scream an Amen of agreement.

  I am beyond confused. No one has an answer. No one knows what to do. I am stuck. I am stuck in New York with no one.

  “You know what would make you feel a whole lot better about this?” the hot pilot asks me under his breath. Did he just read my fucking mind? Did I just say that out loud?

  I lift my chin up to look him in the eyes. At the same time, his eyes travel up and down my body, which causes my eyes to widen in shock. Sure, I am a blond haired, skinny Floridian. I have a constant tan and big enough tits for three girls. But hell, this guy is too obvious.

  “Not interested?” he asks, his eyebrows lift and his thick, wet tongue slowly moves out to lick his lips in the most seductive manner.

  I nearly choke on my saliva that is pooling on my own tongue.

  “How…how often do you proposition young, distressed women in need?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest. He murmurs something about my “lucky arms” as he watches them move across my breasts.

  “Nope,” he answers with a wicked grin on his face. “You just look like you haven’t – haven’t been pleasured in a while. It would make you feel a lot better. I could make you forget where you are for a solid two hours if you let me.”

  “Confident much? You must be ten years older than me,” I acknowledge. Not that my curiosity isn’t sparked. No one has ever come on so strong or so confidently in my life. It is different and I like it. There aren’t any foreplay games. There aren’t any commitments to worry about. It is what it is and it is sexy.

  Not to mention, but I will anyway that it has been a while and my own hand has become more mechanical than pleasurable. I haven’t felt this uncomfortable ache between my legs since my high school boyfriend. That boy was seriously sexy when he was shirtless and sweaty.

  “Age is just a number; it’s the moments that count,” he replies with the most serious expression across his face.

  I stare at him for long moments, gauging his expectations and his determination. I am the only woman he sees in this mess of angry and irritated people. He sees sex and fun where everyone else sees boredom and insanity. I choose his way of thinking.

  Yes, I think, nodding once to him. His pleased expression is fucking beautiful and I feel ten times lighter now, knowing I am not going to be alone. No, I am going to be with a pilot. Oh, hell yes.

  I follow my pilot up an escalator and through many unmarked doors to a lounge area where pilots, stewardesses, and other airline personnel are congregating. Most of them are glued to the television with the obvious hopes that the weather will suddenly evaporate into outer space. Others talk and laugh loudly by a high countered mahogany bar. They don’t seem one bit phased by the weather. Again, I choose that crowd. There is nothing anyone can really do.

  No one notices us as we sit in two comfortable plush chairs that are facing each other next to the one sided window out to the terminal down below.

  “What would you like to drink…um, shit, what’s your name?” he asks, his voice rising in surprise. I am a bit taken back too. We never exchanged our names between his pickup line and his follow through. Does that make me a slut? A hooker? A freak?

  I never have random hook ups. This is not me. I suddenly feel the need to keep my real self out of the equation. I smile and answer anyway.

  “I would love a chocolate martini and my name is Lucia,” I answer in a purr like manner, outstretching my hand to shake his.

  Instead of shaking my hand, my pilot turns it over, and his wet, full lips find the back of it. He watches me as his tongue slips out to give my hand a full on open mouthed kiss. The ache increases and I am on board. I am doing this.

  “Lucia is such a beautiful name. I’m Camden.” His voice is sandpaper and silk together in a beautiful combination of lust.

  I blush at his open public display of affection, no matter how small it is, and nod in acknowledgment of his name and the kiss. Camden, the pilot, is a sweet distraction from my controlling nature of well… nature. Fuck the snow. I officially hate New York and I will demand a transfer to any college south of Atlanta by next summer. I am sick of the troubles it brings to me. Full scholarship to NYU be damned. I will study harder in the spring so I can get out of New York with an even better scholarship to a school in the south.

  I watch Camden as he saunters up to the bar – the bar that I am not legally allowed to be served at. I look around and wonder why I haven’t felt nervous especially when I first walked in here. Something inside me knows that no matter where I go with Camden, I will be welcomed – respected. I smile at him with a grateful look of reprieve and add a little bit of wanting desire into my expression, so that he will remain interested in me. He speaks softly with the female bartender, quickly throws down some money, and walks back to me. My martini, which I’ve never ordered before today, is in one hand and a bottle of beer claims the other. His eyes don’t leave mine as he walks back to sit with me.

  As he comes close to me to place the martini down on a napkin provided by the club, he softly grazes my cheek with his lips.

  “Are you old enough to order that drink for yourself, Lucia?” he whispers into my ear, before running the tip of his tongue along my ear lobe.

  I inhale sharply and shake my head without hesitation. He blows out a large breath and takes his seat immediately to my left, essentially keeping me disguised from the rest of the club. The only other focal point, besides himself, Camden has given me is the window that displays frantic families, pissed off wives or husbands, seasoned business people, and clueless elderly transported back and forth on the airport caddies. Everyone looks so lost. I suddenly feel found.

  I briefly wonder how many students are stuck in the airport. Do they get a hot pilot to warm up with, too? I decide to ignore all of my thoughts of those people in the airport, other students, and my troubles of getting home. I let Camden in.

  “Does my age bother you?” I ask, taking a small sip off the martini, which I decide that I do, indeed, like.

  “Yes,” he says huskily. “It bothers me very much.”

  Camden rests back in his chair and takes a long pull off of his beer.

  I look at the
martini, pick it up, down it, and start to collect my things. I will not be a nuisance on the day of all nuisances. I have a few books to read, texts to respond to, and people to call. This guy isn’t worth anymore of my time if I am not the appropriate age for his attention. Fuck it. I can dream about the idea of this later. His firm grip on my wrist startles me back to the current moment. I look up to him with a questioning expression.

  “I am bothered, Lucia. My dick is so bothered by your age that I’m not sure I can put up the pretense of dinner and drinks before I take you from behind,” he firmly states, his teeth clenching as tight as a vice grip and his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. The guy can’t even swallow properly he is so turned on.

  “What made you think I want dinner and drinks before? You only proposed one thing, Camden. I didn’t have any other expectations when I came with you.” The smile I want to unleash stays hidden behind my pretense of being calm and untouchable.

  He stares at me, searching for the answer that I’ve already given him. I won’t tell him again that I want to have sex with him. I nod back in the terminal. I came with him to this lounge area. I’ve answered all of his questions. Now, he has to understand through my body language, the obvious declaration of my desire. A lengthy silence passes between us until I can’t take it any longer.

  “I would like another martini, Camden. If you plan to have me from behind, I would like at least one more martini,” I say. I feel like a slut. I must be a slut. One thing is for sure – no one will ever know about this. Never.

  His nod is accompanied by a beautiful, sexual smile, as he finally realizes where I will allow the night to go.

  ***

  That was the Christmas I became two people. New York was snowed in for days and days. There were no airplanes, no busses, and no traveling for all of those stuck in the city. Camden and I were just two people out of millions that didn’t get the pleasure of spending Christmas with their families.