by Jewel E. Ann
I grin, sliding the record out. “I’ll play you my favorite song off this album. My mom and dad used to dance to it late at night when they thought I’d gone to sleep. I’d sneak halfway down the stairs and watch them dance.” I wrinkle my nose. “And then they’d kiss and I’d run back up to my bed and bury my head under the covers.”
Harry’s cheeks turn a little pink. I’ve not seen him blush before. It’s sweet.
“Something” starts to play.
“Show me your dance moves, Harrison Hopkins.” I hold out my arms.
He shakes his head. “That’s not the kind of dancing I know.”
I take his hand. He stiffens as I place it on my lower back and bring his other hand out to his side, latched to mine.
“Have you had a school dance? Slow dancing with a girl?”
“No way.” He shakes his head, stiffly letting me move him side to side.
“Well, if you go to homecoming or prom someday, I’ll give you dance lessons on slow dancing. Girls like a guy who knows how to lead.”
“It’s too weird.” He releases me, stepping back a few feet while shaking his head.
I laugh a little and twist my lips, focusing on the sexy guy perched on the edge of my bed. “Does your dad know how to dance?”
“Doubt it.” Harry watches the turntable like he’s trying to figure it out.
“Mr. Hopkins. You got any moves?” I hold out my hand and wink, knowing damn well he has some moves.
He glances at his preoccupied son in the corner of my bedroom. Standing, he takes my hand. I try to control my breathing as he slides his hand around my waist, pulling me close to him while bringing my other hand to his chest.
His gaze falls to my lips as he leads me around the small space between the end of my bed and the door. Something about this stolen—forbidden—moment feels more intimate than the last time we were in my bedroom together.
“Wh—” I stop to even out my voice. God, I sound so breathy.
Flint smirks, doing really inappropriate things to me with just a single look.
I try it again. “Who taught you to dance?”
“My mom.”
“Really?”
“Really,” he says like it’s no big deal.
The song ends and he releases me with his hands, but damn! He has to stop looking at me like he’s imagining me naked. I pull my top away from my chest a bit to hide my hard nipples.
Flint grins. Of course he saw them.
“We should go, buddy. Why don’t you make sure Ellen’s rat babies are all put back in their cage.”
“K.” He turns.
I smile, hoping he’s too young to see how incredibly flushed I am because his dad has my body in a tizzy from one sexy look.
“You feeling okay?”
“Shut up,” I whisper.
He takes a step toward me.
“Don’t.” I shake my head, taking a step back.
He watches me like he did in the office at his house, just minutes before he did wicked things to me on the spiral staircase.
My gaze falls to his hands. They’re strong hands that hold a football and win fights, not delicate manicured hands of a stuffy guy with a desk job. That’s what makes him so damn sexy in a suit. He’s the perfect clash of sophistication and ruggedness. It accentuates his broad shoulders and defined chest. And when he sits down in a suit, I can see the delineation of his quadriceps.
“You’re humming.”
My gaze snaps from his hands to his face. “I’m nervous.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re too close, and I’m …”
“Regretting wearing such a short skirt and flimsy lace panties?”
I swallow hard. “Maybe.”
He works his teeth over his bottom lip, staring at my legs for a few seconds before meeting my eyes again. “Harry can be home alone for a few hours, but I only leave him by himself during the day. How about lunch and a matinee tomorrow?”
“A date?” My head cocks to the side.
“A date.” He grins.
“No skywriting?”
His grin grows a fraction more.
I shrug. “I suppose. Where are we going to eat?”
As his grin morphs into something quite wolfish, his gaze drifts down my body, the tip of his tongue easing out to slide across his lower lip.
I cross my ankles. Yeah, wearing flimsy panties and a short skirt was a terrible idea.
“This place I recently tried. It’s quite delectable.”
Gulp.
“Ready?” Harry peeks his head in the room.
“Yeah, I’m ready.”
I pull my shirt away from my chest again and clear my throat. “I’ll walk you out.” Taking in a deep breath, I hurry past him, praying he doesn’t make some sly move to touch me. I’m one slide of a finger—any finger—away from convulsing. “Thanks for coming.”
“I haven’t … yet.” Flint says just above a whisper that only I can hear.
Fucking hell! Kill me. Just kill me now.
“What are you going to do with the rest of the apple crisp?” Harry asks, shoving his arms into his hoodie.
“Oh. Gosh … I don’t need it. You take it.” I walk toward the counter.
“We don’t need all of it,” Flint says, shadowing me.
“No. Take it.”
I pull out a sheet of foil and cover it.
“We don’t—”
I shove the dish into Flint’s chest.
“I want you to eat all of it.”
A single brow slides up his forehead as one corner of his mouth twitches into a tiny grin.
I grimace. “The crisp.”
“The crisp.” He nods slowly. “Thank you. I look forward to it.”
In thirty-two years, I have never needed to get off like I do right now. Pink balls are real.
“It was fun.” I chomp down on the inside of my lip as I ease past Flint. So much blood has converged between my legs, waiting for a release of pleasure, even walking is a bit uncomfortable. “We’ll have to do it again.”
“Oh!” Harry almost runs into me as he stops and changes direction. “I forgot my guitar. We didn’t get to play.” He heads back to the rats’ room.
“Next time,” I say, keeping my gaze anywhere but on the man who has the superpower to make me squirm.
“Which finger or fingers of yours should I be jealous of tonight?” he says in a low, deep voice.
I hide my gasp, but it’s there. Apparently shockingly crude remarks are the theme of the night. I can play this game. Making a quick glance over my shoulder for young ears coming, I turn back and hold up my index and middle finger. “These two up front…” I add my ring finger “…this one in the back.”
And there it is … Flint Hopkins expressionless and speechless. It’s an oddly beautiful sight.
“Got it.” Harry brushes by us and opens the front door.
I grin, batting my eyelashes like someone wearing contacts for the first time. “Goodnight, boys.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
MY ALARM RUINS my morning at seven, just like I set it to do. I like sleeping in, but the new man in my life inspires me to be the typical woman—self-conscious about my body image. All men should be forced to come back in another life as a woman.
I bring up my fourteen-minute kick-ass workout app and rotate through a series of jumping rope, burpees, squats, pushups, and tricep dips, followed by a long shower and thoughts of Flint Hopkins.
“Who’s calling me before eight?” I wrap a towel around my head and slip into my robe as I run to answer my phone in the bedroom.
“Hey, Dad. It’s Sunday. I’m not in your time zone. Do you keep forgetting?”
“Did I wake you?”
I sigh. “No, but—”
“Then stop making your old man feel bad.”
“Sorry. How are you?”
“Old.”
I laugh, plopping back onto my bed. “Aged like a fine wine.”
&nb
sp; “Find yourself a worthy man?”
“Well …” I grin. “He’s definitely a man.”
“A good man?”
Is Flint a good man?
“I think so. He has a son.”
“Divorced?”
“Widowed.”
“Oh …”
“Yeah. It’s a little complicated. His name is Flint. He’s actually my landlord.”
“So he’s into real estate?”
“He’s an attorney.”
“A good one?”
I laugh. “I don’t know for sure. I haven’t needed his legal services. Does it matter?”
“Of course it matters. You want to be with a guy who’s on the right side.”
“Republican?”
“I couldn’t give a rat’s ass if he’s republican or democrat. And no offense to your baby varmints.”
I shake with silent laughter while rolling my eyes.
“I mean does he have good morals? Is he defending the right people?”
“I think he’s mostly family law, so I’m sure it could go either way.”
My doorbell rings. Seriously, do people not respect the sacredness of sleeping in on Sundays?
I jackknife out of bed and answer the door.
“I’m sure if you think he’s worthy to date, then he is,” my dad says as I spot a guy holding a package outside my door.
“He’s a good guy. I really believe so. Hang on a sec …” I slip the phone in my robe pocket. “Hi.”
“Miss Rodgers?”
“Yes.”
“Delivery.”
“On a Sunday?”
He’s not wearing a delivery uniform.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“What company are you with?”
“I’m not with a company. Have a good day.” He hands me the small box and turns without further explanation.
I fish my phone back out of my pocket. “Sorry. Delivery.”
“On a Sunday?” my dad asks.
“Right? Yeah, I don’t know what it is.” I put my dad on speaker and set the box on the kitchen counter to open it.
“Chocolates? Flowers?”
I laugh. “The box is too small.”
“Hurry up. The suspense is killing me.”
“It’s my delivery.”
“But now you have me curious.”
“Okay, okay … just a sec …” Inside the brown box is a blue box with a ribbon. “Oh my gosh … it’s a blue box.”
“Is blue good luck?”
I roll my eyes. “It’s from a luxury jewelry store.”
“If this guy thinks he’s proposing without asking my permission—”
“Down boy. It’s too big for a ring. It might be a watch or bracelet.” He sent me jewelry. I can’t believe it. I remove the lid. “Oh my god …”
“What is it?”
“Um …” I take out the card next to the small bottle of water-based personal lubricant.
For my kinky lady. I’m a lot bigger than your ring finger. I’ll pick you up at noon. ~Flint
“Elle, I’m old … I want to know what’s in the box before I die.”
If I tell him what’s in the box, it will kill him.
“A watch.”
“Do you wear a watch?”
“Sometimes.”
“Does it look expensive?”
“Not terribly.”
“Well, that’s good. It’s never a good idea to purchase expensive gifts so early in a relationship. Does it fit?”
I clamp down on my lip to keep from giggling. “I … uh … think it’s a one-size-fits-all.”
“Is it engraved?”
My body vibrates with unleashed laughter, until tears fill my eyes. “No …” I manage to squeak out.
“For crying out loud … a luxury jewelry store that doesn’t do free engraving? If that’s the case, then they’re just screwing you up the ass.”
Oh. My. God … I can’t breathe. My stomach hurts from so much restrained laughter. I click mute on my phone to let it out. Howling laughter echoes in my apartment.
“You should teach your new guy a lesson on demanding good service, like I taught you. Never let someone screw you like that.”
I could pee. I squeeze my legs together to keep from leaking. Forcing a few deep breaths, I turn off the mute button. “So how have you been feeling, Dad?”
“Good. Stiff. Soft in the middle. But good.”
I’m drowning in gutter thoughts. I need to focus. “I miss you.”
“Then get on a plane and come see me.”
“Dad …”
“Live life, my lovely girl. Take chances—a new path—and find happiness. No fear.”
I nod. He has a way of sobering the moment.
“I will.”
“You’ll come see me?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
I smile. “Soon.”
“Holiday soon?”
“Soon.”
“Ah … fine. Love you. Tell that guy of yours to find a better place to buy jewelry.”
“Will do, Dad.”
*
Flint
“I CALLED THE Hamiltons. They’ll be home all day if there’s a non-9-1-1 emergency that requires assistance before I can get home.”
Harrison plugs in his phone cord by the couch. “I don’t think my charger cord works.”
“Not an emergency.” I check to make sure as many lights as possible are off. He’s never figured out how or why it’s important to flip the off switch. Someday he’s going to be introduced to a little piece of paper called an electric bill. “Do you have any questions?”
“Will you pick me up a new charging cord?”
“No.”
“You suck.”
“I try my best. I’ll see you in a few hours.”
The last time I truly dated a woman, I didn’t have a child or a guilty conscience. It wasn’t a big deal if after a few dates things ended. No hard feelings … I just moved on to someone else.
Things aren’t so simple anymore. I’m scared out of my fucking mind of what may come from this. I’m equally as fearful of what may not come from this.
I fuck around with my son’s “friend” and he hates me if he finds out. I break her heart and he hates me. Yet, here I am, ten feet from her apartment and unable to turn around and call it all off before anyone gets hurt or pissed off.
Ellen opens the door. I take a few seconds to admire the view. I fucking love that long red hair and those blue eyes. But more than that … I love the way she looks at me, like she has one hundred ideas in her head of what she’d like to do to me but she can’t decide where to start.
“You have some explaining to do, mister.”
“Is that so?”
She nods for me to come in. I shake my head.
“Lunch and a movie.”
“Yes. I need to grab my jacket and purse.” She laughs.
“I’ll wait for you. I’m trying to be a gentleman.”
Her lips twist to the side. “Gentlemen wait in the hall, even when they’re invited inside?”
“It’s the only way for me to be a gentleman at the moment.”
She blinks a few more times, with a contemplative expression stuck to her face.
“Ellen, you can grab your coat and purse so we can go to lunch and a movie like I told Harrison we would be doing, or you can stare at me like that and we’ll be forced to play my favorite game in lieu of lunch and a movie.”
Her gaze meets mine. “What’s your favorite game?”
“It’s called Fuck Ellen.”
Her lips part, eyes widening a bit more as a rosy color works its way into her cheeks. She eases the door shut and returns a minute later with her purse and coat. “Lunch and a movie it is.” She smiles, locking the door behind her.
After she slips her keys into her purse, I take her hand. The last time I held a woman’s hand in public, I was walking her out of a restaurant. Less than thirty minutes later
, she was trapped in an overturned car, taking her last breath.
“You have two cars?” Ellen eyes me as I open the door to my black Jaguar Coupe.
“I do.”
She shoots me a sly grin. I’m not sure what it means.
I cup both sides of her head and bend down. “You have to give me something,” I whisper over her lips. “I’m dying a little here.” I kiss her. She fists my jacket and kisses me back as if she, too, was dying a little before this moment. I don’t want lunch. And I sure as hell don’t want to watch a movie. I want to possess every inch of this woman, because when I’m with her, I feel deserving of more.
“Now, get in.” I smack her ass. “Before I break any more promises.”
*
Ellen
“WHO WAS THE gentleman who arrived at my door this morning?”
Keeping his eyes on the road, Flint smirks.
“He was handsome … and large. We used over half the bottle of lube before we got it to fit.”
“Half a bottle, huh? Clearly he didn’t know what he was doing.”
“You’re such an ass, Flint Hopkins. My dad was on the phone with me when it arrived. Seriously, who’s your weekend gofer?”
He shrugs. “I can’t reveal my sources.”
“Fine. Then let’s talk about my eviction notice. I want you to let me stay. I made you and Harrison dinner last night. He played with my rats. We danced to the Beatles. You gave me a welt just below my ass. And we’re going on an official date. You can’t kick me out.”
“I can. And you can have a little tantrum if you must … but it’s business.”
“Ahhh! Why are you being so irrational about this? We’ve had sex. You said we’re friends. You can’t kick your friend out. You just can’t.”
He chuckles and I want to smack him.
“I go for the jugular in the courtroom against attorneys that I’ve known for years. I know their wives and kids. I’ve attended baptisms and graduations. We are friends, but inside the courtroom they are opposing counsel and I do whatever is in the best interest of my clients, even if it means tearing my friend’s case apart and making them look unprepared and incompetent.”
He pulls into a parking spot.
I get out before he has a chance to open my door. When he goes to take my hand, I slip it in my coat pocket, so he rests his hand on my lower back and guides me into the restaurant. It’s a nice café with a bakery—I love the smell of fresh-baked bread. We’re seated in a booth by the window. It’s dreary out, almost like it could snow. I’m feeling a bit dreary as well.