by Kayt Miller
I don’t have to wait long for his reply. Be right down.
Thanks to the glass door, I see him as he jogs down a set of stairs just inside. I smile when I see him. I can’t help it, because he’s smiling at me. A very nice smile. I take a second to note his attire. He’s in a pair of jeans and a T-shirt that has a logo of one of my favorite bands on the front. He looks good. Bonus, we like the same music.
“Hey,” he says, opening the door to me. Pulling it open all the way, he stands aside, gesturing for me to step in. When I do, he reaches out and takes my hand, kissing the top of it.
I’m sort of surprised by it. I mean, who does that these days? No matter, I love it. I know I must be blushing, but the guy—well, there’s just something about him that makes me feel all sorts of good things. Giddy, like I felt whenever I was with my first high school boyfriend.
He releases my hand and points to the stairs. “Come on up, beautiful. Dinner’s almost ready.”
“I’ll follow you.” For one, I don’t know where he lives, so it’s natural for him to go first, and for another, I’m not ready to walk up first so the only thing he can see is my ass. Luckily, I also changed into leggings and a tunic, so my ass is covered.
Oh hell, I need to get over all that crap. After all, he seems to like me just as I am.
Entering his apartment, the first thing I notice is the smell. It’s wonderful. “Mm, Italian. It smells good.”
He’s already in his small kitchen when he chuckles. “Well, I’d love to tell you I made my sauce from scratch, but it’s from a jar.”
“There’s nothing wrong with that.” It’s what I use too. I look around the place and see it’s almost as small as my apartment. He’s got just enough room for a sofa and a chair. “Where’s Sky?”
“Right over here.” He comes around the tiny kitchen island and makes his way over to the corner of the room below a window.
I follow him and bend down when I see her in a dog bed. “Hey, sweetheart,” I coo. The poor thing looks like she’s been through the wringer. Her fur is shaved all along her spine, and the rest looks a little scraggly.
“I took her out right before you got here, but after dinner, we can take her out again.” Ben picks up a small water bowl and places it in front of her. Lifting her head, Sky laps at the water like she hasn’t had anything to drink for days. “Good girl,” he says to her softly. We’re so close to each other, our shoulders are touching.
“Here, I’ll hold this if you want to finish up dinner.”
“Sure,” he says, looking down at me.
Sitting on the floor in front of Sky, I hold the bowl for her as I pet her gently. Her dark little eyes are looking at me, and I swear she’s smiling. Yes, I know that’s crazy talk, but if a dog could smile, she’d look just like this.
“I think she likes me,” I say, turning my head to look at Ben.
“What’s not to like?” he says with a chuckle. “You’re kind, beautiful, and you smell pretty damn good.”
I feel the heat of a blush creep into my cheeks, so I quickly turn back to Sky. I’m not used to being complimented. Not the way Ben does it, anyway.
“Okay. Dinner is served,” he says cheerily.
Using the chair next to me, I push myself up and make my way to the kitchen area. “Wow.” I see he’s got two heaping bowls of pasta and sauce. Each bowl has a slice of toasted Italian bread on the side. Next to that are two small salads.
“I’ve got ranch and Italian dressings, so you can choose.” He looks at me quickly. “Unless you don’t like either of those.” He turns to his apartment-size fridge. “Maybe I’ve got more—”
“No. I like both of those.” Too much. Ranch and me, we go way back. “This looks amazing.” I’m not kidding. It really does.
“Great.” Ben’s smile almost takes up his whole face. Picking up both bowls of spaghetti, he adds, “If you want to grab the salads, we can eat on the sofa so we’re close to Sky. Plus we can watch a little news.” He stops suddenly. “Unless you’d rather not.”
I quickly shake my head. “No, it’s fine. It’s how I eat dinner every night.”
“If you’d rather talk….”
“Why don’t we turn the volume down so we can talk too?”
“Great plan.”
“What are you doing with Sky while you’re at work?”
We’ve taken Sky outside to go potty. It’s interesting how he uses the sling to help her stand upright while also keeping her from moving around too much. She does her business, which Ben says is exactly what the vet wants to see.
“I’m taking her with me on Monday.”
“Oh?” I’m actually surprised by that response.
“Yeah. I’m not bothering to get permission.” He shrugs. “It’s better to ask forgiveness, right?” He laughs.
“Will you take her every day?”
“No. The animal hospital lined up a place that does physical therapy. They’ll keep her there between treatments, and I’ll pick her up after work. But they can’t start until Tuesday.”
That sounds like a major deal. I can’t imagine how much something like that costs. “How long will she need therapy?”
“I’m hoping less than two weeks, but it all depends on how well she does.”
“I see.”
“Let’s go back upstairs. I bought the stuff to make chocolate chip cookie ice cream sandwiches.”
“Oh, um….” I should probably go. It’s getting late, but honestly, I don’t want to.
“Come on.” He nudges me with his shoulder. “Let’s have some dessert.” He winks at me as he says it, and I’m not sure what to do about that. So I just giggle.
Ugh. I’m such a dork.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Ben
She’s perfect. Everything about her is absolutely perfect. This night is perfect. And best of all, my sweet dog is perfect. Well, okay, she’s injured but on the mend. She’ll be back to being perfect in no time.
I lead us back up to my apartment and place Sky in her bed, then hold the small bowl of water in front of her to see if she drinks. She does, thankfully. Standing, I turn to Alison, who’s been watching Sky and me.
“Dessert, coming right up.”
I make quick work of my ice cream treat. It’s one of my favorite things to have on hand—you know, best of both worlds with the cookie and the ice cream. I hand one to Alison along with a paper towel and wait and watch, making sure she likes it. Little did I know the kind of reaction she’d elicit from me with just one lick. Because when she licks the little sandwich, she moans. Do I even need to tell you what that did to my cock? No? I didn’t think so. When I growl under my breath, the reaction from Alison surprises me. She looks at me beneath hooded eyelids and steps closer. Before I know it, her lips are on mine, and our ice cream treats are abandoned on top of the kitchen counter.
I’ll clean that up later.
The kiss goes from zero to sixty in seconds. Our tongues are in each other’s mouths and my hands, both of them, are around her, grabbing that luscious ass of hers.
“Fuck, Alison,” I say as my mouth moves from her lips to her neck. I kiss and lick just a little bit and then give her a bite right below her ear. Nothing that will leave a mark. Just a nibble.
“Ben,” she says in a sweet voice. “I….”
I pull away slightly. “Is this okay?”
I feel her hand slide to the back of my neck and then pressure until our lips are millimeters away from each other. “God, yes.”
Since my hands are still on her ass, I lift her and walk to the place where I sleep. I can’t call it a bedroom, per se; it’s more like a partitioned area in my tiny New York apartment. But it works for me and Sky. At my bed, I lower her back gently and follow her down. When I feel her legs wrap around my waist, I press my body over hers and moan. Now, if only our clothes would magically disappear, we’d be in business.
But that’s moving too fast. I know it. I kiss her plump lips, but this time,
I do it softly. Her full upper lip first, then her pouty lower one. She tastes sweet, and that’s not from the ice cream.
I lean back so I can look into her eyes. This close up, I can see everything. Every freckle, her long eyelashes, and her skin. I touch her face and run my thumb across her incredibly soft cheek. “You’re breathtaking, Alison.”
Lashes flutter quickly and, if it’s possible, her cheeks grow pinker. “So are you.”
I kiss her lower lip again, suckling on it for just a moment. Turning my head, I move in for a deeper, more lingering kiss, and she meets me halfway. It’s the most sensual kiss I’ve ever experienced. If I weren’t rock hard, I’d say this would be enough for me, but it’ll never be enough with this woman. I need all of her.
My hand moves from her face to her neck where a thick strand of hair sits. I’ve wanted to touch her hair for so long. It’s dark and so shiny I swear I could see myself reflected there. But touching it is a whole other ball game. It runs along my fingers like a precious silk. I wonder what it’d feel like running over my naked chest. Or better yet, my cock.
“Shit,” I mutter.
“What?” Her face tells me everything I need to know. She’s unsure about me or at least about what I’m doing, and I’m not making it better by muttering random words.
“I was imagining us naked with your hair loose and sliding over my body. My dick is already in a painful state. It made it worse.”
“You were imagining… my hair?”
“I was imagining all of you.” I kiss her on the side of her mouth and then move down, from her chin all the way down to the opening in her pretty V-neck top. I take in her scent up close. I’ve noticed it before, at work. Sweet vanilla and something else. I kiss her there and swipe my tongue across it as well. Moving back up, I kiss her neck and run my hand up from her thigh to her waist, then just below her breast.
Before I do anything else, I look at her again. She nods and I run my hand over her, feeling a hard nipple through her layers. I press my pelvis down just enough so she knows what she does to me.
A moan escapes her, and it makes me crazy. “Alison, honey,” I groan. “What are we doing?”
“Oh.” She looks surprised by my question. “Maybe you’re right.” She pushes on my shoulder enough to tell me to move off her, so I do.
“Right? About what?”
She scoots to the edge of my bed and stands. Turning to face me, she says, “This is a bad idea.”
“No it’s not.” It’s the best fucking idea I’ve ever had.
“We work together.”
“And?” What does that have to do with anything?
She’s busy fussing with her hair, and I want to tell her to leave it that way because it’s a mess and fucking sexy. Hell, everything about Alison Kirby is sexy.
“And….” She sounds hesitant as she steps around the partition and I follow. The first place she goes is to Sky’s bed. She runs her hand over Sky’s head. I want to smile at that, but I’m too confused.
When she reaches for her purse, I repeat, “And?”
With a sigh, she finally faces me. Looking me in the eye, she says, “Look, Ben. I like you. Obviously.”
If she “obviously” liked me, she’d be naked in my bed right now. But I keep my mouth shut about that and decide to play along. “Obviously, I like you too.” I want to point to my tented jeans, but that seems like bad manners, and it’s not like she didn’t see it. And feel it. Instead, I wait for the rest of whatever bullshit she’s about to say.
“Look.” She steps closer to me—close enough for her to reach out and touch my arm. I get tingles just from that. “I need that job.”
I nod but remain silent.
“I’m just starting up, and if I screw this job up, I’m going to have to—” She looks up, and I swear her eyes are sparkling with unshed tears. “I’m hanging on by a thread, Ben. If I don’t do a good job for Graham Morgan, I might as well pack my bags and move home.”
I want to ask her where “home” is, but I’ll save that for another day. Shit. I hate this. “Honey—” Hell, what am I going to say? That I’d take care of her if Morgan fired her? I do okay, but it’s New York. I’m barely making it too.
“Yes, I like you, Ben. But right now isn’t the time for us to start anything.”
“Too late,” I mutter softly, but it’s loud enough for her to hear me.
Her voice is sad. “I’m sorry, Ben, but right now, I have to focus on my career. You understand, right?”
I nod because I do. I get it. It just sucks. I could really get into this girl.
Who the fuck am I kidding? I’m already into her.
It’s more than that, though. I think I could love this woman. I mean really love her. And believe me when I say, I’ve never felt that way before. Not once.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Alison
“God, Ali, you’re such an idiot.”
Yes, I’m talking to myself. I’m walking away from Ben’s place on my way home, talking to myself. Nobody cares. It’s New York. They’ve seen this kind of thing on a daily basis. I’m not special.
But he is.
Ben Schilling is special. Sure, he’s gorgeous, that’s a given, but that’s not what makes him special. It’s everything else. He’s sweet, kind, and probably the sexiest man I’ve ever been with. The things he did with his mouth in the short time I made out with him, well, let me tell you, it was spectacular. My brain was mush by the time we got to his bed. All I wanted to do was strip him naked so I could lick every inch of him, and if what I felt between my legs was any indication, I’d say he’s got quite a few inches to lick.
I snicker at my own dirty thoughts. The woman walking past me just now gave me the side-eye, but I shrug it off. She must be new to New York. I giggle again. Hell, why am I laughing? I just essentially ended something that was just getting started. Something that felt real. Something with possibilities. The possibility of more. Something like love.
And with those thoughts, my giggles and snickers stop as sadness takes over. “God, I’m such an idiot.”
I’m not a late sleeper ordinarily, so I surprise myself when I open my eyes and check the time. After eleven. I frown at the clock because it’s ridiculous—a waste of a good morning. Not to mention there’s no reason for it. It wasn’t like I was tired from the day before.
I snort at the thought. Quite the opposite, actually. No, my Saturday was spent doing, well, nothing. I should have been doing productive things like cleaning my apartment, going to the laundromat—things of that nature. But I didn’t. Why not? Well, for one, it rained all day long, which only added to my melancholy. So, instead of doing what I should have been doing, I stayed in my bed and read sappy love stories. Gah! I’m so stupid. Even more pathetic than that, I pictured every hero in every book with dark hair, blue eyes, and dorky glasses. And when I read the naughty parts, I pictured the same man, only naked. Gloriously naked.
“I’m such an idiot.”
I could have had that. I could have had that sexy hero naked and wanting me. Me! Alison Grace Kirby. But I ruined it. So now I get to spend my Sunday the same way I’ve spent it for the last, well, forever.
Alone.
I look out into my apartment from my spot on my bed and contemplate my next move. I could a) stay in bed and finish the book I started last night, or b) I could get my lazy ass up, go get coffee and a newspaper (my guilty pleasure on Sundays), and then I could get on with it. I’ve got so much work to do, and I need to look at that green folder with fresh eyes. I’ve been missing something.
It’s settled. Rolling out of my comfy bed, I search the floor for something to wear that doesn’t look like I slept in it. Finding my leggings from Friday night, I slip those on along with an extra-large sweatshirt. I move into my bathroom and nearly shriek at the sight of my hair and face. I guess I forgot to shower yesterday, because the makeup from Friday is still there, sort of. It’s dry and flaky now, but the mascara and eyeliner I had
on are holding steady.
I ponder a shower but decide against it. It’ll delay the coffee that’s needed to get my blood pumping. With a warm washcloth, I wipe off my face, brush the rat’s nest that is my hair, and pull it up into a bun at the back of my head. I shrug at myself in the mirror, unimpressed with my reflection, but it’ll have to do.
Wallet and keys in hand, I make my way to the coffee shop. There’s a moment when I first grip the door handle that I hesitate. What if he’s here? It’s his favorite coffee shop too. Shaking my head, I make myself open the door. I’ll have to see him at work. I might as well get it over with.
Scanning the small shop, my heart drops with a thud in my chest. He’s not here, and it’s not relief I’m feeling. It’s disappointment.
What the hell is wrong with me?
I order my usual, then stop by the newspaper kiosk around the corner. That’s when I see him. He’s got Sky in his arms. He’s talking to her, and my heart does that thing again. The urge to run to him is strong. I want to wrap them both up in my arms and tell him I was stupid. Dumb. That we should see where this thing could go.
Then he sees me. We stare at each other for a moment. A long moment. His small smile and wave as he turns away are all I need to make my eyes burn with tears.
“I’m such an idiot.”
Back in my apartment, I shake off the blues by doing one of my favorite things: reading the Sunday newspaper. The first thing I do is spread out each section in front of me, then put them in order of importance. Arts & Leisure, then Book Review, Sunday Styles, and Small Business are in the favorites. After that, I read the front page and the New York section. I admit I do my best to avoid the section on Politics. Yes, I should read it, but it depresses me. It can’t be helped. Then I save the best for last. Ask Ida. When I get to that part of my Sunday morning, I curl up on my couch with a blanket and a throw pillow and I indulge in some kickass advice. Most of it’s ridiculous, some of it makes me cringe, and much of it makes me laugh. Whoever writes that stuff can be pretty funny. I’ve considered writing to Ask Ida, especially after a bad date or even a bad day at work. I never have, though.