Love Me Like You Do: Books That Keep You In Bed

by Fields, MJ

  “Good-bye, Mr. Paige,” Adam says.

  I release his hand and skip down the stairs and into the pickup truck. Adam isn’t far behind me.

  When he slides into the driver’s seat, he puts his cell in one of the cup holders. Then, he turns the ignition and says, “Why do you call your parents by their first names?”

  Pulling the seat belt across my lap, I answer, “It started out as a joke and just stuck.”

  We pull away from the curb and down the street.

  He lets out a low grunt. “I’m surprised. Your parents always seem so proper. Calling them by their first names, mentioning sex…it’s different from how I expected your family to be.”

  “You’re right, and you’re wrong. My parents are very like-minded in their morals. They would never be unfaithful, and they taught us all to be our best and work hard for what we wanted in this world. They are also honest people. They don’t hide behind the idea that their kids are perfect, and they know we’re going to make mistakes. Well, maybe not Emma.”

  He grins at that statement. “She is a bit of a Goody Two-shoes.”

  “Says the Boy Scout.” I lean in with my elbow on the console.

  “Touché.” He smirks.

  I kick off my shoes and curl my feet onto the seat. “We joke about things in our house. I think it’s their way of keeping a close ear on what we’re up to, and it’s probably why Luke, Emma, and I are so close for siblings. Even though Luke’s away at college most of the year, he tells my mom and Emma everything.”

  “Not you?” He places his elbow next to mine.

  “I get an earful, but Emma and Luke are extra close. He’s her baby. Seriously, when she was five, she told everyone he was her son. My parents thought it was adorable.”

  He laughs. It’s a thick and rich sound. “What about you? Who do you call when you have a problem?”

  “My dad. Bob’s my guy.”

  His elbow is rubbing against mine, and it’s ridiculous how this teeny-tiny bit of contact is making me feel. We enter onto the highway, and I look down at my black nails. Yes, it’s a dark color for the summer, but I felt like putting on something dramatic this week.

  My eyes roll toward him in interest. “I heard you took Jessica out.”

  He just nods. I shouldn’t be surprised that I am getting zero intel out of him. It’s for the best.

  A car swerves past us, cutting us off. Adam grips the steering wheel and quickly jerks it to the left to avoid getting hit. I place my feet on the ground and grip the door handle. His cell phone falls out of the cup holder and onto the floor by my sneakers.

  When the car is righted, he looks over to me. “You okay?”

  I take a deep breath through my nose. “Yeah. I’m an accident pro by now.”

  By the look on his face, he is not amused by my comment. My foot hits something on the floor, so I lean down to see it’s Adam’s phone. When I pick it up, the screen is lit, showcasing an audio file.

  “You listen to audio books?” I am way too excited about this revelation.

  He leans over and tries to grab the phone from my hand, but I back up into the door.

  “Eyes on the road, buddy!”

  Thumbing through the app, I click on a book, and a male narrator’s voice comes pouring through the phone’s speaker.

  “Lately, I find myself thinking more and more about her but not only as a friend.”

  His arm reaches out, but I pull the phone in.

  “I notice little details about her that haven’t caught my attention in years but glare out at me now. Every time I look at her, it’s like I’m seeing someone new, not the girl I grew up with and have known for years.”

  He snatches the phone out of my hand and turns it down.

  I cover my mouth to stifle a giggle. “You listen to romance novels!”

  If he could close his eyes in mortification, I’m sure he would.

  Instead, he lifts his chin, and as someone who possesses one hundred percent confidence in himself, he says, “I spend a lot of time in my car. And not just romance. I listen to thrillers. James Patterson, John Connolly, Stephen King.”

  I can’t help the smile that creeps across my face. “And I just happened to spy on the one day you’re enjoying a contemporary romance?” Curling my feet back up on the seat, I lean onto the console. “What’s it about?”

  He rubs the side of his face and answers, “I haven’t gotten very far, but they’re childhood best friends, and they’re in love with each other.”

  With the most nonchalant attitude I can muster, I reply, “Oh.”

  The silence in the car is deafening. He’s clutching his phone in his hand like the world will explode if he lets it go.

  Cautiously, I ask, “Can we listen to it? Together?”

  His brows pinch in.

  I lean further into his side. “You won’t let me listen to music, and I’ve never heard a book on tape. If it’s chick lit, then it’s perfect for a girl like me.”

  I bat my eyelashes a bazillion times until he finally looks my way.

  With an exasperated breath, he says, “Fine. But we’re not listening from the beginning.”

  I sit back and cross my legs, Indian-style. “No problem. I’ll figure out what’s going on.”

  He turns on his radio and hands me the phone to sync his Bluetooth.

  The book resumes where it left off. “My heart beats erratically—slowing down, speeding up—and my palms start to sweat a little when I stare in her direction.”

  I sit back in my seat and listen to the story. This is going to be good.

  Fifteen

  It was a very bad idea. The book is called Gravity by some author named Lauren Runow, and I’m convinced she’s a sadist.

  When we get to the house, I am so enthralled in the story that I don’t get up.

  Adam reaches across the seat and opens the glove box. He pulls out one of those rectangular tissue packs and offers me one.

  I sniffle and pull out one from the plastic. “How are you not sobbing right now?”

  With a finger to my cheek, he wipes away a tear that is falling toward my chin. “I’ve seen a lot of ugly. Takes a lot to make me cry.”

  “Good to know you’re not made of stone.”

  He hands me another tissue. “I thought we’d already established that I was a romantic.”

  I let out a huff. “That’s still to be seen. Come on, I need to hear what happens next.”

  I grab his phone and get out of the car first and ask Toby to borrow his radio. Adam and I are painting the upstairs bedrooms today, so while he grabs the rollers, brushes, and paint, I get the radio synced and wait until Adam is here to turn the book back on to where we left off.

  Listening to an audio book took me longer than I’d expected to get into it, but by chapter seven, I am immersed in the story. It also doesn’t hurt that the male narrator has a huskiness to his voice.

  I’m on the floor, putting blue masking tape on the trim so that we won’t ruin the fresh white paint yesterday’s crew put on it.

  “Never in my wildest imagination would I have believed that my dad getting me a hooker for my sixteenth birthday would bring us closer together.”

  I mock laugh and say to myself, “Sounds like a great guy.”

  I’m tearing a piece of tape with my teeth when the story turns darker.

  “The first time he sent me on a drug run was the scariest day of my life.”

  My eyes dart across the room to Adam, who is standing on a ladder.

  As if he can feel my eyes on him, he looks my way. “You all right over there?”

  I clear my throat as I rapidly nod my head and go back to working.

  “I grab the rolled up bill and lean down to snort my first line. The sting burns my eyes, and I can’t help but cough from the powder hitting the back of my throat, but I did it. My throat goes numb, and my body temperature rises.”

  I look back at Adam and see he hasn’t moved. He’s listening, but his fo
cus is on me. His thoughts are probably running just as wildly as mine.

  “I don’t know whether to be disgusted with what my life has become or pity myself.”

  Is this what it was like the first time Brad got high? Did he mean for it to become a habit? Was he alone with the wrong people, thinking they were right, when the best people were busying themselves on a basketball court, looking the other way?

  He rests the can of paint in his hand on the ladder and gives me his full attention. “We can turn it off.”

  It’s a sweet offer, but if he can deal with listening to a story about a guy getting high, then so can I.

  “Nah. It’s just a story.” I tear a piece of tape not as neatly as I’d like. “I’m waiting to get to the sexy scenes. What kind of romance is this?”

  He laughs a big, beautiful booming laugh. Turning his back to me, he resumes painting the walls.

  We spend the morning listening and painting, working into the early afternoon. So far, the book has gone from sweet to sad to angsty. The two main characters have been dancing around their attraction to one another and are finally alone.

  I’m using a roller to paint the walls. Adam already cut the corners with a brush.

  I’m rolling my brush up the wall when the narrator says, “Before she can sit down, I grab her hand, pulling her toward me, slamming our bodies together. Without a second thought, I push my lips against hers.”

  “Finally!” I practically shout at the speakers.

  I can hear Adam’s chuckle from where he’s working behind me on the other side of the room.

  I dip the roller in the paint and glide the creamy shade of sandstone on the wall.

  “The second my lips touch hers, her mouth opens, inviting me in, sweeping her tongue against mine, as she pushes her body closer to my own.”

  Books always make kisses so passionate. I’ve had some hot and heavy make-out sessions, but they’ve never been as steamy as this.

  “We both pause when the back of her legs touch the side of her bed.”

  I stop painting for a moment and turn my attention to the speakers. These two are totally going to do it. My movements are slow, too slow, as I pay more attention to the book, listening to the words coming out of the radio, than I am on the task at hand.

  “My hand brushes over her breast, cupping it, indulging in the feeling of her soft skin against my rough fingers.”

  I sneak a peek over my shoulder. There’s a can of paint in Adam’s hand, but the brush in his other is hanging by his hip. That copper head is down, tilted to the side, as if he, too, is listening.

  “Trying to hide the tremor in my hands, I take a deep breath and run my fingers along the inside of her thigh and then against her pussy for the first time. The sound of her quick inhale sends chills down my spine and rushes blood straight to my cock.”

  Adam shifts from one leg to the other. His back rises with a large, deep breath, and his fine ass clenches.

  “My fingers part her lips, circling her clit, and move lower to feel her wetness seep out. I slowly dip my fingers in, keeping my eyes on her, loving the way her back arches off the bed in ecstasy.”

  My palms are sweaty. I rub them on the cotton of my pants. and squeeze my thighs together, savoring the burn building deep inside me.

  “I stand tall before her and remove my own clothing before I look down at my best friend, the girl I will always love…”

  Adam turns around, and our gazes connect. My chest jolts with a rush of air that fills my lungs. My heart flutters, echoing its rhythm right down to my belly and screaming through my core.

  With his legs apart, he shows me all of him—his full frame, six feet tall. He’s all male and commanding in a room so empty and vast that his presence makes it feel incredibly small and intimate.

  “I nestle on top of her, between her legs.”

  His pupils dilate, making the dark nothing but a sea of black lust.

  “My lips are pulled down to hers as I slowly start to enter her for the first time.”

  His tongue darts out and skims his lower lip before his teeth come out and graze it.

  “Her body tenses, and I wrap my arms tightly around her, cocooning her, as I make my final thrust inside.”

  He groans.

  “Her mouth finds mine again”—I moan—“and we both find our rhythm—pushing, pulling, tugging, moaning.”

  “You guys coming down for lunch?” Toby walks into the room, and his head darts straight for the speakers as he listens to the narrator finish the most intense love scene I’ve ever heard. As he bounces from one foot to the next, it’s as if he’s trying to decide if he should stay or if it would be more awkward if he left.

  He stays.

  And it’s awkward.

  Luckily, the chapter ends quickly, leaving an uncomfortable silence. Adam and I are still looking at each other, and Toby is just standing there.

  “So, yeah…break time.” Toby says, his hands in his pockets, as he backs away from the room. “Whenever you’re ready.”

  When he’s gone, I drop my roller and make my way out of the room.

  “Looks like someone’s hungry,” Adam calls out to me.

  “Famished!” I shout, my ass halfway down the stairs.

  “Mind if I sit here?”

  Adam is standing over me, his face covered in the shadow of the tree I am sitting beneath.

  “Only because you’re bringing me food.” I grab the bag from his hand.

  Out of his pocket, he produces a peach Snapple. I shake it and slap the bottom. When I twist the cap, it makes a popping sound.

  He takes a seat beside me, his long legs stretched out alongside mine. Our thighs brush against each other.

  “I want to apologize,” he says.

  “For what?”

  “That was inappropriate of me. I’m supposed to be watching you, not corrupting you.”

  I let out a loud, obnoxious laugh. “I’m quite corrupted already.” Taking a swig of my tea, I give him the side eye and see he’s not smiling. “Through literature. Not in real life. I read juicy stuff all the time.”

  His interest is piqued. “You do?”

  Looking inside my bag, I pull out the sandwich and tangerine he packed for me.

  And then I frown.

  “Looking for this?” He’s holding up a mini Snickers.

  I grab it from him, unwrap it, and pop it into my mouth. I close my eyes and salivate.

  “James Joyce.” My words are barely audible.

  “Huh?” he grunts.

  I turn to him, my mouth full of Snickers. “My dad is a huge James Joyce fan. He even has a first edition of Dubliners, which probably cost more than our house. He didn’t buy it. It was passed down from his grandfather. Anyway, we have all his books in our house, and one of them is a book of letters he wrote to his wife. They’re pretty dirty.”

  He puts his bag down, bends his knee, and twists his body toward mine. “I find it hard to believe that James Joyce wrote anything remotely close to what we just listened to.”

  With a tilt of my head, I answer, “He and his wife were apart for a year. They promised to write erotic love letters. He called her his sweet little whore and wrote in graphic detail what he would do to himself when he thought of her.”

  He settles back against the tree and smirks at me. His voice says in disbelief, “Graphic?”

  “Explicit. He recalls the first time she put her hand down his pants. They were out, maybe at a party, and she slid her hand under the table and…you know…”

  He shifts his knee to the side. His hand fingers the collar of his shirt. “No more audio books and no more James Joyce,” he says, turning his body away from me.

  A gust of wind rustles through the tree, the heat slamming me in the face. I lean down and grab my tangerine. Quickly peeling it back, I throw a slice in my mouth, causing the juice to dribble down my chin and onto my shirt. I look down at where the juice landed on my tee and see I have a severe case of nipplitis.


  “Good idea,” I answer.

  It’s the worst idea he’s had all day.

  Sixteen

  “You want a half-off chaser with that?” I ask the customer in front of me.

  The Bucking Bronco is packed, and it’s a good thing because last night was slow.

  Suzanne is sitting on a stool, sipping rum and Coke and waiting for me to take a break so that we can talk. What she doesn’t know is that my break was a half hour ago, and I worked right through it.

  I ring the cowbell. “Attention, party people. Last call on tonight’s drink specials. Prices go back in ten minutes, so order up!”

  The mob moves to the bar, and I fill every order I can until the clock is up. The music is blaring, the crowd is having a great time, and Suzanne is still sipping her drink.

  Moving about the bar, I’m shaking up a Long Island iced tea when the door swings open, and Jessica walks in. I wait for Adam to follow, but the door closes behind her. She walks to the bar, and with a smile, she sits down next to Suzanne.

  The bouncers have been on high alert, double-checking IDs and making sure anyone on our banned list stays away.

  I stopped in every club and bar in town and told them about the two recent incidents we’d had. Turns out, The Bronco wasn’t the only place drugs have been circulating. It wasn’t until I got to Velocity and struck up a conversation with the owner that I realized we needed to start a council. We might be competition, but no one will be in business if people start getting hurt in our establishments.

  I ring the bell to signal the drink specials are over. Suzanne and Jessica are still chatting it up at the bar, and I see that Rory has joined them.

  “Let’s turn it up!” I call out.

  Paulie turns on the disco ball, and the lights spin around the room. Glowing, sparkly squares dance on the walls.

  Hands are in the air, and people are grinding close to one another. Happy drunks and sloppy sippers are breaking it down in the bar. The ones who aren’t dancing are at least having a good time.

  I move back behind the bar and take more orders, helping the bartenders get through the final rush. Sometime around midnight, the bar settles down to a manageable pace. There are still customers, but the pre-clubbing crowd has left and moved on to Velocity.