By the Book

by Nancy Warren

  “I wonder who’ll take his place?”

  “Do what I do. Picture a sixty-year-old married guy with bad breath. That way you’re never disappointed.”

  “I think he’s shy.”

  Therese stared at her. “We don’t even know who it’s going to be yet.”

  “No. I mean, Luke. I think he’s shy. Now I’m wondering if he can handle a classful of smart-mouthed teenagers.”

  “Now she thinks of it.” The first bell rang for the next class. Therese picked up her books and rose. “Tell him to eat before he comes. And warn the girls in class to cover up. A little cleavage or some belly button and he’s likely to drop dead on the classroom floor.”

  Shari gathered her own things, knowing her gab session with Therese had earned her an extra hour of lesson planning tonight. She also had to have a strategy in place for when Luke came to her class. She didn’t think he’d pass out, but it was probably best if she was prepared with planned questions for him and maybe a handout for the kids in case he was hopeless.

  He’d seemed the perfect candidate when they were eating dinner, and so enthusiastic about his book that she’d gone with her gut and invited him as a speaker. Now she wasn’t so sure about her judgment.

  She wasn’t so sure about a lot of things. Such as where he’d learned to kiss like that, and if he was a naturally good kisser, why wasn’t he an instinctively good lover? Maybe he was and he simply lacked confidence. Maybe somewhere along the line an awful woman had really done a number on him. Regardless, she was determined to do her best to give him the confidence and skill he needed.

  When she got home she was still trying to work out a more subtle strategy than surprising Luke with her naked body. She checked her mail. There was nothing for Luke. There was, however, something from him.

  Her eyebrows rose and she wondered if it was a note of apology. Her stomach felt kind of squirmy. She hoped he hadn’t penned something embarrassing. But, as it turned out, there wasn’t a word about the other night. What she was holding was an outline of his planned talk to her class. The computer printout had subheads in the form of questions, which she quickly scanned.

  Where do stories come from? How does a story go from idea to print? Who? What? When? Where? Why? Now let’s write a news story. He’d scribbled a note at the bottom of the printout. “No promises, but if any of the students are interested we might be able to get a tour of the newspaper offices. Maybe one or two of them want to write a feature and I’d work with them to get it published. Your thoughts?”

  Her thoughts: she wanted to kiss him. Right now.

  Her students would slouch and mumble and make gagging noises about a field trip, but they’d probably love a tour of the newspaper. And a chance for a byline in a real newspaper would be a big motivator for a couple of the more studious kids.

  Yes, she definitely wanted to kiss Luke. She’d been doing her level best not to think of the steamy one they’d shared and how good she’d felt in his arms. How good he’d felt half-naked rubbing against her on their hike. But she no sooner got warm and gooey thinking of those moments than the picture of him toppling to her rug while she’d stood there naked and mortified hijacked her memory.

  If Luke wanted to get her naked again, he’d better memorize that damned book of his, because it was going to take every technique known to man to get her out of her clothes.

  She stood in the lobby, clutching his notes for her class. She stared up at the high ceiling of the foyer as though inspiration might be found in the Art Deco light fixture, but inspiration wasn’t hanging from the ceiling.

  AFTER SLEEPING like the dead Monday night, Luke woke midmorning to the knowledge that he was screwed. And not in a good way. Far from masquerading as a Total Moron, he’d become one in front of a woman he wanted more than he’d ever wanted anyone.

  Playing shamelessly on her request that he speak to her class, he’d gone out of his way to add some pizzazz to his guest appearance at her high school by browbeating and begging his editor into letting him bring a school tour through. The price for the favor was taking an assignment to write a feature about a breast-feeding club.

  He’d thought the editor was joking, but the photos were already done, the feature slotted for the weekend edition and the pregnant, female writer who’d originally been assigned the piece had gone into labor prematurely and was currently in hospital. With a newborn.

  Excuses. But he’d said yes so the editor would allow Shari’s kids to submit something—anything—to the paper.

  Still, the price had been a hefty one. An article about breasts now, and he was your man. But breast-feeding? He felt a little squirrelly at the thought of being trapped in a room with a bunch of postpartum women. He’d heard stories.

  What if they’d all had terrible labors and turned on him as a representative of all males who make females suffer? They could tear him to bits. There ought to be danger pay attached to the assignment.

  He’d tried to get a phone interview, but the editor wasn’t having any of it. Luke had to show up at this breast-feeding meeting next Wednesday night, then write his feature Thursday.

  The only strategy he could imagine to get him through it was to imagine it was Shari’s breasts they were talking about and him doing the sucking.

  When he heard the knock on his door, he knew it had been worth it to promise to write about lactating women. The lure of a newspaper tour and possible article may not have drawn Shari irresistibly to him, but at least she hadn’t canceled their deal as he’d feared. He’d have preferred that it was his manly magnificence that had her banging on the door, except there was nothing manly or magnificent about his recent behavior. Maybe he could write a sequel to his book—Normal Guy to Total Moron in Two Weeks or Less.

  He opened his door. As he’d suspected, Shari stood there. She hadn’t even stopped at her own apartment after work. Her schoolbag was still in her arms, along with her mail and his ideas for her class.

  “Hey,” she said.

  “Hey, yourself.” He opened the door wider and she hesitated before entering.

  “It’s okay,” he assured her with weak humor, “I ate breakfast and lunch.”

  “Oh.” She brushed at the air with his printout, laughing in a breathless spurt. “Don’t be silly. I only came to thank you for this.”

  “Do you think it’s the right approach?”

  She beamed at him, and he wondered why none of his high school teachers had ever looked so good. “It’s perfect. Absolutely perfect. I’ve tried every year to get the newspaper to give us a tour. How did you pull it off?”

  He shrugged, trying not to think of the ordeal ahead of him next Wednesday night. “The editor owed me a favor.”

  She gazed at him quizzically. “Now I guess I owe you one.”

  “No.” He took a step toward her, wanting to touch, knowing he couldn’t. “No. I…you were great last night. You fed me dinner, listened to me ramble on about my novel.” Unable to stop himself, he reached out and touched a lock of her hair where it curled like a question mark against her shoulder. “I had a good time.”

  She looked like she was fighting a smile. “Me, too.”

  He felt something crackle between them and he’d bet anything she was reliving their kiss just as he was.

  After a stunned second of staring at him, she blinked a couple of times. “Well, I should be—”

  “Did you work out today?” he interrupted, knowing he didn’t want their contact to be so brief.

  “I’m up to seventy-eight sit-ups in the morning and twenty push-ups.”

  “Pretty good. Speaking as your personal trainer, I’d say you need to come for a run and then I’ll reward you with pizza.”

  “I hate running.”

  He shrugged. “It’s your wedding.”

  She bit her lip, and he watched her try to decide whether to take another chance on him or not. “I’ll meet you in front of the building in fifteen minutes.”

  Relief flooded him, b
ut he kept his voice casual. “What kind of pizza do you like?”

  “Huh?”

  “I’ll order it now and we’ll pick it up when we go by.”

  “You’re good at this. I don’t care.”

  “Fully loaded. We’ll run fast.”

  She chuckled and let herself out the door.

  He was out front waiting within ten minutes, and she wasn’t far behind. She was always prompt. He liked that about her. In fact, there was a lot to like about Shari. Including how good she looked in gray cotton running shorts, a white T-shirt and sneakers. They stretched a bit and then set off. He let her set the pace, guiding her on his easier three-mile course.

  Even though he was a fairly bogus personal trainer, he still kept an eye on her, making sure she didn’t overdo it. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail and the curls bounced and tumbled as she jogged. She wasn’t a sprinter, but she had a nice, easy pace. He relaxed, figuring out she wasn’t planning to push herself to try to impress him, then grinned to himself. Why on earth would she try to impress him?

  “Hey, Luke,” called Simon, who was out watering the tiered stacks of flowering plants in front of his Asian grocery on the corner.

  “Hi, Simon.”

  “He’s just sent his second son off to college,” he told Shari. “Watch the next curb, it’s a long drop.”

  “You see the world in a different way when you’re not driving all the time,” she said, half to herself.

  “That’s the fun of living here. All the life is outside. For a guy like me who works at home a lot of the time, that’s important.”

  They left the street and crossed to jog around Volunteer Park. It had rained earlier in the day and the air still felt damp and misty.

  By the time they made the return leg, he was feeling pleasantly loose and Shari had the pink glow of health in her cheeks and a light sheen of perspiration across her cheekbones.

  He jogged into the pizza place and jogged out again with the large square box, making her laugh. He’d long ago learned the trick of putting the whole thing, including the tip, on his credit card in advance so he didn’t have to carry money.

  “I’m starving,” she said when they entered his apartment, the warm pizza box sending fragrant, teasing steam into the air.

  “Me, too,” he admitted. And his body wasn’t hungry for just pizza.

  He flipped on the news while she washed up, then picked up the remote control to turn it off when she returned, but she stopped him. “No. This is good. I didn’t have time to read the paper this morning.”

  So they sat side by side on his couch, the cardboard box on the low pine table in front of them, and munched pizza while they watched the news. It was surprisingly relaxed and, while he’d have preferred another, very intimate workout, sitting here sharing dinner and catching up on news was nice, too. Friendly.

  He realized with a shock that they were becoming friends. Which was odd. Apart from his sisters, he didn’t have many women friends.

  When the news ended, a sitcom rerun came on and they both shook their heads. He flipped off the TV and turned on his speakers. Mayer Hawthorne came on. Pretty good date music, he decided.

  She sat with one leg curled under her and, without the TV to distract them, awareness hovered in the air. She reached for another slice of pizza, more for something to do, he suspected, than that she really wanted it.

  As she raised it to her lips, a plump slice of mushroom toppled off the triangle and plopped onto her inner thigh.

  “Oops,” she said, and reached for the mushroom slice.

  He stopped her while lust curled in his belly.

  “I’ll get it,” he said softly. And he did, using not his hands, but his lips and teeth. The skin of her thigh was soft, smooth, and so sensitive she giggled as he lifted the mushroom off her flesh with his teeth. He ate without tasting, then lapped at the spot of tomato sauce with his tongue. Her giggle turned into a sigh as he let his tongue roam. She tasted warm, a little salty from the run. While his mouth was busy, his fingers traced the hem of her loose gray shorts.

  When he’d written Sex for Total Morons, he’d expanded the first part from a published article he’d once written and called “Four Dates to the Bedroom.” Of course, a lot of women didn’t take four dates, but he liked that getting-to-know-you time, the anticipation and the buildup. He thought of it as the foreplay before the foreplay. So, if he were willing to stretch the definition of date, dinner at Shari’s had meant he’d finished chapter four. Which meant he was free and clear to work his way to chapter five. He liked chapter five. Not as much as chapter six, but five was good.

  “What are you doing?” Her breathy tone had him hardening. He heard the message behind the words, and it sounded like yes, please. Chapter five, here we come!

  “The mushroom traveled,” he said against her skin. He nudged the edge of her shorts up with his nose and followed with his tongue, but she stopped him, shoving a hand against his forehead.

  “I need a shower,” she all but wailed.

  As if he cared. What was a little healthy perspiration between friends—or better still—lovers, but he’d been with enough women to know better than to argue. He skimmed his lips up the outside of her shorts and pushed up her shirt. Fortunately, she wasn’t as squeamish about him kissing her belly.

  She had a great stomach. A layer of softness over taut muscle. He lapped and nuzzled her there while his fingers traveled the path his tongue was forbidden.

  He traced the edge of her panties and felt the tension already building in her; it upped his own tension by a mile. He slipped his hand under the elastic, petted the soft curls and reached down and there she was—hot, pouty and already slick.

  “Oh,” she moaned softly as he began to caress her, rubbing the outer folds and feathering over the tight bud at the center of everything.

  “Do you like it like this?” he whispered.

  “Oh, mmm. Yes.” He pushed a finger inside her slowly and felt everything contract as she gasped. Even the muscles of her belly tightened against his lips. Part of him wanted to kiss her breasts and mouth, but it was kind of a rush being in on the action down here, so he stayed where he was, his tongue teasing her belly and sweeping as far as her hipbones. He was able to keep an eye on the way her pelvis began to thrust against his hand.

  He didn’t think she knew she was doing it, but her hands were clutching his hair, pulling so his scalp stung as she closed in on ecstasy. Her breath rushed in and out of her lungs as he worked her closer and closer to the edge. He couldn’t stop himself, he needed to watch her face, to kiss her mouth, so he moved until he was lying beside her, perched awkwardly on the edge of the couch.

  Her eyes were closed, her head thrown back, her cheeks wonderfully flushed, mouth open on a sigh. He kissed her, tasting spicy pizza and hot woman. She was still clutching his hair, helpless little pants driving him crazy as he made love to her mouth, mimicking the movements of his thrusting fingers. Her body clenched, tighter and tighter in a hot, wet fist, and then he sent her over the edge, sucking her cry of release into his mouth.

  He kissed her until it was clear he was doing all the kissing and she was lying there, rigid. He fought an urge to roll his eyes. What was this all about?

  “I shouldn’t have…let that happen. I’m supposed to be planning a lesson.” She glanced at him, half shy. His muscles and gravity were fighting a tug-of-war to keep him on the couch. “Besides, you don’t look very comfortable.”

  She had no idea how uncomfortable he was, but he had a damn good idea of how he could rid himself of the sudden buildup of tension. Maybe he’d give her a little hint. “I have a nice big bed in the other room.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “We’re all sweaty from running.”

  He grinned down at her. “We’ll get sweatier.”

  She chuckled, then shook her head, resting her palm against his cheek. “I don’t… I have to think about this.”

  Yesterday, she’d tried to seduce h
im, now she was having second thoughts. What a difference a fainting spell could make in a guy’s sex life. If he ever updated his book, he’d have to put a chapter in there about the importance of regular meals.

  10

  “REMEMBER TO BRING in your newspaper article ideas for next class.” Shari tried to be heard over the drone of the school bell indicating the end of the day and the chatting, giggling and scraping of chairs as the students reverted instantly into escape-from-class mode.

  In truth, she was just as glad as they were to escape. She was going shopping. It was time she started looking for a great outfit for B.J.’s wedding; besides, the added distraction would be good for her. She felt as though she had to keep reminding herself of the wedding and the deal she and Luke had made. Anything to stop her contemplating the other night.

  What had she been thinking?

  She hadn’t been thinking at all. That was clearly the trouble.

  If she’d considered the implications of playing sexy games on Luke’s couch for a nanosecond she’d have gone home long before the man’s hands found their way into her panties. For a normally slow, shy guy he’d been remarkably slick about sneaking under her guard and, once he was touching her…

  She squirmed, forcing herself to recite “Ode to Autumn,” as though the few students who hadn’t already bolted might find their volatile teenage hormones ignited by her steamy thoughts.

  She was thinking about Keats with grim determination when a knock on her open door had her turning. Her mouth dropped open. “Therese?”

  She’d often heard the expression, “You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” but her friend looked more as though she’d just tripped over a bloody corpse. She was white, her eyes wild, and she clutched a yellow printed sheet in hands that shook. With a darting glance to the two students who were chatting at the back of Shari’s class, Therese said in a jumpy voice that didn’t come close to sounding as casual as the words, “Can I see you for a second?”