“That’s the plan. Nothing you regret, a fun time was had by all.”
He’d like to kiss her without an agenda and the coupons were permission. And they were the countdown. “I didn’t say it last night, but Washington, it’s the right decision.”
It was something that the smile he got for saying that was almost as good as the kiss he craved but held back from taking.
It wasn’t until the following night at Pinstripes, when she got her fourth strike in a row, that it felt like he’d been had by the coupon caper.
“And that’s what you call a clover,” she said, taking a low bow like a courtier with a leg extended in front and then waltzing back off the pin deck to the lounge.
Two of her four strikes were flushes, where all the pins fell in the pit. “Luck of the Irish, Dalgetty.”
Not that Clan O’Connell was getting any. He fouled twice, stepping over the line and bowled more gutters than he wanted to count.
On his next turn, he took his ball, eyed the pins, stepped forward, crouched short of the line and bowled. Snake eyes. Bedposts. All of the pins down except the seven and the ten, standing at opposite sides of the frame. “Goddamn.” She won another game.
In the next, she bowled a cock and balls, leaving the one, five, eight and nine standing. And he bowled a spiller where the pins toppled in slow motion. And since when did bowling terms get so suggestive?
Squeeze, stroke, slick, slot, splasher, tickler, yank the shot.
Next up she got a love tap to knock down all but the two and eight to leave her with a double wood. He loved watching her address the ball, all her energy concentrated but loose and free so her shots had power and accuracy. And her ass looked incredible in her jeans.
His next shot was a ridiculous accidental hook that miraculously took out seven pins but knocked one out of reach of the sweeper.
“Dead wood,” she said, sliding over the bench to rest flush against him as he sat. They had to wait for someone to come and rescue that wayward pin. “You’re babying the ball and I don’t want to see you end the night as my sacrificial lamb.”
He shot her a look. He was holding back. Reluctant to put as much power into his swing as he could, lofting the ball too far down the lane, bowling creepers and powder puffs. And he was the less skilled player pitted against the equivalent of a kingpin. It said everything about his relationship with Flick.
“You could be a power stroker,” she said.
She’d gotten a sweat up and it’d made her flowery perfume get in his nose. He’d like to take her home and practice his tickler on her. “Remind me what that is.” He couldn’t remember what a tickler was either, but maybe she wouldn’t mind if he was tickling the parts of her that made them both feel good.
“A power stroker is a cross between a cranker and a stroker.”
He groaned and curled forward to rest his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands. “Dear Lord, stop saying those words while you’re sitting so close, right after you wagged that spectacular ass at me in those poured-on pants.”
She trailed a hand down his back. “Why? It’s a dead wood, we have to wait.”
Not from his perspective. Nothing dead in the wood department and no need to wait.
“A stroker is someone who has a smooth delivery and great timing, almost no hook, and a cranker is someone who has a great controlled hook and a powerful thrust.”
“Please stop.” Or he might be forced to powerfully thrust her into the nearest semiprivate place he could find. He sat around and eyed her. “This coupon arrangement. What if I want something off-coupon?”
“You mean not part of the daily deal?”
“I mean power-stroking you with all the cranking and tickling and hard wood you can handle.”
Her brows came down, her lips rolled inward. Fuck. He’d bowled another gutter, shut out. She brought her face close and said, “Your bed or mine?”
They barely made it to a bed. She asked for what she wanted in bowling terms and he didn’t deliver any powder puffs, held the line and fucked her into the bedposts, and both of them finished high on the clover.
When she got her breath back she said, “What’s on for tomorrow?”
“Are you up for a hike?” He figured going Saturday gave her Sunday to recover.
“As long as you don’t have me climbing mountains and I don’t need special gear.”
“It’s just a long walk in the forest. No winners or losers and I’m not looking for payback after you bowled me into submission.” He’d take her to Ryerson Woods, only an hour out of the city. An easy loop trail through pristine forests of maple, hickory, ash and oak trees, on the fringe of the Des Plaines River.
“Nothing submissive about you.”
“But I could do with embracing my inner power stroker.”
She shuffled closer and bit his pec softly. “I feel you embraced it competently. Any more competently and I might not be able to stand.”
Since they’d made it to her bed, he needed to ask. “Do you want me to embrace and run?”
The leg she threw over his hip was enough of an answer. He was staying. “We start early.”
She snuggled into his side with a “shut up and let me sleep”-style grumble and she was out in a few minutes, going heavy on him. That first coupon was supposed to be an easy start, but it was more revealing than he liked to admit.
Flick bowled like she lived. She learned the rules, she got expert at interpreting them. She knew when she could break them and get away with it and she never held back. She took professional and personal risks without being reckless.
Tom had bowled like it meant something to lose and so he’d been cautious, restrained. It was uncomfortable to acknowledge he’d been living like that too. He’d gotten complacent with his success and conservative in his choices, more concerned about not losing his status than pushing himself. And the consequence was Harry sitting at the desk he’d thought would be his.
All that from his choice of a handmade coupon. Who knew what he’d learn from twenty-nine more.
Chapter Sixteen
Flick made the hiking coupon because she knew Tom would feel safe choosing that one and maybe not so easy with some of the others. But she’d yet to lead him to something he didn’t like, so it was worth the experiment. If he didn’t want to choose lingerie or sit in a bubble bath with her, explore a sexual fantasy, that was cool, but better to ask subtly and get a soft voided coupon rejection than forever wonder just what he could be like when he really let go.
He’d made bowling fun, even though he was terrible at it and the après-bowling activities were even more delicious. She was lucky she could walk.
The hiking was the activity that put her most outside her comfort zone. Rip her clothes, tie her up, make her cook for a better cook, all of those were agreeable challenges. The great outdoors hadn’t figured much in her life, and she was worried she wouldn’t be able to keep up with him. Tom had these giant legs and bulging muscles and could probably walk all day. She was gym-fit, but it wasn’t the same thing, and a decent blister could probably end her.
The coupon idea was inspired by that first coupon she’d tried to distract Tom with, but it was also a risk. He might’ve thought it childish, especially as she’d reverted to a five-year-old making the booklet. She forgot how glitter got everywhere. But he’d gotten with the program and if last night was any indication, he was enjoying himself.
In the hall he checked her over. He’d already made her eat eggs for breakfast; now he was focused on how she was dressed. It would be warm, so she wore shorts and a tank with an unbuttoned shirt over it, thick socks and rubber-soled boots that looked the part but had only seen wear on sidewalks. She had a hat with a brim and a small pack, which he took from her.
“You don’t have to carry anything. Put what you need in mine.”
She thought about fighting that instruction for the thirty seconds it took to realize that was a great offer, and stuffed her phone, water bottle, sunscreen, wet-wipes and lip gloss in his pack.
Tom had a car. She didn’t know anything about cars, but the thing they headed off in suited him. It was a big brute of an SUV, a workhorse rather than a show pony. There wasn’t a single empty drink can or food wrapper in it. Figured. It was still early when they left the city, and the traffic was light. She listened to his oldie classic-style music, thought about songs to put on his coupon-inspired playlist and watched his profile.
He could look so stern, so unlikely to be a good time. It was in the shape of his jaw and the set of his brows, add to that his often gruff way of speaking, but under all that was his inherent decentness. You couldn’t look at him and understand what was under his hood and for some reason that pleased her. Made him more hers somehow.
Why had she worried about this hike? He wasn’t going to walk her up a mountain where she might fall off; he’d pick something she could manage. He’d keep the part where he could push her off mountains for when they were naked and he had her all worked up and so, so ready to come. He got a whole packet of industrial-strength gold stars and a noisemaker for that ability.
Eyes on the road, he still had to know she was scrutinizing him. He broke the silence. “The coupon about dressing you for the day, what’s that about? You can dress yourself.”
That was about learning what was in his imagination. “It’ll be fun. You have the run of my wardrobe. If it’s a weekend you can dress me in anything. If it’s a work day then you can only send me off in my underwear if you want me to be arrested.”
A smile ticked in his cheek. “That wasn’t in the fine print.”
“Sue me.”
“What’s with choosing your lingerie?”
“Oh, come on.” She tried to turn more fully toward him and nearly decapitated herself with the seat belt. Short-person problems. “You secretly want to see me in something revealing.”
The tick became a divot. “More revealing than naked?”
“It’s a different kind of revealing.”
“I’ve seen inside parts of you you can’t see.”
Oh damn. “You say that, and yet you can’t figure out the lingerie thing. Also, a gentleman would keep that to himself.”
“Why? You’re gorgeous.”
She flushed from chest to hairline. This Tom, she very much liked this in-the-car-talking-about-sex Tom. “And you’re driving and I’m an idiot because I forgot to give you a coupon for car sex.”
He laughed. “No sex in the car. I thought lingerie was for taking off a woman, not putting it on her.”
“You can’t imagine both?”
That got her a big grin. “Driving, I’m driving here. How do we do the lingerie thing?”
“You can either pick online or we can go to a store.”
A quick surprised look in her direction. “Where you’d try it on for me?”
“Yeah. That’s one we could do after work.”
Fingers flexing on the wheel he said, “I’ll consider my options. What’s with the tearing-your-clothes-off coupon?”
That was all about a notion she had. “It’s a game, that’s all. I think it would be exciting to have you use your strength on me like that.”
“I’m too insecure about my size to be easy about you blowing me and you think I’m ready to tear your clothing?”
“You did let me. The once. And you don’t have to choose every coupon.” But God, she wanted him to. The idea of Tom, being playful enough, secure enough with her to be a little rough made her squirm.
“If I live through the lingerie-buying, I guess I can tear a T-shirt.”
“Attaboy.”
Ryerson Park was beautiful, but the fresh air went straight to Flick’s head, that and the sight of Tom striding out in front. He wore knee-length cargo shorts with pockets everywhere and boots that were the real deal, appropriately scuffed, and a T-shirt that showed the evolution of man with the words Stop following me in a cartoon bubble coming from the mouth of the human male and said to the ape, Homo erectus and Neanderthal walking behind him. In his cap and sunglasses, he was a carefree version of the Tom who went to work in crisp shirts and well-tailored suits.
The play of his calf muscles, the shift of his shoulders. She could watch him move all day and if he was going to walk so fast that’s what would happen—she’d never catch up.
Right as she had that thought, he came to a dead stop and waited. With the sunlight filtering through the trees and birds doing their thing, the scent of wood and damp fragrant earth in her nose, she lost her head and ran to catch up, snagging him around the waist like he was a pole and coming to rest pressed on his body, arms around his waist.
His grin was so quick and full it reached inside her and squeezed her heart. “You love it out here,” she said.
“It makes what I do out there—” he gestured out and away, back toward the city “—seem small and manageable. Hopefully all this will be here long after I’ve bitten it.”
“That’s how I think about lobbying for better legislation—it’s enduring, improves people’s lives and the society we live in.”
They walked for an hour without stopping, Tom modifying his stride so she didn’t get left behind again. She didn’t start a conversation because there were birds to listen out for, the crunch of their feet on fallen leaves, the breeze making the trees talk. They had the place to themselves and there was a kind of awe about that she didn’t want to spoil with chatter.
She was glad she’d put this on a coupon never fully appreciating what it would show her about Tom or how much she’d enjoy it herself.
This wasn’t a workout for him. This was his cathedral, his respite and his center of gravity. She’d thought it was the apartment, that he was house-proud, status-motivated and neurotic about it. That was wrong. There was a pendulum and Tom swung between the comfort of an ordered home he loved and the sprawling, untidy unpredictability of weather and the outdoors.
No, you couldn’t tell that from looking at him, or even from living with him for two months. Amazing what a coupon could do.
Next morning a coupon left on the kitchen counter instructed her to run a bath. There was something incredibly sweet about Tom choosing that coupon. He knew she might be sore after hours tramping around the woods. She wasn’t, but it was still considerate given the range of activities he had to choose from. He was out for the day, helping an old college friend with some household repairs, and Flick had her own chores to do, principal among them trying to find somewhere to live in Washington. The apartment she’d been short-listed for had been rented during the days she was vacillating about staying in Chicago. She had to start her search again.
She had a frustrating day, made less so when a text from Tom told her what time he’d be home. She made herself a sandwich and rummaged in her toiletries stash for bubble bath.
“Are you more a Deep Steep chamomile-and-lavender soak kind of guy or a Mr. Bubble Original, Tom O’Connell?”
Right on time, she heard the door. Tom made straight for the bathroom, where she was placing lit candles on the window ledge as the bath filled.
“Do you think we’ll both fit?” he said. “I’ve never used the tub.”
Half the fun was squishing together. “We’ll fit.” She lit the last candle and placed it on the hand basin. He switched the overhead light off and the room went shadowy, suddenly so much more intimate than when it was brightly lit that the excitement triggered by hearing him arrive home fizzed through her body like it was burning along a fuse wire. “How did the repairs go?”
“All done. Are you sore from yesterday?”
She added the Deep Steep to the flow from the tap, and they both watched the foam build. “No, you picked the right kind of walk to get
me started.” They’d slept alone last night for no good reason she could think of, and she’d missed him today.
He wore a pair of tattered jeans with knees slashed out and a faded gray T-shirt that was washed shapeless. It still managed to show off his chest through the crossed-armed nonchalance he had going on as he leaned on the doorjamb.
The way he watched her wasn’t indifferent. Steamy enough to rival the tub.
“That smells nice,” he said.
“Not too girly?”
“Why are things that smell nice considered girly?”
“Good point.”
“What’s the bubble bath etiquette?”
“Strip, soak, relax, cuddle, if all goes well fool around. Rinse. Repeat.”
“I’m going to add a step.” If it was undress her with his eyes, touch, hug, kiss, she was all for a rigorous black-belt-level process management. “I need to rinse off first.”
She reached out to turn the taps off—the bath would overfill—and he stopped her hand. He hadn’t shaved for two days and the scruff was deeply sexy. His breath over her cheek made her shiver. “Why don’t you get in and wait for me?”
Now there was a lovely idea. From the bath, she could watch him in the shower. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t seen him gloriously naked many times now, but they’d been busy, he’d made her close her eyes a lot and then sleep like the dead. She’d not had her fill of simply looking at him. She’d loved watching him stride around the forest—he’d been fully dressed and still it’d done it for her. Tom naked in the shower would be a veritable porn-star performance. How did he not know that?
There was an efficiency about the way they stripped, nothing erotic in it, more get-it-over-with so they could get to the main event. It wasn’t a huge bathroom, so they kept bumping into each other. She backed into Tom taking off her shorts, he knocked her with his elbow pulling his boot off. She got him back with a jab to the chest while she piled her hair up on her head.
She had less to ditch and went to get into the bath while he was still undressing. She gasped as the hot water bit into her toes, stood there on one leg, suspended over the tub, wondering if she’d made it too hot. On a second trial, that shock of the heat was gone and she put her whole foot in, and sighed as she eased into the fragrant froth.
The Love Coupon Page 18