by S. E. Babin
When I walked in this morning and saw Katie dancing that slow erotic number, all I wanted to do was drop my tool belt and run my fingers through her exquisite hair while simultaneously devouring her.
But I was a gentleman, and I wasn't sure what game she was playing here, but I wasn't sure if I wanted to be the winner or the loser.
I shut my eyes and gritted my teeth against the sight of her in that tiny sun dress, and the way her skin prickled when I came up behind her...she was attracted to me, as sure as the sun rose each day. But was she willing to act on it?
And what had happened with Kristoff? I wasn't willing to ruin her friendship even though her signals were screaming at me to go full speed ahead. I didn't want to spook her.
I also didn't want to encroach on another man's territory. Even though I thought Kristoff was wrong for her, I wasn't the kind of person who was going to mess that up for her. She needed time to make her own decisions. And with her history, I didn't want to spook her.
I wanted her. All of her. Every single day. No matter what she was. I was obsessed with her. With the way her brow crinkled in concentration as she was trying to measure out the perfect amount of flour. At the way she handled life throwing all kinds of shit at her. At her determination to be successful even as she was outed in the worst possible way.
Even at the way she occasionally glared at me.
I wanted to wake up to that beautiful face every day. And I wanted us to marry and have children and...I banged my head against the wall several times. "Slow down, Roma. This is not a rom com."
But I wanted it to be.
Whatever the hell game she was playing, if she was doing this for her own amusement, I was going to make her pay. But if she was trying to show me that she wanted me, I was going to make her work for it. Because I'd been working for it for months now, and watching her date while I slaved away here made me want to chew on nails.
I picked up the crowbar and got to work, still wondering about her motives. But I had to admit, I was looking forward to whatever this was.
25
I kept the sundress on the entire day and made excuses to walk to the back of the house, one time bringing Martin a glass of water and bending down too low to show him some cleavage. I watched his throat work but he said nothing, other than to thank me for the drink.
That evening, I made chicken fried steaks and asked him to stay for dinner, but he declined.
When I asked him why, he mumbled some excuse about having prior plans. I didn't press, but a horrible part of me wondered if he had a date. That would be just my luck. Finally coming to my senses only to have lost him to some wonderful, kind woman who wasn't me.
Damn it.
I waved as his truck drove away and wondered what the hell I was going to do with four chicken fried steaks. Grabbing my cell, I made my way into the living room and dialed Helen Reaper up. She answered on the second ring and sounded completely out of breath.
"Hey, it's Katie. You sound preoccupied."
"Katie! Busy. With very weird stuff. Thanks to Portia."
I practically growled when I heard the woman's name.
At my silence, Helen laughed. "Yeah, some days I feel the same way."
"I have extra chicken fried steak," I said. "Want to come over?"
Helen paused. "Why do you have extra?"
I debated before telling her but finally said, "Martin had other plans."
"Ooooh. Yeah. Let me finish this up, and I'll be over right after I change."
"Deal!" I clicked off and rushed back into the kitchen to get everything ready.
The doorbell rang about half an hour later, just as I was heating up the oil for the steaks. I called for Helen to come in and she did, bringing with her a bottle of wine and a bakery bag of bread.
"I love chicken fried steak, and I love having a friend who makes it for me!" She breezed in like a blond hurricane and rummaged through my drawers looking for the wine opener. I pointed to the right one and she had it open within seconds. Maybe she was a wine pro too. She poured us each a glass and stared me down.
"So..." she drawled. "Martin?" Helen eyeballed my dress. "He left with you wearing that dress?"
I groaned. "I know! I even belly danced this morning." Her eyes sparkled.
"Did you now? I might need you to teach me that. Hank would lose his mind." She frowned. "Or all of his gardening knick knacks if I tripped."
I snorted. "I can teach you. You have to be one with your hips."
"Very zen," she said and hopped up on the counter. She was tiny enough that her legs swung to and fro like a little kid. "It smells wonderful in here."
"I have potatoes boiling and some broccoli in the oven."
"Dang. Why don't I break up with Hank and we begin a lesbian relationship? You're cute, I'm cute. You cook, I bring wine. I think we could be soulmates."
I burst out laughing. "I'd heard you were an introvert."
Helen shrugged. "It's true, but no one liked me for the longest time. It was hard for me to make friends, but sometimes I meet someone and I just like them, you know?" She snagged a cookie from the plate on top of my counter. "It makes me seem extroverted, but I guarantee if this was a party, you'd find me hiding in the bathroom reading a book or making friends with the dog. If you owned one." She looked around my place. "You should really get a dog. I love mine."
I chuckled at her babble. She was keeping my mind off Martin.
Once I finished making dinner, Helen quickly set the table and helped herself to the food. She heaped on a giant breaded steak and an obscene amount of mashed potatoes and I marveled at her ability to stay so petite.
"So, tell me about Martin and why you're dressed for seduction."
I choked on my wine.
"Seriously. Normal chicks don't dress like that alone in their house."
"Martin was here when someone came into my house last night, pushed me up against the wall and kissed me."
Helen's eyebrows rose high on her forehead. "Wow. You do live an interesting life, don't you?" She cut into her steak, took a bite and chewed thoughtfully. "So since you're dressed like this and ended up calling me for dinner, I can only assume the kiss wasn't anything to write home about?"
"Nope. It made me realize how I felt about Martin."
Her fork paused. "And how do you feel about him?"
"Like I wish he was the one who had me pressed against the wall instead of Kristoff."
Helen snort laughed. "I was in your position not too long ago, my friend."
I groaned. "So how did you fix it?"
"Sheer dogged persistence."
"Great. So the dress won't help?"
"Silly girl. Get a push up bra. The right clothing always helps."
We grinned at each other. Helen raised her wine glass and clinked it against mine.
"To getting the guy. Through our boobs and brains."
"Here, here," I said, making a mental note to run out to the mall before it closed.
26
Martin had called in "sick" the next two days, and I was beside myself with annoyance. I pretended that it was fine, but I was aggravated to no end that he was avoiding me. He sounded completely fine on the phone, but when I protested he pretended to be hacking up a lung.
The third day, I took it upon myself and headed to his house, ready to give him a piece of my mind and demand he stay on track, but when I got onto the porch, I heard the sounds of a racking cough. Concerned, I pushed open the door only to see Martin lying on the couch surrounded by a mountain of tissues and dirty dishes.
I forgot my push up bra, my desires, my annoyance and rushed over to him. He startled and jerked, but when he realized it was me, he shut his eyes.
"Go away, Katie."
I pressed my lips together in annoyance. "No."
"You're going to get sick."
I laid a cool hand against his forehead and blanched. "You are burning up. Have you taken anything?"
"Go away."
I blew out a harsh breath. "I'm not going anywhere. Where's your medicine cabinet?"
He glared at me through bloodshot eyes and tried to stare me down. But he was too sick to win and he knew it. "Left kitchen cabinet."
"What have you taken already?"
He ignored me.
"Martin," I snapped. "Medicine. What have you had?"
"Nothing," he said in a mulish tone.
I called him everything under the sun and dug through his sparse cabinet until I was able to find a bottle of old Tylenol. I shook a couple out of the bottle and found a glass that I filled with tap water. Martin glared at me the entire time. When I brought it over to him, he grudgingly swallowed them down, only to start hacking again right afterward. I sat on the table right beside him. "You're a mess. Why haven't you gone to the doctor?" I frowned at his condition. "Or at least called someone."
"My family is out of town for a few weeks." He looked away. "Figured you were busy with Kristoff."
I rolled my eyes and stood, pulling a discarded cover over him.
He grunted, but he didn't push it back down. I busied myself discarding all of his used tissues and picked up his dirty dishes and took them to the sink. I washed my hands and opened his fridge but he had almost nothing in there. "What have you been eating?"
"Soup," he said with a growl.
"Canned?"
"What does it matter?"
I counted to five. "I'm going to leave you here for a bit and go to the store. When I get back I don't want to see a thing out of place. Do not move from this couch, do you understand?"
All I got was a glare.
I left him lying there staring me down.
Forty-five minutes later, I returned, my arms laden with bags of food and medicine. My mother had an amazing chicken soup recipe I wanted to make for him. Even though the bear probably wouldn't appreciate it. When I made my way inside, everything was quiet. I tiptoed over to him and laid a hand against his forehead. Still warm, but not as dangerously hot as he'd been when I arrived. The medicine was working.
I quietly laid out the groceries, put some away, and found where he stashed his cutting board and knives. His kitchen was beautiful and I could see his handiwork all over the place, but it was sparsely stocked. I managed to dig out a big soup pot and a large wooden spoon and I wondered what he ate each night because his place was pretty empty.
I contented myself with chopping vegetables and crept over to him every little while just to make sure he was okay. Within twenty minutes, I had a massive, heavily seasoned pot of chicken noodle soup on, so I turned it to a low simmer and settled in on his couch for awhile.
The television was on low and turned on to a history documentary. Whether or not he had been watching it was anyone's guess, but he did seem like the kind of guy who would enjoy something like this. I stared blankly at the tv for at least an hour before I got up to check on the soup. I lifted the lid, gave it a stir and a taste, and adjusted the seasonings a little bit. I loaded up his cabinets and pantry with the rest of the staples I'd brought. It would last him at least a week or two. Then I'd lecture him about his bachelor fridge.
Two hours later, Martin began to stir. When he was completely awake, he was looking around the room completely bewildered. "Why does it smell so good in here?"
I ladeled out a bowl of the soup and brought it to him along with a glass of water and some decongestant tablets. "Because I made you sustenance. Canned soup is crap and I've thrown it all away."
He frowned at me but took my offering. I handed him a spoon and sat down across from him.
"Are you going to watch me eat too?"
I gave him a bored look. "If I need to. If you're a good boy and eat every drop of that, I'll give you some candy."
His eyes flashed at that one, and I didn't think he was thinking about the sweet kind of candy.
"I'm always a good boy," he said through his scratchy voice.
I felt my face soften. "I know," I said.
He blinked at me. His brow wrinkled a little as he focused on his soup. "This is really good."
"Thank you. It's a family recipe." I looked around his place. There were no pictures, no knick knacks. It was sparse, and seemed a little lonely. He saw my look.
"I just finished up some work in here. Everything is still in boxes. It's not as sparse as it appears."
"When did you get sick?"
He had the grace to look chagrined. "A couple of days ago. I called in sick, but the next day, I started feeling rough." He chuckled. "I got a good dose of karma over it."
I didn't want to bring anything else up. I just wanted him to be okay. "I'll stay here tonight."
He opened his mouth to protest. "No," I said. "Your fever was dangerously high when I got here. Just let me do this."
Martin gave a begrudging nod. "Fine, there are blankets in the chest in the hall."
"Good." I stood and went to get one. Full dark was just starting to fall.
"I'm probably at the end of this," he said.
"Uh huh." I snagged a soft, light blue blanket twice the size of me and settled myself in his recliner. "Then I won't be here long, will I?"
Martin grunted at me.
I was asleep within just a few minutes, the sound of a documentary lulling me into a deep slumber.
Martin
She was beautiful. And in my house. She stormed in like a Valkyrie earlier today looking hellbent on giving me a piece of her mind and yet, when she realized I was really sick, she shut it off like a faucet and ended up taking care of me. Katie was tired and...something else. I could see it in the shadows of her eyes. Something had happened.
I sighed.
I was in love with her.
As much as I tried to fight it, I'd somehow fallen head over heels for someone who had zero desire to ever walk down the aisle again.
Damn it.
27
Martin was right. His fever was broken the next morning and he looked slightly less haggard. I got up and tiptoed to the kitchen so I could make him some breakfast. Good food, chicken soup, and rest were the best things for the flu or whatever this was. And proper hydration.
I was bent over his fridge when I heard him stir. "Don't get up! I'll bring you something."
Warm fingers caressed my spine. I stiffened even as I didn't dare to move another muscle. "How does scrambled eggs sound?"
His fingers crept underneath my shirt and tank top and he spanned the width of my waist causing me to suck in a breath and crack my head on the top of his fridge.
"I can think of something better."
I rubbed my head and backed out, only to turn and be smashed against his rock hard chest. "Don't be ridiculous, Martin. You were half dead yesterday."
His eyes gleamed. "You like me."
I scoffed. "You're delusional. And still feverish." I reached my hand up to feel his forehead, but Martin grabbed my arm and slowly kissed the inside of my wrist.
"You like me," he said again.
I was a rabbit cornered by the fox. I shook my head, wondering why in the hell I was so stubborn that I just couldn't tell him that I wanted to wake up everyday next to him and I couldn’t even explain why.
His mouth worked its way down my arm and my heart beat like a drummer. I couldn't step away even if I wanted to.
"Admit it," he said again as his head dipped to place a hot, wet kiss on the place where my shoulder met my neck.
I let out a whimper.
"Tell me," he whispered.
I did him one better.
I showed him.
Epilogue
Four months later
My house was finished. Finally. Martin admitted a few weeks after the incident in his kitchen that he’d purposely moved like a turtle because he wanted to spend more time with me. It was sweet. A little weird. But still very sweet.
We sat outside under one of the large maples enjoying the landscaping Helen’s husband, Hank, had finally finished. Everything he put in was blooming like
crazy, sending my yard into a riot of color. Our lawn chairs were turned toward each other and my bare feet rested in Martin’s lap. I studied him as he rested his head against the back of his chair completely relaxed.
“You’re staring at me,” he murmured.
“It’s because I want to kiss you all over your face.”
A smile peeked out from his mouth before it became a full blown chuckle. “Have you thought anymore about what I asked you?”
I had. “I just gave you almost all of my savings a few months ago and you want to know where I want to live?” I made a harrumph noise and sipped my margarita.
“Not exactly. I want to know if you want to live with me. Or me live with you. Either way, one of us is living with the other person. I demand it.” His strong and capable fingers rubbed into my sore arches making me moan with contentment.
“You demand it?” I looked at him with arched eyebrows even though he couldn’t see me.
“Yes. Demand.” His eyes opened and he pinned me with his dark gaze. “If you don’t decide soon, I’m going to park a tent in your yard.”
“Move in then,” I said, my voice deceptively casual.
He sat up straight in his chair, a desperate hope on his face. “Say it again,” he barked.
I snorted. “You heard me.”
“Say it again, Katie.”
I rolled my eyes. “Martin.”
“I’ve had my suitcase packed for two months. I hope you have drawer space ready for me.”
“Two months?”
“It would make me seem a lot less manly if I admitted it was for longer,” he said, slowly settling back down in his chair.
Warmth blossomed in my heart. Things with him had been...wonderful. More than wonderful. He hadn’t pushed or been demanding. The first two weeks were spent screwing like rabbits until we finally got exhausted enough to talk.