by Whitney G.
“No, I don’t. Thanks for the offer, though.” I turn around and fluff my pillow.
“Paris...” Blake walks in front of me and kneels, grabbing my hand—making my body react against its will, with that one simple touch. “I don’t think its safe for you to stay here overnight.”
“I’m pretty sure it is. Everyone here has had to go through security, so I doubt anyone has a weapon. Plus, there are cameras every few feet. Oh, and since TSA thought I was extremely suspicious hours ago, they’re probably watching me right now. I think I’ll be fine.”
“I don’t.”
“Who cares?”
“You should stay with me tonight. I don’t think you’ll get much sleep here.”
As if on cue, a woman takes a seat on the bench across from me and rocks her crying newborn.
“Do you not remember what you said to me on the plane, Blake? Do you honestly think what you said should make me comfortable enough to go home with you?”
“Yes.”
“Well, it didn’t. You saying that my lips were fuck-able—”
“They are.”
“And that you would be screwing me against the seat if we were alone didn’t inspire confidence. It told me to run far, far away. And that’s what I plan on doing. Now, go away.”
He looks into my eyes, giving me a look of complete sincerity. “I only said those things because I honestly thought I would never see you again.”
“So, that makes it okay?”
“No, and I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you at all. I’m not very good at light conversation.”
“Clearly!”
“They’re closing all the restaurants here, so you’ll only be able to buy junk food. The restrooms are going to be crowded at every gate, and it’s going to be noisy because there are no enclosed rooms. You shouldn’t stay here.” He looks concerned.
“That was a very compelling and persuasive argument, Blake. I can tell your years in law school were well spent. That said—”
“What do I have to say to get you to come home with me?”
“There’s nothing you can say. I don’t know you, I don’t trust you, and I’m also not having sex with you.”
“I didn’t ask you to have sex with me tonight.”
“But you will in the morning, if I go home with you, right?”
He blinks.
“Oh my god! No, just no.”
“I’m not going to ask you to have sex with me, Paris. I’m not even going to ask you to share my bed. You can have the guest room to yourself.”
“Does it have a separate bathroom?”
“It does.”
“A door that closes and secures from the inside?”
“Yes.” He locks his eyes on mine.
“Is it far away from your room?”
“Very far.”
I sit still and look into his beautiful eyes, wanting to say “Yes, to hell with it,” and finally do something spontaneous, but I can’t bring myself to do it.
I shake my head and pull my hand away from his. “There’s another woman over there who looks like she flew solo. Maybe she’ll take you up on your offer.”
“This offer is exclusively for you.” He takes my hand again.
I can’t help but laugh. “You’re clearly not catching my hints, so let me help you out: I don’t know your last name, I don’t know where you live, where you work, what you like to do on the weekends, how you spend your spare time, your phone number, your age, and most importantly, I don’t know why you think that I’m still going to come home with you.”
He slowly lets my hand go. Then he smiles and stands up. “My last name is Taylor. I live on Newbury Lane, house number seven. I work at Taylor and Associates—a law firm I started recently. I work on the weekends, and in my spare time I work even more. My phone number is 555-9870, I’m twenty-nine, and I think you’re coming home with me because you want to—because you’re intrigued.” He picks up my bag and slings it over his shoulder. “Was that everything or do you need to know more?”
Four
My brain must have fallen out of my skull, because I’m currently sitting in the passenger seat of Blake’s black Mercedes.
We haven’t said a word to one another since he started driving, and I’ve been keeping watch for the first snowflake. I’m trying my hardest not to think about the fact that after he listed all those facts to me, I couldn’t get a single word to come out of my mouth.
Half an hour later, we pull into a picturesque neighborhood that’s bordered by a lake. In the darkness, I can make out icy white rails that surround the water and what appears to be a private shopping center on the other side.
Blake slows the car and presses a button on his sun visor, making a three-car garage open. As he pulls inside, I look over at the other two cars: A beautiful grey BMW and a dark green convertible.
“Did you pack pajamas?” He opens my door and clasps my hand.
No. “Of course, I packed pajamas. Why?”
“It doesn’t look like you packed much. I was going to offer to order you some with our pizza.”
“Order me some?”
He nods and leads me into his house, still holding onto my hand. “It’s one of the benefits of living in this type of neighborhood. You can order anything, and the stores are accessible after hours.”
“How many people stay here?”
“A couple hundred.”
“Should I assume that they’re all wealthy?”
“Probably.” He smiles. “Let me show you to your room. I’ll order the pizza afterwards.”
As we walk past the living room—a room with a slow burning fireplace and all white furniture, he tells me that he’s been living here for about two years. He’s supposed to attend monthly meetings with the neighbors and show his face at the huge holiday parties, but he never has the time.
“This is my room.” He opens the door to a massive beige room with floor to ceiling windows and a balcony, and I have to prevent my jaw from dropping. I’ve only seen one other room that was halfway as nice as this, and that was on some reality show I saw last month.
“You can sleep here tonight.” He places my bag onto the bed. “The bathroom is behind the door to your right.”
“I thought you said I could stay in the guest suite.”
“I think you’ll like this room better.”
“Okay, either you’re delusional or you don’t understand plain English. I told you that I wasn’t having sex with you, and I wasn’t sharing a room with you. What part of that don’t you understand?”
“I’ll be sleeping in the guest suite tonight.” He smiles. “But you’re more than welcome to join me if you don’t like this room.”
I roll my eyes. “This will be fine. Thanks.”
“Are you sure? I’m more than willing to fulfill all of your needs.”
Silence.
What the hell am I supposed to say to that?
“The pizza usually takes about twenty minutes.” He opens a closet and tosses a few blankets onto the bed. “If you need anything else, just let me know.” He walks away and closes the door behind him.
As soon as I hear his footsteps trailing down the hallway, I start to look around.
There are a few photos hanging on his walls—mostly ones that feature him and a small brown-haired girl. Her eyes are a stunning green like his, and her smile is just as infectious. I assume that she’s his daughter until I notice a small note scribbled at the bottom of one photo: “I love my Uncle Blake!”
How cute.
Curious, I step into his massive walk-in closet. All of his suits and ties are organized by color, and his shoes are perfectly arranged inside clear boxes that bear designer names.
I open his dresser drawers in search of something that will prove that he definitely has a girlfriend—a picture, a camisole, an earring, but there’s nothing. Only more organized ties, and condoms. Lots and lots of condoms.
The last two drawers are stocked fu
ll of them, and they all boast “XXL” on their wrappers.
Right.
I head into the bedroom and flop onto the bed—quickly calling David.
“Have I ever told you that you have the worst timing in the world?” He answers with a sigh.
“Have I ever told you that best friends can call each other whenever they want?”
“I was about to have sex.”
“Well, you must not have been too excited about it because you picked up the phone.”
“True.” He laughs. “Did you make it to Boston yet? I emailed you a list of things I’ve scheduled for you to do.”
“No, I’m stuck in Washington because the flight was canceled. I wanted to tell you in case you had someone waiting for me at the airport.”
“Thanks. Is that all?”
“That, and I’m going to bash your head in whenever I see you again.”
“I take it your mom told you I cried at the party?” He chuckles. “My tears were Oscar-worthy.”
“I’m sure they were. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Wait. What aren’t you telling me, Paris?”
“What?”
“There’s something you’re not telling me. I can sense it.”
“It’s nothing.”
“Please don’t make me guess.”
I contemplate hanging up right then and there because if there’s anyone who can sense when something is up, it’s David. “Okay, okay. I’m spending the night with this guy I met on the plane.”
“This guy you met on a plane?”
“Are you having problems hearing?”
“What’s his name?”
“Blake.”
“And?” He laughs. “Is that all you know about him?”
“No! I know that he’s a lawyer, and he um—Trust me, I asked all the right questions.”
“You’re attracted to him, aren’t you?”
“Of course not!”
“Yes, you are.” He’s smiling, I know it. “If he was able to talk your suspicious ass into going home with him, you have to be more than attracted to him. Don’t worry, I’m not judging you. As a matter of fact, I think you should have sex with him while you’re there.”
“What?”
“I didn’t stutter. You need to be fucked, Paris. Badly.”
“David…”
“I’m looking out for the both of us. I’d do it, but I don’t want you to become addicted to me. Besides, it’d be nice to not have to hear you complain about another man’s cock anymore, or listen to you whine about how you only come three times a year.”
“Seriously?” I’m going to break his neck and bash his skull when I get home.
“If you don’t sleep with him, you could at least show him some oral appreciation, don’t you think? If I let some stranger chick stay in my house for her benefit, I would at least expect a blow job.”
I hang up.
My phone immediately rings, and I put it on speaker. “I am not sleeping with him, David! This is a one night thing and I’m just spending the night. That’s it. I might be attracted to him, but that doesn’t mean that we’re going to have random stranger sex.”
“Um, hello?” It’s a woman. “Is this Paris Weston?”
I gasp. “No. I mean, yes. May I ask who’s calling?”
“This is Missy Turner with US Airways Customer Care. Did I catch you at a bad time?”
“Nope.” I change my tone. “Not at all.”
“Okay. Well, I’m calling to let you know that your flight from Reagan International Airport to Boston Logan International Airport has been rescheduled for tomorrow morning at ten forty-five. We’re offering complimentary transportation if you’re within ten miles of the airport. Will you need any assistance?”
Yes! Yes! Yes! “No, I’ll be alright. Thanks for the call.”
“My pleasure, Miss Weston. Have a nice night.”
I scroll through the emails on my phone and hit confirm on all the sightseeing events that David emailed me: Spa day, tour of historic downtown, shopping gala, another spa day, and a day at The World of Porn.
Ugh, David.
Picking up my bag, I dump everything I packed onto the bed and quickly realize that I didn’t pack any essentials. No toothbrush, body wash, brush, comb, nothing.
All I have are T-shirts, jeans, an array of mismatching bras and panties, and cotton shorts.
“Paris?” Blake knocks at my door.
“It’s open.”
He steps inside wearing nothing but a pair of white drawstring pajama pants. “Here you are.” He holds out a plate of pizza, but I don’t take it.
His body is beyond amazing. On the right side of his perfectly chiseled chest is a black tattoo that swirls and dips down to his six-pack abs. At the base of it, right where the ink ends, is a deep V with a small trail of hair that leads to what I’m sure is just as impressive.
“Paris?” He’s cupping my chin in his hands. “Are you okay?”
I nod.
He raises his eyebrow, but he doesn’t say anything further. He places my plate on the nightstand and sighs. “I’m not sure how you feel about eating dinner together, but if you want more it’s in the kitchen.”
“You’re not going to force me to eat with you?”
“No, even though I know you want to.” He smiles. “You’ll come out eventually.”
“Yeah, tomorrow when it’s time for me to leave. Speaking of which, the airline called, and my flight takes off at ten forty-five so I should probably leave here around eight, right?”
“Probably so.”
“Can you tell me which cab company I should use?”
“None of them. I’ll take you.”
“No, that’s okay. You’ve done enough by letting me stay here. Do they schedule rides in advance or should I—”
“Stop.” He presses his finger against my lips. “I’ll take you.” He leans close as if he wants to kiss me, as if he’s going to, but then he stops. “I’ll be in the living room, if you need me. There’s extra toothbrushes and toiletries in the bathroom cabinet.”
“Always ready for one night stands I see.”
“Excuse me?”
“Nothing.”
“What did you say about one night stands?”
“Just that you seem really prepared—you know, with your drawers full of condoms and your extra toothbrushes. Being an attractive lawyer clearly nets you all you could ever want.”
He stares at me a long time, slowly letting a smile spread across his face. “You went through my drawers?”
“Yes, and you don’t need that many condoms.”
“I don’t.” He gently tugs on a strand of my hair. “But since my last client was a condom manufacturer and I won the case, he gave me a lifetime supply.” He leans close again, briefly letting his lips touch mine. “As far as the extra toothbrushes and toiletries go, those are also from another manufacturer client. And yes, being an ‘attractive lawyer’ nets me all I could ever want—except for what I want at this very moment.” He kisses my cheek before walking away.
I’m not sure how long I stand in that spot—blinking and wondering why the hell he keeps having this effect on me, but by the time I come back to my senses, I no longer have an appetite.
I force myself to eat at least one slice of pizza, and then I make use of one of the thousands of blue toothbrushes that are stuffed in his cabinets.
I’m stealing at least ten of these before I leave.
Unable to sleep, I slip into the hallway and head into the living room, but I don’t see him. Before I can turn around, I feel him standing behind me.
“Those are your pajamas?” he whispers against my neck, tugging at the loop of my shorts. “They don’t look comfortable.”
“Well, they are.” I lie. “Were you waiting for me to come out all this time so you could stand behind me and whisper weirdness into my ear, or did I wake you up?”
He moves from behind me without saying a word and clasps my h
and. Shaking his head at me, he leads me over to the couch and pulls me down with him.
As he unfolds a blanket, he pulls me close and covers us with it. Then he props a pillow behind my head. “Are you comfortable?”
“Yes.”
Ever so smoothly, he dims the lights—allowing the flames in the fireplace to be the brightest spot in the room.
I expect him to try and make a move on me, to hit me with one of his over the top sexual comments, but he doesn’t. He simply turns on the TV and leans back against the couch.
“What’s in Boston?” he asks without looking at me.
“I’m not sure.”
“Are you going there for business, or for pleasure?”
The way he says pleasure makes my heart speed up a bit. “Neither. It’s just a trip to get away and have some time to myself.”
“You don’t have any concrete plans?”
“You ask a lot of questions.” I look at him. “Do you know that?”
“It’s the trait of being a good lawyer.”
“A good lawyer? There’s no such thing.”
He lifts his head up. “You have something against lawyers?”
“My ex-boyfriend is a lawyer.”
“I’m not your ex-boyfriend.” He looks offended.
“Yeah, well. You know what they say. All lawyers are practically scum, the only difference is some screw you over worse than the others.”
“You don’t have to keep insulting me to get my attention.” He puts his arm around my shoulders. “You’ve had it ever since I saw you on the plane.”
“What?”
“You can stop trying to act like you’re not intrigued by me.” He grins and his eyes light up. “I know you want me.”
“What the hell are you talking about? You still think sex is going to happen between us, don’t you?” I immediately stand up. “You know what? I knew hanging out with you was a bad idea.”
“Sit down.” He pulls me back onto the couch. “I just wanted some company,” he says. “It’s been a while since I’ve talked to anyone outside of my clients and family, so I thought it would be nice to get to know someone new.”
“How sad. I know a therapist, if you need one.”
“Okay, Paris.” He pulls me close and whispers against my lips, “I need you to stop being so sarcastic. Right now. It’s not having the effect on me that you think it is, and the next time something smart comes out of your sexy ass mouth, I’m going to show you exactly what that effect really is.”