by Whitney G.
I look away from him and slip into the car—hoping I won’t regret checking off my number four.
Six
“Is that everything?” I place a shopping bag onto the kitchen counter. “Can I go to my room now?”
“No.” Blake smiles and leads me into the living room, motioning for me to lean back against the pillows. For the past few hours, I’ve been tagging along and watching him shop for storm supplies.
Even though I thought the people in this city were overreacting to this invisible storm, the second we finished buying fleece blankets, the parking lot was covered in a light snow and the skies were grey.
“It’ll probably get worse as the days go on,” he’d said. “We should probably get a few more things.”
Those “few more things” turned into a lot more things, and I swear we stopped at every store in sight. He bought candles, flashlights, sleeping bags, draft sealant, and, to “thank me for being his company,” he bought me four silk slips and a white robe. As ridiculous as some of the comments he made were (“You should model those slips for me one night.”), I enjoyed being around him.
“Are you tired?” He turns on the fireplace.
“No, just disappointed.”
“Why?”
I shake my head. I don’t want to bore him with anymore talk of Adrian.
“Why, Paris?” He walks over to me and raises his eyebrow.
When I don’t say anything, he sits on the couch and pulls me into his lap. Before I can move, he begins to massage my shoulders.
“Are you from Nashville, Paris?” he whispers.
“Born and raised. You’re from D.C.?”
“Seattle.”
“You took a flight from Seattle to Atlanta and then to D.C.? That doesn’t make any sense.”
“I didn’t create the flight plan.” His hands softly rub the back of my neck. “But I’ll be sure to share your concerns with the airline the next time I fly.”
“You should.” I bite my tongue, so I won’t murmur, so I won’t give him any idea about how good his hands feel. “You should definitely do that…Next time you fly.”
“Tell me why you’re disappointed.”
I say nothing, and he gently tilts my head back until I’m looking into his eyes.
“Tell me.”
“I don’t want to hate my ex-boyfriend anymore.”
“Then don’t.”
“Easier said than done.” I sigh as he caresses my shoulders again, as he blows soft and gentle kisses against my neck.
“Can I ask you something?”
“I am not wet. Does that answer it?”
“No, but that’s a lie.” He trails a finger down my spine. “That also isn’t what I was going to ask you.”
I cross my legs and he laughs.
“Why did you have to pay to put your boyfriend through law school in the first place?”
“Because us regular people don’t have rich parents that can afford to pay for school. It was a trade-off. Since he was going to have the more lucrative career, we agreed that he needed to finish school first.”
“I worked my way through law school. My parents didn’t pay for anything.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I just thought that…” I pause. “I’m sorry for assuming.”
He runs his fingers through my hair. “Since you broke up, is he going to pay you back for his tuition?”
I burst into laughter, nearly falling out of his lap. “Pay me back? Is that a joke?”
“It only seems fair.”
Fair? Ha!
I wipe my eyes on my sleeve, still laughing. I can’t imagine Adrian paying me back for anything. As a matter of fact, if there was a way that he could sue me for not accepting his engagement ring, I was sure that he would try.
“My boyfriend—ex boyfriend, I mean, has always seen everything in black and white. I’m pretty sure he thinks that I voided our deal by leaving him, so he technically doesn’t owe me anything.”
“That’s unfortunate.” He stops touching me and hesitates. “Were you in love with him?”
“For the first two years, yes,” I say. “But after we moved in together, I slowly fell out of love. I just didn’t want to believe it was happening.”
I remember how I practically coerced Adrian into saying that he “still loved [me]” years ago, that he probably only said it so I would continue paying for his studies.
“What about you, Blake?” I quickly change the subject.
“What about me?”
“Since you claim you don’t currently have a girlfriend, I’m sure you have a long-lost-ex sob story.”
“I don’t.”
“Right.” I roll my eyes. “If the way that flight attendant reacted to you was any indication, I’m sure women fawn over you all the time.”
“They do.”
“So, you are a one-night stand type of guy? You sleep with every woman who flirts with you? Reel them in and dazzle them with your life’s supply of condoms?”
“If that were true, I’d be sleeping with you.” He kisses the back of my shoulder before standing up. “I sacrificed a social life for the firm’s startup. I didn’t need any distractions.” He tilts my chin up. “Though I must admit, if I had met you sooner, I might have made an exception.”
I uncross my legs, earning another low laugh from him.
“I’ll be right back,” he says, and I look away. I need to figure out a way to get to my room and stay there for the rest of this trip. If I don’t, I’m pretty sure he’ll be having his way with me all over the house.
“Are you a fan of shots?” Blake suddenly steps in front of me, holding a tray of red colored shot glasses.
“What type of shots?”
“Vodka, but these are drinking game shots.”
“We can’t just drink without playing some type of game?”
“We could.” He sits next to me and sets the tray on the coffee table. “But since you’ve said that we don’t know each other that well, I think this is a good way to start.” He reaches out, drags a finger against my lips. “Do you know how to play Never Have I Ever?”
No. “Yes.” I feel him caressing my cheek with his other hand.
He must sense that I have no idea what that game entails, because he begins to explain. “I’ll say something, something like ‘Never have I ever sat next to a beautiful stranger on a plane.’ Since that’s true, I’ll toss back a shot. You will, too.” He laughs. “Then it’ll be your turn to tell me something you have or haven’t done before.”
My cheeks are on fire.
This is a bad idea. A very, very bad idea.
“Umm.” I notice him moving closer to me. “I’m not sure if we should play a game like that. Can we just watch another movie?”
“No.”
“No?”
“No.” He hands me a shot. “You’re too much of a distraction for me to focus on a movie. It barely worked the first night.”
“You’re forcing me to play?”
“Yes. Are you ready?” He grabs a drink for himself. “We can start things off simple. I’ll go first: Never have I ever kissed a stranger.”
We both toss our drinks back and I quickly grab another.
“For me…” I search for something to say. “Never have I ever kissed someone in a car.”
He raises his eyebrow as he tosses a drink back. I consider tossing mine back, so I won’t seem lame, but I don’t want to take any unnecessary shots.
“You dated your boyfriend for six years and he never kissed you in his car?”
“He wasn’t into public displays of affection.” I shrug. “Neither was I, honestly. It wasn’t our thing.”
“Hmmm.” He picks up another shot. “Never have I ever slept naked.”
We both toss drinks back.
“Never have I ever—” I laugh. “Never have I ever sat on a couch with someone who I once thought was a murderer.”
“How creative.” He rolls his eyes and I down my drink.
“No, thank you.” He looks directly into my eyes. “Never have I ever wanted to sleep with a stranger. A beautiful stranger.”
“Sleep with? You mean like cuddle?”
“I mean like fuck.” He picks up a shot and slowly pours it into his mouth, seemingly waiting for me to do the same, but I don’t make a move.
“How revealing of you, Blake. That’s very interesting, and also sad. Never have I ever—”
“The purpose of this game is to tell the truth.” He cuts me off.
“Okay. And?”
“And if someone isn’t telling the truth,” he says as he grips my hips and pulls me into his lap—letting me straddle him, “they can be challenged and made to drink an extra shot.”
“How scary.” I can feel his cock hardening underneath me. “Please, tell me more.”
He rubs his hands up and down my sides. “The thought of sleeping with me hasn’t crossed your mind?”
“Nope.”
“Is that honestly true?”
“Is there another type of true?” I try to move out of his lap, but his grip is too tight.
“You weren’t dreaming about me fucking you last night? After I kissed you, you didn’t want more?”
“How many different ways do you plan on asking the same question?” I keep my voice firm. “I said that I’ve never wanted to sleep with a stranger—that includes you. That means that I haven’t dreamed of fucking a stranger—that also includes you. Also, while we’re on the topic of—” I stop.
His hand is sliding into my jeans, stopping right at the crotch of my panties. He’s tapping his finger against the soaked spot, narrowing his eyes at me as he does it.
“You were saying?” He raises his eyebrow.
“I was saying that…” I gasp as he pushes my panties to the side and slips a finger inside of me. “I was saying that…”
“That you’ve never wanted to sleep with me?” he whispers. “That you weren’t wet when I massaged you?”
“Yes.”
He slips two fingers inside of me and moves them both in and out, keeping his eyes locked on mine. “There are penalties for lying in this game.”
“So?” I barely manage; his thumb is gently circling my clit.
“So, I’m going to give you a chance to change your answer.” He kisses my neck. “Are you sure that you’ve never, ever, wanted to sleep with me?”
“Absolutely.” I suck in a breath as his fingers slide deeper and deeper.
“How sure?”
“Very.” I’m breathless. “Ten hundred percent sure, to be exact.”
He smiles and slowly pulls his fingers out of me, then he brings them to his mouth and licks them clean.
OH. MY. GOD!
My mouth is hanging open. I’m not sure if he just did that.
“I did,” he says, as if he can read my mind. Then he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a crumpled sheet of paper. “My New Year’s Resolutions: Number five: Have hot and passionate sex with someone who isn’t Adrian.”
I can feel all the color leaving my face, feel my heart pounding louder and louder. “Where did you get that?”
“It fell out of your jacket this morning when I took you to the airport. I was about to toss it away and drive off, but once I opened it and read it, I decided that wasn’t the best idea.”
“So what?” I shrug and regain my composure. “That doesn’t mean that I wanted to have hot and passionate sex with you. I didn’t even know you when I wrote that list.”
“Number eight.” He looks at the paper again. “Have hot and passionate sex. With an ORGASM.”
“Once again, there’s no mention of you, so—”
“Right underneath that, in a different colored pen, you added ‘someone like Blake, maybe?’ in very small print. Would you like to see that part for yourself?”
I gasp and snatch the paper away.
“I’m more than happy to help you check off both of those numbers.” He leans forward and whispers, “All you have to do is tell me that you want me.”
Mortified, I suck in a breath and jump up. “I’m done playing this game.”
“I’d feel the same way, if I was losing.” He smiles. “Are you going to congratulate me on my win or are you going to be a sore loser and leave me all alone?”
“Fuck you, Blake.”
“I’d love for you to.”
I roll my eyes and head down the hallway to “my” room. I double lock the doors again and again, and as soon as I’m sure that they’re secure, I fall back onto the bed.
I can’t believe he found my list, that he knew that I wanted to sleep with him all day and kept any mention of it to himself.
I hold the paper up and notice that he’s written notes next to a few of my resolutions:
* * *
3. Start getting massages at least twice a year. If it’s under fifty dollars.
(I’d be more than happy to give you as many of these as you like.)
4. Do something spontaneous and crazy. Just for the hell of it, something that would scare and excite me at the same time.
(We should discuss this.)
5. Have passionate, hot sex with someone who isn’t Adrian. (Okay, me and Adrian never had hot, passionate sex—Why was I with him again? Why was I—STOP IT. Must finish this list.)
(I’m not sure why you were with him either, but I would love to help you satisfy this resolution.)
6. Meet someone who wants to treat me all the time and not vice versa.
(Let me take you on a date after the storm is over.)
7. Write everyday. I’m supposed to be an aspiring journalist, but this list is the first thing I’ve written in months. MONTHS.
(I have a private library you can use.)
8. Have passionate, hot sex with someone who can give me an ORGASM.
(Multiple.)
Seven
Later that night
There’s a heavy snow falling outside my window. It’s blanketing everything in sight, and under the night’s grey skies, the scene looks surreal.
I want to step outside on the balcony and toss my phone into the snow, but I can’t seem to stop listening to Adrian’s latest speech.
“Please stop calling me, Adrian,” I say. “I took a flight to get away from you for a reason.”
“Tell me where you are, so I can drive to you. It doesn’t matter how far.” He sounds sincere. “Please.”
“No, thank you.”
“Paris, I’m sorry. I want us to work this out.”
“What’s the point, Adrian? Do you even love me anymore? Did you ever?”
“What type of question is that? Of course, I loved you. I still do.”
“That’s why you want to marry me?” Tears have been falling down my face ever since I stupidly picked up the phone.
“Yes, Paris. That’s exactly why. I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”
“So, if I say no, if I say that I think we should wait a few years, what would you say to that?”
He hesitates. “Why would you say no?”
“Answer the question.”
“Babe, seriously, where are you? We need to discuss this in person.”
“We can discuss it right now.” I wipe my face on my sleeve. “You still haven’t answered my question.”
“If you said no?” There’s a bit of anger in his voice. “I guess I would just let you say no. But I would also say that it would probably be easier for us, if we got married.”
“Easier?”
“Financially easier. I’d make partner a lot sooner if we’re married, and I’d be able to send you to whatever writing school you wanted. Well, after I went back to get my PhD, but that’s only a few more years.”
“Goodbye, Adrian.” I end the call and turn off my phone.
More tears stream down my face and I check the time: Thre
e o’clock in the morning. I know that I shouldn’t have picked up, but a small, foolish part of me honestly thought that he would beg to have me back, that he would finally act like the man I wanted him to be.
I turn on the lamp and pull out my list—looking at number two, “Stop thinking about [him],” and place a large checkmark by it.
I won’t answer his phone calls anymore.
“Paris?” Blake’s voice is in my ear. “Is something wrong? Are you sick?”
I murmur and roll over to face him.
The second I open my eyes, I almost fall out of the bed.
He’s damn near naked. He’s only wearing a towel around his waist, and small droplets of water are trickling down his tattooed chest. To make matters worse, the imprint of his cock—his HUGE cock, can clearly be seen through the towel.
Holy shit.
“Paris?” He places his hand on my forehead.
“Why the hell are you naked?” I’m sure my eyes are as wide as they can go.
“You were screaming.”
“I screamed for you to come in here and take your clothes off?”
“No.” He laughs. “I heard you while I was in the shower. Are you listening to me?”
I try to keep my eyes on his, but they keep wandering down to that towel—attempting to get a better look at exactly what’s behind it.
“Would you like for me to take the towel off?” he asks. “I’m starting to think that would make you feel better.”
“It wouldn’t.” My heart flutters. “And I’m perfectly fine. I think I might have just been moaning about menstrual cramps.”
“I highly doubt that.”
“Because they taught you how to predict menstrual cycles in law school?”
“No, because you took a birth control pill while we were on the plane—a first week Thursday one. You won’t get your period for another two weeks, so I highly doubt you’re having menstrual cramps—if you’re even cramping at all.”