Screw that, I know exactly why I resist.
Since starting college, I’ve slowly transformed myself into this image of what I think I should be. The money I make, the clothes I wear, even working out each morning to defy the eventual middle-age spread that would reveal the slightest hint of failing at life.
All of it perfectly aligns with that image.
One that Honey Dewberry most certainly doesn’t fit into.
The constant pink, the flirting, the seemingly laissez-faire attitude toward everything, it’s a complete contrast to the staid and purposeful path I’ve taken in life. It’s a path that has gotten me to a point where I don’t have to worry about money, where I’m respected by my peers and “betters”, one where I can easily help my family, which is the most important thing to me.
Besides, I’m rational enough to realize that opposites don’t attract, and Honey and I are the very definition of opposites.
As I dump the bottles into the recycle chute, my mind circles back to Emily.
I just have to stay focused on her.
Something that’s becoming more and more difficult to do with the distraction currently lounging on my couch.
By the time I make it back to my apartment, I’ve almost forced myself to think of Honey as nothing more than a mere distraction. One that draws attention like a brightly-colored butterfly in a gray sky. Something I realize as my eyes are instantly captured by her in that spectacular dress that contrasts so fantastically against the dark, neutral colors of my apartment.
“What do you think? Am I the next Florence Nightingale?” she asks, raising the skirt of her dress enough to show a stretch of perfectly formed leg as she lifts her injured foot into the air.
I shift, strategically situating my hands so that I don’t embarrass myself with another half-erection like I did earlier while she searched for my keys.
“Mannaggia a te,” I curse to myself.
I can’t remember the last time I used the sparse bit of Italian I learned from my parents, even in my own head.
“It looks fine,” I say, casting a casual glance at the foot before averting my eyes to literally anything else in the room. “Let’s get it wrapped.”
I walk back to kneel and grab the roll of gauze, trying to stay focused on the work rather than the woman I’m attending to. Thank God she lowered that dress. The stretch of flawless skin, glowing like dark copper, she reveals up to the calf is bad enough.
“Did you at least enjoy the party? What little of it you saw, at any rate.”
“It was…fine.”
She breathes out a laugh. “I’d like to think I can do better than fine. Especially when it comes to love.”
My hand reflexively flexes as I hold onto the top of her foot to place the strip of gauze. “Your friend…Rose? And, er….Jerry? They mentioned someone named Francis. Was he the man in the white suit at the party?”
I don’t know why I’m asking. Maybe to take my mind off how nice her foot feels in my hand.
This time her laugh is louder.
“Oh no that’s Frankie Peck. Similar first names, completely different people. Even Rose and Jerome know better than to mix those two up. Frankie is a producer, not the wildly successful kind, but the kind that has ‘pet projects.’ Though there’s definitely some secret wealth there. He shields it with a delightfully mysterious pedigree and an equally ambiguous sexual orientation—perfect for the theater crowd. Don’t tell him I told you but the southern accent? Completely fake. I was the one who had to tell him that no one from Georgia, especially the upper crust of Savannah, would ever say ‘you guys.’”
She laughs again, as though the mix up is the height of hilarity.
But she hasn’t discussed the man I was actually interested in learning more about.
In my head, I’m simply attributing it to curiosity.
I don’t want to dwell on why I’m curious.
“And Francis?”
“Oh,” she says, going somber. “That one is complicated. Technically, he’s dating someone else now, but it’s not…serious. I fully plan on winning him back.”
I breathe out a quiet, cynical laugh.
“Glad you can find that amusing,” she scolds in a pretty voice.
My eyes roll up to hers. “I was just pondering the irony.”
“Well, I do love a good dose of irony,” she says perking up with curiosity.
I see I’ve once again opened the door.
What the hell. We’re both commiserating. I don’t have many sympathetic ears in my life.
“I’m recently in the same boat. The woman I used to date in school is back in town, working at the same firm as me in fact. She’s…with someone, but I have the feeling she isn’t happy about it. I can’t help but think that maybe the timing means something.”
“And you want to get back together with her?”
There’s something in her voice that causes a nice little stir in my stomach. Not quite jealousy but maybe a bit of disappointment.
“Well, she’s a fitting partner.”
“A fitting partner?” Honey repeats with amusement. “Are you planning on wooing her or starting a business?”
“There’s nothing wrong with considering all aspects when thinking about marriage,” I say in an irritated voice. “She’s smart an attractive and sophisticated and—”
“And you love her?”
I blink in surprise. “Well, I did. For all intents and purposes. We have the same goals in life. I wanted to marry her after all.”
“That’s a very convincing argument, Jesse Castiglione. You should be an attorney.”
“I am an attorney,” I snap, now feeling angry.
“You are?” Honey asks, perking up again. “How fun!”
Not the descriptor I would use.
“To Kill a Mockingbird is one of my favorite books. I must have read it about a dozen times. I have a copy in my bookcase right now. It’s what made me think about becoming an attorney myself.”
I can already see where this is going. Every other person I meet likes to regale me with the fact that they once thought about joining the profession. Either that, or worse, a request for legal advice. It never fails, especially once they find out I went to one of the top law schools in the country.
“I even read One L, if you can believe that,” Honey says with a self-effacing laugh.
That one has me pausing. “Really?”
One L, by Scott Turow, is the quintessential, if antiquated, take on what the first year of law school is like. Most admitted law students have at least heard of it, if not read it prior to their first day of classes. But I’ve never met anyone outside the profession ever mention it before.
Still, no need to encourage this detour.
“Well, Emily is an attorney too, so it makes sense for us to be together.”
“Except you’re not together?”
“Neither are you it seems,” I reply.
“True,” she says falling back onto the couch with a sigh.
I continue the work I’ve paused during this conversation.
In my periphery I see Honey suddenly rise and lean on one elbow. She waits for my attention to turn to her before she speaks. She has an impish smile on her face.
“Wouldn’t it be awfully devilish of us to date each other to remind our beau and belle what they’re missing?”
My brow creases in consternation. “That’s ridiculous.”
“Is it?” she asks, one side of her mouth hitching up as she shrugs a shoulder. “I’ve noticed that jealousy is a particularly strong motivator.”
My mind reverses back to yesterday.
That damn pink feather on my collar.
Emily’s expression when she found it.
I instantly dismiss the idea with a shake of the head.
“I don’t need to play games to win Emily back. Eventually she’ll see reason and realize that we’re meant for each other.”
Honey laughs, which irritates me even
more. “Boy Jesse, you must be terrible in the courtroom. You have no idea how human nature works.”
“I’m a corporate attorney. I don’t work in the courtroom, I deal with contracts. And I’m damn good at it.”
I grab the tape from the box and viciously rip off a piece. I have enough composure to remain gentle as I apply it to the gauze wrapped around her foot to hold it in place.
“Touchy, touchy,” Honey teases as I angrily throw everything back into the first aid box.
“I’m not touchy,” I say after one calming breath. “I just…
“You’re just hoping that Emily finds her way back to you on her own.” Honey gives me a scrutinizing look. “Well, counselor, what exactly do you plan on doing to win her back?”
“None of your business.”
“True. But call me curious. I could use some tips when it comes to Francis.” She rests her pretty chin on her balled up fist and gives me a pretty pout.
This is ridiculous.
I’m supposed to be in the gym right now.
Instead my entire system is getting a workout from the woman across the hall.
“I’ll just make it clear that I’m still interested and state my case as to why we should be together.”
A slow smile creeps to her face.
“What?” I ask, exasperated. “What’s wrong with that plan?”
“Oh nothing,” she assures me, eyes wide. “But wouldn’t a wingwoman, of sorts, help with that? I can point out what a fantastic boyfriend you’ve been in the years since you two dated. How sweet and charming and romantic you are.”
Honey considers me for a second and laughs. “Okay, maybe not that much embellishment.”
My brow furrows. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Well,” she says, giving me a pitying look. “Would you use those words to describe yourself?”
Never in a million years, but I won’t point that out. “Aren’t you the one who is supposed to be stating my case?” I challenge.
“So you are keen on the idea,” She says with a smug smile.
“Of course not, I just…”
What the hell am I doing?
At this point, the gym is out of the question.
I should be getting ready for work.
“Okay, this one instead—how virile and strong and masterful you are in bed,” she purrs, her voice pouring out like heated honey. She closes her eyes. “The way you make my body come alive with the things you do to me. My toes curling, my nipples hardening, every inch of me singing. You’re just so…unhh,” she moans, arching her body.
With every word, my eyes have grown wider. My dick is even more impressed, now seriously straining the bounds of my already loose sweatpants. Thank God, I’m still crouching on the floor so I can hide it.
Honey’s eyes snap open, ending the illusion.
“Too much?” she asks with a teasing smile. It disappears under a look of mocking scorn. “Please don’t tell me I’m off track with that one too, Jesse.”
I swallow hard. “I—what?”
Honey laughs, her head falling back easily. When she brings it back up to scrutinize me she looks perfectly pleased with herself. “Of course, I’d expect you to be a bit more discreet when it came to Francis. He wouldn’t like the idea of me sleeping with another man.”
I blink and snap myself out of this crazy spell she has me under. I almost stand up, just to further separate myself from her, then think better of it. I’ll stay here until I’ve at least forced my erection down.
“That’s not something you have to worry about because this is not happening.”
“Oh, but it’s such a clever idea, don’t you think?”
“I most certainly don’t.”
“Hmm,” Honey hums, pursing her lips in thought. “Who knows, she could be yours just in time for Sunday?”
Sunday?
I let it drop, not wanting to encourage her further. I’ve finally forced my body into submission enough to stand up.
“I see I’ve overstayed my welcome,” Honey says with an amused smile. “Thank you for coming to my rescue yet again, neighbor.”
“Do you need help back to your apartment?” I ask, unable to stop that side of me from stepping in to save the day. Something about her makes it impossible not to, even when I’m as annoyed with her as I am now.
Honey laughs in that teasing way, as though she knows exactly where my mind is. It’s infuriating, and a definite reminder of why I should probably go back to avoiding her.
“I think I can hobble back to my abode without further injury,” she says, standing up.
She takes two halting steps before my instinct to help kicks in.
“Nonsense,” I say before hurrying over to help.
There’s that word again, always stepping in to cause trouble.
It isn’t enough to stop me from coming around and placing one arm around her waist. Honey is not short, but the difference in height between us still makes it blatantly ridiculous for me not to just pick her up and carry her over to her place.
I sigh to myself, knowing exactly how she’ll react.
“Allow me,” I say, cradling her in my arms once again.
She mewls something that has my ears tingling and body reacting even more violently than it did just a moment ago. The skin on the nape of my neck, which she clings to with both arms feels like it’s on fire as I stride out of the door, wanting to end this torture.
My intent was to back into the door as I leave so it doesn’t fully close. That is thwarted by the neighbor walking down the hall toward the elevator who stops mid-stride as he catches us. I stand there, dumbfounded, knowing what this must look like, especially at this hour of the morning.
“This isn’t at all what it looks like,” Honey sings with a laugh, perfectly vocalizing my thoughts.
I hear the click as the door closes securely behind me.
Dammit!
“None of my business,” the man says, raising one hand as he concedes the point, though I catch the quick grin he shoots me as he continues on.
Maybe there is something to this jealousy thing after all.
“Although…” Honey says loudly enough to get him to stop again. “It does appear as though we’ve both locked ourselves out. Could you possibly be a dear and tell Eugene in the lobby to send someone up? I’m sure he’ll get a fine laugh out of this mess we’ve gone and gotten ourselves into.”
I note how thick her southern drawl is now. It works like melted sugar, turning our neighbor into a gooey mess.
I would consider it pathetic if I wasn’t one hundred percent certain it would work the same kind of alchemy on me.
“Not a problem,” the man says, a noticeable shade of red creeping up his neck.
“Aren’t you the sweetest thing,” Honey gushes, sending that red into overdrive straight to his forehead.
A sloppy grin appears on his face as he continues on.
When the elevator finally arrives to take him down, Honey turns to me with a grin.
“As much as I’m enjoyin’ this, ahem, position,” a coy look colors her smile, “I don’t want to wear you out too much, Jesse.”
I feel an involuntary tick come to my jaw as it hardens with annoyance at the obvious innuendo.
“I think I’m okay to stand, so long as I can still use your body,” she bats her eyelashes. “For support that is.”
That tick in my jaw grows stronger.
“Of course.” I give one quick nod but still take care to gently set her down into a standing position, making sure she really is able to stand.
If anything, this is worse, her body leaning into my side, one hand resting on my shoulder as her fingertips ever so slightly graze the bare skin of my neck, a move that I’m not entirely sure isn’t on purpose.
“I hope I didn’t ruin your workout this morning.”
At this point, I’d barely be able to get in enough time to work up a sweat. As though this woman hasn’t had my heart pump
ing hard enough this morning.
“One day off won’t matter.”
“You don’t seem like you take too many days off,” she says. “I should start working out with you. Though, I must admit, this hour of the morning is a bit too wee even for me.”
That has me thinking about her odd hours. I figure now is the perfect opportunity to learn what she does for a living, being that we’ve become so neighborly lately.
Yet, a part of me holds back, wondering if that might ruin the mysterious appeal.
What the hell?
Mysterious appeal? I definitely need to stop thinking of her in this way.
Especially if I plan on getting back together with Emily.
I consider Honey’s idea about pretending to date. While I certainly wouldn’t expect her to be so…obvious when extolling my virtues, she definitely would do a fine job rousing a bit of jealousy.
If that pink feather was enough, I can only imagine what the woman herself would do.
But the idea is absurd.
Heaven help me if I can’t win Emily back on my own.
Hell, maybe I should find out what Honey does for a living, confirm my worst suspicions about her. At least it would temper these conflicting, problematic thoughts I have about her.
The elevator arrives before I can even open my mouth.
“Manuel! My hero!” Honey cries out, waving a hand like a beauty contestant in a parade.
A wide grin appears on the face of the maintenance man.
“Miss Honey,” he greets. “You get locked out?”
“We both did, if you can believe that!”
His eyes dart to me as though just now noticing I’m not a piece of furniture she’s leaning against.
“Thank you,” I say, forcing the embarrassment away. I’ve never locked myself out before and something about this situation in particular has me feeling angry with myself.
“Is no problem,” he says in an overly ubiquitous manner, as he heads to my door first.
Am I that imposing?
I reach one long arm out to catch the door and stop it so it’s only slightly ajar. I thank him again. As Manuel walks over to open Honey’s, I help her walk closer to her door. Once he’s done the same with hers, leaving it slightly ajar, he turns back to her—and only her—with a broad smile.
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