by KD Robichaux
He saw the way I reacted when he told me he wanted to keep us a secret, and to make me feel a little better, he came up with a plan. He said any time we were hanging out together with other people, and he was thinking of me or wanted to touch me in a more-than-friends sort of way, he would give me a wink. He told me any time he’d catch my eye and send me that secret message, to know that he was thinking about holding me, or kissing me, or—his words—fucking me against various flat surfaces.
And boy, those long, dark eyelashes of his have been getting a work out. Nearly every time I look up at him while we’re smoking on his back porch, or eating dinner at his dining room table with his family, or even watching a movie in his living room with them, he catches my attention and gives me a wink, and a warm feeling washes over me and I give him a secret smile. I live for those winks.
Wow, I just realized how long this post is. Sorry for writing you a novel this time, but thanks for any advice you leave me!
I’ll let you know what the ‘special plans’ were in my next post!
<3
‘Dress up,’ he said. ‘I’ve planned something special for you,’ he said. As I look at the piles of clothes spread out across my bed, floor, and top of my dresser, I want to kick Jason’s ass for putting such pressure on me. Where is he taking me? What does he consider ‘dressed up’? The only thing he let me in on was wherever we are going, we’re going alone, just the two of us.
I’ve got my outfit narrowed down to either some really cute tight black pants with a one-shouldered red satin top, or a little black dress I picked up a few days ago with Kim. After being with Jason for the past few weeks, and him telling me how much he loves my legs, my confidence in the way my body looks has grown enough that I went out and bought a couple pairs of shorts, a jean skirt, and now, the little black dress I’m trying on now.
I step into it, and as I zip up the bottom, turning to look over my shoulder into the mirror to see the open back, I smile as I replay his words while I got dressed the next morning after our first time together.
And don’t think I didn’t notice your shorts, babe. Those are fucking hot. I don’t know why you hate your legs. I love them. They’re different than everyone else’s. Beautiful. Perfect. They go on for miles, and I can’t wait for the next time you wrap them around me.
Decision made, I grab my bottle of black raspberry vanilla lotion and start slathering it onto my legs, making sure there’s not a dry spot in sight. I dance around in a circle as I spray the matching body spray into the air, letting the mist land on me where it will.
I go into my bathroom, hike my skirt up and crawl up onto my sink. Looking into the mirror and seeing my red lace panties staring at me, I realize I have no idea how to act in a dress. I’ll have to be careful tonight, I think as I sit Indian-style on my bathroom counter. I reach behind me and pull open the top drawer, which holds all my makeup and a pair of tweezers. I lean close to the mirror, making sure my eyebrows are perfect, none of my French heritage peeking through between my two brows, and then I take my time doing my makeup. I do it a little heavier than I normally do, going for a smoky eye and a natural lip.
I hop off my countertop and do a little wiggle as I pull the skirt back down into place, and then I run my brush through my hair one last time. I hustle into my room and grab my small, blood-red clutch and slip my feet into my nude pumps. I truly suck at walking in heels, but for some reason, if I had to, I could run in these puppies. They aren’t super tall, and don’t have a platform, and they’re extra bendy, so I don’t look like a baby giraffe learning to walk like I do in other heels.
I’ve told Mark and Kim about my date tonight, so they’ve been fairly warned if they wake up and I’m not here in the morning. A girl can only hope, right? I get in my car and slip in the new CD I made on my brother’s computer, and as the techno beat of Paul Oakenfold’s “Ready, Steady, Go” comes on, I giddily wiggle in my seat and head toward Friendswood.
I pull into Jason’s driveway and then pause. I’m confused about what I’m supposed to do. If he’s wanting to keep us a secret, then how am I supposed to walk into his house all dolled up and his parents not realize he’s taking me on a date? Has Jason even thought that far ahead? Well, I don’t want to look stupid just sitting out here in my car, so I get out and start toward the garage door. Before I even get there, the door opens and Jason steps out, closing the door behind him.
My step falters and I stumble to a halt, whispering, “Motherfuck,” under my breath, just as I had the first time I saw him in this very spot. He looks freakin’ amazing, especially as he gives me that wicked smile when hears my reaction to seeing him. He’s wearing dark grey pin-striped pants, and a jet-black button down long-sleeved shirt. He’s got on shiny black shoes and as he turns around to lock the door behind him, I see he’s accessorized with bright silver cufflinks, which matches the tiny hoop in his left ear. When he turns back around, I notice he’s holding a CD.
He makes his way toward me and grabs my hand, walking me to the end of his driveway. He wraps his arm around me and buries his face in my neck for a brief moment, where I hear and feel him breathe me in for a second before telling me to stay right here. I watch him take off in an easy jog until he vanishes around the side of his house, and then a minute later, his mom’s little convertible silver BMW appears from where it’s kept in his dad’s shop.
He pulls around and stops in front of where I stand at the end of his driveway, and then hops out to run around to the passenger side to open the door. He makes a sweeping gesture with his hand, and I give him a smile as I walk over to him, giving him a quick kiss on his cheek before sliding into the seat. He closes the door behind me and then gets back into the driver’s seat. “You ready?” he asks, pressing the button to put the soft convertible top down.
“As ready as I can be without knowing where we’re going,” I reply, grabbing a hair tie out of my clutch and braiding my hair quickly into a side ponytail over my shoulder. He gives me that drop-dead gorgeous grin again before putting the car in gear and taking off, throwing me back into the leather seat.
My heart is pounding by the time we merge onto 45 South, and I watch nervously as he lets go of the steering wheel with one hand to pull out the CD he’d been holding when I first arrived. He slides it into the player and cranks up the volume to be heard over the rushing wind and sounds of the busy highway. My eyes go back to the road as I clutch at the armrest, digging my fingers into the smooth black leather. When Paul Oakenfold’s “Ready, Steady, Go” starts to play, I can’t help but laugh, a tiny bit of the tension leaving my body.
“I just made a CD with this song on it too,” I tell him, peeling my eyes from my surroundings to look over at him. He glances at me and gives me a wink, and that warm feeling fills me once again. He pulls onto the next exit ramp and then onto the feeder. The traffic light barely turns yellow and he slows to a stop. This is unlike Jason, who likes to speed through the very end of yellow lights, smacking the ceiling of his truck and yelling, “It’s was orange; I swear!”
“You totally could have made that,” I say, raising my eyebrow at him.
He doesn’t say anything, just looks over at me as he rests his hand on the stick shift, his knee bouncing a little to the beat of the techno song. The sun has set and the highway to our left blocks the light from the restaurants and stores on the other side of the road, so the only light around us is from the red light we sit at, and a few street lights. It causes shadows across his handsome features as he continues just to watch me, not saying a word.
My brow furrows and I smile. “What?” I ask, turning to look to my right to see if he’s actually looking at something past me, but there’s nothing there, just the thick wooded area, one of the only undeveloped spots off of 45 South.
I turn back around to face him again, and he’s still watching me, and that’s when the light turns green. Instead of looking toward the road, he shifts into first gear and hits the gas, his eyes still locked on mine
. I nervously glance at the empty road ahead of us and then back to him as he changes into second gear. His eyes dart purposely from my eyes, down to my lips, and then back up to my eyes as he cocks his brow and shifts into third, giving me a sexy smirk.
“Jason. Are you being serious right now?” I cry, looking back to the open road to see he’s staying perfectly centered in the lane. I shift back to his face and yell, “Stop doing the ‘drive and stare’, Jason! This is not The Fast and the Furious!” as he moves into fourth.
He chuckles, probably amused that I know he’s recreating Paul Walker’s flirtatious move from the movie, and then finally tops out at fifth gear, raising his hand to press a button on the stereo for the next song to play. He then reaches over and lays his hand halfway up my left thigh, sending tingles down to the tips of my toes and directly up my skirt. He finally breaks his stare and looks forward, and when the song begins to play, so do his fingers.
My brow furrowing, I look down at his hand on my leg, watching his fingers dance across my smooth tan skin as he plays the notes perfectly to Coldplay’s “Clocks”. The piano solo in the beginning is beautiful, one of my favorites I’ve listened to over and over since it came out, and since I took piano lessons for four years when I was younger, I know his keystrokes would be accurate. I’m mesmerized, both charmed and shocked by this innocent but extremely sexy move he’s just laid on me.
His family has an upright piano in their living room, but I had no idea Jason knew how to play. As his fingertips continue to play the tune against my sensitive flesh, I grow more and more turned on, the thought of this gorgeous, tough, muscular tattooed man knowing how to play the piano sending me into a heart-palpitating frenzy.
When the song ends and his warm hand comes to a rest on my leg once again, there is no longer a single thought in my head wasted on road safety. I unbuckle my seatbelt and throw myself over the narrow center console, circling my arms around his neck and pulling him closer to me to plant a kiss on his delicious pouty lips. He smiles against my mouth, and I open my eyes to see he is still watching as he drives, my head tilted at an angle so he can see ahead of us.
I deepen the kiss, my tongue stabbing into his mouth, like a needle injecting pure lust as I try to convey how much passion I feel for this man. I unwrap my right arm from around his neck and place my hand on his left thigh, sliding it briskly up to cup his rock-hard bulge through his dress pants. He groans into my mouth and then pulls his head away from me, saying, “Even I can’t handle driving when you do that. Sit back, baby. I promise to take care of you tonight, but first, let me do something special for you.”
I smile, squeeze him through his pants, and give him one last gentle kiss on his lips before sitting back into my seat and putting my seatbelt back on.
A few minutes later, we arrive somewhere I’ve never been before. Jason walks around to the passenger side, helps me out of the car, and places my hand in the crook of his elbow, escorting me inside. When we walk inside, to the left is a row of about ten pool tables, in the middle is a huge bar that runs the entire depth of the room, and on the right are tables and booths. It’s a classy billiard hall, and it looks like they serve food too.
“Would you like to play or eat first?” he asks, turning toward me.
“Let’s play. I’m not quite hungry yet,” I tell him, nodding in the direction of the pool tables. He agrees and guides me to the bar, where he gets our set of balls and orders us drinks. I don’t recognize what he gets us, but when the bartender returns with some opened green bottles of beer with salt around the necks and limes sticking out of the top, I give Jason a questioning look.
“Just trust me,” he says, and grabs the bottles after handing his credit card over to open a tab. I grab the rack of balls and follow him to one of the open pool tables. I place the tray in the middle of the table and continue to follow him when he makes his way over to a small table with two chairs against the wall. He sets the bottles on the table and then pulls one of the chairs out, gesturing for me to sit. I thank him and take my seat, watching as he slides into the opposite one.
“This is Dos Equis. It’s a Mexican beer, and when it’s served with the salt and lime, it gets rid of that taste you don’t like. I’m determined to find a beer you’ll enjoy, and if you don’t like this one, then I don’t think one exists,” he proclaims.
Every time he’s bought a different beer in the last few weeks, whether we went somewhere or he brought a pack to his house, he’s made me taste it to see if I liked it. So far, I’ve tried Shiner, Budweiser, Bud Lite, Coors, and Michelob, and all of them have been disgusting. I’m just not a beer girl.
He slides one of the bottles to himself, and after he pulls the lime from the neck, squeezes the juice into the drink, and then shoves the peel back in, my brow furrows as he sticks his thumb into the hole, turns the bottle upside down, and then turns it right side up before sitting it down in front of me. I feel my core clench as I watch him suck the salt from his thumb.
“Try that,” he commands, and then proceeds to do the same routine to his own beer.
“Now that it’s got your cooties all over it…” I trail off with mock-disgust.
“Woman, just drink it. You flip the bottle to make the lime go to the bottom, so it doesn’t block the opening. Besides, you’ve had a lot worse things in your mouth.” He smirks, shifting his eyes down to his lap and then looking back up to me with a heated smirk.
“All right, all right.” I give in and pick up the beer, letting out an overdramatic sigh, knowing the drink is going to be gross. Seeing him grab up his bottle and licking a little bit of the salt off the neck before taking a swig, I do the same, and then take a tentative sip.
Holy shit! It’s not nasty! The saltiness mixes with the sour of the lime, making the beer taste almost sweet. I look down at the bottle, reading the label and seeing the two golden Xs I’d seen before on neon signs at bars and clubs. I glance up at Jason and see his sexy grin before returning the drink to my lips for a less cautious mouthful.
“Well, this one doesn’t suck,” I admit. “Good job, even though God only knows where that thumb has been.” I raise my eyebrow at him before standing and walking over to the pool table to set up the balls.
He rolls two cues across the table next to us, checking to make sure they are good and straight, and then comes over to my side, handing me one. I stand to the side of our table while he breaks and calls stripes. After taking his next couple of shots and then finally missing, I pick which solid I’m going to aim for, and get into position. That’s when I feel his hard, hot body come up behind me.
He molds himself to me, his muscular left arm stretching along my thin one to move my hand holding the front end of the stick a little farther back, also using his fingers to tweak the way I’m grabbing it. Instead of wrapping around the cue, I now have it balanced between my thumb and the knuckle of my pointer finger.
“I’ve always wanted to do this to you, ever since the first time we went and played,” he says low in my ear, sending chill bumps down my arms. “Now in your mind, draw a line from the pocket to the ball, and wherever that line would come out the back end of the ball, that’s where you want to hit it with the cue ball.” His deep voice vibrates inside his chest against my back, and I can barely concentrate on not grinding my ass against his hips, much less the shot.
“You okay?” he asks, and I can hear the smirk in his voice. “You’re trembling.”
“I’m fine,” I reply, clearing my throat and spreading my feet a little farther apart to get lower to the table. Concentrate, Kayla, I tell myself. I’d kill to impress him, loving the feeling that swells inside me the way he looks at me when I beat him at a hand of cards. I focus between the pocket and the solid blue ball in front of me, drawing the line in my head like he told me to, and then zeroing in on the back of it at a spot a little to the left of its center, I strike the white ball gently. It hits the blue ball directly where I wanted it to, and it slowly rolls across the green fel
t until it falls easily into the corner pocket.
I feel Jason’s right hand squeeze my hip and pride swells inside me, along with the inferno deep in my belly. I turn in his arms, placing my butt against the table, and grin up into his face. He smiles before placing a gentle kiss on my lips and reminding me, “Next shot.”
We play a couple of games, him guiding me through some of my turns, teaching me different things like banking, which I never get the hang of, and jumping the cue ball, which I couldn’t quite make it do. I do, however, sink a lot more balls than I ever have before. Jason is a good teacher.
I’ve managed my way through two Dos Equis, and I don’t know if it’s because I’m not used to drinking beer itself, or if this brand has a lot of alcohol content, but I’m already feeling a little buzzed. We decide to gather up our rack and move to the other side of the bar to eat. I order a big plate of Texas cheese fries, topped with bacon and chives, and he orders a Philly cheesesteak, minus the onions and peppers, along with another round of our beer.
“So I’ve been thinking about getting another tattoo,” I tell him. “It’s backwards though. I know where I want it, but I don’t know what to get.”
“Where do you want it?” he asks, taking a pull of his beer.
“Behind my ear. I’ve seen a couple pictures of tattoos there, and it’s adorable,” I reply, dipping one of my fries into the ranch dressing in front of me.
“Know what I just realized?” he prompts. When I quirk my eyebrow up in acknowledgement, he jokes, “You have a heart tatted on the back of your neck, and I have a spade on my arm. We’re two suits short of a deck of cards.”