One True Pairing: A Geek Girl Rom Com (Fandom Hearts)

by Cathy Yardley

  “Why?” He took a bite of the burger. It was delicious, better than burgers he’d shelled out twenty-five bucks for in L.A. He was glad she’d made the recommendation.

  Rather than answering his question, she toyed with a fry. “Why do you think?” she finally asked, taking a big bite of her own burger.

  There it was again, that evasiveness. Answering questions with questions, turning things back to him. It wasn’t about him, though, he could tell. She wasn’t pumping him for information. She was just . . . hiding.

  Curious. Especially considering she looked like a forties pinup girl meets Negan from The Walking Dead, with her leather jacket and boots. She didn’t seem like the type that would hide from anything.

  “Well, you don’t look like a small-town girl,” he said, and saw her bristle, just a little. “Is it the hiking?”

  She leaned back, gesturing to herself: the hair, the clothes, the makeup. “Do I strike you as outdoorsy?”

  “You seem like the sort of woman that would constantly surprise me,” he said, and he saw her defensiveness melt away into a flash of confusion before her smartass smile snapped back in place.

  “Well, I’ve hiked, but it’s not my favorite thing. And I may not love all small towns, but I love this one,” she said, and he heard the passion humming through her voice. “It’s like the anti–L.A.”

  “How so?”

  She smiled, and it was gentler this time—possibly the most authentic, revealing smile he’d seen from her yet.

  “The police blotter.”

  He blinked. “The . . . police blotter?”

  “There’s a local newspaper that prints it up every week,” she said, her violet-blue eyes glowing with amusement and affection. “In L.A., it’d read like a scroll of statistics: shootings, theft, rapes. Here? Someone’s chickens got loose. A bear settled into somebody’s backyard to raid their plum tree. A local bar had a suspicious guy who was freaking out the waitress, because he’d hung out for hours and she didn’t know him. Police responded.”

  “Just because she didn’t recognize him?”

  “They take it seriously here,” she said, with obvious pride. “Anyway, turns out he was homeless and couldn’t get back to the bus station, didn’t want to stay out in the cold.”

  “Nice of the cops to ask,” he said.

  “They took him to McDonald’s,” she said. “Then gave him bus fare.”

  He stared at her. “That’s . . .”

  “Total Twilight Zone, I know,” she said. “Every week, there’s something like that. You should see the Facebook page. If something happens, twenty minutes later everybody knows about it. It’s like people gossiping to each other at their back fences, only online.”

  “No shit.”

  “People look out for each other. We take up collections for people who are sick or hurt. Sure, there’s crime, don’t get me wrong. But people just seem . . . better, here.”

  “You make it sound awesome,” he said, suddenly envious. “I’ve never had anything like that.”

  She looked over at him. “I didn’t, either. This place, these people, changed my life.”

  The quiet way she said it made him sense, deep down, that her life had been pretty bad before she’d somehow transplanted to this quaint little town. She looked at home.

  He envied her. And more than that, he wanted to know more about her. He wanted that very, very badly.

  Why are you so eager to get to know her better? his subconscious asked. After all, he was only here for a week, then it’d be back to Vancouver for filming. It seemed foolish to start up something with this woman that he probably wouldn’t be able to follow through with. Besides, he barely knew her. It wasn’t like he was going to be driving eight hours round trip to keep taking her out to dinner.

  Yet he found himself compelled to dig deeper. To learn more.

  It was his hormones. Had to be. Ever since his last girlfriend had dumped him for an up-and-coming action star (who had then fizzled when Mr. Up-and-Coming’s much-vaunted movie tanked), Jake had been gun-shy. He didn’t want to get involved with the actress-and-model types that were the bulk of his acquaintance. He’d tried getting involved with people outside the industry, too, only to have a woman sell “his story,” a bunch of made-up bullshit, to the tabloids. It’d been six months since he’d had sex. It was uncomfortable, sure, but it wasn’t like it made him crazy. He wasn’t the kind of guy who would bang just anybody because he hadn’t gotten any action. If anything, he’d rather hold out, extend the dry spell, to avoid settling.

  He liked to think of it as discernment. His father had other, less flattering terms for it. Like “get laid, for Christ’s sake, and get out of your own head.”

  They finished their meals, lingered over ice cream for dessert. “It’s getting late.” Hailey’s indigo eyes gleamed. “Guess I’d better be getting you back to your hotel. You’ll have a big day at the convention tomorrow.”

  He cringed. “Guess I will.”

  She laughed at his expression. “Come on. Is it really that bad?”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “This isn’t like Supernatural, where they’ve been doing it for years. This is the first one we’ve done. But if the VIP event and that zoo at the hotel lobby was anything to go on . . .” He shuddered for comedic effect, and she laughed. “I’m not looking forward to it.”

  “Poor baby,” she purred, then chuckled. It warmed his skin, made him almost shiver with anticipation.

  Damn, this woman strummed every one of his strings.

  He sighed, pushing aside the sensation. No matter what kind of string-strumming he was feeling, he’d have to handle his own instrument tonight. No one-night stands, no matter how cool she seemed. No matter how badly his body ached for her. No matter how funny, and smart, and awesome she appeared.

  He paid the bill, and walked out with her to her car, reluctant to have the night end. The ride from the restaurant back to the casino/hotel was just too damned short, and he desperately wanted to stay in her company.

  She pulled into the hotel’s parking lot, then looked at him. “Well, thanks for dinner,” she said brightly. Dismissively. “I’d say we’re even.”

  He swallowed. “Say, do you want to grab a drink?” He gestured at one of the casino’s bars.

  She quirked a perfectly curved eyebrow at him, those pillowy lips pursing. “A drink?”

  “It’s not that late,” he argued. It was weak, and he knew it, but he just wasn’t quite ready to have her walk out of his life. Not yet.

  So what are you going to do? He chided himself. Ask for her number? Email her?

  “Why do you want to have a drink, Jake?”

  He found himself warming at the way she said his name. What about this woman didn’t turn him on?

  “I don’t want to end tonight just yet,” he said, his voice almost growling. His body tightened. He couldn’t remember the last time he wanted anyone as badly as he did this woman. Just want to torture myself for a little while longer . . .

  Her smile was heated, her eyes low-lidded. “I get that,” she said, and the warmth in her voice made his toes curl. “You’re just here for a few days. It’s flattering that you want to get to know me better, but why?”

  “Can’t a guy want to get to know a woman better?”

  “Were you planning on becoming my pen pal?”

  He barked out a laugh. She’d followed his thoughts exactly.

  “I have to assume you’re interested in me. And trust me, I’m interested in you,” she said, and he went hard as iron. “But the thing is, you’re just here for a few days, then you’ll be about four hours away. I sincerely doubt you’re interested in a relationship.”

  He started to protest, but she held up a hand, cutting him off.

  “And even if you were, I’m not.”

  “Huh?” He spluttered. “Why not?”

  “It’s not you,” she said quickly. “I just don’t do relationships.”

  He stared at her
. “Why . . .”

  “I do hookups,” she clarified. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t curious about what you’d be like. You’re hot, but more importantly, you’re funny, and sweet, and . . . I don’t know. There’s something real about you.”

  It was, perhaps, the best compliment he’d ever received.

  “But short term is all I’ve got to offer,” she finished. “If you’re not interested, that’s fine. No harm, no foul.” She leaned forward. “But if you are interested, let’s skip the drink and just go to your room.” His mouth went dry. She was sincere. And hot. Holy crow, she was hot.

  He should say no.

  “Come up to my room,” he said instead.

  * * *

  Hailey’s heart was racing as she parked the car and they made their way into the hotel, to his room—which originally would’ve been her room. Which would, for one night only, be their room.

  Dear Penthouse, she thought with a grin. I never thought it would happen to me . . .

  This was crazy. The guy was a celebrity, for God’s sake. He probably had all the women he wanted, and a boatload he didn’t, and yet here she was.

  She wanted this. Every nerve ending felt on fire, and she was drawn to him like a damned electromagnet. Not only because Jake made her libido red line, although that was a great perk. And even though she loved his stoic, physically badass character on Mystics, she was under no illusions about who she was going to have sex with tonight. She wasn’t pretending to get with “Rick,” wasn’t pretending that she was going to be having sex with anybody other than Jake Reese. And she was certainly not looking forward to getting with Jake because he was famous.

  It was because he was unexpected. Everything she’d learned about this man, through her interactions with him all day, and over dinner, made her more and more eager to get to know him on the most basic of levels.

  He had a fun sense of humor. He seemed at ease with himself. And he wanted to know about her. Not that she wanted to share, granted, but it was nice . . . a guy who seemed to be genuinely interested in who she was, instead of downloading a bunch of stuff about what his life was like, his interests. Why she should be impressed with him.

  They walked next to each other, but not too close. Since they’d gotten out of the car, he hadn’t touched her, and she hadn’t touched him. Probably for the same reasons—once they did, there was probably going to be a high probability of outright combustion.

  She noticed his hand was shaking a little as he struggled with the key card to get the door open. She felt herself smile with a purely feminine sense of satisfaction. He wanted her badly.

  She knew exactly how that felt.

  She placed her hand over his, steadying it. “Allow me,” she murmured, then pulled the key card out, watching the doorknob’s unlock light go green. She opened the door.

  He gestured for her to enter, following her in. The door shut behind him, and he locked and latched it. For a long moment, he simply stared at her, like a starving man at a buffet, unsure of where to start first.

  She took a deep breath, then moved forward, body-pressing him against the door and locking her lips to his. She felt his body tense, both with attraction and with surprise. She fucking loved kissing, the tactile quality, the taste and the feel and the way it made her body thrum. Too many men she’d been with saw it as an unnecessary appetizer, something that distracted from the “main meal.” Jake had a great mouth—firm lips, but velvety—and he knew how to use it. His tongue darted forward, tracing the soft inner flesh of hers, and she growled in appreciation. She shrugged out of her leather jacket, letting it fall to the floor, not pulling away. Her breasts were straining, making her bra straps tight.

  Damn. This was going to be good.

  He tore away, breathing hard. “There’s something I need to tell you,” he said, his voice breaking slightly.

  “Oh?” She nipped his neck, and he gripped her hips, moaning softly. “Right now?”

  “Um, yeah. Sorta important.”

  She froze. “Oh, Jesus. You’re not secretly married, are you?”

  “What? No!”

  “Seeing someone?” She grimaced, backing up. “I may play, but I don’t poach.”

  “No. In fact, the opposite.” He took a deep breath. “I, um, haven’t had sex in a while.”

  Of all the confessions she was expecting, this wasn’t it. “Define a while?”

  “Six months,” he muttered. “Give or take.”

  Now her eyes bugged out. “Seriously?”

  “I’ve been busy,” he mumbled. “And six months isn’t that long. Anyway, we might want to slow it down, or this is going to be the worst and shortest hookup you’ve ever had.”

  She stared at him. Then she laughed. “I like you.”

  “I like you, too.” He reached for her. “And believe me, I’d love to show you. Slowly. That okay?”

  “Um . . . sure.” Slow wasn’t her usual speed. She only had her hookups a couple times a month when she was lucky, and less than that since she’d started working two jobs. So she tended to look at them as cram sessions, more about stamina than finesse.

  “I’ve never liked rushing,” he said, picking up her coat and putting it down on the second bed before peeling off his own leather jacket. She watched as the muscles in his shoulders and chest bunched and flexed, and her mouth went dry. “I want to get a good look at you.”

  She felt like her blood was boiling. His slow perusal of her form, combined with his outstanding kissing, made her feel crazed with desire in a way she hadn’t felt in longer than she could remember. He revved up her hormones and made her cross-eyed with overwhelming sensations that buffeted her from all sides.

  She wanted sex, now. She wasn’t the “slow-montage-of-seduction” type. Given the guys she’d been used to hooking up with, she’d learned to be selfish. She’d graduated from the hard, fast, punk-rock school of fucking—get yours, before he gets his.

  So she ripped off her sweater, tossing it by her jacket, then sat down on the edge of the bed, grateful she’d worn the Aunt-Sally-styled Dr. Martens with the zipper. Even if he claimed to like slow, the tedious unlacing of a real pair of Docs was hardly what anyone could consider sexy.

  He stroked her shoulder, magnifying the sensations skittering through her a hundredfold—a feverish combination of searing heat and shivering chills, wherever he touched her. It created a longing so powerful it made her knees buckle as she swayed toward him like a plant toward sunlight.

  She stood up and shucked off her jeans, leaving her only in her underwear. She grinned when she saw he was staring at her rack. She’d worn her matching black lace panties and push-up bra—and there was plenty to push up. His breathing went shallow.

  Slow, my ass, she snickered to herself, as she grabbed the hem of his T-shirt and tugged it over his head. As she got a good look at him, she found herself slowing down instead, stunned into submission.

  The guy had a chest that belonged on a goddamned romance novel cover, chiseled and cut. The muscles she’d seen, under his shirt?

  Even. Better. In. Person.

  She couldn’t help it. Her mouth dropped open in appreciation.

  He acknowledged her approval with a tiny grin, then stretched out onto the bed next to her, reaching for the ribbon at the nape of her neck. “You mind?”

  She shook her head, still speechless, still frozen. Any second now, she told herself, she’d get back in the saddle and give this guy the ride of his life. But for the moment, she was too busy devouring him with her eyes. He tugged at the ribbon, undoing it, releasing all the curls she’d kept trapped behind her. Then he gently wiggled his fingers into the mass, massaging her scalp, running his fingers through her hair. She hummed with appreciation and trembled—actually trembled—with pleasure as she felt his fingers work their magic. She tilted her head toward him like a flower toward sunlight. He framed her face, then moved forward, his mouth molding to hers.

  Slow kisses. Drugging kisses. Deceptive
ones, all slow and sneaky, starting off gentle before sinking in and rocking her like a left hook. She made a small moan and pressed forward, wriggling against him, her body half-covering his. That’s when she felt the denim of his jeans underneath her thigh. She made a little sound of impatience at the barrier to his flesh.

  “Slow, remember?” he whispered against her lips, nibbling at them. Then he shifted, and she found herself flat on her back, his body looming hard and hot above her. “We’ve got plenty of time.”

  She made another sound, this time one of desperate protest. She felt greedy, desperate, shaking for him. But he was stronger. Not in a scary way. In an impressive way. She could push, she could plead, but he’d keep on with his implacable pace, irresistibly wearing her down.

  It felt out of control—and, if she had to be honest, it was fucking incredible.

  He moved from her mouth, letting her take a deep gasp of breath as he inched down her throat, pressing heated kisses against her pulse, her collarbone, the tops of her breasts. When he leaned down and took a nipple in his mouth, suckling through the lace, her hips shot up reflexively, bumping against his denim-covered hardness.

  “Oh, my God,” she rasped, grasping his shoulders and digging her fingertips into the muscles there, pulling him toward her. In response, he moved the cup of her bra away, grazing the delicate skin with his teeth.

  She swore her eyes crossed.

  “Oh, my God.”

  She felt his chuckle along her skin as he shifted to her other breast, teasing, sucking. Her legs moved restlessly, her hips pivoting to brush against him. She felt like she was losing her mind.

  “Jake,” she crooned, as her fingers twisted into his hair.

  His mouth skimmed lower, kissing and licking, trailing down her stomach. She giggled a little when he kissed her belly button. Then she felt his fingertips brush the top of her panties, starting to tug them down as his mouth moved even farther south . . .

  “Whoa,” she said, bolting. He yelped a little, since she’d inadvertently tugged his hair. “Sorry. You don’t . . . that’s not necessary.”

  He was poised at the juncture of her thighs, having wriggled a bit lower. He was grinning slowly, his eyes slumberous, sleep-sexy. Here’s a mental picture I’m going to keep for vibrator duty, she thought.