Making an executive decision, I dial her new number but hang up before she picks up and decide to FaceTime her. The phone rings several times. It’s almost five o’clock; she’s not working at this hour, and assuming she doesn’t have anything better to do, I let it continue ringing hoping that she’ll answer soon.
“Hi,” she whispers, lips curled up, and eyes shining for me. Tendrils of hair frame her pretty face. “Is there an emergency, Mr. Bradley? Some of us are creating art.”
“Yes, there is.” I watch her raise a finely arched brow. “You haven’t called, and I’m losing my patience, my temper, and the little sanity I have left.”
“Oh my, that’s a serious issue.” She releases a chuckle. “A national emergency if you ask me. Should I call the National Guard?”
“Are you playing with me, Miss Decker?”
“Colthurst-Decker,” she corrects me. Yes, of course, how could I forget the clusterfuck life they had before their parents came out to the public about their relationship?
“So why are you losing that patience, Mase?” She smiles coyly. Her amusement softens the tension I’ve gathered during the past days. “Something I can do for you?”
Nine’s eyes glitter.
“Why haven’t you called, Nine?”
“Fear?” she questions. “Not sure, Mase. It’s a scary situation. I want to say yes, but the ‘what if’ hammers my head each time I’m about to call you, weighing on my shoulders. I want to b…”
“Don’t second guess yourself, Nine.” I head to my room and lock it. “We won’t lose anything. There won’t be any hurt from either side. We know each other pretty well, and we’ll pull out before things get ugly.”
She narrows her gaze. “Yeah, I think we can do it. No more hot and cold, right?”
I nod. “Tomorrow,” I suggest. “I’ll pick you up at seven, beautiful.”
“Wait, no. I can’t,” she says, and her eyes move toward the left as if she looking at something. Then my screen turns grayish with a ‘pause’ icon. “Yep, tomorrow and Thursday are a no go. Let’s do Saturday.”
“Friday?” I compromise. Three days is too much time for me to wait. I want this to happen soon. “I’ll pick you up at six. Can you take off the pause? I can’t see your pretty face.”
She appears back on the screen and rolls her eyes at me.
“Much better,” I tell her, and her face turns red. “Then we’re set, Friday at six.”
“Yeah, but wait, where are you taking me?”
“I’ll figure it out.” I blow her a kiss and end the call.
Only a date—one date—with my good friend Mason. My pep talk is taking me nowhere. It isn’t giving me any clues on what to wear.
Skirt, pants, dress? If it’s a dress or a skirt, how short?
Should I show skin or no skin? My parents will vote on showing no skin. Buy a potato sack that’ll cover me from head to toe. Better yet, they’ll say ‘Do. Not. Date—Ever.’
This should be an easy ride; I continue prepping myself for the date. I like him, he likes me, and we both want to find out where this attraction can lead us. There’s only one slight regret I have. Mase gave me three days to think about what to wear, but I did nothing. Now, I’m out of time. My Hello Kitty alarm clock, which by some miracle still works after fifteen years, says it is five forty-five. In fifteen minutes, my doorbell will ring. I better hurry. I refuse to head to my date dressed as is—panties and a bra.
Mismatched, old, ratty underwear. Well, as ratty as a pair set of Fleur of England can get when you treat it like the jewels to the crown. It’s also another way to assure that nothing more than a light kiss happens. I like to wear pretty, matching lingerie when I’m about to have sex. A crazy quirk of mine. No way am I going to explore Mason’s ‘sculpted by Rodin’ body. That is something to ponder at a later date—but not too late. It’ll happen before I become a virgin for lack of use.
Settling on a peach colored babydoll dress, a pair of skinny jeans, and my favorite gladiator sandals with an inch heel, I hurry. I apply a coat of makeup: mascara, blush, and a light shade of orange lipstick.
The bell rings at six o’clock sharp according to Hello Kitty. My heart threatens to come out through my throat, and my entire body sweats as if I’m training for the marathon.
Stop it, or you’ll need another shower. Damn sweat and your powerful soaking powers.
This is your friend Mason; I repeat the phrase each step of the way until I come face to face with my door. When I open it, there he is. Wait, where are his jeans? My brain screams as I scan him from bottom to top. He’s wearing a dark pair of slacks, dress shoes, a black jacket over a button-down black shirt with the first three open.
Mmmm, Mason’s chest. I instantly get side-tracked from my appraisal of him.
“Approve?” he questions as his gaze repeats the same head to toe inspection. “You look … breathtaking.” He takes my hand and twirls me around.
The heat in my cheeks comes out before my thank you. This is your friend Mase, one more time for courage. You know him, you’ll be fine.
“Ready?”
I nod several times before snatching my purse from the coat rack next to the door. He pulls the door shut behind us, and I lock it, then push the remote to activate the burglary alarm.
“Have I mentioned you look smoking hot?” He asks, and I flush. “There, I like when you turn a shade of pink.”
“You look, nice.” I don’t want to turn a couple of shades darker and refrain from calling him astoundingly-hot. “But different. I’ve always seen you with jeans and a t-shirt.”
He laughs and places his large hand on the small of my back. Of course, as I try to climb down the three steps of the porch, I step on a pebble and my ankle twists. Without grace, I stumble and my superhero catches me before I kiss the floor.
“It’s just me, Nine. Mason,” he murmurs, his hot breath makes me shiver, and I want to amend the part where his sculpted body wouldn’t be studied until a later date. “You’re acting like a teenager on her first date.”
I cringe, he’s right. I’m acting like an idiot, but this is my first date, and with no other than Mason.
“It is. My official and never been done in my entire life first date.”
“Overthinking?” he states the obvious in the form of a question,
“Yeah,” I exhale. “My mind is going through the typical questions. Will there be a first date kiss, more dates. What if we suck?”
He arches a brow, then laughs. “Why don’t you relax,” he proposes. “Take this as an outing with your friend. Then, when it’s time to worry about that first kiss, I’ll give you a heads up so you can freak out.”
I pretend to smooth my clothing while I grab a hold of my breathing. “Sorry, usually I meet a guy, jump in bed, and then face the consequences.” I blurt as the nerves flowing through my veins fry my brain cells. Yes, I guess I wasn’t much different than my brothers.
“That’s a different approach.” He opens the car door. “What consequences?”
During the drive, I explain to him the couple of times I slept with a guy without exchanging numbers. Then Mr. I’m going to meet my girlfriend’s parents and the unforgettable couple, Mr. and Mrs. Ryker. The last man I went out with who ended up being a married asshole.
“So, are we jumping?”
“Huh?” I ask, and when the question dawns on me, I’m appalled. “No, no, no. I’ve changed, mister. This time I’m joining the ranks of the five date rule. Maybe ten to make up for my past.” A five date rule will give me clues on whether or not my date has another relationship. If they’re boring or if they plan to only fuck and leave. This is a big leap for me, but a necessary one to finally find happiness.
“Five dates, we can do that in less than a week.” His wicked grin and wink deliver another wave of swarming ants marching around my entire body.
Mason sounds as if he’s planning some speed dating. I don’t want to worry, but I do. That isn’t enough time to
get used to the idea of all this and jumping into the all-encompassing next step.
Stop, before you puke, have a panic attack and end up in the hospital, just like Gabe did, thinking you’re having a heart attack.
I shake myself out of my conundrum as he slides the car into some parking spot. I look around, but he stops me as he places a hand behind my head and the other on the small of my back. Porter presses his lips against mine. Those full, warm lips move against mine, as his hand massages my neck. My senses switch to overdrive, as my body starts to ache and warmth gathers between my thighs, my chest, and my belly. My lips open as the kiss deepens, a gasp escapes me as his tongue starts exploring.
Bed. Now. My insides scream, but I can’t. I won’t. That mere thought makes me pull away, smoothly maneuvering away from the grasp his mouth, body, and arms have over me.
I want to beg for more. I’m aching, itching. Needing him.
“The first kiss is taken care of,” he manages to speak between shallow breaths. “The rest should be an easy ride.”
I tilt my head and automatically my lips part slightly. He’s working hard to control his panting. This may end up being the death of me.
Five-five more dates.
No, wait. Only four.
Mason excused himself as soon as we entered the restaurant. It took him about five minutes to come back from wherever he went to take his urgent call—a matter of national security, I joked. He didn’t laugh.
“Sorry about that.” Mason approaches me, taking my hand and kissing it.
Oh man, he has to stay away. I don’t know how much longer I can fight the desire to jump his bones. Not a smart move, as some of the patrons at the restaurant will think it’s a live show. New rule. All dates must be in public to avoid breaking the five date rule. I bet licking him wouldn’t increase my sugar levels, but my heart rate might be compromised during the exercise.
Ainsley Janine, focus on something else.
Trying to distract my wandering thoughts, I look around the restaurant. It’s pretty. The trendy restaurant in the heart of downtown Seattle is an Argentinean steakhouse. Dim lighting with candles on each table, and classical guitar music flowing from speakers create a romantic ambiance.
“Do you think movie night might be a good second date?” Mason whispers in my ear as we wait for the hostess to seat us. The pit of my stomach clenches and those quivery parts are back in action.
“We’re not even finished with the first date, Mase.” I toss my head slightly and our eyes connect. His steel-like eyes twinkle. “What if we flunk this one?”
He laughs loudly. The hostess calls us and we follow her to our table. One in the corner of the restaurant, close to the fireplace.
“I hope it’s to your satisfaction, sir.” The hostess places the menus on top of the plates, as Mason pulls the chair out for me.
“Yes, thank you.” Mason takes a seat opposite of me; his eyes shine as he looks at me.
This is so romantic.
“We have to agree on the next date, Ainse,” he says after placing the napkin on his lap. “Before you decide to ditch me. Maybe I won’t kiss you tonight and leave you hanging.”
“Newsflash, you already kissed me,” I remind him. “Having some early signs of dementia there?”
“No, that was the date‘s first kiss,” he clarifies while taking my hand and kissing my knuckles. “I’m talking about the goodnight kiss when I drop you at your door.”
I frown, because I want that one, too. Maybe two of those before he drops me off.
“You’re the one holding all the cards here, Nine. If I don’t watch out, you’re going to be calling the shots for the rest of my life.”
Rest of his life? My lips spread into a big smile. My heart does a celebratory dance. He’s thinking long term. Not, ‘let’s break the bed, and I won’t call you again.’ Of course, he’s Mason, how can I doubt him? But his terms are way too far away from next week, next month, next year, a decade—how long?
“R-rest of your life?” I stutter, but recover fast. I don’t want to push too much, but getting a clear picture of what he’s aiming for will help me, in the long run.
“You realize that’s more than five dates, right?” Then add, “Unless those dates might happen once every decade.”
Mase doesn’t have time to answer as the waiter arrives. “Our soup of the day is gazpacho,” he reads from his tablet. “We recommend the empanadas for starters and the seafood platter. If you have any questions, please call me. I’m Manolo.”
Instead of French bread, they bring miniature warm cheese rolls to the table. I break a tiny piece and nibble on it. The soft cheese inside of the bread melts like butter on my tongue. Mmm, just like Mase’s earlier kiss. If the date goes downhill, I can always come to eat here, or order a dozen of kiss-like-Mason rolls to go.
“I heard you quit the sub job,” Mason says, and my body starts shaking with laughter. “What?”
“Really, we’re talking about my boring job during our date?” He shrugs. “Not a sub, a substitute teacher. I quit because we’re getting busy with the setup of the new music school. Though, I did find a job for the upcoming school year, a small private preschool close to the music school. A short commute from one place to another.” I roll my eyes and pretend to yawn.
“The first date is boring, Nine.” He splits a piece of bread and shoves it in my mouth. “You normally talk about things that won’t matter in the long run. An overview of each other to determine if there will be a second date.”
Well, that sucks.
“How many second dates have you had lately?”
He forms a zero with his fingers.
“First?”
“A couple in my entire life. Four, if you count Meghan.”
Ah, the ex-fiancée, right. He told me the story last Thanksgiving. Nothing scandalous; they dated, she pushed to get the ring, then pushed to move to Boston, and he decided it wasn’t worth the trouble.
“Have you seen her after the break-up?” He shakes his head. I’m thinking he’s trying to evade the conversation, but I don’t care. “If you did, would you get back with her?”
“Is there any time in your life that you don’t ask questions?” I shake my head. “I should hire you. You’d be a great asset during interrogations.”
We both laugh. I tap the table and wait for him to answer.
“No, I wouldn’t get back with her. I never loved her. Remember Donna, Wings’ wife?” I give him a slight nod. “She’s acquainted with her, and I’m not even interested in knowing. We both moved on to better things.” He leans forward and lowers his voice; I lean toward him as if expecting a secret. “Wait, is this you trying to fish for compliments?”
I shake my head, sucking on my lip.
“She was my first serious relationship,” Mase supplies me with a bit more information. “I was attracted to her, but that’s where everything stops. There wasn’t a good reason to stay with her. I proposed because she insisted, and I went through the motions because it sounded like the right thing to do. It wasn’t.”
We take a break from the serious discussion to order our entrees.
“So far, how would you grade this date?” Mason asks.
I snatch my phone from my purse, browse through the possible gifs and memes I have for him and send him a happy kitty rolling around the floor with a ball of yarn.
His phone buzzes and as he reads it, he releases a deep, rich sound that makes my entire body want to cancel the other four dates. Damn Christian’s horny genes.
“Good, this makes me feel better. You love cats.” He settles his phone back inside his jacket pocket. “We should buy you one. Tiny, fluffy, and white. Like Marie from The Aristocats.”
“I can’t believe you remember.” He smiles at me. “But I’d rather have a grayish kitty.”
I watched that movie on a continuous loop when I was a kid. That tiny, white cat, Marie, was my favorite. I sang, danced, and played the piano like they did.
He raises his glass with his free one, and I do the same.
“To brighter dates and deeper kisses.”
“To a brighter future,” I add to his toast.
After dropping Nine off at her house, I head to her brothers’ penthouse. I park in front of the glass and steel building where the Decker brothers live. This is something I have to do mostly because they’re my friends, and I don’t want to fuck up our friendship.
Shit, I have something serious going on with Ainse.
One hand squeezes the steering wheel while I wipe the other with my pants. Yes, it’s good. We had the awkward first minutes, but after the first kiss she relaxed. And as a bonus, didn’t throw a hissy fit while I had to take a call. Ainse is sweet, special, and we had a great time tonight. The memory of the last kiss I gave her reduces the tension I carry in my back. If that’s the way she kisses, I can’t wait to explore what else we can do together.
My brain meanders down a different track, wondering how I can make the five dates happen quickly. If I had tried this years ago, she’d have jumped into bed right away—no dates required. Damn, and to think I have to go out of town for a few days. One thing at a time, I repeat. First, I have to make sure that her brothers aren’t going to beat the shit out of me.
As I enter the Decker’s penthouse, I find MJ strumming a guitar while JC is tapping the keys of the piano and sticking his head inside of it.
“Dude, aren’t you supposed to be on the other side of the world working?” MJ’s passive voice greets me—at least I think it’s a greeting.
“Oh, don’t mind him, we’re tuning his piano.” MJ continues strumming his guitar as JC asks for some low letter or minor G or whatever. “We’ll get to you in just a moment. Of course, we expect you to either not move or let us tie you down before we pound your face for daring to date our sister.”
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