“Sounds good.”
“You haven’t answered any of these questions?”
I shake my head. “Haven’t even looked at them.” Lie. I studied the questions and picked which ones I would in return ask Julia. I chose wisely, making sure I thought it was something she would be comfortable talking to me about.
“Okay, so let’s jump in. If you had to physically draw the girl of your dreams in your head, what would she look like?”
“Dream girl, huh?” This one is easy. I keep my eyes focused on her as I say, “I’ve always been a blonde kind of guy.” She takes notes and nods her head. “I love some curves on a woman, something to grip when I’m burying myself deep inside of her.” Julia peeks up for a moment before focusing on her notepad. “Nipples that harden when—”
“Nipple description isn’t necessary.”
“Are you sure? Because I can go into great detail.”
“I’m sure, please move on.”
I chuckle. “Okay. Uh, blue eyes, plump lips, shorter than I am but not so short that I have to drop to my knees to kiss her. Oh, and I totally dig the nerdy type.” When she looks at me, I wink and shamelessly say, “You know, you can just write Julia Westin down if you want.”
“What?” Her face blushes and I chuckle.
“Relax, Jules. Relax.” I lean over and grip her knee, shaking her a bit. “Loosen up and have some fun. You’re always so tense.”
She doesn’t respond, just continues to take notes. She pushes her glasses up on her nose and drags her finger across her iPad. “Clothing style preference?”
Tube socks. White tube socks.
“Couldn’t care less. Seems like a meaningless question when a personality can outshine a skirt choice.” The smallest of smiles pulls at her lips as she writes that down, and my chest puffs out with pride. She liked that answer.
“What would be your ideal first date?”
I scratch the side of my jaw, acting like I’m giving the question some thought.
“Ideal date with my ideal woman?”
“Yeah.”
“Hmm . . . Well, probably a meal where I can share good conversation with her. She has to be able to hold her own when I’m throwing questions at her, and I need time to do that.”
“Okay, what else?”
“And then I would probably take a stroll in Central Park, hold hands, see how she fits next to me. I’d ask her about her family, how she gets along with her parents and siblings. A close relationship with the people who’ve been with you your whole life is important to me, shows me that they have a strong and loving heart.”
“Makes sense.”
“And then we would get some sort of dessert. Preferably ice cream.”
Finally starting to relax, she casually looks up and asks, “Why ice cream?”
“Because you can tell a lot about someone by their ice cream choice.”
“Is that so?”
“Yup.” I dust off the arm of the couch with the back of my hand and smile at Julia. “And then after ice cream, I would be tempted to ask the girl back to my place, but I wouldn’t.”
“Why?”
“Because there is a science to wooing a woman. You can’t fuck her on the first night and believe she isn’t going to think she was used. You have to make sure she knows you’re interested, very interested, and then you kiss her good night, making sure she gets into a taxi safely.”
Julia crosses one fine leg over the other, exposing a little more thigh. “And how do you let her know you’re interested?” I know for a fact that isn’t one of the questions on the paper. She’s getting into the conversation, and I fucking love that.
“Body language.” I turn toward Julia, scooting in a little closer. “I would lean in when she speaks, make eye contact, but every once in a while, drop my gaze to her lips.” I do that, focusing on Julia’s lips for a beat. “I would be sure to rub slow circles over the back of her hand whenever I got a chance, and when we were kissing good night, I would press my body against hers, let her feel how hard she makes me by being in my arms.” She swallows hard and I lean in closer. “I would grip her jaw with both of my hands, passing my thumb over her lips just once before I lower my head.” Julia licks her lips. “And then I would move my lips to a breath away from hers and hold still, letting the air whip around us, allowing her to soak in the moment before I claimed her lips with mine.” Julia nods, leaning forward, waiting for more. “At first it would be exploratory, nothing too intense, and then slowly I’d seduce her lips, coercing them until they part, giving me enough room to swipe my tongue along the seam of her mouth.” With a hazy look in her eyes, Julia runs her fingers down her throat and swallows. “But I would leave it at that, pulling away before our tongues ever meet, giving her a small taste to let her know my intentions. And before I put her in the cab, before I send her on her way, I’d pull her into my chest one last time and hold her chin steady as I whisper, ‘I’ll call you tomorrow’ and then I’d place a soft kiss on her lips and help her into the taxi. And to truly make sure she knows I’m interested, I’d make sure I call her the next day.” I slide my hand across the couch and close the space between us, my fingers drifting closer to her exposed thigh. “How’s that, Jules?”
Her eyes zero in on my lips, her chest heaves faster than before, and her lips glisten from her tongue constantly peeking out and wetting them.
“That’s . . .” She leans forward some more as if she’s under a spell, her hand gliding across mine. Fuck that feels nice—soft and gentle—and the way she’s looking at me, as if I snapped my finger she’d immediately fall into my lap. God, I want her. “That’s—”
Knock. Knock.
Fuck.
Snapping up straight, Julia startles and sends her notes and iPad to the ground as Linus pokes his head through the door. “Mr. Scott?”
Goddamn it, Linus!
Fucking terrible timing.
Trying not to show my anger, since I’m the one who asked Linus to come over here, I wave in a very nervous-looking Linus.
“I don’t mean to interrupt your meeting, but I have your delivery you asked for.” He holds up a bag from Panera.
“You can set it on the coffee table. Thank you, Linus.”
“Not a problem, sir.”
“You have the keys to my house in the Hamptons?” He pats his shirt pocket and nods. “Good, have fun this weekend, don’t break anything, and you can put whatever meals and food on my card.”
“Thank you, Mr. Scott. I really appreciate it.”
“I appreciate you, Linus. Now get the hell out of here.”
He smiles and takes off, leaving me alone with Julia once again. When I turn around, her arms are crossed, her notebook picked up, and she’s studying me thoughtfully.
Ignoring the way she’s taking me in, the way she’s trying to read me, I reach for the bag and pull out a box of a dozen seasonal cookies from Panera and two cartons of milk.
“Thought that maybe you could use a little milk and cookies since you didn’t get them at lunch time.”
“Did you really have your assistant bring us cookies?”
“In exchange for the use of my house in the Hamptons.”
“Seems like an uneven trade.” She smiles wildly. That open and honest smile . . . fuck, I love it so much. It’s the smile that mischievously plays with her eyes, lighting them up.
I shrug and pop open the bakery box, offering a cookie that she takes without even a second thought. “I hate asking Linus to do after-hours things, so I always make sure there’s something in return. I don’t ever want to be one of those bosses.”
She takes a bite of the cookie as I pop the straws in our milk cartons and hand her one. “That’s very considerate of you. There aren’t many people in your position who’d even consider offering their vacation home to their assistant for a box of cookies.”
“Not many people have an assistant like Linus. I need him to stick around, so I keep him happy.” I take a bite of
a cookie and lean back on the couch. “Can I ask you what your perfect date would be? Maybe take a little cookie break?”
She considers it, twisting her lips to the side, and just when I think she’s going to turn me down and ask me another one of her questions, she sips her milk and says, “My perfect date is a hard one to actually nail down because I’ve always liked to do things spur of the moment.” As she unravels the fine details of what she likes in the dating world, I listen very carefully. “It really depends on who you’re going on a date with. If the person is more outgoing, I want to do something fun and exciting. But if the person is more reserved, dinner and a movie is fine with me.”
“But you’d rather the person be more outgoing?”
She shrugs. “I’ve been with both types of people and neither have worked out, so I guess I might need a combination of both.”
“Have you thought about dating recently?”
She shakes her head right away. “No. I’m trying to just focus on my clients right now, and if a guy happens to cross my path, I’ll think about it.”
“Ever date a client?”
Her eyes widen. “Never. That would be crossing a huge line. I’m not here to pick up guys for myself. I’m here to find love for my clients.”
“Is that one of the reasons you feel self-conscious being single and matching people? You don’t want them to think you’re poaching their dates?”
“Yeah, one of the big reasons.” If only she knew I want her desperately to poach me.
“How many clients do you have?”
“About two hundred.”
“Whoa, are you serious?”
She nods. “Yup, and they’re at different stages of the dating process. I try to keep a wide base of clients so I can offer everyone their perfect match.”
“Makes sense. How many people have you matched that have gotten married?”
“About fifty. It’s a very successful program, but only to those who put in the time and energy, you know?”
“Yeah, I get it. So . . . have you tested yourself? Do you know what dating color you are?”
She shakes her head. “No, I haven’t. I never thought testing myself would help, so I used college students to create my baseline, and getting a wide scope of personalities has proven to be invaluable. One of the students who beta tested with me actually got married three years ago to the guy I matched her with. She was my first ‘client’ at the time.”
“That’s pretty cool. Were you invited to the wedding?”
“I was.” She takes another sip of her milk after a bite of her cookie, her lips wrapping around the straw, sucking . . .
Fuck.
“I didn’t end up going though because I didn’t want to set a precedence that I go to all my clients’ weddings.”
“Smart. Could you imagine the amount of weddings you’d have had to attend?”
“Are you suggesting I’m successful?”
I look her dead in the eyes. “I know you’re successful, Jules.”
* * *
“Okay, this last part is rapid-fire questions. Its purpose is to gauge your immediate reaction and gut instinct. Think you can handle it?”
Julia has kicked off her shoes, is curled up on the couch, and nursing her second cookie that rests on the back of the couch on top of a napkin. She’s comfortable and not so stiff anymore. Her blonde hair floats over her shoulders, and I can’t help but notice the way her blouse pops open at the buttons, revealing her soft, velvet-looking skin. I want to undo a few more buttons and trail my fingers over the swell of her breasts. God, she has perfect tits.
We’ve spent the last hour going through the final full-answer questions, and now it seems like this is the end of the road when it comes to figuring out my dating color.
I hate to admit it, but I’m going to miss all these questions and the way my answers make Julia blush. I’m going to miss these intimate moments where it’s just her and me hovering over a table, getting to know each other . . . or more like Julia getting to know me. And if I were to be completely honest, I don’t want to move on from this question phase just yet, because I’m fucking nervous about the next stage. The stage where I try to convince Julia to go out with me.
That’s after she sets me up on a date.
Yup, somehow, I’m going to have to convince Julia that who she set me up with wasn’t right—which could be misconstrued as a criticism of her program. The last thing I want is her thinking that her color program doesn’t work. And she was also very clear—dating a client, someone she had matched with another client was a big, fat no. “That would be crossing a huge line. I’m not here to pick up guys for myself. I’m here to find love for my clients.” What if I am the perfect match for the client she matches me with? In the client’s eyes. Not mine.
Why did I think this was a good idea again?
And why am I even going on the date? Two reasons. One, so Julia doesn’t feel like I wasted her time, even though I kind of am . . . but not really because any time spent with her is not wasted. Plus, I wanted her to know the real me. As I thought, she believed I was confident and cocky, someone who had no desire to spend time getting to know a woman, someone who only knew the language of a one-night stand. She’s only known me as her brother’s smart ass best friend. I need her to know me as Bram Scott—her friend. Someone she likes simply because she does. Someone she wants to spend time with. A lot of time. And the other reason I plan on going on a date with whoever Julia sets me up on? Because of the bet. I have to follow through with at least one date to fulfill the contract.
Stupid, I know.
“Rapid-fire questions? Okay, but I’m going to hit you up with my own.”
She rolls her eyes but doesn’t fight about it this time. All hail the power of cookies and milk. I take that as a huge win for me. Looks like I’m finally wearing her down. Cool, calm, and collected Julia is lowering her defenses, and I’m about to firmly plant myself in her heart. At least I hope to.
“Are you ready? First thing that comes to mind.”
“Got it.” I close my eyes and lean my head back on the couch. “Hit me.”
“In an ideal world, how long is foreplay?”
I lull my head to the side and peek open one eye, eyebrow lifted.
She pokes me in the shoulder with her pen. “Don’t think, just answer.”
“You caught me off guard. I didn’t know these were going to be sexual.”
“I’ve got to cover all bases. Now, answer the question.”
“Fine, uh, let’s see, five minutes of sucking each tit, five minutes for each inner thigh, ten minutes of tongue fucking, maybe two minutes for nipple tweaking, then there’s earlobe action, neck nibbling . . .”
“It’s called rapid-fire for a reason. I don’t need a description, just an answer.”
“Uh . . . forty minutes. If I want to be thorough.” She smirks and shakes her head, almost as if she doesn’t believe me. “What’s that look for?”
“Nothing.”
“Uh, no, you’re judging me. Forty minutes is a respectable time.”
“Forty minutes is the longest time anyone has ever answered.”
Ha. I put my hands behind my head and casually drape one leg over the other. “That’s because a lot of men don’t know how to fuck like I do.”
“Forty minutes of foreplay is absurd, Bram.”
“Forty minutes of foreplay should be the norm. Forty minutes offers up so much time for a man to do what he needs to do.”
“And what’s that?”
“It gives a man time to explore his woman’s body, tease her, taunt her, and edge her to the point of orgasm without pushing her over, leaving her soaking wet and yearning for so much more.”
Her mouth parts, and fuck, I want to close the space between us and stick my tongue right down her throat, show her exactly what I’m talking about.
“Um . . . okay,” she finally says, going back to her notes.
“What about you, what’s
your foreplay time?”
“Definitely not forty minutes.”
“Ah, you’ve never experienced forty minutes before because if you have, then you would have said forty minutes.”
She clears her throat. “Moving on. If the person you’re dating sends you a dirty photo, what do you do?”
“Jack off. Easy.”
Her cute nose crinkles up. “Really?”
“Hell yeah. Isn’t that the point of a dirty photo? To turn the other person on? So, if I get turned on, I’m going to take care of it. Jack off.” I tap her notepad. “Mark it down.”
She chuckles and writes something down. While she’s busy, I ask, “How many nights a week do you touch yourself?”
Her pen pauses and she doesn’t say anything, just sits there, still. God, I want her answer to be a lot. I want to know she’s taking care of herself at least five times a week, but knowing how conservative Julia has been with all of my questions, I can’t foresee her—
“Four times a week.”
Uh . . . did I hear that right? Sitting up, mouth slack, eyes blinking rapidly, I lift her chin so she has to look at me. “You masturbate four times a week?”
“Sometimes,” she answers shyly. “Don’t act like you don’t do it.”
“Hell, I did it this morning, I have no shame in admitting it. I’m just surprised you do.”
She shrugs her shoulders. “When you have the right toys, it makes it fun.”
Okay, I need to take a fucking minute.
Just one fucking minute.
Julia Westin has toys.
Toys.
And not just any kind of toys. Amazing sex toys. Fuck, I can see her, writhing on her bed of white, blonde hair tussled across the pillow, her chest heaving, her nipples puckered, her thighs trembling as her hands work her vibrator expertly over her clit.
Her mouth parting open, a moan on the tip of her tongue, her toes curling.
Holy shit, I’m hard as stone and growing harder by the second.
I swallow hard and when I finally open my mouth, it comes out all squeaky. “What kind of toys?”
The Secret to Dating Your Best Friend’s Sister Page 10