Bad Boys Do

by Victoria Dahl

  “Hello, Ms. Bishop.”

  “Jamie?” She sounded sleepy. And soft.

  “I’m sorry, were you sleeping?” He glanced at the clock in confusion. Did people go to sleep at nine?

  “No, not yet. I’m reading in bed.”

  “I was hoping you might come over for a game of pool.”

  “Right now?” She laughed as if he were being outrageous.

  “Maybe?”

  “I’m already in bed in my pajamas!”

  “Oh, yeah?” He dropped into a chair and propped his feet on a table. “What kind of pajamas?” She laughed again as if he were joking. Fine. Jamie decided to imagine her in a little silk button-down shirt and her black glasses. Hot.

  “How was your night?” she asked.

  “Well, you made me late.”

  “You made yourself late.”

  “No,” he corrected, “that hand up my shirt was definitely yours.” Jamie decided right then and there that he’d never get tired of hearing her laugh. He especially liked the crack in her voice when she got embarrassed.

  “I’m sorry. I’m not normally so forward. Especially not in the parking lot of a coffee place.”

  “You were overcome,” he said. “It happens to all of us. I promise not to report you to the dean.”

  “Stop!” Her laughter was getting sleepier.

  “What are you reading?” he asked, trying to keep her on the phone. She named a book he’d never heard of. Something that sounded dire and difficult. “My mom used to read a lot. She didn’t really pass that love on to me,” he admitted.

  “Used to? She passed away?”

  “She did. A long time ago.” Jamie didn’t like to talk about it. He really didn’t like to talk about. So he kept his mouth shut and made it clear that he had nothing more to say. Olivia didn’t take the hint.

  “How long ago?”

  “Thirteen years.”

  “Oh, my God. You were just a teenager.”

  “Yeah.” He cleared his throat and tried to tell himself to be glad she hadn’t asked about his dad, because then he’d have to give the whole tragic story. Leaving out the details of his own involvement.

  “Were you close to her?” she asked quietly.

  “I was.” They’d all been close back then. His siblings and his mom and dad. He and his brother and sister were each distinct personalities, but they’d all been loved equally. It turned out that Jamie had been the one who didn’t deserve it. Big shock.

  “I’m not close to my mom,” Olivia admitted. He heard the click of a light on her end and imagined her settling more deeply into bed. “She’s cold. Exacting. And…no fun.”

  He smiled at the wry irony in her voice. “You’re not cold,” he said.

  “No?”

  “No. You’re lying in bed in your very short pajamas, having an inappropriate conversation with one of your students, right?”

  Her laughter chased his sadness away. “You don’t know anything about my pajamas.”

  “Shh.”

  “And there’s nothing inappropriate about this conversation.”

  “There could be,” he insisted, “if you stopped trying to correct me.”

  “Jamie…” She sighed. “You’re…really amazing. You know that?”

  “I love it when you whisper that in bed.” But her voice was getting quieter, so Jamie gallantly offered to let her go. He thought of his schedule tomorrow and winced. He had a full day in the office plus the bar at night, and on Fridays they were open until ten. Thank God it was only a tasting room, and not a regular bar open until the wee hours. “If you can stay up an hour later, I’ll tuck you in tomorrow, too.”

  “I’d like that,” she whispered, and Jamie could practically feel her fingers drag down his neck.

  “I’d like that, too.” What a strange affair this was. No sex. Plenty of pillow talk. And damned if he didn’t love it.

  CHAPTER SIX

  “WHY AREN’T YOU RETURNING my texts?”

  Olivia couldn’t believe she’d answered the phone. She’d avoided talking to Victor all week, but getting out of the shower, she hadn’t been able to see the phone display, and now here she was with his disapproval in her ear.

  “Victor, one of the reasons I divorced you was so I wouldn’t have to return your texts or phone calls or emails unless I wanted to. And I don’t.”

  “Come on, O. What’s gotten into you lately?”

  She wrapped her towel tighter around her. “What are you talking about?”

  “You’re acting strange.”

  Strange. Like dating-a-younger-man strange. For three nights in a row, Jamie had talked her to sleep. She could no longer deny, even to herself, that she was getting involved with him. Talking to a man for hours while in bed was apparently an effective tool for breaking down resistance.

  “Olivia?” Victor’s voice sang with irritation.

  “Yes?”

  “Who was that guy?”

  Well, the curiosity must have been eating him alive if he’d just blurted it out like that. Victor normally liked to weave in and out of difficult topics until she was too confused to remember her point. Olivia smiled. “What guy?”

  “Damn it. If you want to play games—”

  “Victor,” she interrupted. “I’m not playing any games. My life has nothing to do with you now. Everything’s final. It’s done. Utterly and completely over.”

  “That’s not true. We’re still friends.”

  “We most certainly are not! Where do you get this stuff?”

  “O, just listen—”

  “No. I have to go. We’ll talk another time. Or not. It really doesn’t matter. Goodbye.”

  For the first time in months, she wasn’t the least bit stressed after a phone call with Victor. She simply, honestly, didn’t care. She had other things to worry about. Bigger things, hopefully.

  Jamie had invited her to his place for brunch. Brunch, the most innocent-sounding of all the meals, but surely this brunch was just code for sex. They could just as easily go out to brunch, after all, but she was going to his place, alone, for an intimate meal.

  She was terrified, yet one hundred percent ready. At least in theory.

  Something had changed for her in the past few days. Dating Jamie was still dangerous and irresponsible and it would never lead anywhere. But screw it. She’d only been divorced for a year. Now was not the time for a long-term relationship. Now was the time for a sizzling-hot affair with a younger man who made her toes curl with the just the sound of his voice.

  She’d been up for hours already, thinking about it. With Jamie’s job, he wasn’t exactly a morning person. He’d invited her over at noon, explaining that it would have to be brunch because breakfast was the only meal he could cook well. She’d occupied herself with running and showering and drying her hair. But now she was faced with the impossible task of picking an outfit. Standing in her closet, she stared helplessly at her clothes.

  She would know what to wear if they were going out. A cute sleeveless dress, no question about it. But what if he lived in a dorm-style dump? What if he had a roommate?

  Brunch sounded a little elegant, but was it possible that he considered breakfast foods to be nothing more than Toaster Strudels and Slim Jims? She imagined herself sitting at a tiny table in a dress, eating powdered donuts out of a box.

  “No,” she scolded herself. He was twenty-nine, not nineteen. He had a real apartment with a real table and maybe even a stove he knew how to use. So she picked out a pretty yellow dress and laid it out on the bed, then turned to her dresser to face the more difficult task of choosing undergarments.

  Boy, she was regretting that generously padded bra now. False advertising and potential daylight nudity did not mix. She looked down at the towel that lay flat against her chest, then back to the drawer full of pretty, delicate, unnecessary bras. Then Olivia sat down hard on her bed and faced a problem she’d been ignoring. A problem she’d tried hard to forget.

  She
wasn’t just inexperienced at irresponsible fun. She was inexperienced, period.

  Victor was the only lover she’d ever had. Ever. If she slept with Jamie, he’d be her second. Not that she would ever, ever let him know.

  She was, after all, a modern, educated woman. A divorced thirty-five-year-old with no moral objections to a healthy love life. As a young woman, she hadn’t been specifically saving herself for love or marriage or a soul mate. She’d just been a skinny girl in glasses who was too shy to willingly look beyond her books. And like so many quiet girls before her, she’d been struck with an awful crush on the smart teacher who’d tried to draw her out. He’d seemed so interested. In her, of all things. She hadn’t stood a chance.

  That was all well and good. She’d been inexperienced. Victor had liked that. But being inexperienced with Jamie was a whole different issue. She’d just have to fake it. Which shouldn’t be too hard, really. She’d been having sex for over a decade now. One man couldn’t be so radically different from another. Same parts. Same process. And she had the same body. Which was her current worry.

  When she’d asked, Victor had said he didn’t mind her small breasts. He didn’t mind them. But it had been impossible to miss the way he’d looked at other women’s cleavage. And of the three women she knew about, all of them had been fairly impressive in the size department.

  But she was silly to worry. They were just breasts. Only one small part of what Jamie was interested in, hopefully. As for the other…she might be inexperienced, but he’d never know. She’d fake her way through it.

  As pep talks went, it was lacking in enthusiasm, but Olivia had always been a logical kind of girl. She felt better as she made herself pick out her favorite bra. It was pretty lilac cotton edged in white lace. She pulled on matching underwear and tied on the bright yellow wrap dress, then put in her contacts and did her makeup.

  The clock told her she had half an hour left, and she wasn’t sure what to do with herself, so Olivia simply sat on the couch with her hands folded in her lap. If she wanted to, she could just go to Jamie’s house and share a meal. She knew that. But that wasn’t what she wanted. She wanted to have him. She wanted to feel him on her and in her. So, scary as it was, she wouldn’t back down. Someone had to be the first after Victor, and it was going to be Jamie.

  After thirty quiet, calm minutes, Olivia stood, put on her heeled sandals and left for Jamie’s place. She’d approach fun the way she approached everything: with logic and calm.

  Logic, calm and a crazed, thundering heart. It seemed that fun wasn’t easy to trick, because by the time she reached Jamie’s place, she couldn’t hear anything past her rushing pulse.

  She vaguely noticed that he lived in a beautiful neighborhood of large houses, and his place was no exception. The porch was split into two entrances, and she walked up to the left one and knocked. When she started getting dizzy, she made herself breathe, even when she saw a figure approach behind the frosted glass.

  “Ms. Bishop,” he said, a smile spreading across his face like a warm, melting treat. “Thanks for coming.”

  Hopefully he’d be repeating that same phrase later.

  She fought back a nervous laugh as he opened the door wider and motioned her to step inside. She started to walk past him, then stuttered when he moved to kiss her. At the exact moment she realized he’d meant to kiss her cheek, she turned in to kiss his lips. It was too late then. Their mouths bumped awkwardly before she stepped away.

  Damn it.

  The door clicked closed.

  “It smells good in here!” she said brightly.

  “Thank you.”

  “And…” She finally registered her surroundings and turned in a slow, awed circle. “It’s so pretty!” This was no dingy apartment. It wasn’t even a man cave. The tall windows were open to the breeze, letting sunlight fall across wood floors. The baseboards and doors were warm, polished wood against almond-colored walls. “How long have you lived here?”

  “About eighteen months.” He led her toward the back, to a small kitchen done in dark granite and stainless steel.

  “Beautiful. I didn’t expect this.”

  “Oh, yeah?” he opened the oven and pulled out a pan. “What did you expect?”

  She cleared her throat and didn’t answer.

  “Neon beer signs? Posters taped to the walls?”

  “No. I—”

  “I save those for my bedroom. Then I know I’ll start the day off right.”

  “Stop,” she said, slapping his arm.

  Jamie snagged her wrist and pulled her into him. “I’ve been waiting to do this.”

  His arms curved around her, his mouth touched hers, and the world crashed into them. She parted her lips and his tongue slid in, and though it started warm and slow, she was soon pushed against the kitchen counter while Jamie’s tongue worked her mouth and his hands clutched her hips. She clutched him right back, loving the way he smelled and tasted and felt. For three nights, she’d fallen asleep with his voice winding around her. She’d been waiting for this.

  They’d shared kisses before, but this was something different. His whole body was pressed to her. She shifted, and his hips nudged her, and lust turned inside her like a screw tightening.

  Maybe he’d take her right here. Maybe he’d just set her up on the counter, and push her skirt up and her panties down. She’d never had it like that before, hot and desperate in the kitchen, cold granite against her back. She was wet already. So wet she could feel it.

  Something buzzed loudly, and Olivia jerked back.

  “Sorry,” he said, his voice rough. “Excuse me for just a moment.”

  When he moved away, her nipples peaked at the sudden coolness he left behind. She felt like she was about to burst, but Jamie still moved easy and calm as he leaned over to pull another pan from the oven. “Baked omelette,” he explained, as he set it down. “I hope you don’t have anything against bacon.”

  “No, I tried being a vegetarian a few years ago. I was embarrassingly unsuccessful.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “On the fourth day, I was so desperate for meat that I stopped at a convenience store on my way home from lunch and bought a taquito. I ate it at the cash register while I was still paying.”

  “That’s pretty bad,” Jamie said. “And here I thought you were so straitlaced.”

  She smiled even though her laces had been measured with a level. “I can get pretty crazy, I guess. Whatever you do, don’t get between me and a tray of taquitos.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

  Despite her intense hope, Jamie didn’t return to her. Apparently there’d be no sex on the counter. The man was determined to feed her. He moved to the fridge and pulled out a bowl, and Olivia’s eyes trailed down to his bare feet. Everything about him made her mouth water, even his feet. He looked young and adorable in his ancient jeans and T-shirt. When he reached back into the fridge, his shirt rose, and Olivia caught a glimpse of his tight back, the curve of his hip bone standing out in mouthwatering relief.

  She was going to do this. She really was. She was going to see him naked. Touch him. Wrap herself around him. What a damn strange idea. She almost felt like she was watching herself in a movie, acting out a part.

  “Olivia, can you grab this?”

  This? She’d grab anything he wanted. But in the end it was just a bowl of cut fruit, and she sadly followed him through the kitchen and past the table toward the back door.

  He was being very sweet, making an effort, but she didn’t really need any of this. Did he always go to this much trouble for a simple round of sex? No wonder he was so popular. Service with a smile.

  Her eyes on his ass, it took her a moment to notice where he’d led her. He set a carton of orange juice and a bottle of champagne on a round table. “Mimosa?”

  “You have to ask? Does anyone ever say no to that?”

  He frowned, but she was too distracted by her surroundings to worry. “What a great place, Jamie.�
�� They sat on a wide deck outfitted with the table and chairs and one lounge chair. That deck dropped one step down to a smaller area that included a Jacuzzi half-hidden behind a trellis. But the rest of the yard was the amazing part. A stone path wound through gardens and rock formations. At the very back of the long yard, a little waterfall fell in a perpetual tumble over a six-foot-tall rise of boulders. “It’s so beautiful. Peaceful.”

  “Thank you.” He gestured for her to sit down, handed her a mimosa, then disappeared back inside. He’d already set the table, and she found herself smiling down at her plate and the silverware, laid out with perfect neatness on a folded paper towel. Her coffee cup read, “My other mug is a pint glass.”

  “Do you want help?” she called.

  “Nope.” He stepped out, balancing two baking dishes, some serving spoons and one coffeepot. “If there’s one thing I can do, it’s serve a table.”

  He stuck the spoons smack into the middle of each dish, which reminded Olivia of the folded paper towels. His attention to detail didn’t reach Martha Stewart levels. He was kind of adorable. Again.

  She served herself some eggs and some coffee cake, and the combined smells were heavenly. Her stomach rumbled, but as she reached for her fork, Jamie reached for the champagne. She made herself wait politely while he poured champagne, and then the orange juice. Then he raised his glass. “To fun,” he said.

  “And new things,” she added.

  Five minutes later, Olivia was embarrassed to realize she’d already cleaned her plate. And emptied her glass. “Oh, my God, that was amazing.”

  “Have more,” he said, already tilting the bottle. Golden liquid bubbled and sloshed. Olivia giggled and wondered if she was tipsy. Then she stole another dollop of cake.

  “So did you always want to be a teacher?” he asked as he took another huge serving of bacon omelette.

  “No, not really.”

  “You just fell into it?”

  “Yes.” She’d fallen into it, all right. Helped by the steady push of her husband’s hand. She tried not to sigh. “But it’s a subject I love. My parents were investors and entrepreneurs. There’s a lot of specialized knowledge that goes into the business side of food service. Stuff a restaurateur wouldn’t necessarily know. I like helping with that.”