by Penny Wylder
Was it only last night? It feels like so long ago now. Like so much has already changed.
For one thing, I finally woke up to notice the guy I’ve spent the last two years walking right past, blind as a bat.
I take a seat across from him and look down to find he’s already ordered. There’s a latte cooling in front of me, a little heart drawn into the foam.
I smile and lift it to tap against his in a cheers. “How did you know my drink?”
“Educated guess. I figure, you’re a twenty-something bookworm with good taste, you probably like your coffee strong with a dash of sweet.”
I glance into his cup and find he’s drinking the same thing. “Great minds think alike,” I point out.
His smile widens. “But fools seldom differ.”
I laugh. Everybody always forgets the second half of that quote. “Touché,” I say, and take a long sip of my latte. It’s delicious.
“So, tell me all about your shitty day,” he says, leaning back in his chair. It shows off his muscles to perfect advantage, which I’m sure was the point. I can’t help letting my gaze wander down across his chest, along his arms, before I force myself to look back at his face.
He lets his eyes wander too, and he doesn’t seem to care that I see him checking me out. I shiver. There’s something sexy about a man who’s blatantly turned on by you and doesn’t mind that you know it. His gaze lingers on my curves, my dress, then darts back to my face.
“You really want to hear about my crappy work problems?” I counter.
He laughs. “Only if you want to talk about them.”
I heave a sigh. “Where to even start?”
“Start with what’s got you so stressed out that your shoulders are up to your ears,” he suggests.
I force myself to relax my posture, shooting him another glance. Normally guys aren’t interested in hearing about my day-to-day life. But okay, I’ll give him a try. I tell him about how my boss is annoyed at me for missing my deadline and how my project fell below par.
“But you don’t normally have a tricky relationship with her?” he asks.
I nod. “Normally we get on great. Normally I perform better than this.”
“Well everyone has off days. She understands that, I’m sure.”
I feel myself bobbing my head. Why is he so easy to talk to? I blink and shake my head, pulling myself out of my own world. “But this has got to be boring for you,” I admit, realizing we’ve just spent the last 15 minutes talking about my office politics.
“If you’d prefer, we can change the subject. Talk about something more distracting.”
“You do seem good at distracting women,” I reply with a smirk, letting my gaze drip over his body.
“Only when I’m inspired.” He leans closer across the table and those blue eyes draw me in again, magnets that are impossible to tear myself away from. “And I must say, you are extremely inspiring, Clove Walker.”
I raise an eyebrow, grinning. “What exactly do I inspire in you?”
“Dirty as hell fantasies for one thing.” He hooks a leg around mine under the table and slides his calf against mine. I catch my breath, brace myself against the table with both hands. But he lets me go almost right away and leans back in his seat, casual and nonchalant once more, as though he didn’t just say that. “For another, you make me want to know more about you. I mean, I know the basics. Name, address of course, and the volume of Amazon packages you get on a weekly basis…”
My cheeks flush bright red at the reminder of how we know one another. Of how well he knows my private details. I also take the opportunity to kick him lightly under the table. “Hey, I don’t get nearly as many packages as Mr. Horton down in 3C, okay?”
“True, but he’s going for the Guinness World Record of longest a man can go without ever leaving his apartment, so he hardly counts.”
“When was the last time you saw him outside?” I muse.
“November three years ago,” Zayne answers without hesitation, and I laugh again.
“No, but seriously, do you think he’s okay in there?”
“I bet he’s got a more interesting life than all the rest of us combined.” Zayne shakes his head with a half-laugh. “Watch, we’ll find out one day that all those food deliveries and household supplies he orders are actually secret spy equipment in disguise.”
“Ooh, yes, and I’ll bet he’s got a Russian spy lover who sneaks into his apartment via the fire escape every night for secret trysts.”
“Who’d have thought Mr. Horton would be the kinky type, huh?” Zayne lifts an eyebrow, smirking.
“Guess it just goes to show that you can’t judge a book by its cover.” I lift an eyebrow in return, unable to keep a wide smile from dancing across my face.
“True enough.” He’s leaning forward again, and so am I, unable to stop myself. He’s not just magnetic, he has a gravitational pull of his own. “After all, I never would have guessed you were so naughty, Ms. Walker.”
“I never would have guessed you were so dynamic, Zayne.”
“Pearson,” he says, filling in the unspoken blank.
My cheeks flush. “We seem a little uneven here, Zayne Pearson. You know way more about me than I do you. So come on, share some details.”
“What do you want to know?” He tilts forward, so close to me suddenly that his lips graze my ear as he whispers. “Beside the size of my cock?”
My cheeks burn red-hot now, on fire. But the rest of me is burning too. Especially my belly and the growing tight spot between my legs. I swear, when he talks dirty, I feel it directly in my pussy, like an electric shot straight to my core. “That’s definitely on the list,” I murmur with a grin. “I mean, I do have that one lovely photo, but I have to say, I’m tempted to request more…”
“Done,” he says without a moment’s hesitation. My eyebrows rise. I must look surprised because his grin deepens and he adds, “Of course, that means I get to ask for something in exchange.”
I turn my face a little, so our cheeks are almost touching now. We’re close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his skin, and I catch his scent again, every bit as intoxicating as it was last night. Salty and sweet all at once. “And what is it you desire, Mr. Pearson?”
“Turnabout is fair play,” he answers. “A photo for a photo. You teased me with that sexy little lingerie piece last night…” He lifts a hand slowly and lets it hover in the air between us. My breath catches in my throat, my whole body tense in anticipation of his touch. When it comes, it’s feather-light, just the faintest caress, his fingertips grazing across my collarbone before he drops his hand to the table once more. “I’d like to see what’s underneath.”
If my cheeks felt hot before, now they could start a fire. But the idea of sending him a photo of my breasts, something that would normally raise a whole lot of red flags on a first date, has me feeling hot and bothered instead. Because it leads me to imagining more—him jerking off in the mail room while he’s supposed to be working, unable to help himself, too turned on by the image of me, by my breasts, my body, the idea of me.
My pussy clenches, and damn, at this rate, I’m going to need a change of panties soon.
“Deal,” I whisper, and his lips quirk into a grin. He’s so close. Close enough that I could close the gap between us in a heartbeat, press my lips to his. I want to. I find myself tilting toward him, unstoppable, unable to fight the gravity.
That grin widens and he leans back in his chair once more. Damn him. He knows what I want. And he’s enjoying withholding it.
“That’s all you want from me, huh? Just my cock?”
He says it loud enough that a couple at the table beside us glance over, eyes wide. My eyes widen too, and I duck my head, face flushed.
“No, I—”
“It’s cool.” He winks. “I’ve been told it’s pretty addictive, so I can understand.”
I aim another kick at him under the table. “How long have you been doorma
n-ing, Zayne?”
“Oh, we’re not going back to boring first date interview questions already, are we?” He shakes his head.
I laugh. “I’m just proving I want to know more about you than just how big your cock is.”
“Two years,” he replies. “First job I picked up when I moved here and I liked it.”
“What about it?” I tilt my head, studying him.
He smiles. “The people. My tenants. Helping them out, making sure their lives run as smoothly as possible. I like that. I like being able to see the results of what I’m doing first-hand. I help somebody get their laundry done or send out a package or ferry their groceries upstairs, and I get to see the results real-time. Before this, I worked in an office, pencil-pushing gig. You did all this work but you never got to see anybody happy from it. You never saw proof that what you did mattered.”
I can feel myself nodding again. “I get that. I feel that way a lot of the time at my job. Like nothing I do makes a real difference. Not to real people.”
He slides a hand across the table to squeeze mine quickly. “I’m sure it does, Clove. You just don’t always see them through your screen is all.”
I sigh and nod again. “Maybe I envy you a little. That instant feedback.”
“I do enjoy instant feedback.” He glances down at my phone which is resting face-down on the table. “Speaking of which. If you did hypothetically want to know about my cock… I mean, since you asked.”
Right on cue, my phone buzzes. I have to laugh, even as I pick it up. There, right on the home screen, is a new message. A photo attachment. I glance back at him, lean forward to check under the table. How did he send that so fast, without me even noticing?
“You came prepared?” I ask.
He smirks. “Maybe.”
I open the photo and immediately fight the urge to hide my phone. It’s strange to look at his dick while he’s sitting right here across from me, out in the open. Especially in a public place where anyone could walk right past our table and see my phone.
Zayne must sense that I’m debating closing it again because he snatches the phone from me and plants it face-up on the table. “You asked for this,” he reminds me in a low voice. “You should enjoy it to the fullest.”
So, I resist the urge to hide and bend forward to take in the picture. This one was taken from a bedroom—I spy a duvet in the background. He’s completely naked this time, not just pulling himself out of his boxers. And damn, his cock looks even better than I remember. It’s flushed, standing on its own. He’s standing too, and as full as it is, it stands straight out from his body, strong and hard. I imagine bending over in front of him, letting him thrust that thing inside me, and it makes my pussy feel white-hot with desire. My clit throbs, feeling heavy and weighted between my thighs.
“Your turn,” he murmurs.
“What, here?” I cast a glance around the coffee shop.
“You’re right.” He stands and drops a handful of change on the table, more than enough for a 20% tip. “They’re about to close. What say we continue this next door? There’s a little Irish pub on the corner, and the bartender owes me a few drinks on the house.”
I trail after him, heart pounding. As we exit the coffee shop, he catches my hand, and I wind my fingers through his, loving the feel of his thick, strong fingers enclosing mine, protective and possessive all at once.
The walk to the bar is far too short, mostly because once we get there, he lets go of my hand again, and my skin burns where he was just touching me. I want nothing more than to grab his hand once more. Or better yet, pull him against me, crush our bodies together and pull his lips to mine. I want to kiss that grin off his face, replace it with a sexy, sultry smile. I want to taste his mouth, his tongue. I want to kiss my way along his stubble-dusted jawline, down the side of his neck. I want him to push me up against this bar and take me right here.
Shit.
Calm down, Clove.
The bartender greets Zayne by name, then catches sight of me and rests an elbow on the bar, eyes darting up and down my length with a smile of approval. “And who is this beautiful young lady?”
“Clove, this is Nick. Ignore anything he tells you,” Zayne advises with a smirk at his friend.
In response, Nick slides two glasses across the table. “You’re just in time. I’m trying out a new recipe.” But I notice his eyes keep darting back to me. I wonder if that’s because he’s surprised to see me here with Zayne. Then I wonder why. Does Zayne usually bring a different girl every time he comes here? Or does he not usually have a girl in tow at all? It’s hard to tell.
The guys banter for a minute while I sample the drink. My eyes widen. It’s delicious—fruity but not too sweet, and a little smoky on the tail end.
“I call it a Southern Fire-Starter,” Nick says, noticing my expression. “Bourbon-based.”
“It’s delicious.”
“She’s got good taste,” Nick points out to Zayne with a wink. “Well, you know, except for showing up here with you.”
I grin over the rim of the glass at Zayne while he insults Nick back.
“Seriously though, how did he talk you into going out in public with him?” Nick adds when Zayne pauses to knock back a taste of his own drink.
“Funny story…” I start, but Zayne finishes his drink with a shake of his head and wraps an arm around my shoulders.
“How about not giving her the third degree right off the bat, huh, dude?” He’s grinning, but something about their postures tells me there’s more going on here than meets the eye. They’re both joking, but Nick is asking Zayne something else, I think. Something that I can’t quite put my finger on.
I shrug it off when Zayne leads me to a back table. I don’t need to figure out his friends. I’m not here for them, after all.
We take a seat in a far corner, a cozy little spot that I could definitely get used to. It’s the kind of local dive that I love best—not too pricey, not too crowded. Just the right number of locals who know each other’s names, and a bartender who remembers their favorite drinks.
We sip on Nick’s specialty cocktail and talk a little bit about the neighborhood. Zayne grew up here, apparently, and before long, he’s regaling me with stories of what this place used to be like when he was young. He’s only a couple years older than me, I learn, which surprises me. He has one of those faces that could pass for almost any age between 28 and 40.
Still, for only being 31, he knows a lot about the history of this spot. This pub has apparently been here all along, one of the only institutions that survived the real estate crash and then the following real estate explosion a few years later when rent prices started to recover. There used to be a big park next door, but about fifteen years ago they razed it to put up another apartment complex, and then in turn razed that to build a bigger, fancier complex.
It’s intriguing hearing about all this history. I never really thought about the neighborhood, about what it used to be like before I moved in. Now it’s ritzy as hell, with tons of boutique shops and fancy restaurants on every corner. I don’t mind that at all, but it’s strange to think of what it must have been like for Zayne. To grow up here, to watch his neighborhood go through so many transformations.
I tell him about my old neighborhood where I grew up, out in west Ohio. It was a tiny town, barely a blip on any map. Even locals had hardly heard of it. I had 50 people in my high school graduating class. He laughs at that. I describe our weekend pastimes—yes, cow-tipping was a real thing. No, we never actually managed to push a cow over. Though one time my brother did get kicked in the shin while trying.
Before I realize it, we’re on our third round of drinks, the first two compliments of the house, and I’m feeling them. Not to mention, with every round, we’ve inched closer together, going from sitting across from one another at this table to side-by-side, to now, with Zayne’s leg and side pressed against mine. I can feel his hips as he shifts in his chair, leans closer against me. A
spark flies through me when he drapes his arm over the back of my chair, letting his fingertips trail along my bicep.
“So,” he murmurs, against my ear when we’re halfway through our third drinks. “Earlier…”
“Mmhmm?” I tilt toward him, distracted by the faint graze of his lips against my earlobe, and the continued tingles along my arm as he traces his fingers lazily over my skin.
“You were going to return my favor.”
I cast a sideways glance at him and find him grinning at me, a spark of mischief in his bright blue eyes. “What, here?”
He lifts his eyebrows. “Well, we aren’t at the café anymore. And you know, they do have a bathroom…” His eyes dart to the far wall, to a little corridor that leads to the single stall at the back of the bar. It’s only just visible from here, and not viewable from the rest of the bar since it’s around a corner.
When I look back at him, I’m pretty sure my eyes are alight with the same kind of mischief. “Good point. So, you want me to go in there and…” I trace a fingertip down his chest, pause to tug gently at the collar of his shirt. “Strip?”
“Just your top, if you prefer.” He lets his gaze drop to my chest. “Though, I won’t complain if you want to take off more…”
“That’s going to cost you a lot more than just a dick pic,” I reply, leaning in to let my forehead rest against his, our eyes locked as I grin.
“Hmm… Well if it involves getting to see what’s under your uniform, I am definitely willing to pay.” His hands wander down my sides, wrap around my hips. Our breath mingles between us, barely an inch of air separating us. I want to close the gap so damn badly. I want to press my lips to his, taste him.
Instead, I decide it’s time to give him a taste of his own teasing medicine. I push out of my seat and stand, snatching my phone on the way up.
“See you soon,” I tell him with a wink, and then I wind my way down the hall toward the restroom.