“Why don’t you cork it, Monkhouse?”
His laughter sticks with us all the way out to our first set of waves. After we both catch a ride, we paddle slow back toward more. We sit up on our boards and wait, smaller waves undulating beneath us.
“We made a bet,” I say finally.
“For what?”
“Who caves first.”
“Caves for what?”
I glare at him, even popping my eyes open wider to will him to get the gist.
“Are you nuts? How the fuck does that even work?” He looks a little green at the thought.
“Yes, I am apparently,” I say with a groan. “Well, the first person to initiate sex loses.”
“What constitutes initiation?”
“Any kind of kiss or touch that would be inappropriate to anyone else,” I say, feeling even stupider hearing the words out loud.
Fox flattens out on his stomach, and I realize he’s spotted another wave. “Well, that makes you a massive fucking moron, my friend.”
I watch him paddle forward and sigh. “Yeah, yeah. Me and my balls are aware.”
When I leave a few hours later, I’m haunted by a particularly unnecessary make-out session between him and his future wife. And judging by the surprise on Sophie’s face and the fact that my best friend is a dick, I’m positive he did it on purpose. Like I don’t already know this bet is stupid. It doesn’t get me any closer to what I really want, which is all of Nora—including her heart, not just her body. I decide to double my efforts to break Nora, but not solely with innuendos and the like. Maybe I can tempt her with something more.
The first thing that comes to mind is flowers, but I want it to be deeper. I stop at a flower shop, and the florist helps me put together a bouquet of purple roses and white lilacs to send over right away. Supposedly this combination is what you send someone you’re “enchanted” with, or fell for at first sight.
Well, it wasn’t exactly that, but it’s pretty damn close.
The next couple of days, I keep myself busy with errands and spend a couple hours at the gym. Whenever I have a moment, I send my Beauty a text detailing what I’m going to do to her when I win. Sometimes it involves being in public, sometimes it involves silk scarves and bedposts. In between, I tell her what I admire about her. Her tenacity, her strengths. I try to make it eloquent, but I’m no poet.
In retaliation, she sends me a picture of her hand down her panties. Fuck me. I’m forced to end with one set on the shoulder machine, because I have to go take a shower. Waiting until I get home to rub one out is not an option. This is not the last set of sext-sparring we do as we continually try to wear the other down.
***
Come Friday, I know she’s on again at the bar. I consider going to have a few drinks and do what I can to weaken her game. Then I get a text with a question.
Think this outfit is OK for work?
The picture attached tells me I should not go to the bar tonight to see her. The only game that would be weakened is mine. Also, I might be arrested for taking her, bent over the bar. I wouldn’t even have to take her skirt off, it’s so short.
No. But you’re welcome to come over here and wear that.
I wish I could. Mama got bills, baby. ;)
Are you really wearing that tonight?
Hahaha… did you even look at the shoes? I can’t wear those.
I look back and notice they’re platform stilettos.
What does it say that I didn’t even see the shoes?
That I’ve practically won the bet already.
I’ll see you later.
What? Are you coming to The Fly Trap?
Several more questions ping my phone via text, but I don’t answer. Knowing it’ll drive her crazy just makes my day. Am I going? Maybe. Okay, probably. Forget it, I’m absolutely going.
It’s after ten thirty by the time I pull into the parking lot. Part of me hopes she’s still wearing that outfit, but most of me doesn’t. Zeke and Samson are meeting up at The Post tonight, so I’m not going to hang out too long to torture her.
When I get inside, Nora is serving a score of drinks, all lined up on the bar in front of her. I pause near the door to watch her move with dance-like precision. It makes me smile. I know she doesn’t love this job, but at least she’s good enough at it that it’ll give her a proper good padding for paying off debts. She laughs at something a customer says, and I soak in the look of her. She’s got shorts on instead of the criminally short skirt, but the top is the same. Even in something as casual as this, she stuns.
I wander to the other end of the bar, order a drink from the other bartender, and grab a cherry from the container on bar. After eating the cherry, I twist the stem around in my mouth. It takes a few minutes to do what I want to do, but when I finish, Nora finally notices me.
I can’t help but smirk when she startles, however minutely. I pull the cherry stem out of my mouth, inspect it quickly, then cover it in my hands. She moves the line of drinks she’s made to the bar top in front of their respective owners, spins around to log them into the computer, and then walks toward me. My eyes automatically watch her long legs swish, brushing against each other until her feet—comfortably housed in sensible Converse—halt in position with one knee bent. I follow the curves of her body with my gaze, willing her to feel it as I do.
When I reach her face, one of her eyebrows has snagged upward, accenting the “what the fuck?” look on her face. My smirk turns to a full-blown grin.
“Evening, Beauty.”
“You think it’s funny ignoring all my texts?” she asks, fiery.
I love it.
“Not funny, no,” I say. “Strategic, more like.”
“Fucker.” The slight curve of her lips reveals more than her intention.
I laugh at that, and she moves her fists from her hips to cross her arms over her cleavage. At that moment, her manager stalks up behind her. “Nora, why are you being so confrontational with a customer?”
Nora’s face flattens, and she rolls her eyes before turning. “Teresa, I know this guy,” she says, as if that should be reason enough.
“I don’t care,” Teresa says. Damn, she’s far too uptight for this job. “A customer is a customer.”
“He’s my boyfriend.”
If I could describe what is happening in my chest and veins at this precise moment, I might win the Nobel prize for literature or poetry, however that works. My lips pulse with the desire to kiss her, slowly and with serious intent. However, the look on her face when she catches my gaze tells me the words slipped out. And she might wish they hadn’t.
For some reason, this shocks Teresa, who shifts her focus to me. “Oh, well… still. Presentation, Bennett. Remember?”
“Gotcha,” Nora says, back in control but still a little spooked.
It’s not clear whether Teresa picks up on the sarcasm or not, but she walks away seeming satisfied that she’s put Nora “The Troublemaker” Bennett back in her place.
Said troublemaker turns back to me and leans on the bar with her hands. “I swear to Christ, that woman needs to get laid so bad, I’m about to pay someone to do it.”
I chuckle, leaning toward her. “I could help you out with that, if you like.”
I’m such an asshole, I don’t even hear what I said. In my mind, I’m thinking of one of my friends to sic on her. It takes the look of blazing death on Nora’s face for me to realize what it sounded like.
“No!” I hiss. “I meant like Zeke or Samson. Not your boyfriend.”
The flames die down in her eyes, and she looks embarrassed. She leans in farther, her fingers tearing a napkin into tiny pieces.
“I… I hope that’s okay. I mean, I figured it was because I did agree to date you and all that business.” Her eyes dart up to mine.
Her fidgeting and discomfort is endearing, but it baffles me. I chuckle. “My girlfriend is incredible.” I shake my head slowly, maintaining eye contact with her. “What on Earth would
make you think I’d mind?”
If the lights were better in here, I’d be able to see the blush I imagine painting her cheeks right now as she ducks her head. “Nothing. I don’t know.” She lifts her chin again, her lip between her teeth.
I’m about to say something, try to tell her how good it felt to hear it when she pulls back, standing straight. The raw, exposed Nora is all covered up again.
“I might take you up on that offer then, considering you’re not offering to unleash the Beast on her.”
I laugh out loud. It honestly does sound ridiculous. “Fuck, I wish I hadn’t told you that.”
Nora giggles, and she looks so beautiful, her humor lighting up the angles of her cheeks and lips with some kind of otherworldly glow.
Fuck me, I am well and truly lost to this woman.
“Too late,” she says. “I’ve already started a social media account for him.”
I shake my head and stare at my shoes. When I look up, she’s holding back laughter.
“Maybe you can rename him for me?” I suggest.
“I don’t know,” she says, distracted by a customer down the bar. “Just a sec,” she tells him. To me, she offers, “I may kind of like it” and walks over to do her job.
When she returns from serving, I lean over the bar to peck her lips. “Call me when you’re leaving, Beauty.”
She looks at me strangely, her expression asking the question. In response, I set the cherry stem on her side of the bar next to my now-empty drink. As I fall back on my heels and turn to leave, I run my tongue along my upper lip. She narrows her eyes but smirks as she goes to pick up my glass.
Walking away, I find myself a bit turned on, plenty amazed, and incredibly intent on ending this bet as soon as possible. Even if I lose, I win.
14
THE WINNER
NORA
WATCHING DOC WALK away is a little confusing, yet perfectly agreeable at the same time. Mostly because his ass is so fantastic. Also, he’s strutting a bit, and that’s kind of hot, albeit cocky and thereby irritating. Irritating because it turns me on.
As I pick up his empty glass, I feel something rough under the side of my hand and lift it to see a cherry stem with two knots in it. I pick it up and stare at it. Making two knots is impossible? Isn’t it? I stare at the closed door where Doc’s already exited, but my mind just spins. It’s obvious what it means, why he left it for me.
He thinks he’s going to make me cave? Foolish man.
At the end of my shift, I’m fairly exhausted, but I keep thinking of Doc’s request to call when I leave. It’s past five in the morning by the time I’ve got everything closed out and cleaned up, so in all likelihood, he’s sleeping, unless he and the boys are on a serious bender or something. I decide to call, and he is, in fact, sleeping.
“Yeah? You okay?” he asks in greeting.
It makes me smile and lick my lips. His gravelly, sleep-coated voice is poking holes in my plans.
“Fine. Just really tired,” I say. “You said to call when I was leaving. Why was that?”
I feel like a teenager, for fuck’s sake. I was sweaty-palms nervous until I heard his voice again. Now I just want to be in his arms.
“Hmm? Ummm… Honestly, I can’t even remember. You coming over?”
His house is technically closer. I make a flash decision.
“I’m on my way.”
The handful of minutes between here and there find me stuck in my mind. This stupid bet escalated from a joke to serious competition in a blink, and Doc and I are both incredibly stubborn people. While I enjoy teasing him, and he is clearly having fun on his side, I miss him. It’s only been a few days since we’ve had sex, and one more since we shared a bed.
Funny enough, it’s not just the sex I’m longing for. It’s that low, rumbling laugh of his and the way it makes me warm all over. It’s how safe his arms feel around me at any given time—in bed or out. It’s just him. Full stop.
I let it all roll over and spin—so much that I end up sitting at a light through an entire cycle. A quick honk pulls me out of my thought-cloud, and I check my rearview mirror to see a cop car, its lights flicking on.
“Motherfucker,” I grumble as I tug at the wheel to cross the intersection and pull over. I’m literally two blocks from Doc’s house.
I take a deep breath, waiting what feels like ages for the police officer to approach my window. A crack idea flashes in front of my eyes just a tad brighter than the party lights reflecting through my car: what if Doc set this up? What if that’s him in the car, dressed up as a cop with the mirror glasses and tight uniform?
As my skin begins to heat, throwing off the rhythm of my breathing, it strikes me how turned on I am. My pulse throbs in my clit, my nipples tightening, and I jump when there’s a tap on my door. I hadn’t even heard him approach.
Turning toward him, I suppress a sexy smile—the idea that Doc set this up still floating around my head like a halo. I’m especially glad I kept my mouth shut when I look up to see that it is certainly not Declan Wellesley staring in my window, flashlight searching my car’s interior. Instead it’s a female officer. I jump as a second officer taps on my passenger side window.
My arousal feels bizarre and almost shameful as I’m questioned by the two officers. I apologize profusely, explaining that I’m coming from work.
“We observed you sitting through three full lights. Are you feeling okay?”
I blink, and my mouth goes dry. I had no idea it was that long. “I’m so sorry.” I shake my head. “I’m so tired, and I just got lost in thought.”
“About your boyfriend?”
“I’m sorry?” I twist to look up at her. “How did you know that?”
She grins, and I hear her partner chuckle. “We’re friends of Doc’s,” she says.
Immediately my blood prepares to boil in my veins.
“He texted my partner Gavin to see if we were stationed in our usual spot, asked us to make sure you got home okay.”
“Are you fucking serious?” I mutter to myself.
“Pardon me?” she says.
I remember I’m talking to cops.
“I’m sorry, I just—I can’t believe he did that.” I stare forward, out through my windshield. My initial reaction is something akin to “I’m a big girl, I can drive five damn minutes to your house.”
Gavin sighs, leaning in my passenger window. Maybe he senses that I’m insulted. “He was just worried. He said you sounded really wiped out. We were just going to tail you there, but then you sat through the lights. Suzanne thought you might have fallen asleep.”
My rage-boil cools into a chill of embarrassment. “Sweet Jesus, I am so sorry. Thank you,” I say, looking back and forth between the two of them. “It’s only a couple blocks, and I’m crazy awake now.”
They tell me to drive carefully, and Officer Suzanne hands me back my license. “You’ve got a good one there,” she whispers. “I’d hold on to him if I were you.”
Driving the last two blocks seems to take forever, and I’m a whirlwind of emotion by the time I step in front of Doc’s door. I mean, I’m swooning, because who has police tail their girlfriend simply to make sure she gets home safe after a long day? Someone who cares about you. I was a little angry, at first, because feminism and independence and not needing a man and all that. But mostly swoony. It was an incredibly thoughtful thing to do. Maybe a little stalker-y, but perhaps I’m looking for excuses to villainize it. When it comes down to it, I’m touched. And scared by what it means. But mostly, I’m aching to get inside and feel him.
I’m about to dig under the mat or the potted plant when the door swings open to reveal a disheveled, but most definitely awake Doc. He pulls me inside and kisses me—a breathless, charged kiss that doesn’t necessarily scream precursor to sex. It’s passionate, and a little bit puzzling.
He cups my face in his hands and looks at me. “I don’t want to play this stupid game anymore.”
“What?” I
know exactly what he means, but I don’t have enough brainpower left to deal with anything but the most obvious. It was a long, crazy shift, which kind of left me wasted. Sober, but wasted.
“This bet. I forfeit; I don’t care anymore,” he says, closing the door behind us.
My entire body drains of energy and fight and stress. “Oh my God, thank you. Yes, please,” I release all the words together like some kind of groan. I wrap myself around him. “Please take me to bed?”
He doesn’t speak, but bends to scoop an arm under my legs. I hum, grinning as my head falls back. He carries me to his bed, deposits me gently, and begins undressing me. I’m not sure I have the energy to do much of anything, so I’m hoping his expectations are low. Soon we’re both naked, and I crawl up the bed to lie against the pillows. This is going to be the laziest sex I’ve ever had.
Doc slides under the sheet and pulls me into him. He kisses my lips and gives my ass a playful squeeze, but makes no move to advance things further. He relaxes his entire body and rests his head back on the pillow.
“Did you get a condom?” I ask, a yawn interrupting my question.
He snorts lightly. “Beauty, I’m as tired as you are. Let’s just sleep, yeah? I’ll booty call you in the morning. Or afternoon. Whatever.”
With what little energy I have left, I laugh against his furry chest and kiss his chin. His arms tighten just a bit, almost like a hug. I feel more satisfied than if we’d had sex—safe, warm, happy. I lay my head on his shoulder and cuddle in, thinking I might never move and finding myself perfectly okay with that.
“You might get some extra favors for this,” I say—or mumble, depending on how audible it actually was. I don’t remember anything else, because I pass out as soon as the words are off my lips.
15
AFTER LOSING
DOC
IT’S ALMOST ONE IN the afternoon when I wake up. Nora’s still asleep, curled onto her side with her back pressed up against my ribs and her cheek resting on my bicep. The best part? She’s almost completely uncovered apart from the sheet over my waist that then runs down the warm line of skin where we touch. I do my best not to move too much while angling my head to look over her. She takes a sudden inhale of breath and hums in exhale, her top hand sliding across the sheet up into my hand. Her fingers lace through mine and squeeze.
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