by B. J. Harvey
I may not have committed to a woman or—let’s be honest—even had a relationship lasting longer than a night, but I was always taught to be a gentleman. Except with Mia, it’s different. It’s not just that she’s family; it’s more. I’ve been biding my time with her. If I’m honest with myself, she’s been at the back of my mind since the wedding and the supply closet.
At first it was physical—an itch that needed to be scratched before I could move on. But during the past two years I’ve noticed her more, finding her crazy ways endearing more than annoying, and her hilarious stories about dating, men, and her constant job merry-go-round entertaining. Having to watch her wear those sexy clothes of hers that showcase her body like it was made for my hands has been torture, and I’m not afraid to admit that I’ve often jerked myself off thinking about those long-ass legs of hers wrapped around my back.
Then she kissed me at Throb and both my physical and mental responses to her collided into a fucking fantastic make out session that may have started off out of necessity, but definitely didn’t end that way.
Just as I’m about to get up to hunt her down, I catch sight of her walking down the stairs. She makes her way along the line of seats and sits down beside me. When she doesn’t even acknowledge my presence, I lose control.
“Where the fuck have you been?” I growl, as my relief at her return and my anger at being worried combine.
She whirls around to face me, her eyes wide. “What do you mean? I told you where I was going.”
“You did,” I say, “fifteen minutes ago.”
“The line was long,” she explains, as if it’s no big deal.
“I didn’t know if you were okay.”
“Matt, it’s fine. I’m fine. You can stop worrying. Jeez, it’s not like I’m your ride home or anything,” she adds, dismissing my concern.
I reach out and cradle her jaw in my splayed hand, the need to touch her—and affect her—overwhelming. Her breathing speeds up, and it’s so fucking hot. She doesn’t even know what that look does to me, the same one I can imagine her giving me when I’m buried nine inches deep. “You’re my date. I’m responsible for getting you home safely. I can’t do that if you’re running off by yourself and taking forever to come back.”
Her back goes ramrod straight and she tries to shake her head free from my hand, but when my other hand rests on her upper thigh, she stills. “It’s not a date, Matt. This is just us supporting Nat and Jase.”
“Legs, if you believe for a fucking second we’re here as moral support for those two, you’re clueless. That kiss we shared definitely didn’t say ‘friends helping friends.’”
“We can’t do this, Matt.” She jerks her head back and my hand drops down. “We can say we got caught up in the heat of the moment. Obviously, I’ll be calling Cade tomorrow and apologizing to him before he calls Noah and Zoe. As for you and me, we can carry on from here and still be friends.”
“No need to call him, I cancelled your date already.”
She gasps and her eyes go wide and wild. “You did what?” she stage whispers.
The crowd around us cheers as someone scores a goal, but I don’t know who or even what team because I’m too interested in the now pissed off woman in front of me.
Shaking my head at her, I can’t help but grin at her cute attempt of ignoring this thing between us. “See? You’re clueless.”
“I’m not clueless!” she says, her voice getting louder. “You had no right canceling my date with Cade. He’s a nice guy.”
“He’s a great guy. He’s just not getting anywhere near you.”
“You’re insane.”
“Why?” I reply, my grin wider.
“Because . . . because . . . grrr,” she growls narrowing her eyes at me. “You’re so infuriating. If you think for one second I’d go out with you, Matthew Taylor, you’re dreaming.”
Leaning into her, I move my hand from its resting place on her thigh and slowly inch it higher, hooking my index finger out and running it over the crease of her hip. She tries to fight it, her taut body staying tense for half a second before a shiver courses through her. As if knowing she’s fighting a losing battle, she draws her knees together, clenching her legs tight to stop me doing anything else with my fingers. I contemplate making a joke about her liking my fingers last time, but decide it’s probably safer not to push my luck.
I lower my head to her ear, needing to make sure she hears me amongst the loud buzz of the crowd. “We both know that’s not true, Legs, but it’s gonna be a hell of a lot of fun proving you wrong.”
After dropping Jase and Nat off at Jase’s place—Nat’s request, of course, not that Jase was complaining—I pull up to the curb outside Mia’s place and turn the engine off.
Mia has been nursing a snit the entire ride home. She was sitting in the front seat next to me, but she might as well have been in Siberia. Apart from when she got out and gave Nat and Jase a hug goodbye, she hasn’t said a word. I know I came on strong at the game but her silent treatment is driving me just as crazy as the idea of her going out on a date with Cade.
Finding out she was going out with him proved to me beyond a shadow of a doubt that I want Mia for more than sex. Don’t get me wrong, she’ll still be naked and screaming my name, but I also want to see where this thing between us might lead.
She grabs her purse from the floor and lifts her hand to the door of my truck, but stops moving when I put my palm on her thigh.
“Mia,” I say gently, deciding that I need to be careful if I have any chance of gaining ground with her.
Shifting in her seat, she spins around to face me. “You’re confusing the fuck out me.”
I lean forward and put my elbow on the steering wheel, resting my head against my fist to look at her. “You’re confusing yourself. You know you want me. I know you want me. I just need you to give me a chance.”
She watches me for a long while and silence fills the cab of my truck, but I let her have this moment and wait for her to reply.
“What does that mean?”
I move my body toward hers and watch her pupils dilate as I get closer. She stops my progress when her hand goes to the middle of my chest.
“What it means, Legs, is that Friday night, I wanna have dinner with you.”
“Matt, this isn’t a good idea.” Her fingers flex against my tee, and I swear I feel it straight down in my dick.
Wanting to test her response, I inch my hand on her jeans higher. “Nothing too formal or scary. Just the two of us, sharing a meal with no pressure, no stress, and definitely no friends or family getting in the way.”
She leans closer, as if her body is drawn to mine. I glide my fingers over and around her hip and dipping under her top to touch the skin of her back. Pulling her closer to me, I curse the presence of the center console.
“I’m not sure,” she breathes, and I know my touch is distracting her as much as her heat radiating against my hand is affecting me.
I lower my head so that we’re inches apart now, my eyes dropping to her mouth. I have to stifle a groan when her pink tongue slips out and licks her lips. Unable to hold back anymore, I kiss her softly, barely touching, but I hope she doesn’t miss the simple gesture and the meaning behind it. “I’m sure enough for both of us and you know my track record, so that on its own should say a lot about how I feel.”
“Nervous?” she whispers, her eyes blazing with heat. Her hand on my chest slides up to curl around one side of my neck, and I barely stop myself from pulling her into my lap and burying myself inside her. That’s what I’d do with any other woman.
But Mia Roberts is not any other woman.
“I’m not nervous. I want to spend time with you and see where this might lead. I’ve been waiting a long time for this, Mia, and I’m sure as hell not going to stop at the first hurdle.”
“Noah and Zoe and—”
I kiss her before she can give me any more excuses. I’m sick of excuses. I’ve been using enough
of them myself to keep my distance for the past two years.
But I’m sick to death of worrying about other people and not going after what—or who—I want.
One touch, one kiss, and one moan from her, and she had me.
“Take a chance, Mia,” I murmur against her lips.
She takes what feels like forever to answer me, her warm breathing fanning over my face, the sound of our heavy breathing filling the cab. “Maybe.”
I smile; I can’t help it, and I brush my lips against hers one more time, giving her one slow sweep of my tongue before pulling back. “That’s a good start.”
It’s been a week since the hockey game and a week since Matt asked me to give him a chance.
A week with nothing but a mini Taylor boy—Nate—entertaining me, but the undeniable Taylor genes have kept reminding me of his uncle. As much as I’ve tried to not think about him, I’ve found myself even more fixated.
Cade may be a nice guy, but he’s also not one to back off when another guy plays the ‘my dick is bigger than yours’ game. He made this abundantly clear by calling the morning after the hockey game to confirm our dinner plans for the following Saturday night. I was flattered and if I was completely honest with myself, I wanted to go to dinner with him. I also apologized for Matt’s behavior and was shocked as shit when he laughed it off and made a joke about ‘kids these days.’
Even though Matt had obviously had a brain transplant, deciding that he wants to date me rather than just mate me, I was still looking forward to the prospect of sharing a meal with Cade. I love the innocent—or not so innocent—flirting, the witty banter, talking about our jobs, our lives, our hopes and dreams—all of the normal first date stuff.
I haven’t heard from Matt all week but Nat has told me that she invited him and Jase to the party at her place tonight. The same Nat took great pleasure in telling me—in graphic detail—what her and Jase got up to after their date, which ended up lasting until Monday morning. From all accounts, it involved his couch, bed, shower and various combinations of those, as well as something amazing involving dill pickles and cream cheese. In fact, when she met Nate and I at the park on Monday for lunch, she was definitely walking a little gingerly and was downing bottled water like a champion, muttering something about overused meat curtains and the need to avoid a UTI. Nat has always been the Queen of TMI, so nothing that comes out of her mouth is a surprise anymore.
“How did it go with Chicago’s favorite man slut?” she asked me, and I was thankful that Nate could barely talk.
“Nat!”
Her eyes grew wide and she shrugged. “What? It’s not like it isn’t true.”
Without taking my eyes off Nate as he continued on his life’s mission to eat, live and breathe sand from the sandpit, I whispered, “Doesn’t mean the mothers and nannies here have to hear about it.”
“Think of it as public health advice. Warning—stay clothed and ten feet away from him at all times while wearing a fully enclosed Hazmat suit for extra protection.”
“Dude, that’s harsh.”
“No, harsh would be saying that after seeing you two at the hockey game, I feel the need to shout you a trip to the doctor’s to make sure your vaccinations are still up-to-date.”
“He’s not that bad,” I replied without thinking.
“See? I knew it! He’s gotten to you. Did he inject meat into your taco the other night?”
“No,” I gasp. What I didn’t say is that after all the build-up and kissing that night, I might have almost caused myself an injury with the one-handed workout I had in bed after he’d dropped me home. “There are worse things than getting close to him, you know.”
“Yeah. The mandatory session in the decontamination chamber afterwards would be too much of a buzzkill,” she says, with an evil grin.
Before Kissgate, I would’ve joked alongside her but something about what she said makes me feel sorry for him. I know it’s dangerous territory but despite Matt’s faults, he’s also funny and caring, and I know he would do anything for someone important to him. Just seeing him with Nate at the birthday party had my ovaries contracting in anticipation. It’s a girl thing—hot guys with babies—but that doesn’t make it any less true.
“He’s still a human being you know, not a walking venereal disease.”
“He’s a dawg. You know what he’s done in the past and who he’s done in the past . . .” She leaves that hanging there, and a pang of regret hits me. That’s not to say that Matt hasn’t shown me a glimpse of another side to him recently. Last week in his truck a shining example.
“He just has an appreciation for the female form.”
“Also known as a—”
I quickly clamp my hand over her mouth just as Nate toddles on over to us.
“Ta,” he says, holding out a sand-covered pacifier to me, one which is unfortunately not his.
“Ta, Nate.” I put my hand out and he drops it in my palm before giggling and moving to grab it up again.
“No, sweetheart. That’s yucky.”
“Bit like Uncle Matt, isn’t that right, Nate?” Nat says with a laugh, before reaching down and scooping him up. “You’re going to be a good Taylor, aren’t you? You’re gonna keep your peepee in your pants.”
All that does is earn her an adorable giggle and a sloppy sand-covered kiss on the chin.
I shake my head, but can’t stop myself from laughing along with them. Unfortunately, it doesn’t clear my head of all things Matt.
Now it’s Friday night, I have no work until Monday, and with nothing else to do, Nat decided an impromptu party was in order since her roommates are away for the weekend. Since she had already invited Jase—and therefore Matt—I’d seen no reason to call Matt about his ‘date,’ especially since he hadn’t made an effort to call me and arrange anything. Unlike Cade . . .
Something to know about Nat is that she’s a woman on a mission. Once she’s set her mind to something, she’s a go-get-’em kind of girl who puts her all into everything. This means that the two of us have been hauling drinks, ice, snacks and supplies from her car to her apartment all afternoon and now—three hours later—we’re dressed up and three sheets to the wind after enjoying a few pre-party shots.
When the party gets underway, Nat’s living room resembles a shit-fight. Honestly, it’s like she took out a full-page ad in the Tribune and invited everyone in Cook County. Thankfully, Nat is smart and also invited her neighbors, not only to avoid pissing anyone off, but also because—being the social butterfly she is—she’s friendly with all of them.
Needing a break from the never-ending drink in my hand that Nat keeps topping up, I spot an old friend of mine across the other side of the room. I’d met him when I was pursuing one of my many career choices—that one being fashion design.
“Jimmy!” I say, when I make it to his side.
Jimmy—my very gay, hilariously funny friend—wraps his arm around my shoulders and pulls me into his side. I lift my head in time to catch sight of Matt and Jase walking in.
“Oh shit,” I gasp.
“Not the normal reaction I get when I hug a girl,” Jimmy muses as he pulls away. “What’s wrong?”
“Matt’s here.”
Forever on the lookout for the next Mr. Jimmy, he turns toward the door, moving backwards to stand beside me to watch Matt and Jase walk into the kitchen, Matt glaring at me as he does it.
“Oh goodie, a two-for-one deal, my favorite,” he breathes, and I sigh in response.
“That’s Matt and his friend Jase. Jase is seeing Nat.”
“Ah I see, and Matt? Is he spoken for?” Jimmy asks, curiously.
“He wants to speak for me.”
“And you wanna have a voice of your own? Sorry, doll, but if a man like that wanted to claim me, I’d bow down, kiss his feet and ask him what else he wanted.”
“It’s complicated,” I try to explain.
“I see that. Is that why you can’t drag your eyes away from him?”
I snap my head back toward Jimmy. “What?”
“Girl, you have a bit of drool, right . . . here,” he says, with a huge shit-eating grin as he pretends to wipe my chin. I swat his hand away, but he dips his head and moves in close so he’s nose to nose with me. “You, little poppet, need to stay right where you are. Do not move unless it’s to put your hands around my shoulders. That complication is staring at me like he wants to see me six-feet under for even looking at you, let alone touching you. Boy has it bad.”
“What?” I ask, my chest seizing. I start to turn my head but Jimmy—the evil genius—puts his hand on my cheek and tilts it back to face him.
“I said, don’t move. Matt doesn’t like other boys playing with his toys and right now, he has no idea that I’m a boy who likes boys. My guess is he’ll want to assert his testosterone if I don’t unhand you in about five, four, three, two . . .”
“Legs,” Matt growls behind me, right on cue. My eyes grow wide, and Jimmy smirks wickedly before stepping back and holding out his hand to Matt.
“Legs?” Jimmy says, looking from me to Matt.
I spin around and face Matt just as he starts to say, “Because I can’t—”
“Because I have long legs!” I blurt out to stop the real reason. Jimmy chuckles, and I swear I see Matt’s lips twitch.
“I’m Matt Taylor. And you are?” Matt asks, holding his hand out to Jimmy.
“Jimmy Mason, a friend of Mia’s.”
“A friend?” he asks, quirking an eyebrow.
“Down boy,” Jimmy says. “If it came to a choice between you and her, it would definitely be your team I’d jump on.”
“‘Jump on’ being the operative term,” I add with a giggle.
“Oh,” Matt says, sounding more than a little disgruntled. His shoulders instantly relax, and I almost think he’s disappointed at losing the opportunity to play the caveman and claim me as his prize.
“I think your man here got the wrong end of the stick,” Jimmy says, a huge smile on his face.