“First?” she asks, wrinkling her nose. “What’s second?”
We stare at each other. I let her figure it out on her own. It’s rare to meet a woman like me, someone who truly has no interest in finding a partner. I’ve heard that claim from enough girls to know when they’re bullshitting me, and unless Amelia is a Grade-A con artist, she definitely isn’t looking to get serious.
When she understands, the wrinkles on her forehead ease, and she parts her lips. I answer with a knowing smile. Suggesting sex within half an hour of meeting someone might normally get me slapped, but I get the feeling Amelia appreciates a more direct approach.
“I don’t date,” I say, “but I’m still a man with eyes.”
She makes no secret of looking me up and down. “You’re not my type either,” she warns. “I like men who carry a briefcase and see a barber regularly.”
I run my hand through my black hair, which I know is too long. “How’s that working out for you?”
She narrows her eyes. “Fine. Perfect.”
“I have some tattoos too,” I say. “And own a motorcycle. Since that’s normally how I get most girls, I suppose those are turn-offs for you.”
“They are,” she says immediately, straightening her shoulders. “I’ve never understood the appeal of a bad boy.”
“Then tonight, we’re a match made in heaven, aren’t we? It shouldn’t be hard for either of us to say goodbye afterward.”
She bats her eyelashes a few times, not because she’s flirting but because she’s thinking. Considering. Which means it’s basically a done deal. I’ve never gotten this far with a girl only to have her walk away. “Why even bother with dinner?” she asks.
I take a moment to study her, her shoulder-length, perfectly coifed blonde hair. Her defined red lips that look like a heart when pursed, which is often. Yeah, based on the fact that I’m noticing details—something I try not to do anymore—I know I’m feeling her tonight. Most guys would jump at the opportunity to skip the small talk, but that doesn’t really appeal to me. I like women, always have. Just because Shana fucked me in the head doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate them. Doesn’t mean I don’t want to spend time around them—just so long’s it’s surface stuff.
I don’t want to scare her off by suggesting I might want to have a conversation with her, so I just shrug. “Because I’m starving.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Indulge me then. I need my energy.”
“For what?” she asks.
I arch an eyebrow at her. I’ll definitely need sustenance to handle her for a night.
She reads my expression, and her cheeks redden. “Oh.”
I mentally high-five myself for making this obviously composed woman both laugh and blush in such a short timespan.
She squints over my shoulder and after a few seconds, shakes her head. “No. It’s a bad idea. I’m sorry.”
Huh. I expected some pushback, but not a hard no. “What’s bad about it?”
“I just haven’t been with anybody since—” She focuses behind me, as if there’s something holding her attention. I know there isn’t. She doesn’t want to refuse me, but it’s easier if she pretends not to see me. “So, I wouldn’t be . . . it’s been a while since I did it.”
“Did what?” I ask. I know what she’s getting at, but she seems to value her façade, and that only makes me curious about what’s beneath it.
She looks back at me. “Sex.”
“Oh, don’t worry about that.” I grin. With a breeze, a few pieces of her hair break away from the mold and stick to her lipstick. There’s not much she can do about it since her hands are full, so I reach up and clear the strands away, letting my fingertips graze her cheek. For such a hard exterior, her skin is surprisingly smooth. She flinches, but I push my luck and tuck the hair behind her ear. “It’ll come back to you,” I say. “I’ll make sure of it.”
“But—”
“Look at me.”
She does, and whatever’s holding her back dims. “Just so we’re on the same page, you want to have a one-night stand. Sex only.”
My stomach tightens at the image her bluntness conjures—her, naked beneath me, tits high, perfect blonde hair tangled from my hands, red lipstick smeared from my mouth. In no time at all, I could have this beauty’s long, toned legs wrapped around my waist. She’s everything I normally avoid—uptight, snobby, self-possessed—and I can’t seem to walk away. Maybe dinner was a bad idea after all. I’m tempted to skip ahead to the good part.
“Yeah,” I say. “Just sex.”
“Completely casual. No strings. Just tonight.”
I nod. “That’s all I have to give.”
“Same here.”
“So let’s start with dinner. See how we get on.” Since I’m confident in my ability to seduce her, I add, “If you change your mind, we’ll go our separate ways.”
“Okay.” She steps back. “I know of a great dinner spot around here.”
“Is there pizza?”
“No. I told you, I don’t eat carbs.”
“I don’t understand that sentence.” I nod for her to follow me. “Come on.”
“I’m not getting pizza.”
I keep walking, listening for the click of her heels behind me. “You don’t like it?”
“Nope.”
“Well, I don’t like the city, but here I am, spending the evening here. We’re changing things up tonight.”
She huffs but doesn’t protest any more. After a second, she catches up with me. “If you want to win me over, you should know, I don’t take orders well.”
I glance sidelong at her, containing my smile. “You will once I’m through with you.”
She gapes. “What does that mean?”
“Means I never met a challenge I didn’t accept, and you just gave me a very enticing one. We’ll see later on how long you last resisting my orders.”
She looks skeptical. “Have it your way, then. I was just trying to help you seduce me, but if you’d rather make more work for yourself . . .”
“So you’re saying you aren’t a sure thing tonight?” A young guy with music blasting from his phone dances jerkily toward us. I put an arm around Amelia and steer her out of the way. “Because I don’t mind,” I continue. “Like I said, I’m up for the challenge.”
“Good,” she says, tossing her hair over one shoulder. “So am I.”
“Then I hate to disappoint you, but I am a sure thing.”
She raises an eyebrow up at me. “Well, you are a man.”
“It’s not that.” It’s more refreshing than I realized to be able to be straight with a woman. “I just find you attractive, and there’s almost nothing you can say to change my mind at this point.”
The guy has passed us, but Amelia doesn’t pull away at first. When she does, I’m tempted to keep her close. I can see I’ll have to give her a little longer to loosen up, though.
“Nothing at all?” she asks.
I groan. “Why do I think you’re going to take that as a challenge to drive me away?”
“I wouldn’t do that,” she says, but I hear the teasing in her voice. She might. But I’m horny, and she’s hot, so I’m up for a little game of cat and mouse. Besides, it’s not as if I have anywhere to be tonight.
THREE
The pizza place has a line out the door, and as Amelia and I walk up, it becomes obvious it’s more of a kiosk than a restaurant. Standing room only, people loiter outside with their slices.
“I didn’t realize we couldn’t sit down,” I tell Amelia before I even notice her scowl. “Should we go somewhere else?”
“Somewhere without pizza?”
I chuckle. “No. There will be pizza.”
“Then no.” She smiles thinly and adjusts the things in her arms. “This is fine. Not much of a first date, but—”
“Whoa—hang on. If this is a date, I’ll take you somewhere entirely different. I’ll romance the shit out of you.”
&nb
sp; She looks amused. “It was a joke. Obviously, I prefer we leave romance out of it.”
“Oh.” I rub the back of my neck, surprised my mind went immediately to romance. There’s a girl back in Jersey, Denise, a friend from high school. She gets my situation—I’m not emotionally available. Still, when Denise and I hook up, she always tries to squeeze some romance out of me, either with dinner or by asking about Bell. That hasn’t been my thing since Shana left. “So what was his name?”
Amelia blinks and looks up at me. We take a step forward in line together. “Who?”
“The ex.”
“Does it matter?”
“I guess not.” I put my hands in my pockets. “Would you rather talk about the weather?”
Her shoulders lower just a bit. “Reggie. He works downtown. Finance.”
“That still your type? Suits?”
“I don’t know if I have a type anymore. I’ve considered becoming a lesbian, but . . .”
I roll my lips together and smile. She’d look good curled around another woman. Or around me. And since I know where she’s headed with this, I’d love nothing more than for her to finish her sentence. “But?”
She looks me in the eye. “But I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“I’d miss . . .”
I egg her on. “You’d miss . . .?”
“A man,” she says quickly. “The way it feels to be touched by a man.”
It takes great effort to hold her gaze and not let my eyes travel down. Her skirt is tight, and I’d like to peel it away and see what’s underneath. No doubt her ass is firm and round. My mind flashes to later, when her legs will be all mine—the insides of her thighs, the backs of her knees, the arches of her feet. I clear my throat. “Hot as it would be, I’m glad you aren’t a lesbian.”
“What about you?” she asks.
“I have nothing against lesbians,” I say, raising the corner of my mouth. “Personally, I’m a fan.”
A hint of a smile crosses her lips. “I mean, you’ve made it clear I’m not your type. Was your ex the ‘biker chick’ you referred to earlier?”
I glance down. It’s been nearly four years, so I can finally think about Shana without getting too worked up. Still, she’s far from my favorite topic. “Yeah.”
“That’s it?” Amelia asks. “Yeah? You’re the one who brought exes up.”
Her eyes sparkle. She knows exactly what she’s doing, and that I’d rather not talk about it. But there’s something appealing about the fact that Amelia knows nothing about me or Shana, unlike everyone else in my life. And if we’re only spending one night together, what’s the harm in making conversation? I blow out a sigh. “Even though she hurt me, I generally stick to that type of girl. Present company excluded.”
She tilts her head. “Why me then?”
“Couldn’t tell you,” I say with a wink. I like that I can tease her without worrying how she’ll react. To offend her, she’d have to care what I think, and she clearly doesn’t.
She half-smirks. “What’s her name?”
“Shana.”
“Is she the mother of the girl with you earlier?”
“You mean my daughter? Yeah.” I laugh. She’s clearly uncomfortable with me having a kid. We take a few steps forward, nearing the counter. “Shana walked half a mile to my garage because of an empty tank, so I drove her back to her car, filled her up, and the rest is history. We were dating a few weeks when she got pregnant. Around Bell’s third birthday, Shana left. The end.”
Amelia jerks her head toward me. “The end? That’s it?”
I look forward. I may have learned to accept how Shana left, but the pity in people’s eyes never gets any easier to swallow. “It was almost four years ago. We get on fine without her. Better, even.”
“I can understand why you don’t date. I wouldn’t either.” She looks up at me. Her eyes are slightly too big for her face, and she looks deceivingly innocent. “Will you ever marry again?”
“Doubt it. You?”
“Never.”
The abruptness of her answer shouldn’t surprise me, but I cock my head. “Just like that? What if you fall in love?”
“I won’t if I can help it.”
I open my mouth to tell her that’s a shame—even though she’s given me nothing but shit, there are undoubtedly men out there who’d happily do the bidding of a sharp-witted, gorgeous blonde. But that’d make me a hypocrite. I’d be a fool to fall in love after the way I was burned, and I sure as hell don’t plan on being a fool twice. “I think you and I are going to make great friends,” I say.
“If we’re going to eat pizza, have sex, and then get back to our own lives, then you might be my best friend in the world.”
I grin. “Does this mean you’ll have a slice?”
“Not a chance in hell.”
“Next,” a man behind the counter calls. We step up.
Before I can open my mouth, Amelia orders. “I’ll have a salad, no cheese, dressing on the side.”
“All we got is a side salad,” the man says, punching the register. “Not exactly our specialty, though.”
“That’s fine. I’m not that hungry.” She thumps her magazines, folders, thermos and package on the counter to rifle through one of her bags.
“I’ve got this,” I tell her.
She ignores me, handing a five-dollar bill to the cashier.
I don’t mind playing the boyfriend for a night, because I know this isn’t real, but she seems to want to keep things separate. If there weren’t a long line behind us, I’d argue with her.
“I’ll take two slices of the Meat Lover’s,” I say, “and one cheese. You can put the cheese from her salad on that.”
Amelia gapes at me. “Three slices? With extra cheese? They’re the size of your head.”
“Lay off.” I rub my stomach. “I haven’t eaten since lunch.”
“It’s six o’clock.”
I shrug and pay for my pizza. She picks up all her things again, balancing the plastic salad container on top. Each of my slices is the size of the paper plate it’s on, so I stack them. Since our hands are ridiculously full, I grab a plastic bag from the cashier.
“You have too much shit.” I put my food on the seat of a chained-up bicycle and toss her thermos in the bag along with her divorce papers, magazines, the package, and anything else I can fit. “What do you need all this for?”
“It’s work.”
I hook the bag on my elbow and get my plates. “Damn. I forgot to order a drink.”
“I’m not waiting in line again.”
“These places charge double what a bodega does anyway. Let’s walk.”
As we head down the block, I take an enormous bite of the first slice, chewing as Amelia picks out a few rogue pieces of feta. Finally, she drizzles dressing on the lettuce and eats a forkful.
“That’s disgusting,” I say.
She widens her eyes. “Salad? Do you have any idea how many calories are in one of those slices, let alone three?”
“Are you calling me fat?”
“Hardly. You must find ways to burn it off.”
“I do,” I say, leaning toward her a little. “And I love to get creative about it.”
I’m trying to get her to blush again, but to her credit, she doesn’t. “So do I,” she says. “I’ve been doing yoga for years, but sometimes nothing hits the spot like a few hours of straight-up, hardcore, sweaty cardio.”
I don’t know where to start with that. First, I’m picturing Amelia in naked downward dog, the only yoga position I know. She’s not even bent over a second before I’m coming up behind her to cash in on that sweaty, hardcore cardio. I forget all about my pizza, and a slice slides over the edge. I fumble, barely catching it before it hits the ground.
Amelia doesn’t even pretend to hide her laugh. “Smooth.”
Christ, I need to get this woman in bed STAT. I can’t decide if I want her to be this sassy between the sheets, or if I want her t
o drop the façade and submit. A little of both. This might be an all-nighter. “I hope you don’t have an early morning planned,” I say.
“I might, but it won’t affect tonight.”
God. Damn. I’m dangerously close to skipping ahead and booking us the nearest hotel. Luckily, we reach a bodega before I can Google where that might be. I run inside to grab beer and, with a bolt of lightning genius, condoms, just in case she doesn’t have any. I stick two beers under my arm and return to Amelia, who’s still picking at her salad. I can see by her figure she was telling the truth about yoga. She’s thin and fit, but despite her ample breasts and ass, she could use some more meat on her bones. I snatch the salad from her hands.
“Hey,” she squeals, leaping toward me.
I toss it in a nearby trashcan. “That was fine as an appetizer, but now you need to eat. I offer her the cheese slice from the bottom of my pizza tower. “Here.”
“That’s yours.”
“I ordered it for you.”
“But I told you—”
“You don’t eat carbs, I know. Can you make an exception for me? I got you a beer too.”
“You’re insane,” she says. “I haven’t had beer since college. I only drink whisky.”
“Whisky?” My pants get tight with a single word. “Let me get this straight . . . you don’t get clingy, you’re a yoga goddess, and you exclusively drink whisky? You just keep getting hotter.”
“And I intend to stay that way.” She takes a step back, raising her palms. “Thanks but no thanks.”
She’s fun to mess with, but it hits me that she might really take her diet too seriously. “Amelia, come on. I ordered this for you, and I’d like you to eat it.”
She shakes her head. “I don’t like pizza.”
“I don’t believe that. It’s fucking cheese and bread. Nobody on this planet doesn’t like cheese and bread.”
“Then I must be from another planet.”
“I’m beginning to think you are.” I shove it toward her. “Just take a bite. I won’t tell anyone.”
“Listen . . .” She pauses with her mouth open. A flush creeps up her chest to her neck, and it takes me a moment to realize why.
“You don’t remember my name,” I say.
The First Taste (Slip of the Tongue Book 2) Page 3