Greatest Distraction (Distracted #1)

by Juli Valenti

  I thanked her before I pulled my coffee close to me. Pouring only a bit of cream, followed by one sugar packet, my cup was ready to go. I sighed happily as I breathed in the rich aroma and took a sip. Perfect. As I brought the mug to my lips for another swallow, my attention turned to Dane.

  “What, in the name of all that’s coffee greatness, are you doing to that poor drink?” I asked him. I know I sounded appalled, but I couldn’t help it. The brew was obviously fresh and not cheap Folgers, either, and here he was, completely annihilating it. Four sugar packets lay empty and discarded on the table, at least three more in his hand, poised to be dumped in. I shuddered to think what he was planning with the creamer.

  “What?” he asked, following through with his continued abuse. That poor cup of coffee. I tried to close my eyes as he reached for the hazelnut-flavored creamer, but it was just too much.

  “No!” I exclaimed and he hesitated. I sounded crazy, but didn’t he realize what he was going to ruin? It’s coffee … not cotton candy for crying out loud. “Please, please, don’t dump that in too. You already have about a pound of sugar in it. Want a little coffee with your sugar? Geez. Did you even taste this? It should be savored. I just can’t let you drink that monstrosity.” Dane stared at me, perplexed, the offending cream teetering in his hand. My eyes were glued to it, hoping I could will it to not pour by sheer will. Thankfully, my mind power must’ve worked, because he gently set the small container down.

  “Wow … passionate about coffee much?” he asked.

  “Here, try mine,” I demanded, pushing my mug toward him and accidentally knocking over the stupid liquid. Horrified, I watched as it tipped and dripped down the table, right into his lap. The whole scene unfolded and I swear it was almost in slow motion. “Oh, shit! I’m sorry,” I said, dropping my head into my hands, hiding my face.

  Laughter met my mortification and I glanced up to find Dane cracking up, almost falling out of his chair, napkin in hand. I tried to apologize again, but only managed to look like a fish, my mouth opening and closing fast.

  “Are you this passionate about everything? Or were you merely trying to get me out of my pants? If it’s the latter, I promise, you won’t need to spill something on me when the time comes. If it was the former…” his voice trailed off, mischief blatant in his face.

  “If it was?” I prompted, curious to his thought process and desperately trying to ignore the last thirty seconds or so. What the hell are you doing, Ryen? You haven’t been this bad since Tristan in the sixth grade. The voice in my head was seriously starting to piss me off. It was like a bad prom picture – it wasn’t going away, and all it did was embarrass you long after the time had ended.

  “I already know you’re the passionate type, I felt that when I kissed you – but if that passion extends to everything, I’m in for a world of the best kind of trouble,” he answered me, dabbing at his pants, not at all angry with me, it would seem. Instead, he actually seemed even more intrigued.

  “Try the damned coffee,” I muttered, unsure of what to say to that. Was I passionate? I guess I was, probably in everything I did, I just never really thought about it. Coffee, though, was … well … it needed a freaking shrine in my opinion. Abusing coffee could possibly be the first, and only – at least so far – tick against him. You’re stupid, came the voice again. Nuh-uh, you are, I told it back.

  I held my breath as Dane finally reached for my mug and lifted to his lips. Enthralled, I watched as his eyes closed and his tongue peaked out to catch any stray liquid left on his mouth. He hummed a sound that could be either satisfaction or disgust, making me nervous. I couldn’t explain why it was important to me that he liked the silly caffeinated drink, but it was. It didn’t make any sense, even to me, but it was what it was.

  “Alright, you win,” he told me after gently sliding the mug back toward me. “It’s better the way you have it.”

  “Mmhmm,” I said nonchalantly, like I hadn’t just been hanging on his every move for that exact answer. “I’m not one to say I told you so … but I sort of did. Well, I was going to, before I decided to throw creamer on you, at least. Sorry again about that.”

  “If that’s the worst that you do to me, I’d say we’re already way past some of the problems I’ve had on previous dates.”

  “This isn’t a date,” I informed him, adamant. Hadn’t we determined this before? No? Maybe I’d just thought it and we’d never talked about it. Crap … did we, or didn’t we?

  “Sure it is,” he said. “I told you that you’d know when we’re on a date … and that I’d be paying.”

  “Well, I certainly don’t know this is a date. Actually, I’m pretty positive it isn’t. And you’re not paying for me either.”

  As if she had ESP and could tell that this conversation thread was bound to turn into a childish back-and-forth argument, Maggie appeared. Juggling all the plates like a pro, she placed first my plates down, then Dane’s. Syrup followed, along with an assortment of jams and more napkins. There seemed to be a lot more plates than I’d planned, but my stomach roared with all the intensity of a lion seeing an injured zebra.

  “This looks amazing,” I murmured as the waitress stepped back. Impatient, I poured a small amount of maple syrup on my pancakes and shoved a very unladylike amount into my mouth. Oh sweet Jesus.

  “Can I get you anything else?”

  “I ‘fink we’re good,” I answered, mouth full. Why did people at restaurants do that? They always asked you questions when you were eating. Just like at the dentist, it never failed. Maybe I should have waited to start using the shovel … maybe.

  “I believe, what this pretty girl was trying to say, is that we’re all set. Thank you, Maggie,” Dane said gentlemanly and damn if that woman didn’t bat her eyelashes. I stared up at her, evaluating her in her mid-forties prime. She was pretty, I guess, for an older woman, but something about her reaction to the guy I was on a date with really bothered me. Shit, you said date!

  “Yes, we’re great – these are fab, by the way,” I said, swallowing quickly and motioning at the hotcakes. I looked pointedly at Maggie when she said nothing and hadn’t moved away, which pushed her into motion, thanking me and heading off to check on other late night/early morning patrons. Content that she wasn’t mentally undressing Dane, I took another large bite. As I chewed I had the eerie feeling that someone was watching me and I glanced up to see Dane staring at me, his food untouched.

  “Your food okay?” I asked him.

  “It’s fine. I like a girl with an appetite,” he said as he continued to look at me. I fought back anxious fidgets, determined not to feel bad.

  “I haven’t eaten all day. Vodka isn’t one of the main food groups,” I offered, sharing with him the conclusion I’d come to earlier.

  “Don’t mind me. I’m just imaging all the other things you jump into with that much zeal. It’s fun to watch … especially in a circle where women usually pick at spring salads. They’re freaking annoying, thinking it’s sexy, but it’s not. That,” he said, pointing at my carb-filled fork as I was lifting it once more. “That, right there, is sexy. I dig it.”

  I dig you. The thought came unbidden and, instead of squashing it, I let it hang in my subconscious where it would. No point in fighting it. If I thought the guy was a complete waste of time, a money seeker looking for a quick payout, or a complete troll, I wouldn’t still be sitting here. I was adult enough to admit it, even if only to myself.

  The rest of the meal conversation stayed light as we talked about pretty much everything, from favorite movies and music to places we wanted to visit or had already. We glazed over the hard topics, religion and politics, family and business, both enjoying the easy banter and each other. Some things were layered in innuendo, others innocent, and I couldn’t remember a more fulfilling meal.

  Chapter Ten

  “I’m coming, I’m coming,” I groaned as I sat up in bed, the constant knocking on the front door downstairs waking me from the best dream
ever. Not even joking, it really was the best dream ever, involving my beautiful, precious dress on the floor and a certain hottie warming my sheets.

  The rapping didn’t even hesitate at my words, and I stormed downstairs, grabbing my robe off the back of the bedroom door on my way. Shrugging into it just as I opened the door, I was greeted with the surprised face of one of the building’s doormen. I vaguely recognized him from my zombie walk in early this morning, but I didn’t remember his name.

  “I’m so sorry to bother you, Miss,” he started, his eyes never leaving my face. Good man, I thought as I continued to belt my robe and leaned against the door jam. “But a Mrs. Baker has been trying to reach you. She seemed so worried, in fact, that she called the front desk several times, demanding that one of us make sure you made it home safe. If you could please call her, and inform her that you are, indeed, just fine, she would be pleased.”

  Uh oh. This poor guy. I can only imagine the hell Elle put him through to get him to make his way up here and personally disturb a resident. She would’ve had to do some quick talking for that, I’m sure.

  “Erm…” I said, pausing to run my hand through my hair before starting again. “I’m sorry. I was sleeping, I got in late … early … late. Anyway, I must not have heard my cell phone. I’ll call her. Sorry you had to come all the way up here.”

  The man merely smiled before he honest-to-goodness tipped his hat toward me and adjusted his suit coat, making his way back to the elevator. I watched as he entered the elevator before shutting the door. Dane and I had sat together in the restaurant for hours just talking. We hadn’t even realized that the sun had started to rise until Maggie was asking to cash us out so the shifts could change. After paying the tab, which we fought over for a good fifteen minutes – he won - Dane led me back out to his car and drove me home.

  I’d zombie walked to my bedroom, suddenly absolutely exhausted. I’d still been aware and with the program enough to remember to hang my gown back up and put my shoes away before throwing myself into bed. The last time I looked at the clock it was six-twenty-eight. According to the clock over the stove it was only eleven fourteen. Great. Five hours of sleep.

  Trying to shake the sleep and dream fog from my head, I went in search of my clutch; my phone was still in it. Now if I could just remember where I’d dropped the cheap bag. Maybe this was why Elle was so into designer labels … Maybe if it’d been a Prada bag or something I would’ve been much more apt to put it somewhere I could find it later.

  After deducting that it wasn’t in either the living area or the kitchen, I started to climb the stairs once more. Perhaps I’d brought it into the bedroom, or maybe the bathroom. Did I go to the bathroom last night? Just as I reached the top landing, there was a knock on the front door … again. You’ve got to be kidding me, I thought. Feeling more annoyed by my best friend than grateful that she cared, I downed the steps quickly and swung the door open.

  “I said I’d call her!” I exclaimed, only to clamp a hand over my mouth. The doorman hadn’t come back to scold me and tell me to call Elle. Nope. It was none other than Dane.

  “Bad morning?” he asked, holding his hands up, my purse in one of them, in placation. How was it fair that he looked bright eyed and bushy tailed on such little sleep? Surely he’d gotten less than me since he’d gotten home later than I had.

  “No, I thought … never mind.” I kept my hand over my mouth, hoping to hold back any morning breath that may have been filling the air around me. “What are you doing here?”

  “You left your bag in my car – figured you’d want it. I didn’t look inside, I promise,” he said, looking behind me at the interior of the apartment.

  “Are you stalking me?”

  “Didn’t we go over that last night? No. I’m not a crazy stalker – I dropped you off last night. Ron remembered me and told me which number you were.” I must’ve had the question written all over my face because he elaborated without me asking. “The doorman - his name’s Ron. Don’t you ever read anyone’s name tags, Ryen?”

  “Um … yes? Do you want to come in?” I asked, stepping to the side to allow him room. Unspeaking, he stepped forward, close enough I could smell his aftershave, and, underneath that, him. I was suddenly very aware that all that separated my body from his was the thin silk of my robe and the lace of my panties. Not. Fair. At. All.

  “Sure,” he whispered, handing over my clutch. I took it, opening it immediately and plucking my phone out of it. Two percent battery life remaining and sixteen missed calls – all of them from Elle. Wow, that girl was determined, wasn’t she?

  The door closing behind Dane startled me and I was suddenly very aware that I was barely dressed. Should I plug my phone in and call Elle, let her know I’m alive? Or should I get dressed, then call? I didn’t want to make Dane uncomfortable by leaving him to sit alone in the apartment but I also desperately needed clothes.

  “Nice place,” Dane’s voice broke the silence I hadn’t even realized we’d been in.

  “Thanks. It’s my friend’s place. I lived here while in college.” He made an acknowledging sound in his throat before turning and moving to explore the kitchen.

  “Um … I’ll be right back, okay? Just make yourself at home.”

  Not waiting for him to say anything, I bolted to the stairs, taking them two at a time. The breeze that graced my bum as I moved told me I’d made the right decision. I frantically unzipped my suitcase and sorted through the items I’d brought. Garments were flying, being flung every which way. How hard was it to find a pair of freaking pants? Any pants would do at this point – I wasn’t picky.

  After nearly dumping the entire case, I finally touched a pair of soft black yoga pants with a colored band. The stars must’ve been on my side because a matching tank lay folded beneath them. Feeling triumphant, I hopped on one foot, awkwardly pulling the fabric up. My bum sighed in relief – well, not literally – but it felt good to be somewhat covered. The orange, giraffe-faced tank was next, slipping over my head as I moved toward the bathroom.

  Must. Brush. Teeth. Then I’d call Elle so she wouldn’t send a SWAT team to beat down my door. As for Dane … I’d deal with him when I got to him. Unfortunately I kept getting sidetracked once in the bathroom. Teeth brushing led to face washing, face washing led to hair brushing, and hair brushing led to a ten-minute internal argument over whether or not to shave my underarms. Stop looking at me like you don’t know what I’m talking about. Leaving before I could change my mind, I snatched my phone charger from my carry on and tip toed back down the stairs. Halfway down the smell of grease greeted me. Huh?

  “Are you alive up there?” Dane shouted, loudly, obviously unaware I was almost in the room.

  “I’m alive down here,” I remarked from behind him, stifling a chuckle as he jumped. “Didn’t mean to scare you. What are you doing?” The question was slightly redundant as I watched him stir something in a pan at the stove. Clearly he was cooking, but what, I couldn’t tell.

  “You didn’t scare me … you just snuck up on me, ninja-like, is all,” he told me, flashing me a smile. “’Sounded like an army had stormed the upstairs before all went silent. I was afraid you’d been taken hostage and all I had to avenge you with was a pan and spatula.”

  “Har har,” I said mockingly. I thought I’d been damn quiet … guess not.

  “I like that,” he informed me, pointing at my shirt with said spatula. “I shouldn’t be surprised that you look great, even in lazy lounge clothes. I’m not even sure which Ryen I like best. Bar-bitch Ryen? Red carpet, designer Ryen? Or this Ryen … laid back, yoga pants wearing, hair in a top knot, beautiful with no makeup on, I’m-dying-to-kiss-you, Ryen.”

  The man was a freaking magician. Before I could even blink, he’d pulled me to him, his mouth firm against mine. I sighed, my lips inadvertently giving his tongue access to explore. He tasted like coffee and man and so good it was sinful on such little sleep. My arms wrapped around him of their own accord, my body
melting flush against him. A voice inside my head begged for him to lift me onto the bar counter, to wrap my legs around his waist and take delicious advantage of me. I wish I could say I disagreed with the sentiment, but as one of his hands stilled my face, the other gripping my hip, I couldn’t. Despite barely knowing the man, I couldn’t deny the desire I felt.

  Dane broke the heated kiss, his eyes blazing as he stared at me for a moment.

  “Food,” he said in explanation and I stifled the urge to tell him to ignore it. I’ll be your breakfast, the voice in my head declared proudly.

  “Yes.” My voice was breathy and soft as I fought to regain my composure. Wasn’t there something I needed to be doing? My brain had apparently traveled south, only thinking I shouldn’t have put clothes on – less would’ve been better.

  “Hungry?” Dane asked, his tone still husky and not quite normal yet. I shook my head to clear it and plugged my phone into the outlet at the bar counter. Call Elle … that’s what I’d forgotten.

  “Very.” I deny any accusations that my reply had any sexual innuendo to it. I strictly meant food. Dane’s eyes had snapped to my face though … I’m pretty sure he didn’t believe my ‘no innuendo’ monologue. That’s alright, I didn’t either.

  Winking at him, I perched myself on one of the bar stools and dialed Elle.

  “You’d better not be dead, Ryen Francis Macek, or I’ll seriously be pissed,” came my friend’s voice, serious and worried all at the same time.

  “I’m fine … geez let a girl recover.”

  “Do you know how many times I’ve called you?! You had me worried sick!”

  “Sixteen, actually, I saw … Sorry, Mom … Elle. I, erm, misplaced my phone. Wouldn’t have mattered anyway. I was asleep until about thirty minutes ago.”

  As I spoke, Dane placed a fresh cup of coffee in front of me. I eyed it wearily, the memory of his coffee mutilation still playing in my mind. The color looked right, though. Breathing deeply, I tentatively took a sip. Ahh, it was perfect. You learn well, young grasshopper. I beamed at him, mouthing a silent ‘thank you.’ Dane nodded, returning my smile before stirring his creation again. I had no idea what he was making, but it smelled divine. Watching him move confidently in my kitchen was an added bonus.