by Jewel E. Ann
“That depends.”
I jump, not expecting him to be standing in the doorway with his arms crossed over his chest looking completely worthy of playing hooky, which I have never done.
“On?” I’m already squeezing on a glob of toothpaste because it’s happening whether he likes it or not.
“On if you need me to send you my dental records first.”
I finish scrubbing and spit. “Not funny,” I shake my head but grin as I start to brush past him.
He grabs me and pins me to the wall, attacking my neck like a horny vampire. “Well your face says otherwise.”
I wriggle out of his hold and grab my purse and keys.
“No breakfast?”
“I’ll have my Green Lantern at the hospital.”
He pulls on a shirt, shoves his feet into his boots, and follows me onto the elevator. “Green Lantern? Is this something I should know about?” Pulling me into his arms, he kisses me until my knees literally give out.
After walking me to my car he kisses me again, and I’m so going to need a panty change when I get to work.
“Go save the world.”
I get in and he shuts my door. Before I pull out, I roll down my window. “Oh, and if you truly love me, then you will most certainly do your homework on the Green Lantern.” I blow him a kiss and speed off.
*
The next forty-eight hours run together in a continuous blur. A nasty string of influenza hits early leaving the ER understaffed. I haven’t been home yet, and my intermittent sleep in the on-call room has left me feeling on the borderline of nausea and hallucination.
“You look like shit.”
“Thanks, Jade,” I say through a big yawn.
“You safe to drive home?”
“Good question, but I think if I roll down a window and blast the radio I should be fine.”
Slinging my bag over my shoulder, I glance at my phone. Trick’s not a stalker and he’s definitely not clingy. I’ve texted him several times over the past two days just to let him know I wouldn’t be leaving the hospital anytime soon. He’s replied once with “That sucks.” I guess it’s better than nothing. Right now I’m craving him, but I need sleep so I decide to go home; besides it’s nine in the morning and he’s probably working anyway.
Me: FINALLY done. Going home to crash. Miss you.
By the time I stagger into my house twenty minutes later, my phone chimes.
Trick: Want me to come tuck you in?
Ugh! Yes, I want to see him, but I look like crap and feel exhausted.
Me: Yes, BUT I think I’d like it even more if you come wake me in about 6 hrs.
Trick: I’ll see what I can do.
I want to swoon over thoughts of him, but the moment my body hits the bed I’m out.
*
Six hours later I force myself to crawl out of bed, straight into the bathroom. Nearly seventy-two hours without showering is all kinds of wrong. Trick missing out on my oily, matted bed head and hairy pits is in everyone’s best interest.
After drying my hair, I head down to the kitchen expecting an Old Mother Hubbard moment since I haven’t been grocery shopping in over a week. The cupboards are bare, but on the top shelf of my refrigerator is a bottle of Green Lantern with a note attached to it.
I guess this means I love you. Six hours didn’t fit my schedule. Showed up at four—by the way, you snore like a fog horn.
Shaking the bottle of green juice, I roll my eyes. “I don’t snore.” Not even his snarky humor can take away my over-the-moon high the rest of his note gives me. Turning to grab my phone from its charger, I see another note attached to a DVD.
Just in case I was wrong about the juice.
The DVD is Green Lantern. I laugh out loud. A guy who’s not afraid to give his girl a Ryan Reynolds movie, how lucky am I? Now I need to see him, touch him, taste him, smell him. Instinct takes over and within minutes I’m on my way to Rogue Seduction, juice in hand, enormous grin. I see him in the window working his artistic magic as I park my car and pay with my ParkChicago app on my phone.
I wrangle my hair in one hand as the wind fights to whip it in every direction while I hustle across the street and into the building. The admittedly stunning young blonde on his stool glances over at me while he concentrates on her face, not acknowledging my presence.
“Hi,” I call.
“He’s in the zone, don’t expect him to answer.”
I turn, having missed the Gabrielle Union lookalike sitting at the register doing something on the computer. Yep, she fits right in here—flawless mocha skin, dark eyes, brilliant teeth, cheekbones to die for, and long black silk hair.
“Do you have an appointment?” She flashes her beautifully warm and inviting smile.
Between the four of us in the room, without a doubt I’m the one who looks like a troll. Thank God I at least took a shower. “Um, no I don’t. I just stopped by to see him.”
“Is he expecting you?”
I’m ready to collapse out of site and slither out the door. Why do I feel so out of place?
“I am.” Trick’s voice heats my skin and does embarrassing things to me in other areas as well.
I turn but his back is still to me.
The beauty at his desk raises a surprised brow and grins. “Can I offer you something to drink? Wine, coffee, tea, water?”
“Thank you, but I’m fine right now.”
She nods and motions to the two black leather studio sofas by the window. “Feel free to have a seat while you wait.”
I smile and take a seat. Trick never mentioned he has a receptionist and I haven’t seen her before. I mentally add her to the million other questions I still have for my mystery man.
Over the next twenty-five minutes I browse through the tabloids on the side table while listening to soft jazz mixed with the occasional blues when his receptionist changes the album on the old turn table. Walking past me she eyes me with a Cheshire cat grin and the blonde offers the occasional feral cat look that says she might scratch my eyes out if I don’t stop looking at Trick. Meow!
The blonde sashays over to the receptionist while I keep my head down, like I’m in the wrong part of Chicago after dark.
“Come.” I look up just as Trick has already passed me, walking toward a door in the back. Glancing around, I wonder if he is talking to me.
“Now, Darby.”
Okay, he’s talking to me.
I scuttle after him as if I’m sneaking off. I’m met with his stone expression as he holds the door open for me. He flips on the light and shuts the door to a ten-by-ten storage room with shelving along two walls.
“I only have ten minutes,” he says with clipped words.
I look around at the stacks of cosmetics and accessories on the shelves and then at him as he moves toward me. “Oh, well then I’ll come back la—”
Trick grabs my hair and smashes his mouth to mine giving me an instant case of whisker burn. The best burn ever! I grab his biceps for balance. He’s hungry and I’m starving. Releasing my lips, he shrugs off his shirt.
“You’re going to come alright, but it’s going to be in the next two minutes.”
Fuck. Me! I think I just did.
“B-But your receptionist is out there,” I say with a breathy voice as he unfastens my jeans and yanks them down with my panties while I grip his hair for support.
He looks up at me with a quick flash of confusion, then smiles. “She is, so I’d tell you to keep it down, but I’m not sure that’s going to be possible.”
“Why do you say th-thaaaat!” I scream as he simultaneously thrusts two fingers into me and sucks my clitoris, claiming the world’s fastest orgasm. NOT a gentleman! “Trick! Oh my God … O-oh. My. God!” The choir singing hallelujah echoes in my ears while the ball drops in Times Square with a mind-blowing fireworks display behind my tightly closed eyes, and every nerve in my body cheers in a pandemonium of celebration.
My legs give out, but he has me—my breasts
—my neck—my lips. Then he’s inside me and my body does what it always does—chases him. I’m … I’m barely coherent. I can’t even open my eyes. Every time I start to come down, start to regain consciousness, his hands and lips navigate like magnets to all the erogenous zones on my body and it knocks me out every time.
“Fucking hell! You feel good,” he rasps.
I think he just came, but honesty I-I don’t know. I-I can’t think. He’s still for a brief moment, then he’s releasing his grip on my ass.
“I’m trying to help you out, sexy, but you have to try. Maybe lock your knees or something.”
Stand up. I think I can. Oh God, he’s cleaning me up! A decade or so passes in my brain, and I’m magically dressed again and sitting in the corner of the supply closet.
“Gotta go. I’ll take you to dinner later, okay?” He tosses me a key. “Lock the door when you come out.”
Nod. I think I can do that too. He bends down and kisses me, then leaves, shutting the door behind him. Why is he always leaving me behind?
What just happened?
Crazy. There is no other word for what just happened.
*
Forty-five minutes later—I’m still in the supply closet. Why? I haven’t yet gathered the courage to show my face. His receptionist and everyone within a mile radius heard me; I just know it. As good as … well … whatever that was, it doesn’t excuse the fact that he’s out there with another client and ignoring me stuck in here, paralyzed with humiliation. Kudos to him for walking out like he just came in here to grab a tube of lipstick, but some of us don’t have the special ability to hide all emotion.
Damn! I have to pee.
Surely he will be done soon and come rescue me.
Twenty minutes later …
Eye balls floating.
Thirty minutes later …
Time’s up!
I have to make a choice: wet my pants or face his perfectly put together receptionist. The fact that I’m even contemplating this decision is a real testament to what my BFF does to me. I’m going to kill him!
With a slow turn of the knob, I open the door. The sun has set and it’s dark outside and in here too.
What the hell?
No one’s at the reception area. I shut the door and grab the key from my pocket to lock it, but there’s not a lock on the door.
Seriously … What. The. HELL?
Tiptoeing forward I peek around the corner. The place is empty. My anger heats to a fiery red that matches my hair. I stomp back to the bathroom that I passed and relieve my bladder. I’m so pissed, in the literal and proverbial sense. After I wash my hands, my phone rings. It’s him!
“Yes?” I snap.
“Hey, where are you? I figured you’d wait for me at my place.”
“I am at your place.”
“Really? Um … are you hiding? Because I don’t see you.”
“Very funny, but guess what? I’m not laughing.”
“O-kay … Am I missing something?”
“You left me in the storage closet!”
“Darby, I had to go. I only had ten minutes to get to my next client. I assumed you needed a few minutes to … get it together.”
“What do you mean get to your next client?”
“It was an on-location job in Streeterville.”
“What about your receptionist?”
“My reception—oh, she came with me.”
I stare at the key then open the front door and stick it into the lock. It fits.
“You’re not still in the closet are you?” He laughs and I can tell he’s joking because really … what idiot would still be in the closet?
“Uh … no, of course not.” I lock the door and hustle around the corner to his place.
“I just saw your car still parked on the street and you said you’re at my place, so if you’re not here then—”
I hear the buzz of his door over the phone as I push the button. “It’s me. No more questions. Got it?” I press End and proceed inside to the elevator. He opens the gate when I reach the top, sporting the rare million-dollar-white-teeth smile.
“Not another word,” I warn.
“Hey, Darby!”
I look past Trick to see his receptionist walking down the stairs in the far corner.
“Sorry I didn’t realize who you were when you came in earlier.” She has the most angelic smile.
My cheeks flush. So much for avoiding the embarrassing situation. I offer my hand as she approaches, but she goes straight for the hug. Now would be the appropriate time to play a quick game of twenty questions. Starting with Who are you?
“Darby, this is Tamsen.”
My eyes light up with recognition, then I squint with a bit of confusion. “Grady’s sister?”
She laughs. “Same father, different mothers.”
I nod. “Very nice to meet you.”
“Bye, babe.” She leans up and kisses Trick on the cheek.
“It was nice to meet you, Darby.” She moves past us to the elevator.
My brain tells me I should be jealous now that I know Patrick Roth is not gay. But she has this positive vibe that makes it hard to not like her, and Trick said she’s like family. Like a goddess for a sister.
“Bye,” I say with a few second delay and a kind smile in return.
“Ready?” He pulls on his leather jacket and hands me one too.
I slip my arms through and hold them up, taking notice that it fits me. “Whose jacket is this?”
“Yours.”
“What do you mean?”
He flips the lever for the elevator to come back up. “I mean it’s yours.”
“You bought it for me?” I follow him onto the elevator.
“I did.”
“Thank you.” I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him for the jacket. As for the storage room incident, that I’m still pissed about. Unfortunately, I can’t express all of my anger without confessing the true amount of time I spent in it.
His eyes search my face for a moment. “You’re welcome.”
As the large garage door opens, he twists my hair and pulls on a helmet. It too fits perfectly. Two Goldie Locks moments in one night. I stare at him, not even trying to hide my adoration. He will be the hardest puzzle I’ve ever tried to figure out.
“You’re welcome.” He grins before bringing his own helmet down over his head.
Two questions dance in my head: What am I doing with this mysterious guy that is curiously unpredictable and completely lovable, and what is he doing with me?
Chapter Thirteen
Sometimes knowledge sucks, like now, when all I want is to enjoy the ride but images of gurneys with limp bodies being rushed into the ER after motorcycle-car accidents play in my head. As we weave through traffic, I melt into Trick’s body allowing a small and irrational part of myself to feel safe. Surrendering to my vulnerability, I let him control my fate.
Trick pulls up along the street by Cantina Laredo. After removing his helmet, he takes mine off and I finger through my hair.
“What?” I question because of his signature stoic expression. “I know, I am a mess with my helmet hair and naked face.”
His hands slide up my neck and into my hair, pulling me to him. “You’re a beautiful mess.” He brushes his lips against mine; it’s a mere whisper of a kiss from the docile side of Trick Roth that must have been gagged and tied up by the dominant ego that had his way with me just hours earlier.
On the outside he’s a deep canyon with jagged edges, but I’ve just started to get a glimpse of what most people don’t see past the surface … and it’s stunning.
“Come.” He grabs my hand and leads me to the restaurant.
“You could say please.” I double the speed of my steps to keep up.
“You could say no.” He opens the door and like the true gentleman I don’t think he really is, he lets me enter first.
“What would you do if I said no?”
“Get a table
by the window, order an appetizer, and watch you stand on the sidewalk basking in your independence.”
We’re seated by a window, ironically. “Someone sure did a number on you.” I shake my head.
“Sorry.” He looks over the menu. “I’m in uncharted territory with you. Thank you for accompanying me into the restaurant.” His sly smile steals all sincerity from his words.
Screw it. Trick will be my unsolvable puzzle, and I’ve just decided I wouldn’t want it any other way. He’s a take-me-as-I-am-I-don’t-give-a-shit guy, stopping on the confidence scale a hair shy of arrogant—aka make-you-beg-for-it sexy. I’ve met my match. It’s possible I’m actually way out of my league. No worries, I shall rise to the challenge.
“You’re welcome.” I roll back my shoulders and smile with confidence, looking at my menu. “Thank you for the mind-blowing orgasm in the supply closet.”
“Ah-hem.” Our waitress clears her throat.
Great, how’d I miss her sneaking up on us? I retain my cool smile in spite of the hot flash of embarrassment that races along my skin. Trick doesn’t flinch, with the exception of his lip twitch. Cocky bastard! I’m sure he’s thinking, “That’s right … I’m just that good.” I’m sure she’s thinking, “Could you demonstrate on me?” Her skin matches mine, so that’s exactly what she’s thinking.
“It was my pleasure.” He smirks, staring at his menu.
Oh hell! Kill me now!
I cannot believe he just said that in front of her.
“We’ll have the Top Shelf Guacamole, Camarones Escondidos, and Pescado Del Día. Thank you.” I grab Trick’s menu and shove it along with mine at our unsuspecting and completely flustered waitress.
She stumbles off. I’ll be amazed if she remembers our order.
“You ordered for me?” He leans forward with wide-eyed disbelief.
“Well, she wanted to take our order, but you were too busy flaunting your afternoon conquest so I ordered for the both of us.”
He leans back with a wry grin. “I was simply being polite and engaging in the conversation you started.”
“What happened to your face?”
“So we’re done talking about—”