by B. Cranford
“Daily. I think I listened to it daily.”
“Gimme your phone back, I want to delete it, too.” He held out his hand but she shook her head.
“I already did,” she told him, putting just a little more weight on his cheek, bringing his face in close to hers. “Yesterday morning, when I was sitting there”—she used her free hand to point to the table they’d sat at a day earlier—“waiting for you to order, I got rid of it.”
“Before we talked?”
“Before. Yes.” She smiled when his eyes cleared, not having realized they’d clouded over at the idea of her still being mad at him. “Pretty sure that conversation was a little redundant.”
“It wasn’t. If we hadn’t had it, I wouldn’t have known you needed wooing.”
“And then I’d never have met CrocMan, the Aussie who’s not, and keeper of the prettiest blond curls in all the land.” She moved her hand from his cheek to pull on one of the curls in question, enjoying the feel of his soft strands. “What shampoo do you use? I swear to God, your hair is nicer than mine.”
“Come home with me after this and I’ll show you,” he offered, winking at her in a way that only he could pull off. Winking was not something she’d ever found attractive, but then again, it wasn’t typically Austin winking at her either.
Turned out, winking was crazy attractive when it was those piercing blue eyes doing it.
“What, one date—complete with a minor argument—”
“It wasn’t an argument, it was a mutual agreement that the app was stupid and Looking to Steal Your Girl or whatever his name was, was a gigantic loser.”
“The wooing isn’t complete. But if you walk me home, we might get to first base.”
“Pretty sure I was at first base about five minutes ago, but hey, I’m happy to get there again.”
“Wait, what do you think first base is?”
“Why?” he asked, suspicion in his voice. “What do you think it is?”
She leaned in close and said, “Get a box for these donuts and let’s go back to my place and find out.”
“Deal.”
Chapter Ten
The first blowjob Austin ever received was on his seventeenth birthday, from a girl named Julia. She had thick brown hair and mismatched eyes and a mouth like a Hoover.
It was glorious.
In fact, though he didn’t really know if it was just because it was the first one that it became legend in his mind, it was the head that all other head he received was measured against.
Until dream Odette showed up that night and deep throated him so hard and so well that when he woke up, he had to cup his family jewels to make sure she hadn’t sucked them right off.
It was one of the dumbest thoughts he’d ever had, but he defended himself to himself by whispering the time, “two in the morning,” and enjoying the mind-numbing sensation of having Odie’s body pressed against his.
Though, it wasn’t just his mind that was numb—his arm, which he’d slid under her pillow when they’d fallen into bed a few hours earlier, was tingling with pins and needles. It had been an afternoon of frenzied kisses making way for lazy kisses and even lazier movie-watching and neither of them had wanted it to end, so when she’d asked him to stay, he had readily agreed.
But damn, if he was going to keep sleeping in bed with her, he was going to either have to get used to dead arms or get the hang of cuddling.
I think I could get used to cuddling with Odie.
“Aussie, are you awake?” Odie’s voice was muffled by her pillow, her face hidden in the darkness. But her body? He could feel every bit of real estate where it curled into his, her ass spooned by his groin, her arm laying atop the one that he’d settled over her waist.
“Shh, babe. Go back to sleep.” He listened to her yawn and started to pull her in closer—numb arm be damned—but she abruptly rolled over and away from him. “Hey, where are you going?”
“I can’t sleep with you wrapped around me,” she replied, her voice clearer now that she was facing him.
“Wait, what?” He blinked a few times rapid fire, as if that would help him make sense of what she was saying. “We were literally just asleep with me wrapped around you.”
“Yes, but now I’m awake and I don’t want you touching me.”
He pulled his head back against the impact of her words. “You don’t?” There was hurt in his voice; he could hear it, so he imagined she could, as well.
“Oh, don’t be a baby, Aussie. It’s not that I don’t like cuddling with you, I just . . . I need space.” She slid a hand over the sheets between them and patted his hip.
“This isn’t because I turned down the blowjob was it? Because you can give me one if you really want to.” Because I’m nice like that, he didn’t add. Though he was tempted to.
They’d stumbled back to her apartment, kissing, groping and generally acting like “first base” was about to become a home run, when Austin had put a stop to it. His plan—the one where he wooed her and won her over—didn’t include sex against the front door of her apartment.
Nor did it include the blowjob she’d offered in a sultry voice when they’d finally settled on the couch and his dick had been standing at full attention.
“No, you idiot.” She squeezed his hip, laughing softly, sleepily. “It’s literally that I don’t normally like to be touched while I’m sleeping and I must have been stupid tired to fall asleep with you like that.”
“Oh-kay?”
“Go back to sleep.” She left her hand on his hip as she moved closer and planted a fumbling kiss on the side of his mouth, and then scooted back. Within moments, her breathing had evened out, her body relaxing easily back into sleep.
But not his. He was thinking about dream blowjobs and real ones.
He was thinking about his next wooing move—they both had to work the next few nights, but he was planning to take her somewhere special mid-week when the bar was quieter and her personal training hours were fewer.
And he was still thinking about his brother, who he’d spoken to earlier, though he didn’t really like the connection that his mind made between blow jobs and Aaron.
“Hey, man, where are you?” Austin asked when Aaron finally answered. He’d been prepared for the call to go through to voicemail, but was relieved to actually speak to his big brother.
“Just landed in Phoenix.” A muffled, “excuse me” came down the line, before Aaron addressed him again. “I just called Ash and you were my next call to make, actually.”
“Yeah, you have news?”
“No, nothing yet. But I wanted to talk to you about Ash. About the shower.”
Austin had forgotten about the baby shower Bianca was planning for Ashton, his mind firmly on making things happen with Odie. And on Aaron and Simon’s sudden news. “What about it?”
“I don’t know if I’ll be back in time for it. I’m going to try but if not, can you do something for me? I meant to ask before I left.”
Odie walked into the room, saw him on the phone and smiled. After their interlude against the front door and his refusal of her oral offer, they’d watched a movie and enjoyed each other’s company. She’d been in the shower when he’d thought to call Aaron, deciding that it was the only way to curb his desire to join her under the heated spray.
“One sec, A,” he addressed his brother. Meeting Odie’s eyes, he said, “I ordered in, if you hear a knock. I’m just talking to Aaron.”
Her soft smile made his heart rate settle. He hadn’t even realized that talking to Aaron had increased it—their conversation so innocuous so far—and yet, it had. “Tell him good luck from me.”
He blew her a kiss, not caring if it was corny, and directed his next words to his brother. “Sorry, man. Odie says good luck.”
“I’m relieved you two are finally together, Tiny,” came the typically supportive reply. “You know she’s far too good for you, right?” There was humor in Aaron’s voice, but Austin couldn’t help but
think that there was truth in the statement, too.
“I know, dude. I fucking know.” Then, not wanting to linger too long on anything that made he and Odie seem less than inevitable and right, he redirected the conversation. “So, Ash?”
“Yeah. In the drawer of my desk, there’s a gift for her. Will you make sure she gets it, if I can’t get back in time?” Aaron cleared his throat, another few mumbled words to the people who must be milling around him in the Phoenix airport. And then, “It was ours when we were kids.”
Austin tried to imagine what it was that Aaron had managed to hold on to through all the years—through the collapse of their family—but came up short. “What is it?”
“It was the—oh shit, there’s Simon. Hey, I gotta go.” His voice changed when he spotted his husband, a mixture of love and worry that Austin didn’t, couldn’t, ignore.
“Give him a hug from me, okay? No feeling him up while you do it though.”
“I make no promises. But I won’t tell him it’s from you until after I give it, in case I don’t make it through grope-free.”
Austin laughed, saying his goodbye and ending the call, only to stare at his phone for a little longer.
His family felt on the cusp of something. A few somethings, actually.
Ashton was going to be a mom soon. And maybe Aaron, a dad.
And Austin? He was trying to turn his best friend into his girlfriend—into his forever.
He slipped out of his reflection on that afternoon’s phone call, listening again to the sound of Odie’s soft, smooth breathing. She seemed so peaceful, so at odds with the tumultuous feeling that was keeping him awake.
It wasn’t that he was worried about them—he wasn’t. It was more of a feeling he couldn’t ignore, a gut instinct that told him to be on guard.
But for what?
The dress that Odie was wearing for their second date a few days later—a simple, but late, dinner—was obscene.
There really was no other word for it. The black material skimmed her body, fitting her curves like a second skin, and gave Austin all kinds of dirty, dirty thoughts.
Most of them centered around ripping the dress off her body. Possibly with his teeth.
The jury was out on the actual execution, but it was unanimously on board for dress removal. Well, almost.
There was still that one holdout—the one juror that wanted him to stick to his wooing plan. And, apparently, wanted him to think in metaphors.
Stupid juror.
“Um, Austin?” Odie’s voice radiated uncertainty, and the way her hands smoothed the material of her dress—if you could even call it that, it was so tight and so barely there—told him that she was having doubts.
Well, there was only one way for those doubts to be quelled.
Reaching out a hand, he hooked it around her neck, cupping just below the short crop of her red hair, and pulled her in until their lips met.
He didn’t rip the dress off, but he did use his mouth to make sure she knew that he wanted to. Badly.
“Hey, babe,” he said, breaking their kiss, leaving her lips swollen and wet. “You look fucking amazing.”
“You like it, huh?” She turned a full circle for him, giving him a view of the dress from all angles, and damn near swaying that final juror. “I got it today.”
“Ready to go?” he asked, in lieu of answering her question. He was sure she didn’t really need to know that he loved and hated the dress in equal measure, but . . . “And yes, I like it. I more than like it. Want proof?”
Her eyes travelled down his body, dressed in black dress pants and a dark gray button down shirt. “I don’t think I need any more proof than that,” she replied, her eyes zooming in on his erection, straining his pants and growing bigger with each second that passed under her gaze.
Instead of replying, he stood in the doorway of her apartment, waiting for her to grab a leather jacket that he knew she’d had for years and a small silver purse that she was able to clutch in one hand. “You don’t mind eating at The Avenue, do you?”
She shook her head as they stepped out into the hall, turning to make sure her door was locked. “No, that’s fine. Is Ash okay?”
He’d made a point of calling earlier to let Odie know of the change in plans—the rooftop dinner in the garden postponed, not cancelled, when Ashton called to say she wasn’t feeling well and couldn’t work.
More specifically, she’d called to say she was a “little under the weather but Andrew is ready to dial 911 if I so much as breathe too quickly. Or too slowly, come to that.” He’d laughed at her description, given how protective he knew Andrew could be.
“Yeah, she said she would’ve been fine to work, but she was worried about Andrew.”
“Is he sick, too?”
“No, he’s a worrywart, and she didn’t want to stress him out. The anniversary of his mom’s death is this week.”
“Oh,” was the soft reply, her concern for their friend—the man Austin assumed would one day soon be his brother-in-law—evident. “I can’t imagine losing my mom.”
“I can.” He didn’t need to elaborate. He’d already lost his mom, and Odie knew that. Their experiences with their parents—their mothers in particular—were worlds apart, and it was something he knew she didn’t take for granted. Which might explain why she slipped her hand into his and led him down the hall, toward the elevator and away from the sad turn the conversation had taken.
“Hey, the shower—”
He groaned, interrupting whatever she was about to say when the visual of Odie in his shower, pinned to his wall, impaled on his dick, came to mind.
“—do you know if they’re registered anywhere? I wanted to get Ash a gift but I don’t know what they need.”
“I took care of it.”
“Well, whoop-dee-do for you, Aussie, but I still need to get her something.”
“No, you don’t. I just said I took care of it.”
“But—”
“But nothing, you’re my girl, she’s my sister, I bought the present, it’s done, let’s move on.” He knew his response was curt and reactive, but shit, the thought of Odie wet, naked and moaning for him was making what had already been a hard situation even harder.
“Oh-kayyyy,” she replied, drawing out the “y” and side-eyeing him like a pro. “What did we get, then?”
“A mobile, swing, twirly thingy,” he said, motioning a round movement with his finger as they walked off the elevator on the ground floor. “It was on the list she gave me.”
“And is that the technical name for it?” she asked, her amusement at his ignorance of all things baby-related evident. “The mobile, swing, twirly thingy?”
“Yes, when it’s delivered this week, I’m sure we’ll see it on the box.” He squeezed her hand where they were still joined, reaching for the front door of her apartment building with the other.
“I can’t wait for that. Are you going to put it together?”
“No, otherwise I won’t be able to move it over to their place. Plus, Dunk wants to put everything together himself. He told me.”
Odie laughed. “He did? When?”
“Couple weeks ago. He might have been drinking and he might have been adamant that it was the father’s job to build all the furniture. It was a thing.”
“It sounds like it was a thing I wish I’d seen.”
“He’s really into the idea of being a dad. I’m secure enough in my manhood to say that it’s cute.” He smiled over at her, and walked her to his car, opening the door and waiting for her to get settled. Then he leaned down and gave her a kiss on the forehead.
For no other reason than he could.
And okay, also because leaning down gave him a great view of her tits.
He really did love being able to look down her top.
Sliding into the driver’s seat, he looked over at her one more time, and was just preparing to pull out when Odie spoke again.
“Mike called me today.”
>
He did a double-take. An actual double-take. And dammit all, if he’d been drinking at the time, he’d have done a spit-take, too. “Meatball McGee called you. Today. Why?”
“He enjoyed our date and just got in from out of town and wanted to make plans again.”
Austin breathed in and out, several times. He pinched the bridge of his nose and offered up a silent prayer for strength. He rolled his shoulders, stretched his neck and planned seven different ways to drop weights on Meatball’s feet or arms or throat the next time they ran into each other at the gym. Then, calm as he could muster, he asked, “And what did you say?”
She bit her lip, not saying anything and he swore she was up to something.
“Odette.”
“Austin.”
“What did you say, babe?”
“What do you think I said?”
“Why are you doing this to me?”
“What am I doing to you?”
“You’re playing games with me!”
“Yes, I win.” She threw a fist in the air in victory. “I win at the question game, I am the master, the commander, the queen of everything and all things and in your face.” She leaned in and kissed him. “And I said no, by the way. As if I’d say anything else.”
Aussie gaped at her, memories of watching old episodes of Whose Line is it Anyway? on the television in her bedroom hitting him hard.
They’d taken up the game—answer a question with a question, until someone caves—in earnest once he’d all but moved into her house, and it had been years since they’d played it.
He should have been mad. He’d be within his rights to be pissed off that she’d play him like that—knowing that Meatball was a soft spot for him—but instead he laughed. Long, hard and deep.
God, they’d had some pretty epic question conversations—increasingly dumb and questionable questions until neither of them could talk past their laughter. “If I remember correctly, I’m still the overall champ.”
She shrugged. “I don’t know about that. And since the score card is long gone”—she reached over and patted his shoulder in commiseration—“I guess we have to start all over again. Odie, one, Aussie, zero. Whomp, whomp,” she added, her impersonation of the sound of failure a failure in and of itself.