Want It Bad: A Kinky Romance

by Melinda DuChamp

  “Are you okay?” he had a Midwestern accent. “Your tire popped.”

  “Yes. Just kind of rattled. I’ve never blown a tire before. I mean, I’ve blown a lot of things, but never a tire.”

  Ack! Too much information too soon!

  “You know,” she said quickly. “Like blowing an appointment, blowing a job interview. That kind of thing.”

  Good recovery. Now play it cool.

  “We should probably tell the homeowner you took out his mailbox.”

  “Her mailbox. It’s my house.”

  “You live here?”

  “I hope so. I have the keys in my purse.”

  Smooth, Carla. Why did she always say stupid stuff in front of cute guys?

  “We’re neighbors then. I’m Jake.”

  “Carla.”

  Jake had yet to let go of her hand. He now shook it, formally.

  “Well, this is a pretty exciting way to meet,” he said. “When I heard the blowout I thought someone was shooting at me.”

  “I thought the same thing. I just bought this car. The tires are brand new. I wonder what happened.”

  “Mind if I take a look?”

  “Go ahead.”

  Jake walked around to the front of the BMW and bent over. His jeans hugged his anatomy, and Carla gaped at one of the nicest butts she’d ever seen.

  “Oh, shit. My bad.”

  Jake held up something black, with silver spikes on it.

  “Is that a dog collar?” Carla asked.

  “This? Uh, yeah.” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “I must have dropped it, and the spikes popped your tire. I’m so sorry.”

  “Where’s your dog?”

  Jake quickly shoved the collar into the back pocket of his jeans. “I, uh, don’t have a dog. Look, I’ll pay for your tire, and for the mailbox. Want me to put the spare on for you?”

  Carla considered it. She had roadside assistance with her insurance, and they’d do it for free. But that meant waiting around for them to arrive.

  And, truth told, she wouldn’t mind watching Jake flex his muscles.

  Wow. I’m starting to think like Janet.

  “Would you mind?”

  “It would be my pleasure. I’ll be quick. Promise.”

  Carla wanted to ask more about the dog collar—Jake seemed embarrassed by it for some reason—but she nodded, popping her trunk.

  He circled to the back and hoisted out the spare tire, wheel blocks, and jack. “Done in a flash.”

  Carla felt silly just sitting there doing nothing. But figuring it would help Jake feel better if she let him fix the problem he’d caused, she leaned on the stone half-wall framing her driveway and watched.

  What else was there to do?

  Jake knelt down in front of the flat, popping the hubcap. His jeans were plain old Levis, 501s with the button fly, his shirt just a tee, and yet on that body, both looked like designer pieces that would run into the hundreds of dollars.

  He assembled the jack like a pro, positioned it in the correct notch behind the wheel, and began to raise the car.

  The process took about a minute, and Carla tried not to gape as his muscles bunched and flexed. The strain on his face was obvious, his breath labored. Carla wasn’t sure why watching a man, and a much younger man at that, change a tire was so erotic, but it was. There was something voyeuristic about it, watching Jake do a private, manual task, and he was so ridiculously pretty that Carla couldn’t help but imagine other scenarios where he’d be exerting himself.

  When Jake grunted, Carla felt her whole body tingle, and she resisted the urge to bite her own fist. The cool, autumn night seemed to heat up by ten degrees.

  Oh, God. I’m actually getting turned on.

  She looked away, feeling flushed. Obviously, she’d been hanging out with Janet too long. Of course, where Janet would voice these thoughts out loud, Carla could at least pride herself on being a bit restrained.

  Carla glanced back at Jake. He had the tire off now, and lifted the spare, fitting it into place, his broad shoulders bunching up. He twisted and glanced over his shoulder, his smile shining through the shadow like the Cheshire Cat’s. “See? Pretty fast, huh?” The hem of his t-shirt rode up, revealing a slice of smooth skin and rippling abs.

  Carla jolted up from the wall.

  “Something wrong?”

  “Nothing. Of course not. I thought I’d go grab you a beer for your trouble. Be right back.”

  Carla made for the house. Maybe Janet was right. Maybe it had been too long since she’d had sex. She’d seen fit, gorgeous men before. Why had this one gotten her so flustered?

  Racing past the steps leading to her front porch, she entered the garage and raced through the kitchen without even bothering to turn on the lights. Grabbing the handle of her stainless steel refrigerator, she yanked it open.

  One bottle of beer left. In her eagerness to snatch it, Carla knocked it off the shelf. It hit the floor, then rolled across the kitchen. Carla chased it down, kicked it, and it bounced over to the open basement door, and down the stairs.

  “Shit.”

  She bid chase, finding it at the bottom of the staircase. Amazingly unbroken. Carla snatched it up and marched back outside.

  Finished with the tire, Jake stood up and stretched, arms over his head, t-shirt rising to once again expose his midsection.

  Carla slowed her pace, scoping out the cut of his frame from rippled waist to wide shoulders. He was the very definition of eye candy. No matter how disappointing the sex was, or how disappointing the man was, she’d always appreciated the male body. And right now, watching Jake in the dim light, she could imagine standing in front of him, skimming her fingertips over the bristled hair on his thighs, the taut muscle of hips and buttocks, then following the angle of his rib cage.

  Janet is right. Ten months without sex is too long.

  “All done, neighbor,” he said. “That beer sounds awfully good right now.”

  She closed the last few yards between them and held out the bottle. “You deserve it. Careful, I may have shaken it up a little.”

  He took out his key ring, found a bottle opener, and popped the top.

  The beer became Mt. Vesuvius, spewing foam out in all directions lawn-sprinkler style. For an odd moment Carla saw Jake in slow-motion as the alcohol drenched his shirt and made it cling to his chest. He grinned, shaking his wet hair, licking the beer dripping down his face.

  Oh. My. God. I think I just came.

  “I’m… sorry,” Carla said.

  She really was sorry. Sorry she didn’t have more beer to spray on him.

  “It’s okay. I love the smell of beer.”

  “Me, too.”

  “Man, my shirt is absolutely drenched.”

  He stripped it off, again in ultra slow mo, and squeezed the shirt over his head, dripping beer into his mouth.

  Carla fought the urge to grab the shirt away from him and start sucking it. For a moment she imagined herself, slurping beer off his abs.

  Why didn’t beer commercials do that? More women would buy it.

  “Did I get you wet?” Jake asked.

  “Oh God, yes.” Carla recovered. “I mean, just a little spray. I think you got the worst of it. Want to go inside real quick, so I can towel you off?”

  Please oh please oh please oh please.

  “Wouldn’t your husband mind?”

  The flutter she’d felt when she was watching him earlier intensified. “No. I mean, I’ve never married.”

  “Interesting.”

  “Why?”

  Carla looked away. Why? Did she really say that? And what kind of an answer had she expected? Jake was easily ten years younger, maybe more. Someone like Janet could capture his interest, give him the time of his life, and probably teach him a few things to boot.

  But Carla?

  She didn’t know how to be that woman. She didn’t even want to be. And obviously the woman she was would never interest a gorgeous model
like Jake. He was right. It was too bad she hadn’t found a husband when she was younger. But looking back at the guys she dated, she was glad she hadn’t been desperate enough to marry any of them. She liked having her life her way.

  He drank the last tiny bit from the bottle and ran the back of his hand over his lips, catching some that had trickled down the corner of his mouth. “Do you want to be married?”

  An interesting question.

  “I haven’t really thought about it. Why do you ask?”

  “You said you never married. I couldn’t tell if you’re proud of that, or sad about that.”

  “Do I have to be either? Women shouldn’t have to define themselves by whether or not they’re with a guy.”

  The statement was a touch hypocritical. Carla believed it in theory, but she’d spent most of the evening defining herself in that very way.

  “I agree. But you brought up marriage.”

  “I like being single,” Carla said.

  “Okay.”

  “I’m serious.”

  Jake smiled. “I believe you. For the record, I don’t define myself by my relationships, either. Thanks.”

  “Thanks for fixing the tire.”

  “It was my fault. And don’t worry, Carla. I won’t be done until I’ve fixed everything.”

  He grinned, and Carla felt devastatingly uncomfortable. It made no sense. In the courtroom she radiated confidence. During a boardroom meeting, she commanded attention. Jake made her feel like a fourteen-year-old girl during homecoming, desperately hoping the cute guy from math class would ask her to dance.

  “How about that towel?” she asked.

  “Thanks, but I’m okay. Feels good, actually. Nice cool breeze out here. Can you see how my nipples are getting hard?”

  He rubbed his hand over his chest.

  “Yes,” Carla said. “Yes I can.”

  “I’m not making you uncomfortable, am I? I can go put a shirt on.”

  “No! I mean, no need. It’s okay. I see half-naked men all the time.”

  “You do?”

  “Nope. No I don’t. Don’t even know why I said that. So, you work out? Of course you work out. I mean, to get abs like that, you probably spend some serious time in the gym. Serious, serious time. I do Pilates. Some yoga. I can put my legs behind my head. Some guys like that. Ms. Flexible, that’s what they call me. Actually no one calls me that. I don’t even know why I said it. Ever hear yourself talk and you just can’t stop, even though everything you say is coming out stupid?”

  “I don’t think you’re stupid, Carla.”

  “I don’t think you’re stupid either, Nipples. Jake! Your name is Jake. So, what do you do, Jake? Are you a model?”

  Jake laughed. “So you think the reason I can afford the house next to yours is because I get by on my looks? I couldn’t be a doctor or a lawyer?”

  “Are you a doctor? I’m looking for a new OB/GYN. I bet you’re good. Probably don’t even need to lube up the speculum. Probably just slips right in.”

  Jesus, Carla! Shut up!

  “I’m messing with you, Carla. I’m an actor. And not a successful one. I’m just renting the house for a few months. The owner, Mrs. Hotchland, is an old friend.”

  Carla wasn’t close to any of her neighbors—with her work schedule she didn’t have time to make friends. But she remembered Gloria Hotchland to be a sixty-something, somewhat frumpy widow. Not the kind of friend she would have expected Jake to have.

  Without meaning to, Carla stared at his hands. No wedding ring. But a guy like this no doubt had girls lining up around the block for him.

  “Well, thank you for changing the tire. I still owe you a beer. Maybe you and your girlfriend could come over tomorrow night.”

  “No girlfriend.”

  Carla felt like a fool. A man this good looking, no girlfriend, she’d missed the obvious.

  “Okay, you and your boyfriend.”

  Jake laughed. It was a deep, full laugh, but Carla didn’t feel like he was belittling her.

  “I’m straight, Carla. My personal life… well, it’s complicated. But I will take you up on that beer. My hours are odd. Would eight o’clock be okay with you?”

  “That would be fine. My hours are odd, too.”

  “Doctor or lawyer?”

  “Not a model?” Carla brazenly asked, surprising herself. “Are you saying I wouldn’t get by on my looks?”

  “I bet you could model,” Jake said, not missing a beat, “but right now you’re dressing professionally to downplay your figure. If I had to guess, you’re a top level executive, or an up- and-comer in a law firm.”

  “I’m a partner,” Carla said.

  “So young? You must be really good.”

  Oh my, he’s flirting with me.

  Isn’t he?

  “I’m not that young. I could probably be your mother—erz—mother’s much younger sister.”

  “I’m twenty-six. You’re what? Thirty? Thirty-one?”

  He was off by ten years, but Carla was secretly pleased. She refused to let that show, however. “Around there. Guessing a woman’s age is rude.”

  Jake stretched, locking his fingers behind his head. He looked like the guy who played Thor’s brother. The dark-haired one.

  “You’re not like that.”

  “Not like what?”

  “You’re too self-assured to care about your age. I met the Steinbaums, across the street, this afternoon. I think Mrs. Steinbaum may have a controlling share of stock in Botox, because her face looks like it was chiseled out of marble.”

  It was an astute observation. Carla avoided Emma Steinbaum because whenever they had a conversation she couldn’t tell if the woman was happy or sad. Her expression remained the same whether they were sharing funny work stories or discussing world poverty.

  “So what else do you think you know about me, having talked to me for all of ten minutes?” Carla asked.

  “I’ll bet you twenty bucks you have a pedicure. French, matching your fingernails.”

  “Too easy.”

  “Okay. I’ll bet you fifty you have a Brazilian.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “A Brazilian wax. You downplay your make-up, probably the same reason you dress to hide your figure, in order to be taken seriously at work. But that’s a two hundred dollar haircut, probably at the same spa you get your nails done. And when you treat yourself, you also get a hot stone massage, a facial, and a bikini wax. Fifty says it’s Brazilian.”

  Carla wanted to laugh, but it came out more like a humph. “And what if I said I didn’t?”

  Jake’s eyes twinkled. “To get the fifty bucks, you’d have to prove it.”

  For half a moment, Carla could picture herself sitting in a chair, her legs open, Jake staring at her there. She didn’t know if she should be offended or flattered.

  Or aroused.

  “You don’t think it’s a bit forward to be talking about… this… when we don’t even know each other?”

  “You asked me to guess something about you. If that’s too personal, I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

  “I’m not embarrassed. But what if I asked you about your manscaping?”

  Jake raised an eyebrow. “Manscaping?”

  “I read GQ.”

  “So what manscaping observations do you think you can you make about me?”

  “You shave your back.”

  “What are we betting?”

  “A hundred dollars.” Carla immediately felt bad about that amount. Jake had just mentioned he wasn’t successful.

  “Deal.”

  He turned around and stretched out his arms. His traps and lats were just as defined as his chest. It was like being in anatomy class.

  “See?” Carla said. “You do.”

  “I don’t. I just don’t have a lot of hair on my torso. Run your hand over it. If I shaved you’d feel stubble.”

  Carla reached out, lightly brushing her hand over Jake’s back. Smooth and hard. She could
imagine digging her nails into it as he drove into her.

  “See?”

  “Mmm-hmm,” Carla said. Her hands were trailing along his spine, and she stared at his perky little ass. Without thinking, her hands hovered over it, ready to squeeze. But Jake suddenly turned around and Carla quickly hid her hands behind her back.

  “Do you want to try to guess where else I may or may not have hair? Double or nothing?”

  Carla wasn’t sure if their flirtatious conversation had gone from innuendo to actual proposition, but she was so transfixed by Jake’s body she didn’t really care.

  “You said you’re an actor. Is it in… adult movies?”

  Jake laughed again. It really was infectious, and Carla giggled as well.

  Jesus, giggling? What am I, in junior high playing spin the bottle?

  “No, I don’t do porn. Are you disappointed?”

  “Well, having a porn actor next door would certainly make the neighborhood more interesting. I can imagine the gossip.”

  Jake stopped laughing, and for a moment he seemed hurt.

  “Yeah, well, I gotta finish moving. It was nice meeting you, Carla.”

  He nodded, and began to walk back toward his truck. Carla was wondering what she’d said. He’d laughed at the adult movie comment, but then completely shut down.

  “See you tomorrow at eight?” she called after him.

  “Absolutely.” But his enthusiasm seemed to have dimmed.

  Carla turned to look at her car, wondering why she felt deflated. Jake wasn’t dating material. He was a boy toy fifteen years her junior. Nice to look at, and to talk to, but she couldn’t imagine bringing him to some office function. Everyone would think she’d hired an escort.

  Carla got back into her BMW, pulled away from the broken mailbox, and parked in her garage. Normally, after a night out with Janet, Carla would imagine what depraved things her friend was doing at that very moment. Janet getting it from behind. Janet on top. Janet giving head. Janet being eaten out.

  But, strangely, when Carla climbed into bed, she wasn’t thinking about Janet at all.