by Maggie Riley
I took a slice of pizza, the gooey, delicious smell of cheese and bread and sauce filling up my nostrils. For a moment, I closed my eyes and tried to capture this moment in my memory. A moment that was full of possibility and opportunity. Perfect and exciting.
Then I heard a low groan from the other side of the table. I opened my eyes to find that Josh’s eyes were closed, his mouth curving in a smile of satisfaction as he took another bite of pizza.
“Damn, that’s good,” he said.
“Uh-huh,” I managed. “Really good.” But I wasn’t talking about the pizza.
We ate in silence for a couple of minutes, each savoring the perfect first slice. I never felt more at home in the city than sitting in a place like this—old and slightly run-down, a fixture in the neighborhood. A place my parents would never even think of visiting. The floors were sticky, the napkins paper and the lighting florescent. But the food. Oh my god, the food was everything.
“This place is everything,” Josh told me, reaching for another slice.
“So I guess you won’t be needing any sort of compensation,” I said.
“Oh, I don’t know,” he raised an eyebrow. “Depends on dessert.”
I got hot and tingly all over. And I mean, all over.
“There’s cheesecake,” I squeaked, immediately wishing I had said something sexier. Cheesecake was delicious, but it really wasn’t that sexy.
Josh said nothing and I took another sip of beer, wishing that I knew how to flirt. Or how to talk to attractive men. Period.
“How’s the play going?” he finally asked, clearly sensing that I was a total moron when it came to sexy banter.
Unfortunately, while theatre was the one thing I was not a moron about, it was also the thing that I was supposed to be working on. Right at this very moment.
“Dammit!” I said, pulling out my phone to check the time.
It wasn’t late—just after seven—but I still had to pick scenes to get copied tomorrow morning. And considering how long it was taking me to do anything in regards to this production, I really needed to be focusing my attention on getting these tasks done as soon as possible.
“That bad, huh?” asked Josh.
“No, it’s just, I can’t stay.”
I wanted to bang my head on the table. I was so annoyed at myself. Both for forgetting that I had work to do and for needing to leave. I had been having a good time with Josh. And I got the sense that he was having a good time too.
“Oh,” he said, all the flirtation and humor leaving his face.
Dammit. Dammit. Dammit.
“Auditions are tomorrow,” I told him, the words spilling out of me. “And I have to pick sides for the actors to read and I’ve already held up the production so much that we had to delay auditions in the first place and I can’t let Joanna or Allie or the theatre down but I just can’t seem to focus on all the things that need to be done and I’m afraid I’ve lost all my creativity and I just really need to pick scenes that are fun and sexy and romantic—just like the play.”
I sucked in a breath, realizing that I had just rambled through a whole lot of insecurities and issues that Josh was probably not interested in. At all. This time I did put my head down on the table, but I refrained from hitting my forehead against the plastic tabletop.
“So, I guess we’ll save furniture shopping for another night.”
It was the last thing I expected him to say. I looked up, and he gave me a smile.
“Really?” I asked, so unbearably hopeful.
“Really,” he told me, downing the last of his beer. “Let’s get the rest of this to go and I’ll walk you back to your place. Ok?”
I felt slightly stunned, but still managed to nod. He stood up, and my eyes followed him, unable to look away. He was so gorgeous. And nice. So very nice.
“Thank you,” I said.
“I’m sorry we have to cut the evening short,” he said. “But I know how important the play is to you.”
And with that, he grabbed our pizza and took it to the counter to get a box, leaving me with sweaty palms, a tingly feeling and a heart that couldn’t stop racing.
Chapter 16
REAGAN
It was beautiful out. Cool and breezy, with the scent of spring in the air. I loved New York at this time of year. It felt fresh and beautiful, everything and everyone emerging from the cold cover of winter.
“Do you usually walk home from the theatre?” Josh asked as we headed in the direction of my apartment.
“Sometimes,” I said. “When it’s nice out.” I glanced over at him. “Your legs might be tired, though.”
“Doubtful,” Josh said. “You forget that I used to train for hours—a day of walking is nothing.”
He hadn’t mentioned baseball much. But then again, we had spent most our time talking about nothing. Just casual small talk type conversations. Which was why I perked up at his reference to his minor league career. I figured that it was a good sign—that he was feeling comfortable enough with me to talk about it.
“Well, I hope you’re right,” I said, treading carefully. “But you might want to soak in your tub with Epsom salts.” I paused. “Unless you have another suggestion. What did you and your teammates do after practices to unwind?”
He cast me a sideways glance. “I don’t think you want to know.”
“Of course I want to know,” I said immediately before I could process his meaning. “Oh. Like strippers?”
He stopped dead in his tracks and stared at me.
“Sorry,” I turned to face him. “Was that too personal a question?”
“Asking if I ‘did’ strippers after baseball practice?” He ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah, that’s a bit personal.” He paused. “But for the record, that’s not what I did. Or who I did. Not like I did anyone.” He looked like he wanted desperately to change the subject.
“Ok,” I said quickly. “Even if you did, it’s not really any of my business and I wouldn’t judge you for it, you know strippers are people too and I saw this play once written by a former stripper and it was really good—it was about Feudal Japan. Really interesting stuff.”
I trailed off when I realized he was staring at me.
“You’re very strange,” he said.
“Would you be surprised to know I hear that a lot?”
At least he hadn’t called me weird. That was Amanda’s favorite descriptor for me and even introduced me as the ‘weirdo who shares my DNA’. Never as her sister. Especially not in polite company. And my parents loved to use that word to describe the people I worked with and the plays I did.
I knew it was stupid to be bothered by it. Especially because I was weird. My tastes were unusual and my productions reflected that. For the most part I was proud of what I did and who I was. But sometimes, hearing that word, especially in the disapproving tone I was so used to hearing from my family, I felt like I was a teen again, desperate for their approval, but also wanting so badly to be true to myself. When I finally realized I couldn’t have both, being called ‘weird’ just served as a reminder of what my family thought of me. And it wasn’t something I liked to revisit. What I had told Josh was true—in the end, it was easier to be happy. Even if it took some work at first.
“So what was it?” I asked him and he gave me a confused look. “What part of my comment was strange?”
“The whole thing.” But he ran a hand across the back of his neck, and thought about the question for a moment. “But I guess it was the stripper-written play about Feudal Japan. I was not expecting that.”
I laughed and I spotted that reluctant smile of his—the one he kept trying to hide.
“Just to be clear,” he told me. “I don’t sleep with strippers.”
“Ok,” I said.
There was a long pause. “Do you?” he asked.
“Me?” I stopped. “You want to know if I sleep with strippers?”
Josh had a weird look on his face. If I didn’t know any better I w
ould have categorized it somewhere between possessive and jealous. But that was impossible. Why would he care?
“You did say that strippers are people too,” he reminded me. “And Allie told me all about those Magic Mike movies and those are really popular now.”
“It’s true.” I patted his arm. “But most male strippers are gay.”
“Oh,” he said, looking strangely relieved. “Well, you never know with you artist types.”
“Don’t worry, Josh,” I said. “I don’t sleep with gay men or strippers.”
There was a long pause. “Are there any non-strippers in your life at the moment?”
I glanced over at him, but he was staring straight ahead. Was this more small talk or was he genuinely curious if I was dating anyone? Then he turned and looked at me. His eyes were dark and intense. The air seemed to crackle a little between us, and my heart beat faster.
JOSH
I found myself holding my breath. We’d talked about the city, about the weather, about Allie and Shane, about movies, about music, about food. And there had been several moments where I had completely forgotten about the end of my career and how I had nearly been screwed over by someone I had considered to be a friend.
Reagan was fun to talk to. Even when we talked about nothing. Because she spoke with such enthusiasm for everything. She’d get excited and her hands would start waving and her face would get flushed with excitement. Occasionally she’d even forget to look where she was going and walk into something or someone. I’d even had to pull her back from the curb a few times when she started crossing the street without waiting for the light to change. But that, apparently, was a New Yorker thing and she had waved me off with a smile.
That was another thing I liked about her. She never seemed to stop smiling. Even when her mouth wasn’t curved in a grin, her eyes seemed to contain a sparkle that reflected how happy she was. Being with her was like standing in a ray of sunlight.
And I could hardly be the first person to notice that. Surely she had plenty of guys lined up to bask in her happiness. To feed it, encourage it. Because, selfish me, I just wanted it shining in my direction. I never doubted myself when it came to what women saw in me. Because for a long time it had been simple attraction. Sex was an easy way to communicate.
But with Reagan it felt different. And I felt out of my league. While I liked being around her—really liked it—it also made me painfully aware of how different we were. Practically opposites, especially when it came to demeanor. If I had met her while I was playing baseball, maybe that wouldn’t be the case. I had been happy then. A simple kind of happy.
Now, I was so deep in my own unhappiness that it didn’t seem possible that I could have anything to offer someone like her—someone who seemed so content. She didn’t need a big grumpy raincloud hanging around.
But I couldn’t help myself. Because I wasn’t just a grumpy raincloud, I was a selfish grumpy raincloud. One who wanted to know if she was seeing anyone.
Reagan tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and looked down at the ground.
“No,” she finally said. “No non-strippers in my life at the moment.”
Good. Great.
“Ok,” I said, like a moron.
“Ok,” she repeated, then hesitated. “And you?”
“No,” I told her. “No strippers or non-strippers.”
“Ok,” she said.
“Ok.”
We walked in silence for a while until our surroundings became familiar and pretty soon we were in front of Reagan’s building. Where I had hauled her out of the cab the other night and carried her over my shoulder to her apartment. And I had a desire to do the same thing now, but with a totally different outcome in mind.
Instead, I walked Reagan to her door, shoving my hands in my pockets. As I did, my fingers brushed against the crumbled piece of paper I had retrieved from my suit pocket and for reasons I couldn’t explain had decided to carry with me all day.
“I have something of yours,” I told her.
She raised her eyebrows and then blushed when I pulled the paper out. The paper that had my name surrounded by a bunch of hearts.
Reagan’s cheeks were still red, the flush spreading down her throat, disappearing behind her black shirt. “It’s not what it looks like.”
“No?”
“I was supposed to be writing a list. Of ways to help you. I got distracted because of the wedding. That’s where the hearts came from.
“A list?” I asked, not wanting to embarrass her anymore.
“Allie’s suggestion.”
“She’s tried to get me to use that tactic as well.”
“And?”
“And, I think it’s bullshit,” I found myself moving closer as she kept her eyes cast downwards at the paper. “Not everything can be solved with a list.”
Reagan smiled. “Don’t tell your sister that.”
“Don’t worry,” I told her. “Just like I won’t tell her that you’re terrible at being covert.”
She looked up and gave a little start as if she was surprised to see me standing close to her. But she didn’t move back. In fact, there was that spark of interest in her eyes. And this time it was unmistakable.
“I know my sister asked you to keep an eye on me.”
“When did you figure it out?” she asked.
“At the wedding,” I told her.
“I thought you would,” she confessed, but then frowned. “If you knew about the plan, why did you agree to come with me to the furniture rental place? And then today?”
“Because I thought I might have fun,” I said. “And I did. You can tell Allie that.”
Her face brightened, and she looked up at me. “Really? Oh, she’ll be so happy. Are you sure it’s ok to tell her?”
Before I could help myself, I hooked my finger under her chin. I saw her eyes widen.
“Yep,” I said. “But maybe don’t tell her about this part.”
And then I kissed her.
Chapter 17
REAGAN
Josh was a good kisser. No. A great kisser. An amazing kisser. At first the kiss was soft, tentative. But not for long. A soft moan escaped my lips and I felt him smile. Then things became frantic. His mouth was firm and demanding, as if he knew exactly what he wanted, and what he wanted was me. My entire body seemed to go up in flames as he pressed me back against my front door and kissed me like a sailor leaving for sea.
It took me a moment to recover from my surprise—Josh Lawson was kissing me—but the moment I did, I made sure to return the favor. Fisting my fingers in his shirt, I kissed him back, reveling in the way he groaned, his hands tightening around my arms. He wanted me. Everything in the way he touched me, in the way he kissed me, revealed that. He held me as if he couldn’t risk letting go, heat spreading through me like a forest fire.
It was a fantasy I’d never even dared to have—as if I was someone else. In his arms, I felt sexy and desired, and I lost myself in the sensation of his lips against mine. He kissed me as if he couldn’t get enough. As if he couldn’t control himself. My knees buckled as he deepened the kiss, his tongue hot and greedy in my mouth. It felt good. So fricking good. I never wanted this moment, this kiss, to end. I wanted to live inside this perfect, wonderful moment of time.
His hands began to travel—one fisting in my hair, the other grabbing my hip, pulling me hard against him. I couldn’t help my own wandering hands. I felt emboldened and explored the contours of his chest—discovering that he felt exactly as fit as he looked. He was all heat and muscle and I couldn’t get enough. I had never been kissed this way before. So thoroughly and desperately.
He felt so good. I felt so good. Everything about him, about this kiss, was perfect.
Except for the fact that it had to end.
Josh pulled back, his fingers still tangled in my hair.
“Fuck,” he muttered, his voice rough.
“I—” I didn’t know what to say.
But Josh
didn’t wait for me to find the right words. “What are you doing tomorrow?” he asked abruptly, his gaze intense, focused.
“Uh, I have auditions,” I said, my brain having a hard time recalling anything but how much I had liked being sandwiched between my front door and Josh’s body.
“When will you be done?” He had my hair between his fingers as if he was testing it. Examining it. Examining me.
Just as I was examining him, my eyes scanning his face, looking for some indication of what he was thinking, but getting stuck staring at his lips.
“I usually get home by eight,” I somehow managed, barely able to pull my gaze away from his mouth. His extremely talented mouth.
That was currently curving into the smallest of smiles.
“Ok then,” he said, dropping another quick kiss on my lips. “It’s a date. I’ll see you tomorrow at eight.”
And then he was gone.
JOSH
I walked home. It took me almost two hours and I got lost a few times, but I couldn’t have cared less. My entire body felt like it was buzzing. Like something inside me that had been dead was now reawakening. Whether that was my libido or something deeper remained to be seen. Either way, I felt pretty damn great.
Because that kiss had packed a wallop. I could still feel Reagan’s lips against mine, could still feel how she had fisted my shirt in her hands and pulled me closer. How she had kissed me back, pressed against me. I could still feel her body under my fingertips, all those subtle curves that she hid underneath her simple, black clothes. Curves I had been fantasizing about since I got a look at them in my apartment. How I had been able to keep from kissing her then, I would never know, but now that I had gotten a taste of her I was pretty sure I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands, or my mouth, off of her.
I shouldn’t have been surprised. It was clear that Reagan approached everything with passion and enthusiasm. And if there was any doubt about attraction, well, the way she had kissed me back made it very clear that this attraction was mutual.