Because Beards
Page 21
“Phew.” My chest deflated with the breath I’d been holding.
Jane’s did too.
Relief filled the air with a refreshing vibe, so I ran with it. “Your clothes are still damp; you’ve got to be cold. Want me to see if I have an old uniform shirt in the back?”
“That would be great, but can you not leave me out here alone? I’m still kind of spooked.” She adopted a low tone as if she had to keep her fears secret, as if I didn’t already know she was a wuss when it came to thunderstorms. I thought it was cute, like everything else about her. But I was getting ahead of myself. Friends first, Ezra. Play it cool.
“Sure. Come with me. Then we can munch on some not-so-fresh bagels until we figure out our escape plan. I don’t know about you, but all this bickering made me hungry.”
Jane laughed—a melodious chuckle—as we felt around in the dark and made it to the employees’ lounge. I managed to feel out the utility closest where a flashlight would be waiting for us. “And God said . . . let there be light.” I flicked it on and accidentally shined the bright beam into her eyes. She raised her hands to shield them from the light and I changed the direction of the stream so it hit the ceiling and gave the room a low glow.
“Better?” I asked.
“Much.”
“Sorry about that.”
“No worries.”
This being nice thing without cracking inappropriate jokes was harder than it seemed. It was awkward not being able to hide behind the defense of sarcasm. I could tell she felt the same as her eyes perused the small room filled with lockers, chairs, and a water cooler.
After ogling a second too long over how timid she’d become, I made my way over to Shelby’s locker—which she always left open—to look for something suitable for Jane to wear. Rummaging through a mess of unopened mail, crumpled napkins, a pair of ugly Crocs, and lots of female toiletries, I found something promising. “Do you mind green and yellow plaid? I actually think it’ll go perfect with your eyes.”
She smiled shyly when she retrieved the garment from my hands and then ordered me to turn around with the twirl of her index finger.
“There’s a bathroom, you know?”
“Yeah, in the dark. I’ll trust my luck out here instead, just don’t get any ideas by sneaking a peek.”
I arched a brow, a dirty comeback on the tip of my tongue, but I thought better of it in light of how nice it was to actually be getting along with Jane rather than at each other’s throats. Although, being at each other’s throats had sparked an aggressiveness in her that I hoped would resurface before the night was over. What? You can’t teach an old dog new tricks.
Crossing my heart, I nodded and did as I was told. “Want me to check for a pair of pants too?” I asked as I stared ahead into blank space, fantasizing about what her pert breasts looked like underneath her clothing. Were they more than a handful, or less? Were her pink nipples at attention because of the circumstances? Was she soaked down to her bra, and needed to shed that too? Or did she even wear one at all? God, the possibilities were endless, and much like the anticipation of solving a mystery, what the mind invented in the crevices of its wonderings could drive a man mad.
“You all right over there, Ezra?”
“Um . . . yeah,” I croaked, covertly adjusting my crotch. To my surprise, just the mere thought of her naked body right behind me, so close, had my dick straining against my jeans.
“You can turn around now,” she finally said.
But I wasn’t sure I should. It was dark but I was tenting big time and I didn’t want to get her all worked up again. Wait. Let me rephrase that: I totally wanted to get her worked up again, just not in the way I knew she would if she saw that the head in my pants wanted to get to know her before the head on my shoulders did.
“Fits like a glove,” I mumbled, walking past her and gesturing for her to follow me back out front. Our quarters were too close in the lounge and I couldn’t trust myself not to go back to my old ways of flirting and teasing her onto my lap again.
“So . . .” I finally said, trailing off with a smirk she couldn’t see. “You mentioned research earlier. How ’bout I set us up with something to snack on and then you fill me in. Looks like we have all night. Might as well make it a working evening since you’re on deadline, and all. Whadda ya think?”
Her gulp was audible; her embarrassment almost was, too. I relished the idea of putting her on the spot and making her squirm the way I had while she was undressing behind me only moments ago. Something told me Jane’s secret project was very interesting.
We sat together in a booth adjacent to the table she usually parked herself in when she did whatever she did behind that computer of hers. I’d scrounged up a few still-decent croissants and muffins, and created her signature beverage like a boss. A green tea with lemon was my poison tonight, though a few finger widths of scotch or whiskey would have been much better.
The weather had subsided somewhat, although every now and then a rumble of thunder caused Greta . . . I mean, Jane . . . to look my way. My fingers itched to touch her skin, my lips tingled with the thought of hers on mine, but I kept my hands to myself and my dick in my pants because we were getting along in the peaceful silence by the glow of a single-bulbed flashlight. I ignored the elephant in the room—her mortified expression at the mention of her secret project—as long as possible, hoping she’d spill the beans on her own. She picked at the cranberry muffin like a cautious bird, hardly ever making eye contact.
I decided to break the ice because my curiosity was killing me. My fingers made a show of dramatically rubbing my beard. “I’m thinking of shaving it,” I blurted out of nowhere.
Jane’s eyes abandoned the muffin and popped open, honing in on mine. “The hell you are,” she spoke matter of factly.
Taken aback, but loving every minute of her bluntness, I narrowed my eyes in question. “What’s it to you?”
Jane took a deep breath and pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. I could tell she was nervous because her hands were busy with mindless tasks—making a pile out of muffin crumbs, smoothing her fingers through long strands of dark hair, wiping the corners of her pretty mouth. When she finally rested them on the table in front of her, I reached forward and clasped my much larger hands over hers. “Would you sit still? You’re making me dizzy.”
“Dizzy,” she mumbled with a chuckle. Her green eyes met mine again and I couldn’t help but bite my bottom lip to stop myself from saying something inappropriate.
What she said next, though—all bets were off after that.
“The beard stays. I like it. Even if it is a bit . . . generic.” She was fucking with me but it was all in good fun because I could tell she didn’t give a shit that it was generic. She dug it! I knew it! Before I could ruin the moment by babbling something along the lines of I told you so, she continued. “It’s kind of what got me here in the first place. You. You’re my research, Ezra.”
I wasn’t sure if I should be flattered or offended, but either way this got my attention. “Huh? What are you talking about?”
She removed her hands from underneath mine and started to fidget again. She lost her perfect posture and slouched into the upholstered booth. Closing her eyes and gnawing on her lip she divulged her best kept secret. “I’m writing a screenplay for class and you—well someone based on you—is the lead character.” If not for the fact we were locked in here against our will, I expected her to jet out of here faster than I could say manbun.
But I wasn’t letting her off easy. No fucking way. All this time I’d been practically obsessing over her and she was writing a goddamn story about me. “You totally want me, don’t you?” I leaned over the table, resting my head in my hands and batting my eyelashes obnoxiously.
Her defenses were up but her eyes told a different tale. “Who said anything about wanting you? I’m intrigued by you, for my story, of course, but that doesn’t mean I want to sleep with you.”
“Whoa,
whoa, whoa.” I raised both hands in the air. “Look who’s jumping to conclusions. I said nothing about sleeping together. I was only looking for a date. A good, honest night on the town with the quirky customer with the annoying coffee requests. But if you’re game for skipping all the small talk and getting-to-know-each-other shit, I can up the ante on your research and give you something really good to write about.”
“I knew I shouldn’t have told you.” She rose from her seat and shimmied out of the booth.
I followed her to the center of the store, came up behind her, hands on her shoulders, and spun her around to face me. “The jig is up, darlin’. Don’t play shy now.”
Our mouths only inches apart, her sweet breath tickled the tip of my nose. I wanted to kiss her. Terribly. But I also wanted her to initiate. To succumb and validate that she had it as badly for me as I did for her. “Jane,” I whispered, teasing her.
“Ezra,” she moaned, her eyes shielded by lowered lids and those adorable specs.
“I’ve done my own kind of research, too,” I admitted, pressing my forehead to hers. “But it’s not for any book, or screenplay. Just for me, Jane. I’ve watched you every day since you came in here. Talk about intriguing . . .” I trailed off and groaned, nuzzling my scruff covered cheek against her soft one. “You think you can finally stop snubbing me? Can you give me a shot—Greta?”
To think that only this morning she was a mystery. She still was, but I was slowly unfolding so many interesting details about this girl and I had this stupid job at this stupid coffeehouse to thank for it. Of all the coffee joints, in all the world . . .
“You don’t think I’m a weirdo?” She inspected my face, from the dyed tips of my lumbersexual hair to the bushy depths of my whiskers.
“Oh, I totally think you’re a weirdo, but you’re an adorable weirdo. So whadda ya say?”
In the middle of a dark room, locked away from the world, with the rain still coming down in heavy sheets, we stood together in each other’s arms—strangers with the possibility of becoming so much more.
Jane giggled, rested her head against my shoulder and then peered up at me with a devilish grin. “I think I can arrange that. For research, of course.”
About Faith Andrews
Faith Andrews is living out her dream right outside the greatest city in the world, New York City. Happily married to her high school sweetheart, she is the mother of two beautiful and wild daughters, and a furry Yorkie son named Rocco Giovanni. When she’s not tapping her toes to a Mumford & Sons tune or busy being a dance mom, her nose is stuck in a book or she’s sitting behind the laptop, creating her next swoon worthy book boyfriend. Coffee addict, lover of wine and cheese, and sucker for concerts and Netflix, Faith believes in love at first sight and happily ever after.
Author website: www.authorfaithandrews.com
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Sloane dropped the heavy stack of case folders into the leather passenger seat of her white Prius. The back of her neck prickled and she paused, spinning around to scan the parking lot outside the Tucson city courthouse. For the third time that week she had that creepy feeling of being watched.
She shook it off and climbed behind the wheel. Probably she was just being paranoid. She sighed. At three in the afternoon, her day was only half over. She had to review the stack of files before Judge Tell’s retirement party that night.
Starbucks, here I come.
She needed about ten Venti Red Eyes to make it through the files for tomorrow, most of them her least favorite—child protective services cases. Being a public defender wasn’t glamorous—not even remotely—but she was still idealistic enough to believe she served the greater good.
She turned on her signal to pull into the Starbucks parking lot, only to have a cop cut her off as he pulled into the lot in front of her. What an ass. Seemed like most cops she dealt with had serious ego and control issues.
She followed him into the lot and managed to whip into the last parking place before he got it.
Ha.
The squad car zipped past and double-parked beside the row of vehicles. Must be nice to be a cop.
She grabbed her purse and headed into Starbucks, stealing a surreptitious glance at the policeman over her shoulder. Make that men. Two of them, and actually not unappealing specimens of Tucson’s finest. Not that she was into that kind of guy.
She stood in line behind a trio of University of Arizona sorority girls in their matching T-shirts and short shorts. Damn, some of the girls wore them so short, their butt cheeks showed below the fabric. The police officers entered behind her.
Okay, they were beyond appealing. They were hot. Even for someone who didn’t have the “man in a uniform” fetish. These guys could actually tempt her to into a game of Good cop, bad cop. Or would it be Hot cop, hotter cop? Seasoned cop, youthful cop? The taller one was older—maybe mid-forties—with salt-and-pepper hair and piercing blue eyes. He wore a neatly trimmed beard, also peppered with silver, and his uniform clung to broad shoulders. The other cop might be in his late twenties or early thirties, like her. His broad, muscular chest stood out in fine definition, and the corded muscles of his arms showed beneath his short sleeves. He had brown hair and green eyes and also sported facial hair—a goatee distinguishing his youthful face. The TPD allowed facial hair? They probably had a “neat and trimmed” policy, at the very least.
His eyes sparkled when he caught her ogling. “Sorry for cutting you off back there.”
Unable to hold a grudge—he was too damn cute—she smiled back. “Sorry for taking the last parking place, but I figured it would be better for you to double-park than for me.”
Youthful Cop’s eyes traveled down the length of her body, taking in the fitted skirt, bare legs, and high heels. The corners of his lips curled in appreciation. Seasoned Cop smirked at both of them.
Damn, Starbucks needed to turn up the air conditioning. It was getting hot in there.
The sorority girls moved on, and she stepped forward, blood singing. She ordered an iced Red Eye and then told the cashier the policemen’s drinks were on her. The young barista beamed.
She walked to the next station to pick up her drink. As she tapped a straw out of its wrapper, she heard the barista telling Hot Cops what she’d done. “It’s in appreciation of your service,” the barista said.
The sorority girls watched with curiosity, and the two women standing behind the policemen smiled, also listening.
“No, it’s not, it’s because you’re so good-looking,” she called over to them as she sailed to the counter with the half and half.
The coffee shop broke into twitters. Seasoned Cop threw back his head and laughed while Youthful Cop’s watchful eyes crinkled.
Sloane winked at them and put the top back on her creamy iced coffee, swirling the cubes. The sound alone brought on a Pavlovian response of joy from her weary body.
She strutted out the side door, finding no reason to blow a great exit line. As she rounded the corner toward her car, Youthful Cop sauntered out the door, his neck craning sideways.
She smiled to herself and sashayed toward her car, the click of her heels on the pavement punctuating each step. The momentary thrill passed as she wondered whether he planned to ask her on a date. She hoped not. She didn’t date—especially not cops.
Three failed relationships in her twenties had soured her on men in general. She’d been the type who went all-in, so when they ended, her life had been torn apart. Controlling, one ex hand called her. Needy, another had said. Okay, she wanted a lot from her man. So what?
So, yeah. She’d learned to live without a man. Problem solved. Life was easier now. Much easier. Love wasn’t worth the heartbreak. Besides, she had a busy enough life with her career.
She opened her car door and slid into the seat, but Youthful Cop caught the door before she coul
d swing it shut.
Oh boy.
He draped an arm over it and leaned in, standing between her and the door. She’d never understood the meaning of “twinkling” eyes before, but this guy’s eyes definitely twinkled as he smiled down. “Thanks again for the coffee.” His deep, sexy voice sent frissons of heat rippling through her body.
Seasoned Cop arrived behind him, holding two large cups of iced java. He handed one to his partner and perched his hip against the body of her car, filling the remaining space between her door and the car.
The words “Cop Sandwich” flitted into her mind, and she pushed them firmly away when they inspired an entirely different, far more explicit picture in her brain.
Damn. She must be ovulating. She didn’t usually get this turned on by random guys she met at Starbucks.
She blinked up at them. Both smirked in a confident, hot-man kind of way. Jesus, they were cute. Almost blindingly so. “Okay, guys, I have to go—”
“I’m not sure those legs are legal, Johnboy, what do you think?” Seasoned Cop drawled, his eyes traveling the length of her bare legs.
Heat bloomed in her core.
Youthful Cop—Johnboy—took on a mock-serious expression and made a tsking noise. “I’m not sure they are.”
She needed to shut them down. Because, really, this wasn’t going to go anywhere. “Very funny boys. Okay, I need to get going.”
“Uh oh, I think we’re getting the brush-off now.” Seasoned Cop’s eyes slid sideways to his partner.
“Damn, and I thought she might enjoy a frisking.” Youthful Cop flashed a wolfish smile.
Her breasts ached, nipples hardened into tight beads at the thought of the two men running their hands all over her body. How long had it been since she’d had sex? Two years? Three? Way too long.
No—just no. This was stupid. She didn’t have time to even sit here and flirt right now, and the flirting wouldn’t be going anywhere. She stiffened her spine. “That’s never going to happen, fellas.” She made a shooing motion to get them out of her door.