by Brill Harper
“Oh, all right. But he is nice. It’s not a crime you know. I happen to like nice men.”
Something pulls in my gut. “I’m a nice man.”
Holly laughs. “No you’re not. You’re...”
“A scoundrel?” I finish, remembering Empire Strikes Back.
“I was always more of a Luke Skywalker fan than Han Solo anyway.”
“Now I know you’re lying. You better get back to this dream man of yours before I try to interest you in my light saber.”
She rearranges a few petals from her bouquet and brings them to her nose, inhaling a deep, long breath that looked so sensual my pants become really uncomfortable. When did such a simple act become so sexy? “He enjoys his career. I don’t really care what it is as long as he’s happy with it.”
“Uh-huh.” Somehow, I don’t see her settling down with a shoe salesman who loves his job, but I’ll let it go.
“He’ll have to have a sense of humor. Because I like to laugh.”
I nod. I like her laugh. Coupled with that husky voice, it’s a real turn on. “Okay. What else? What does he look like?”
“I don’t know. It’s not really important.”
I exit the freeway. “I call bullshit.”
“Looks are very low on my list.”
“Not buying it.”
“Dane, you don’t even know me. I find the inside of a person more attractive than the outside. Case in point, you’re an attractive man on the outside, but I’m not interested in you. You’ve tried to get me into bed at least once every conversation we’ve had, but have I taken you up on it? No.”
My knuckles turned white on the wheel. Not interested?
She’s lying, of course, but I still don’t like the thought of it. “I’ll just take this opportunity to remind you that you are currently on your way to my place and have agreed to be my girlfriend for the foreseeable future. I think you’re at least a little interested.”
For a girl next door, she sure has a mean Bitch, please look. “Pretend girlfriend.”
Right. Pretend. We are only pretending, which is good because I don’t want a relationship with her. But I do want her. Which confuses me. “Back to Mr. Right.” And why I’m not it.
“He’d be humble.”
“There is a difference between being ego-centric and being confident. Women, even you, prefer confident men. That doesn’t mean I can’t be humble when the occasion calls for it.”
“My dream guy will also want kids.”
For the life of me, I can’t think of a smart retort for that. There is a longing there that she can’t hide as she stares out at nothing. I don’t want to be her dream guy, honest I don’t, but to be taken out of the running suddenly makes me feel empty.
And I am so out of the running.
“I’ve never wanted kids,” I say to fill the silence, but instead it grows, filling up my car with missed opportunities to somehow make it better.
I bet she’d be a good mother. As much as her relationship advice annoys the hell out of me, she has a way of making people feel good about themselves even when she is straight shooting what they don’t want to hear.
My parents weren’t very good with advice. Sure, they encouraged me to follow my own path, but to a kid, the social aspect of childhood is pretty important, and they didn’t help me fit in when I needed them to. Not at all.
I pull into my driveway and try to shake the melancholy feeling away.
I lead Holly through the house to the backyard. She seems impressed by my neatness and the hominess of each room, so I don’t bring up the cleaning service or decorator I employ.
Holly sits cross-legged on my deck while I chuck balls to the dog. “Thanks for letting me stop home first. Boss needs to run every few hours or he eats curtains.”
She stretches out her legs, warming them in the sun. “I’m having fun. He’s pretty hilarious.”
As if on cue, Boss’s hind legs somehow get in front of his front ones and he flips unceremoniously. Holly’s laugh cannons me in the chest. What is it about this girl?
I join her on the deck, enjoying the warm spring sunshine. I really have a million things to do. I should take Holly back to her car, work on a vlog post, return some reader mail, and write a chapter on my new proposal, but all I want to do is sit on the porch in the sunshine and watch my dog play in the grass with this warm, full girl beside me.
As often the case in spring, the weather holds for as long as it can before the sky fills with clouds we try to ignore. We are having an interesting debate about whether or not she really, truly could possibly have been more Team Luke than Team Han when the first drop of rain kisses her pretty nose.
“Uh-oh,” she says, rubbing the droplet into her skin and grinning at me.
Uh-oh is right.
Something hits my chest from the inside. Something warm and explosive and undeniable. I have found plenty of women attractive in this lifetime, but I’ve never found one so adorable that it makes me shake. The moment slows time down as if we’re in own world. Raindrops collect prettily on her cheeks and eyelashes.
I’m not thinking with my dick, and I’m not thinking with my brain, either, when I cup her slight jaw in my hands and lean toward her, desperate for a taste of this woman. Because I need to know the flavor of her kiss.
I stop a scant inch from her lips and look into her eyes, searching for a red light or hopefully a green one. She doesn’t pull back, but she also doesn’t give me the encouragement I’m used to. I’m not sure what to do, and that thrills me unexpectedly, too. I’ve been getting what I want for too long, it seems. She’s going to make me work for it, and everything in me knows she’ll be worth the challenge.
I place the first kiss on the corner of her mouth. A sweet feather-light touch of my lips to hers. Gently, I draw her lower lip between mine. The raindrops fall harder as I lick and nibble her bottom lip until she sighs and parts her lips so sweetly.
Holding her head in my hands, I slant my mouth over hers again and again, gorging on the sweetness, loving the small mewing sound she makes when my tongue delves in to touch hers. The rain drums over us steadily, washing away everything but the feel of her, the smell of her.
In the distance, thunder rumbles, and Boss starts barking like a dog possessed. Damn it. Holly giggles against my mouth, and when I pull back, I see she is soaked to the bone.
“Jesus, Holly. I’m sorry. You must be freezing.”
She trembles, but I have to wonder if it is from the rain or maybe, just maybe, I have more of an effect on her than she’s been letting on. God, I hope so. Because I’m not sure what to do with all the feelings pounding me now, in the pouring rain, with a bedraggled, sexy girl next door.
Her sundress is plastered to her skin, showcasing her tantalizing curves and making my hands itch to touch them. I need to bring her in from the rain. As I’m helping her up, I eye the sky. “Shit.”
She mirrors her gaze to the angry clouds above. It’s never good when the sky bruises to that angry green and purple color. No wonder Boss was freaking out. A siren starts howling in the distance.
“Tornado,” we both say.
“Boss, come,” I yell as I pull Holly into the house. “Basement door is right there.” I point to safety and make sure she is down the stairs before I let go of Boss’s collar so he won’t mow her down. I follow them, latching the door behind us.
She stands shivering in the middle of my laundry room. I don’t like the look in her eye. Gone is the cautiously turned on woman, and in her place a sodden, frightened one. Something twists in the place most men keep their heart. I can’t name the feeling, but suddenly I realize what all that masculine confidence I teach men to exhibit is really for.
Dropping my voice to an octave used to calm wild animals, I school my movements to a slowness I don’t feel. My job right now is to show her stability, to make her feel safe. To make sure she is safe. It’s like this primal need to be the man she can count on. “Sweetheart, we’re goin
g to be just fine. This house is one hundred years old and still standing.” I pull a towel from the basket on top of the dryer. “We need to get you out of those wet clothes.”
Holly blinks as though she’s having trouble following along. She wets her lips several times and inhales a steadying breath. “I’m sorry. I just...I hate tornadoes. Bad memories.”
I nod and approach her slowly. “You can relax. I’ve got this.” I’ll take care of you. I bring the towel to her head and begin rubbing her hair gently. “I’d feel better if you took your dress off.”
She rolls her eyes. “I bet you would.”
Okay, that’s better. I prefer her sass to her fear. I finger a strap of her dress. “I don’t suppose this can go in the dryer?” I ask.
“I don’t buy things that require fancy washing or drying. If I can’t dry it, I don’t wear it.”
I swallow around the sudden lump in my throat as I turn her body. Slowly, I drag the zipper down, resisting the temptation to lick the wet skin revealed. She holds the fabric to her breasts as I skim my fingers under the straps on her shoulder and swipe them down. Beneath the dress, she’s wearing a plain white cotton bra and matching panties. Both are nearly transparent against her skin and do things to me that the raciest of lingerie has failed to do so far.
I turn her back around and wait for her to drop her dress.
“You’re soaked too,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper.
She’s still scared, and I want to rush out and wrestle the damn tornado to the ground for her so she’ll feel safe. I hand her the towel and reach for the hem of my sweater, pulling it over my head and tossing it the direction of the wash machine. I’ve never felt more naked, standing there shirtless but still in my jeans. It doesn’t make sense, but I feel like I’m exposing myself to her in ways I’ve never done with anyone before.
She bites her lip and hands me back the towel before she lets go of the dress. I wrap the towel around her as she steps free of the wet material. Planting a kiss on top of her head, I grab her dress from the floor and put it into the dryer. Next, I pull down a rubber bin full of storm necessities. Once I tune in the local station on the crank radio, I uncork the emergency wine and pour two plastic cups. I find her on the other side of the room brushing the dust off an old yearbook.
Shit.
Slight panic stops me cold as she reads the engraved name on the cover out loud. “Dante Martino?” Those crescents deepened above her nose again as she looks to me and then back at the name, connecting the two. “Dante? You’re Italian? You don’t really look Italian.”
Recovering some of my swagger, I cross the room. “I was adopted by Italian parents.”
“Why did you change your name? Are you and your family not close?”
I love my family. “My family is fine. It’s Dante that I’d like to forget.”
I want out of my wet jeans. I want her out of that towel and not opening the book. I could stop her. I should stop her. But, instead, I down half of the cup of wine in one swallow and watch as she finishes stripping me barer than I’ve ever been just by turning the page.
Neighborly Advice
DEAR GIRL NEXT DOOR,
I do not understand men at all.
How can two people have a wonderful time on a date, but then he never calls again? He was witty, charming, and attentive. The kiss at the door was romantic. He even sent flowers the next day. He just never went for date number two.
What am I Doing Wrong?
~*~
DEAR WAIDW,
When it comes to men, there is a difference between attentive and attention. A man interested in having a nice evening even though he already knows the “it” factor isn’t there for him will still be attentive. He will be pleasant, well-mannered, and charming. He may even still try to take you to bed. But he’s in a different place than the guy who wants to give you his attention.
Attention, to a man, is thinking about the woman when they are not together. Does he send texts (not booty call texts) out of the blue? Does he seem to reflect on things you’ve said and continue the conversation on a subsequent outing? (i.e.” I remembered another favorite movie from our conversation the other night.”) If you have his attention, you are on his mind and likely will be asked out again.
Please know that an attentive date is nothing to sneeze at. Just because you didn’t click for a second date doesn’t mean there is anything wrong with either of you. Try to just enjoy your evenings out for what they are—good food, entertainment, sparkling conversation—and don’t put so much importance on what comes after, if anything. Making connections with people isn’t just about “I do.”
Sincerely,
The Girl Next Door
CHAPTER FIVE
Holly
I FLIP THROUGH PAGES until I get to M and stop on what must be a senior prank. I look at Dane again, but he is ghost white, despite the sexiness he exudes from being bare-chested while wearing jeans. God, it is positively unfair the way men can make a woman feel wearing denim and no shirt. I’m pretty sure that his abs have abs.
He is the hottest man I’ve ever seen in person, that’s for sure. Which makes his senior photo from Pine City High School even more confusing. Dante Martino was either extremely non-photogenic or the most awkward teen boy in history. Coke bottle glasses: check. Unfortunate acne: check. Scrawny neck holding up too large a head: check. Braces: check. Bowl cut: check.
“I don’t understand,” I say.
He takes a few steps closer and offers me a red plastic cup, taking the yearbook from me when his hand is free. “That is why I changed my name. I changed everything. I’m the biggest mother fucking success story ever,” he says ruefully, though at the moment, he doesn’t look like he feels on top of the world.
So, Dane Martin hasn’t always been the cocky, self-sure lady killer. Ten years ago, he’d been a geeky teen. In my experience, he’d have been one of the jocks that had things handed to them because they were blessed with good genes. I pined for the captain of the basketball team myself.
“So you were not quite as virile as a teen?” I ask.
An explosion outside hampers his answer, and the lights flicker off, leaving us in total darkness and throwing me into an abyss of my own shadowy memories. I gasp and am suddenly embraced by two strong arms.
The wind howls and I taste fear. I’m small. Huddled in a corner, my knees are dirty, and I’m worried about the goldfish I left in my bedroom. Will my bedroom still be there?
“It’s all right,” he murmurs. “It was a transformer. It happens in storms all the time.”
The tinny taste in my mouth gags me, and I struggle to come back to here. To now. The memory so vivid seconds ago fades, and I nod against his chest, inhaling the scent of him and grateful for the strength of his embrace. “You must think I’m a total ninny.”
“No, sweetheart. I think you’re scared, though. But we’re safe in here. I’ve got two bottles of emergency wine, snacks, and best of all, flashlights. But they are in the box on top of the washing machine. So, the question is, can I let you go if I promise to come back with light?”
I nod against his chest again but grip him tighter. My legs are shaking. Will they even hold me up?
Come back to yourself, Holly. You’re wearing a towel in the basement lair of the hottest guy on the planet. And he has booze. Things could be a lot worse.
“Emergency wine? You really are prepared.”
Dane strokes my wet hair and kisses the top of my head again. “Like a Boy Scout.”
“I know I’m being ridiculous. I really hate tornadoes. The one that killed my grandpa happened while I was hiding in a dark storm cellar on his farm. I’ll never forget the sound of it. Like a train sent from hell to retrieve you.”
He kisses the top of my head again. “But you’re safe here. Half-naked with the most notorious rake in all of Port Calypso, but safe.”
He moves away from me, and I remember I’m holding a cup of wine and drink some
liquid courage. The half-naked part might be a problem if I keep feeling needy and he keeps being chivalrous. Especially if I let my mind wander to the kisses in the rain.
I’ve never experienced anything like those kisses, hadn’t really thought it was possible to feel so much passion. Well, I always hoped I could feel that carried away, but so far it hasn’t happened for me. Does that make me a fraud? Telling people that sex is so much better if it involves love when the best, hottest, most provoking kiss I ever had was with a man I barely know?
But the rain practically sizzled on my skin and was the only thing that kept me from combusting from the heat of his mouth. If the tornado siren hadn’t gone off, I’m pretty sure I would have had sex with him on the deck. And that it would have been amazing.
Dane flashes a light toward me, and I feel my heart return to normal. At least until I look at him again. He really knows how to fill out a pair of jeans. He certainly worked hard to overcome the gangly teen.
Boss sits on my feet, and together we watch Dane work. By flashlight, he fashions us a nest on the floor with sleeping bags. I encourage him to get out of his wet jeans and we snuggle together under a blanket in our underwear. Needing a distraction, I ask him about the yearbook again.
Dane tenses up beside me. I push away erotic thoughts of what it would be like to be under him in the still moment of a climax, when every part of him would tense and harden before he lost control.
Shaking myself from the fantasy, I prod him again. “Are you going to your ten-year reunion this year?”
“No.”
That surprises me. “Why not? I’d think you’d want everyone in Pine City to know how well you are doing.”
“I have no desire for anyone to link who I am now to who I was then.”
I shift to get a better look at his face. “Why did you change your name?”
“I don’t want to talk about him.”
“You say that like he is a different person.”