Ten Dates: A fun and sexy romantic comedy novel (The Power of Ten Book 1)

by Emily James

  "Don't call me and don't message me. I hope your dick falls off!"

  The word dick echoes through the hallway as if to taunt me. My hands are shaking and I have to clench to hold them still.

  I'm about to continue to lash him with my anger when I'm interrupted by a gruff, masculine voice. "Is everything okay? Four, are you all right? I heard the yelling all the way from my apartment."

  I follow the voice along the carpeted foyer all the way to Six, who only has a white bath towel wrapped around his waist. Droplets of water fall from his hair and roll over his pectoral muscles. They continue a path down his concrete abs pooling in his tiny circular navel.

  Six clears his throat, and my eyes shoot to his. At his raised eyebrow, I close my mouth, and then look back at Chris, whose mouth is also open.

  "Of course, I'm fine. He was just going." I shove my thumb in Chris's direction and glare from him to the door.

  "You heard the lady." Six cocks his head towards the door, then pulls his towel a little tighter.

  Chris raises his hands in defeat and makes a show of pulling the handle of his wheeled suitcase up, to show his intent to leave.

  As Chris reluctantly walks out of the door, he turns to tell me, "I'll call you." The door swings closed behind him and I sigh in relief and turn my attention back to Six. The draft from the door’s closure causes Six's near black hair to swing back and drip more water down his body.

  I swallow hard and, unsure what to say or where to look without embarrassing myself further, I attempt to glide down the corridor with a sassy little butt swing. However, because I already drank the best part of two bottles of wine, my glide turns into a petulant stomp and the stupid kitten heel of my boot does not allow me to glide. No, it has other ideas. It latches on the tasselled rug, which behaves like an octopus, tangling around my feet. Before I'm able to right my balance, I fall face first, straight towards Six and his moist, poster-perfect body.

  My arms flail around as I attempt to reverse my trajectory, and I yelp as I fall in slow motion towards the floor. The yelp echoes through the corridor, alerting anyone who may not be aware that I'm making a complete fool of myself, that they should stop what they are doing to come watch this ridiculous debacle.

  Six is alert and leaps into action. He swoops and bends to catch me.

  My arms launch out like the wheels of a jet plane in order to save myself, just in case his thick strong arms aren't up to the job. I latch hold of the first thing my hands can get purchase on. Not the heavy bookcase or the tub chair next to the entrance to our corridor, no, because they might actually break my fall. Instead, I grab onto what might possibly be the worst thing in the world to grab when falling.

  The towel.

  Not just any towel.

  THE towel.

  The towel that is sheltering his groin, to be precise.

  My right hand clings, as though it is my lifeline, onto what I am certain is a large semi erect penis, covered in one-hundred-percent Egyptian cotton towelling.

  The penis is robust and between it and his strong arms, they prevent my face from kissing the floor.

  Six lifts me higher, so that my eyes meet his dark, almost navy blue, glittering lakes. He smiles a sexy lopsided grin and my skin, lit by desire, heats into a fast boil.

  Six's features crinkle a little and he gives me a measured, concerned look. Then he says, "It's okay, Four. You’re safe. You can let go of my penis now, if you want to, that is."

  Six gives me the sexiest grin I have ever seen this close and in person, and then he winks.

  He actually winks.

  I do what any normal, lucid, self-conscious woman would do under the circumstances. As if it is suddenly on fire, I drop the penis and run like hell to the safety of my apartment.

  Chapter 3

  BEFORE I GO TO WORK in the morning, I check the peephole to make sure the hallway is clear and Six is not around. I give myself eye strain glaring, and I listen for any signs of movement in the hallway outside. As I do this, thoughts of last night invade my mind.

  After penis-gate, once I was safely in my flat, I spent what was left of the evening giving myself an ear bashing about what just happened. It's as I told Melinda, when I called her to offload, who has a penis that large? It is obscene, glutinous. It wouldn’t even fit. As soon as I had made that statement, I had started to wonder about all the ways that it might fit, and then I really couldn’t sleep.

  This morning, I'm tired, a little hung-over and a lot horny. A part of my problem was my overactive imagination competing with my under-sexed body. Chris and I hadn't had sex for months; he was just too busy or tired.

  One grip of a massive penis and now suddenly I've become Wanton Wilma.

  I smack my head with my palm; I just need to get some. Then, maybe I can get Six, I mean sex, out of my head.

  I hear footsteps and hold my breath as Six walks within sight of my peephole. Paranoid thoughts wage a war against any rational thinking, and I wonder if he can somehow see me spying on him from behind my door.

  I suddenly feel like some kind of naked peeping Tom. Not that I’m actually naked, but suddenly my red raincoat feels lewd and sinister. I quickly hang it back on the hook and swap it for a green Parker coat, and I congratulate myself for avoiding Six. Just a few more minutes and I should be able to leave for work.

  When I return to check the peephole, Six has stopped right outside my door to tie his shoe. He dons a sexy little grin that turns the corner of his mouth up. He then slowly stands, looks right at me through my peephole and walks away, as if he didn't just eye fuck me through a door.

  Big dick Six walks with a cocky swagger. Maybe his giant penis makes him walk this way, all confident and smooth. I channel my desire into distaste.

  Yuk!

  Six needs to stop being such a smug bastard. Swaggering past my hole as if he owns it, who does he think he is?

  I strain my neck, trying to get a better angle of him walking away. For a moment, I get a good view of his muscular butt as he continues up the hall and out of view. Perhaps someone ought to buy him a wheelbarrow for his giant cock in case he throws his back out.

  With Six safely out of view, I rub the tension in my neck and grab my bag and keys from the console table next to the door. I'm just about to leave when an important thought pops into my head. From now on, I can’t open the door without first checking if he is in the corridor. I will need to learn his routine if I am to continue to avoid that hugely hung bastard.

  Because I am paranoid and I can't trust myself not to accidentally walk out to the hallway without checking, I go to the kitchen and pull a notepad from the drawer. I tear out a sheet and scribble on it: Look for sex. Then, because I always check my work, I cross out sex and change the word to Six.

  Look for sex Six.

  I add three exclamation marks to highlight the importance of looking for Six and then, satisfied I have done all I can do to avoid Six, I pin the note to the inside of my door. After a reasonable amount of time, I walk out of my door and turn left towards the foyer, walking confidently in the direction of the car park.

  The corridor lacks its usual musty smell. It smells like Six. His rugged, earthy cologne is uplifting against the noxious scent of One’s day old curry and Two's elderly poodle. I inhale deeply just to be sure I recognise the smell for future reference. However, as I'm nearing the end of the corridor, the scent sharpens and Six suddenly turns the corner.

  I can’t trust myself to say anything coherent to him, not at this ungodly hour, so I inhale him once more and continue, intending to walk past him.

  He stands there, as if expecting me to stop and talk to him some more.

  After penis-gate!

  His hair looks lighter today, now that it's not oozing water down his hard, broad shoulders. It's dishevelled, yanked in all directions, and I have a strong urge to run my hand through his hair and give it a little tug of my own, just to see if it really feels as soft as it looks. Instead, I ball my hands in
the pockets of my Parker. Intending to rush past him, muttering something about being in a hurry, I sprint towards my car.

  He sidesteps in an attempt to move out of my way, but I already sidestepped him first. In my haste to avoid him, I bump into his rock hard chest. Six-foot-something manliness crashes against me.

  Six brazenly grabs hold of my hands to stop me from falling backwards onto the corduroy carpet. My pulse gallops against his rough hands, and I'm rendered completely speechless as he stands opposite me. Up close, he smells even better; I inhale a little deeper. My nostrils flare as I quickly try to expel his scent from inside of me.

  He grins with a knowing smile that he's gotten beneath my skin. His navy blue eyes, that match his suit, are thorough in their assessment of me.

  I try to look away, but my traitorous gaze is now trained on his groin, which today is sheathed in an expensive looking, tight trouser. I forcibly drag my eyes away and instead train them on the area just ahead of Six and the foyer beyond.

  "Good morning, Four. I’m glad I’ve run into you. I forgot my wallet, was just running back to get it, coincidence seeing you out here at this hour.” He smiles. His teeth are white and gleam like freshly fallen snow. “After you ran off last night, I wanted to check on you, to see if that man last night was bothering you? Then you seemed a little flushed, so I thought I would wait until today. Is he the reason your face is bruised?" Six stands rigid and his face is serious as he inspects my eye.

  I gaze up at him. This close to him, I can see the turquoise flecks in his dark eyes. A light crinkling to the skin around them marks his concern. It’s then I realise that Six thinks I’m might be some kind of battered wife. I try to tell him, to set the record straight, but the words leave my mouth in a gurgled mess, as if my communication skills have leapt back by three decades. “No, he didn’t... Well, it was a misfire, you see. A missile badly let off, he didn’t mean to... He didn’t hit me, if that’s what you’re wondering. I’m single actually.”

  Six smiles and replies, “So, you’re okay?” He steps back as he lets go of my hands. “That’s good.” He nods.

  I correct myself when I notice that, as his scent retreats, I’m leaning forward. My eyes trail down his body, distracting me. His jacket is open and his shirt is pure white with the slightest sheen. I stop myself gawking at the silhouette of his chest. However, when I attempt to look away, my eyes lock on his groin again. My tongue moistens my lips, and an alarming fact smacks me upside the head.

  It’s official. I am a pervert.

  “Yes, yes, Six. I’m fine,” I mumble, shaking my head to clear my dirty thoughts, and I begin walking away.

  Six grabs my wrist loosely and I freeze in place, half in the corridor, half in the foyer. I don’t dare turn back and meet his gaze for fear of what my body might do.

  “You know, Four. If you ever need anything, anything at all, I’m right next door. You don’t have to keep running off. We could be friends you and I.”

  The mint on his breath is a tickle on my neck and I can’t help turn to him. He really is a thing of beauty, so much so I actually feel my knees weaken.

  “You know, Six, maybe I’d like that,” I reply honestly. So long as I can stop humiliating myself in front of him, Six may be just the scratch to my itch. My mouth turns up in a smile and I decide this is just what I need, a little practice at the art of flirting, a little fun. Six smiles back mischievously; his hair flops a little over his eye as his head turns to an oncoming voice.

  “There you are. I was about to run after you, you forgot your wallet...”

  Barbie, A.K.A. Big-Tits-Twenty, my neighbour, the one Chris shagged, is walking towards us, all naked legs and dishevelled hair. She also hosts the quarterly owners’ meetings held in the Dancing Deer, which is a bar down the road. Her long blonde hair sways in time with her silicone breasts, beating her bare feet to us by a long shot. She’s dressed in a belted oversized shirt. Six’s shirt, I’d bet.

  Six drops my wrist and takes a step towards Twenty. She purrs as she hands him his wallet and rubs up against him like a cat in heat, marking her territory. She eyes me cautiously while she waits for Six to speak.

  Six smiles pleasantly at us both in turn.

  “Thanks, Barb, you’re a lifesaver. You ladies have a great day,” he says and walks away toward the foyer and out of our line of sight. Big-Tits-Twenty and I stare after him, our mouths more than a little agape.

  “I... got to go,” we say in unison and head in our separate directions.

  I stomp to my car and decide two important things. One, I still hate Big-Tits-Twenty, and two, my sense of smell cannot be trusted for risk-assessing the corridor, and I make a mental note to buy some deodorisers on my way home from work.

  I SPEND THE DAY AT work calming myself, which is much easier to do beyond the reach of Six’s pheromones. However, as soon as work is finished and I pull the car up outside our building, I'm a bag of nerves again. I manage to navigate the car park like a secret agent, hiding in the shadows and sticking to the grass, which is quieter to walk on. The door to the foyer sticks, as usual. I eye the window I sometimes need to climb through because apparently I'm the only person in the building who has any difficulty with the stiffness of the lock, and for that reason the maintenance company refuses to fix it.

  After a few waggles of my key and a shoulder bump to the door, I'm in the foyer and racing to my apartment, mentally patting my skills on the proverbial back. My nerves really kick in when I get to our corridor. However, it's clear of Six, and I have my key ready, so I’m able to shoot through the door, making it within the safety zone in record time.

  Phew. I breathe a sigh of relief and relax.

  My phone rings from my bag and makes me jump. I can see from the call display that it's Melinda, checking up on me no doubt. She immediately asks why I’m so jumpy and I explain to her about this morning’s situation, following Penis-gate and my subsequent anxiety around him.

  "It's no good. I'm just going to have to sell up and buy somewhere new," I tell her, while moving around the kitchen, filling and switching on the kettle.

  "He can't be that bad," Melinda says.

  “He is, he really is,” I insist, but she just doesn't get it. Probably because I don't tell her how good-looking he is, so she doesn't take me seriously and changes the subject on my neurotic mumblings.

  "How's your eye? Did you try the cover-up I told you about?"

  It's dark outside so I check out my reflection in the kitchen window. "My eye looks less swollen. It's all the way open now, so it’s almost better. I bought some concealer anyway, so I'll give it a try tomorrow."

  "Good. I was thinking, when you look a little more runway model than road-kill victim, we need to get you back out there. I've written a list, I hope you don't mind, of some of the singles who might be good matches. This time, we're not going to leave it to that sick son-of-a-bitch fate. We'll do our research, plan better, and then we can secure a better outcome. I was thinking, a little older this time, someone who already knows what he wants. Someone ambitious, but not like Chris, and he should definitely be a homeowner."

  I hear Mikey in the background wetting himself with laughter.

  "I think a homeowner will be more interested in me than Joanie," Mikey hollers.

  "I didn't know Mikey was staying with you again,” I say, changing the subject. The last thing I need is Melinda on a matchmaking mission.

  "He is. He and Ted had a big fight, tell you later," she whispers.

  "So, since you're worried you're getting on a bit, and there's no time to waste, I've made a spreadsheet of every single guy we know. I also went through Mikey's address book of straights, and Steve's address book too. We need numbers. It's no good putting all your eggs in one basket. You've got to kiss a lot of frogs. Do it a lot of times. Steve and I had sex twice a day for three months before Ed was conceived. Everything takes more time and effort the older you get."

  "Mel, please stop with the matchmaking. It
's only been two days since I got out from a long-term relationship. I need time."

  "Nonsense. You need numbers."

  I have visions of Melinda pushing spectacles up her nose, closer to her eyes, as she examines her spreadsheet.

  "She got me too, Joanie. We're fucked. Only she reckons I've got too many numbers, so with me it's the opposite."

  Melinda clarifies, "Mikey's already screwed his way around town. Therefore, we're going with quality not quantity, no more seedy nightclubs and Internet hook-ups. For Mikey it’s all about the serious, dedicated homosexuals looking for life partners. I'll have you two settled down before Ed's out of nappies. We start potty training next week. So, both of you, stock up on condoms and for God’s sake Joanie, put on that concealer and make sure you look at the email I sent you. I want a short list of ten names by the end of the week."

  "Ten?" I ask, humouring her.

  "Yes, ten. Statistically speaking, if you date ten guys, in ten days, at least one will be a keeper. Left to you, you’ll be procrastinating over what shoes they’re wearing and worrying whether your mother will like them. This way we cut out the BS and skip straight to the good part."

  I gulp.

  Ten guys, ten dates.

  "Have you lost your mind? This isn't Joanie does Jamaica. What are you doing to Mikey? His punishment had better be worse," I threaten.

  "Oh it is, J. Next week is my week off, she’s booked me onto intense cookery one-oh-one. It's going to be fucking torture."

  "What if we decide we won’t do it?" I ask, knowing she can't enforce this shit.

  "I'm cutting you both off. I'm not listening to anymore whining about Crappy Chris, Joanie, and Mikey, I won't listen to a single word about Ted the Tosser, either. You'll both be on your own. It's my way or the highway. If I fail, which of course I won't, I won't ever cast a disparaging glance at either one of you, ever again. Deal?"

  "Deal," Mikey and I both begrudgingly say in unison.

  Chapter 4