Auggie closes the office door and empties the contents of the bag onto my desk. Out spills a red-and-white box labeled IdentiGene DNA Paternity Test Collection Kit. We sift through the contents. There are three swabs, and postage-paid envelopes to return the samples.
“Auggie, this is absolutely perfect. Thank you for picking it up for me. Can you imagine what would happen if I was spotted buying this?” I slip the swabs into the envelope and hide them in my purse. I shove the wrappings back into a bag and hand it to Auggie, who agrees to take it home and get rid of it for me. “One question, though – how do I collect my DNA sample? It says here in the directions that the most accurate results come from collecting cheek cells. How the hell am I going to pull that off?”
“Oh, Jepetto, I have complete confidence that you can stick anything you want into that boy’s mouth and you’ll have him begging for more.”
“Oh my God, Auggie. Seriously? How do I explain sticking a cotton swab in his mouth? The minute he sees me coming at him with a stick, he’ll know something’s up.”
“So don’t let him see you,” he suggests. “Blindfold him first, then feed him. Turn it into a game. I have a blindfold you can borrow if you need one.”
“Why would you have a blindfold?” Auggie opens his mouth to answer, but I stop him, “Wait – never mind. Forget I ever asked. Keep your blindfold. I’ll find something. It’s actually a great idea.”
But the question remains, how do I get samples from a toddler I’ve only met once? I’ll have to keep the swab with me just in case an opportunity presents itself.
Auggie leaves and I wander aimlessly around the bar. I clean what I can, water the plants, and replace twinkle lights that have lost their glow. When I make it to the bar, I see Emmy has half the bar covered with all sorts of bottles and she’s busily scratching notes in a journal. She looks up from her book and spots me. “Jette, thank God you’re here. I need your help. Come taste this for me!”
Relieved to finally have something to occupy my anxious mind, I happily take a seat at the bar and look over the array of liquors and mixers spread across the bar. “What’s going on, Em?”
“I’ve started following some bartending blogs and there’s a new craze I want to bring to Rush. Everyone’s experimenting with beer and lager cocktails and I thought I’d give it a try too. If you like it, maybe we can make it one of the drink specials on our next menu.”
She looks so thrilled, I can’t help but feel a little excited too. “Sounds great. What are we trying first?”
“Well, the first one I’ve been experimenting with is called an End Zone.” She takes a pint glass and fills it half way with a beer and tops it off with apple cider. She adds a shot of Chambord and passes it to me to taste test. I have to admit, the thought of mixing beer with, well anything, really, does not immediately resonate with me. But I’m willing to give it a try.
I bring the beer to my nose and inhale. It definitely smells like cider, but it has a foamy head. Hints of hard cider ales come to mind. When I taste it, there’s no mistaking the taste of beer infused with apples and cinnamon. “Emmy, this is really good. What kind of beer did you use? Why do I taste cinnamon?”
“Blue Moon just came out with a new ale, Cinnamon Horchata. I picked some up on the way to work. It’s pretty good, right?” I take a second taste and nod enthusiastically. “I knew it!” she proclaims.
“Emmy, this is really good, but we have an apple and cinnamon cocktail on the menu – remember? The Turnover? I’m not so sure. What else do you have for me to try?”
“Well, I do have one more, but it’s not very original. They call it a Lagerita. It’s a combination of beer and Margarita. Want to try one? I think I got the ratios right.”
First she rims a highball glass with salt, and then she proceeds to add traditional Margarita ingredients of tequila and fresh lime juice. The next unexpected ingredient is a shot of Cointreau. She puts it in a shaker and strains it over ice, but only half the glass is full. Emmy tops it off with Corona and garnishes it with a wheel of lime.
“Emmy, if it tastes half as good as it looks, we’ve got a winner.” With one sip, I know she’s found something special. It’s light and refreshing, and it’s something that might appeal to both men and women. “Wow! This is really good, Emmy. Nice job.”
“She makes a mess of my bar, and you tell her she’s done a nice job?”
“Oh, so now it’s your bar?” I tease, jumping off my barstool and throwing my arms around Evan’s neck.
“What’s mine is yours still works both ways, doesn’t it?” he asks, lifting me off my feet. He bends his head down and presses his lips lightly to mine, sending chills down my spine.
The front door chimes as a small group enters the restaurant. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”
Evan grabs my hand and pulls me back before I can get very far. “Let the hostess get it. Stay. I just got here.” Evan looks down at me with his sapphire-blue eyes. It’s hard to look at anything else.
“I can’t, I sent her home.” I wiggle out of his embrace and head straight for the door. Another couple files in right after them and I seat them too, grateful for the little bit of business.
When I return to the bar, Emmy has Evan tasting her concoctions and they seem deep in conversation. Evan takes another experimental sip and is struck by a thought. “Okay, these aren’t bad. But how about this – a Bloody Mary made with a stout, and instead of a big stalk of celery sticking out ... ”
Emmy blurts out before Evan can even finish his sentence, “Bacon!”
“Yes! Evan agrees. Only let’s call it a Hail Mary.” Evan sits back in his chair, immensely proud of his suggestion. Emmy hurries off to the back to see if Reese can make her a few slices of bacon to experiment with.
The phone rings and I rush to the back of the bar to answer it. Unfortunately I don’t make it in time and the caller hangs up before I get to it.
“Juliette, what’s going on? Where’s the staff? Why don’t you have anyone answering the phones or seating the guests?” Evan is looking at me, his lips pressed into a hard line, waiting for a response.
I don’t want to tell him the truth, that we’re barely making ends meet. “It was slow, so I sent a lot of them home.”
“That’s it? You’re not having staff problems or anything like that?” I shake my head. “Well, I hope you would tell me if there was something wrong. I can help, you know.”
He’s so sweet. I know that if I told him, he would help. But for now we’ll be okay.
Emmy comes back with her bacon and begins to experiment with Evan’s inspirational cocktail. I take a quick walk around and check on my customers. Everyone seems to be happy and well taken care of.
There are a few more flowers to water, and while I make my way around the back of the restaurant, I can’t help but sneak a peek at Evan, sitting alone at the bar watching a basketball game. He’s wearing one of my Christmas presents. Evan has an amazing collection of vintage concert tees. I just knew he would love to own a rare concert T-shirt. It took some doing, but I found a collector who was selling an original and authentic 1977 Led Zeppelin North American Tour concert shirt for a little over five hundred dollars. Considering its age, it’s in great condition. It’s slightly faded and soft, but it fits him like a glove. The thin fabric shows off the contours of his defined chest and the sleeves emphasize his muscular biceps. He looks gorgeous in my T-shirt. It was worth every penny.
Marcus comes over to me and interrupts my train of thought. “Hey, boss. I got this covered. Why don’t you head home for the night? You probably have a lot of last-minute things to take care of before you head out to Indianapolis tomorrow.”
“Thanks, Marcus. I think I’ll take you up on that offer.” I look at my watch and it’s only a little after eight. My wheels start spinning. Evan and I haven’t eaten dinner yet. I wonder if tonight would be a good opportunity for me to try some blindfolded taste tests on my man.
Evan looks over at
me and smiles. If he ever knew all the secrets I’ve been keeping from him, there would be hell to pay. He would never understand.
Evan locks the door and arms the security system behind him the moment we arrive back home. I hang up my coat while Evan sticks his head in the refrigerator, rummaging around for something to eat. “I’m starving. Tell me again why we couldn’t eat at Rush.”
“Because I have something special planned for your dinner tonight.” Evan closes the refrigerator door, shrugs, and walks into the living room, looking for the remote control. “Oh, and by the way, Evan – we’re going to have blindfolded sex tonight.” His face lights up, scorching excitement in his eyes.
I instruct Evan to retrieve his leather chair from the office while I find a suitable blindfold. I try to imagine what a man might like to have tied around his face, and I immediately settle for a pair of my black stockings. I test them on myself first, and they seem to work surprisingly well.
When Evan and I meet again in the kitchen, I ask him to take Maddy for a walk while I get everything ready. “Take your time,” I tell him. He pouts, giving me puppy-dog eyes, obviously eager to begin. “I promise it will be worth the wait.”
Once I hear the door close, I begin filling the kitchen counter with all the tools I will need. I have a series of bowls all lined up, ready to be filled, and an assortment of spoons and forks. If all goes well, I hope to be able to slip out my swab, which is carefully tucked away in one of the drawers.
Selecting just the right foods is more challenging than I originally thought. I go through the refrigerator, the cabinets and pantry, selecting items with a variety of textures, temperatures, and smells.
Evan returns and I lead him over to the leather chair and explain the rules for tonight. “I will be serving you a traditional seven-course meal. Each time you correctly guess a food, I will take off one article of clothing. Each time you get one wrong, I will remove one of yours.”
Evan opens his mouth to say something, and I immediately plant a kiss on his luscious lips, which he eagerly accepts. It feels good to take control. This may turn out to be almost as enjoyable for me.
I reach into my pocket and pull out the stocking I’ve selected. “This is for you,” I tell him as his eyes grow wide. “Now close your eyes.” I securely tie the stockings around his eyes and wave my hand in front of his face, just making sure that he can’t see anything.
I run my hand across his chest and up to his broad shoulders. “Now you stay right here and don’t move a muscle. I’ll be right back with your first course.”
The first bowl I uncover contains left over pumpkin pie, which is now warm and creamy. I dip two fingers in, scooping out a small portion. “Ready?” I ask.
“Oh, yeah,” Evan quickly replies, grinning salaciously.
I smear a small amount on his lips and wait for him to take a lick. Once he finishes, I ask him to open his mouth for another taste. I place my fingers in his mouth and watch unabashedly as he sucks and licks every bit off my fingers until they are clean. Slowly, I remove my fingers from his mouth. "What is it?" I challenge.
"Mmm, that’s too easy. It’s pumpkin pie," Evan says, smirking.
"You’re right." I place a foot on Evan’s lap. “You can take off my shoes,” I direct him. He runs his hands up and down my leg before removing first one shoe, then the next.
Time for something savory. I find the bowl with leftover turkey from Christmas dinner. I skewer a piece of dark meat and return to the leather chair. “Open up,” I tell him, placing the fork in his mouth, “and tell me what you taste.”
He closes his mouth around the fork and I slowly slide the fork out between his teeth. He bites and chews, trying to identify the taste. "Okay, that was just ... " Evan grumbles. "No, wait. Is it a piece of pork?"
I can’t help but giggle. “Sorry, Chief. That was your mother’s leftover turkey.”
"Are you sure?" Evan huffs under his breath.
"Positive. Looks like that round goes to me!" I crow. One by one, I remove his shoes and toss them to the side before moving on to the next round.
I smile when I find the leftover spaghetti with clam sauce. Carefully, I place a few pieces of clam on a spoon and bring it to his lips. “Ready?"
Smiling, he opens his mouth and I place a spoonful in his mouth. The moment the clam touches his tongue, he makes a face, twisting his mouth and scrunching up his face. He takes a few experimental bites, then swallows hard. "Okay, now that was disgusting! What the hell was that?"
"Clams. Another round for me!” I clap proudly.
Evan holds up a foot, assuming I’m going to remove his socks next, but I slap his foot away. “Oh, no. I’m the one in charge tonight and I get to make all the decisions.” I walk around him in a circle, laying my hands all over him. “Should I remove this shirt?” I tug on his shirt slightly. “Or maybe,” I run my hand up and down his thigh, “I should take off these pants.”
Evan reaches over to touch me, but I won’t allow it, “Not yet, big boy. How about you take off your shirt? But be very careful not to remove the blindfold, or our little game’s over,” I warn him. He does as he’s told while I return to the kitchen for our next selection.
So far, I’ve used a fork, a spoon, and my finger. I think it’s time to try the swab. But which food to choose? I don’t want to ruin the sample by getting food all over the swab. I open the drawer to remove the swab, and sitting there is a pile of straws. Thinking fast, I decide to take him a glass of ice water to cleanse his palate. It just might work.
“Open up and get ready to suck,” I tell him. He opens his mouth and reaches for my hand. In a panic, I pull away, fearful that he will discover my secret, nearly spilling water all over his lap. “Do you trust me?” I ask him.
He nods his head.
“Then tell me,” I command.
“Juliette, I trust you.”
“Okay, then. It’s just water.” I bring the straw and swab up to his mouth, and he keeps his hands at his side. “Take a few good sips.” Carefully, I swish the swab and straw around in his mouth, being sure to make contact with both cheeks. When he stops, I slide out the straw and swab out and place a kiss on his lips. “Good. Now you’re ready for the next round.”
I hurry into the kitchen, stow away the swab in its container, and select my next course. Evan deserves a reward and I know just the thing.
I hesitate and take a moment to enjoy the vision before me. Evan is sitting in his leather chair, shirtless and blindfolded with an obvious bulge in his pants. Unable to resist the temptation, I draw my fingernails across his chest, causing him to shiver from the sensation. He reaches out for me, and I place his hands on my hips. “Are you okay?” I ask.
“Very okay,” he affirms.
“Then open up for me, Chief.”
He capitulates, and I lay a small chocolate-covered strawberry in his mouth, letting my fingers linger on his lips, coating them with just a hint of melted chocolate. I can tell by his expression that he’s savoring the chocolaty taste. Evan moans softly as his tongue darts out to taste the chocolate left behind. I can feel the flush in my cheeks as I watch.
“That’s a chocolate-covered strawberry,” he pronounces.
“It is,” I agree, and my voice this time is lower, throaty. “I suppose I have to take something off now. See if you can guess.” I stand to his left and unbutton my jeans. Then I grab the zipper and slowly lower it, making sure he can hear as it rolls down. I place an arm on his shoulder to steady myself as I remove each pant leg. “Any thoughts?” I ask.
“Hmm, let’s see.” Evan leans over and reaches out for me, moving first left, then right, until he finds me. He runs an experimental hand across my hips and behind me, cupping my bare ass. His hands roam until he finds the string of my thong and he gives it a little tug, bringing it snugly into the folds of my flesh. I can’t help but let out a soft whimper as his hands roam over my exposed bottom, my skin hot under his touch.
I slip from his grasp
and hurry into the kitchen to grab something crunchy.
“Now I want you to think very carefully before you guess this time.” I lean in close so that our bodies touch, whispering in his ear, “If you get this one right, I’ll take off my top.”
“Oh, I think I like this game,” Evan growls.
“This is something salty,” I tell him as I place a seasoned bagel chip in his mouth. He bites down and chews, trying to discern the exact taste and flavor.
“Well, it tastes like a potato chip, but it’s more firm and solid. It feels like a pretzel, but the taste is wrong.”
“Do you give up?” I ask him.
“No way!” He asks for another and I oblige. This one is slightly larger. He takes his time, highly motivated to come up with a correct answer. When he smiles and flashes his dimples, I know he’s onto something. “I think I know. They’re your favorite snacks, bagel chips, aren’t they?”
“They are, you’re right. And now for your reward.” I take his hands and bring them to the buttons on my blouse. One by one, he opens them until my shirt falls to the floor. Evan glides his hands up, down, and across, exploring my bare skin.
I can’t resist copping a feel of my own, running my hand up his thigh, my fingers moving over his tight jeans.
He raises his hands to remove the blindfold but I grab his wrists.
“No,” I order. “I'm not done playing with you yet.”
“And I wanna play with you too.” Evan's deep voice echoes into my ear and I shiver.
I can almost hear Evan whimper as I pull away and prepare what will likely be the final course. I grab a glass of wine and a bowl of whipped cream and return to the leather chair.
“Ready?” I whisper, and Evan nods and opens his mouth.
He tastes the whipped cream at first, and then his eyes grow wide when he connects with the skin beneath the cream. Closing his mouth, he discovers that I have put it on my breast, and his lips close around my nipple.
“I think ... ” I pant, “that we both ... need to lose ... some clothes.” I arch my back into his mouths, pulling him closer.
Running Away With You (Running #3) Page 24