by Gina Kincade
“Wow, that’s got to be a really bad day,” I say and take a swig of the alcohol myself.
“You okay with beer? I got the wine too, but maybe that’s too much for breakfast.” He winks. I almost sigh at that wink. But his smile wanes. He starts looking at me in that somber way he does. I like him better when I met him at the door and he was laughing.
I nod and take a step closer. “What happened?”
He keeps watching me with his eyes growing colder and colder. Finally, he sniffs and says, “You’ll be hearing about it in the news. There was some church thing where kids were dropped off for a slumber party. Big slumber party. Some of the little ones wouldn’t go to sleep. Ages three and four. So the lady in charge gives them Benadryl. Six kids came in tonight. Six overdosed.”
I blink, the wind knocked out of me. “That is bad. How—”
“They all survived, but one of them might have brain damage.”
My heart hurts from the news.
This is why I like Ryder so much. He’s big and scary-looking. Intimidating with the fact that he rarely smiles. But he’s torn up about little kids being forced to take Benadryl. He’s such a good man. And I slept in his bed. We text now and share beers and talk about how his day was.
I probably shouldn’t think that what’s happening is anything other than a physical attraction, but it’s hard not to when the man looks so beat up about kiddos who have been drugged and hurt.
He sniffs again. “I think Tina and Tanya are planning a hit on the Benadryl lady; although, she’s already in custody.”
I smile. “I hope so. Do they need funds for the hit? I’d be willing to contribute.”
He finally smiles and I feel like singing I’m so happy to see him grin. “I’ll tell them.” He tilts his head. “Then again, I’m not working for the next five days. You might see them before I do. You could tell them I’d be willing to contribute too. Hell, I have a buddy who was a sniper. He could come up and help.”
“Nah, we should get inventive for Benadryl Lady. Maybe tie her up somewhere terrible, like Fukushima Daiichi, where the nuclear disaster was.”
His smile grows after he takes another slug of his beer. “Remind me never to fuck you over.”
“Just never fuck me over and we’ll be pals for life.”
He silently chuckles. “You’re adorable when you’re threatening. And I’m really never going to fuck you over. Ever.”
“Good.” I smile sweetly. I didn’t think it was possible, but I like Ryder even more. I didn’t know he was so…quick with his wit. He’s funny and charming me senseless. So this is where the expression, “Charming the pants off me,” comes from. Men like Ryder, who, if he asked me to take off my clothes, I probably would right now.
Then I think of what more he said. “You have the next five days off?”
He nods.
“So do I. I’ve never gotten so many days off in a row, so I asked about it, but, yeah, I have the next five days off too.”
He’s drinking his beer, his dark brows arching up. Slowly, he puts his beer on the little wooden table with matching chairs and crosses his big arms.
“Five days off, hmm?”
I nod, sipping my beer, suddenly nervous from the way he’s looking at me. Like he’s thinking about eating me. This is such a good nervous though because as much as my heart is beating wildly, my sex is warm and quite excited about this conversation.
He takes my beer from me and gruffly holds me by my hips, angling me so I’m in front of him. He parks his backside against the table and spreads his legs, me in between them. We’re close. He’s leaning down, at my face level.
His smile is small but still there. “Whatever could we do for the next five days?”
Oh boy. This is it. This is where we’re going to have the sex. This is where I become a normal girl, like Pinocchio might say had he been a girl. Who had sexual dysfunctions. But, you know, just like Pinocchio.
I swallow, telling myself I can do this. But I’m starting to shake.
I shrug. “What do you want to do for the next five days?”
He pulls me even closer as I place my hands on his firm shoulders. My sex is so close to his I can feel his warmth penetrate, and I’m so fucking nervous. Do I tell him I’m a virgin? Will he be gentle even if I don’t tell him? In my romance books, all the guys say they’d be more gentle if they’d known the heroine was a virgin. Which, honestly, I think is really shitty. Why aren’t they gentle the first time, no matter what? Do guys really operate that way? I wish I could talk to my brother about this.
Ryder gently catches some of my hair that’s laying on my shoulder. He’s fingering a long strand, twirling it around his thick finger. This side of him totally surprises me. Like the smiley face emoji and eating cherry cupcakes, I can’t believe there’s a side of him that’s gentle and adorable. But there is, and I might fall for him if I’m not careful.
So I have to be careful.
I don’t know much about men, modern men, real men who aren’t in my romance novels, because I’ve always been either the sidekick to a friend who moans about her boyfriend and tries to analyze every little thing the man does. Or I’ve never been attracted enough to a man to care. I don’t know if Ryder is acting gentle, if he’s seducing me, or if this is really him. It feels real, which makes me all the more worried about my heart and how much it might be affected by this experiment of mine I’m currently dubbing the Pinocchio Project, where I hope to say at the end of it, “Now I’m a normal girl,” rather than, “Now I’m heartbroken.”
“You like movies?” His voice is rough, and I’m not sure why he’s asking about movies. Shouldn’t he say something seductive like, “We could take this into the bedroom and think about what to do for the next five days”?
I nod, swallowing. “I love movies.”
“Yeah? What do you like watching?”
“Um, just about anything.”
He clutches onto my hips a little harder. I like the way he’s touching me, keeping me close, but I wish he’d kiss me already and we could get the sex done and over with. God, aren’t I romantic?
“Anything, huh?” His brows become animated and he keeps a tiny smile at the corner of his lips. “So at the movie theater, there’s a big action-flick with robots trying to save the universe for the fifth time or one of those feel-good romantic things. I’m guessing you would like the feel-good romantic thing.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Are you assuming that just because I’m female I’d prefer the romcom?”
He cockily nods with a wider smile. “Yeah, I guess I am. Wanna call me a sexist pig?”
I roll my eyes. “I think you’re getting to know me better than that. I’d never call you anything that unimaginative.”
He laughs and holds me even closer. I’m millimeters from his crotch, and I wonder when he’s going to press me against that sweet spot.
“You wanna see a movie with me, Asha?”
I nod without thinking.
“Since matinees don’t start for a while, we’ll eat before we see the movie, okay?”
I nod again, and it suddenly hits me that Ryder’s asking me out on a date. Is that normal for sex buddies? Is this part of Ryder trying to seduce me? Does it mean anything? Why don’t I know enough of social protocol to figure out what the hell is going on here?
“I can take you back to your place to change before we go out. Or you wanna keep wearing your scrubs?”
I look down at my wrinkly wear. “Well, I do look so gorgeous in these.”
“Yes, you do.” He squeezes my hips even more, and I’m pretty sure he’s not kidding.
I roll my eyes. “But I think I’d like to change.”
He straightens and in the process pushes me away from his big beautiful body. “Okay.” He smiles down at me. “I’ll change too. Be back in a sec.”
And he leaves. No kiss. No cheap innuendo about making love. No pushing me against a wall with his body. Nothing.
Did
we just take a few steps backwards? Why are we going on a date when I thought he wanted sex? Does he want sex from me?
Maybe he changed his mind and wants to be my friend now. But would a friend hold the other by the hips the way he was holding me? No.
What the hell is going on?
Ryder
Fuck, I’m tired. But I’ll fight it with everything in me.
I took Asha out to this little diner that serves the best Eggs Benedict. Not exactly romantic, but we shared a cinnamon bun. That’s kind of sweet. Right? I almost had to wrestle the woman so I could pay for the whole thing. Hours later, we’re at a movie. She wanted to go to the action flick, even though I wanted to see the romcom. And somewhere in the last hour, after I’ve been watching robots save the galaxy for the thousandth time, I’ve been wondering what happened to my manhood. I wanted to see the romcom. Me.
I thought if we watched a couple fall in love, it could get her in the mood for…that sort of thing. God, I’ve turned into a desperate fucker. But so be it. I am. I want this woman. I want to hold her hand. I want to hear her laugh, and I doubt I’ll ever get my fill of her.
But, after being awake for more than nineteen hours—almost twenty, my body is shutting down. Even during high-octane action sequences, my eyes are drooping. The only thing keeping me awake is when I imagine Asha turning to me, her clothes suddenly gone as well as the rest of the people in the theater. She’s smiling as she straddles me, unzipping my pants, and taking my cock in hand before I feel her slick, hot wetness.
You know what happens when you get turned on in a big, noisy theater? You get a boner and painfully realize there’s not a damned thing to do about it. I’m breathing hard, trying to adjust my legs without being too noticeable. But if Asha looks over, even once, she’d spot the bulge in my pants, even in the dark.
One other thing is keeping me awake. During breakfast and even not that long ago, Asha’s given me this weird look—a cross between surprise and unsureness, I think. And I can’t figure out why she’s making that face. Maybe she didn’t think I would take her out on my bike and try to woo her. Maybe she thought I wasn’t good enough for even that. I don’t fucking know and it’s kind of killing me not knowing, because my already bruised ego is inventing why she makes that face, like the fact that when the movie’s over, she’ll try to get away from me as fast as her skinny legs can.
And, fuck, the movie is finally ending. At least I lost my erection. Watching male-action stars has that reaction for me. Except for Deadpool. But I’m not getting into that.
I turn to my date, hoping she’s lost that weird expression. She’s still holding the popcorn. We barely ate an inch of the twenty-dollar bag of food. She’s smiling.
“Did you like it?” she asks, excitedly.
I smile, excited just because she is. “Yeah. I’m glad they saved the day.”
“Me too. I really worried there for a minute.”
I smile, loving her humor.
“Ready to go home?”
I blink. Is she ending the date? Or is she asking to go to my home? And, of course, Steve is sure the answer is the latter. Yeah, I’d better stick with calling my cock Bone Ranger because he’s no different from Steve. And Steve isn’t that nice of a cock after all.
“Yeah,” I answer with a rough voice, not daring to ask her what she meant. I have to drive back to my place anyway. That’s where her car is. That’s where my apartment is where I could take her inside and get her naked.
Yep, Steve’s fired.
We walk slowly with the other movie-goers toward the parking lot. She smiles as strangers take a gander at me, get that intimidated look I used to like so much, then gaze at her like they wonder what the hell she’s doing with me. I wonder the same thing. But, like Deadpool, I’m not going to think about it. I’m just going to take advantage of it until she comes to her senses.
The day’s warm and sunny. A perfect spring day, even in this northern country where spring doesn’t show itself as vibrantly as the Southern states. Still, it’s nice and green things are starting to peek out from the ground and trees. It’s a perfect temperature. For me. It’s obvious Asha thinks the fifty-degree weather is glacier-like with her hunched shoulders and rubbing her hands together to ward off frostbite. She’s so cute. So I take off my leather jacket and gently place it on her little shoulders. That look she keeps giving me is back, but she whispers a tiny, “Thank you.”
“Sure.”
“Ryder?”
“Yeah?”
She’s quiet for a long stretch, and I wonder if I’m going to lose my cool soon and shake her to get her to talk when she finally licks her lips and takes a big breath. We’re near my bike and I hand her a helmet.
“We’re going back to your place, right?”
I nod. “Your car’s there.” I’m trying to give her an easy out. I want to be a gentleman here, even if Steve is trying to ambush my reasoning by thinking about Asha naked. Naked and sweaty. I swallow.
She laughs. “Yeah, I forgot that. Yeah.”
I put my helmet on as she does.
“But, um—” she nervously laughs, “—I was wondering if we could—”
“Hang out more?” I ask. I’m not going to let Steve win a round and say something like, “Fuck until we’re brainless.”
She smiles wider. “Yeah. I’d like that, but—”
“I’d like that too.” I get on the bike and she does immediately also. After cranking my old Indian over, I settle back in my seat, and there’s Asha, curling her arms around my waist, her legs are against mine, and I feel her hot pussy at my backside. I can also feel her round breasts, pressing into me.
I’m not sure I can drive. I want to turn around and kiss her, even with our helmets on.
“Thanks again for the coat,” she says over the roar of my motorcycle.
I nod, my throat too dry to talk. I have to drive away because if I don’t, I’ll ruin it by forcing her off my bike and onto the nearest grass patch, only to get on top of her. But when I do drive away, she’s still with me, hanging on even more so. All I can think of is what’s between her legs. She’s so warm there. So fucking warm. Is she turned on? By me? At all? Or is she just warm there?
I’m not sure how I got home so fast. I don’t remember any of the streets or the traffic, and I hope I didn’t scare her to death with my driving. She gets off my bike and is taking off her helmet as I stand. She’s got a huge smile on her face when she’s helmet-free.
As I’m taking mine off, I ask, “Want a beer?” My voice sounds dry and it is. I’m nervous as fuck. I might be shaking. I don’t know what a woman like Asha does after a date. Do we talk politics now? Share even more about our past and backgrounds? I’m not good with sharing that info, but I’ll learn. I’ll do it for her.
She nods, a little of the face she’s made all night returning. But then she yanks up her smile. She’s beaming at me and I don’t know why.
After I have her helmet and mine in my hands, I have to ask, “Do I have something on my face?”
She shakes her head. “Just excited to have that…beer.”
I turn and she slips her hand into the nook at the front of my elbow. Fuck, I should have thought that she’d want to be held like dukes did back in the day. When men were gentleman and settled disputes by duels. I have no idea why duels are gentlemanlike, though. Seems a stupid way to fight, if you ask me.
We awkwardly climb the stairs to my apartment while I try to wrack my mind about gentleman things to do with her.
Play board games.
Or get her naked.
Not helping, Steve.
Watch TV.
Lick her nipples.
Jesus, Steve, shut the fuck up.
When I’m unlocking the door, my hands have a slight tremor. I have no idea how to be a gentleman. But I’m going to be. There’s no fucking way I’m going to “see where things go,” like I usually would. Which actually means, I’ll kiss a woman until she begs me to be inside he
r. And, yes, I’ve had women almost in tears because they want my cock in them. I’m not bragging. I’m just saying.
But I want Asha to think I’m a nice guy, the kind of guy she can depend on. I’m boyfriend material, Pretty Little Doctor. You just don’t know it yet. And neither do I, but I’ll convince myself and you at the same time.
I set the helmets on the kitchen table and make a beeline for the fridge. It helps cool off Steve who’s irritating the fuck out of me. After I grab two beers, I turn and she’s there. Less than five inches from me, looking up with her huge sparkling eyes, something mischievous passing through them.
She licks her lips. “What do we do now?”
I slam the head of her beer against the counter, taking off the lid, which gives me time to think. “You wanna talk?” Yes, that’s what I asked. I wanted to watch a romcom and now I’m volunteering to talk. To talk, damn it!
Back in the Army, in my unit, we wouldn’t call each other pussies, because we have a big appreciation for vaginas. We love them. Adore them. Worship them. So whenever we made fun of each other’s masculinity, we’d get more creative and mention we should take up cross-stitching pillows or braid each other’s hair.
Honestly, I have no idea why men question each other so much about our manliness. I mean, are we really that insecure? Or am I just saying that because I’m now doing things that are stereotypical of a woman and don’t want to feel defensive about it?
A flicker of disappointment crosses through her dark gaze, but then she perks up and nods. “Yeah, that sounds great.”
Her enthusiasm is a tad too much. She sounds like she’s lying.
“Where were you born?” she asks, her face getting tense in the process.
I slam off the lid to my beer and take a huge gulp, praying it gives me the courage to be a good boy and not get all handsy.
“Clayton, Indiana.”
She nods and sips. “Wow. I’ve never heard of that.” She’s also not moving away from me, leaving me feeling a tad cornered with a wild beast in my pants who’s really happy to see her.