“It’s the same ugly mug we see every day, babe. Relax.”
Smacking Jonah across the chest, Carmen repositions herself so she’s kneeling on the couch facing me. “Tell me about it. Jessi said she wasn’t going to tell her you were coming. Was she surprised?”
“I think we both were. I had no idea she didn’t know I was coming. Regardless, we had a good time. I had a few beers, we shared some appetizers, and she drank one too many vodkas so I drove her home.”
“Did you kiss her?” Carmen asks excitedly.
“Uh, no. I told you I’m trying to be her friend right now. This isn’t some chick flick. We aren’t going to have some pivotal moment with cheesy music in the background.”
“Don’t be such a pessimist, Luke. Friends kiss. I kissed Jonah when we were just friends.”
“Baby, we were never just friends.”
Looking at Jonah confused, Carmen pats his leg patronizingly before saying, “You tell yourself whatever you need, baby.”
Sniggering, I rise from the chair and stretch my hands over my head. I have at least three hours of studying before I can call it a night.
“I’m going to let you guys get back to this riveting television; I have to study.”
“Whatever, dude. Deep sea fishing is the shit. These guys don’t fuck around.”
Laughing, I walk from the living room, waving my hand over my head. Dropping my keys on my dresser, I pull my shirt from my head as my phone rings. Pulling it from my pocket, I see it isn’t a regular call but a video call from Whitney. Her profile picture is a spitting llama and not her pretty face which is a shame. Sliding my finger across the accept icon, I watch as her face fills the screen.
“Are you naked?”
Laughing, I answer, “No. I was just about to be though. Want to hold while I do that?”
I shouldn’t flirt with her, but it’s like I can’t help myself. She’s cute as hell with her face free of her makeup, hair piled on top of her head and an oversized sweatshirt hanging off her bare shoulder. Her giggles are uninhibited, and I realize she’s still a little tipsy when she hiccups.
“Shit, I have the hiccups. Sorry.”
“It’s okay. What’s going on? Miss me already?”
“Yeah. I mean noooo. Don’t confuse me, Lucas.”
“Sorry. Hold on, I’m going to put you down but you’ll face the ceiling while I change, okay?” Instead of waiting for a response, I set the phone down on my dresser. “You can still talk while you look at the ceiling,” I tell her while I pull off my jeans and slide on a pair of pajama pants.
“It’s weird talking to a white ceiling. Why are ceilings always white? I used to watch one of those design shows and they would sometimes put wood beams on the ceiling but never paint it a different color. Is that weird?” Yep, she’s still a little buzzed. Retrieving the phone, I settle on top of my bed with my back against the headboard before responding.
“I think if you painted the ceiling it would make the room seem smaller or something. I’m sure we could google the answer if you really want to know.”
“Maybe I will. I thought you were putting clothes on.”
“Uh, no. I was changing my pants. I have like three hours of studying to do tonight.”
Whitney’s face falls a little before she speaks. “Oh . . . I should let you go, I’m sorry to bother you.”
“You could never bother me. I live the glamorous life of a med student, Whit. It’s studying my ass off for a few years before residency. Then it’ll be years of me being a senior resident and an attending’s bitch.”
“Will it be worth it?”
“Being someone’s bitch?” She nods. “Yeah, it will be. This is all I’ve ever wanted.”
“I’m proud of you, Lucas. You followed your dream, and one day you’ll be a doctor. Not everyone can say they pursued their dream and succeeded.”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Whit. I could still blow this. I have many years to go but yeah, it feels pretty good most days. You didn’t call me to talk about med school. What’s up?”
“Well, umm . . .” Her face scrunches, and she tugs on her bottom lip with her teeth in obvious distress. “Since you got me drunk tonight, I don’t have a car tomorrow and wondered if you could maybe give me a ride to my car. I asked Jessi, but she has an early study session.”
“Babe, I’m pretty sure you got yourself drunk.” Sticking her tongue out in response makes me laugh before I continue. “That’s all? The way you were abusing your lip I figured it was something crazy like you needed a kidney.”
“Shut up. I should take an Uber. Never mind.”
“I’m teasing. Lighten up, Whit. Of course, I’ll take you. Want to grab breakfast before? I don’t have class until ten.”
A smile replaces the lip mutilation, and my heart fills with a little confidence, knowing I’m the reason for her smile. “I’d love breakfast. Thanks, Luke.”
“Hey, you called me ‘Luke’.”
“I’m testing it out. Feels weird.”
“It’ll grow on you, I promise. See you in the morning, Whit.”
“Night, Luke.”
“Night.”
It’s breakfast. Not a date. Last night wasn’t a date either. I’m not dating. I need to be working on me and figuring my life out, not dating three months after calling off my wedding.
No matter how many times I tell myself it’s not a date, only breakfast, I’m still on outfit three of the morning. I crashed early last night after ending my impromptu video chat with Lucas. Luke. Yeah, I can’t do it. He’s always been Lucas. My Lucas. Well, not always. There were those years he was off living his life and I was living mine.
Since I’m working from home today, I’ll have time to run a few errands after Lucas drops me at my car. By errands, I mean an hour at the nail salon getting a pedicure while I finish my current book, or books. I’m on a binge of a series written by four authors. I’m obsessed, which is no surprise because I’m a huge book nerd, but these books have me not only questioning my morals but why I don’t have more batteries for Sven.
Since I’ll be getting a pedicure after breakfast, I toss the jeans I’m considering aside and pull on my favorite cut-off shorts and grab a plaid shirt from my closet. Sliding my feet into my favorite bright pink low-top sneakers, I snatch up my flip-flops from the floor for later. As I walk in the kitchen, there’s a knock at the door. Slinging my purse over my shoulder, I make my way to the door and open it to a very delicious looking Lucas.
Zing.
Zang.
Electricity.
It.
“Morning,” he purrs. Okay, so it isn’t really a purr but more of a standard greeting but in my lady bits it’s a purr. The kitty is purring, that’s for sure. “You okay, Whit? You have a weird look on your face.”
“Oh, yeah. Sorry. Ready? I’m starving. I could go for a stack or two of pancakes.”
Laughing, Lucas steps aside to let me close and lock the door before descending the stairs to his truck. Before I can reach for the door handle, he’s opening it, motioning for me to get in. Hopping up into the passenger seat, I settle in as he closes the door and jogs around the front to the driver’s side.
Nerves prickle my skin as he turns the key in the ignition. This feels like a date. Who am I kidding, it’s basically a date. I’m about to say something when one of my favorite bands fills the cab.
“Oh sorry, I was listening to that a little loud,” he says, reaching for the dial. I stop him, and turn the dial up as Lightning Strikes pumps through the speakers.
“I love this band. They’re my favorite,” I shout above the drum solo.
“Really? Have you ever seen them in concert?” he asks as he drives out of the complex.
Instead of responding, I unbutton my shirt and turn in my seat showing him my tank top. “Three times.”
“Nice. I’ve only seen them once, but it was epic. The lead singer is a beast on stage.”
“Kade Evans. He’
s amazing is what you mean. And hot as fuck.” My declaration must take him by surprise because Lucas laughs the rest of the way to breakfast.
The diner is essentially deserted when we ask for a booth. A mother and her small children are in the large corner booth while two men sit at the counter. Other than that, it’s just us as the waitress seats us and says she’ll return with coffee and water.
Since I already know what I’m having, I take my phone from my purse to look up the Lightning Strikes tour schedule. When the waitress returns, I smile as she fills my cup then turn my attention back to my phone.
“You kids ready to order?” she asks.
“I am, you Whit?”
“Short stack with a side of bacon, please.”
“I’ll have the veggie omelet, egg whites only, and fruit for the side, please.”
Lucas takes a sip of his coffee and catches my eye. I’m confused because he ordered fruit and not bacon or sausage. “Fruit?” I question.
“Yeah, you do recall what my job is, right? I have to stay in shape, and my gym time is limited due to my school schedule. That means, my diet has to be on point. Plus, I’m working tonight, and I can’t be bloated.”
“Oh,” I reply. Suddenly the idea of eating doesn’t sound as exciting. I didn’t necessarily forget what he does for a living, but I think I put it so far in the back of my mind, it didn’t occur to me that was why he was eating healthy. Dancing. Lucas will be dancing for women tonight. He’ll be inches from them while taking off his clothes, simulating sex to some and fulfilling fantasies for others.
“Don’t feel bad for me, I do enjoy my bacon, just not on work days. How about you, no work today?”
I tell Lucas about my plans for the day, but the joy and giddiness I had when he picked me up is gone. In its place is the reality of who he is and who I am. He’s a male stripper, and I’m a girl who recently got out of a relationship. Any romantic tendencies I had floated away along with hoping I was ready for something more. I can’t do it. Maybe someone else can, but there is no way I’ll be okay with my boyfriend dancing.
“Where’d you go, Whit?”
Opening my mouth to respond, I pause when our food is placed in front of us. We both thank the waitress and I contemplate my response while Lucas lightly peppers his omelet. I know Lucas; he isn’t going to let me get away with a blasé answer, so honesty is my best option.
“I was just thinking about your job and how many women must leave there feeling like their fantasy just came true. You guys are so fantastic at what you do. I didn’t want to be on that stage, but I’ll admit after I let go and accepted it was happening, I felt pretty great afterward.”
“It can be a wonderful experience for most of the women. Empowering for some. Of course, there are the few who don’t take no for an answer and try to cop a feel or two, but for the most part, it’s harmless. Men have been going to clubs for decades; it’s nice to see the tables turn a little.”
“Jonah told me Carmen is okay with it. Are many of the other guys in relationships?” I ask, taking a bite of my pancakes.
“A few. Some have been in the relationships longer than they’ve been dancing, which helps.”
“What about you?”
“I’ve dated but nothing serious. I guess you can say, the one I always wanted got away from me long ago.”
My heart skips. Does he mean me? He can’t possibly. By the look in his eye, he might. I don’t respond. Instead, I continue eating my pancakes and change the subject to the world tour of our favorite band. His dancing and dating life isn’t something I’m prepared to discuss this morning. Baby steps.
After we finish breakfast, and I manage to sneak the payment to our waitress to avoid him paying, we walk out to his truck. The comfortable silence is back as he drives me to my car. Comfortable. That’s what I am with Lucas. Comfortable and relaxed. Sure, he has my feelings jumbled and my heart conflicted, but I’m me in my truest form with him.
When he parks in the space next to my little sedan, I quickly open the door and hop out. Clicking my fob, the lock is activated before he can get out of the truck.
“Why are you running off?” he asks as he steps behind me.
“You have to get to class, and I have things to do. Thanks for the ride. Breakfast was great. I’ll talk to you later, okay?” I say quickly while opening the driver’s door. A large hand lands on top of it, stopping me from opening it farther.
“Nope,” he says while turning me to face him. Looking straight at his chest, I don’t say anything.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
I feel like such a fool. I’m bothered by a job my friend is doing to put himself through medical school. My friend. He’s not my boyfriend. Hell, we only kissed once.
Twice.
Before I can react, his lips are on mine, and my hands are tangled in the hem of his T-shirt. Lucas’s hand wraps around my waist, drawing me closer as his tongue dives in my mouth. This isn’t the slow tentative kiss we shared in Portland. This is spontaneous and urgent. His left hand releases the door and grips the side of my face, fingers tangled in my hair as I press my back to the door. The coolness of the window is a welcome relief as my body heats from his hands on me. Melting into him, I match him stroke for stroke. A low growl rumbles through his throat and I suck it in, taking everything he gives me and demanding more.
Lucas DeCosta may be planning to become a doctor, but he could be a kissing instructor and be just as successful. Except, the idea of him kissing anyone else sends a chill up my spine and I pull back. Eyes dazed and lips swollen, I see him with nothing but fire and desire in his eyes.
“Thanks for breakfast,” he says before planting a quick peck on my lips and jogging back to his running truck and driving off, leaving me standing at my car, turned on and thoroughly confused.
Kissing Whitney was a gamble. One I was willing to take. The time I spent with her last night at the bar and our conversation on the video chat already had me on edge, but when she opened the door this morning I knew I’d kiss her before the day was over. The fact that she’s a bigger fan than I am of my favorite rock band threw me for a loop, but it shouldn’t have. In the last few months, I’ve realized Whitney Wheeler is full of surprises.
While I expect surprises from Whitney, her reaction to the kiss may have been the biggest shock of them all. The connection I felt in Portland was tenfold when she leaned against her car. The way she gripped my shirt, the hum in the back of her throat as our tongues battled. All of it was primal. Needy. Passionate.
I wanted nothing more than to keep kissing her, take her home, and spend the day with her. Holding her, loving her. My girl is skittish and scared. Deep down, I know part of the issue is my choice of a part-time job. That was evident with her line of questioning. She’s trying to figure out if being with me, with my job, is a deal-breaker. She’s investigating and weighing her options.
Weighing the option of us.
Assuming there can be an us.
I need her to meet Carmen. I need Carmen to tell her this is only a job, it doesn’t mean anything when I come home. When I come home to her. That’s what I need.
Me: I need your help.
Carmen: Of course you do. Soldier tonight. The ladies eat that shit up.
Me: Not that. But noted. It’s Whitney.
Carmen: OH!!! I’m here for you. I am your Yoda.
Me: You’re ridiculous. I have class now. Meet for coffee in a few hours?
Carmen: Yeah, I’m closing tonight so that works.
If anyone can help me figure this out with Whitney, it’s Carmen. She’s not only living the life of a male dancer’s girlfriend, but it’s the lifestyle Whitney seems to be unsure of. Besides, she knows me better than most people and has been on the receiving end of a few Whitney stories over the years.
My classes drag on for what feels like a lifetime, not the three hours they actually are. This semester has been kicking my ass and not just my course load. Each of my
professors seem to be huge Ferris Bueller fans. The monotone lectures have left a lot to be desired.
When the professor finally dismisses class, I stuff my laptop in my messenger bag as two girls approach me from the side. Glancing up, I smile before turning the attention back to closing the bag. When I sling it over my shoulder, one of the girls clears her throat before speaking.
“Excuse me, but this is really random and kind of embarrassing.”
“Jesus, we don’t have all day,” Girl Two spats. “You work at that male strip club downtown, don’t you?”
“I do,” I reply. There’s no need to lie or hide what I do.
“I thought so. We were there last weekend. You’re . . . very talented,” she says with a smile while twisting her long blonde hair around her finger.
“Thanks. It’s just a job,” I comment with a shrug. I take a step to move around them but neither move to let me by.
“Oh,” Girl One begins, “I’d say you’re really good at your job. Do you want to go with us for coffee or . . .”
It’s been a long time since I’ve had this sort of encounter at school. The last time, it was one of my professors. Awkward doesn’t begin to explain that particular conversation. At first, I thought she might come on to me like these two girls are, but she was more worried I’d tell someone I saw her there. I assured her I would not and if she were there again, I’d make sure I didn’t look her way.
“Sorry, ladies. I have a coffee date already, and I’m running a little late. If you’ll excuse me.” Motioning for them to step aside, only one moves to allow me by. When Girl Two places her hand on my arm to stop me, I take a deep breath for patience and turn to her with a smile.
“Maybe another time?”
“I don’t think so. Next time you’re at the club, let me know, and I’ll buy you a drink. See ya around.”
I Don't: A Romantic Comedy Page 12