After a minute, he asked, “Where’d we land on the oysters?”
“Get them. Obviously,” I said breezily, meeting his gaze. I was going to just let myself feel whatever it was I needed to feel.
Our waiter, Brian, showed up to take our drink orders, and I perused the long list. Apparently I’d taken too long because Brian cleared his throat. “If you like wine, the Tavo pinot grigio is very popular.”
“No, I want a beer,” I said, looking up at him.
“We have a spiked cider you might like.”
I shook my head. Wines and ciders, that’s what they thought women always wanted to drink.
“Do you like light or dark beers? I can pick something out for you if you tell me.”
“I’m kind of picky,” I said, and coughed to cover up a laugh across from me.
“How about a Heineken?” Brian offered.
I tossed the menu on the table and leaned back in my chair to fully face him. “The best way to drink a Heineken is to pour it out, so no, I don’t want a Heineken. I’m going to have the Deschutes IPA.”
Brian’s eyebrows hiked up—either at the bite in my tone or the choice of beer—and I hoped he didn’t always look so dumbfounded when taking orders.
“I’ll have the same,” Blake said.
Brian nodded and turned on his heel.
Blake waved him off. “What a turd. I don’t know why guys feel the need to be so condescending toward women. Who said you can’t tell the difference between an ale and a lager just because you’re a girl?”
“Oddly enough . . .” I sighed. “A lot of guys.”
“Guys are assholes,” he said, straight-faced and perturbed.
I stared at him for a moment then busted out a big laugh. His indignation on my behalf was cute. “Totally.”
Brian returned a few minutes later with our drinks and took our food orders with nothing more than a few words. Between Blake and me, though, the conversation never stopped.
“I’ve been thinking about your fear of swimming,” he said as he dropped a bit of horseradish sauce onto an oyster.
“Oh yeah?”
He nodded and sucked down the oyster. “It just so happens I found some of those kids’ floaties on sale on Amazon. I’m going to buy you a pair, and we’ll head out to Lake Calhoun.”
“What kind of floaties are we talking about?”
“You can pick: whales, turtles, or fish.”
I took a sip from my pint before frowning. “Damn. I was really hoping for dolphins. Guess I’ll have to pass.”
“Make you a new deal,” he said, and I leaned forward, curious. “If I find you dolphin floaties, you have to come swimming with me. Preferably in an itsy-bitsy bikini.”
I made a show of thinking about it. “Make it pink dolphin floaties and a one-piece and you got yourself a deal.”
He agreed and held out his hand for me to shake. Then I put on the lobster bib delivered with my meal, and Blake proceeded to snap a picture of me.
Before we knew it, our plates were cleaned and the sun had set. The stars twinkled above us, and as Blake paid the check, I regretted the date coming to an end. “Thanks for dinner. It was delicious.”
Blake wrapped his arm around my shoulders as we made our way out of the restaurant. “You ready to dance?”
“I told you I don’t dance.” When he let out a disbelieving huff, I elbowed him. “I’m not kidding. I really don’t dance.”
“Really?”
I shrugged. “I mean, I dance, sure. But I’m not any good at it.”
“We’ll see about that.”
“O-k-a-a-a-ay.” I dragged out the two syllables into three.
Once we got into the club, it was difficult to see anything between the crowd and the low lights. Blake held on to my waist as we trudged through the sea of people. He guided me to the bar, where we agreed on shots of tequila. We clinked glasses before downing them, and I suspected Blake thought the hard liquor would get me to loosen up, but when he made his way onto the dance floor, I didn’t follow.
He turned, tossing me a cheeky little look before breaking into a two-step. I watched him dance. He wasn’t exactly Michael Jackson, but he had rhythm, enough to catch the eye of another woman dancing close to him.
I saw her eye him up and slowly make her way toward him, “accidentally” brushing up against his side. He congenially acknowledged her, and she took that as an invitation to dance with him.
It wasn’t.
I didn’t consider myself a jealous person, but I got out on the dance floor faster than a sprinter in the Olympics. I took Blake’s hand, dragging him away from the girl. The bass of the music beat in my chest, and the heat from the crowd immediately made my skin slick, but I wouldn’t have pulled away from Blake if an earthquake had rocked the floor beneath our feet.
“Come on, Sunshine, let me see what you got.” Blake turned me in a circle, then gestured to the space between us, daring me to dance.
I did, but not on beat. I guess he thought my awful dancing was cute, because he wrapped his arms around my waist, laughing into my neck.
He guided me through each song, pressing our hips together and moving my arms. Sometimes his dancing was silly, sometimes it was sensual, but no matter what he did, he made me have fun. And that was the sexiest thing of all.
We were wrapped up together when Blake bent down, his mouth close to my ear. “Can I take you home?”
“You want to take me home?” My heart dropped. I thought we were having a good time.
“I want to take you to my home,” he said.
My heart soared, and I leaned back, catching his smirk and meaning. I wrapped my arms around his neck, speaking my answer into his ear. “Yes.”
The minutes between leaving the club and arriving at Blake’s place raced by, and then time slowed down as we stood inside of his door. The click of the lock sounded like a gunshot in the silent apartment, and he turned to face me, his movements like a panther hunting his prey. My nerves ratcheted up a few notches with his lazy once-over, desire clear on his face. His hands skimmed over my shoulders then down my sides before landing on my waist.
“Okay?” he asked, his mouth hovering over mine.
With one simple word he was giving me an out, but I was under no illusions of what was about to happen, and my pulse raced at the thought because I wanted it. Wanted him.
I just didn’t know how this would affect my future, and that made me nervous.
The longer I thought about it, though, the more I didn’t care. As long as I was here, in this place with Blake, I had no room in my mind to think about more. There was only him, his hazel eyes, and the soothing motion of his thumb circling my side.
“Yes.”
His lips were on me then, better than I remembered, and I couldn’t get enough. I licked at his tongue, nibbled at his lip, tugged on his shirt.
He pulled away from me with a twinkle in his eyes. “How are those oysters working out for ya?”
I shoved at his shoulder, laughing. I didn’t need shellfish to put me in the mood, particularly when he caught my hand, yanking me to him. He curled his fingers around my neck, kissing me sweetly as he backed me down the hall to his bedroom, where he held me at arm’s length. “Still okay?”
“More than okay.” I smiled.
Then he smiled.
And then we melted into each other.
CHAPTER 16
Blake
I woke up to the sounds of a chainsaw. A soft, feminine, crackling chainsaw. I picked my head up and looked to my right. Piper was fast asleep, cheek on her pillow, lips parted. That slow rumble sounded from deep in her throat.
“Sunshine.”
She didn’t wake up.
“Piper,” I tried again, louder.
The snoring didn’t stop.
I pinched her nose. “Piper, wake up.”
She waved my hand away and slowly opened her eyes. “Hi.”
“Hey. You snore.”
She
blinked the sleep from her eyes. “No, I don’t.”
“Yeah, you do.” I turned onto my back and slid my glasses on, getting a good look at her. Even with pillow creases across her cheek and with her tangled hair, she was the prettiest girl I’d ever seen.
“I think someone would’ve told me.”
“I think maybe they were trying to be nice by not telling you.”
She curled up into a ball and snuggled deeper into the covers. “Yeah. And you pointing it out isn’t nice.”
I stayed quiet for a few seconds before imitating her snore with a loud snuffle.
Her hand poked out of the comforter, blindly trying to smack me. “Shut up and spoon me.”
I laughed and draped my arm around her, pulling her into my chest. I rested my chin on the top of her head. “You’re pleasant in the morning.”
“Only when I’m exhausted and someone wakes me up to tell me I snore.”
“Sorry.” I hummed, running my hand over her hair and down her naked back. “Go back to sleep.”
“I can’t when you’re doing that,” she said, but when I stopped, she whined, “No, keep going.”
I stroked my fingers up and down her spine. “Tell me a secret.”
“We already played that game.”
“I mean a real secret. Something that you never told anyone else.” I gently tugged on her arm so she turned toward me.
She lay on her back, her eyes on the ceiling, her mind clearly on something else. “Remember when I said I lived in Germany for a while?”
“Yeah.”
“The program was only six months. I didn’t plan on staying there any longer, but I met a boy.”
I twisted a lock of her hair around my finger, and she dropped her attention to me, saying, “His name was Oskar. We had mutual friends and met one night at a bar. He was cute and smart, an architect who spoke a couple of languages.”
“Never mind,” I said. “Maybe I don’t want to hear this.”
She poked me in the side. “Jealous?”
“No-o-o-o.” I dragged the word out, denying the truth.
She smiled.
“What? I’m not. Go on.”
She shifted onto her side so we faced each other. “Well, this was a couple of years ago. Laurie was off and married, Kayla engaged, and I guess I was feeling a little left out, because when he asked me to stay I didn’t hesitate to say yes.”
My hand on her hip tensed involuntarily.
“We moved in together, and he bought me a stunning yellow-gold engagement ring.”
I looked at her barren ring finger, imagining the fat diamond that once sat there. “But . . .” I prodded when she didn’t continue.
“But as soon as I said yes, he changed. I still had so much to learn, but he wanted me to stay home and be a housewife. He wanted me to be what he called a real woman, and give up my”—she put the word in air quotes—“hobby.”
I snorted. “What an ass.”
She nodded. “He made me feel silly for wanting my own life. Whether he knew it or not, he did a number on my self-confidence, always dropping these passive-aggressive one-liners, like shouldn’t I be happy he wanted to take care of me. What kind of woman didn’t want her man to be the man?”
“Sounds insecure.”
Her eyes skipped down for a few seconds before meeting mine again, her tone more serious than before. “I wasn’t willing to give up my dreams for a man. I packed up my stuff and left the ring on the dresser, ending an engagement no one knew about. Not even Sonja knows,” she whispered.
“I don’t mean this to come off as insensitive, but good. This Oskar character was an idiot. If he truly loved you, he should’ve helped you achieve your dreams, not put them down or call them a hobby.” I moved my hand to her jaw. “Plus, it’s worked out well for me, so I can’t be too upset with him.”
I kissed her cheek with a loud smack and kept going until she broke out into a fit of laughter. I knew it must’ve taken a lot out of her to be put down by someone she loved. Knowing this secret made me want to back her more fully because I understood the feeling of not being supported. My parents did that as an art form.
“I’m afraid of turning into my father,” I said, confessing my own secret.
“What?” Her smile turned to a frown.
I took a deep breath. “It’s the main reason I quit. Sure, I love the Public, but I saw what was happening to me at the law firm. I was turning into my dad.”
“What do you mean?”
“I worked all the time. I had my assistant, Beth, on speed dial, and I was calling her on weekends. I could hear it in her voice how she didn’t want to come in when I asked her to, but she was too afraid to say no. I was tired all the time and snapping at people. I wasn’t trying to be a dick, but it just sort of happened, you know? I’m not making an excuse for myself, but when you’re stressed and tired, and the partners are breathing down your neck, you lose yourself. I almost never saw Connor or Bear, and when I did, all I did was get plastered. One day I realized I had a choice. I didn’t have to be miserable. I didn’t have to turn into my dad. So I left.”
“Wow,” she said, surprise coloring her voice. “I’m happy you did. I think a lot of people don’t recognize things in themselves, and they keep getting deeper and deeper until they’re so miserable, they can’t see a way out.”
“Exactly. I wasn’t going to be one of those people.”
“Well,” Piper said, echoing my words from earlier, “you quitting worked out well for me, too.”
I kissed her forehead. “We’re working out pretty good for each other.” I traced a finger down her cheek. “Want a couple more minutes of sleep?”
“No. I’m awake now. I want breakfast.” She sat up, her legs straddling my waist.
I’d become intimately familiar with her body, and among the many things I’d learned, I knew she’d break out in goose bumps from head to toe if I kissed her really lightly under her jaw, right by her ear.
I sat up and kissed a line across her throat, knowing last night would probably be etched into my memory forever, feeling the skin of her thighs pucker under my hands.
“Come on.” She pushed herself off from me, and I wanted to whimper at the cool air when our hot skin parted. “I’m hungry.”
I supposed there was time for more sex after sustenance. “Fine.”
“I need clothes.”
“Do you?”
She put her hands on her hips, trying on an irritated face, but it didn’t last long. The corner of her mouth kicked up. She helped herself to my dresser, opening up each drawer until she found what she wanted: a plain white T-shirt and black shorts.
I was sad to see her beautiful body disappear, but got a good show as she flipped her long hair over her shoulder and strutted away. I threw on a pair of sweats before heading to the bathroom. Piper had my toothbrush in her mouth.
“I hope you don’t have any germs,” I said, squeezing green mint toothpaste on the bristles once she was finished with it.
“If I did, I definitely gave them to you last night.” She propped herself against the doorway as I brushed. “I don’t think you really care about a couple of bristles. Which, by the way, are a bit soft. I think it’s time for a new brush.”
“I’ll add it to the grocery list.” I had half a mind to add one extra for her, but I didn’t want to get ahead of myself. I knew Piper was skittish about our relationship, and no matter how well I thought it was going, I didn’t want to push it. Especially after she’d told me the Oskar story. I finished up, and we went to the kitchen, where I opened the refrigerator. “What do you want?”
She peered over my shoulder. “Pancakes.”
I shut the door and pointed to a cabinet, where I kept the Aunt Jemima box mix. She found it and shook the nearly empty bag at me. “Seriously?”
“What?”
“You’re one of those people who leaves the smallest amount of whatever in the container and puts it back for the next person. Like,
the tiny bit of orange juice or the scraps of peanut butter you can’t get without a knife, and there isn’t enough to put on a cracker.” She shook the bag of mix once again. “You can just about make one pancake out of this.” She crumpled up the bag, shoved it in the box, and threw it away.
I’d been living alone for so long, I’d forgotten some of my habits might be annoying to someone else. “Well, there is no next person so . . .”
“There is now,” she said offhandedly, and I froze with my hand on the refrigerator.
She let the lid of the trash can slam shut before rambling an explanation. “I mean, not me . . . I just meant . . . you can’t leave crumbs in a bag.”
I bit my lip to hold in my laugh.
“It’s not . . .” She shook her head, her hair covering her face as her words trailed off.
I tucked her hair behind her ears and tipped her chin up to kiss her. “I’ll try not to leave crumbs in the bag, but I’ll probably need you to remind me. A lot.”
She smiled shyly. “I guess I could do that.”
And with that simple agreement, our relationship solidified a little bit more.
“Want to go out?” I asked. “We could go to the Original Pancake House.”
Her face twisted in horror. “Then I’d have to put pants on.”
“Right. Bad idea.” Keeping Piper in the least amount of clothes possible was task number one.
“I can make them from scratch. I need eggs, flour, baking soda. Do you have that?”
I held my arms up. “Sunshine, I’m a thirty-year-old guy living alone. Do you think I have flour or baking soda?”
She waved me off. “How about bananas?”
“Those I have.”
I handed her the bunch, and she grabbed the egg carton from the fridge. With a fork, she created some kind of yellow concoction in a bowl. “I saw this on Facebook. They made pancakes out of a banana and two eggs.”
I got her the pan and butter and let her do her thing while I took a seat at the breakfast bar. Watching her in my kitchen gave me more enjoyment than it probably should have, because she had this pixie kind of aura, constantly flitting around. She bounced on her toes as she poured the lumpy batter into the pan and hummed while she flipped the pancakes.
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