Being of the female persuasion, I couldn’t help admiring him. His head gleamed under the passing lights, his powerful neck disappearing into the open collar of his loosely buttoned shirt. My gaze transversed the thick, colorful wrists emerging from his rolled sleeves, fixing on his long fingers hypnotically caressing the steering wheel.
A car stopped next to us, pouring out base loud enough to vibrate our mirrors and shake me out of my reverie. His mouth twitched. Shit. Even though his eyes never left the road, he was very much aware of my admiration—God, was I drooling? I’m so pathetic—I still couldn't figure out what he saw in me. Sighing inwardly, I gazed out the windshield before I made an even bigger fool of myself. I knew I was just delaying the inevitable, because I would, without doubt, make a fool of myself repeatedly before this evening was over.
“That’s some awfully loud thinking. Care to share?”
“Uh… Nope. I mean I’m just vegin’… Not thinking about anything much.”
“A bit of advice, sweetness.” He pulled up to the valet stand in front of Mr. A’s, one of San Diego’s poshest restaurants, “Stay away from poker.”
“Yeah, like I haven’t heard that before,” I replied, my eyes rolling with false bravado as the valet opened my door. My garters flashed as I slid out, and my face reddened when he started to leer, but he quickly backed away when Mat glared; his proprietary hand branding my back all the way up to the penthouse restaurant. The view was remarkable, beyond the ghostly reflections of the patrons and candles shining off the glass walls, silent city lights spread out below us, wrapping around the bay before disappearing into the distant blackness of the Pacific Ocean.
I looked up, his heat reaching me even before he touched my elbow. “Our table’s ready.”
He quirked an eyebrow as a slow smile stole into his glittering grey eyes—oh, God, how long had I been staring—Mat was always compelling. But now that he was stepping up his game, I was devastated. I gave myself full marks for remaining upright. The fact that he had to hold on to me to keep me from stumbling—again—was irrelevant.
We followed the host who’d waited patiently for me to return from La La Land, to a table tucked into one of the coveted glassy corners looking out over the city and sea. Mat motioned the host aside, and pulled out my chair; waiting until I was settled before sitting next to me. In a blink, there was a flurry of hustling servers filling water glasses, removing empty settings before disappearing just as quickly. One stayed behind to politely describe the night’s specials and seasonal offerings. Then he too, discreetly left.
“Do you know what you want sweetness?” Boy, do I. Unfortunately, that wasn't on the menu. I checked.
“Um… Not really, it all looks good. I think I might leave it in the Chef’s hands.”
“Good idea.”
Our waiter was back as soon as we laid down our menus. “Have you decided?”
“Yes, we’ve decided to put ourselves in the Chef and Sommelier hands.”
“Very good sir, I will let them know. Enjoy.”
Reaching over, Mat stopped my nervous fidgeting a moment too late to save a fork from tumbling off the table—I didn’t want that one any way; I had a bunch more—his eyes laughed anticipating my next blunder as he kissed my knuckles.
“Sooo… How was your day?” Okay, so it wasn’t the most original icebreaker, but at this point, I considered stringing a whole sentence together a victory.
“Not great, but looking up. We terminated Max’s partnership. He wasn't happy.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be. I’m actually relieved. He’s been a major source of stress for some time now.”
“Still, it’s sad when things don’t work out.”
“The thing I dreaded most, was unraveling all the legal stuff. I didn’t realize what a great job Mom did putting our partnership together until it needed to be dissolved. So, Tom and I will continue together, while Max is free do his own thing. What about you, what’s up with those sexy flies?”
“They’re good. Works good. Had a talk with Bob. We’re good.” I smiled. “I think Bob may be crushing on Les.”
“He’s a braver man than I.”
“Come on, you let her polish your noggin.”
“And it hasn’t been the same since.” Mat leaned back as our glasses were filled with a light white wine, and our conversation was temporarily suspended while the first course was served: Lobster bisque and some kind of salad with beets and feta. Delicious. And so was every course that followed, our wines going darker as the meal progressed—crispy duck, tender, herb-coated lamb, familiar vegetables exotically dressed—everything heavily seasoned with romance and my own addle minded lust.
“Oh, God, I’m stuffed.” I said, finishing the last bite of dessert, an amazing ice cream confection of chocolate, chilies and mangos. “I’m going to pay for that last bite, but it was so worth it.”
“Don’t worry sweetness; I know just how to work it off.” Pulling out his phone, he checked the screen and grinned. “Danny and Brett want us to come play with them at The Waterfront.”
“I guess we could for a little while, but we can’t stay late, I have work tomorrow.” I cringed, knowing I’d just jinxed myself. Now, we’d probably be out until last call.
On the way to the restroom, inspiration struck. After taking care of business, I settled more comfortably on my throne and composed a text. “Hey evil minion, what’s shaking?”
I was washing my hands when Les replied. “Nothing much… hands… naughty babies… B.O.B’s rod of purple passion… whoop there it is…”
Not going to ask. Nope don’t wanna know. Shit. I have to, or it’s going to drive me crazy. “Bob’s rod?!?”
“B.O.B. Battery operated boyfriend. Not that you need one. Bitch… I mean boss.” Alrighty then.
“We’re meeting Mat’s sister at The Waterfront. You in?”
“Sure. B.O.B.’s purple-p is used to being blown… off that is.”
“Do you want me to invite Bob? The chromatically challenged one, with the beating heart?”
“Why not, maybe I’ll get lucky, and B.O.B.’s always up for a little kink.”
I wasn't so sure about Bob, but I texted him anyway. “Bob… Angie… meeting up with Les at The Waterfront.”
The Waterfront, situated near Little Italy, about two blocks from the actual waterfront, was billed as San Diego’s oldest bar, but was more accurately, San Diego’s oldest legitimate bar. Opening right after prohibition’s repeal, it had bragging rights to the oldest liquor license in town. It was narrow and dark; its walls plastered with historical photos, bar signs and stuffed fish. Think upscale dive filled with a mixture of local color and tourists.
“Yo Biggie!” Sweet. Danny and Brett had commandeered one of the few small tables in the always busy bar.
“Hey Inspector Gidget, how was dinner?”
“Oh, my God, better than sex.”
“Hey now.” Oh, sweetness you're in for it now.
“Damn Biggie, I guess you’re gonna to have work on your A game.”
“She hasn’t seen my A game… yet.”
Angie kept watching the door. “Expecting someone?”
She nodded. “Les and possibly Bob. I texted them before we left Mr. A’s.” Danny and Les in the same room, shit, all we needed was my Mom and we’d have an apocalyptical trifecta.
“Les the Shriveler?” Danny bounced gleefully on her bar stool. “Oh goody!”
Brett and Angie both looked to me for an explanation. “Don’t ask. Guinness babe?”
Angie was waving to someone as I made my way through the crowd, trying not to slop beer on people’s heads—well fuck me if it wasn’t good old Bob—he waved before holding up a finger and pointing to the bar.
A surprise slap on my ass almost landed Angie’s beer in her lap. “Hey you, let me polish that knob, shine your chrome, gimme some head, slip me some noggin… You’re noggin believe the day I’ve head…” Les was grinning ea
r to ear.
“Les, my wonky weirdo, are you quite finished?”
“Yeah, shot my entire load.” Did she realize Bob was standing behind her? “One glimpse of that shining pate and I’m a slave to my impulses.” Her head dropped in mock remorse. “That twelve step program, wasted.” Then her grin returned, filling her face with mischief. “I only blew my wad like that because you’re so special. Well that’s what my exes always told me right before they started to snore.”
She was funny. Returning her grin, I nodded at Bob behind her, then handed her my head, muttering, “Yeah, I bet you get that a lot.”
“More often than I’d like,” she muttered, shining my chrome. “Now if I could only see you naked I’d die a happy woman.”
“Yeah, die laughing,” Danny piped in, to which I flipped a response. Who said my vocabulary was limited.
“Hello Dr. Jacobs,” Bob said dryly. I did enjoy watching Les squirm.
“Well hey, look who’s behind me. Dr. Tate, fancy meeting you here.” Her wide smile said she knew he’d been there the whole time.
“Bob, Les… my sister Danny and her dismal paramour Brett. Guys meet Doctors, Bob and Les.”
“Doctor, Doctor.” Danny reached over to shake hands. “You spies like us?”
Bob looked baffled. “Big Chevy Chase fan,” I told him.
“Ah.” He nodded as if that explained everything.
“So Biggie, How’d the big powwow go?”
“Ugly. But we won in the end. Can you believe Max invited Avery to sit in?” I stood in the cramped space behind Angie, hugging her luscious bod. The barstool placed her at the perfect height to rest my chin.
“Why?”
“You know, I asked myself that same thing.” Shit.
“Came up empty?” She smirked. Brat.
“Yes, it was very Zen.” I returned dryly.
Danny turned to Les. “So you gonna come with Angie when she gets her piercing?” What the hell?
“Oh, I’m so there. What’re you getting done you masochistic bitch? Maybe I’ll let them do me too. I could seriously use some fierce doing. God, it’s been so long, things are starting to fossilize.”
“This is news to me.” Angie shrugged, before adding. “Last I heard Mat was the one getting poked.” Oh, she did not just go there.
“Really? Do tell.” Les looked speculative, then brightened. “No wait… An apa? Please, say you’re getting an apa.”
“That was the plan, but the big baby won’t cooperate.” Danny pouted. “Wimp.”
“I don’t know what’s more frightening.” Bob regarded Les. “That I don’t know what an apa is or that you do.”
“Oh Dude.” I shook my head. “Back away from the freak and guard your junk.”
“Keep your whiny-assed opinions to yourself, Lurch.” Danny turned with a feral smile to Bob. “An apa is short for apadravya. Basically it’s a piercing towards the end of the penis, right behind the glands into which a barbell is inserted.”
“Ouch.” Bob winced.
“Exactly,” I said, touching his raised glass with mine. “And you, my exotic flower, don’t let the Spawn-of-Satan pressure you into doing something you don’t want. Your sweet perfection doesn’t need any additional adornment.”
“Very smooth.” Les nodded. “Now let’s get back to your cock.”
“Oh, my God, it’s D.D.’s evil clone. I find your obsession with my genitalia disturbing; first, my nuts, now mini-me.”
“Mini-me?” Angie coughed, no she was laughing. “Wait… Les, is there something wrong with Mat’s nuts?”
“Hey, can you not discuss my junk when I’m standing right here?” Shit, that came out wrong. “In fact, my junk should never, ever be a topic of conversation… Ever.” Better.
“Yeah Les, how would you know the state of Mat’s tiny balls? Oh, that’s right; you work with microscopes… My bad.” Danny was enjoying herself way too much.
“One: My junk’s awesome, thank you. Something, I shall demonstrate privately for Angie’s edification to dispel your vile aspersions; and two: No talking about my junk.”
Les took a breath, holding up a finger. “One: a hard on doesn’t count as personal growth. And, two: this isn’t Fight Club and I’ll talk junk all I want.”
“Nice.” Danny grinned, high-fiving Les. They’re bonding. Shit.
Bob listened with morbid fascination, his head swiveling back and forth, while Brett remained strangely quiet, coward.
“Why, dear sister of mine, are you so interested in modifying my member, when you’re boyfriend has a perfectly fine one to play with?” Apparently, I was suffering from hoof and mouth disease because my foot was spending more time in my mouth than on the floor.
Danny looked at Les, who smirked back, nodding a regal assent. “While it warms my perverted little cockles that I have your approval to play with Brett’s ‘perfectly fine member,’” she air quoted. “Regrettably, his member-ship in our armed forces, constrains certain types of member-play and member-modification.”
“Yeah traitor, my dick belongs to Uncle Sugar. Any changes would be considered destruction of government property.”
“You know, fascinating as this banter is. It’s already past my bedtime so I’m going to have to call it a night. I guess I have Dr. Jacobs to blame for the nightmares I’m sure to have.” Bob drawled, looking at Les coolly.
“Cool, he’s dreaming about me.” She sighed as he walked away.
“Les, I always knew you were a closet romantic.” Angie laughed.
“So is it your nipples?” Les was relentless.
“What? No…”
“Well what?”
“I’ve seen her in a bikini.” Danny considered. “I think we should do her belly button.”
“Really? All of us?” Les affected fake shock.
“You’re right; she’s not ready for that my licentious new friend. She’s led a sheltered life.” Definitely bonding… Shit.
“So, how does that work?” Angie pulled my arms more tightly around her. “Bellybutton piercing?”
“It’s no big deal, you lay on your back, we clamp a pinch of skin, poke a needle through it then fill the newly made hole with your jewelry. Something simple while it’s healing; you can fancy it up later.”
Angie looked thoughtful. “Does it hurt?”
“Well, it’s not the most painful place to pierce, but yeah there’s some brief discomfort.”
“Baby, your bellybutton is already perfect.”
“True Biggie, so why not set off that perfection with a little bling-bling.”
“Dammit Danny-”
“It’s okay Mat, I’m not getting pierced tonight.”
“Yeah, ya big baby. You get drunk after, not before. Now let’s get some shots.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Bitter Bitch Strikes Again
I parked actually looking forward to work for the first time in months; knowing I wouldn’t have to spend the day dealing with Max’s surliness or Avery’s interference, put me in high spirits. I could devote my time to doing what I loved, creating beautiful spaces.
I waved at Mel as I passed, heading directly to the coffee pot. She strolled in a few minutes later grinning happily with a handful of notes. “Morning Boss.” She shook her head, when I held up the pot. “The phones have been ringing off the hook, seems word’s gotten out that J. K. and R. is no more.” She plopped a stack of messages down on the table. “I have an email drafted for your approval reassuring our current and potential clients that the recent change will in no way negatively impact their projects.”
She was definitely getting a raise. “Thanks Mel, you know we couldn’t function without you?” I bet she’d make a great operations manager; we’d need one now that Max was gone.
She glowed a little from my praise. “Yeah, whatever. Oh, and some of your competitors have called with job offers.” Rock star baby…
“I guess it’s nice to be wanted.”
“Mostly for To
m.” She added. “You’re too much of a Diva.”
“Yeah, well knowing I’m better than everybody doesn’t make me wrong, just self-realized.”
“Uh huh. Cling to your delusions all you want, just so long as I get paid on time,” she said, patting my arm. “So, I’m guessing from your good mood the hot date went well?”
“A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell.”
“In other words, you paid two hundred dollars for dinner, and all you got was a two hundred dollar dinner.”
“Wrong. I got a two hundred dollar dinner, and a very nice thank you; which is all a gentleman should expect,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Besides, her dad moved in with her on Monday and her place is really small.”
“Looks like they’re playing my song.” When she left to answer the phone, I wasn’t sure the pity in her eyes was commiserating or because she found me pathetic.
“I’ll look over that email and get it out ASAP,” I hollered at her retreating back.
Deciding to finish my coffee before I dealt with the pile of phone messages, I checked my email. When I found my inbox full of panicked messages about our uncertain future, I quickly sent out Mel’s announcement then spent the rest of the day and early evening returning calls, calming my public—sometimes being a rock star sucked. It was so late by the time I left, only the knowledge that I wouldn't sleep worth a damn kept me going to the gym, and it was after eleven when I sent Angie a text to wake up to, “Hey beautiful, thinking of you.” But I was pleasantly surprised when she responded.
“Hearts and flowers or serial killer thoughts?”
“There’s a difference?”
“One’s organic, the other involves power tools.” Funny…
“Mmmmm… tools.”
“Yikes!”
“Sweet dreams, Angelina.”
The state of my desk indicated the lust fog I'd been floating in since Wednesday, was having a negative impact on my usual efficiency. A few kisses and some very hot texts had reduced my cognitive faculties to that of a cabbage. I still found his interest in me inconceivable—he was just teasing about the power tools, right?
The Science of Loving Page 19