Good In Bed

by Bromberg, K

  Dylan clears his throat. “We’re talking about ‘you know’ now? Can we go back to when you used to call me for tips on getting to the next level in your video game?”

  “Sadly, no.” I lean back against the cool concrete wall. “I’m grown up. No going back.”

  Dylan sighs. “Yeah, me too. It’s tough out there in the dating jungle. I won’t lie. I guess…” He’s quiet for a beat that gives me no comfort. “I guess all I can say is be careful, be honest about what you want, and don’t settle for less than you deserve. You’re a damned fine person, CJ. Any man worth your time is going to realize that.”

  Touched, but no closer to a game plan than I was before, I tell Dylan, “Thanks, cous. Love you,” and sign off.

  I head up the stairs, hoping the exercise will aid in clarity, but all I get is more warning prickles buzzing at the back of my neck.

  It would be dangerous to tread any deeper into this thing with Graham. My gut is issuing a red alert, and my heart is hammering out a careful, careful, be careful rhythm that makes it impossible to focus on my to-do list.

  I know what I need to do. As soon as I reach my desk, I lock myself in my office and search for a hotel room for the next week.

  Chapter 15

  Graham

  At work, the run-in with Lucy weighs on me more than I expect. I grab my phone and send a text to my buddy.

  Graham: Lucy showed up at my place out of the blue this morning.

  Campbell: Whoa. What happened?

  Graham: She was in a trench coat.

  Campbell: Jesus, man. That’s not good.

  That's exactly what it was. So not good we can’t even joke about it.

  Graham: And I was with someone.

  Campbell: Someone? Who’s this someone?

  I’m not ready to dive into the details, but I need to get the Lucy encounter out of my head.

  Graham: Someone I like spending time with. That’s why it was, to say the least, a fuck ton of annoying to find my ex lurking in the lobby.

  Campbell: Did you make it clear she needs to stop that shit?

  Graham: I did.

  Campbell: How did the new lady handle it?

  Graham: She was cool. She’s honestly kind of all-around cool.

  Campbell: Awww, someone has a crush.

  A crush? I don’t think it’s a crush. But it’s something. That’s for sure. And maybe that’s what’s weighing on me more than Lucy’s lack of boundaries.

  * * *

  That afternoon my phone bleats with a code red text.

  That’s Luna speak for a massive shopping emergency.

  Even though I have a shit ton of work on my desk, I won’t ignore my friend. I call her while tapping out the last line of an email to our design team, approving the quick garter fix they worked up this morning. “Talk to me.”

  “I’m stuck.” It comes out in a long, needy whine, and I strain to make out the sounds behind her, the clicking of shoes, a few can I help yous, the ding of an intercom.

  In my best stay-calm voice I say, “Tell me where you are. Are you stuck in the linen department at Bloomingdales again? Are you rocking in a corner yet, or are you still upright and semi-functional?”

  She chokes out several miserable-sounding sobs. “Yes. Bloomingdales. Upright. But just barely. Shopping is so awful. How do you people manage this?”

  “By ‘people’ do you mean men?”

  “Everyone. Men, women, children. This is the worst. I can’t do it, Graham. Help me, Obi Wan Kenobi. You’re my only hope.”

  “When you put it like that . . .” I glance at the clock. Fortunately, Bloomingdale’s is close. “Tell me what department you’re in. Try to describe it. I’ll be there in ten minutes to perform a search-and-rescue.”

  “There are things for the home. Like cake dishes, and ice cream scoops, and blenders. Does that mean I’m in hell? Because they aren’t selling ice cream and cake, so it sounds like hell.”

  “Stay there. I’ll find you in housewares.”

  I hang up, and head to the elevator. Luna’s being dramatic, of course. She knows how to navigate her way out of Bloomingdale’s. But she detests shopping with the force of a thousand suns, and since I happen to be a master at picking the right item for the right person, I see it as my personal duty to lend a helping hand.

  I find her holding a stainless steel elephant napkin holder in one hand and a miniature purple hammer in the other, staring back and forth at each, those cat-eye glasses low on her nose. A huge purse is slung on her shoulder.

  When I reach her, I pat her on the back. “Breathe.”

  She takes a deep breath, and I remove each item from her hands, setting them down at their displays. “Luna, no one wants an elephant napkin ring for a gift, and I assure you, as cute and kitschy as this hammer is, no one actually needs it.”

  She blinks up at me. “Yes, you’re right.”

  “Tell me who you’re shopping for. And why you didn’t call me first. We’ve been over this. You’re not supposed to go into the big department stores by yourself,” I tease, talking to her like a child.

  She squares her shoulders. “I wanted to get something nice for Valerie because she’s had a rough week at work, and the other night she mentioned something about how nice the table looked when it was set all fancy at a restaurant. So, naturally, I thought she wanted napkin rings.”

  I shake my head in sympathy and pet her hair. “Sweetheart, I assure you, no one ever wants napkin rings. If Valerie had a hard week at work, there’s only one thing you can give her.”

  “Graham, I did that last night.” She wiggles her eyebrows. “Twice.”

  “Shut your filthy mind off and go get your wife a gift certificate for a spa day.”

  Her eyes sparkle, and she snaps her fingers. “You are the king of gift giving.”

  I blow on my fingers, the sign for too-hot-to-handle.

  “That’s exactly what I need to do.” Her smile is infectious.

  “And look, there’s a great spa around the corner. Stellar Spa. Some of the ladies at the office rave about it. You go there and get a day of pampering for your woman.”

  She grabs my cheeks and plants a kiss on my forehead. “I love you.” She’s about to turn around when she says, “Hey, how are things going with your lesson plans?”

  I don’t bother to hide the smile that tugs at my lips. “They’re going great.”

  “And she’s a good student?”

  I let that word roll around in my brain for a moment. Student. CJ hardly feels like a student. She feels like so much more. That’s why the run-in weighed on me. But “more” is precisely what I need to be on guard against. More can distract me from my mission—to laser in on growing Adored.

  “The classes are mutually enjoyable.”

  She laughs, shaking her head. “I’d badger you for more details if I wasn’t in a rush. Oh, by the way.” She dips her hand into her cavernous bag and hands me a small, white bakery box. “A whoopie pie for you.”

  I tilt my head to the side. “Luna, did you know you were going to call me from Bloomingdale’s before you walked through the revolving door?”

  She shrugs sheepishly. “I might have preplanned a baked bribe.”

  “I’ll always accept your baked goods, bribe or not.” I make a shooing gesture. “Now get your ass to Stellar Spa.”

  With an afternoon snack in hand, I leave the store. Once outside, my phone buzzes with a note from CJ that stops me in my tracks.

  For a full five seconds.

  Then I charge into the nearest coffee shop, one next door to a florist, set the whoopie pie down, and get to work on this new crisis.

  Chapter 16

  CJ

  My heart wages war with my brain, but no way am I letting that tra la la organ win this battle.

  Booking a hotel is the sensible action to take. Informing Graham is the adult thing to do. I will be both sensible and adult. With the web page for the Warwick Hotel open on my laptop, ready and wait
ing for me to finish reserving a room, I tap out a note.

  CJ: Thank you again for the offer to stay at your place. I’m so grateful, but I’ve decided I should stay at a hotel. I don’t want to cramp your style, and sleeping over night after night was never part of our bargain.

  Graham: Part of the bargain? That’s not what this is about. I don’t want you to stay with me as part of a bargain. I want you to stay with me because I like having you with me. And for the record, you aren’t cramping my anything. Is this because of Lucy?

  “No,” I mutter to myself. “Not in the way you think, anyway.”

  There’s no way Graham can know how Lucy has made me realize how vulnerable my heart is. Not to mention my sanity. Graham literally makes women crazy with wanting him, and I don’t need crazy in my life. I like peace, harmony, and routine, thank you very much. I get more than enough crazy dealing with twenty employees and an out-of-state production and warehouse situation.

  I decide to lean on a little humor.

  CJ: I don’t think multiple sleepovers are in the sex education curriculum.

  Graham: Multiple orgasms are, though, and they’re aided by multiple sleepovers. Plus, last time I checked, I was the teacher. And the teacher would like his model student in his bed.

  Since humor isn’t working, I’ll need to break out the big guns. I gulp. Time to be direct.

  CJ: You are, but I don’t need to learn how to be a considerate houseguest. I know how to do that. And in this situation, that means I should stay in a hotel.

  He doesn't reply right away, and I set my phone down to focus on work, then it buzzes again with a text.

  Graham: This isn’t about being a houseguest. This isn’t about politeness, CJ. This is something else, since I’m pretty sure until my ex showed up that you enjoyed spending the night with me too. It’s over with her. It’s history. And I truly want you to stay with me. So what is it going to take for you to give me another chance to convince you? I’d really like to fall asleep with you again, and wake up with you, and do everything in between.

  I’m starting to type a reply when my phone rings. His name is big and bold. Demanding. Like him.

  And damn it, I like his demands, which is part of the problem.

  “Hello, Graham,” I say, playing it cool. I love that he’s calling to plead his case—it makes me feel special—but I truly intend to book that room.

  “Butterfly.” His tone is firm, a little commanding, a lot sexy.

  “Yes?”

  “You are one tough woman, and it sounds like your mind is made up. But I can be pretty persuasive. Give me twenty minutes to change your mind.”

  A shiver runs through me. Is he suggesting some afternoon delight? The idea is, well . . . a whole lot more than delightful. “Are you saying you’d like to pop over to my office and—”

  “—bend you over your desk and remind you why you want to stay at my place?”

  The shiver turns into a pulse, beating low and hot in my belly. Still, I try my best to think rationally. “Graham, this isn’t about sex or lessons.”

  “I know, Butterfly. Trust me. And that’s precisely why I’m not coming to your office to bend you over the desk. Nor to spread you out in front of me and devour your sweet pussy.” His voice is husky, and a small gasp escapes my lips at his words. “I’m not going to shut the door to your office or kiss you until you melt for me the way you did the first night, the way you do every night. Even though I want that. Badly.”

  I grip the edge of my desk, tingles spreading like wildfire across my skin. God, I want that badly too. Must. Stay. Strong.

  “So what are you going to do?” I ask evenly.

  “Just wait. You’ll have the answer in twenty minutes.”

  He hangs up.

  I shake my head, trying to rid it of thoughts of that man. The trouble is, he seems dead-set on convincing me, and judging from the flush flooding my cheeks, my body wants to be convinced. But I need to stick to my plan. Batten down the hatches. Time to be an iron butterfly without a single soft spot in my armor.

  On impulse, I reach out, punching the intercom and calling my intern. “Katie, could you grab me one of those green smoothies from the market downstairs? The kind with extra kale and seaweed?”

  “Gross,” Katie pipes back, proving I’ve done an excellent job of making her feel comfortable here, despite the fact that she’s the only team member under twenty-one. “But will do, boss. You want an iced coffee too? To wash out the nasty taste after the green thing?”

  I hesitate only a moment before giving in. “Yes, Katie. Please. That sounds perfect.”

  And it does. I will build up my fortitude with green superfoods, caffeinate myself to brimming-with-confidence levels, and then stand firm against Graham’s superpowers of persuasion. There’s nothing he can do to convince me.

  Twenty minutes later, Katie knocks on my door.

  “Come in.”

  When she opens it, she’s carrying a massive bouquet of flowers. Bright orange, sunshine yellow, fiery flowers. Her face is hidden behind three—wait, no, four dozen tiger lilies.

  I don’t recall telling him I loved tiger lilies.

  But then I remember our phone call a few nights ago. I mentioned them briefly, simply in passing.

  The man knows how to listen. He pays attention. He cares.

  Talk about a superpower.

  Fighting off a massive grin, I take the flowers and set them on my desk.

  “These, obviously, are for you,” Katie deadpans. “Based on the sheer number, some guy either needs to make up or convince you to be his, and if you say no, I’ll say yes because a man who sends four dozen flowers is a keeper.”

  The smile won’t disappear. “Thank you, Katie.”

  She hands me the card. With nervous fingers, I open it.

  Stay with me.

  Katie clears her throat. “Um, there’s more.”

  “More?”

  She thrusts a white box at me. The sticker reads Luna’s Sweets. Inside is a delectable-looking whoopie pie. I haven’t had one of these in ages, and it smells delicious. There’s a note here too. A longer one.

  I made dinner reservations at eight. I’m taking you out to your favorite restaurant. But feel free to have dessert first. These whoopie pies are irresistible. Just like you.

  The grin? It consumes all of me. Not just my face. I swear it’s a full-body smile.

  Katie clears her throat. “I have your kale smoothie and the coffee. Do you still want them?”

  I shake my head. “No. I don’t need them anymore.”

  I don’t need fortification because I don’t want to resist him.

  Because I’m beginning to understand that he’s not the only teacher around here. I’m teaching myself too, pushing myself to step out of my comfort zone and grow. And the lesson I have mapped out for CJ Murphy for the next few nights is this—learn to enjoy myself with a man without falling head over heels and losing my grip on my sanity.

  I will savor this whoopie pie, I will savor the whoopee, and then I will walk away from both with my head held high.

  Chapter 17

  CJ

  By the end of the day, I’m so hyped up on sugar and anticipation that I decide to hit the gym after all. I would rather shower there than at Graham’s, anyway. The girly part of me likes the idea of arriving at dinner all dolled up and ready to knock Graham’s socks off, instead of allowing him to peek behind the curtain and realize how many times I poke myself in the eye while getting my eyeliner just right. Plus, I snagged a new dress this afternoon at a boutique I love, and some pretty new lingerie, so I’m all set for date night.

  I text Graham that I’ll meet him at eight. He texts back that he can’t wait to see me—sending another wave of anticipation rushing through my chest—and I burn up the next two hours with a bike ride, a shower, and a blow-out at the salon on the corner.

  At seven fifty, I slip through the thick dinner crowd at Eataly on Fifth Avenue, the combination au
thentic Italian grocery and vast palace of sinfully delicious eateries of my dreams. But my favorite, of course, is the rooftop bar and grill. I make my way to the hostess stand by the elevators, where a big-eyed Italian girl in a red dress informs me Graham is already waiting for me on the roof.

  As the elevator zips skyward, I realize Graham never actually said we were meeting at Birreria, and I smile. There’s something special about not needing any other directions aside from your favorite restaurant at eight.

  He knows me.

  And I know him.

  As I exit the elevator, I head directly for the far end of the bar, where I suspect Graham will be sitting with a half pint of the on-site brewery’s latest concoction. And he is.

  “Hey there,” I say as I come to a stop beside him.

  He turns from the view of the post-sunset pink sky behind the skyscrapers of Manhattan, his eyes lighting up in a way that makes me thankful for showers, blow-outs, and smoky ash eyeliner that exactly matches my short-sleeved sweater dress.

  “Hello, Butterfly.” He shakes his head as his gaze skims up and down, taking me in with an appreciation that makes me feel like the most beautiful woman on the rooftop. “You’re stunning tonight.”