The Lineup

by Quinn, Meghan

  “Just like you stuff your pants too, right?”

  “What?” She stops her pursuit to my nightstand.

  I point at her crotch and say, “You stuff too, don’t you? Camel toe is in, right?”

  She tilts to the side and stares . . . hard. “What the hell is wrong with you? Did your mom drop you on your head when you were young?”

  “Possibly.” I cup my hand over my mouth. “But as if she would really tell the truth, am I right?”

  Ignoring me, she pulls on the handle of my nightstand, yanking it harder than I think she expected, flinging the drawer off its track. It hits the ground with a splash, spreading the collection of condoms I have stashed inside.

  As a hopeful male, moving to a new city with possible potential to meet the love of his life, I found an amazing deal on condoms on Amazon. Buy in bulk; it’s how I roll.

  I have yet to use one, but . . . fingers crossed.

  “Oh my God.” Dottie stands straight, staring at the drawerful of foil wrappers. The XL on the packaging clear. She blushes and takes a step back, as if she gets too close, she might get sucked into my sex den. “Why . . .” She swallows hard. “Why do you have so many?”

  “I like to buy in bulk,” I answer, hands stuffed in my pockets.

  “I see.” She clears her throat and turns away, her eyes scanning my crotch before she heads back down the hallway.

  I follow, a smile pulling at my lips the entire time. Just that little glance tells me she’s interested, even if she’ll deny it till the day she dies, I know there’s interest.

  When we’re in the living room, she starts shuffling through my laundry. “Did you wash it—?” She holds up her hands, thongs dangling off her fingers. “How many of these do you have? Are you wearing one right now?”

  “With jeans? No, thank you. I run a lot. I never want to run out because I’ve been too lazy to do laundry.”

  She drops them back in the pile and pushes her hands through her hair. “I should have gone to my office instead. All I’ve come to find here is that you have a need to collect man thongs, have an excessive bin of condoms, and your decorating style is less than desirable.”

  “What does that mean?” I take in my homey surroundings, pictures of baseball bats and gloves haphazardly hung around the apartment. “I like baseball gear.”

  “Yes, that’s evident.”

  “It’s better than naked women on the walls. Is that what you’d prefer to see?”

  “I don’t prefer to see anything. I just want the key so I can go.”

  “And I’ll have you know, I just replenished on condoms, and I’m holding out for the right woman so when I do have sex, it means something. In the interim, I will occasionally jack off with a condom on to help build my endurance and to avoid a mess. I’m afraid to admit it, but I’m a cum shooter. I’ve been known to shoot it so hard up the vagina, the girl can taste it.”

  Blinks.

  Blinks again.

  Shakes her head and takes off toward the door. “I’ll be here all week. For the love of God, please leave me alone.”

  “What about the key?” I call out, laughing at the same time.

  “I’ll go back to my office.”

  She opens the door, just as I spot the shiny red keychain Emory attached the key on.

  “Oh wait, I found it.”

  She pauses and I walk to the door, so close that my chest presses against her back. I reach over her shoulder to the hooks where I hang my keys.

  “Here it is.” I smile when her eyes turn murderous. “Look at that, even when I’m drunk, I’m mindful of organization.”

  She snatches the key from my hand without another word and walks out of my apartment.

  “I’m going to need that back—”

  She unlocks the door to Emory and Knox’s apartment in record time and tosses the key back to me before I can finish.

  “Have a good night.”

  The door slams behind her with a resounding boom.

  “Sure, yup.” I wave at the door. “I’ll have a good night too. Why thank you, I do believe I look spectacular without a shirt on. That’s so kind. Oh, you’re going to think of me tonight when you touch yourself, you’re so—”

  The door flings open and a shoe flies from one end of the hallway to the other, hitting me directly in the chest with a thump.

  Oof.

  The door slams again and I’m left there, chuckling to myself. I hold up the shoe and call out, “If you want this back, you’re going to have to come and get it.”

  Teach her to throw a damn shoe at me.

  With a smile that won’t quit, I shut the door to my apartment and go to my laundry where I start to fold it. God, that woman. I can see now why she and Emory are such good friends. And even though I’m not completely sure what she’s thinking right now about me, the sparring has made me feel . . . alive.

  Like me again.

  Glancing around my bare-bones bachelor pad, I start thinking about her comment. I haven’t been here long enough to make it mine yet—I still have some unpacking to do—but maybe there are things I can do to it to make the place more inviting. Dating has been on the backburner, once bitten and all that, but if I’m going to possibly consider looking for my someone, this place needs to feel like home.

  Chapter Eleven

  DOTTIE

  Even though it’s seven in the morning and I’m pretty sure Jason is still sleeping, given he has nowhere to be this morning, I still look out the peephole to make sure he’s not outside waiting for me.

  Last night was . . . God, I don’t even know what last night was.

  Irritating.

  Annoying.

  Educational?

  And I hate to admit it, but just a tiny bit fun.

  Okay maybe a lot of fun.

  But I will say this, it will be a cold day in hell before I go back to his apartment and retrieve my tossed shoe. At this point, I’m considering it a loss. Or maybe, when Emory gets back, I’ll be sure to force her to grab it for me as payment for watching her stupid plants. It’s the least she can do for me. If I didn’t know Knox was very protective about their apartment and who enters it—rightfully so—I’d hire a plant-sitter so I wouldn’t have to deal with seeing Jason, but I think my escape plan will work perfectly.

  With the coast clear, I sling my purse over my shoulder, slip my feet in my heels, and swing the door open, ready to make my—

  “Goooooooooooood morning,” Jason says, louder than necessary, probably waking up the floors above and below ours. Where the hell did he come from? Was he just waiting there? “Don’t you look ravishing. That blouse really brings out the blue of your eyes.”

  I couldn’t agree more, but I won’t let him know that.

  Holding my hand over my racing heart, calming myself from being startled and running into his handsome face so early in the morning. Putting on the best front I can, I say, “What do you want?”

  From behind his back, he brings my shoe forward with a coffee tucked inside.

  “Shoe drink.” He smiles boldly, chest puffed. “Cute, right?”

  Oh my God.

  Why is he such a moron?

  An adorably sweet moron.

  A moron that keeps tempting me to laugh.

  Hold it in, Dottie, hold it in.

  But . . . shoe drink. I mentally chuckle. So stupid.

  I sigh and take the shoe, pulling the drink from it and tossing the shoe behind me. I already locked the door from the inside, so I close it and give him a once-over.

  Drenched in sweat, wearing slate-gray athletic shorts with a skintight Lycra shirt and a backward baseball cap, he looks all kinds of sexy—especially with his five o’clock shadow and cheery eyes.

  “Were you waiting out there for me?”

  “Yup.” He reaches to the ground and pulls up a water. He takes a quick gulp and says, “I’m friends with the door staff, who told me you hadn’t left yet, so I grabbed this drink for you because I’m a nice guy.”<
br />
  He is. He’s too nice.

  “Were you running?”

  He wipes his brow with his forearm. “Is it that obvious? I told my glands to try to hold in the sweat but looks like they ignored me.” He stretches out his arms. “Give Jason Boo Boo a hug for the coffee.” I pin myself against the door, hand held out.

  “Don’t come near me.”

  He chuckles and falls forward, his arms propping him up on either side of my body. The heat coming off him suffocates me, making it hard to breathe. I can feel my pulse in my throat. His gorgeous eyes study me, and all I can think is how delicious he smells despite being a sweaty mess. He has an amazing deodorant and laundry detergent, because I could make a candle out of his scent, it’s that good.

  “I think we got off on the wrong foot,” he says in a deep, rough voice. “You seem to not like me and I don’t think I can handle that.” He glances at my lips and then back up to my eyes. “You see, I don’t like it when people don’t like me for no reason, so I’m going to need a valid reason why.”

  If only he knew how wrong he really was. It’s not that I don’t like him, it’s that I’m too afraid to allow myself to like him. He’s so magnetic I fear I would fall for him and fall hard.

  “I don’t need to tell you anything,” I answer, clutching the coffee to my chest.

  “Fine, then come to my place tonight for dinner. I’ll make you something.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I don’t have anyone to eat with and I like to cook. You’re going to be alone over there, so we might as well eat together.”

  “I’m good.” I try to move past him but he doesn’t budge, and there’s no way I’m going to touch his sweaty body.

  “Then give me a reason.”

  “A reason for what?”

  “For why you don’t like me and I’ll leave you alone.”

  “Why would I do that?” I answer, my breath catching in my throat.

  “Because I don’t really believe you don’t like me.” He tugs lightly on my ponytail and then drags his fingers down my neck, sending a wave of goosebumps to cover my arms. “I think you do, but you’re too scared to admit.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I have better things to do with my time than hold a grudge against random guys.” I nervously laugh and look to the side.

  “Then dinner tonight, so you can get to know me better.”

  “I’m busy.”

  He moves in, his body so close, and my skin starts to crawl with anticipation.

  “Let’s get one thing straight,” he says, dropping the humor in his voice and becoming completely serious. The raspy sound of his voice, the way it cuts through my defenses, I don’t think I’ve ever heard anything sexier. “Lying to me is not going to fly.”

  My face tingles; that’s how aware I am of his energy and power.

  “How do you know I’m lying?” I ask, head over tits turned on by this switch in attitude. Yes, I enjoy his teasing and ridiculous self, but this alpha side, the one I guessed would surface in the bedroom, is making my nipples hard. His chest is a breath away from rubbing against them.

  “There’s a waver in your voice. If you weren’t lying, you’d be confident with your answer.” Damn it. “So, tonight, my place, eight sharp. If you’re not here, I’m banging on your door until you show up.”

  “How pleasant, being forced into your company.”

  “That’s me, Mr. Pleasant.” He leans in closer, his mouth against my ear. “So, you’ll . . . come?”

  Oh my God, my thighs just clenched together. God, to think I missed out on this in college because I was too reserved to approach him. How I wish I got him out of my system then . . . when things were . . . simpler. Before I understood the black-hearted side of men.

  “Only to avoid”—I swallow, letting my breath catch up—“verbal assassination in the hallway.”

  “Smart.” He lifts a little so now we’re looking each other in the eyes. “I’ll see you tonight. Be a proper guest and bring wine.”

  I might need something stronger than wine to get through the night.

  “Are you going to let me leave now?”

  He pushes off the door and steps away. Eyes on mine, he reaches behind him and yanks his shirt over his head, along with his hat, revealing his impeccably chiseled chest, sweat dripping down each contour and curve.

  His lips curve up. “Time to hit the showers. I’ll see you tonight.”

  He turns around and damn my betraying eyes, they fall straight to his ass, his tight, rounded, and delicious ass.

  That’s it, I’m not going tonight. I don’t care how long he pounds on the door, I’m far too infatuated, and honestly, with my shrinking willpower, who knows what might happen.

  Jason Orson will be eating dinner alone tonight.

  * * *

  “Miss Domico?”

  Shit.

  I quickly exit out of my Jason Orson’s Butt Google search—yes, it has its own search title—feeling a blush creep up my cheeks from being caught once again. What’s that, the third time in a week? How humiliating.

  “Yes, Jessica.” I smile up at her.

  “Mr. Domico is here. He wanted to talk with you before the Carltons arrive.”

  “Sure, yeah, let him in.”

  I check the time and realize we’re six minutes away from the meeting. Good God, this is exactly why I need to stay away from Jason; he is a giant distraction. I guess technically, I’m staying away from him but still getting distracted.

  I curse the day Lindsay sent me that stupid email, as that’s what started all of this. The obsession with looking at pictures of him, secretly ogling him behind my computer screen, the daydreaming of what it would be like to run my fingers along his abs. I wasn’t like this before. I didn’t even think of the man before the email. Occasionally, I’d hear something about him and maybe look him up, but it never got as extreme as it is right now. The obsession is borderline stalkerish.

  Looks like there’ll be no dinner tonight.

  There’s a knock on my door right before my dad steps in. Dressed impeccably in a finely tailored grey suit with black shirt and tie, his salt-and-pepper hair and charming eyes, he doesn’t look a day over fifty.

  “Hey there, killer. Are you ready to kiss some Carlton ass?”

  “Applied a good layer of ChapStick five minutes ago.”

  He laughs and pulls me into a hug. “You’ve got this, girl.”

  “So you’re not here to tell me how you want me to run the meeting?”

  “Those days are over. I’m just here to tell you how proud of you I am. You’re the best person to close this deal, and I have the utmost confidence that you will.”

  “Thank you.”

  I take a deep breath. He has confidence in me. This is something he tells me every time he sees me and I know why, because he’s trying to build me up after what happened with Nick. On the outside, I might seem confident and powerful, but on the inside, I’m the little girl always looking to impress her dad. And I can’t stop myself from trying incredibly hard every chance I get, because even though I know he has so much trust in me, there’s that seed of doubt in the back of my head that tells me I’m not good enough. Maybe it’s from Nick, maybe it’s from being the owner’s daughter, but whatever it is, it’s there. And even days later, after we fixed everything with the water main break and leveled the budget, I still feel sick about it, about almost letting my dad down again. I never want to do that . . . ever again.

  He steps away and motions to my shirt. “But button up, these people are conservative.”

  “It’s not bad.” I look down at my shirt. “You want me going in there like a nun?”

  “Yes. Now hide those bosoms.”

  Can’t hear that enough from my dad.

  I take a second to button my shirt all the way up, until my neck feels like it’s being choked. What’s a lack of breath going to do to me? Better to be covered than able to breathe.

  Together, we walk down t
he hallway to the conference room where the Carltons are being escorted in by our receptionist. There are a variety of drinks on the conference table as well as a Mediterranean charcuterie I had Jessica put together.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Carlton, thank you so much for making it to our office. Was your ride comfortable?”

  “Yes,” Mr. Carlton says, shaking my hand. “It was so nice of you to send a car to get us. The driver was very pleasant. From Georgia. He used to be in the CIA but is now retired, enjoying driving around his hometown of Chicago. Very fascinating fellow.”

  “Yes, Mark Sandberg, he’s a wonderful man. If you ever get a chance to get stuck in traffic with him, he’ll tell you some really good stories.”

  “Well, I’ll be wishing for some holdups after this.”

  I lean over and give Mrs. Carlton a handshake as my dad talks to her husband. “Mrs. Carlton, so glad you could make it. This dress is stunning.”

  “Thank you. My friend Patricia Freeman from Free Designs made it for me. Isn’t she talented?”

  It’s the ugliest garment I’ve ever seen. Looks like she rolled around in her tapestries and called it a day.

  “You’re going to have to give me her contact information because I need an original in my closet.”

  “I’ll have Marjorie send over the information in an email from me.” She touches my arm kindly and we both take a seat along with my dad and Mr. Carlton.

  I offer some drinks for the table, hand out plates, and once everyone is settled, I take a seat. We spend some time talking about the weather and the run the Bobbies had in the playoffs, short-lived but at least they made it . . . unlike the Rebels. But once my dad clears his throat, it’s time to get down to business.

  “Again, thank you so much for taking the time to talk to us about your property. We couldn’t be more excited about this opportunity.”

  Mr. Carlton steeples his fingers. “It’s really between Domico and Heller and Parks. The proposals submitted are comparable, so it comes down to who we want to do business with.”