The door swings open, Jason’s torso covered in a boring red apron. He’s wearing a tank that shows off his sculpted shoulders, and on top of his head, he’s wearing a white chef’s hat.
Good God. What on earth am I to do with this paradoxical man?
“Dottie.” He bows with a wooden spoon in his hand. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Are you gay?” I don’t even beat around the bush. I get right to the point because frankly, I’m just tired. Tired of it all.
He blinks a few times. “Gay? What do you mean? Like . . . happy?”
Jesus.
Christ.
“No, like gay. Do you like men?”
“They’re the best kind of friends. Girls are good friends too, but I really only have guy friends. They’re so chill and—”
“Do you like penis in your mouth?” I shout, wishing this man knew how to answer a simple question.
“Ohhh . . . I see what you’re asking here. Am I gay?”
“Yes,” I answer exasperated. “I didn’t think I needed to spell it out any other way. Are you?”
“Gay?” He shakes his head. “No.”
Well, that solves that. I spin on my heel and head back to my apartment, slamming the door behind me.
Back to square one.
* * *
“He’s secretly married for a green card.”
“Are you insane?” I ask Lindsay through the phone. “He’s from Chicago.”
“Or so you think he is. People will say pretty much anything to stay in the country. Bet you he has a green card marriage. Ask him.”
“I’m not asking him,” I say, biting on my bottom lip.
“Suit yourself.”
* * *
Knock. Knock.
I tap the ground impatiently, my arms crossed over my chest.
He answers the door, still in his apron and white hat.
“Two visits in one night, how did I become so—”
“Do you have a green card marriage?”
He scratches his unshaven scruff with his wooden spoon. “Huh, not that I know of.”
“Ugh,” I groan, walking back to my apartment and slamming the door.
* * *
“He’s a virgin.”
“Will you stop?” I groan.
“It’s the only other explanation. He stares at your boobs, rubs your collarbone, but when push comes to shove, he fumbles and stumbles away. Total virgin.”
“Jason Orson is not a virgin.”
* * *
Knock. Knock.
Tap, tap, tap.
Door unlocks, Jason appears. “I knew it was going to be you.” He smiles charmingly and asks, “Okay, I’m ready, what’s your next question?”
I hate him.
I really, really hate . . . hell, who am I kidding? There’s no way I could hate this man, no matter how hard I tried.
Succumbing to my last inquiry of the night, I ask, “Are you a virgin?”
“Well, depends.” I perk up, is he? “Some might consider me a born-again virgin given my lack of sex life lately, but actual virgin, no. Lost the V-card at fifteen to a lovely girl named Mindy. Poor girl.”
Yeah, I didn’t think he was a virgin.
“Was that it? Anything else you want to know?”
I stare for a few seconds, at a complete loss. I could ask him why he didn’t kiss me, but it just seems like I’ll never get the answer at this point.
Maybe it’s simple . . . maybe he just didn’t want to and that’s a reality I’ll have to face.
Feeling sad, I shake my head, turn to my apartment, and shut the door behind me. It’s official. I’m unwantable. Is that even a word? The one thing I didn’t believe when I was betrayed was that I’d never know the true love of a man, that I was simply unwanted. I hadn’t doubted me. My self-confidence never took a hit with . . . him, because I blamed their deceit on his own vapid and selfish ways. But maybe, just maybe, I’ve been wrong. One of the best straight men I know doesn’t find me attractive. I’d been a game to him initially, but once I showed interest, albeit ingenuine . . . kind of . . . he backed off. Fuck. What a stupid, stupid night, I could have been—
Knock. Knock.
I slowly turn around and look through the peephole, not that I need to. I know who it is, but I look anyway.
I open the door and the minute he’s fully in view—sans apron and hat—I catch the determination in his eyes as his large frame swoops into my apartment, snags my body, and presses me against the wall. His hands immediately grip my jaw and before I can give it a thought, his lips descend onto mine, claiming my mouth the way I’ve always dreamed of.
There’s no humor in his kiss. No fumbling. It’s as if this has been the kiss I’ve been waiting for my whole life, the one that would alter my world forever.
Shaking, I allow my hands to fall to his waist as I part my mouth for him. Desire rips through me when his tongue glides across mine and lightly explores. His grip powerful, his kisses soft, just what I would expect from this strong and sure man.
Giving myself freely to the surprise of his kiss, I allow myself to relax, to enjoy the moment as the determined hardness of his lips take control. Sweeping, exploring, tantalizing.
God . . .
It’s everything. He’s everything.
His mouth starts to slow, his lips press against mine, and then he gently covers my mouth before he pulls away.
Hands still griping my jaw, all I can see is determination. “I didn’t kiss you in the cabin because I was a goddamn idiot. Forgive me, Dottie.”
Lips stained with passion, I slowly bring my fingertips to them and nod, in shock.
“Good.” He leans forward and presses a kiss to my forehead. “Have a good night.”
With a parting smile, he departs my apartment leaving me unsatisfied, confused . . . but utterly happy.
Chapter Twenty
DOTTIE
What’s this? I’ve never seen this picture before.
I lean in closer to my computer, observing the treasure I’ve come across during my daily cyberstalking of the man who kissed me last night. Backward baseball hat, shirtless, bat in hand, him staring at the camera as his muscles ripple like a beast.
This picture is deliriously hot.
This one’s being saved to my personal file.
Yup, that’s right, Dorothy Domico, the power-suit princess, the ruthless boardroom ball-buster, has a file on her computer under the name “Eggplant” with pictures of Jason Orson. A variety of photos at that. Some shirtless, some not, some casual, some in a suit, and then of course, the picture of them all, the center of the collage, THE towel picture.
I’m in the midst of saving when there’s a knock at my door. Hunched over, I quickly pop my head over my computer screen to see Jessica standing there with a smile. Must have had a good night’s sleep, as her smile is rare.
“Miss Domico.”
This time I don’t fumble to close out of the screen, I just open up Outlook to cover up my obsession. “Yes, Jessica?”
“Two things. Madison in finance asked if you could push her meeting to tomorrow. She got a call from her son’s school. He’s throwing up and she needs to get him.”
I cringe. Gross. Details I didn’t need. “Yes, that’s fine. Tell her to work from home for the next few days and we can do a conference call tomorrow same time.”
“Will do. And you have a visitor.”
“A visitor?” I ask, perking up.
Jessica smiles even wider, causing a wave of butterflies to erupt in my stomach. Is he visiting me at work?
I swear to God if this is Lindsay or my dad, I’m going to scream.
“Okay, send them in.”
Jessica practically giggles on her way out my door and I stand from my desk, flatten my skirt out, and fold my hands together in front of me, then release, then fold, then—
A bouquet of flowers enters my office, red roses—red, eep—held by a very tall, very strong, and very beau
tiful man. My heart soars as I mentally thank Cupid himself for sending this man right now.
I spent the entire night reliving his kiss, letting my lips marvel in the feel of his mouth on mine, his possessive grip on my face, the way he was soft and rough all at the same time. Searing and passionate, it was the best kiss I’ve ever had.
And then he left.
I labored over why last night—why he just disappeared—and by two in the morning, I finally let my mind relax. Maybe it will come in time. Maybe this is the pace he likes. And then, as I recalled his words—“I didn’t kiss you in the cabin because I was a goddamn idiot. Forgive me, Dottie.”—I fell asleep. Yes, Jason Orson, I will forgive you. I woke this morning with an extra pep in my step. It was incredible.
I curled my hair rather than put it up in a ponytail or bun, giving me a much softer appearance. And instead of a suit, I wore a pencil skirt, but paired it with an ice-blue blouse that has a deeper neckline than I normally wear at work. In the off chance I ran into Jason in the hallway, I wanted to make sure I looked how I felt . . . beautiful.
Unfortunately, I didn’t meet him in the hallway, I didn’t hear from him all morning, and when lunch rolled around with no surprise or text or call, I started to worry. Three o’clock hit, and I succumbed to filling my soul with pictures of him instead of the real thing.
So you can imagine how giddy and excited I feel right now with Jason standing in front of me, dressed casually in a pair of jeans and a black button-up shirt, holding a bouquet of flowers.
“I hope this is okay,” he says, stepping forward. “I know you’re busy with work, but I thought I’d stop by and give you these.”
I move around my desk and meet him in the middle of my office. I gratefully take the flowers and give them a sniff.
“Of course, this is okay. Thank you.”
And then we just stare at each other like two besotted idiots not knowing what to do next. We kissed last night, so do we kiss again? Do I hug him? Do I ask him to sit down?
Should I ask him out?
I’m so bad at this, so out of practice, and from the looks of it, so is Jason.
“Do you want to sit down?” I ask, gesturing to a chair.
He sticks his hands in his back pockets and shakes his head. “I can’t. I’m off to another meeting but wanted to swing by your office this afternoon to give you these and to, uh”—he grips the back of his neck—“to see if you wanted to go out to dinner with me tonight?”
I can’t contain the giant smile that pulls at my lips. “I would love that.”
“Yeah?” he asks, almost looking surprised.
“Yeah.”
“Awesome.” He nods and backs away. “Cool, yeah, so uh, pick you up tonight? How about seven?”
“That works.”
“Cool,” he answers looking adorably awkward. He checks behind him and laughs. “Just want to make sure I don’t stumble over any furniture again.”
“Smart.”
“Okay, I’ll see you at seven. Bye, Dottie.”
“Bye, Jason.”
He shuts my door behind him and I sigh out loud while clutching the flowers to my chest. I have a date with Jason Orson. Maybe I’m not unwantable.
He likes me.
Jason Orson likes me.
Finally.
* * *
I’d like to say I knew exactly what to wear tonight and that I spent the last hour relaxing and making sure my legs were lotioned and as silky as possible, but that would be a lie.
A giant lie.
I got home from work late, leaving me forty-five minutes to get ready. During the drive home I had an idea what I was going to wear but when I put it on, it looked terrible. From there, it was like a tornado hit the bedroom. Nothing looked right, everything felt ill-fitting, or made me look washed out. There are clothes flung all over the room, and in this very moment, I wished I was at my place rather than Knox and Emory’s. If I was in my apartment, I would have so many more options.
With five minutes left, I throw on a simple black dress that I normally wear a blazer with, slip on some pumps, put on a bright red lipstick, and call it a night. Thankfully my hair is still curled from this morning and my makeup is decent. I lotion quickly, spray some perfume, brush my teeth and just as I finish, a knock comes at the door.
Clutch in hand, I give myself one more look in the mirror. The dress really is flattering with its sweetheart neckline and tight-fitting bodice. I just wish I had some jewelry or something to pair it with.
It’s fine, he won’t notice.
I say that now but knowing Jason and how detail oriented—read quirky—he is, he’ll make some offhand comment about not having the right accessories for my outfit.
Nervous and excited, I open the door and there’s Jason on the other side looking beyond yummy. He makes jeans and a blazer look hot, especially when he’s sporting that wicked smile of his.
“Damn, Dottie,” he says, taking my hand in his and making me spin. “You look gorgeous.”
A blush creep over my cheeks. “Thank you. You look very handsome yourself.”
“Oh, I know. I took at least ten selfies in the mirror before coming over here.”
He’s so ridiculous, but I’m grateful for the lightheartedness, because it’s felt like our last interactions have either been awkward or intense. I’ve missed this side of him, the fun side that I quickly started to become obsessed with.
“Ten seems excessive.”
“Five were with my shirt unbuttoned.”
The thought of Jason wearing his button-up and blazer with his jeans, but his shirt unbuttoned, staring into a mirror . . . good Lord, my legs tremble. I can see it, the ripple of his abs, the way his pants hang off his hips, only held up by his belt, the deep V in his sides.
I’m going to need to see those pictures and it must be written all over my face because Jason says, “Want me to send you one for the wallpaper of your phone?”
“Yes, I do.” Eager much?
“Damn right,” he says, snagging me by the waist and pulling me into his body. I shut the door and start to walk down the hallway but not before Jason tugs on me again, bringing me back into his reach. “Where’s my kiss?”
“Who’s to say you should get one right now? This is a date, after all.”
“You’re going to make me wait?” His brow lifts.
“Yeah, I am.”
“I can respect that. At least give me a hug.”
“That I can do.” He pulls me in and wraps his strong arms around me. Being held by this man is slowly becoming one of my favorite things. Who knew I loved hugs so much? Or maybe it’s just him.
“Thanks for saying yes to tonight,” he whispers. “I was nervous as shit to ask you.”
I pull away slightly so I can look him in the eyes. “I’ve been waiting, so I’m glad you asked.”
“Waiting? For how long?”
“Does it matter?”
He nods. “Yup, I want to know how long I’ve been blowing this.”
I stand on my toes and press a kiss to his jaw. “You haven’t been blowing this at all.”
“Do we need to review the texts from the other night?”
I chuckle and shake my head, placing my hand in his and walking toward the elevators.
“That won’t be necessary . . . I already reviewed them with Lindsay.”
“Come on.” He laughs and hugs me at the same time. This is only the start of our date and I already feel like I’m at the capacity of happiness. Can it really get any better than this?
* * *
It can.
It can get so much better.
Food in front of us, seated in a romantic booth, sitting across from each other, I can’t stop laughing.
I laugh so hard that I almost choke on my food.
I cough a few times and down some water before laughing again.
Jason just told me a story from his freshman year in college, his initiation. Let’s just say it required him dr
essing up in drag and trying to catch a chicken. You can fill in the rest. And because he’s the best date ever, he brought visuals with him, meaning, I saw him dressed in drag and despite being super muscular, he made for a very beautiful lady. Who knew his pecs could double as breasts, or that he would look better in a mini skirt than I do? It’s the ass . . . it made that skirt pop.
“I don’t know if I’ll ever get that visual out of my head, just so you know.”
“Uh-oh, did I just ruin my chances at bedding you?”
I pause, my glass of water halfway to my mouth. “Bedding? Are you an eighty-year-old? You can say fucking.”
“Bedding makes more of an impact.” In an English accent, he says, “I’m going to bed you, you witty wench.”
“You’re really not if you call me wench.”
“Have you or have you not been wench-like over the past week?”
“Excuse me?” I chuckle. “I have not been wenchy.”
“Oh, you’ve been wenchy.” He takes a bite of bread. “You’ve been really wenchy ever since I barged in on you trying to be romantic with a date. If a date is all you wanted, why didn’t you take it to begin with?”
“Honestly, because I didn’t think you were right for me despite having a crush on you.” Yes, I told him. And was suitably embarrassed for my stupid revelation. Although, it was really cute watching his face once he knew I’d crushed on him at college.
“Right for you?” He grows serious. “Why?”
“Because, there have been men in my life who’ve been just like you, fun and sweet, made me laugh.” I move my food around on my plate with my fork. “Very charismatic, but in the end, they were only trying to win me over because of my title, because of my family name, and because of what was in the bank. It had nothing to do with me and everything to do with the credit card I carried in my purse. You reminded me of those guys and learning from my mistakes, I decided to stay away.”
The Lineup Page 21