by Lindsey Hart
“Oh—uh—a few years. I actually got lazy and stopped doing anything to it like going to get it trimmed. It’s been three years, I think. I guess that’s my secret. Laziness and a fear of hairdressers.”
“That’s the good thing about being a dude, I guess. Even if someone butchers my hair, it’s okay to just buzz it and start all over.”
“That’s okay for women too.” I burst out laughing at the mystified look on John’s face. “Don’t worry. I’ve seen some amazing short cuts and even buzzed hairstyles lately on women, but I don’t think I’m brave enough to get one anytime soon.”
“You’d look good without any hair,” John says. “I mean—uh—no, that’s not what I meant. I just—”
“It’s okay. I know what you meant.”
“I was planning this picnic for outside. I had all these plans to take you somewhere and stay out late so we could see the stars. I thought it would be incredibly romantic.”
“And the rain kind of ruined that. And I’d hope you wouldn’t cook for it. Your cooking might actually be a health hazard in more than one way. Not only are you at risk of food poisoning yourself, but I think you just about set your stove on fire yesterday.”
He grimaces, but his easy grin is back a second later. “That might be true. Both of those things. No, I wasn’t planning on cooking. I was going to assemble another sandwich. Maybe cut up some pickles.”
“Stop.”
“With the pickles?”
“Yes.”
“I honestly don’t know if I’ve ever heard anything better than that in my life.”
“It wasn’t so funny for me.” I can’t help but smile, though, even if it is reluctantly. This isn’t about living that day down. It’s turned into a private joke we can share between us. I’ve never had a private joke with someone I’ve dated, as sad as that now sounds.
“Well, seeing as the rain ruined my plans, I changed them. Stay right there.”
I freeze while John rushes off down the hall. I do catch a glimpse of his ass as he rounds the corner. I can’t believe I had my heels, parts of my legs, and my hands on that bare ass yesterday. I think I might have been lucky enough to get laid by the hottest guy in the entire universe. A horrible sense of pride wells up in my chest. I feel bad for even realizing that’s what the feeling is. To my credit, I’m not a complete rotten human being because the sensation is closely followed up with a warm, sunny feeling that I can only call undiluted happiness. It’s been a long time since I felt that too. For pretty much any reason, but even longer since it was related to a guy.
I pretty much worked the entire day today on autopilot. I was hopped up on hormones or pheromones or something. I guess Aria and Rin were right when they said I needed to get laid.
John comes back, and I break out of my thoughts. He’s got a quilt in one arm and an actual picnic basket in the other. I watch, dumbfounded, as he spreads the quilt out on the living room floor and sets the basket down.
“I did make the sandwiches. And cut up the pickles. Sorry. I promise I won’t mention pickles ever again except as a delicious side.”
I stand there frozen, hardly able to believe that someone would do something this romantic for me. It’s a little over the top, but I guess I like over the top because suddenly, I’m blinking fast, and my eyes are stinging. I can’t believe I didn’t want to give John a chance. I freaking threw water on him when he was just trying to talk to me about books.
“And,” John goes on, oblivious to the fact that I’m quickly melting into a giant-sized mess. “I knew we wouldn’t have a chance of seeing stars, and the ground would be soaked, and we wouldn’t want to lay on it anyway, so I went ahead and selected something to watch on TV.”
He grabs the remote out of the picnic basket and switches on the giant flat screen on the stand at the other end of the room. Amazingly, the screen lights up with a background of the night sky, complete with shifting patterns of stars and constellations. I’m pretty ashamed to say that I hardly know any of their names or how to pick them out, but maybe that’s half the fun. Maybe I’ll ask John if he knows, and later, when it’s a nice night, we can try our skills out under the sky.
“This is…” I struggle to find something to say, and to my horror, those tears welling up aren’t going away. They’re flooding my eyes and trickling down my cheeks in wet rivers.
John’s smile falters. “You don’t like it? Shit. It’s the pickles, isn’t it? I’m sorry. I’ll get rid of them.”
“No, it’s not the pickles!” I quickly wipe away my tears. “It’s not the pickles at all.”
“I know.” John leaves the blanket and the basket. He wraps his arms around me and pulls me against his chest. He’s so broad that it’s like getting pulled into the safety of a house in a brutal storm. I’m warm. Protected. Safe. And that house just happens to smell amazing.
“No one has ever done anything like this for me,” I whisper against his chest.
His hand caresses my hair. “I’m sorry to hear that. I’m also sorry to say that I’m going to make a habit of it.”
“Don’t be sorry,” I half giggle, half sob. I pull away a few inches to check his shirt for snot. Tears are okay. Boogers, though, that’s a little much. There are a few dark spots on the grey cotton, but thankfully, no snot or green globs I can see.
“Thank you. It’s great. I just hope you didn’t decide to make anything you had to mix. Egg salad or chicken salad or tuna or anything scary like that.”
“Nah. I stuck with bologna. Real gourmet. I even added cheese slices. The processed kind. I left the condiments in the fridge so you could put on what you liked. Didn’t want to ruin a masterpiece by putting mustard or ketchup if you didn’t like it.”
“Ketchup?” I gasp. “You’d put ketchup on a sandwich?”
“Well, it’s pretty much just a flat version of a hot dog. You put ketchup on hot dogs.”
“No. No, you should not.”
“Well, then,” John says huskily. He tilts my chin up and bends his head. “I’m glad I wasn’t presumptuous with the fixings then.”
He kisses me. He’s gentle at first, coaxing me into the kiss, but in a few minutes, we’re definitely both warmed up. We break away eventually, breathing hard. My lips literally feel swollen and bruised, and I still haven’t had enough. I grip John’s shirt in my hands, edging it up over his rock-hard abs. This time, I make sure I get a good look. Okay, so what if I drink him in like he’s my favorite beverage? He’s delicious. Perfection. Hot enough to scald with a single touch.
“Can those sandwiches be put in the fridge?” I whisper.
“Why? What did you have in mind that could take a while?”
“I think you know exactly what I have in mind.” I wink at him and tug his shirt the rest of the way over his head.
We completely forget about the sandwiches.
CHAPTER 15
John
Romance is tough. To be romantic, a person should be creative. I seriously went all out with the indoor picnic. I’m not complaining about my results, but Saturday is coming up, and it’s Friday morning now, and I still haven’t thought of a way to up my game. Cassie is probably going to expect me to come up with something amazing after our last date. I think I can call it a date. Can’t I?
I’m still sitting at my desk brainstorming date ideas—but maybe brainstorming isn’t the right word because I haven’t been able to think of a single thing, and I’m sitting here like a giant, useless piece of shit when Cassie knocks on my door and basically runs inside, shutting it after her.
She obviously takes in my expression of abject terror because she smiles at me reassuringly and doesn’t click the lock in place. “I’m not here for that.”
The fact that she has to clarify makes me feel even more crappy.
I do my best not to shoot her a look.
Cassie stalks over to my desk. She’s wearing a red blouse and a black pencil skirt that outlines her tall, shapely figure. I keep my eyes on her
face since I don’t want them to wander down below her neck and get caught.
And the door isn’t locked.
And we’re at work.
And it’s the middle of the day when other people are around. People who just happen to include Cassie’s parents, who are also my bosses.
She shoves aside a stack of papers and hops up on my desk. Her legs dangle off the edge, and her skirt rides up, exposing the creamy swell of her inner thigh. And her knees. Are knees sexy? Because hers are. I think I can die a happy man now, with her up on my desk and giving me a good view.
“I was wondering if you want to go for a walk tomorrow. I know of this really nice park. It has a man-made lake in the middle of it. There are all sorts of birds there. People bring birdseed, so they all know it’s the city hot spot for a free meal. It’s nice, and it’s never that busy. It’s going to be hot though, so if you don’t want to, I get—”
“No, I’ll go,” I say, embarrassingly quickly.
The thought of a walk with Cassie feels exciting and dirty. I don’t know why it feels dirty. It just does. Only someone like me will think of a walk as dirty. What will I do? Pull her into the bushes beside the path? It’s a tempting idea, and suddenly, my clothes feel too tight, and my office feels too warm.
“Are you okay?” Cassie frowns in concern.
“Yeah.” I run a hand through my hair. I feel like I’m boiling. I’m pretty sure I might have sweat marks under my armpits, and that’s gross and very unsexy, so I quickly slam my arm down, but I accidentally rap my knuckles on the edge of the desk. Hard. The sound echoes through the office.
“You’re not alright,” Cassie says accusingly. I hate that now she looks worried and concerned.
“I was sitting here trying to think of something to top the last date idea,” I confess. It sounds ridiculous. I’m ridiculous. And sweaty. My shirt is starting to feel wet and sticky.
“You don’t have to think of anything fancy. This isn’t a contest. I have zero expectations.”
“Thanks.”
“No! I didn’t mean it that way!”
I can’t keep a straight face, and Cassie lets out a breath that is so deep and long, her shoulders actually draw downwards and in. “Good. I thought you might have a checklist.”
“A what?”
“A checklist. You know, boxes to be checked.”
“I don’t have a checklist.” She says it without a hint of irritation. It actually looks like she’s telling the truth.
“Everyone has a checklist. I’ve upped the stakes by cooking you a gourmet meal and taking you on a five-star picnic.”
We both burst out laughing at the same time, and some of the tension bleeds out of the office. I’m no longer stewing in my own juices. Sweat. I’m talking about sweat here.
“Relax. I’m enjoying myself.”
“I just have this feeling I need to impress you, or something else is going to get thrown in my face. Or I’ll get doused in something if I fail. First, it was coffee. Then, it was water.”
“Stop!” Cassie hisses. She glances around like she expects someone to burst through the wall—as if I’m wearing a wire, and she just confessed to a heinous crime.
“The first time, I was just innocently standing there, minding my own business, and trying to make a good first impression on my first day of work. The second time, I was just telling you about the literary material I enjoy, and bam!” Cassie gasps, and her face pales. “I’m kidding,” I say dryly. “I was trying to make a joke. I don’t hold it against you. The coffee thing, at least. That was an accident.”
“You’re horrible.” Cassie gathers up her hair and tosses it over her shoulder. She’s worn it loose again, and the ends of it play over the top of my desk. I want to lean forward and bury my nose in it like a class five clinger, but I don’t. Barely.
“I agree.”
“No. You’re not.” She turned serious again, so I straighten up in my chair. I lean back, fold my arms behind my head, and kick my feet up on the desk. I arch a brow at her.
“So. Can I tell you more about the kind of books I like? Now that there isn’t anything you can throw at me. I have no coffee, so I’m safe. No water. And my stapler is out of reach.”
“Your laptop and monitors are right there.” She glances at them, but she can’t keep the amused look off her face. “They’ll make excellent projectiles.”
“I forgot how violent you are. I tried to wipe the door-slamming incident out of my memory forever.”
Her small fist flies out and knocks against my shoulder lightly. At least, she tries to punch me in the shoulder, but I’m leaning pretty far back. Cassie lets out a cry of surprise as she overreaches and tumbles straight off the edge of the desk, right into my lap. The force of her momentum is more than the chair can handle. Its ergonomic function goes haywire, and the back springs very far back, depositing us into a heap on the ground. I react fast, spreading my arms to catch her while I break the fall with my spine, skull, and ass, which doesn’t feel very titanium at the moment.
“Shit,” Cassie says breathlessly into my face.
“Mphffhhphhhh…” I try to get a word out, but all that comes out is a jumbled-up rush of air. My lungs strain in my chest as I try and gasp for air.
I winded myself in the fall, but Cassie’s elbow is pressing right on my throat.
“Oh shit,” she says again when she realizes what happened. She tears her arm away and cups my face with both hands. “Breathe, damn it!”
“I’m good,” I wheeze. “You didn’t manage to kill me.” She quickly scrambles off my chest so I can work on trying to catch my breath. “I know you want your brother back in this position, but I didn’t think you’d actually try to take me out.”
“Stop!” She begs, horror filling her eyes. “Oh my god, are you sure you’re going to be okay? I really could have killed you.”
“That’s crazy talk.” I manage to scrape myself off the floor into a sitting position, and I reach for her hand. My lungs still feel like someone ran me over in a fit of rage. They’re slowly feeling better, and now I can at least form coherent words that don’t sound like they’re spoken by a puppet being strangled with a sock.
“I’m sorry about the coffee. And the water. And the door. And just now. All of that was an accident. Well, except for the water.”
“I enjoyed the lemony scent of it. I hadn’t showered that morning, so you actually did me a favor.”
“John…” She lets out a snort, and then a choked reluctant laugh. “I have no idea why you even spoke to me again after all of that, but I’m—I’m really glad that you did.”
“My intentions were entirely not noble.”
Cassie shoves herself off the ground and gets to her feet unsteadily. She’s wearing heels. Sexy, real heels with an actual stiletto. I’m lucky that in the fall, her shoe didn’t impale some very important anatomy.
“Do you want to pick me up at two? The park is close to my house. If that’s okay?”
“Sure.” I stand slowly, testing my lungs. They expand and contract as they should, even if they feel like I just drank straight fire. Or really bad whiskey. She nods at me and goes to walk out of the office, but I stop her before she reaches the door. “Cassie!”
“What?” She nearly jumps out of her skin. She whirls, eyes wide like she expects me to be dying.
“You should fix your shirt. It’s…yeah. It’s a little…and your skirt. It looks like we were doing something in here that was a little more ambitious than crunching numbers.”
She shakes her head slowly, probably thinking the same thing I am. That the other times, it was nice to be in a tangled heap on the floor. Very nice. She tugs at her skirt and tucks her blouse back in, obviously flustered. “You make crunching numbers sound sexy.”
“Better than crunching pickles.”
Her head snaps up. There’s a fire blazing in her eyes. “You said you’d never mention it again!”
“Sorry.” I draw a line over my mo
uth. “Never again. That incident is out of my mind. Flushed right out. Plunged away.”
Cassie tugs open the door before flipping me off with a wrathful smile. I don’t think I’ve ever been given the finger looking as hot as she did. I feel oddly giddy. I know I’m probably smiling like a shitty clinger again, but I can’t help it. I set to work fixing my chair—which is still horizontal at the moment—still grinning. My face hurts from it, but I don’t think I want to stop. Ever.
CHAPTER 16
Cassie
I barely suppress a laugh the next afternoon when John shows up dressed in khaki shorts, a black t-shirt, and a man version of flip flops. Since his are leather, they’re slightly classier than my favorite go-to, which are plastic and have been used to death.
“My mom always said walking in flip flops will wreck your shins.’
He smiles that special smile he has. Okay, maybe it’s just his regular smile, but it’s so hot that I can practically hear the plastic flip flops, I just slipped on, sizzling. “Since we aren’t training for the Olympics or trying to set a record for speed, I think we’ll be okay.”
“We’ll wreck our shins together then.”
John’s car is the family sedan type. It’s not new, but it’s not old either. He’s a good driver. He takes care to signal when he changes lanes, and he obeys all the traffic rules. The park isn’t far from my house, but I have to admit, by the time we get there, I’m impressed.
John comes around and opens my door for me. It’s old-fashioned, and I normally don’t like old-fashioned. I don’t like guys presuming I can’t do things for myself, and I hate tacky romantic gestures. But right now? Yeah, I don’t hate anything about this. At all.
I step out carefully so that my dress doesn’t ride up. I chose something casual, a three-quarter length cotton dress that fits snugly enough to not look like an old flour sack, but one that is also just loose enough, so it doesn’t cling to my skin in the damp, humid weather. It’s a nice day but hot, with the sun shining directly overhead and beating down on us. I have no idea why I suggested a walk. There is hardly anyone else out right now. They were all smart enough to stay inside with the air conditioning on full blast.