“Yes.”
She had until lunchtime to decide what to tell Marj...how much of the indignity, the propositioning a stranger in a bar, the taking him home...that she chose to tell. Britt went through the motions at work, too distracted by a combination of self-loathing and yummy sex flashbacks to really concentrate on her work. When the bastard boss popped in to ask the same question, she announced that she needed to go to the ladies room and retreated there to avoid him.
Britt checked her phone. There were six more texts from Marj defaming Kevin, his ancestry, sexual prowess and overall intelligence. Britt grinned at some of the more creative insults. There was also an email from an address she didn’t know. Still, the address itself gave her a [email protected] She pondered long and hard. Had they exchanged emails? Yes, they had. She distinctively remembered. She had written it down on a napkin, along with her phone number, while they casually talked at the restaurant. He stuffed it into his pocket. Cringing, she opened the email.
Britt,
Don’t freak out. I’m not a stalker. I just wanted to tell you that I’m glad we met. I’m glad you took me home. It was an amazing night, and I’d like to see you again if you can get over your fit of self-recrimination and scary librarian hair. You have my email address now. I hope you’ll use it.
Jack
That was so...him. So charming and irresistible and approachable. Just like sending her the margarita had been thoughtful but not aggressive. It was completely unfair that he was so gorgeous and had game. If life were fair, he’d be gorgeous but awkward. Still, she had to remind herself that he had game, not feelings. He was a guy who sent women drinks at a bar. A guy who picked up girls. Not a man. Not the kind of man she needed in her life, one she could count on for stability, support, kindness. She didn’t want a lightning storm, just someone she could depend on. Jack wouldn’t fit into her life. He was too much, too remarkable, too combustible. He was one hell of a good time which was the last thing she needed.
Now he had emailed her. It was a shock that he contacted her at all. It was probably against the hook-up rules, she thought. If there were hook-up rules, she didn’t know them which was part of her problem. She liked him way too much, and he was a surefire way to screw up her life completely. Let him be one small mistake she could put in the past and try to forget. Don’t let it become bigger and start scattering her focus and making her act like a horny teenager with a crush. That was exactly how he made her feel, like she wanted to write his name in her notebook a hundred times and draw hearts all around it in purple. Britt wanted to beat her head into the bathroom stall partition until she snapped out of it.
Chapter 7
Jack had emailed her. She read it again and again, just for the pleasure of knowing his words were meant just for her. She combed through them for subtle meanings, a secret sexy message. But it seemed to be ‘a what you see is what you get’ situation, which was very much how she saw Jack. He had sat at that bar looking like sex on legs, which was in point of fact exactly what he turned out to be. She read the email one more time, just to indulge the fantasy.
The fantasy was already coalescing in her mind. It was very adolescent and involved Jack in his tight torn jeans with his shirt off, washing a car. Her car, that ignominious little gray Nissan with no style and good gas mileage. She closed her eyes and there he was, make believe Jack dunking a thick sponge into a bucket of soapy water and sloshing it onto the hood, making big sweeping strokes, wiping away the dust and grime. Water droplets rolled down his chest from where he’d splattered. The water gleamed in the sun, so it looked like his chest glowed, like something out of Asgard in the Marvel Universe only infinitely hotter. He picked up the bucket and dashed the soapy water across the car in a bright arc. In her fantasy, that was when she walked up, getting accidentally drenched by the suds.
Then Jack would walk around the car to get to her and peel her wet shirt off.
“We’ll just have to get you warmed up,” he’d purr, lifting her onto the hood of the car.
The hot fiberglass under her bare thighs would almost singe her, slick and wet. Leaning back on her elbows, she’d grin at him expectantly, deliciously. He would unhook the front fastener on her bra, so it fell away and let her breasts loose. Hungrily, Jack would lick the domed flesh, his hot tongue fl
icking toward her nipple but teasing her, holding back. She would clench her hands in his hair, trying to guide him, trying to hold him there until he gave her what she wanted. His wet hands would travel along her rib cage, over her other breast, along her collarbone until his fingers curved around the back of her neck. He’d pull her up to kiss him, his hot mouth claiming hers. Britt could see it all clearly, could almost feel the desperate reaching of their tongues, their grasping hands clutching at each other. Even in her fantasy, she couldn’t wait.
His mouth hot on her neck, his strong hands reaching into her shorts, pushing aside her panties so he could touch her. She would arch toward him, dragging him up onto the hood of the car, so his body covered hers as she strained against his fingers for more. Breathing hard, whispering commands, she would fumble with the button and zip and push his jeans down.
Britt gasped, stopping herself. Jack was on her mind. It was that email. He had caught her off guard and made her crazy. She felt hot and needy. She wished she could message him back, tell him to sneak into the ladies room right that minute and relieve her tension. She flushed at the thought, the idea of Jack stealing into the washroom, locking the door and whispering, “I’m here, kid. Come out wherever you are.”
Britt would swing open the stall door and step out, her blouse already unbuttoned, her lips parted, wanting him. Jack would grin and say something about how he had hoped for a response to his message, but this was better than he ever imagined. Then they’d be in each other’s arms at once, kissing, holding, touching. He would slide his mouth down her jaw and behind her ear, and he would ruck her skirt up to her hips. She would mount his knee, pressing against him as his hands worked her breasts frantically, pinching them into arousal. Britt would push one hand down his jeans and stroke him, marveling at his size, his hardness until she couldn’t wait any longer.
Jack would turn her around toward the mirror, her hands flat on the counter, and his hand sliding up her back as he bent her over. She would watch him in the mirror as he penetrated her, thrusting in so deeply that she blushed to see her own wanton expression, how she demanded more and deeper—no virginal gasp but a woman’s demand instead. Jack would spend himself in her with powerful thrusts, claiming her until she shrieked out loud in the confines of the bathroom, her cries echoing off the tile as she came. Then he would hold her. Hadn’t he held her all night? Of course, he would hold her and stroke her hair and tell her how beautiful she was and kiss her softly.
Her fantasy was pathetic. She bit down on her lip so she wouldn’t cry. She wanted Jack, not the thought of him. All of him. She read the email again, trying to convince herself there wasn’t hope. That it was nothing but madness.
She took deep breaths and deleted it. She didn’t want the temptation. They could so easily fall into a friends-with-benefits relationship. She toyed with the idea for a moment...the benefits were unarguably tremendous. She broke out in a sweat just at the thought of being with him again. It was too dangerous. It was irresponsible, for one thing, to continue shagging some guy she picked up in a bar. Not to mention it was immature, and she was also highly likely to fall in love with him. That was what gave her a lump in her throat and made her flat-out scared as hell.
A man who held her like that, touched her that way was already over halfway into her heart. She could not afford to get involved with some unemployed musician man-child who was lots of fun and utterly impractical. She was many things. Impracticality had never, ever been one of her besetting sins.
She might have been boring. She might have been rigid, traditional, straight-laced. But never, not for one moment, had she been frivolous, hedonistic, reckless...all of those messy feelings that had swept her away the night before. She was terrified of those feelings. What she had felt for Kevin fit in a nice, tidy compartment. She felt happy when they had plans together, but was perfectly content to be on her own most nights. He filled a spot in her life so she didn’t feel conspicuously single. He didn’t cure the loneliness but he sure improved appearances so no one fixed her up and she had a date when there was a work party. He was terribly convenient, staid and dependable...until he started screwing Corinne obviously. He fit right in, not over spilling the boundaries she placed around him. Jack, she was certain, couldn’t be bound, fenced in, relegated to a corner of her life. He would leave his fingerprints all over her body and entire life, his wit and sexuality and sheer energy would overwhelm her. He was a risk, and she preferred to play it safe. She got rid of the email and emptied the deleted folder just to be sure that she couldn’t retrieve the message and reply to it in a moment of weakness or desire.
She needed a man like Kevin, only faithful. A professional, employed and stable, with similar goals and ambitions. A nice apartment in a good neighborhood. A better car. International travel. One day, a wedding and more travel, possibly cooking classes together. Designer luggage and an emerald cut diamond that could knock your eyes out from the sparkle at ten yards away. She had dreams, but they needed an anchor, a man she could rely on. Not a guitarist she wanted to lick all over. That was just inconvenient and the polar opposite of what she required.
Chapter 8
Back at her desk, she emailed the boss the answer to his question, again. Retire faster, she seethed as she hit send. She changed the direct deposit on some payroll items, and it was time for lunch at last. She popped down to the coffee shop and met Marj. Marj enfolded her in a hug that smelled like sugary vanilla perfume.
“That complete dickhead. I could kill him.”
“I picked up a guy.”
“What? WHAT?”
“Sit down and lower your voice. I’m not celebrating. I’m—confessing.”