All About the D

by Lex Martin

  My cell chimes, injecting me with a shot of adrenaline.

  What are you wearing?

  I stare at his text, wondering where this is headed, but before I can ask, another message pops up.

  Just want to make sure you’re dressed appropriately for this brunch.

  A smile lifts my lips. He remembered. I’m tempted to tell him I’ve already changed three times and that nothing I grab seems right. I don’t want to look too lawyerly or too informal.

  The sound of my fingers tapping on my phone is amplified in my small bathroom. So this is merely a professional courtesy?

  Exactly. Plus, I don’t want that asshole perving on you.

  My smile widens. You’re so considerate.

  I am, aren’t I? You should send me a selfie just to be sure. I can be an unbiased second opinion.

  Warring emotions bloom in my chest. On one hand, I love that Josh is texting me again, but we’ve agreed not to pursue anything more. Although this seems innocent enough, him teasing me makes me want to bask in his attention. Which is dangerous because I’ve stuffed all of my emotions into a closet, and he’s here playing with the lock.

  I’m waiting, Mills.

  I’m probably being a total spaz. Just because he’s joking with me doesn’t mean he wants anything more. Truthfully, I love having him as a friend. No one else indulges me when I want to nerd out and talk about restoring my house except Josh. And that sink he helped me find? It’s perfection.

  Before I can change my mind, I pull up my camera phone, hold it above my head, and smile as I take a quick shot.

  As it sends, I dab on a little lip gloss and powder my nose. His response comes a minute later.

  What the fuck is that? Go change right now.

  My mouth drops open. I didn’t think you could go wrong with a black V-neck sweater, dark jeans and boots. Unless wearing all black is too morbid, but that’s why I have my long gold necklace and a few bracelets.

  What’s wrong with my outfit? I text back.

  Studying the photo, I realize I have a big, toothy grin. But since I’m friends with Josh, I don’t think I should be trying to impress him. That would be girlfriend territory. Friends can do stupid smiles.

  Excuse the language, E, but your tits look amazing. So does that smile.

  Heaven help me. This man.

  A laugh escapes me as I respond. Excuse me, sir, but my tits are covered. What’s the problem with this outfit? Do I look too busty?

  You look stunning as always, gorgeous. Too good. Which is why I want you to find your ugliest sweatshirt, preferably something with stains that smells like your dog, and toss it over that top.

  God, I miss him. Biting my lip, I debate what to say.

  I thumb out a text and erase it. Type it again and hit delete.

  Finally, I get the balls to ask what I really want to know. Because if he says no, then he’s over us, and this is just Josh, my friend, teasing me. Not Josh, my former lover, having any kind of feelings for me.

  Really, the idea that Josh Cartwright could have feelings for me is almost laughable. Except… except I wonder if I was wrong in how I handled this whole situation. Because going to lunch with Nathan doesn’t feel right. At all.

  Are you jealous, Josh? I hit send and hold my breath, wondering.

  His answer comes immediately. Fuck, yes, I’m jealous.

  Frowning, I reply, I’m not trying to make you jealous. I swear nothing is going to happen with my coworker.

  Because I can’t help myself, I add, I promise I’m thinking of you.

  I know I’m playing with fire, but the last thing I want is to hurt him. Especially when Josh is who I want. Josh is who I fantasize about. He’s the one who consumes my thoughts.

  And his answer makes everything ache a little more.

  Good, because I haven’t stopped thinking about you.

  Enduring a two-hour brunch with the Wallers after politely explaining, again, that Nathan and I are only friends and colleagues goes well enough. One, because Nate talks enough for both of us. Two, Gwen doesn’t seem to care we’re not dating. She keeps telling us we’d make a cute couple and should “give it a go,” at which point Nate pulls me in for this weird side hug where he squishes me against him. And three, Malcolm only cares about making his wife happy, so he nods at appropriate times, eats, and shoots the shit with Nathan.

  Me? I smile politely, eat my strawberry crepes—holy hell, they’re good—and count the minutes until I can leave.

  Sometime during our after-brunch coffee, my phone buzzes against my right butt cheek with a text. When I escape to the bathroom to check my messages, I’m wildly delighted when I see it’s Josh.

  If he touches you inappropriately, let me know, and I’ll break his hands.

  I laugh. This man is making me crazy, but something about his text calms the torment that’s been brewing in my heart since I saw him earlier this week in my office.

  All I got was a weird hug. No breaking of bones is necessary. Besides, I can’t represent you in a criminal case, so it’s best that you not go to jail.

  Good point. I’m kidding about hurting this guy. Mostly. I just hate that you’re out with him.

  I’m so sorry! It’s almost over. I’ll be home soon! Then you can help me decide if I should binge on Game of Thrones or Walking Dead.

  You should let me help you with this Netflix-and-chill scenario.

  A little shiver runs through me when I consider inviting him over later, but the reasons we’re not dating haven’t changed. I need to rep him without any conflicts.

  You’re too tempting for your own good. I’ll text when I’m done here.

  I drop my phone into the bottom of my purse so I can’t feel it buzz if he responds. Before I do something stupid, like invite him over tonight.

  As our brunch finally comes to an end, Nathan and I thank Gwen for her hospitality, and much to my annoyance, he drapes his arm over my shoulders, which makes Gwen smile like we’re a done deal. Thankfully, we came in separate cars, so I break away from him as we head out, but he makes a point to walk me to my car.

  When we reach my Honda, he nudges me. “That wasn’t so bad. We got to schmooze the boss’s wife, which is always good, and I had a great lunch with a beautiful date.”

  “It was fun, Nathan. Sorry for any awkwardness. I don’t know how we became her pet project, but the last thing I want to do is piss her off.”

  Nathan tucks his hands into his khakis and smiles.

  “She’s right, though. We should give this a shot.”

  I clear my throat. “You’re a great guy, Nate, but—”

  “No. No.” He holds up his hands. “Not the ‘you’re a great guy’ letdown. Ouch.”

  I laugh and shake my head. “Okay, you want the truth?” I wait for him to see that I’m serious, and he nods. “Had you asked me out a month ago or last year, I would’ve been all over it. But I met someone recently, and I’m still kind of hung up on him.”

  “Are you still seeing this guy?”

  “No, but it’s complicated.” My lips twist. “He’s a really good friend of mine, and I’m not ready to dive into another relationship. Does that make sense?” I hope it makes sense to him because it doesn’t make sense to me. I have the attorney I’ve crushed on for months asking me out, but all I want to do is curl up on my couch with Josh and watch This Old House reruns.

  “Damn. That blows, Evie.” Nate runs his hands through his blond hair and sighs. “I kinda thought you had a thing for me.” He gives me a wink.

  Who would’ve thought a wink could look so fucking stupid?

  “Well, yes, I did have a crush on you for a while, but things change.” Do we even have anything in common outside of work? Our caseloads and clients have always dominated one hundred percent of our conversations. If we had met outside of work, would anything beyond his handsome exterior have intrigued me? Nathan’s a great attorney, but is he the kind of guy who would want to go antique shopping with me? And when we�
�ve been in social situations, all he does is unabashedly hunt for clients.

  I force a smile as I unlock my car. “I’m sorry for the misunderstanding, Nate. I hope we can still be friends.”

  “Of course, babe.”

  Ugh. Not sure when I became “babe.” Or when he started to annoy the hell out of me. I give him a quick hug, the kind you give strangers at church, and dive into my car before he can pull me closer.

  When I get home, I kick off my boots, down a huge glass of wine, and flop on my bed. Who knew brunch could be so exhausting? I’m ready to drown in the rest of my Two Buck Chuck when my purse starts vibrating on the floor.

  Everything seems better when I see Josh’s name on my caller ID.

  “Stop stalking me,” I joke when I answer.

  “I’m going to reserve the inquisition about your date for later. I actually have a bit of a problem.”

  “What’s up?”

  He chuckles. “Funny you put it that way.” I hear him reposition the phone, and then he sighs. “While you were out, I needed something to occupy my time before I stormed the Wallers’ compound and dragged you out.”

  I laugh and stretch out on my bed. “So what kind of trouble did you get yourself into?”

  He’s quiet. “This, uh, this is a little embarrassing.”

  “The king of the dick pic is embarrassed? What’s going on, sugar plum?” He mumbles under his breath, and I can’t understand a word he just said. “What?”

  “I’m having trouble with my Clone-A-Cock.”

  I laugh—I can’t help it. “I don’t think any man has ever said that to me before.”

  “We’re both Clone-A-Cock virgins here, I suppose. Let’s just say the directions make this seem really simple, but it’s not. The company sent me five kits, and I’ve already fucked up two. I’m sitting here in my bathroom, half naked, covered in this molding compound, and I don’t think I’ve done this right.”

  “So you’re having a Clone-A-Cock emergency?” I snort.

  “This is not typically something I would call my attorney for, but the only other person who knows what I’m doing is Drew, and I’d rather have my balls sawed off than ask him to come over and help me.” His laugh turns into a groan. “I think I just need another pair of hands.”

  A stretch of silence fills the line. “Are, uh, you saying you need a fluffer?”

  “No, God, no. Fuck. I, um, I was thinking I need someone to mix the compound while I prep the goods. You only have two minutes to mix, pour and… insert.”

  I choke back a laugh that turns into a hiccup. “A dire situation indeed.” I lean over my bed and slip my boots back on. “Text me your address. I’ll be over in ten.”

  My glass of wine gives me the bravado to think I can do this, be friends with him. Like when he took me to find my sink.

  Just don’t touch him.

  His condo is on the other side of the park, and I could use the exercise after stuffing my face with crepes this morning, so I walk instead of drive. It’s a gray afternoon with water puddles the size of the Columbia River, but the air is crisp and the cold breeze feels good as I make my way to Josh’s. It doesn’t start to rain until I reach his block.

  His building isn’t quite what I would expect. There are no marble floors. No glossy exterior. Except for the high-end security system that I buzz to get in, it’s altogether nondescript. One lone security guard waves from the counter just past the entryway, but he nods like I’m expected and motions toward the elevator.

  It still tickles me that Josh wanted to buy my house. That’s what’s so charming about this man. He could purchase the most luxurious condo in town, and he wanted to buy my dilapidated cottage.

  When he opens the door, the look of exasperation on his face is adorable. “Thanks for coming.”

  The fact that his hair is a disheveled mess and he’s covered with flecks of molding powder is too charming. It doesn’t hurt that he’s only wearing black track pants. He even makes the towel draped over his shoulder look dashing.

  “No problem.”

  He steps aside as I walk in, and I automatically kick off my wet boots because I don’t want to leave tracks all over his glossy hardwood floors.

  “Nice place,” I say as I slide my scarf off my neck. This is so Josh. Dark woods, exposed brick, and distressed dark leather. Everything is sleek and styled. Cool and a little aloof. When I turn, a breathtaking horizon draws me to the floor-to-ceiling windows. “Holy shit. The view.” Even with the steady drizzle, the thick clouds and misty forests slashing across the horizon are hypnotizing.

  “That’s why I bought this place and renovated it.”

  “What was it like before?”

  “The floors were shot to shit, and the insulation was a joke. Drywall covered over the original brick, and some dumbass had the audacity to install popcorn ceilings.”

  “Let me guess. Now it’s all self-sustaining.”

  I turn to him as he gives me a megawatt smile. “You know it. I’ll have to show you the rooftop terrace and the solar panels sometime.”

  It’s so tempting to look at the rest of him, but I keep my focus on his eyes. Which would be less embarrassing if his eyes weren’t so captivating.

  Focus, focus, focus. “Tell me about the cloning kit problem.”

  His eyes clench shut comically. “I may have overestimated how simple this would be.” He laughs and runs his hands through his hair.

  “You mean my big, badass architect had trouble with a little molding kit?” I hate that calling him my architect feels so right when it’s so damn wrong.

  He’s a client, I remind myself. Just a client and a friend.

  “Watch it, woman. I’m not above spanking my attorney.”

  Hello. I think I’m on board with this idea. Behave, Evie!

  He chuckles and leans close. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

  His minty breath is hot on my cheek.

  “I, uh…” I swallow and dare to look him in the eye. “I probably would, but… we can’t do this, Josh.”

  He’s quiet a moment, and then he nods. “I know.” Blowing out a breath, he takes a step back. “Come on, Counselor. Apparently I need my attorney to read some directions to me.”

  And then he gives me a wink. But unlike the one Nate threw my way this afternoon, this one makes me smile.

  17

  Evie

  Josh and I are sitting on the floor of his massive bathroom laughing our asses off. Even though he washes off in between each mold, there’s powder and pink silicone everywhere—on our clothes, in our hair, in the sink—and I don’t remember the last time I’ve had this much fun.

  After I pour the last of the wine into our glasses, we resume staring at the dicks that are lined up like a row of ducks on the vanity.

  “Damn. I thought that one was gonna work.” I point at clone number four and squint. Something’s not right. “Have I had too much wine or is he crooked?”

  “The last Little Josh is indeed crooked.”

  We turn to each other and laugh.

  God, he’s handsome. He hasn’t shaved today, and I have a burning desire to rub against the scruff on his face. Hanging out in the bathroom is probably a bad idea because it smells like his shower gel, and he’s sitting there with all of his muscles on display. Never mind that every time he comes in here to do his thing, he has a boner in his track pants the size of a redwood.

  I stop staring at him and return my attention to the directions in my lap. “Where did we go wrong, Joshua?”

  “I don’t think I stuffed myself in the canister fast enough. Was the water the right temperature?”

  “Yeah. I mean, I think so. You weren’t kidding when you said you had to do this quickly.”

  I’ve been mixing the concoction—concocktion, hahaha—in the bathroom, while Josh fluffs himself in his bedroom. Then he comes in here to do the mold while I slip out and give him some privacy.

  I grab his phone and scroll through his pics. He�
��s taken shots of everything from mixing the alginate to the casting process. “You have so much good material for your blog.” And Jesus, the nude shots are so hot, I squeeze my thighs together. He doesn’t seem to care that there are some serious dick pics in this collection, and if he doesn’t mind, then who am I to judge? Because, hell yes, I’m enjoying the spectating.

  “Thanks for reminding me to take photos. I can’t believe I spaced and forgot to shoot anything.”

  “I’m handy like that.” And because I’m a glutton for punishment, I ask the question that’s burning a hole in my brain. “So what was the last one?” I clear my throat. “Girl-on-girl again?”

  Yes, we’ve been talking about what kind of porn he’s been using to fluff himself.

  “Nope. DP.”

  I turn to him and wipe the chunk of molding powder off his cheekbone. “What’s DP?”

  He gives me one of those flaming hot smiles, the kind that might peel the paint right off these walls. “Double penetration.”

  My eyes widen. “Oh. Okay. So… what, two guys and a girl?”

  “No, it was a girl, a guy, his dick and her vibrator.”

  I start laughing. “That reminds me of that movie, The Cook, the Thief, His Wife & Her Lover.”

  “Don’t think I’ve seen that one.”

  “It’s an old eighties movie. One of my roommates in college was a film student, and she made me watch it.”

  “It was probably better than Jill Gets Hammered by Big Cock and Vibe.”

  “Um, yeah.” I shudder. “The hammering doesn’t sound particularly hot. It’s one thing to go at it hard, but when they do it in porn, it looks painful.”

  “What porn do you like then?”

  We are so off the reservation right now, but I’m a little more than tipsy, and Josh is sitting here looking so goddamn sexy, I can’t help myself. And I find that the more I share about myself, the more he shares with me, and I want to know it all.