Falling Into You: The Complete Naughty Tales Series

by Nicole Elliot

  I sent off the text message to Ivy before I climbed out of bed. My last day off before I had to get back to work. I’d woken up and driven all the way out to the diner to have some pancakes and eggs, and the food was incredible. I ended up ordering another entire plate of french toast and bacon and still ordered some soup to take with me.

  The place was fantastic, and I had a feeling I’d found a new spot to eat.

  I slipped into the shower after getting back into my apartment and cleaned myself down from the dreams I’d had of her the night before. Those pillowy lips and that crooked little grin. Her long legs wrapped around my waist as I pinned her to my bed. I shook the thoughts from my mind and turned off the shower, then reached for a towel and wrapped it around myself.

  Then, I heard my phone vibrate against my bed.

  It’s incredible food. And now that you’ve mentioned it, I’ll have to go there for lunch. So thanks for that.

  I grinned at her message and quickly responded.

  There are worse things to do with your lunch hour. Are you working today?

  I slipped into some comfortable clothes before my phone vibrated again.

  Not one ounce of work. Your text message actually woke me up.

  I frowned at her message and quickly responded.

  Didn’t mean to do that. Did you stay out late partying last night?

  It took her a little while to respond and I grew nervous. Had she gone out last night? Was she with another man? I didn’t know why that bothered me as much as it did, but it sent a sense of urgency running through my veins. She was a beautiful woman, and I’m sure I wasn’t the only man eyeing her at the fashion show the night before. Did she expect me to take her out after that fashion show? Was that something I should’ve done?

  My phone vibrated and I couldn’t answer it fast enough.

  Never been a late-night partying gal. I’m just lazy.

  Relief coursed through my veins as my fingers flew across the keyboard.

  Lazy is not the word that comes to mind when I think of you.

  So you’ve been thinking of me?

  Her response was quick. Which meant she was waiting for my responses like I was for hers. And I liked that idea.

  Her sitting there waiting for me to respond.

  You could call it that.

  What else would you call it?

  Thinking and dreaming are interchangeable in this context.

  So you were dreaming of me last night? I must’ve made a decent impression.

  You’re beautiful, intelligent, talented, and kind. Decent isn’t the word I would use, either.

  Such a sticker for correction. I take it you like having control?

  I grinned at her message and waited a few beats before I responded.

  You have no idea.

  I set my phone down and took the trash out. I did have a few things that needed to happen around the apartment. My fridge had to be cleaned out because I was sure some takeout in there had gotten pushed to the back. There were a few dishes in the sink that needed to be washed and I needed to put in a maintenance request for my air conditioning to be looked at. I threw open all the windows to let the summer breeze in before I took the trash down to the compactor, then I popped my head into the front office and put in a formal maintenance request.

  I came back up to a message from Ivy that made me smile from ear to ear.

  Does that mean you’re going to give me an idea?

  Oh, this woman was bad. And I loved it. Most women were afraid of their sexuality. Most women wanted to portray this facade of innocence. Which worked for most men, because there seemed to be this fetish when it came to destroying innocence. Taking this white piece of flimsy fabric and rolling it around in the mud or some shit like that. But I wasn’t one of those men. I enjoyed a woman who knew what she wanted. Who was kind, but not naive. Who was caring, but not a doormat. A woman who didn’t mind taking what she wanted in the bedroom before allowing me to take care of her during the day in areas she couldn't service herself.

  I closed my eyes and took a deep breath before I responded.

  I believe that requires you to buy me dinner first.

  Me? So I see we aren’t a traditionalist.

  If you want me to give you an idea, then it’s only fair you pay. Now, if I want you to give me an idea of anything, then I pay for dinner. I initiate, I pay. You initiate, you pay.

  Seems fair enough. I could bring over some french fries.

  I laughed as I sat down onto my couch. I needed a new one soon. It groaned a little more than I liked underneath my weight, and if I wasn’t careful I’d go right through the damn thing one night after a long shift at work.

  Make sure they’re sweet potato ones. I’m watching my figure.

  You mean that burly chest and those massive shoulders of yours?

  So you’ve been thinking about me, too.

  It’s hard to forget you. My first impression of you was ‘professional elephant carrier’.

  I threw my head back and laughed. That was usually the first thing that caught everyone’s attention. I’d always been big. The tallest one of the class, and then the broadest one of the class. I stuck with a strict gym routine not because I enjoyed it, but because a man with my kind of stature could easily become out of shape. With my broad shoulders and my barreled chest, my only two options were lots of muscle or lots of fat. And with my line of work, keeping myself at my healthiest was a priority.

  But my massive existence came with a lot of comments from others as well.

  I was thinking more ‘rhinocerous’, but ‘elephant’ works.

  However, Ivy didn’t respond automatically.

  I set my phone down and made my way for the kitchen. I threw some stuff away in the trash can and washed down the few dishes that were dirty. But once all of that was completed, my day was done. I could sit on the porch or go into town. Maybe turn on the television I had that never got used.

  I could lay down and take a nap. But that seemed like such a waste of the time I had at my disposal.

  Then, my phone vibrated again.

  Sorry. A friend of mine popped by. Now what were we talking about? Carrying animals or food or something?

  I think we were briefly addressing my stature, but I’d be more than willing to talk about yours.

  Oh, really? That a topic you want to become an expert in?

  I closed my eyes and ignored the pulse in my groin.

  If you’re asking me how familiar I’d like to become with it, then my answer would be ‘very’.

  Then it sounds like dinner’s on you this time around.

  I see what you did there.

  That’s good. A doctor with sight is a good thing.

  Oh, she had a witty sense of humor. I really liked that. Her intelligence shone through with each message and it made me want to respond. She made me want to sit on my couch and talk with her. And that was exactly what I did. We talked all through the afternoon and into the evening. Two people punching away at their phones, attempting to make some sort of a connection. I wanted to call her and hear her voice. I wanted to allow that commanding tone of hers undergirded with breathless praise to waft down to my eardrum. Her voice was relaxing. Mesmerizing in a unique sort of way.

  But she seemed comfortable enough with messaging back and forth, and I didn’t want to ruin what we’d already started.

  So now that I’ve taken up the majority of your day, do you have any plans for your evening?

  You haven't taken up anything. I was off work today and did nothing but clean up my place a bit.

  A man that cleans? Wow, do you cook, too?

  Unfortunately, that talent wasn’t passed on to me. Do you cook?

  Oh, yes. My mother’s full-blooded Italian, and every Sunday dinner was home-cooked by her hands. She passed all her recipes down to me after she died.

  I’m so sorry for your loss. What happened? If you don’t mind me asking.

  It was a long time ago. Old
age. My parents didn’t have me until they were in their forties.

  I read that statement again before I chose how to respond.

  Your mother sounds like a very strong woman.

  She was, and I miss her greatly.

  Is your father still alive?

  He isn’t, no. It’s just me.

  I read that statement over and over again before it hit me. This beautiful woman-- with a vibrant light in her eyes and a wit that could outmatch mine-- knew how I felt. Understood me on a level she wasn’t even aware of. My hands began to shake and I set the phone down as a wave of sorrow and shock crashed over my body. Never had I met someone who understood. Who got the true sense of loneliness I felt in the early morning hours laying in my bed at night after a long shift at the E.R.

  But Ivy understood.

  And something deep inside of me wanted her to know she wasn’t alone anymore, either.

  If you ever want to talk about it, I understand. I lost my father and my siblings in a car crash a few years back, and my mother passed a couple of years ago due to her dementia.

  I sat on pins and needles waiting for her response.

  You don’t have any aunts or uncles?

  I come from a long line of ‘only children’.

  Me too.

  Those two words. Sent through the ether, stretching out to descend into my phone. Those two words that ricocheted through my mind and sent a very unfamiliar sensation running through my veins.

  ‘Me too.’

  Just throwing it out there, in case you ever want to talk.

  I’m sorry. Forgive my silence. I just… I haven’t met anyone who…

  But I got it.

  I understood it more than even she could comprehend.

  I know.

  Two little words sent back that hopefully brought the same relief to her as her two words had to me.

  I sat there on my couch as the day turned into night, talking back and forth to this wonderful woman. I learned so much about her in the short amount of time we talked, and the more I found out the more I wanted to dig into her. Settle next to her. Listen to the words coming from her. She was funny and intelligent. Light-hearted and passionate. She could talk about any topic thrown her way with an ease that wasn’t afforded to most individuals.

  She was perfect.

  And I couldn't wait to find the perfect opening to ask her out on a date.

  Chapter Seven

  Ivy

  “So there are pictures online,” Grace said with a grin.

  “Great pictures of you in some very fun outfits,” Emilia said with a smile.

  “How did the fashion show go? Huh? Huh? Huh?” Grace asked.

  “Okay, you guys. You can stop now,” I said.

  “Why didn’t you tell us you were in it?” Emilia asked. “We would’ve come!”

  “Because I didn’t know I was going to be in it until one of the models didn’t show up.”

  “Oh, damn. That’s rough. What happened to her?” Grace asked.

  “Yeah, is she okay?” Emilia chimed in..

  “Apparently, she got sick. Though that still doesn’t explain why she fell off the face of the planet and didn’t call anyone.”

  “What was she sick with?” Emilia asked.

  “I don’t know. My gut feeling is food poisoning. One of the models went to check up on her after the show and sent me a message later on that weekend. Said she was throwing up so violently she couldn't speak.”

  “Yikes. Is there anything I can do?” Grace asked.

  “You mean does she need an in-home nurse to baby her until she gets better? No, she doesn’t,” I said with a grin. “My guess? She should stop eating day-old sushi.”

  “What? Who does that?” Emilia asked.

  “Apparently, this model. But, it was a lesson learned. And I got to keep one of the dresses,” I smiled.

  “Oh, please tell me it was the black one. I loved the black one,” Grace said excitedly.

  “Nope. I told the designer to keep that one and sell it. You know that sandy red one with the yellow belt?”

  “The one that reminds me of a snake?” Emilia asked.

  “Yep. I kept that one. And I love it,” I said with a smile.

  “So what happens after all these exclusively private fashion shows? Does everyone get drunk and take off their shirts or something?” Emilia asked.

  “Clearly, you’ve never been to one,” I said. “There’s some champagne and some light snacking. Rubbing elbows with people and trying to get their money. Then, there are the men that hit on the models. That’s always fun. I’ve had to wrestle more than one model away from a man who couldn't keep his hands to himself.”

  “Yikes,” Grace said.

  “But, there are the rare gentlemen that do show up at these events,” I said coyly.

  “Wait, I know that smile,” Emilia said. “You met someone, didn’t you?”

  “Oh, I really did. And he’s fantastic.”

  “Yes! A rebound man!” Grace exclaimed. “He’s a rebound man, right?”

  “You know, I thought he was going to be, but I’m not sure anymore. I mean, he’s nice. And funny. And understanding me in ways most people don’t,” I said.

  “So what’s the problem?” Emilia asked.

  “He deserves to be more than just a rebound.”

  “Just because you’re out of one relationship doesn’t mean you need a rebound,” Grace said. “That’s just something we’ve been teasing you about. If you like this guy, then you should go out with him if he asks.”

  “What’s he like?” Emilia asked.

  “He’s very different. Jet black hair and deep green eyes. Very tall. Very big.”

  “Oh, I like big men,” Grace said with a smile.

  “Trust me. We all know,” Emilia giggled. “But tell me what he’s like. Not what he looks like.”

  “He’s…”

  I wasn’t sure how to explain it. How did I wrap up Dean’s personality into a few sentences? He was funny, but it wasn’t simply funny. It was an intelligent kind of funny. The type of funny that fed off someone else’s funny. And he understood me on an emotional level no one else did. With the loss of family and the loss of life and the constant independence. I hadn’t met anyone that could relate to me on that type of level until Dean and I struck up a conversation last weekend.

  “She’s zoning out,” Grace said.

  “She used to do that with Zander.”

  “Let’s not say that name anymore. Sound good?” I asked.

  “Sorry. Sorry. But come on. You have to give us something,” Emilia said.

  “He’s… funny. And intelligent. He’s a doctor at Bellevue.”

  “So he’s got money. Nice,” Emilia said, smiling.

  “It’s not always about the money,” Grace said.

  “But money never hurt anyone,” Emilia said.

  “Anyway. I think the thing that draws me to him is his understanding of my world.”

  “What do you mean?” Grace asked.

  “He’s lost his family, too.”

  The table fell silent as the three of us slowly picked at our food. It was a topic the two of them never broached with me. It was hard to talk about the loss of my parents. About how alone I felt in the world. I was the last of my familial succession, which sounded like some sort of old-timer problem until I sat down one day and digested the fact that I had no family. No cousins. No aunts or uncles to check up on me after I’d buried both of my parents. It was the loneliest existence sometimes, and it was the most difficult thing for me to talk about.

  But with Dean, it was effortless.

  “That’s really good, Ivy,” Emilia spoke up. “I’m not sure you ever talk about that with us.”

  “Because it hurts too much,” I said. “But with Dean, it doesn’t. He gets it. He understands. The emotions and the late-night monologues in my head and the looming sense of extinction. Which sounds insane, I know. But he gets it. And he doesn’t think I�
��m weird for it.”

  “Has he asked you out at all?” Grace asked.

  “Four times, actually.”

  “Then why in the world haven’t you gone out with him?” Emilia asked. “It’s clear you like him. It’s clear you two have some sort of connection. Why not get together with him?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t want him to be a rebound. I don’t want to ruin this thing we’ve got going. We text all the time, and it’s nice. Looking at my phone and seeing his name is nice.”

  “You could look over in bed and see his face,” Grace grinned.

  “And then maybe those feelings and emotions will go away. Maybe all I do need is one good screw or something. Then what? We go to dinner, we screw around, I wake up expecting to feel those same butterflies in my stomach and I don’t. Dean is the kind of man that deserves better than that. What if I can’t give that to him?”

  “First off, you’re talking like you’ll sleep with him after the first date. And we both know you better than that,” Emilia said. “Second of all, you don’t get to control your emotions. If you let them run your life, you’ll crash into a wall. If you want to go get dinner with him, then you should. And if you’re worried about sleeping with him, then don’t.”

  “But I want to,” I said with a groan. “You guys, he’s so handsome. My cheek would fall perfectly onto his shoulder. And he’s broad. Not cut like all those guys you two seem to like. He’s thick with muscle and he has this deep baritone voice that’s smooth like butter. And oh, those lips-”

  “Okay, okay. We get it. I’ll need a towel over here if you don’t stop,” Emilia said.

  “Go out with him,” Grace said. “And be honest with him. Tell him about the relationship you just got out of. Tell him how much it hurt you. Be honest with the man. He’ll respect you for that. And if he still wants to sleep with you, then let him put his hands on you. If he still wants to spoil you, then let him do a little bit of it. Lord knows you deserve it, Ivy. You’ve worked too hard and battled too much to get to where you are now to not allow yourself to enjoy it.”

  “Well what if he doesn’t ask again?”

  “Who says he has to ask you again?” Emilia asked.