Afternoon Delight Scrivener

by Piper Rayne

  “Yeah.”

  “You think bringing a Sox fan will give you brownie points. Hence the favor?”

  His gaze shifts off my feet to my eyes and it’s too dark to truly read his face, but his silence is deafening. “Yeah.”

  It’s one simple word, but there’s a weight to it I don’t understand. I’m not even sure what made the shift in the conversation. Where did our usual banter go? I can’t help but think there’s another reason he wants me there and as usual, my curiosity gets the better of me.

  “Okay. I’ll go,” I say.

  “I’ll take you to the game at Cellular.”

  “Well, how can I refuse then?”

  He tickles my foot and I slide it back my way trying to get free.

  The car slows, and I start to pull my legs toward me to put my heels back on, but Dean locks his arm across my shins, picking up each heel and sliding it on like he’s a shoe salesman and has done it millions of times.

  Again, the energy shifts when he finishes and our eyes lock.

  I turn away, grabbing my clutch and opening the door.

  “Thank you,” I say to the driver and step to the concrete sidewalk in front of my apartment.

  Dean slides to come out my side, but I hold my hand out in front of my chest. “I got it from here.”

  A sly smile crosses his lips and he doesn’t stop, his foot landing between my legs as he pulls himself out of the car, leaving us chest to chest.

  “You think you can get rid of me that easily?”

  His hands grip my hips and he shuffles forward pushing me away from the car. While he’s busy shutting the door and telling the Uber guy to leave, I fiddle with my keys to get in my apartment complex.

  In the small glass foyer, his chest hits my back and I’m not going to lie, a small part of me wants to turn around and smash my lips to his. My nipples peak in my bra and I suppress a shiver.

  Willpower, Chels. You have a few minutes and then you can pop in Rambo and relive what it’s like to sleep with Dean Bennett.

  The key finally fits, and I unlock the door, stepping toward the elevator.

  “I can let you go here.” I look behind me.

  He raises his hand up in the air, pointing to the ground and does a spinning motion. “Turn back around.”

  “Really, Dean, I got it.”

  “I’m walking you to your door.” He reaches past me, pressing the elevator button.

  Someone has it out for me. Now I have to survive an elevator ride with him. Please, there are hundreds of people who live in this apartment complex, someone has to be coming home at the same time as us.

  It arrives quickly because it’s late at night and most residents are probably asleep.

  I step in, pressing my floor. Dean stands shoulder to shoulder with me.

  When I spot a woman coming through the glass doors, she turns her key in the lock and smiles. I smile back.

  My savior.

  Dean reaches across the elevator and presses the close door button. For once it actually does what it should, and the doors slowly come together. The woman’s smile turns into a look of disgust and she flips Dean off.

  My head swivels in his direction. “That wasn’t nice.”

  “I don’t care.” His chest pushes into mine, his hands locking me on either side.

  I have no idea how he did it, but my back is against the wall, his body looming over mine with lust filled eyes and lickable lips. I want to open my arms and tell him to take me.

  “She’s—”

  His hips slide forward. “I’m done sharing you tonight.”

  “Dean,” I sigh.

  “One kiss?” he asks. “Please?”

  His voice so desperate like he’s pleading for a drop of water after running a marathon.

  “Shouldn’t you see me to the door first?”

  His lips turn up, his perfect row of teeth making an appearance. “You don’t want to make-out in the elevator?”

  “One, I agreed to a kiss. Two, kind of cliché, don’t you think?”

  He leans forward, his nose running along my cheek, gliding down to my neck and back up to my ear. Goose bumps prick my skin. “I wish I could oblige with your wishes, but if my lips don’t land on yours in the next ten seconds, I’m going to die.”

  “That’s a little dramatic, don’t you think?” My voice doesn’t hold the tone of reproach it should. Instead, it’s breathy and inviting.

  “Come on. I’ve been a good boy, can’t I get a treat?”

  The elevator dings and the doors are about to open, but Dean presses and holds the door open button, leaning into me.

  His lips hover over mine and he waits. “I won’t do it unless you agree.”

  He runs his tongue over his bottom lip, his eyes devouring me like he’s a starved man and I’m the innocent prey he’s caught.

  “One kiss,” I whisper, unable to deny him any longer.

  No sooner do the words get out of my mouth, then his lips are on mine. One of his hands slide around my waist, pulling me into him, his erection poking at my stomach. My hands landing on his cheeks, keeping his lips on mine.

  Dean takes what he wants. There’s no gentleness when his tongue thrashes with mine, there’s no slow going as our heated kiss turns frantic. Our heads weave from side to side, unable to get enough of each other.

  The elevator alarm buzzes from Dean holding the button so long and we finally break apart as quickly as we came together.

  Needing air, I race out of the elevator and down the hall to my apartment, him following me the entire way.

  Turning around when I reach my door, I stare up at him. “This is where we say goodbye and you already got your goodnight kiss.”

  “Pushing my luck for a second?”

  I nod.

  “Say it.”

  “Say what?”

  “Say I can’t have a second taste.”

  “You can’t have a second taste.”

  His gaze dips down to my chest, probably noticing my uneven breathing. He leans forward, his head descending.

  “Dean,” I say, losing any fight inside of me.

  His lips never touch mine this time. His hands are in his pockets, but his breath tickles my ear. “Sweet dreams, Chelsea. Thank you for a great night.” He backs away. “I want to make sure you get in.” He nods to the door.

  “Goodnight, Dean.” I fiddle with my keys somehow losing all sense of what key I’m supposed to be using. Finally, someone is looking down on me because I find it, stick it in the lock and click the door open.

  I flick on the light of my apartment and circle around. “Thank you.”

  “Enjoy Rambo,” he snickers and heads toward the elevator again.

  “Enjoy Steel Magnolias,” I call out as he heads down the hall.

  Circling around, he shakes his head. “Didn’t I ever tell you? I have the memory of an elephant.” He taps the side of his head with his finger. “There’s enough in my arsenal, I don’t need a video of you to relive it.”

  I don’t bother mentioning that dolphins have a better memory than elephants according to science.

  “Now, get in there and lock yourself in. We’ll talk tomorrow,” he says.

  He stops and waits in the middle of the hallway of my apartment floor.

  Not knowing what else to say, I shut the door and flip the lock wishing like hell he was on this side with me.

  Chapter Thirteen

  One week later, I’m all decked out in my black and white, wearing jeans and a White Sox shirt, sweatshirt tied around my waist. The only thing I’m leaving behind is my hat. Since this is an office thing, I don’t want to appear too grungy.

  A knock lands on my door at the exact time Dean said he’d be here. As usual, my stomach erupts into its own little firework show inside. It’s been a common occurrence every time he texts me. He’s tried to call, but I’m not ready just yet.

  I open the door.

  “Oh, excuse me, I have to go throw up.” I pretend to chok
e, taking in his head to toe blue and red ensemble.

  “Damn, even in White Sox crap you look hot.” He steps in.

  “Please come in,” I say sarcastically, and he shrugs. “Why is it you never have to press the buzzer?”

  There’s a buzzer to get into the apartment building, but he always seems to find his own way in.

  “Did you swindle a key from my landlord?”

  “Believe me, it’s scary how easy it is to get into this place. I’m half tempted to move you out.”

  His jeans are slightly worn but still have that new look to them. His Cubs shirt and jersey pull at his shoulders and I realize that he opted to skip the hat, too. Though his hair is messier than when I was at his office. Must be his casual Saturday look.

  “Is this okay? Since it’s a work thing.” I motion to what I’m wearing.

  He looks me over. “I don’t know. Spin.”

  I glare at him and he chuckles.

  “Worth a try.”

  I grab my cell phone, tucking it into my crossbody purse and get set to leave.

  “Ready?” I ask.

  “Let’s go see the Cubs kick the Sox ass.”

  I roll my eyes. We clear the doorway and I lock my door, Dean waiting for me the entire time.

  As we make our way to the elevator, his hand finds mine and he entwines our fingers. “I figure we should get used to it. They think you’re my girlfriend.” He presses the elevator button.

  “Not your ex-wife.”

  “I don’t like them knowing too much about me.”

  I raise both eyebrows at him. “So, you want me to pretend I’m your girlfriend?”

  “Are you seeing anyone else?” he asks and I’m half-tempted to lie.

  “Technically, I’m not seeing anyone.”

  “Do you swallow every one of your date’s tongues?”

  The elevator arrives, we step in and I purposely leave space between us. “You swallowed mine, for the record.”

  He chuckles. “I’d swallow a hell of a lot more if you’d let me.”

  There goes the hot flash like I’m a menopausal fifty-year-old woman.

  “I think I’d be the one swallowing.” Tit for tat.

  “You always were a gamer when it came to that. Then again, it’s probably because you didn’t want a mess.” He winks.

  Thankfully, the elevator doors open, and we exit the apartment building.

  “It’s so sunny,” I exclaim.

  “Like a true summer day.” He captures my hand again and leads me down the street.

  “Public transportation today?” I ask as he weaves me through the crowded weekend streets.

  “Nope.”

  “Are we walking?”

  If we are, I’m going to be really pissed. I’m not wearing my running shoes.

  “Nope.”

  “Then how are we getting there?”

  He stops and stares down at the two-wheel vehicle parked under the train line.

  My eyes widen, and I look over at him. “I’m going to look like shit when we get there.”

  “No, you won’t. Come on.”

  I stare down at the motorcycle while Dean bends down, grabbing the two helmets out of the side compartments.

  “You do remember how to ride, right?”

  I snatch the helmet from his grasp. “Of course, I do.” I place it over my head cringing to myself over the amount of time I spent on my hair this morning. “You’re buying me a hat when we get there.”

  “Done.” He puts on his helmet which feels odd to see on him. He never wore one in college and his bike was nothing like this one. Obviously, tax attorneys do well for themselves.

  He hops on first, kicking up the stand and straightening it out for me. I get on and straddle him, my arms locked around his middle until we get started.

  He eases out into Chicago traffic and I assume this is going to be a nightmare of a ride because traffic on the weekend is a constant stop and go. But I should’ve known better.

  The true Dean comes out a minute into the ride. He doesn’t wait behind the cars stopped in front of him. Instead, he zooms ahead and beats the next car off the line and veers into that lane before almost running into the back of the bus.

  “I’m not interested in dying today,” I say loud enough for him to hear. My hands are wrapped tightly around his middle and my helmet is pressed against his back for fear of watching what is surely going to be a crazy ride.

  “You’re always safe with me.”

  He stops at a light, his feet landing on the cement, and my body relaxes a little. We’re only blocks away from the field and as much as I shouldn’t, I’m hoping he brought the bike so that we can go somewhere after. Like an open road like we used to do.

  Just as I’m adjusting to his way of riding, Wrigley comes into view. He stops at the curb of the place where we head up to the rooftops. Lifting up the flap of his helmet, him and the valet guy talk—Dean not about to let him ride the bike, so the guy directs him to an alley.

  “You get off here,” Dean says, and I ease myself away from his body which is like prying a baby from their mama. I might act like I’m okay with it, but every part of me wants to wrap itself back around him.

  Dean’s forearms flex as he roars the bike back to life and speeds down an alley.

  “Nice bike,” the valet guy says.

  I nod.

  “This ain’t Comiskey.” He eyes my shirt and since he uses the original name for the White Sox Park, I’m guessing he must be in his thirties.

  “It’s crosstown.” I shrug.

  “You should save that for your side of town.”

  He’s joking, I see it in his smirk, but still, how Dean convinced me to go to Wrigley is beyond me.

  “You’ll be first in line once we win the World Series this year.”

  The guy exaggerates a laugh. “First, if the White Sox reach the playoffs I’d be looking for hundred dollar bills falling from the sky. Second, I’m not a fair-weather fan.”

  At that same time, we see a group of women all decked out in their Cubs gear. One of them even has shoes with baseballs and Rizzo’s face painted on one and Bryant’s face on the other. Total fair-weather fans.

  “Wish I could say the same for all of us,” he says.

  I giggle, watching the ladies glance around wondering where they’re supposed to go.

  “Wrigley is that way ladies.” He points to the gigantic metal structure and we share a look of annoyance.

  “At least we don’t have that where I’m from,” I say.

  “Because you guys can’t win.”

  The razzing is fun and takes up the time while I’m waiting for Dean who finally rounds the corner.

  “See your boyfriend, he’s a good guy.” He points in Dean’s direction.

  “Let me guess he got the special parking spot because he’s a Cubs fan?”

  “You should be happy you came with him. I sent a Sox guy a mile down.”

  Dean wraps his arm around my shoulders as soon as he reaches us.

  Protective much?

  “Thanks a lot.” He slips the valet guy some cash.

  “No problem.” The professional he is, he tucks it into his pocket without ever looking. “Go Cubbies.” The guy winks at me.

  “Yeah.” Dean’s tone holds not even half the enthusiasm as the valet guys.

  Once we’re inside and climbing the stairs, Dean shakes his head and says, “I leave you alone for a few minutes.”

  “He was innocent.”

  I shouldn’t like the protectiveness, but I do. Maybe it’s the schoolgirl inside of me, but the fact he’s scared to lose me says something. Of course, does he even really have me is the question?

  No, I have to be firm on that. This is a work thing. That’s all it can be. Right?

  * * *

  “Dean!” A half-lit man yells, followed by everyone’s heads turning in our direction.

  Are we back in college again where the party doesn’t start until Dean arrive
s?

  The man approaches us the minute we walk into the bar area. I look at the sun shining down on Wrigley ahead and my attention wants to veer that way.

  “Mr. Heiberman.” Dean’s hand extends immediately.

  The man glances my way, shakes Dean’s hand and then places his large and hairy-knuckled hand in front of me.

  “This is my girlfriend, Chelsea Walsh,” Dean says.

  I shake his hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Heiberman.”

  “Gary, please.” His eyes don’t leave mine. “We didn’t even know Dean had someone until he asked for a plus one.” He leans in. “Good for you to show all the women he’s taken.”

  “Um. Women?” I plaster a fake smile on my face.

  “Dean is quite the catch. From what my daughter tells me, a lot of the women have been scoping him out for some time. Makes sense why he showed them no interest now.”

  Stop stomach, just because he wasn’t interested in the advances of women in his office doesn’t mean jack. They may not be his type.

  “Oh, Mr. Heiberman.” Dean looks over at me. “He’s being kind.”

  Gary smacks Dean in the stomach. “He’s being modest. But now that we’ve met you, we know why. You two make a stunning couple.”

  Instinctively my hands go to my hair wondering how bad it looks after the helmet.

  “Well, enjoy yourself. God knows Dean doesn’t get out of the office enough. Then again, that’s why we love him so much.”

  The whole exchange is odd and if he wasn’t wearing a triple XL Sox jersey, I’m not sure I’d care for the man. I mean who tells someone there’s a long line of women waiting for the man you showed up with. What the hell is wrong with people?

  “Come on, I’ll grab you a beer,” Dean says, pulling me from my thoughts.

  We head to the bar, Dean’s hand on the small of my back, but we’re quickly stopped by a brunette who wants to say hi, openly eye fucking Dean right in front of me.

  Am I really going to have to kick some ass tonight?

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Hillary, this is Chelsea,” Dean introduces me to the brunette whose eyes are throwing invisible daggers at me through her fake-ass smile.

  “Nice to meet you.” She daintily shakes my hand.