Eye Candy

by Jessica Lemmon

  I pull into her complex, park in the visitors’ parking area. My heart is thundering, which makes me chuckle. I check my reflection in the rearview mirror, straighten my tie, and realize I haven’t been nervous in a long while. I dated a little this past year, and yes, there was a smidgen of doubt when it came time to strip for a woman who wasn’t Leslie. But most of those evenings were soaked in alcohol—the drinking kind, not the rubbing kind—and alcohol can go a long way toward masking nerves.

  These nerves aren’t the same. They remind me of the way I felt when I first laid eyes on Leslie. Before she left me because I was “unsuccessful.” That still stings in a deep, ugly place—the part of me that knew she was right. I was supposed to be an entrepreneurial success, but after my real estate business tanked, I fell back on my degree and returned to marketing. I like it better, but Leslie didn’t see the draw of my being employed—mainly because she had to return to work as well, which didn’t sit well in our household. She was willing to do only so much for our marriage, she told me. Helping support her lifestyle by going to work wasn’t one of the options.

  “Better or worse” to her only meant “better.” When things got worse, she bailed.

  My stomach twists. I’m mired in the worst pre-date thoughts a guy could have. This, also, is new. On prior dates, my goal was a quick fix to heal the loneliness.

  Butler isn’t a quick fix. If I’m lucky enough that this grows into more, I’ll make sure there is no quick anything. She’s different. Worth taking time for. I grab the handle and step out of the car, my thoughts on just how I’ll take my time, when I nearly bump into a guy running toward me.

  “Shit, sorry,” I mutter. Then I notice a familiar pair of running shorts and a particular guy who is allergic to dressing the upper half of his body. It isn’t that warm today.

  J.T. comes to a stop, barely out of breath, so he must have just jogged out of his apartment. I take a quick look around the complex and wonder how close his place is to Jackie’s, feeling a spike of irritation that he lives nearby.

  “Vince, right?” he asks.

  “Right.” I nod and try not to let my thoughts show on my face. Get lost, fuckwad. Yeah, that one I’ll keep to myself.

  “You and Jacqueline working late tonight?” He nods at my suit and I’m tempted to say, No, asshole, she’s going out with me after I curled her toes with a kiss a few nights ago. But Jackie’s my friend, and I know she’s uncomfortable with dating two guys at once, so I cover for her.

  “Yeah. Business dinner for an account.” I lift and drop my hand in a what-can-you-do manner.

  “Bummer. Tell her I’ll call her later.” He slaps me on the back. I make a fist and suck in a deep breath. He jogs around my car and up the sidewalk looping the complex.

  “Douche,” I mutter to myself.

  At Jackie’s door I hesitate before knocking. She answers before I’m done with the second knock, and my breath stalls in my chest. She’s wearing a sleek black dress that stops at her knees. The snug material hugs her hips and flat stomach and cradles her breasts. Two skinny straps sit on tanned shoulders, and her hair is down in silky waves. The kind of waves that beg a guy to run his fingers through them.

  “I didn’t know when I asked you out you were going to flatten me by looking this gorgeous,” I tell her.

  She beams. I like that smile. “Charmer.”

  “You know it.” I straighten my shoulders, my earlier worries falling to pieces around me. Jackie is coming out with me tonight. She’s mine. “Ready?”

  “I am.” She palms a black square purse and shuts her front door behind her, locking the deadbolt and sliding the key into her bag. I offer my arm and she curls her hand around my biceps, which I subtly flex. I debate saying Nice night, but mostly I’m hoping J.T. has taken the long way around the complex because I really don’t want to run into him again. Jackie and I walk to the car in complete silence.

  We drive to the restaurant in silence too, other than her remark about the weather and my confirmation that, yes, it is “cooler than the weatherman predicted.”

  The pain doesn’t end there.

  At Domaine we do an awkward dance around the host before I finally put my hand on Jackie’s back and we follow him to our reserved table. The low candlelight and the soft music in the background serve as a boldfaced reminder that this isn’t our usual pizza-and-a-movie Friday night.

  I move my slightly damp palms down my stifling suit pants as the sommelier reviews his favorite vintages from the wine list.

  “Lady’s choice,” I offer.

  “Are you drinking wine?” She crinkles her nose, unsure. She’s so cute. I overlooked just how datable Butler was this entire time. I wasn’t ready before. Now, though, I am.

  “I do drink wine, Butler.” And because I’ve been challenged with a Bugs Bunny–like slap across the face with a glove, I order for us. A fancy French wine that I know how to pronounce because I’ve had it several times before. With Leslie, but Jackie doesn’t need to know that.

  Jackie’s impressed. I can tell by the way her eyes twinkle over the rim of the glass when she takes a tentative sip, followed by an approving nod.

  “Well done, Vince.” If I were a dog, my tail would be thumping the seat.

  We look over the menu. Well, she looks over the menu. I’m too busy looking at her. At the way she twirls her hair around her finger and chews on her plush bottom lip while she studies the options. She mouths the word “wow.”

  “Something wrong?” I ask, but I can guess what it is.

  “Oh. No! Not at all. It’s just…expensive.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  “Vince.” She smiles at me, fingers tapping the edge of the menu in an adorably nervous gesture. “We search online for pizza coupons before we order.”

  “Butler.” I feel a frown mar my brow and wonder if she gave J.T. this much grief on their dates. I don’t ask. I don’t want to know, mostly because I suspect the answer is no.

  The waiter shows up and recites the chef’s specialties. I order one of the specials and Jackie orders the other, getting what she wants instead of vacillating over price again. Talk about an uphill battle. Who knew pizza coupons would get me into this much trouble?

  We eat with napkins in our laps and use the appropriate forks. We share the bottle of wine, and that’s our saving grace. After a painful, forced convo about work, I finally give us both the break we’re looking for.

  “Grace, the bartender at McGreevy’s Pub, told Davis he should try dating a redhead for a change.”

  Jackie groans. “Oh, no. Poor Davis.” She puts her elbow on the pressed white tablecloth, and it’s such a relaxed Jackie move I can’t keep from smiling. This moment is the first respite we have from a date that feels as constricting and stifling as my pants. Finally neither of us is trying to be someone we aren’t.

  “Grace didn’t know.” I swipe the napkin over my mouth and drop it on the table, trading it for the wineglass. Better than Château Sedacca, if you ask me. “Davis stormed out of the bar.”

  “Have you talked to him since?” Jackie leans closer, our shared concern for Davis another thing we have in common. She knows his backstory because I told her. Davis doesn’t care who knows, but he isn’t big on bringing it up himself. I can’t blame him. If my ex humiliated me, it wouldn’t be a story I trotted out at parties.

  “He called this morning and asked if anything good was on Netflix because he was planning to binge.” He sounded groggy and heavy, and I wondered if he was asking from bed because he was planning on staying there all day.

  “And of course you steered him toward Orange Is the New Black,” Jackie says, lifting her own wineglass.

  “Uh, no. Daredevil. Duh.”

  “Boys.” She rolls her eyes and the air between us lightens. We’ve been trying so hard tonight to be “couple on a date” that we forgot to be us.

  We drain our wines, I pay, and I hold the door open for her when we leave. Without putting too much thou
ght into it, I take her hand, weaving our fingers together, her soft, small palm at home in my larger one.

  The night is warm, a gentle breeze blowing through the surrounding shops. I bring us to a stop in front of the passenger door of my car, but I don’t get in. Not yet. Getting in feels too close to the evening ending. I give her fingers a light squeeze. She looks up at me, her lips parting gently. Her lipstick vanished somewhere between wine and dinner, and all I can think about is tasting her bare mouth.

  “I know this is new.” I feel the need to point it out. “But we’re still us, Butler.”

  She tilts her head, either in curiosity or in invitation.

  Nervous, I continue. “Hanging out doesn’t have to be difficult. We’re still friends.” I can’t resist her long, dark hair falling gracefully to her shoulders, so I slide my fingers into it like I’ve been imagining all evening. It’s so soft. “Only now we get to kiss in addition to the other stuff we do together.”

  “Lucky us,” she says with a grin, and my heart gallops. It’s as good as a yes.

  I lower my lips to hers, and the moment her sweet tongue meets mine in a delicate dance, I’m gone. The city lights and people shuffling by evaporate, and I forget about being smooth or impressing her. I just concentrate on kissing the hell out of her.

  Chapter 10

  Jacqueline

  My nerves melt away the second Vince puts his lips on mine. The only melting I’m doing is into him. My hands around his biceps, I squeeze his impressive muscles. He ends the kiss and smiles down at me, and I’m aware of the slight scratch of stubble he sports and the feel of it against my lips.

  Kissing Vince is thrilling.

  Lately every part of me springs to high alert when he’s near, whether it’s to tease me or to talk to me at work, but oh, wow, when he kisses me…

  “I had no idea you were this good of a kisser.” I’m tipping my hand, but because it’s Vince I don’t care.

  “Well, you never asked.”

  His response is casual, and so him, that I relax more. There’s nothing to be afraid of or nervous about. I’m not in danger of being taken advantage of with him.

  Except for work. Things could get choppy.

  “Now what?”

  “How about we take a walk?” He smiles, his eyes reflecting the streetlights.

  “A walk?”

  “Yeah. Get to know each other.” He nods down the street.

  We’re in an artsy district where twinkle lights are strung outside various shops and restaurants—most of them with their doors propped open by sandwich board–style signage inviting passersby inside. Across the street is a huge fountain in the center of the square, beyond that the river and highway. It’s a gorgeous, warm-breezed, clear summer night—my favorite time of year to be downtown.

  “I need to walk off that fattening duck dish I ate.” He pulls a hand over his taut stomach as we amble along the bike path to the fountain.

  “We already know each other,” I say instead of addressing Vince’s waistline concerns—of which he has none. We share a lingering gaze and I look away, suddenly shy. The wind kicks my hair in front of my face. Before I can, Vince lifts a hand and sweeps it aside.

  “I didn’t know how soft your hair was until I kissed you that first time,” he says. “And I didn’t know how cute you were when you eat filet mignon until tonight. We have plenty to learn about each other, Butler.”

  I guess we do. He lets the serious moment drop and offers an impish grin. “Maybe later we can share dessert.”

  My stomach flutters at the prospect of what Vince’s “dessert” might include. At the same time, guilt stabs me. I’m having “dessert” with two guys. True, it’s not sex, but dating them both is strange. Especially since I’ve barely managed to date one underwhelming prospect at a time in the past. It goes against everything I thought I believed, but then, so does kissing the formerly untouchable Vince Carson.

  He clasps my hand again, and my smile returns. I’ve touched him often, but it’s never crossed the friend line until recently. It’s kind of exciting. And, in the way exciting things often are, it’s also kind of scary.

  I’m going to take Bethany’s advice and live in the now. Go with my gut. Right now my gut says to hold Vince’s hand and stroll over to the fountain. Throw in a few pennies and make a wish. And then maybe find out what his version of dessert is like.

  The hulking, square fountain is so big that several couples lounge on the ledge and are far enough away that we can’t hear their hushed conversations. Or their face sucking. I blink in stunned silence. Two of them are going at it.

  I clear my throat, suddenly conscious that Vince might want to do the same thing.

  He cornered me about J.T. and I was honest—J.T. and I kissed a lot in his apartment. J.T. is a good kisser. Not too much tongue, just the right amount of touching. He didn’t go right for the breasts or try to topple me over while we were on his sofa. I appreciated his polite advances as much as I appreciated his not pushing me for more.

  When Vince kisses me, however, it’s me who needs a lesson in being polite. His lips touch mine and I want to wrap my legs around his hips. That last brief meeting of our mouths had me imagining us on the couch and him on top, grinding into me while I clawed at his clothes.

  “Why are you shivering? It’s not cold out here at all.” Vince tsks, pulling me closer by our linked hands and rubbing his other palm up and down one of my bare arms. I don’t have the guts to tell him I’m not the least bit cold. That instead I was imagining all the ways he could turn me on…well, not all the ways. I’m sure he has tricks up his sleeve I can’t imagine. I smirk. I definitely can’t tell him that.

  See, that’s what’s not adding up. If you’re dating two people, it’s because you like them both, right? And I do…but this pact I’ve made with myself about not having sex with either of them until I decide is set up to fail. I have a feeling Vince, whom I’ve known for years, will have a better shot at breaking through that wall before J.T. does.

  Sex.

  It complicates everything.

  “Okay, Butler. Let’s hear it.” Vince pulls me out of yet another deep thought.

  “I have nothing to say.” I shrug, an exaggerated motion I hope will make him forget that I’m dodging his question.

  “Liar! Something is going on in that brain of yours. We’re standing here under a full moon, twinkle lights everywhere, a fountain with coins in the bottom where at least two people are making out so hard they might fall in”—I laugh at that—“and you’re not here with me. Talk to me. What’s the deal?”

  My mouth goes dry and then drier as I watch the water spout from the fountain and splash into the pool below. I can’t tell Vince I’m sexually attracted to him and that he puts J.T. to shame in that department, so I bring up the only topic that will shut him up.

  “Those girls you dated after your divorce,” I start, and Vince’s mouth slides into a frown. “Why didn’t you tell me about them?”

  He pulls in a deep breath, then studies the aforementioned full moon. He licks his lips, and unwanted images pop into my brain of who else kissed those lips before I did. Like the blonde from the bar that night—Polly. It’s a petty, unfair, jealous thought, but it’s exactly the distraction my hormones need. I’m no longer picturing him naked.

  “We’re friends. You could tell me something like that. Why didn’t you?” I press.

  Vince lets go of my hand and gestures for me to sit. I lower myself to the concrete ledge and he does the same.

  He faces me. “Truth?”

  I bite my lip, unsure. Do I want to know?

  “It’s dude logic,” he warns. “It ain’t pretty.”

  “So help me, if you say you have needs, I’ll never forgive you.” It’s a clichéd excuse and a downright disgusting one, since that’s the exact excuse Lex used when he told me he’d slept with his assistant.

  “I would never say that because it’s bullshit.” Vince knows my damage with m
y ex, thanks to my sympathizing during the aftermath of his and Leslie’s divorce.

  “I thought you were healing before you started dating,” I continue. Petulantly. The fact that he’d slept with girls I didn’t know about shouldn’t matter, but evidently it does. The idea of another woman in his bedroom the night before I came over to watch movies makes my skin crawl. “Did you bring any of them to your house?”

  “Butler.” He looks away, which means yes.

  “Oh, God,” I mutter, having an unwanted epiphany. “You didn’t sleep with any of them on your couch, did you?” I cringe, which is not a good look for me, but I can’t help myself.

  “Jackie.” Vince chuckles in that deep, comforting way he has.

  “Now you’re laughing at me?” And I’m whining. I shut my eyes and play with the ends of my hair in frustration. “You know what? I don’t want to know. I shouldn’t have asked. It’s none of my business. I have no reason to behave like a jealous—”

  “I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d lecture me and I didn’t want to be talked out of it.”

  “It”? Does he mean sex or dating? Are they interchangeable to him? I don’t know how I feel about that.

  “I care what you think of me, Butler.” He takes my hand, interrupting my hair twirling, and rubs his thumb over mine. “It mattered that you didn’t look at me any differently.”

  Isn’t it amazing how men can separate sex from relationships?

  Completely confounding.

  Vince palms my cheek and I blink up at him. “I’m not Lex. I didn’t cheat on my wife. I didn’t cheat on anybody. I went on a few dates that didn’t pan out. Now I’m on a date with you, and trust me when I tell you you’re the only woman on my mind.”

  A smile carves a path through the scruff on his jaw and then he’s leaning in close. There, under the moonlight in the center of Columbus’s Rogue Square, we kiss while sitting on the fountain as the people around us fade into the background.

  Vince

  Neither of us was hungry for it, but we went for dessert. Reason being: The fountain kisses were edging into public indecency territory. I pulled away first, which was a testament to how much I respect Jackie. She’s just this side of reserved. Super crazy PDA on a first date is well outside her comfort zone.