by Box Set
“Look. He has too many mommy issues for this to be more than an occasional sex thing. And bonus: it could be the basis for that sitcom style comic you’re always threatening to write,” Ava reminded me. Mommy issues? It made sense, given what he’d shared.
“The sitcomic! It actually is a pretty good premise,” Lizzie added.
“I don’t necessarily get it,” said Scarlet.
“It would be a comic about real life. Like the kind of comedy show you watch on TV, just in comic book form. And book, not strip. So you’d get a couple pages per ‘episode’,” I explained. “I was looking for the right idea to spark. Then I could put it on Tumblr or something and link back to my website. Build up my email list. That jazz.”
“Ok, I do like that.” She agreed. “Just, you know, be careful. Truth is stranger than fiction.”
“Hey guys. Hey, guys. She can call it,” Ava paused to cackle, “She can call it Screwmates!” They dissolved into giggles once again.
Oh, for—for the love of Gotham. I was finished with them. I stood and with a dramatic uptick of my chin, I declared, “I’m leaving with whatever shreds of my dignity remain.” The boisterous laughter that accompanied my departure led me to believe I probably didn’t have any dignity left at all.
Which was another reason why I should go after Marc. With my pride already gone, what else did I have to lose?
Chapter 6
This time, I thought ahead and called JD before going into the shop. No point in changing into my ink-stained gear if I didn’t need to. Shoot, some days I never bother getting out of pajamas, knowing that I’ll just be right back in them fourteen hours later.
“The repairman had to order a part. It’s supposed to be in tomorrow morning.”
“So another paid night off?” I asked hopefully.
JD let out an audible sigh, likely discouraged by the money he lost every minute the machine was down. “One more paid night off. But expect to be here late the rest of the week. We’re going to have a lot of work to do to get caught up.”
That was fine. I could handle overtime. I’d get paid again! My glee at the prospect of extra cash far outweighed my guilt over JD having to shell out.
Meanwhile, it meant I had another night free to spend with Marc, so.
It was a sign, I just knew it.
Well. If I was doing this, I had some preparing to do.
First on the list, I had to make sure Marc would be around for the evening. He’d spent much of the afternoon coming in and out, one time leaving in running shorts, another returning with groceries. Not that I was paying attention. It was strange, actually, having another person in the house while I was working on fulfilling my Etsy shop orders. I’d always been grateful for the quiet, convinced I couldn’t work with a lot of distractions.
But Marc wasn’t distracting. I mean, he was distracting because he was Hot Marc—sexy, built, blindingly attractive—but he moved around quietly and he didn’t keep me from my work. It was actually kind of nice having someone else around. Even when I spent most of the time holed up in my room with my headphones on and the volume up, I could feel his presence.
It felt reassuring, in a weird way.
In fact, I was feeling so much at ease that I uploaded the few pages of my sitcomic that I’d put down in a rough-sketch format after Ava suggested it this morning. Certainly a comic about roommates called Screwmates would not be the strangest thing on Tumblr.
Damn her, it actually was the best name idea ever.
I didn’t have super high hopes for the comic, but any new fans it brought in could hopefully be converted to paying customers, so.
After finding out my own schedule was clear for the night, I ventured out looking for Marc, all casual-like. I found him in the kitchen, unloading the dishwasher. His t-shirt rose up as he reached to put a plate on the top shelf exposing a delicious slice of his abdomen.
Damn. I’d never realized how sexy housework could be. I leaned against the counter, oh so casually.
“Headed to work?” he asked, interrupting my shameless yet casual ogling.
It was ridiculous how giddy I was that he’d cared enough to ask. Be cool, Madison! Be casual.
“Nope. Machine’s still down.”
“Oh.”
I couldn’t be sure, but it sounded an awful like an oh of disappointment. Had Marc been looking forward to me being out of the house?
“Hope that doesn’t disrupt your plans,” I said as casually as possible considering that a vice was tightening around my heart. Maybe this whole idea was a mistake after all. “I can always leave—”
“No, don’t leave,” he said in a rush. “I’m having dinner with a friend, but if I’d known you’d be around, I would have…”
“Would have…what?” I held my breath waiting for him to answer. Be freaking casual, Madison!
He gave me a half-smile and shrugged. “I don’t know. I just realized that we’ve lived together all this time and never even had a meal together.” Oh. My. God. He wanted to have a meal with me! “Unless dry Fruit Loops and wine counts.”
I was jittery inside, like I’d had too much espresso, yet somehow I managed to keep my voice steady. “I don't think it does. We’ve got all summer. We’ll manage something.” I danced from foot to foot while I tried to figure out what to say next. Casual was out the window, apparently. Not that it was likely that I ever actually had pulled it off.
He figured it out first. “I should be home early, though. Maybe I’ll catch you on the couch?”
Another round of jitters that I tried and likely failed to cover.
“I’ll be around.”
As soon as he was gone, I shifted into high freak-out gear. I showered (and yes, I used the last of the cucumber rose bubbles) and shaved in all the places that a sexy lady is supposed to shave. That taken care of, I had to figure out my clothing. What did one wear to a seduction, anyway?
A Google search directed me to negligees and super supportive underwear, the kind that pushed a woman’s breasts up and together making a B-cup girl seem like she had a Jessica Rabbit-quality rack. The closest thing I had to supportive was my Wonder Woman sleepwear. The panties were simple blue boy shorts with white stars, but the tank top that had a built-in bra that made the girls look quite perky.
It was utterly perfect, because Wonder Woman is second just behind Princess Leia for sex appeal. It’s science.
The only question was to wear the accompanying cape or not.
In the end, I decided no, but only because it wouldn’t lie very well beneath the rest of the outfit I’d chosen. As for that, I was lucky enough to find a burgundy wrap dress that Scarlet had once left in my closet. It was maybe a little fancy for couch night but it was a far less intrusive alternative to a trench coat. Not that I owned one of those either, but.
Okay, fine, it was either the dress or a bathrobe. The dress seemed like the better choice, even though I could have worn the cape with the bathrobe. Next time, I told myself.
I gave myself a blowout that was an absolute failure, but that’s why God invented flatirons, so the day was saved. Then I finished my look with a touch of mascara and some clear lip gloss. Then I ruined it by eating a PB and J. Then I put it back on. Nailing that seduction already.
I checked the time. It was still early so, on a whim, I rushed to Booze4Less and headed directly to the wine. Again, I was overwhelmed with my variety of choices. One panic decision and thirty dollars later, I left the store with a single bottle of rosé. But it was actually rosé this time and not the white zin boxed blend I once got tipsy on with Scarlet in eighth grade at her cousin’s quinceañera, so.
Upgrade!
Next, I ran by Target and picked up a couple of wine glasses. Nothing fancy, and, in fact, they might have actually been water glasses. The point was, they had stems.
Back at the house, I stuck the wine in the fridge and was in the middle of washing our new glasses when Marc walked in the door.
“You’re home
,” I said as he walked into the kitchen carrying a box of leftovers and, ha ha, a bottle of wine. Note to self: don’t get drunk and trip over anything.
“I would have been—” He cut himself off sharply when I stepped out from behind the island. “You look. You look really nice.”
My breath got trapped somewhere in my chest and it took me a second before I could answer.
“Oh, this old thing?” The dress was actually practically brand new. Lizzie had maybe worn it once before deciding it revealed too much cleavage for a mother to wear to work. “Thanks. I’ll try not to dribble wine on it.”
I turned back to the sink so he wouldn’t see how flushed his compliment had made me.
He held up the wine. “Truce! As I was saying, I would have been home earlier, but I decided to stop and pick up a bottle.”
I opened the fridge and gestured toward the rosé. “I had the same thought.”
We both laughed awkwardly.
Actually, the thought I’d had was more like how to achieve the old bow chicka wow. The wine had just been a means to an end. Loosen those inhibitions. Finally make the leap from roommate to screwmate.
Wait.
Was that what Marc meant by bringing wine too?
Oh snap. The butterflies that had taken up permanent residence in my tummy since Hot Marc walked in began a choreographed dance.
“We can start with yours. This one needs to chill.” He walked toward me.
“I just put mine in too. So.” I held the door open for him as he bent down to put his bottle in the fridge.
“It can wait then.” He took the door from me to shut it, leaving us standing barely a foot apart. The heat between us was like a wall, as though we’d had a hot oven open instead of the refrigerator.
“You bought wine glasses,” he said, noticing the stemware drying on the counter.
At the same time, my eye had caught on the white adhesive covering his nine stiches. “You haven’t removed your bandage yet.”
My gaze wandered down and discovered his caramel-brown eyes on mine. Oh, hi. And much like the candy, I felt like I was stuck in his stare.
“I did,” I said. “Got them at Target. On sale, even. Not clearance, exactly, but one of those weird sales where just everything in one aisle is like, fifteen percent off…” I was rambling. The words. They were just wandering out of my mouth with no direction from me.
“Nice.” He rubbed a hand absently over his bandage. “The doctor said twenty-four hours. I still have—” he looked at his watch, “two hours left.”
That wasn’t going to work. If everything went as planned, we’d be dazed in post-coital bliss at that time.
Pulling myself away from him, I headed to the kitchen table. “Taking it off a couple of hours early shouldn’t make a big difference, Mr. Rule-Follower.” I pulled out a chair and slapped my hand on the seat. That required bending down and giving him an eyeful of cleavage. So, so seductive. “Sit. I’ll help you with it.”
He grimaced, but his eyes were on the goods. “You don’t need to do that.”
“Considering that I was involved in the procuring of the injuries, I really feel I do. Besides. I want to. Now sit.”
He hesitated another second. “Okay. I suppose that would be okay.”
“Good! I’ll grab the Neosporin and a washcloth.” I tried not to sound too morbidly eager to stare at his head wound. Even though I was.
Ten minutes later, I’d removed his bandage and thoroughly cleaned up his wound. “There you go,” I said, gently smoothing a thin layer of antibiotic ointment over the stitches. I wiped my finger on the washcloth and tossed it on the table. “All done.”
“Madison,” he said, softly.
At the sound of my name, I moved my focus from his injury to his face. He was looking at me, more intently even than before. His stare was hot and electric and it burned into me. He’d been sitting in the chair with his legs spread so that I could stand between them while I worked, and now I realized how intimate the whole thing had been. I was so close to him. So near. I could clearly smell his sandalwood cologne and a slight hint of— was it lavender and vanilla? His mother’s newest body wash, no doubt. I hoped he wouldn’t mind sharing.
Without thinking too hard about it, I ran my hand through his hair. He sighed into my touch and slid his arms around my waist to pull me closer. Leaning forward, he placed a kiss on my stomach. I bent down and kissed his head. My heart was pounding so hard it was in my throat, my knees so unsteady that I was half leaning on him.
I didn’t know it was possible to get this dizzy from the mere proximity of someone else. To have so much awareness of another body. It made me shiver.
Behind me, his hands found my sash. He tugged slightly on it and peered up at me for permission.
In answer, I stepped back, unwrapped my dress and let it fall to the floor, revealing the sexiest pair of underwear I owned.
God, I felt like her too—like Wonder Woman. A sexy, Amazon goddess. I felt beautiful. I felt beguiling. I was ready to lasso my man.
Marc must have felt the same about me because he couldn’t stop staring. His mouth even gaped a little.
This feeling of power was as intoxicating as his kiss.
I stepped forward again and climbed into his lap. I couldn’t help but notice the bulge beneath me wasn’t quite as…bulge-y as it could be, but I could work on that. I bent down to kiss a trail up his neck.
“Uh,” he said.
He was speechless. That’s how good I looked. I was posilutely delighted with my seduction.
He pushed me back just a little so he could look at me. His eyes scanned down my chest, down to the cotton boyshort underwear below.
“What? What’s wrong?” The way he kept looking at me was flattering, but I wanted him touching me, and he wasn’t. Maybe his cut still hurt?
He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, I’m just. It’s your outfit. It’s…distracting.”
The Amazon goddess inside me preened. “You should be taking it off,” I said in the most sultry voice I could manage.”
“Right.” He nodded. He started to reach behind me to undo my bra, then stopped. “I’m sorry. I can’t. I mean.” Gently, he nudged me off his lap. “What the hell are you… what are you even wearing?”
“You don’t think it’s sexy?” I knew he was more of the academic type, but everyone loved Wonder Woman. Everyone! It was science.
Well. Apparently Marc didn’t because he said, “Not really.”
Not really? Not really?!
I could feel myself growing red, my blush rising up my chest, then my neck. By the time it reached my cheeks, I’d harnessed my humiliation and turned it into rage. This was not my fault. I was not the reason we couldn’t seem to complete a proper one-night stand.
“Okay, you see this?” I asked pointing my finger back and forth between us. “This is you. It was you the other night all along,” I said, angrily grabbing the dress off the floor.
Marc’s eyes widened. “What do you mean?”
“You weren’t hard then, and you aren’t hard now. There’s a problem here, and it isn’t me!”
He shot up from the chair. “What are you talking about? You’re wearing a six-year old’s Halloween costume. If I were hard right now, you should be deeply concerned.”
I drew in a sharp breath. I might be small in stature, but I’d legit bought this underwear from the adult section of Warner Brother’s online store. It was a grownup size.
“Well—well—“ I searched for something equally insulting to tell him. “You smell like a six year old girl, so there, Mr. Rose Hibiscus.”
“That was an old scent. How’d you know about that one? I thought I’d thrown out the bottle. Anyways, you know that’s my mother’s business.”
I didn’t lower myself to answer that I’d noticed it in the trash can and given it a test-sniff.
“That doesn’t mean you have to wear it. It’s kind of a turn-off.” Which was a lie. Marc could wear old
bath water and still be hot. But he didn’t have to know that.
He rolled his eyes. “Oh for Pete’s sake. I held your hair while you puked in my toilet and you’re going to talk about how I smell?”
“That’s not fair! We’d had a lot of liquor.”
“Which was exactly why I’d passed out the night before.”
Fair point. He could have that one. “Fine,” I said. “It was the alcohol. But we didn’t do any better yesterday.”
“Well.” He scratched at the back of his neck. “That was really all your fault.”
“What? How can you possibly blame that on me?” There was no way I could be pinned with that catastrophe. Was there?
He pointed a finger at me. “You stepped on my pants while I was trying to take them off.”
“You were trying to take them off over your boots—”
“I do it all the time by myself,” he huffed.
“And maybe you should keep doing it by yourself.” Nice one, Madison.
“I’m certainly not doing it with you!” He looked just as annoyed as I felt, but he was not about to get the last word.
“Fine!” I yelled creatively.
“Fine!” He yelled back.
I turned around and stomped to my bedroom, slamming the door behind me. A second later I heard his door slam shut too. He’d gotten the last word after all.
I threw myself on my bed, hugging my knees to my chest and chewed on my lip trying to stop the tears. I would not cry over him. I would not cry over him. I tried to hold on to the annoyance, but it dissolved into the hurt.
My fault, indeed! He was just as responsible as me. Yet I was the one spurned, wearing a Wonder Woman outfit and sniffling in my bed.
After a while of not-crying over Marc, I decided I’d be much less miserable with wine. I could maybe even draw this up for my sweet new sitcomic. He’d be killed off at the end, of course. Only a couple episodes in, but oh well. Maybe my heroine could just get herself a new screwmate. I stopped in the bathroom to blow my nose and clean up my smudged mascara. Then, as quietly as possible, I opened my door and peered down the hall.
