by Lexi Aurora
I only spent half the day at work before completely giving up, unable to think about anything other than the moment in the closet with Ali. Every time I thought about it, I felt my cock getting hard, and my mind start to wander to the possibility of other, more intimate moments between Ali and I. It was infinitely distracting, and since I couldn’t focus on my work at all, I decided to leave for the day. I said goodbye to my secretary on the way out of the building and got into my car, making my way back home. I drove past the grocery store and decided to stop and pick up a few things for the night. I was tired of frozen dinners and wanted to make myself a real meal, though I had no idea going in what I was going to get.
I went inside the grocery store, shrugging out of my coat and putting it into a cart as I went inside. It was a giant supermarket, one that I had never been to before, and I looked around to decide which side I wanted to start on.
“Are you confused?” came a voice behind me, and I turned around to see Ali there holding a basket on her arm, looking up at me with her eyebrows raised. “Have you never been to a grocery store before?”
I laughed. “I have, just not this one.”
“What are you here for?” she asked as we started to walk inside. I followed alongside her to the produce section, shrugging.
“I actually have no idea,” I said. She laughed and it was a sweet sound, one I hadn’t heard before. I thought again of how sweet she had tasted, how amazing her lips had felt against mine.
“You don’t know at all? Did you just randomly wander in here?”
“I don’t know what to eat,” I said. “Any ideas?”
“Hm,” she said, looking around, thinking. “Nope,” she said.
I grinned at her. “You’re a chef, yet you don’t have a single idea for a meal?”
“I’m not used to planning meals for one single, lonely man,” she said. I had to laugh at that.
“Just for yourself,” I said.
“I’m not lonely,” she told me, a small smile on her face as she picked up several cloves of garlic and put them into her basket. “What do you normally eat?”
“Uh,” I said, running my hand through my hair. “Lean Cuisine?”
She gave me a distasteful look. “You do not.”
“I do,” I admitted. “I’m not so good at cooking.”
“Why am I not surprised that you’re completely useless?” she asked. I grinned at her.
“I’m good for some things, Ali,” I told her. She blushed when I said the words, the look on her face desperately sexy. I had wished last night that it hadn’t been so dark in the closet—I had wanted to see the desire that I knew was written all over her face.
“Name one,” she said.
“I’m not good at cooking, but I’m pretty good at eating,” I said to her in a soft voice. She blushed even deeper, and this time she chewed on her full bottom lip.
“I could—I could make you something,” she offered. I looked at her in surprised, and a shy look passed over her face. “I just mean—it’s what I do. And I was going to cook tonight anyway. I’m trying a new recipe.”
“I’d love to,” I said to her quickly. The idea of sitting down with her for a meal, of having a real conversation, was incredibly tempting.
“Okay,” she breathed. “Do you like French toast?”
“You’re cooking French toast for dinner?”
She nodded. “Fridays are breakfast for dinner. Always.”
“I love French toast,” I said to her. “Is that the kind of thing you serve at your restaurant?”
She nodded as we made our way into the bread aisle and she put a loaf in her basket.
“We’re a country diner,” she told me. “Which sounds tacky, I know, but—”
“It doesn’t,” I said. “Everything else around here is so cosmopolitan and upscale. I’d rather go to a diner any day.”
“Really?” she asked, looking at me in surprise. “I would have thought someone like you would never step foot in a little hole-in-the-wall.”
“I’d imagine you don’t know very many people like me, Ali,” I said to her. “Despite what you think.”
“Maybe you’re right,” she said. We had stopped in the aisle and her eyes were on mine. They displayed amusement and ease, and she was even more beautiful then than she was when she was angry. I reached up to touch her, push her long hair out of her face, but she turned away from me quickly and started walking again.
“So why did you decide to come here and open a diner?” I asked her.
“It’s what I’m good at. I grew up working in my family’s diner back home.”
“Where are you from?”
“Louisiana,” she said. “New Orleans.”
“That explains that little accent when you get mad,” I said. I hadn’t been able to put my finger on it before.
“My mother and father are Cajun,” she admitted. “My accent used to be thicker.”
“I like it,” I said to her. “What happened to it?”
“Made me sound like an idiot,” she said.
“I think it makes you sound like you could kick my ass,” I told her.
She laughed. “Do I sound tough?”
“You do,” I said. “You’re a little scary when you’re mad.”
“Good,” she said, smiling over at me as we walked. “Maybe that will keep you from being so annoying.”
“Oh, don’t count on it,” I said. “Like I said, I like the accent.”
She rolled her eyes, but there was a pleased look on her face. We finished shopping and got in line to check out. Every time I was close to her, I was tempted to touch her, just to brush against her waist or breathe her in. I did my best to stay away as we left the store and she started to walk in the direction of the apartments.
“Hey, where are you going?” I asked her.
“Home,” she said, gesturing forward. I shook my head.
“I’m parked right there,” I said. She chuckled.
“It’s like a block. You drove here?”
“Shut up, I was on the way home from work,” I said to her, smirking. “Are you coming or not?”
She looked down the street, then back at me. Then she started toward my car. We both got in and I turned the heat on, blasting it, waiting for the car to warm up.
“What are you doing?” she asked when I didn’t move.
“I’m waiting until the car’s warm.”
“It’s like a three-second drive,” she said in an exasperated voice.
“And I want it to be comfortable for you,” I said with a wink. She sighed, but there was a charmed smile on her face on the way back to the apartment. I carried the bags inside and onto the elevator, where we stood close together. I was half-hoping that it would get stuck again, that we could stretch out the time in such a close area for as long as possible. Our eyes were locked together as we rode up together, and when the elevator opened, I only looked away because I heard my sister’s voice. The door to my apartment was open and she was standing there on the phone. When she saw me, she waved, smiling brightly. I felt Ali tense beside me and looked over at her.
“Ali, this is—”
“I think I’m just going to order something in and go to bed early,” she said, cutting me off. I raised my eyebrows, studying her face, which had grown cold and steely. I looked at her in confusion.
“What—” I began to ask her what was going on, but she gave me an icy look and took the bags from my arms.
“Ali—”
I was cut off by the door slamming when she disappeared inside. I looked at my sister, who looked back with a question on her face, having hung up the phone.
“What did you do to her?” Trixie asked. I ran my hand through my hair.
“I have no idea,” I said, completely dumbfounded, shaking my head and wondering what I had possibly done as I went into my apartment and shut the door.
Chapter 10: Ali
I closed my eyes as soon as the door shut, pinching the b
ridge of my nose with my fingers. My head hurt all of the sudden, and I felt like a total idiot for responding to Tyler’s flirting, for allowing myself to warm up to him for a moment. I carried my bags to the kitchen and put them down, turning on the stove, absolutely furious in every way. I felt warm all over from being so close to him on the elevator, too, something that annoyed me and made me even more frustrated. I pulled out my groceries and put them on the counter, trying to clear my mind and focus on my new recipe.
I got about halfway through before I gave up, having forgotten to add a crucial ingredient to what was now a runny, eggy mess. I tossed it in the trashcan, frustrated, gritting my teeth. The more I thought about Tyler and the woman in his apartment, the angrier I got. She was so beautiful—obviously his type, and I had no doubt that they were sleeping together. The only reason he had accepted my invitation was because he probably thought it would lead to getting into my pants. Angry, I decided to confront him, though in the back of my mind, I knew it was a bad idea. I wanted to tell him to fuck off for flirting with me when he had a girl waiting for him at home, wanted him to know that it wasn’t okay. Before I could stop myself, I stormed out of my apartment and over to his, pounding on the door with my fist.
It opened and I saw Tyler there, looking at me in surprise. He stepped out and closed the door behind him.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“You know what’s wrong,” I said to him. “Flirting with me when you had a girl here. What, do you just try to fuck anything that moves?”
“What?” he asked, confusion on his face. “No, she’s—”
“You are such a fucking asshole,” I said to him, cutting him off. His eyes narrowed at me and anger flashed over his face.
“An asshole?” he asked. “I didn’t do anything. You were the one who invited me over. I didn’t ask for you to make me dinner.”
I said nothing, glaring at him. That part was true, and I felt stupid for it.
“What, you have nothing to say to that?” he asked angrily. “Am I wrong?”
“I did invite you. But that was before I remembered how slimy you are.”
He chuckled. “Slimy.”
“Yeah. You’re a sleaze. You have a different girl over here all the time. It’s disgusting.”
He shook his head, his jaw tense. The door opened behind him and the girl appeared there, looking between the two of us with a curious look on her face.
“Hey,” she said. “What’s up?”
“Nothing,” Tyler said in a cold voice. “We were just talking.”
“Just talking,” the girl said slowly, and I noticed then how close I was standing to him, that our bodies were only inches apart. I blushed and took a step back, looking down at my hands. I suddenly felt embarrassed and stupid—the girl was so much more beautiful than me and I had seen them together before. I had no idea how I might have gotten it through my head that Tyler might be interested. The girl cleared her throat then, reaching her hand out to take mine. I stared at her, not wanting to take it, too filled with shame and anger.
“I’m going to go,” I snapped, at the same time as the girl opened her mouth to speak. She shot a look at Tyler.
“Is my brother being an asshole?” she asked.
“What—your brother?” I asked dumbly, looking between them. They had the same dark hair but different-colored eyes, and features that weren’t at all the same. Tyler gave me a sarcastic grin.
“Ali, this is my sister, Trixie. Trix, this is my charming neighbor.”
I flushed with embarrassment and shame, taking another step back, but taking the girl’s hand and shaking it.
“I’m sorry,” I said to her, not looking at him. “I thought you were someone else.”
“It’s cool,” she said with a bright grin. I turned around without another word and hurried back into my apartment, completely mortified at what I had done.
Chapter 11: Tyler
I pursed my lips, then hurried out of the apartment, leaving my sister and her questions behind. I knocked on Ali’s door, pounding on it until it swung open and she glared up at me.
“Are you going to apologize?” I asked her, slipping past her, going inside so my sister wouldn’t overhear. She shut the door behind me but I didn’t go far into the apartment. Instead, I found myself moving toward her, backing her up against the door. I took her hands, pressing them to the door on either side of her, pinning her in with my body. Her eyes were wide as she looked at me, her body trembling against mine.
“No,” she breathed.
“You owe me an apology, Ali,” I said to her softly, brushing my lips over her cheek, her jaw, feeling out of control with anger and desire. I took her mouth in a hot, hungry kiss, only sucking on her lips before I pulled my face away, not tasting her the way I wanted to. She looked up at me with her lips still parted, waiting for more, not struggling against my grip.
“No,” she repeated, her eyes narrow, stubbornness in her expression. I grinned at her, had to kiss her again, this time slipping my tongue inside of her mouth to tease her. She hesitated but then sighed against my lips, responding to the kiss, her body rubbing against mine as I held her there.
“Ali—”
“I’m sorry,” she breathed, pushing me backward, pulling the door open, and glaring at me. She was out of breath, I could tell, her lips pouty, her body needing to be touched. Yet she stepped back and gestured for me to leave. Irritated and wound up, I stormed out, heard her slam the door behind me before I went back to my own apartment.
Trixie was sitting on the couch and she stood up when I walked in, her arms crossed over her chest.
“What was that all about?” she asked.
“Just my awful neighbor,” I snapped. “I cannot stand that woman.”
Trixie snorted and I shot her an annoyed look.
“Please,” she said, shaking her head. “You could cut the sexual tension with a knife.”
“No,” I said to her, turning around and heading into the kitchen, pulling out a frozen dinner and throwing it on the counter.
“You don’t hate that girl,” my sister chided, coming up beside me and leaning against the counter. She licked her thumb, reaching up to wipe my cheek like our mother used to do when we were kids with food on our face. I pulled away, grimacing at her.
“You have lipstick on your mouth,” she said with an eyebrow raised. I grumbled in response, wiping my mouth on the back of my hand.
“You like her,” she said. I shook my head, opening the meal and putting it in the microwave, watching it spin as it cooked. My mind was racing with thoughts of Ali, her scent, the way her mouth tasted, the soft feeling of her full, curvy body against mine.
“I don’t,” I insisted, although the words didn’t quite feel true anymore. Before she had gotten angry at me, I had been eagerly looking forward to spending time with her and getting to know her better. Now, though, I was only irritated.
“I wish you would date women who you were actually interested in,” Trixie said. “You always go for those bimbo models.”
“Have you ever thought maybe I’m attracted to those bimbo models? Maybe that’s what I like?”
“No,” she snorted. “Everybody knows that you only go for those girls to keep from falling in love, and to keep from getting hurt.”
“Okay, Dr. Phil,” I said. “Thank you for the psychological assessment.”
“Hey, don’t get mad at me just because it’s true. You can keep denying it all you want, but you have the hots for that girl. And she’s cute as hell—much sexier than Amanda.”
I found myself agreeing wholeheartedly with that but said nothing, only grunting in reply.
“You’re not exactly serious with any men either,” I said to her.
“I’m still young,” she said, laughing at me, waving me off.
“I’m not interested in Ali,” I said to her. “She’s a brat.”
“Keep telling yourself that, bro,” she said in a teasing voice as I pulled
my food out of the microwave. Her face wrinkled up in disgust.
“You really gotta learn to cook,” she said.
“Don’t you need to go home for dinner?” I asked her, annoyed.
“Yeah, yeah,” she said, pushing herself off the counter. “I’ll call you tomorrow, grumpy ass.”
“Night,” I said to her, watching as she left. I sat down, closing my eyes, thinking about all she had said. I spent the rest of the evening fighting thoughts of her, but by the time I got into bed, they were full-fledged fantasies. My cock grew hard just thinking about where that kiss could have gone, what it might have been like to undress her, touch her soft skin, the gentle curves of her ripe body. I closed my eyes, trying to fall asleep, but all I could think about was what it might be like to taste her, wondering if her pussy was half as sweet as her mouth had been. I kept my hands off myself, refusing to give in to the temptation, although it almost overwhelmed me even as I fell asleep, thinking about the sweet sounds she would make coming on my face.
Chapter 12: Ali
The next day, I woke up to a high-pitched squeal on the phone from Melissa, who urged me to hurry to the restaurant as soon as possible. There was a line already—Constance Maybury’s article had come out in the paper the day before, and since then we’d been flooded with calls about our hours and menu items. I hurried out of bed, filled with excitement as I got dressed and headed out for the day. I had to push my way through the line and into the restaurant, greeting everyone with a smile on the way in.
The rest of the day went quickly, though I worked long hours and didn’t get home until well-past midnight. Melissa and I had discussed hiring new staff but we hadn’t had time, and now that the article had come out it seemed like we had even less. For two weeks, I spent more than twelve hours a day at work, thrilled with the rapid pace and how enthusiastic our customers were, some of them coming back daily for breakfast. I got up early every morning and dragged myself to bed every night, barely sleeping, ready to do it all again the next day.
