The kiss wasn’t like the heated kisses from the night before. It was a sweet getting-to-know-you kiss. A morning after kiss. It was a real good thing that I had stopped in at the bathroom to brush my teeth.
After a few not nearly long enough seconds, he pulled away. “Ready for some coffee?”
“Yes, please,” I answered just as he handed me the squirrel mug, which was only three-quarters full.
“I didn’t know how you take it, but I’ve got milk and sugar ... I think I may even have some flavored creamer around here somewhere.” He started moving toward the refrigerator.
“I’ll take it black.”
“You have sex with no strings. You drink your coffee black. You have a good job and can support yourself. You are like a dream come true. Do you drink your whiskey straight, too?”
I knew it was meant as a compliment. But when it was said like that, it didn’t really paint a very pleasant picture of me. I felt kind of dejected as I sat down at the table with my cup of coffee. I looked away from Adam and started digging through my purse.
“In my book, those are all good things, Alexis,” he said, shooting me a sly smile over his shoulder while he searched through the refrigerator.
He came out with milk and eggs, and brought them over to the table. Finally, I found what I was digging in my bag for. I pulled out the seven days of the week pill container and popped the lid off of Sunday. He watched me with a curious expression, but went to the cabinet and pulled out a glass and filled it with water. Handing it to me, he chuckled. “Are you 80? Only grandmothers carry pills around in their purse like that.”
“As a matter of fact, I am 80,” I said haughtily. “And aging very well, don’t you think?”
He poured a little milk into the bowl with the cracked eggs and began whipping it until there was a nice layer of foam on top. He gave me a sly look. “Very well. Is there anything in there that I’d be interested in?”
“Just the usual,” I lied. “Birth control. Vitamins.” Every 27-year-old single woman in the City needed a daily dose of birth control and vitamins. Well, almost every one.
“It’s hard to argue with either of those,” he said with a smile. His smile seemed to tense around the edges as he watched me look around the kitchen. There was something about the kitchen that I couldn’t put my finger on ... the whole apartment really.
“What are you thinking?” he asked.
I brushed off the odd feeling in my gut. “Just checking your place out. I didn’t get a good look last time ... what with my quick getaway and all.”
“Ahhh, yes,” he said and devilishly raised his eyebrows at me. “Though I sure don’t mind watching you in retreat mode, I’m glad you decided to stick around this time.”
I swooned, and a comfortable silence fell over us as I sipped my coffee and watched him cook breakfast. I don’t know why, but I would have expected him to be worthless in the kitchen. He was the opposite of that. He cracked and whipped with complete ease. He dipped and flipped the bread like a pro. He, too, was full of surprises.
Finally, he put two plates down on the table and sat down in the chair across from mine. He pushed the butter and syrup toward me. “Uhhh, do you have any peanut butter and powdered sugar?” I asked.
He looked at me curiously. “Yes, to the peanut butter. No, to the sugar. I’m okay in the kitchen, but I’m no Martha Stewart.” He rose from the table and returned shortly with a jar of peanut butter. His jaw dropped a little as I carefully slathered butter and then peanut butter on each slice of bread on my plate. It dropped a little further when I drizzled syrup over the entire mess.
“I’ve never seen anyone so totally ruin a plate of French toast,” he said, shaking his head at me.
I cut a bite out of a piece of toast and speared it with my fork. “Trust me,” I said as I leaned across the table and waved my fork enticingly in front of him. He opened his mouth and I slid the fork in. My heart rate quickened, and I held my breath as he curled his lips around the fork. I finally released my breath as I pulled the fork back out again. A flush of heat engulfed me. I had never imagined that feeding a man could be so erotic.
“Good God, woman. That is about the sexiest thing I have ever seen,” he said huskily, licking the syrup off his lips. “If my mother knew how you’d just desecrated her French toast ....” He shook his head.
I cut off a second bite. This one was for me. As I lifted it to my mouth, a pout formed on his perfect mouth.
His plate went untouched as I alternated between feeding him and feeding me. After I slid the last bite into his mouth, I laid my fork down on the empty plate. “Well, my job here is done,” I said with a smile.
“The hell it is,” he said, reaching for me. He took my hand and pulled me out of my chair and around the table. He placed his hands on my hips and pulled me down so that I was straddling him on the kitchen chair.
I’ll be damned if I wasn’t still hungry, too.
CHAPTER 8
Adam
I was willing to concede a few things.
One, I now understood the term ‘hate fuck.’ And, surprisingly, I hadn’t liked it as much as I’d expected. In fact, I hadn’t liked it at all. It turned out that I didn’t wear a guilty conscience well.
Two, Alexis was more than just a pretty face. Sure, she would stop a man in his tracks, but she wasn’t the vapid train wreck that I’d thought.
Three, only two weeks into this experiment, and she’d already figured out how to push my buttons. If the circumstances had been different, I would have been in real trouble with this one.
Alexis
It was Thursday afternoon, and the week seemed to be dragging by. At the present moment, I was busy making a meal out of the end of my pen while I mentally sifted through some things that had been bothering me since Sunday.
Strangely enough, it wasn’t Adam or our non-relationship that was troubling me. It was Lizzie. I’d bolted out of Adam’s apartment shortly after the French toast incident so that I wouldn’t be late for my standing date with Lizzie. We’d planned an afternoon of shopping. She’d recently outgrown most of her clothes, and it was becoming apparent that her mom wasn’t going to come to long enough to take notice.
Based on her squeals of delight when I suggested the activity, I knew that she’d been excited about it. And that’s why I was so surprised when she’d stood me up. I’d gone to her apartment and suffered the walk through the hall of shame only to discover their apartment door propped open with no one inside. I’d found her mostly vertical mother hanging out in the apartment across the hall in a not-so-rare, drug-induced stupor. Thinking that Lizzie had probably ducked out to get away from the impromptu Sunday afternoon party, I checked all her usual neighborhood hang-outs. But I’d had no luck.
She’d ditched me. She’d been getting flakier and flakier, and I was getting worried.
I’d come to no conclusion on the Lizzie situation when my phone lit up, announcing a text from Adam. We quickly volleyed back and forth.
ADAM: You are weakening. Meet me at the gym tonight. I’ll work you out.
ALEXIS: You don’t need to see me sweat.
ADAM: I’ve seen you sweat and I’ll take it.
ALEXIS: I’ll be done with work by 7:30.
ADAM: I can have you sweaty and shaking by 7:45. We’ll work up an appetite.
I smiled at the reference to food. Apparently, he’d figured out the way to my heart. Or maybe he was referring to a different kind of appetite.
Just as I was starting to think dirty thoughts, Ethan stepped into my office. “Just dropping by to check out the flowers. Wanted to see if you’ve killed them yet ... like my heart.” He gave me his lost puppy dog face.
I threw my pen at him and looked over at the massive bouquet of pink and white tulips that sat on the corner of my desk. They’d been delivered on Monday morning along with a note that read:
Alexis,
I would have sent balloons but we agreed ... no strings.
&
nbsp; Adam
I’d felt a chink in the armor break away when I read it the first time ... and every time thereafter. If I wasn’t careful, he was going to get to me. Even though I knew better, I couldn’t stop myself from being just really, really happy.
For four days, Ethan had been teasing me endlessly about the flowers. I couldn’t blame him. I was breaking all of my rules, and he loved pointing it out. I would’ve done the same to him, if he had any rules to break. Unfortunately, his love of “skirts” as he called them and his complete lack of discretion left me with little material to work with.
“You’re the one who told me I should put myself out there.”
“No, I told you that you should try a date, but only in the most general sense. I specifically told you to stay away from Iron Mike.” He gave me the evil eye and leaned against the door frame.
“His name is Adam,” I said. “And we have a non-relationship. No strings.” I rested my chin on my fisted hands and looked at him with as much innocence as I could muster.
“Flowers are not no strings. Flowers are strings,” he said tersely. “Besides, I didn’t have you pegged as a hearts and flowers kind of girl.”
I blinked at him. I hadn’t pegged myself as a hearts and flowers kind of girl either, but maybe I’d just never let myself think about it. I had to admit that I was still enjoying the gesture. Tremendously.
“I’m not,” I lied. “Nothing’s getting through this hard candy coating.”
“We’ll see,” he huffed.
Our relationship had shifted recently. Whereas Ethan had always teased me about the guys that walked in and out of my life, he was looking more and more forlorn about Adam’s presence, however inconsequential.
“Anyway, I came by because old man Harrison requested your presence in the conference room on 12. So get your hard candy shell ass out of that chair and let’s go.” I took one last glance at the tulips as I followed him out of my office.
Harrison kept me busy the rest of the evening, and it was 7:00 before I knew it. I got my stuff together and pretty much skipped my way to the gym.
In the ladies locker room, I pulled my hair up into a ponytail and changed into a pair of tight capris and a sexy aqua tank that showed a little more skin than my usual gym attire. Admittedly, my workout wardrobe had gotten better since I’d seen Adam at the gym a few weeks ago. I was upping my game.
Stepping out of the locker room, I scanned the weight room, but didn’t see Adam. Since I had no idea what he had in mind for me, I decided it wouldn’t hurt to warm up, and I headed for the line of treadmills. That’s where I found him. He’d had the same idea and looked to be pretty warm already.
As I approached his treadmill, my eyes zoned in on his t-shirt. It was navy with a picture of a colorful parrot sitting on a perch. Underneath the parrot, it said, ‘CRACKA, PLEASE.’ I shook my head and let out a laugh. The guy’s shirt collection was something else.
“Are you laughing at my shirt?” he said easily, as if it was nothing to talk while his feet were moving like the Road Runner’s in a Looney Tunes cartoon. This guy was in much better shape than me. What was going to happen here tonight was going to hurt.
I climbed onto the empty treadmill next to him and threw him a sideways glance. “Maybe. You seem to have an endless supply of pun-tastic t-shirts.”
“Maybe fan-tastic t-shirts are just my thing.”
We chatted away about 20 minutes on the treadmills. I filled him in on my latest project at work while he pretended to be interested. He told me about a final exam that he’d taken earlier in the week on cinematography in the 1950s. When I was way past warm and venturing toward sweaty and disgusting, he ushered us into the weight room. There, he put me through a series of exercises that included something called a man-maker that probably put some hair on my chest.
After what seemed like an eternity, he declared that I was done. I immediately collapsed on the floor, spread out like a chalk body at a crime scene. “I’m not going to be able to walk tomorrow, am I?” I asked, between heavy breaths.
He laughed and took a seat on the floor next to me. “Maybe not. I’d be happy to take you home and rub some of that tension out.”
I closed my eyes as I contemplated breaking my cardinal rule. My apartment was a lot closer than his. It was a school night. And I had to be at work early tomorrow. What the hell. My rules were taking a bigger beating than I’d just taken.
Opening my eyes, I stared into the milk chocolate pools looking back at me. “My place is closer ... and I’m going to need to find nourishment on the way.”
***
After such an intense workout, Adam suggested that we go with something light for dinner, like maybe a salad and some chicken. I, on the other hand, needed to replenish some burned fat stores. So as we walked out of the gym, I called in an order at Michelangelo’s ... some lasagna for me and some grilled chicken and veggies for the little missus.
I wasn’t used to eating with a guy who ate as healthy as Adam seemed to. In fact, the only guy who I consistently shared meals with was Ethan, and his diet consisted of cheese, butter, and different varieties of artery-clogging meat. Emilie smiled broadly when she handed us our takeout. Heading out the door, I threw a glance over my shoulder, and she gave me two thumbs up and a wink.
As we got closer to my building, a swarm of butterflies descended upon my stomach. By the time we stepped into the elevator, the butterflies were flitting around at warp speed, and as I unlocked my front door, my anxiety hit a fever pitch.
It wasn’t that I was nervous to be around Adam. Despite the fact that I frequently suffered from asthma attacks and heart murmurs when he was near, we were way past nervousness. Having a guy lick syrup off your fingers while defiling his kitchen table will illicit a sense of familiarity, even if it is a false one.
No, my anxiety was solely rooted in the fact that during my almost nine years in New York City, I had never invited a guy into my apartment. Not one. Not even Ethan had been invited into my inner sanctum.
My apartment was my safe haven. It was the only place where I didn’t have to pretend that I was a whole person. In this space, I wasn’t the pretty girl with the perfect job made possible by an Ivy League education and a privileged upbringing by perfectly doting parents. Instead, I was free to be the broken, tired, lonely girl that I really was. In this place, it was okay that I wasn’t allowed to want for more because what I already had took everything in me. Inviting Adam into my apartment felt like inviting him into so much more.
I flipped on the light as he shut the door behind us. The click of the door was probably just barely audible, but caused me to wince. This hadn’t been a good idea. I wasn’t sure that I could put on the show here that came so easily everywhere else.
Noticing my irrational response to such an everyday sound, Adam cocked his head to the side. “Are you okay, Alexis? You seem jumpy.”
“I’m fine,” I said. Figuring honesty to be the best policy, I went on. “The thing is that I’ve never had a guy in here.” I looked at my feet. “I’ve never had too many women in here, either, for that matter.”
“What do you mean ‘never’?” he asked as I threw my keys and purse on the table beside the door.
“I mean never. As in never, never.” As if to drive home what a weird, spinster freak of a woman that I really was, Rubber Cat chose that moment to make an appearance. He weaved in and out of my legs as we stood awkwardly in the entryway. Finally, the cat looked over at our guest and eyed him suspiciously.
“And who is this?” Adam said, bending down and swooping up the grey tabby in one hand. He strode into the living room, which took him all of three steps and sat the bag containing our dinner on the coffee table. He plopped himself down on the couch as if he made himself at home there every night of the week. For a minute, I wondered what it would be like to have someone ... or Adam ... here every night of the week.
Rubber Cat had gotten over his suspicions. He stood on Adam’s lap and nu
zzled his chin. Losing my track of thought, I took time out to wonder if I was going to get to nuzzle that chin tonight.
Wait. He’d asked me a question. What was it? I wracked my brain and replayed our previous conversation. How was it possible that he could scatter my brain like he did? I was a smart girl. But when he was around, you sure wouldn’t know it.
I walked around the living room and turned on a few more lamps. Finally coming up with the answer to his question, I responded, “That’s Rubber Cat. Best roommate I’ve ever had.”
“Best? Or only?” he asked, scratching under Rubber Cat’s chin.
“Best. I had roommates when I lived in campus housing, but Rubber Cat is way better. He doesn’t come in late, never turns the music up too loud, and has never peed in my dresser drawers.”
Adam laughed. “Your roommate peed in your drawer?”
“It wasn’t as funny as it sounds.” I smiled back at him. “Okay, it was kind of funny. I’m going to get some plates. Would you like some wine? I’m sorry, but I don’t have any beer.”
“I’ll take a glass of wine if you’re having some,” he said.
I returned with plates, forks, and knives, and then made a second trip back to the kitchen for our drinks. Then I went to the bedroom and came back with my laptop. I sat down on the couch and fired up my computer. I tossed my phone down on the table beside it.
“Sorry,” I said. “But I have to watch my email.”
“Work?” he said as he found the remote and flipped on the TV. I didn’t mind, but, again, the act had an air of familiarity that was either very comforting or very fatal attraction.
“I’ve been waiting for a partner to send me a document all afternoon. When I get it, I have to add in some stock language and then send it to the client. He may take care of it himself, but I need to watch for it just in case. It has to go out tonight”
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