“Is this what you want?” he ground out, lightly running his hand up and down his beautiful cock.
“God yes.” I pressed my legs together, afraid I was going to come again before he was inside me.
A key jangling in the front door yanked us both out of our sexual frenzy. Violently.
“What the fuck?” Mitch muttered, pulling my jeans back up and diving for the handcuff keys.
“Oh my God,” I hissed. “It’s Jack and Rena.”
“Shit. Am I still a secret?”
“No,” I said in a panic, “but this doesn’t look good.”
“Right.”
The handcuff dropped off my left hand. Mitch scooped up his clothes and ran around the room buck-ass naked, looking for a place to hide. If I hadn’t been so freaked out, I’d’ve been convulsed in laughter.
“The closet,” I said, pointing to our cleaning supply closet. “She’ll never look in there.”
“Got it.” He sprinted for the closet and shut the door behind him just as Rena entered the apartment. Mitch was hidden. I was dressed . . . braless, but dressed. Everything was great . . . except my right hand was still cuffed to the silverware drawer. Fuckmonkeys. I quickly arranged myself with the cuffed hand behind me and leaned back on the counter. I plastered a big fake smile on my face and racked my brain for a legit way to get her out of here.
“Hey,” I said.
“Holy shit,” Rena screeched. “You scared the hell out of me.” She eyed me curiously for a moment. “You’re supposed to be out with Mitch.”
“I am, I mean, was. You’re supposed to be at a concert with Jack.”
“Concert sucked.” She plopped down on the couch and made herself comfortable. “We bailed.”
“Where’s Jack?”
“I sent him out to buy more pudding and beer.” She grinned evilly and I laughed. “Kristy, Jack’s going to be back in a few and I need to talk to you.” She patted the couch beside her. “Come sit by me.”
“No,” I said casually. “I’m good here.”
“You’re not going to like what I have to tell you. Jack told me to stay out of it, but I can’t.”
A bad juju feeling swept over me. If I hadn’t been cuffed to the drawer, I would have run from the room.
“How much do you like Mitch?” she asked carefully.
“Oh my God, not this conversation again,” I yelled. “What? You’re going to tell me his name is Stitch or Rich or Pitch or Bitch? His name is Mitch Sanderson. He’s not married. He loves the Vikings. He’s hotter than hell, he likes my butt, and he thinks I’m funny. He had a sister who died and he knows my sorry excuse of a dad beat on my mom. I’m halfway in love with him and had the best orgasm of my life tonight. So what do you want to tell me that I don’t already know?” I was so close to breaking. All I wanted to do was cry.
“Shit, Kristy.” Rena’s tone was hushed. “Please come sit with me.”
“I really can’t,” I told her truthfully. I had no intention of letting her know I was attached to the drawer.
“There’s something else. There’s a reason you shouldn’t get too involved.”
“Rena.” My voice was icy. “Did I ever try to fuck with you and Jack?”
She shook her head no.
“Then why are you doing this to me?”
Rena froze and looked around the apartment. “Did you hear something?”
“No,” I said, hearing exactly what she’d heard. It was Mitch trying to get dressed in the supply closet. Hell, I’d forgotten he was still here.
“It sounds like mice.” She grimaced. “No, bigger than mice . . . rats. It sounds like fucking rats. I’m going to kill our landlord.”
“I don’t hear anything, so finish what you have to say. Now.”
“He’s a DEA agent.”
“So?”
“He’s here on some big secret case. He didn’t join Jack’s department. He’s not here to stay,” she said.
I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out. My eyes had no such problem . . . tears spilled down my cheeks. That was a fairly large fucking omission in our speed-dating session at Chinese Farts. I was just an easy lay for him. Easy being the operative word . . . a quick fuck. How could I have been so stupid? My heart felt like it was shattering, but my pain was massively overshadowed by my anger. At myself... and at Mitch.
“Are you dressed?” I ground out through clenched teeth.
“Um, yes. I’m dressed,” Rena said, bewildered.
“Not you. Him.”
“Yes,” came a muffled voice from the closet.
“We don’t have rats, do we?” Rena asked with wide eyes.
“Actually, we do,” I told her, wiping my tears away. “I think you should come out here.”
“I think that’s a good idea,” Mitch agreed.
He stepped out from the cramped closet looking disheveled and more beautiful than an opportunist asshole had a right to.
“Rena,” he said firmly. “Would you mind going down to Jack’s apartment? I need to talk to Kristy.”
Rena gave him a death stare and then turned to me. “Is that what you want, Kristy?”
“No, but I think it’s best.”
“Okay, fine.” She hesitated. “I’ll be downstairs if you need me.”
With one final skin-flaying glare at Mitch, she left.
“Kristy, I can explain,” he said quietly.
“I seriously doubt it, but go ahead and try.”
Chapter 13
We stood silently and eyed each other. My body was calm and still on the outside, but my heart was shattering. What in the hell was wrong with me? It’s not like we’d dated for four years and were breaking up . . . We hadn’t done anything tonight that I didn’t want as much as he did. I refused to look away first. I may have been used, but I wasn’t a victim.
“I would greatly appreciate it if you could uncuff me from the silverware drawer,” I said coldly. Boy, there’s a sentence I’d never thought I’d say and most likely never would again.
“I can’t do that yet.”
“Because?”
“Because,” he said logically, “I don’t want you to run away before I can convince you I’m not an asshole.”
“That could take a while and I have to pee. So unless you’d like me to humiliate myself more than I already have tonight, I’d suggest you let me go.”
He approached me warily. Who could blame him? I was attached to the silverware drawer, full of forks and knives . . . He quickly and efficiently detached me from the drawer and just as quickly reattached me to him.
“What the hell?” I hissed, trying to yank myself free. Oww, metal biting into skin hurts. “I have to pee and I don’t recall asking you to join me.”
“I’ll stand outside the door and I’ll hum,” he said, gently pulling me to where he assumed the bathroom might be.
“But, we’re attached,” I stammered, my stupid traitorous heart tap-dancing with excitement in my chest. “I get pee fright. It could take hours.”
“Then I’ll wait,” he said.
I really did have to pee, damn it. I blew out a frustrated breath when I realized he wasn’t going to budge. Fine, if the assmonkey wanted to hear me pee . . . so be it.
After shutting the bathroom door as far as it would go with his arm wedged in it, I did a bizarre one-armed maneuver and got my jeans down. I idly wondered how in the hell I was going to get them back up, but I really had to go. And then pee fright set in.
“I can’t do this,” I muttered, furious at him and myself.
“Turn on the water,” he suggested.
Of all the stupid things . . . Wait, maybe he was right. The water might disguise the sound and I’d be able to go. I pretzeled myself over to the sink and turned the faucet on full blast and then to up my odds, I turned on the shower too . . . and I still couldn’t do it.
“Not working,” I yelled over the cascading water.
“Just relax,” he chuckled, giving my arm a sq
ueeze.
Shitclowns, his touch still made electricity shoot up my arm. Was I so pathetic that I was wildly attracted to someone who wanted a one-night stand and treated me like a floozy? Yep, I was. In a last-ditch effort to block out all sound, I turned on the blow-dryer. It was far away enough from all the running water to eliminate the possibility of electrocution, but he didn’t know that. When he tried to open the door in a panic, I slammed it back down on his arm. His yelp of pain was delightful. After ten more seconds of waiting, I finally peed. Thank you, Jesus. Although, just to screw with him, I sat in the bathroom for another thirty-two minutes.
After a struggle that would have won the ten-thousand-dollar prize on America’s Funniest Home Videos, I got my pants back up. Not buttoned, but up. I flicked off the blow-dryer and turned all the water off after doing an awkward one-handed wash. This was ridiculous.
“You’re a dick,” I said, whipping open the bathroom door and startling him.
“Noted.”
“And a jackass,” I added, trying to block out how good he smelled.
“Agreed,” he said, carefully leading me back to the living room.
Seated entirely too close to him on the couch, which still smelled like beer, I was torn between leaning into him and lifting my foot to kick his balls up into his throat. Thankfully I was able to stifle both instincts.
“I want to apologize.”
“Don’t.” I cut him off. “Tonight was mutual. I wanted you and you wanted me. We’re adults. You’re leaving. We’re done. Uncuff me and go away.”
“Will you please hear me out?” he asked, piercing me with those damn blue eyes.
“You haven’t given me much of a choice,” I replied, holding up our linked wrists.
“I was afraid you’d run.”
“Why would I run?” I asked, exasperated. “This is my home and I didn’t lie about anything.”
“True.” He ran his free hand through his dark hair and looked up at the ceiling. “I didn’t actually lie . . . I omitted.”
“And that makes it better . . . how?”
“I suppose it doesn’t,” he sighed. “I’m treading in uncharted territory here.”
“Well, that’s just fantastic for you,” I snapped. “Unfortunately, I’m not. I’m the idiot that should know better than to date cops or DEA agents or any loser that has something to do with law enforcement. You’re all the same . . . and I’m the idiot.”
“You’re not an idiot.” His voice was low and intense. He scared me a little bit, but most of all he turned me on. I was having a hell of a time blocking out the feeling of his hands and lips all over my body. To kill this train of thought I did what any rational, sane person would do . . . I imagined David Hasselhoff doing the polka naked and lashed out at the former possible love of my life.
“The getting-to-know-you speech at Chinese Farts should have included the part about you not living here. Call me crazy, but I thought you . . .” I stopped. I was digging a hole that would put me in mourning for years. I kept my eyes trained on the floor. All of a sudden I was so tired. I just wanted to be alone to lick my wounded pride in private.
“You thought I liked you? I did, I do. I am completely confused right now. I’m not a feelings guy. It’s been stripped out of me from training, but you make me feel . . . Shit, I’m not doing this right.”
I continued my love affair with the floor. I would not give him the opportunity to suck me back in with those eyes. I wanted to make waaay more out of what he was telling me, but that had been my problem in the past and today was the day I started being a big girl.
“Look, Mitch,” I said quietly, “you don’t live here. I can’t get involved with you any more than I already have. I don’t separate well. I can’t just have, you know . . . um, sex, or almost sex and then walk away. I know that might sound old-fashioned, but I think tonight should prove that I’m not that old-fashioned . . . Actually, tonight proves that I’m a slutbag,” I groaned, pressing my free hand over my eyes.
“No,” he disagreed, removing my hand from my face and forcing me to look at him. “You are amazing and beautiful and I think I’m falling . . .” He stopped and regrouped. “Which makes no sense because I hardly know you.”
“Mitch, stop,” I pleaded. “You’re saying all the things I want someone who’s going to be around to say, but you’re not staying.”
“Kristy, my job is unusual. I don’t really live anywhere, but this hasn’t ever happened to me.”
“Well,” I said with a lump the size of a golf ball in my throat, “that’s not my problem. It’s yours.”
“If I could promise to stay, would you want to be with me?” he asked, holding my chin so I couldn’t look away.
“I would probably drag your ass to the courthouse and marry you,” I laughed, knowing the impossibility of such a thing happening.
“Then what’s the difference if I have to travel?” he asked confidently, thinking his logic was sound.
“One, because you failed to mention something huge, which leads me to believe there are other huge things you’ve left out. Two, I don’t want to have a relationship where I see someone every so often. I’ve done long distance. It doesn’t work . . . I want . . . it doesn’t matter what I want. I can’t have it.”
“If what you want is me, you can have it,” he said, running his fingers along my lips.
Why in God’s name did his hands on me have to feel so right? Was he correct? Could I have him? Could we actually make this work?
“Okay,” I said slowly. Hope was doing a cautious jig in my tummy. “Why are you here in Minneapolis?”
He took a long pause. “I can’t tell you.”
“I see.” The jig had turned into a death march. “How long are you in town?”
The pain and anxiety he was feeling were coming across loud and clear. I almost felt sorry for him. Almost. “I’m unsure,” he admitted, realizing how fast this conversation was going south. “I know this sounds hopeless.” He spoke quickly so I couldn’t butt in. “It’s not hopeless. I’m not like the other guys. Yes, I have secrets, but they’re about work, not my personal life. If I could tell you everything, I would, but that might put your life and others in danger, plus I’d get fired in a big way. I am one hundred percent single and I’m crazy about you. It’ll be complicated, but it can work. I swear.”
By the time he’d finished speaking, he had hold of both of my hands. The handcuffs made it a little uncomfortable, but I didn’t care. He held me like I would disappear if he let go. I wanted to believe him . . . I really, really did.
“After you’re done with whatever big secret mission you have, when will I see you again?” I asked, realizing I was drinking the Kool-Aid. The part about my life being in danger was a bit unsettling, but the massive orgasm he had given me earlier made death seem like an even trade.
“Um, I don’t know,” he said, gripping my hands tighter. “As soon as I can.”
My heart dropped to my toes. As much as I wanted to say yes, I knew I couldn’t. This was possibly worse than being cheated on by a married Dallas Cowboys fan. Worse because I cared. He was asking too much. I would resent him and we’d end up hating each other. I wished I’d never met him.
“Unlock the cuffs, please,” I said.
He did.
I got up and paced the room. I knew after tonight I’d never see him again and if I did, it would be in polite passing. The words that should come out of my mouth didn’t want to, so I forced them.
“Mitch, I am wildly attracted to you. I like you and I think a tiny part of me started to fall in love with you, but I can’t do this.”
“Kristy.” He got up and moved toward me.
“Stop. This is hard,” I said, pulling on my curls and trying not to cry. Part of me wished he wouldn’t listen to me. I wanted him to cuff me again and refuse to let me go until I promised to be his, but that was a fairy tale. A fucked-up fairy tale, but in my life those seemed to be the only ones available. “I need
you to leave. Please.”
It felt like an eternity before he spoke. “I understand,” he said in that voice that made my knees weak and made me wonder if I was making the wrong decision. “And I’m sorry . . . to you and for me.” He took several steps closer. “Can I kiss you good-bye?”
“I think that’s probably a bad idea,” I said as I did nothing to stop his lips from meeting mine. I also did nothing to stop my arms from wrapping themselves around his broad shoulders.
Tears filled my eyes as his tongue, so forceful earlier, gently parted my lips and explored my mouth with such focused care, I almost passed out. The kiss, which started out soft and sweet, turned into something that was changing me from the inside out. I knew I was more than halfway in love with him; even his dedication to the stupid job that was tearing us apart was admirable. Everything about him was stand-up and honorable; he just wasn’t supposed to be mine.
I wanted a partner and kids and date nights. I couldn’t live worrying I would never see him again. I grew up without a father . . . I wasn’t going to raise my kids the same way. But I could still get lost for a few more moments . . . and I did.
I felt raw and broken. I curled up on the stinky beer couch with my Minnesota Vikings fleece blanket and I gave in to the tears that had been threatening me for the last hour. Why did this hurt so bad? Watching him walk out the door was gut-wrenching. I couldn’t possibly have fallen for someone I’d known for only a few days . . . could I? Hell, that only happens in romance novels and Rena’s life. I’m more grounded than that. It had to have been the sex. I was in lust with him and I could get over him just as quickly as I’d fallen in love with him, I mean lust . . . lust with him. Fucktards. Going on a trip with crazy Bigfoot freaks sounded like a vacation to me. Sitting home alone with my thoughts of what might have been sounded like hell. I snuggled down into the hops-scented cushions, turned my brain off, and let her rip. Maybe my tears would detoxify the couch . . .
“Hey, are you okay?” Rena asked from the doorway of our apartment.
“No, not really,” I sniffed pathetically.
Size Matters (Handcuffs and Happily Ever Afters) Page 10
