The Trouble With Bachelors (Windy City Bachelors Book 1)

by Caitlyn Blue

  I’ll furnish the wine. You bring dessert.

  I’d almost typed, You be dessert.

  As we finalize the timing and I send her my address, it occurs to me that I may have made a serious error here. Texting a girl to invite her to my place isn’t exactly going to receive a high score on the romance meter. Especially when that woman thinks I’m a player. And yet, asking her to dinner at my place isn’t something I do with other women. I’m thinking dinner, snuggling on the couch while watching a movie, some foreplay, more snuggling, maybe sex.

  I’ve never considered Emma complicated. She’d always been a straight shooter with me. Maybe I’m the one who’s looking for subtext and deeper meaning when I should just take what’s going on at face value. Stop looking for motivation beyond what’s readily apparent.

  I knock off early and head to Coastal Vibe for happy hour. Maybe I can get a better read on the situation from Emma’s cousin. Girls tend to tell each other all sorts of things. I can’t imagine Emma kept quiet about what happened in the hall. That’s just too juicy of a story not to share. And since Gabby likes me, maybe she’ll help me out.

  With as much swagger as I can muster, I push through the glass door and enter the seafood place Gabby has been working at since college. The interior has a comfortable east coast ambiance with whitewashed walls, white furniture, an exposed wood ceiling, ductwork painted copper, nautical decor, and walls of windows that give the place an airy feeling. Garage doors on the side can be opened during warm weather, bringing the outside in.

  Because the restaurant is a couple blocks from my condo, I’m here three or four times a week. This means I’m on a first name basis with all the servers and bartenders. I grab a spot at the bar and am immediately approached by Cindy, a tall lanky blonde with a touch of Texas twang.

  “Hey, Zach. What can I get for you today?”

  I order one of Paul’s beers and look around for Gabby, but I don’t see her. When Cindy comes back with my drink, I ask, “Is Gabby around? I thought she worked on Tuesdays.”

  “Evan called in sick so she’s in the kitchen helping out.”

  I nod in understanding and mull over that relationship. Gabby is one of the most responsible people I know. She started waitressing tables at sixteen and has always held down a job, often two.

  Evan, on the other hand, is a talented chef, but a total flake. Why Gabby puts up with him, I’ll never understand. Maybe it’s because of how talented he is in the kitchen. With a few more years of experience, he’s going to make one hell of an executive chef.

  I’m halfway through the beer when Gabby comes by. “I heard you’re the great kitten wrangler,” she says, clapping me on the shoulder. “Very brave.”

  Lust flares as I contemplate my reward for that bravery, but I tamp it down. This is a recon mission.

  “You heard about that?”

  “Emma said you charged through the house with a baseball bat looking for a burglar.”

  “And ended up with a kitten.” I join her in laughing. “To be fair, after we figured out that it wasn’t a burglar, Emma thought it was a rat. She was more terrified of that than some burly guy robbing the house.”

  “It’s a good thing you were there.”

  I couldn’t agree more. “What’s happening with the kitten?” I probably should’ve asked Emma. That would’ve been an easy call to make in the days following our encounter. A casual follow-up about the cute kitten.

  “We’re keeping it. Emma is taking it to the store during the day and they’re taking turns sleeping with it at night. Except for Brynn. Apparently she’s keeping her door locked tight.”

  “Not a cat lover?”

  “She was allergic as a kid, but the kitten doesn’t seem to set her off.” Gabby’s eyes gleam with curiosity. “So, you and Emma?” She lets the question trail off suggestively.

  “What has she said?”

  “That it’s just wedding stuff. You know planning the bachelor/bachelorette party.” Her gaze grows laser sharp. “Is that all that’s going on?”

  “Pretty much.”

  She waits for me to say more, but if Emma’s not saying anything else, then neither am I. Finally Gabby nods.

  “That’s probably for the best.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You use to date her sister.”

  “That was back in high school. And it doesn’t bother Paul that I used to date Julie.”

  “You sure about that?”

  “He’s never said anything.” Or at least he hasn’t said anything in the last eight years. “He knows Julie and I weren’t meant to go the distance. She hasn’t given me a second thought since she and Paul started dating.” The head tilt I receive from Gabby doesn’t feel like agreement. “Is there some reason why you’re bringing all this up?”

  “Nothing specific.” But her tone is a little too offhanded. As if she’s working hard to sound neutral. “Are you ready for another beer?”

  “Sure.” I watch her signal to Cindy and wonder what message she’s trying to send.

  13

  Emma

  Friday, I devote the entire day to getting ready for dinner at Zach’s. I get my hair trimmed. Have my nails done. Wax, pluck and shave every inch of unwanted hair from my body. The boutique I love to shop at is having an anniversary sale so I buy a couple cute new outfits and invest in some really great smelling cream. I feel like a million bucks as I get in my car, but with each mile I get closer to River North, my anxiety grows.

  There’s no question that I put too much effort into preparing to see him again. The sort of effort a girl makes when she’s intending to let a man get up close and personal. He’d texted me about party planning. And somehow I’d translated that into we’re going to spend some time getting to know each other. Just how well has yet to be determined.

  “Oh shit,” I mutter, primed to bolt back down the hall. “This isn’t a date.” But is it a hook up?

  Blowing out a breath to calm my nerves, I lift my hand to knock on Zach’s front door. He’s on the third floor of an old warehouse that has been renovated into condos. The building sits beside the north branch of the Chicago River. I wonder what he paid for the place. He must be doing awfully well to be able to afford this area.

  When he swings the door open, my breath catches. He’s wearing a gray t-shirt that hugs his abs and displays his muscled biceps. I recall Brynn saying she sometimes sees him at the gym. Faded jeans ride low on his hips. They’re looser fitting than the ones he wore that day at my house. Is this easier access deliberate? He’s probably hoping for a repeat performance.

  Wouldn’t any guy?

  “Hey.” His slow smile sets fire to my confidence.

  Despite the way my knees knock together, I muster a bright smile. “Hey, yourself.”

  “What have you got for me?” He leans forward to peer at the plastic container in my hand, but its opaque sides and top conceal the contents.

  “Dessert,” I proclaim, hiding my nervousness behind an overly bright smile.

  “You gonna tell me what it is or am I going to have to wait?”

  “Anticipation will make it all the better.”

  His eyes gleam. “I’ve been anticipating seeing you for days. It hasn’t made anything better.”

  “It’ll be worth the wait,” I say.

  Suddenly, I’m not sure we’re talking about dessert. Or at least I’m no longer thinking about dessert. My mind is laser focused on those low-slung jeans and the gorgeous dick waiting beneath them. It’s an effort not to lick my lips.

  His smile is off-the-charts sexy. “Then let’s get this party started.”

  “Yes, let’s.”

  I try not to let his grin do any more damage to my self-control. Zach’s got enough ego for six guys. If I start throwing myself at him on a regular basis, he’s going to think he doesn’t have to chase me. Well, that’s stupid. I’ve shown up on his doorstep in my brand new sexy underwear, carrying a decadent chocolate dessert that I�
�m hoping to smear all over his gorgeous body and then lick off.

  “Something smells good.” And I’m not talking about the apple cinnamon scent wafting from the candles scattered around his living room/workspace. As I step past him, I suck in a giddy lungful of his cologne. He smells good enough to eat. “You lit candles?”

  “To chase away the scent of onions and garlic. I made my mother’s famous stroganoff.”

  I remember it. He made it for Julie once. I snuck in and grabbed a plateful while they were making out in the living room. It was really good.

  “Sounds great,” I say.

  Is there anything about this guy that isn’t branded in my memories? I glance around as I enter his open kitchen. Except for the bathroom, the entire condo is wide open. Big pillars support the barrel-vaulted ceilings and help to define the living room, bedroom, and work spaces. From where I’m standing, I can see all the way into his bedroom. A slate blue comforter and piles of pillows snag my attention. Looks like it’s going to be an easy transition from dinner to dessert.

  I turn my attention to the area closest to me and admire his camel-colored leather couch, denim blue side chairs, and black and white photos of old Chicago blown up onto large canvases.

  “I have to admit this isn’t the sort of place I expected to see you living in.” A metal plate outside the entrance proclaimed it was built in 1898. “I imagined you forty stories above the city in a building of chrome and glass. This is cozy.”

  The ceiling’s unusual architectural details, brick walls, and original wide plank floors give the place an elegant, old world feel that is my aesthetic.

  “What sold me was the view.” He draws me toward an eight-foot sliding glass door that leads out onto a small balcony.

  There’s enough room for two metal bistro chairs and a small table. The spring temperatures remain stuck in the low forties, and a misting rain—not quite sleet but close—falls around us as we step outside to gaze at the river below. As much as I love my grandmother’s house and would miss having a yard, I’m starting to see the appeal of living so close to downtown.

  Zach’s shoulder is close, so I lean my head against its broad strength and sigh, “This is really nice.”

  “I’m glad you approve,” he says in a husky tone. His arm comes around my back and squeezes.

  The contact is gone too fast for me to revel in, but I can enjoy the lingering tingles for a good while. My platform shoes give me six inches of height. It’s nice to have our lips at the same level, like I could lean over and plant one on him anytime I want.

  “It’s too chilly for you to be outside without a coat,” I say before leading the way back into the condo. Once the slider is closed, I take his hands and walk backward, hitting him with my best flirty grin. “Feel like giving me the tour?”

  “This is pretty much it.”

  To my surprise, he makes no attempt to lure me toward his bed. I cover my relief…disappointment…with the first thing that comes to my head.

  “How many square feet do you have?”

  “A little over a thousand.” He tugs me toward the foyer where he skims my cream-colored coat off my shoulders and hangs it on the hooks by the door.

  Tonight, I’ve paired a short swing skirt in dusty pink with a white, long-sleeve crop top and white over-the-knee socks. His eyes widen as he takes me in and I recognize the complicated message I’m sending. Sweet, yet sexy. As conflicted as I’m feeling at the moment.

  “Do you like it all open like this?” I ask, following him into the kitchen, ready to offer whatever assistance he might need.

  “I think I’d feel claustrophobic if it was chopped up by walls.”

  “You know, if you wanted a little definition of space, you could hang panels to break things up a bit.”

  “I’ll give that some thought.”

  He busies himself with opening a bottle of red wine and fetching glasses. “We have twenty minutes until dinner.”

  While I’ve been horny all afternoon anticipating being alone with Zach in his apartment, now that I’m here, I’m quite certain I’ve soaked through my new thong. The ache between my thighs is almost unbearable. I don’t think I’ve ever been driven this crazy by a man without being touched.

  “I thought maybe we could narrow down where we should go on the getaway.”

  Seriously? He wants to talk about that now?

  A vase of pink and white Gerber daisies sits on his granite breakfast bar. I stare at it to keep my eyes from straying back to his bed while I get a grip on my disappointment. Not relief. Definitely disappointment.

  “Sure.”

  “I’ve checked flights and accommodations and came up with Florida, Cozumel, or Puerto Rico.”

  “Florida will be sticky and hot in May. Cozumel will require passports, and I don’t have one.” When he looks surprised, I shrug. “I haven’t ever traveled outside the country.”

  I don’t go on to explain that the store keeps me busy and I’m not one to venture too far from home.

  “Then how about Puerto Rico? It’s part of the US so you don’t need a passport. It’s not too expensive, and the flights are only about four and a half hours. We could book a huge house for the weekend.”

  “People could sightsee or hang out, depending on what they want to do, and we could keep costs down by cooking some of our own meals.” I’m drawn into his enthusiasm. “Do you think everyone would go for it?”

  He nods. “It will take as much time to fly there as to drive to Northern Wisconsin so I think so.”

  Visions of a romantic tropical getaway dance through my head. Zach in all his half-naked glory, swimming or running up the beach. Three long nights of stars and moonlight filtering through the palm trees. The kiss of trade winds against my skin and maybe the hot and dirty glide of Zach’s mouth over my breasts and between my legs.

  If things progress between now and the time we leave, maybe Zach and I could share a room. Almost as soon as the thought develops, I squash it. There’s no way he’s going to go for that. Even if this fierce chemistry between us keeps up, he’s going to view sharing a room with me as moving toward something. Plus, what would my sister say? No. Better to keep things casual and just between us.

  “Hungry?” His deep voice breaks through my musings.

  In my peripheral vision, the bed waits, but Zach’s heading into the kitchen and we are on two different wavelengths. Maybe he really did just invite me to dinner to talk about the getaway.

  “Starving.”

  He dishes up delicious smelling stroganoff and we use his coffee table since what should be his dining room is his office. It’s fun to sit on the floor, our backs against the couch, shoulders almost touching. We chat about Puerto Rico. He’s been there several times. We talk about Pewter and the trouble he’s been getting into at the store.

  Neither one of us mentions what happened the last time we saw each other. I know he hasn’t forgotten, but he’s not exactly rushing through the meal either. Doesn’t he want dessert?

  I don’t eat all that much. My stomach is in knots. What I have done, however, is consume several glasses of wine. I’m feeling loose and my mouth is running away from me. I can see his bed in the far corner. There might as well be a spotlight shining on it. The more wine I drink, the harder time I’m having keeping my gaze from drifting that way. Has he noticed?

  My phone rings as we’re setting our dishes in the sink.

  “It’s Julie,” I say, glancing at the screen. For some reason the sight of my sister’s face causes tension to develop between my shoulder blades. There’s no way I’m taking a call from my sister at this moment. “She’s probably calling to bug me about the bachelor/bachelorette party. I told her we were getting together tonight to talk about it.”

  The ringing stops. I relax and wonder if it’s time for me to suggest dessert. Almost as soon as I open my mouth to do so, Zach’s phone starts to ring. He glances down at it and laughs.

  “Paul?” I ask, and when he nods
, I roll my eyes. “I guess you’d better answer it.” Or Julie will start wondering what we’re up to.

  As he answers the call I’m swallowed by doubt. Maybe I misinterpreted the attraction between us. He’s used to playing it cool. What if he’s waiting for me to make a move this time? I can, but do I want to? I’m sure he’s used to women chasing him. Is that who I’ve become? Oh, hell. I’ve already given him a blowjob, so I guess I’ve got my answer.

  “Sure,” he says into the phone, picking up his plate and heading for the kitchen. “We’re just finishing up. We’ll see you in fifteen.”

  “What’s up?” I have a sinking feeling I’m not going to be happy with the answer. I slip my plate and silverware into the dishwasher. The plastic container with dessert sits on the counter. I go to reach for it, but his words stop me.

  “Julie and Paul are at Coastal Vibe. They want us to meet them for a drink and talk about the party.”

  “And you told them we would?” Annoyance flares. I don’t want to hang out with my sister. Not tonight.

  “In fifteen minutes.”

  Julie and Paul never go downtown for dinner during the week. I try to recall if I told her Zach and I were meeting here. Or had Zach volunteered the information while he was on the phone? Regardless of how it came about, my night with Zach has been interrupted.

  “So we’re skipping dessert?” It’s the wine that makes my gaze drift toward his bed—not my crushing disappointment that he’d rather get a drink with my sister and Paul than have sex with me.

  He starts putting the leftover food away. “Maybe we can come back later and have some.”

  “Maybe.” But I’m pretty sure I’m not going to be in the mood for dessert after we have a drink with my sister.

  14

  Zach

  Emma sticks her hands in the pockets of her coat and hunches her shoulders against the chilly wind as we hike toward Coastal Vibe. At the moment, there’s a break in the rain so that’s not the reason why Emma is hurrying toward the restaurant. I’m pretty sure she didn’t want to come here and she’s pissed that I agreed. Did she notice that I tried to put Paul off three times before finally saying yes? Glancing at her expression, I’m pretty sure she doesn’t care.