by Tami Lund
And then Toby wiggles his little body between us until he’s sprawled out on Vicks’s stomach, and she laughs, breaking the tension. I roll back to my side of the bed and drop my head against the pillow.
“Sorry,” I say, covering my face with my arm and shoving the other one under my head. It bumps something smooth and rigid. I grasp the object and pull it out from under the pillow.
Lifting it into the air, I move my other arm away from my eyes so I can stare at…a pink vibrator.
Did she have a party for one while I snoozed blissfully next to her? Someone needs to revoke my man card.
“Ohmigod,” she says with a shriek and dives for the object, once again allowing the blanket to fall and expose those gorgeous breasts while she snatches the thing out of my hand and turns away to drop it into a drawer next to the bed.
After she properly hides her assets again, she says, “For the record, that did not happen either last night. I swear, after I ate dinner and watched a movie, I fell straight asleep too.”
“I suppose that makes me feel a little better about my masculinity. Although it’s still pretty bad that I slept through you stripping.”
She chuckles and pats my shoulder. “I solemnly swear never to feed you honey mead again.”
“In my defense, I hadn’t eaten lunch yesterday. Although, even so, I can’t promise the outcome wouldn’t have been the same.”
“Well, then, I at least owe you breakfast.”
“What? No, you don’t. If anything, I owe you breakfast, since I took up half your bed last night. Uninvited, I might add.”
“Fine, we’ll go Dutch. Do you want to shower first?”
Is she inviting me to shower with her? Wait, no. I’m no longer drunk, so why is my mind still in the gutter?
“I don’t need to. Although if you happen to have an extra toothbrush lying around, I wouldn’t turn it down.”
“Let me see what I can come up with.” She lifts a thin, emerald-green robe draped over the bedpost and slides it over her shoulders with enough skill that the most I see is another glimpse of the butterflies on her shoulder. Damn it.
***
Twenty minutes later, both with freshly brushed teeth and me in yesterday’s clothes while she’s wearing a hot pink and blue maxi dress and a baseball cap, we’re walking down the street with Toby leading the way, strutting at the end of his purple leash.
She takes me to a café that’s about four blocks from her apartment, and we snag a table on the patio. Toby lies down next to Vicks’s chair and drops his head on his paws. When the server stops at our table, the dog jumps to his feet, his stubby tail thumping the pavement, and the girl whose nametag says “Naomi” crouches and scratches his head while referring to him by name. Clearly, they’re regulars here.
“I’ll take a mimosa,” Vicks tells the server. “And my friend probably wants straight OJ.”
“And water,” I add, glaring across the table. She sticks out her tongue as Naomi chuckles and takes off to put in our drink orders.
I rub my hand in my messy hair and say, “Now that you know one of my secrets—”
“That you can’t handle your alcohol?”
“Yes,” I say, nearly growling. “Now it’s your turn. Tell me one of yours.”
Her eyes widen. “You want to know my secrets?”
I shrug. “I want to know you. Even though all we did was annoy the hell out of each other, you were still one of my best childhood friends. And I haven’t seen you in more than a decade. What have you done with your life? How long have you been back in Chicago? How the hell did you end up running a costume shop?”
Naomi returns with our drinks and Vicks says, “First, I told you last night how long I’ve been back. Second, let’s order before you try to convince me to tell you things I probably shouldn’t. Do you trust me?”
When she says things like that, should I? Instead, I say, “Do I have reason not to?” She had, after all, tucked my drunk ass into bed last night. She could’ve kicked me out of her shop and left me to figure out how to get home in my inebriated state. Instead, she let me share her bed while she was naked, which tells me she clearly trusts me.
“Nope.”
“Then go ahead,” I say.
“Okay, good.” She points at the menu. “Two salmon eggs Benedict. And we’ll share a side of fruit.”
“Sounds good,” the young, perky server says, and she hurries away again.
“Actually, that sounds disgusting,” I say. “Salmon for breakfast? What are you, an extraterrestrial?”
She chuckles and sips her drink while leaning back in her chair, one leg crossed over the other, her sandal hanging from her toes. She’s the picture of grace and leisurely elegance, and she takes my breath away.
“Don’t tell me you’re still that kid who won’t eat anything but chicken tenders and macaroni and cheese.”
“No.” I scowl. “I’ve expanded my palate, thank you very much. But only to a point. Seriously, who eats fish for breakfast?”
“People who live in Japan, Malaysia, the Philippines…” She starts ticking off her fingers as she rattles off the names of a bunch of countries that I don’t live in. I raise my hand to get her to stop.
“Fine. I’ll try the damn fish. But only because I know after this we’re going back to your shop and you’re coming up with a costume I can wear to my boss’s Halloween party.”
“Is that why you’re so stressed out about finding a costume two months prior to the actual date? Or is your boss throwing a party way, way in advance of the actual holiday?”
I toss her a smirk. “The party is the Saturday before Halloween, and no, that’s not why I’m stressed. It’s not stress, actually. It’s just that Myra mentioned it, so now I need to secure a costume so I can check this task off my list. It’s really not a big deal.”
“Is Myra your date or your boss?”
“My boss’s wife. No date.” Which is an entirely separate problem, but that one, for some reason, I’m able to put off by simply not thinking about it. Could be because the date is optional while the costume is not.
She shakes her head. “I remember you were like this when we were kids, too. Always the first to finish your assignments, even if they were projects and we had weeks to get them done. And you hated working in small groups because no one else was willing to work at your pace.”
“Except you.”
“I only did it because it was a competition and I couldn’t let you win.”
A laugh bubbles up out of nowhere and escapes through my lips. That happened last night, too. I don’t laugh a lot. There’s too much about life that is serious and wrong, and frankly, there isn’t a lot to laugh about. Yet since I’ve run into Vicks again, I’ve now done it twice in less than twenty-four hours.
I could get used to this.
Our fish—excuse me, our breakfast—arrives, and Vicks digs in with relish. Even in her exuberance over eating salmon first thing in the morning, she’s beautiful. Christ, I’m a frigging lovesick puppy. Over a girl I barely know. Sure, we grew up together, but that was so long ago and people change drastically from fourteen to twenty-six.
“Try it,” she says, waving her fork at my plate.
I’m not much of a fish or eggs Benedict fan, to be honest, but Vicks is so damn cute—and I still need that costume—so I do as she says.
“Huh,” I say after the first bite and while I’m slicing off the second. “That’s pretty damn good.”
“Told you. Ye of little faith.”
“Oh, I have lots of faith.” I take another bite. “Especially in your costuming skills.”
“Man, you really are obsessed.”
“No, I’m not. I told you, I just want to check it off my list.” I purse my lips and then blow out a breath. “I’m not comfortable, and when I’m not comfortable, I get…anal.”
She snickers like a typical twelve year old, and I roll my eyes like a typical adult.
“I’m always up for anal if
the guy knows what he’s doing and is damn good at foreplay, although, truthfully, I prefer doggy style using the other entrance.”
I stare at her with my mouth hanging open. Did she really just say that, or am I playing head games with myself? She chuckles and waves her empty mimosa glass at the server.
“Was that TMI?” she asks innocently.
“I feel like you’re playing a game here and I have no idea what the rules are.”
Naomi places a fresh drink in front of her and asks how we’re doing. “Great, thanks,” Vicks responds, and then she stares at the orange concoction, frowning, while Naomi wanders to the next table.
“I feel like I don’t know the rules either,” Vicks says.
When she looks up at me, her eyes are wide, her lips slightly parted. She flicks out her tongue and runs it along her lower lip, and I watch the progress, mesmerized.
“I…I haven’t, um, dated or anything in quite some time,” she says. “Haven’t wanted to. Haven’t been interested in going down that road. I also never say things like that, unless I’m with my girlfriends and we’re three bottles into girls’ night. And now here I am, spending the night with you—naked—and I’ve added a toothbrush that is officially yours now to my holder, and I’m telling you I like doggy-style sex—which is true, by the way. I think…I think this is a sign that I want to date you. Or something.”
Chapter Four
TORI
Alex stares at me, and then shakes his head. “Okay, let’s back up for a second. No, let’s not. What do you want to do? Date? Or something? And by ‘or something,’ what do you mean, precisely?”
Jesus, the guy really is anal. But it’s kind of endearing. I mean, it’ll be hard for me to miscommunicate with him, because I have a feeling he’s going to make me clarify every single little thing I say. And he was a nice kid, and unless something crazy happened after I moved away, chances are good he’s probably now a nice guy.
I’ve never dated a nice guy before. I mean, let’s be real: I don’t exactly have the best role model. Alex’s dad wasn’t the first guy my mom stole from another woman.
He wasn’t the second or third, either.
Not that I go around breaking up relationships so I can have a chance to score with the masculine aspect of said relationship. I’ll never forget the look on Alex’s face as he stood in the front yard, crying, while his mother wielded a cleaver and told mine to go to hell but at minimum get the fuck out of Dodge or else. I can’t imagine wreaking that sort of havoc on a family. Of course, I’m referring to my own mother in this scenario, not Alex’s.
And that memory, burned into my brain, is probably why I date guys who are guaranteed to not provide a happily ever after. I go into the relationship knowing it’s going to end, and not at “til death do us part.” More like til someone calls the cops because we are so incredibly incompatible, we’re probably going to kill each other, no matter how freaking amazing the sex might be.
“Fucking,” I say.
“Huh?”
“Or something. I meant fucking. I want to fuck you, Alex. Like, we can go back to my place right now and get started on this new relationship. If you want.”
Artie’s in Tennessee with my aunt and uncle, and they won’t be back until Monday. Alex and I could lock ourselves in my apartment for the next three days, and then I can boot him before my brother comes home and complicates the hell out of our relationship. Which isn’t, for the record, a relationship.
“If I… If I… If I…” His mouth is flapping like a fish trying to breathe out of water. He can’t even complete the sentence. I’m thinking Alex Darling has never been propositioned in quite this way before. Is it weird that it turns me on to be his first? It’s stimulating. I uncross my legs and rub my thighs together.
His eyes widen and he stares at my lap like he’s waiting for something else to happen. I swear, he notices every damn thing I do. If there weren’t diners at the next table, I’d grab his hand and slide it under my skirt so he’d know how turned on I am at the moment.
“Are you ready?” I ask even as I wave down Naomi so she can prepare our checks.
“I don’t think so.”
I freeze with my hand in the air. “Excuse me?”
He shakes his head. “Vicks, I don’t want to fuck you. No, wait, that came out wrong. I absolutely want to have sex with you, for the record. But I can’t—I don’t—that’s not all I want.”
I know what he’s about to say. And it’s my own damn fault. I’m the one who put the idea out there.
“I think we should try dating,” he says, right on cue.
I bite back a groan. He doesn’t need to know that if we go down that road, we are destined for failure. He represents a lot of positive moments from my childhood. He’s like this shiny light in the middle of the foggy, unclear sea that is my world. And if we attempt to date, it will tarnish those memories, because it will absolutely fail. Alex thinks he knows me, but there’s a twelve-year gap in our relationship, and so much happened during that time.
Too much for me to even remotely consider letting him back into my life for anything more than a brief, temporary good time.
“You want to know why I opened a costume shop?” I blurt.
“Well, we were discussing dating, but I suppose we can change the subject.”
“Because it allows me to hide.”
He shakes his head. “No idea what you’re saying here. Are you in the Witness Protection Program or something? Don’t they make you change your name when that happens?”
“No. I’m not talking literally, and not even from other people. It allows me to pretend to be someone else, pretend to have other lives. It allows me to live in a fantasy world, for the most part.”
“Because you think the real world sucks?”
He gets me. “Pretty much.”
Naomi brings our checks, and Alex snags both and shoves his card at her before I can so much as reach into my bag for my wallet. I glare at him while she walks away, and he shrugs in this pretend-helpless way that makes me lean back in my chair and cross my arms, my fingers tapping out a staccato on my bicep.
After taking a moment to just breathe, I say, “I’m at least paying the tip,” and I drop a ten on the table before he can protest.
When we’re on our way back to the costume shop, he says, “It doesn’t, you know.”
“What?”
“The real world. It doesn’t suck. I mean, sure, there are some low points, but there are plenty of high ones too.”
“I had no idea you were such an optimist.”
He smiles that slight, lip-pursing smile that for some reason makes my heart do a little flip-flop. I actually remember that smile from when we were kids, although I don’t recall it having this effect on me back then.
What would have happened if I hadn’t moved? Would one of us, at some point, have developed a crush on the other? Would we have experimented, with each other? Would we have…dated?
When we reach the shop, I unlock the steel accordion gate and push it to the side, then unlock the front door and step inside ahead of Alex. It’s still early, so I don’t flip on the ‘open’ sign. Looks like Alex is going to get a private costume fitting.
The images that thought stirs up are far from innocent. Mind, you are way too acquainted with the gutter.
I unlatch Toby’s leash and he darts around the place, checking everything out to ensure nothing changed since we headed up to bed last night.
“Okay, in the spirit of avoiding awkward conversations, let’s talk about this party you’re attending. What do you do? Where do you work?”
He chuckles. “Okay, fine, I’ll play along. I work at Frost, Inc. Ever heard of it?”
“Nope. Well, I think I’ve walked past the building a few dozen times.”
“Corporate real estate investors.”
I whistle. “Alex Darling has done well for himself.”
With a snort he says, “True confession: the only reason
I got the job was because Myra, who had the position before I was hired, was in love with her boss and didn’t want another woman to work for him, lest he hook up with her.”
“So you work for a player?”
“Not at all.” He chuckles. “The exact opposite, actually. It took a mischievous goat and a broken ankle for James to realize he’s been in love with Myra for years.”
“Kinky.”
“Romantic,” he chides. “Remind me to grab you a pair of rose-colored glasses next time I’m out and about.”
I wander along the perimeter of the shop, trying to decide what sort of costume would be best for a boss’s Halloween party. “Uh-uh. Thinking optimistically is a sure-fire way to get hurt. I’m a big fan of keeping my heart under wraps.”
“Me too,” he says, and I jump because I didn’t realize he was right behind me until he spoke. “But sometimes, you gotta take the chance. Otherwise, you’ll never be happy. And what’s the point of living if you aren’t at least trying to be happy?”
I turn to face him. We’re standing in the Victorian era section, among huge, billowing dresses, white, tightly curled wigs, and suits with tights for pants and flowing lace for shirt cuffs. His hands are clasped behind his back, and he looks down at me with his eyebrows raised.
“Instant gratification,” I say. “Short-term, sexual pleasure. Brief moments of ecstasy. That’s the point of living.” And because I need to prove my point or else he’ll argue, I cup his face and stand on my tiptoes and skim my lips across his.
His tongue darts out and moistens his lips, which I take as an invitation and kiss him again. No tongue, our bodies aren’t even touching anywhere else; it’s just a kiss.
Just. A. Kiss.
That rocks my world.
And that’s before he snakes his arms around my waist and pulls me flush against his body. I can feel every single one of those hard muscles, including one in particular that’s pressing against my belly. I want it to rub against a spot a little lower than that, so I stretch, reaching up, and lift one leg off the floor so I can twine it around his calf.
