Sin With Me (Bad Habit)

by J. T. Geissinger

  “Ugh.”

  “Spunk?”

  “More ugh!”

  “Man milk? Baby batter? Homemade yogurt?”

  “You’re disturbed. Stop talking before I take back all that nice stuff I just said about you.”

  “Just trying to show off my awesome vocabulary, sweetheart.”

  “Oh yes. Your intellect is truly dizzying, my friend.”

  “Aha! You just quoted the Man in Black from The Princess Bride, didn’t you?”

  “I don’t know, did I?” I ask, testing him.

  He nods. “But you got it wrong. The actual quote is ‘Truly, you have a dizzying intellect.’”

  We grin at each other like a pair of lunatics. Then Brody takes my face in his hands and gives me a soft kiss.

  “So . . .” He sweeps his thumbs over my cheekbones, looking at me from beneath his lashes. “How are you feeling? About . . . you know.”

  “Your jizz?” I tease.

  He kisses the tip of my nose. “Seriously. Are we good? You’re not regretting it, are you?”

  This man is impossibly sweet. Wonderful, thoughtful, and sweet. He’s worried that I’ll regret it, when it was me throwing myself at him.

  I rest my cheek on his chest and sigh in happiness. “Frankly I’m only regretting that you wouldn’t give me access to your man-milk maker itself.”

  “About that.”

  I look up at him sharply. “Uh-oh. That doesn’t sound good.”

  Brody unwinds my arms from around his waist. He leads me by the hand to the bed, a massive four-post affair with enough pillows to start a wholesale pillow outlet. We sit on the end, facing each other.

  “So, here’s the deal,” he says, looking at our hands, our fingers threaded together. “I know you just broke up with Marcus a few days ago.”

  He glances up at me for confirmation. When I nod, he looks back at our hands.

  “And I also know you’re kind of . . . you’re sort of a . . . serial dater.”

  My brows shoot up. “If you’re about to slut shame me, princess, I’m about to give you a black eye.”

  Brody sits up ramrod straight, his eyes wide. “No! God no, I’d never do that! I’m totally guilty of the same thing!”

  When I narrow my eyes at him, he slaps a hand over his mouth. “Not ‘guilty’! I didn’t mean it like that! I only meant that I sleep around a lot, too.” He winces. “That so didn’t come out right.”

  I fold my arms over my chest. “If you dare ask me how many men I’ve slept with, I’ll cut a bitch.”

  He groans and scrubs his hands over his face. “I’m fucking this up. Just hear me out, I have a point.”

  “I can hardly wait,” I say drily. “I’m sure your enormous vocabulary will be a big help.”

  He blows out a breath, and then, as if he’s gathered his courage, looks me square in the eyes. “I think we shouldn’t have sex for a month.”

  To say I’m stunned would be an epic understatement. I stare at him, waiting for an explanation that makes any kind of sense. When he just sits there gazing at me with the earnestness of a Labradoodle, I demand, “Please tell me you’re not a virgin.”

  “Of course not.” He laughs, but his laughter dies as quickly as it appeared and he looks horrified. “Oh God—do I seem like one? Like, inexperienced in bed?”

  “Honestly?”

  His face pales. He nods.

  “That thing you call ‘foreplay’ was the best sex I’ve ever had.”

  He sags with relief. “Jesus. Fuck. You scared the hell out of me!”

  “Are you Amish?”

  He makes a face. “Do you see me driving a horse and buggy and churning my own butter?”

  “Then why are you saying we shouldn’t have sex for thirty days?”

  “Because I like you,” he answers simply. “I like you . . . a lot.”

  We stare at each other. Then I say, “Okay. I get it. You’re respecting me. You’re showing me respect. Right?”

  “Right.”

  “Respect noted. Now I think we should bang.”

  He makes another face. “Bang? And you have a problem with my vocabulary? You sound like a teenage boy!”

  A terrible thought hits me. I cover my mouth with my hands.

  Brody asks, “What?”

  I whisper, “Do you have herpes? Do you need time for the sores to clear up?”

  He looks at the ceiling and sighs. “Grace. No. I do not have herpes. Or any other STD, thank you very much.”

  Out of options for this ridiculous conversation and at my wit’s end with how to get him to change his mind, I throw my hands in the air. “I haven’t gone without sex for a month since I was eighteen years old!”

  He grins at me. “Trollop. Knew it.”

  “Can’t you find some other way to respect me that doesn’t involve denying me my favorite thing in the world?”

  He cocks his head. “Sex is your favorite thing in the world?”

  Now that sounded bad. I try to backtrack, only it gets worse.

  “Dick is my favorite thing in the world.”

  Brody’s grin reappears. “Can I just take a moment here to say that you’re my dream woman?”

  I pinch the bridge of my nose between two fingers. “This isn’t going in the direction I’d hoped.”

  “Seriously, the fact that those words would even leave your mouth makes me so happy you don’t even know.”

  “Brody—”

  “Nope.”

  “Nope what?”

  “Nope, we’re not having sex for a month, and we’re not negotiating. I told you before: I want to get to know you before we do it.”

  “May I remind you, Kong, we already did it?”

  “Not all the way,” he says, sounding very reasonable. “There was no penetration. No outie in the innie. So technically we didn’t do it. Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “I’m just wondering what planet you lived on before you came to earth.”

  He pulls me onto his lap and kisses my cheek. “Uranus.”

  I dissolve into laughter. I collapse against his chest and laugh until I’m hoarse, and then I laugh some more.

  Brody falls back onto the bed, taking me with him. He rolls on top of me. Then—bastard!—he starts to tickle me.

  “Nooo!” I scream, writhing helplessly. “No tickling! I hate tickling!”

  “Say ‘we’re not having sex for a month,’ and I’ll stop,” he says, digging his fingers into my ribs.

  “That’s blackmail!”

  He wiggles his fingers into my belly. I scream again, trying to roll out from under him but he’s too heavy.

  “Say it, Slick, or you get the tickle treatment forever.”

  “I’m going to kill you!”

  Wiggling fingers poke into my side.

  “Okay, I give! Uncle! No sex for a month!”

  Smiling, his hair falling into his eyes, Brody gazes down at me. “Deal. The clock starts now. One month, no boning.”

  I ask breathlessly, “But we can still do the foreplay thingy, right?”

  He purses his lips like he’s thinking, and I groan. “Brody!”

  He grins. “Only kidding. Yes, we can still do the foreplay thingy. I’m not a total masochist.”

  “No, you’re a total sadist!”

  “Speaking of which . . .” He wraps a hand firmly around my wrist and presses it to the bed. Ducking his head, he whispers into my ear, “You like being restrained, don’t you?”

  His voice has that dark, dominant tone that makes my pulse quicken.

  “Do you want total honesty here?”

  “Yes,” he answers instantly.

  “Like, radical honesty?”

  “Yes. That’s exactly what I want from you from now on: radical honesty. Go.”

  “I’ve always been the one doing the restraining.”

  Brody lifts his head and considers me with his brows pulled together. “You mean you like to be on top or something?”

  “No
, Brody. I like to be the top.”

  Understanding crosses his face. His smile comes on slow and sultry. “So you’re not only a wanton little trollop, you’re a wanton little dominatrix trollop.”

  “It’s not like I’m dressing up in latex corsets and beating anybody with a riding crop. I just like being the one in control, sexually and otherwise.” I hesitate for only a second before deciding our new policy of radical honesty should be honored. “I mean, I did. Up to now. Before you. But now I think losing control might be even more exciting . . . because I think I might be able to trust you to catch me when I fall.”

  He examines me in silence, his eyes burning with intensity. Then he says quietly, “You have no idea how good that makes me feel.”

  My heartbeat goes haywire. “You have no idea how good you make me feel. But if I’m wrong about you catching me, I’ll sic Marcus on you.”

  Brody pretends to be shot in the heart with an arrow and flops onto his back, clutching his chest. I jump on top of him and pepper kisses all over his face as he makes a dramatic show of expiring.

  “You’re a terrible actor,” I tell him. “It’s a good thing you went into music.”

  He rolls atop me again and commences with more tickle torture. Luckily it doesn’t last long, because the sound of an old-fashioned car horn pulls us apart.

  I ask, “Is that coming from your butt?”

  “Yep. Incoming text.” From his back pocket he pulls out his cell phone. He looks at the screen, and then at me. “The cavalry’s here. It’s Nico and Kat.”

  I sigh. “So the first meeting of the Mutual Admiration Society comes to an end. Bummer.”

  Brody rolls off me, pops up from the bed, takes my hands, and pulls me up. He squeezes my hands and grins at me. “Yeah, but we’re gonna have meetings every day for the next month, so don’t sweat it, Slick.”

  Following behind him, I let him lead me by the hand from the room. “And then we’re going to have daily meetings of the Horizontal Mambo Society.”

  I feel his husky chuckle all the way to my toes. “Daily? If I know you at all, it’s gonna be hourly.”

  My smile is wide and happy. “Damn straight. Better get your beauty rest this month, because at the end of next month you’re going to be chapped, dehydrated, and totally exhausted.”

  Looking at me over his shoulder, he laughs. “I can hardly wait.”

  I say drily, “That makes two of us.”

  The first thing Kat does when she sees me is throws her arms around me and bursts into tears, complete with hysterical sobbing.

  Nico, Barney, and Brody stand in the foyer of the main house, watching us. Not even three seconds have passed since we let them in the front door, and I’ve got Ms. Drama Queen 2016 having a breakdown all over my Neil Diamond T-shirt.

  I haven’t yet told Brody I’m claiming it for my own, but I’ve literally had some of the happiest hours in recent memory in this stupid old shirt, and there’s no way I’m parting with it now.

  Over Kat’s shoulder I look at Nico with my brows raised.

  He shrugs. “She’s worried about you.”

  Barney says, “We all are. You doing okay, Angelface?”

  Beside him, Brody stiffens.

  Barney has about fifty pounds on Brody, is trained in martial arts, used to be in the military before he worked as a bodyguard, and is armed with a handgun, yet I have no doubt Brody would go toe-to-toe with Barney if the man so much as looks at me sideways again.

  In the name of radical honesty, we’ll have a talk about that later. Jealousy is a deal breaker for me.

  “I’m good, Barney, thank you.” I smile at Brody. “I’m being very well taken care of.”

  As if a faucet has been turned off, Kat stops crying. She pulls away and looks at me, then at Brody—who’s no longer bristling but grinning—then back at me. “You’re good?”

  I nod.

  She wipes her face with her fingers. “Are you sure?”

  I give her hand a squeeze. “Honestly, Kat, I’m really lucky I wasn’t home. All that stuff that blew up is just that—stuff. It can be replaced.”

  She groans. “But your beautiful clothes . . . all your jewelry!”

  A spike of pain pierces my heart. I don’t really care about the clothes, and the insurance will pay for the jewelry, but there were a few things that can never be replaced.

  Like the engagement ring my grandfather gave to my grandmother.

  Like the small gold locket my mother used to wear around her neck that had a picture of me as a baby inside.

  Like my parents’ wedding rings—returned to me in a little plastic bag from the morgue.

  My smile fades as my stomach sours. “Well, what doesn’t kill you . . .”

  “Makes you stronger.” Brody steps up beside me. He clasps an arm around my shoulder, pulls me against him, and kisses me on the temple. He gazes into my eyes. “And you’re a tough cookie, Slick,” he murmurs, looking at me as if there’s no one else in the room. “You’re gonna make it through this just fine.” His lips curve upward. “Plus, you’ve got the octuplets to focus on now, so there’s really no time for feeling bad.”

  Kat barks, “What? Octuplets? What did you just say?”

  Brody grins at her. “Oh, Grace didn’t tell you yet? She’s pregnant with—”

  I elbow him in the side.

  “Ow!”

  Judging by the look of distress on Kat’s face, I should have elbowed him harder. I have a feeling her emotional outburst when she came in has more to do with her than me.

  “He’s joking, Kat,” I reassure her. “Nobody’s pregnant.” I shoot Brody a sharp sideways glare. “Nobody’s getting pregnant, either.”

  Brody mock pouts. “Is this your subtle way of telling me you don’t want kids? Because my mother just told me today that she’s ready to be a grandma again, and I was thinking after our thirty days are up we could—”

  “One more word,” I interrupt him calmly, “and you won’t be able to get anyone pregnant because you’ll be missing the proper equipment.”

  All this talk of pregnancy is making Kat ghostly pale. I’m not the only one who notices.

  Nico takes her by the arm, pulls her toward him so her back is against his chest, wraps his arms around her, ducks his head, and whispers something into her ear.

  Eyes closed, lips pressed together, she nods.

  Shit.

  Barney drawls, “Thirty days? What’s that all about?”

  He and Brody lock eyes.

  Double shit.

  Before Brody can answer, I jump in. “So Brody said you guys were going to put together a little care package for me, Kat? Clothes or whatever?”

  “Oh. Yes, sorry, sweetie.” Kat sends me a shaky smile. “I’ve got bags and bags of stuff for you in the car. Chloe and I tore through our closets. The only thing we didn’t give you was underwear, for obvious reasons.”

  Brody quips, “She won’t be needing underwear anyway.”

  He and Barney are still glaring at each other.

  Wonderful. Looks like we’ll be having that cockfight after all.

  Nico, ever the conciliator, says to Barney, “Hey man, would you get the bags from the car for Grace, please?”

  “Sure,” he says, holding Brody’s gaze. “Anything for Grace.” For several long moments, he doesn’t move, he simply stands there giving Brody a level, challenging look, but then finally he turns on his heel and stalks out the door.

  “Ookay,” says Kat, watching him go. “That was awkward.”

  Irritated, Brody asks Nico, “You gonna talk to him about his attitude, bro?”

  “His attitude?” repeats Nico. “You know that shit’s a two-way street, right?”

  “That dude is way out of line—”

  “That dude has saved your ass more times than I can count—”

  “He’s your fucking employee, man!”

  “—and has been a friend for years. Not only mine, but yours, too.”

  “Yea
h, he has. And now he’s acting like a dick and I’m not gonna put up with it. Would you, if the shoe were on the other foot?”

  Nico’s gaze cuts to me. “You on board with this, Grace? You think I should have a talk with Barney, tell him to back off?”

  “No.” I take a step away from Brody, cross my arms over my chest, and meet his eyes. “And since you brought it up, here’s some radical honesty for you, Brody: jealousy is petty, immature, and has no place in a healthy relationship. I won’t tolerate it. Either we trust each other or we don’t. If we do, it doesn’t matter how many other people flirt with us. If we don’t . . . well, we might as well just quit while we’re ahead and save ourselves the aggravation.”

  Brody looks as if I’ve slapped him.

  “Be right back,” he says, and bolts out the front door after Barney.

  Watching him tear off across the driveway, Nico mutters, “What the hell have you done to him?”

  Kat peers out the open door. “Apparently she’s hypnotized him with her magical vagina. I’ve never seen anyone do such a one-eighty!”

  I don’t want to stand there and gape at him in the doorway, so I take a few steps back and ask, “What do you mean? What’s he doing?”

  After a while, Nico chuckles. “Looks like he’s eating a big ass bucket of crow.”

  “Kat, a little help here?”

  She smiles. “Brody and Barney are standing next to the Escalade. Barney has his arms crossed over his chest and his legs spread, in badass mode, and Brody is doing all the talking.” She pauses. “Now Barney is nodding his head.” Another pause. “Now they’re shaking hands.” She laughs. “Now they’re doing that macho guy, hug-it-out thing, lots of back thumping and play shoving.” She looks at me, grinning. “Looks like your boy just went and apologized.”

  He can’t be for real. He has to be too good to be true. No one is this perfect.

  “Nico?”

  He glances at me.

  “You know Brody better than anyone, right?”

  “Yeah. Like a brother.”

  “I need to ask you something.”

  Nico lifts his brows. “Shoot.”

  “Is he a good guy? I mean, everyone has faults, but bottom line—is he good?”

  Nico grins, showcasing his dimples. His blue eyes twinkle with mischief. “Why? You like him or something?”

  I exhale a shaky breath. “Please don’t fuck with me. I need an honest, unbiased opinion.”