Sin With Me (Bad Habit)

by J. T. Geissinger

  “Mrpf.”

  He chuckles. The sound reverberates through my head. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

  He gently rubs one wrist, and then the other. I let him handle me with no resistance, my muscles limp. He presses a kiss to the center of my palm.

  We’re quiet for a while. I drift, physically and mentally drained, taking support from the heat and strength of his body beneath me. The rhythm of his breath soothes me on a deep, visceral level, so in a few short minutes I’m almost asleep.

  Until Brody whispers, “Time for church, sweetheart.”

  I lift my head and blink up at him, and he smiles.

  “I know you’ve already seen God once this morning, but a second time never hurts.”

  “Your ego is only matched by your terrible sense of humor, Mr. Scott.”

  “And your beauty is only matched by your gymnastic tongue, Slick.”

  “Yes, I’m a very cunning linguist.”

  Eyes wide, Brody asks, “Did you just misquote a line from Tomorrow Never Dies?”

  I lift my brows. “If you’re about to tell me that’s another one of your favorite movies, I’m about to start believing in Fate.”

  “You like James Bond?”

  “Like? No. I don’t like James Bond. I love James Bond.”

  He considers me seriously for a moment. Then he narrows his eyes. “I’m not gonna get too excited because next you’ll probably say you like Daniel Craig best in the role.”

  I scoff. “Sean Connery all the way, baby! That time when he was dancing with the girl in Thunderball and he spun her around so the bad guy would shoot her in the back instead of him—classic asshole move! I actually clapped at that part!”

  Brody drops his head back against the mattress. He starts to laugh, softly at first, and then with more volume when I add sourly, “But don’t even get me started on Timothy Dalton.”

  “No,” he says, squeezing me, his voice husky, his embrace tight. “I wouldn’t dare.”

  “And then what happened?”

  “Then we went surfing again. It was as cold as Christmas in Antarctica. I kept expecting an iceberg to float by with some polar bears on it. After that, he made me breakfast. And when I say ‘he’ I mean Magda, his housekeeper, who should have her own cooking show, she’s that good. Then he drove me into town so I could go look at the building and get my car.”

  On the other end of the phone, Kat moans. “Oh God. How bad was it? Was there anything left?”

  Standing at the window of my office in Beverly Hills, I look out into the February sky. It’s crystal blue, not a cloud in sight, cheerfully refusing to admit we’re in the middle of winter.

  “Security wouldn’t let me up to the floor. My floor and the two above have both been completely evacuated. All the elevators have been shut down due to safety concerns—it’s not known yet if the blast affected the lift mechanisms. So a lot of folks are displaced. And where my and Mr. Liebowitz’s condos used to be there’s a gigantic black hole. There’s debris everywhere that the investigators are going through.” I sigh. “I’m sure they’ll find my vibrator collection scattered in a million little pieces over the doggie walk.”

  “Or worse, totally intact.”

  I smile at the image of Linda Conley, the high-strung building manager, having a fainting spell when confronted by my XXL hot pink dildo protruding from a shrub somewhere on the grounds. Then I think of poor Mr. Liebowitz and feel bad. He was a nice old man. Exploding in an oxygen-fueled fireball isn’t the ideal way to go. I bet those investigators will be finding bits of him all over the place along with my vibrators.

  But he’s also a dick for blowing up my condo. I hope wherever he is right now he’s feeling really bad about it.

  Kat asks, “So what’s next?”

  I turn from the windows and walk back to my desk, where I’ve spent the last several hours making calls. Everyone who had an appointment this week had to be rescheduled, which was about as fun as getting a root canal. High-powered people in the midst of marital counseling aren’t generally the most understanding lot. More than one demanded that I come over to their home instead of inconveniencing them, and hollered at me when I declined.

  Because yes, I’m so sorry my life blew up and your session will be delayed a week. How rude of me.

  “Next I have to find a place to live, sign a bunch of paperwork with the insurance company, and buy a new wardrobe, along with furniture, dishes, flatware, and whatever else. Everything else. Thanks again for the clothes, by the way. I’m wearing a blouse I know must be yours because it’s all stretched out over my tits.”

  “That could be Chloe’s! She just had a baby, her boobs got totally bigger!”

  “She went from an A cup to a B cup, honey, that’s not exactly getting bigger.”

  Kat grumbles, “I’m sure A.J. would disagree.” She pauses for a second, and then says, “Speaking of Chloe, I talked to her this morning.”

  I have my coffee cup in hand, halfway to my mouth, but stop short at the tone in Kat’s voice. “And?”

  She exhales a worried breath. “Annnd . . . A.J. was taking another nap.”

  “Oh shit.” I sink into the captain’s chair behind my desk.

  “I know. I’m really worried, too. What do you think we should do?”

  “Talk to her about it, definitely, before we try to do anything else, like force him to go see a doctor.” Now it’s my turn to pause. “Which reminds me.”

  Kat knows what I’m going to say before I utter another word. “I made the appointment with a fertility specialist this morning. It’s this Friday at three.”

  Her voice is subdued. She’s trying to be strong because I’m neck deep in my own pile of shit, but I know her. On the inside she’s having a meltdown.

  “I’m going with you,” I say promptly. When she doesn’t respond, I demand, “What?”

  She says quietly, “I haven’t told Nico.”

  “Oh, honey.” My heart goes out to her. She tells Nico everything, so for her to withhold this, she must really be terrified.

  “Don’t say anything to Brody, okay?” she pleads. “I’ll tell Nico, I promise, I just . . . I just don’t want . . .”

  “You don’t want him to worry unnecessarily if there’s nothing wrong,” I finish gently.

  A little sniffle comes through the other end of the phone. “Yes.”

  “Sweetie, everything’s going to be fine. I promise. I double promise, okay? Not knowing is the worst part. Once you know what you’re dealing with, one way or another, you can figure out a plan how to move forward.” My voice turns wry. “Trust me, I know.”

  Kat huffs out a breath. “Oh fucksicles. I’m such a twat.”

  “What’ve you done now?”

  “St. Patrick’s Day is only a few weeks away and I haven’t even started to plan for our annual movie night.”

  Every year since we became friends, Kat, Chloe, and I spend St. Patrick’s Day together, watching old movies, eating ice cream, and drinking too many margaritas. It’s basically the exact same thing we do every year on Kat’s birthday, but instead of trying to cheer Kat up because it’s the anniversary of the day her father left, we’re trying to cheer me up because it’s the anniversary of my parents’ deaths.

  We really need to get happier reasons for annual get-togethers.

  “If I’m still crashing at Brody’s, we should have it there. You should see the size of the TV in the living room. I think it can be seen from outer space.”

  “You think you’ll still be crashing at Brody’s in three weeks?”

  I sigh, gazing out the window again. “We’ll see.”

  “Whoa. Whoa! Was that a swoony sigh? Did Grace ‘Titanium’ Stanton just make a super swoony sigh?”

  “Get a grip on yourself, Katherine. I don’t swoony anything.”

  “You totally did,” she breathes, a thrill in her voice.

  I warn, “Kat.”

  She goes all practical on me. “Oh, okay, so you’re s
aying he’s just another random pony ride for you?”

  I roll my eyes. “You know very well I’m not saying anything of the sort.”

  “Of course you’re not, because I was there when you said—and I quote—‘he makes me feel like everything bad that’s ever happened to me was worth it because it was all leading up to him.’”

  I say drily, “So now you have a photographic memory. Congratulations. That would’ve been very convenient when you were trying to find the Hermès scarf I lent you last year that you lost.”

  After a short pause, she asks, “You know he’s in love with you, right?”

  The flush starts in my chest, creeps up my neck, and invades my cheeks, where it starts to burn. “He did mention something to that effect.”

  She gasps. “He told you he loves you?”

  “Not those three words, but the general idea.”

  “Did you say it back?”

  She sounds overly excited, like I’ve just told her she’s won a cruise to the Bahamas. “Of course not.”

  “Why of course not?”

  “Well, for one thing, it’s way too soon.”

  Her voice sours. “It’s never too soon to tell someone how you feel, dumbass.”

  I recline in my chair and close my eyes. “Okay, I’m not saying the L word, but he is amazing. Everything I could possibly want in a man: kind, funny, smart, good-looking, successful, passionate . . . good God is he passionate. For someone who looks like the boy next door he fucks like the devil.”

  “Wait. I thought you said he was ‘respecting’ you and refused to give you the D?”

  “There might have been a little slippage.”

  Kat laughs. “What, like you tripped and fell on his erection?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Well, if I know you, he’ll be giving you the D on the regular within twenty-four hours. I don’t know if you sprinkle pixie dust on your cooch or what, sister, but I’ve never seen anyone with such power to produce boners in the male population.”

  Now it’s my turn to laugh. “Oh yes, didn’t you know? That’s my superpower. My boner-inducing supercooch. I’m saving the world with it, one man at a time.”

  “You should be almost there by now!”

  “Ha.”

  “Which brings me to my next question: Barney.”

  My stomach tightens at the odd tone in her voice. “That wasn’t a question.”

  “Yeah, well, you should know that even though he was acting like everything was fine when we left yesterday, he spent the entire drive home white-knuckled, looking like he was about to go on a murder spree. I’ve never seen him so agitated.”

  When I don’t say anything because I’m mulling over that tidbit of information, Kat prompts, “Did Brody tell you what he said to him at the car?”

  “No. Did Barney tell you?”

  “No. But I got the distinct feeling from Barney’s stabby vibe that he wasn’t happy about it.”

  The last thing I can add to my worry list right now is Barney. The worry list is already too full. “He’s a big boy. He’ll be fine.”

  Kat’s tone turns hesitant. “Was there . . . anything going on between you guys?”

  “Nothing other than a little harmless flirting,” I answer truthfully.

  “Somehow I don’t think he took it as harmless.”

  My office phone rings. “Sweetie, I’ve got to get back to work. Can I call you later?”

  “Of course! And let me know if you want me to come shopping with you, I need some new lingerie.”

  “New lingerie? You have more lingerie than any woman I know!”

  “The baby-making efforts require a lot of costume changes.”

  I laugh out loud. “Will do. Talk to you later.”

  “Love you, Gracie.”

  “Love you, too, Kat.”

  When we hang up, I’m smiling. I answer my office phone with a brisk “Grace Stanton speaking.”

  “Hello, beautiful. Am I interrupting?”

  Low and sexy, Brody’s voice sends a rash of goose bumps up my spine.

  “Hey, you. Why aren’t you calling on my cell? Not that I mind, it’s nice to hear your voice either way.”

  “Because it’s been so long since you heard it,” he jokes, though I can tell he’s pleased.

  I lean back in my chair and put my feet up on the edge of my desk. “Well, you know what they say. Parting is such sweet sorrow.”

  “And now she’s quoting Shakespeare! Awesome. Good thing I paid attention in my English Lit classes.”

  I’m grinning, feeling stupidly happy all of a sudden. “It’s impossible for me to picture you sitting behind a desk in class. I bet you were the teacher’s pet.”

  “Let’s just say I got a lot of A’s for no good reason.”

  “Being cute has its perks, hmm?”

  “Cute?” he repeats, offended. “Excuse me, Slick, but kittens are cute. Babies are cute. I am devastatingly handsome.”

  “It’s hard for me to tell one way or the other with that giant ego obscuring my view.”

  He chuckles. “Is ego your code word for ‘penis’?”

  “Of course it is, Kong. You’re much too intelligent for me to slip these things past.”

  “Speaking of penises, what time do you think you’ll be finished at the office?”

  I make a face at the phone. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re the absolute worst at changing subjects?”

  He breezes right past that, saying, “Because I want to take you out on a date.”

  “A date?”

  “You sound like you’ve never heard of the practice. Let me inform you. So a guy likes a girl, right, and he wants to impress her. So he goes, ‘Hey, girl, let’s go get some food or something—’”

  I snort. “Yes, that’s very impressive.”

  “And she goes, ‘I’d love to! You manly, manly man!’ And then he picks her up in his car and takes her to a fancy restaurant and spends a lot of money on dinner and wine and tries to be really cool with his conversation so she’s all impressed with him—”

  “Is this story going anywhere except Crazy Town?”

  “—and then they go back to his place and he tries out all his super slick manly moves on her until she’s dizzy with passion, and then they do it.”

  “Right. Except in our version of a date, we wouldn’t do it, because the guy is so busy respecting the girl he’s all discombobulated and thinks he can’t possibly treat her with consideration and regard while also humping her into blissful oblivion. Which is what the girl wants more than anything, so actually the guy is disrespecting her by not allowing her to get her freak on with him.”

  “Geez, when you put it that way I sound like a selfish prick.”

  “Hey, if the shoe fits . . .”

  His voice drops. “Allow me to correct you about something, however. I did let you get your freak on.”

  The blatantly sexual tone of his voice makes me squirm. In a good way. “Well. Maybe a little.”

  “Only a little, hmm? We’ll have to do something about that.”

  Dear George Carlin in heaven I certainly hope so.

  I turn the conversation to a safer topic before I stick my hand in my pants and start frantically grinding on it. “I should be done here in about an hour, but I need to start house-hunting—”

  “That’s last on the to-do list,” says Brody confidently. “Since you already have a place to stay. With amazing views. And a fantastic landlord. Rent free.”

  “Rent free? No. I’m not comfortable staying there without paying you anything.”

  Brody’s pause is unnaturally loud. “If you ever say anything so stupid to me again, I’ll take you over my knee. Not in a good way, before you get too excited.”

  I can tell by his tone that he’s dead serious. But what he doesn’t know is that I’m dead serious, too. I pay my own way. I always have and I always will. Nobody’s giving me a handout, even if I do happen to be shagging him.

>   Or whatever it is we’re doing.

  “We’ll talk about this on our date.”

  His tone turns from stern to playful. “So you accept?”

  “You’re right, I shouldn’t be so hasty. Where are you taking me?”

  “Where do you want to go?”

  “No, that’s not how this works! You’re the guy, I’m the girl, you just told me you’re supposed to pick me up in your car and take me out to wine me and dine me! I shouldn’t have to decide where we’re going!”

  “You’re high maintenance, aren’t you? Like super, ultra, mega high maintenance.”

  I smile. “I can afford to be high maintenance, Kong. I’m the one paying the bills.”

  “Not with me you’re not, Slick.”

  “I can tell this is going to be a sticking point,” I say, chewing on the end of a pencil. “What if we compromise?”

  “Sure. We’ll compromise by having me pay for everything.”

  I throw the pencil down. “That’s not a compromise, that’s a dictatorship!”

  “No, a dictatorship is when I don’t let you have a say in anything. I’m just not letting you have a say in this one thing.” His voice drops. “And by the way, can I take a moment to say that when you’re tied up you’re the sexiest, most beautiful, arousing, tantalizing, cock-stiffening woman ever in the history of mankind? You should see your eyes, Grace. You should see your face. The way you look at me makes me feel like a sex god. Fuck, I’m hard just thinking about it.”

  My heart starts to beat faster. My mouth is suddenly dry. “Another random topic change, but thank you.” Feeling something like shyness, I add, “I like the way you look at me, too.”

  “Yeah? What else do you like?”

  His voice has gained that gravelly edge it gets when he’s aroused. Hearing it sends a ripple of pleasure down between my legs.

  “I like the way you touch me.”

  “How do I touch you?”

  I close my eyes, remembering. “Like . . . you’re trying to memorize my body with your hands.”

  “I am. With my hands, and my mouth.”

  I nearly groan aloud. His mouth, oh yes, his mouth.