Yeah and then he totally rubbed makeup all over my neck. Incredibly gently, I might add. Finished, he inspected it for a second, squinting his eyes. "Did it cover?"
"I know it's there so I can make it out the tiniest bit, but I don't think anyone else will see. Especially if you throw a necklace on to distract them," he added as he went to the sink to wash his hands. "Baby, do me a favor and flip those pancakes."
I looked over at the stove dubiously. "You do know who you're talking to, right? I didn't even know I had to remove that plastic stuff."
"Spatula, scoop, flip, drop. I have faith in you."
Well, when he put it that way, it seemed like a seven year-old could do it. I flipped the pancakes, revealing the perfect golden side that made my belly growl. "You can cook," I commented, looking down at the circles.
Paine laughed, coming up behind me, his arm snaking around my belly as he reached for the box of pancake mix beside the bowl he used to mix it and held it up. "It's just add water and drop it into a pan. Not really a way to fuck that up. You smell good," he said, leaning down and nuzzling slightly into my neck in a way that engaged the lady bits that went to sleep unfulfilled the night before.
"Thanks," I mumbled as he reached for the spatula, scooped up the pancakes and piled them on a plate beside the stove. "What, are you feeding an army?" I asked, laughing at the massive pile of pancakes he had already made.
"Like the way your ass fills out jeans, babygirl. Want to make sure you keep it. Sit," he said, jerking his chin toward the stools at the island.
Feeling a little awkward, I followed instructions. I'd never had a man cook for me before. And, seeing as I didn't cook myself, I'd never really shared an intimate breakfast with someone before. Paine slid a plate with four pancakes in front of me then came back a minute later with utensils, syrup, and coffee.
"Eat," he said, shuffling around as he, I imagined, made himself food.
Maybe he liked the way my ass filled out my jeans, but if I kept eating junk, it was going to positively bust out of them sooner rather than later. I wasn't the kind of woman blessed with the metabolism of a fifteen year-old boy. If I didn't watch what I ate and workout, I put on weight easily, effortlessly. I made a mental note to hit the gym an extra night or two that week and dove into my pancakes. Because, well, he made them for me. No way was I rejecting them because of some ridiculous concerns about my waistline.
Paine sat down silently and started eating. Feeling uncomfortable with the silence, I reached for my coffee. "What time did you get up if you managed to get all of this done?"
"Five," he said with a shrug like that was totally normal.
"Five? Farmers aren't even up at five."
Paine gave me a sweet smile, reaching for his coffee. "I usually get up and hit the gym before I open the shop."
"Thank you for cooking," I said, reaching for another fork full. There was no way I was going to finish all of it, given how unaccustomed my stomach was to eating at all in the morning, let alone loading up on carbs and sugar.
"Why are you being weird?" he asked, making my head pop up.
"What?" Weird? I was being weird?
"Yeah, baby, weird. All awkward and shit. Not like you."
Shit. He was right. I was being awkward. That was because I felt awkward.
"Sorry. I dunno. I'm in a strange mood I guess," I said and it was mostly true.
Paine's stool scraped across the floor as he stood, coming around the end of the island toward me. I instinctively turned on my stool to face him just as both his hands moved, reaching out, and cradling my face as he lowered down toward me, his lips hitting mine hard and hungry and tasting like syrup and coffee. All of it was way too intimate and demanding for a good morning kiss. But damn if it wasn't nice. My hands went out and grabbed his hips, using them as leverage as I moved to stand, pressing my body against his. His head tilted and his tongue traced my lips until they parted, sneaking in and claiming mine as his hands left my face, pressing down my back and circling around my hips, pulling upward slightly until I was on my tiptoes. My arms went around his neck tight, holding on, as a small whimper escaped me.
At the sound, Paine slowed and stopped the kiss, pulling backward and waiting until my eyes opened. "Feel better?" he asked, eyes bright.
"Ah, I..." I stumbled, feeling all tingly and sated.
"You feel better," he said with a self-satisfied smile. "You better get going or you're gonna be late. I'll clean up and set the alarm before I leave."
"Oh, um, okay," I said, nodding as I released his neck and took a step back.
"Bring this in case you need a touch-up," he said, handing me the tube of tattoo cover-up.
"Right... thanks..."
"Go," he said with a grin.
With that, I turned to grab my purse and keys and did what he said, ignoring the voice that was telling me that interaction felt a lot like a goodbye.
I threw myself in my car and backed out, cranking up the stereo and hoping I could drown out the voice inside.
Because, even if it was goodbye, so what?
He wasn't my boyfriend. He didn't even seem like boyfriend material. Nothing about him suggested he was a relationship-type of guy. He probably got around as much as he could. I couldn't fault him for that exactly, but it said he was used to the hit-and-quit kind of situation. And while I might have had two or three affairs in my time, I was not a hit-and-quit kind of girl.
Though maybe just this one time...
No.
Okay. I needed to get my shit together and focus on the things that mattered: work, friends, finding my sister. I didn't need to waste brain space thinking about a non-relationship that had absolutely no potential to become a relationship.
So yeah.
That was the plan.
--
Nine and a half hours later, I felt marginally better. I threw myself into work. I hit the gym for a good, heart-pounding workout, spending most of the time running on the treadmill. First, because it was great cardio. Second, because it was a good way to focus because I hated it so much. Third, it worked off some of the stress and sexual tension.
"Running like you think you can actually outrun your problems," Shane Mallick, the gym owner, and also, apparently, the loan shark, commented as I made my way toward the doors afterward.
"Hell, maybe if I commit hard enough, I can."
"Wishful thinking, sweetheart," his voice followed as I walked outside.
And, well, I knew that was true. But still, I felt alright as I pulled into my drive and went into my house. I went up and took a shower, watching the tattoo cover-up run down my body after scrubbing with a loufa. It even lasted through a sweaty workout. That stuff was amazing. I imagined if my bruises didn't start fading, I was going to be using it for a while.
I had just slipped into a very unappealing outfit of oversize sweats and a roomy, ratty tee when my doorbell chimed. I ran down the stairs, blindly pushing on my glasses as I fiddled with the locks.
"Oh," I said, jumping back slightly at the image of Paine standing on my front steps. Not only was he standing there, but he was cleaned up. Meaning, that he had on black slacks, a tailored, tucked-in black button-up, a black belt with a nice solid silver buckle, and a watch on his wrist that years of watch buying for my father told me cost at least five grand. "Um... hi," I fumbled, realizing I had been staring.
"Hey babygirl," he said, doing an inspection with an amused smile.
"What are you doing here?" I blurted out.
"Taking you to dinner," he said, slipping his hands into his front pockets.
"You're taking me to dinner? Now?"
"No, next Thursday. I got dressed for the fuck of it."
"Why?" I asked, brows drawing together.
I had pretty successfully managed to convince myself Paine was a thing of the past over the past few hours. So him standing at my door, all cleaned up and asking me on a date, yeah... I was a l
ittle confused.
"Gotta eat. I can do it alone. I'd rather do it while looking at a gorgeous face. I left an hour for you to get yourself together. Don't know how long it takes you to slip into a dress and heels, but judging by how long it takes my sisters, we'll probably still be late for our reservation."
I shook my head, trying to clear it of the fog. "I, ah, I'll be done in half an hour."
"Miracle," Paine said, rocking back onto the heels of his black dress shoes. "You forgetting something, babygirl?"
Forgetting something? What could I be forgetting seeing as I hadn't expected him in the first place?
"You gonna kiss me or not?"
"Oh," I said, feeling a silly smile pull at my lips as I stepped into the doorway, leaned up, and pressed a quick kiss to his lips.
"I don't know what the fuck that was, but it wasn't a kiss," he complained as soon as I went down on my flat feet.
My lips twitched. "Maybe you need to show me what a kiss is then," I challenged.
Before I could even finish speaking, his hand was at the back of my neck and he was simultaneously moving into the entryway and slamming me back against the wall as his mouth crashed down on mine. There was nothing tentative or gentle about the kiss. His lips seared into mine, claiming them, branding them, guaranteeing I would feel him there for hours afterward.
Just when I felt like my body was going to melt into a puddle of need, he pulled away, released my head to push my glasses back up my nose a little. "For future reference, that was a kiss. Now go get into something that shows off those pins of yours; I'll occupy myself for a while."
I moved off the wall, nodding, a bit too dazed from the kiss to say anything. As he crossed toward the living room, he slapped my ass hard enough to make my step falter. When I looked over my shoulder at him, he was smirking.
Before I could run across the room and jump him, I hurried upstairs to get myself put together. He didn't tell me where we were going, but judging by the way he was dressed and the request for dress and heels, I imagined it was somewhere nice.
I grabbed a black lace underwear set, black garter belt, and sheer stockings, a simple little black dress that showed barely a hint of cleavage but a whole helluva lot of leg, and a pair of ultra-thin spike heels in a matte black color. I fixed my hair, applied more tattoo makeup, made my eyes a little smoky and slipped into my clothes. Contacts in, I spritzed a little perfume and added simple diamond studs to my ears. I slathered on some lip balm, because no way was I putting on lipstick that might discourage more kissing like we had just done, then made my way back downstairs with five extra minutes to spare.
At the sound of my heels on the floor, Paine turned his attention away from the TV and looked at me. Letting out a low whistle, he patted his knee.
A part of me knew I really shouldn't always go to him when called me like a dog, but... come on. A man like Paine told you to follow him into hell, you ignored the demons and fire and went with him. So I moved toward him, stepping between his legs, then lowered myself down on one of his thighs. One of his arms rested across my thighs, the other went around my waist and pulled me to the side against his chest, nestling my face under his chin.
When the silence stretched, his arm tightened around me slightly. "What's up with you?"
"What do you mean?"
"Don't know you that well, but I do know you're not the quiet type. So what's up?"
"Paine we have to get to dinner before we lose our reservation."
"Fuck our reservation. I want to know what's up. Was it that shit Sawyer dropped last night?"
"Paine..."
"Listen, I'm not the emotional touchy-feely kind of man, but I don't like a woman bullshitting me either. So tell me what's up; we'll talk it out. If you don't want to talk about it, then you need to fucking let it go."
Well then.
That was... refreshing.
I was used to men doing one of two things: demanding to know every detail of what I was thinking, or men not wanting to hear word one about my thoughts or feelings.
It was nice to be given an option.
And, well, I think I've established that I am not the kind of woman who could let things go. So I was going to swallow my pride and talk it out with him.
"Why are you taking me to dinner?" I asked, my focus on the TV. "You don't really seem like the kind of man to wine and dine."
"I'm not," he said bluntly, making me try to pull away to look at him, but he wouldn't let me. "You want the truth?"
"Always," I said honestly. Even if what I heard was something I didn't like, it was way better than what would go on in my head if I was left to come to my own conclusions.
"I obviously haven't been a boy scout. When I was younger, it was all about money and power. Now, money is still important. So is respect, not so much the power. But one constant since I was old enough to chase a skirt, I've liked women. Meaning, a wide variety of them. I've never been a man for exclusivity. That being said, I'm up front about that shit. I don't lie or feed lines or tell women I'm going to call when I'm not. You know exactly what you're getting from me."
"Then why do I not know what I'm getting from you?"
"'Cause, baby, I got no fucking idea what is going on here." He paused, letting that sink in. "I like being around you. You're interesting, different. You're hot as shit. And, babygirl, I don't remember the last time I wanted to fuck someone as much as I want to fuck you. That being said, this ain't no promise of anything. Maybe we'll fuck and I'll want to move on. Maybe I'll want to hang around and keep fucking you until it's out of our systems. Maybe something else. Fuck if I know at this point. If you can live with that uncertainty, great, let's go to dinner. You think you can't, maybe we should call it a day because I'm not gonna be that guy."
"What guy?"
"The one who pulls you around, promising one thing one minute, then when you get comfortable and feel safe, changes his mind. I've seen assholes do that to my sisters; I've had countless nights of them showing up at my place crying. I don't want to be that guy. I don't want you to get comfortable, feel safe and stable, then fuck you over. So I'm sharing this with you now so you know not to latch on because this shit is new to me and I don't know how it's going to go."
"You never know how it's going to go," I said, shrugging a little.
"So you can live with it."
Could I? Honestly, I didn't know for sure. But the only way for foggy things to get clearer was to progress into them. So I just had to wrap some barbed wire around my heart and hope that, along with some surprisingly good communication skills, he wasn't equipped with wire cutters too.
"I'm a big girl, Paine. And I'm also really hungry. So where are you taking me?"
"Sushi," he said, pushing me onto my feet then standing himself. "Figured you didn't want any more comfort food after that workout."
I turned back on my way to the door. "Are you following me?"
"No, babe. Doesn't take a genius to guess that after the pancakes, you were feeling guilty and would hit the gym after work," he explained, letting me slip into my coat then putting a hand at my lower back as he led me out the front door.
Just like the apparent mobster Luca Grassi, Paine was the opening doors type. It was a quality I really appreciated. While, sure, I could open the thing my damn self, it was nice that there were still men out there who employed good old-fashioned chivalry, provided it didn't come with chauvinism. Something told me that since Paine grew up with a strong mother, aunts, grandmother, and two little sisters, there was no way he was going to pull that sexism shit on me.
Twenty minutes later, we were out of Navesink Bank and walking up to the best sushi restaurant in the area. It was situated right on the beach, the back deck allowing an uninterrupted view of the crashing waves, even in the dead of winter. The inside was sleek, sticking to a classic theme of orange and black: black tables, chairs, sushi bar, and drink bar, black hardwood floors, black textured wall
s and orange hanging dome lights, orange upholstery on the booth backs, and water color black and orange understated artwork. The music, as always, was low and bluesy, inviting conversation. Paine walked me up to the hostess, his hand at my lower back, and I realized that it was a quality I really liked about him. Around other people, he liked to have a hand on me, claiming me. Maybe I was setting my sex back a couple of years to admit I liked it, but I did.
We sat and ordered drinks. Paine kept up light comments on the menu selection. I had my own menu up, but I hadn't so much as glanced at it, far more occupied watching him read his.
"What?" he asked, looking up with a smile, catching me.
"Nothing," I said, averting my eyes.
"Nuh-uh. You aren't getting off that easy."
"Nothing. You look nice," I admitted with a casual shrug. "And," I rushed to add, feeling almost a little shy at the admission which was completely unlike me, "I hadn't expected you to be a sushi kind of guy."
"You think I look nice, huh?"
"Shut up," I laughed, swatting him with my menu.
"I mean, can't blame you for thinking that, babygirl. I'm fine as fuck..."
"And so humble," I smiled.
"Know what?"
"No, what?"
"You look nice too. And by 'nice' I mean it's taking just about every ounce of self-control I got to not drag you off to the bathroom, hike up that skirt, and fuck you hard enough for this entire restaurant to know how much I like how you look in that dress."
He said this, mind you, as the waitress came back to drop our drinks. So, yeah, she overheard the entire thing and her cheeks went pink and she couldn't quite make eye-contact with either of us as she took our order.
"What?" he asked when I shook my head at him as she walked away. "Pretty sure everyone in here knows we want to fuck each other."
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