Let me correct that—there is no might in noticing my erect dick when it’s only hiding behind a layer of Calvin Klein cotton.
I trotted my happy ass down the hall to the guest room, wondering how she could be sleeping through the racket.
The bed was empty.
No wonder it hadn’t woken her up.
I headed for the red digits glowing softly in the dark and found the clock on the nightstand. I pressed anything on it that stuck out until the thing shut up.
Walking slowly toward the living room, I tried to think of an appropriate way to roust her today. I didn’t want to overuse the coach’s whistle and risk losing its punch. Besides, who knew if it would do the trick on its own? Last time, the phone had woken her to groggy and the whistle had simply sealed the deal.
Maybe the stereo turned up really loud? She was less than three feet from a speaker.
I got to the end of the hall—
And stopped.
Somehow, sometime during the night, the little pixie on my sofa had transformed.
Her caramel-colored hair was fanned out over the pillow and partially obscuring her face. A faint pink washed her cheeks, and her lips, still and quiet for once, were parted, the color of almost-ripe raspberries. I had a swift flash of desire, wondering if they were as delicious as they looked.
Hell, who was I kidding? I knew how sweet they were, and I wanted another sample.
Instead, I adjusted the crotch of my sweatpants, turned on the TV, cranked the volume to 37, and hightailed it into the kitchen. Escaping the flying pillows—and the TV remote, which bounced off the wall near the doorway—had nothing to do with why I ran.
Somebody had to start the coffee.
I let Jen shower first. She was a guest, after all.
Besides, thinking about her being naked, in my house, with water and streaky soap suds running down her skin—and this was even before she had even gotten up from the sofa—had that morning wood heading toward granite and I was thinking I might need a little relief in the shower. If I showered first, I’d be S.O.L.
No, that’s not skeevy –it’s just truth. If you had a penis, you wouldn’t even question it.
So perhaps it was divine providence that I ran out of hot water just one minute into my shower. The goosebumps wiped out any thought of there having been, just minutes before, a beautiful woman in this same tiled expanse, all alone and running her hands over her slick, naked skin.
I rinsed off in record time, before Tack Junior could suck up inside me completely.
See, here’s the thing about that, which no man in his right mind will ever tell you—although we know our dick is in protection mode from frigid temperatures, it’s disturbing as all hell for a guy to watch the thing pretty much vanish.
I mean, what if it doesn’t come back? It’s something every guy worries about.
We know it should come back, and it always has—but what if, one day, it… didn’t?
My life would be over, that’s what.
Oh, hey, sorry about the sidetrack. We were talking about hard-ons, mine in particular. And the cause of mine today—well, I had to wonder if all women looked that smolderingly angelic when they were sleeping. It almost made me want to let my next bedsport partner talk me into sleeping over, just to find out.
Almost.
But a fleeting image is not enough reason to start letting some random woman get ideas of tomorrows and other magical fantasies.
Although the regular fantasies would be lots of fun.
Speaking of handing out bad ideas, we didn’t carpool, although we could have. I didn’t feel like explaining to anyone at the station how we ended up in the same car, and if I didn’t explain, they’d get ideas of their own.
Besides, it’s not like we had talked about much over our coffee besides who was going to be served for breakfast on the Rubbish Report. I had no idea what Jen’s plans were for the rest of the day.
***
“How was your first night?”
“What?” I stared at Carmen, sitting behind the reception desk.
“Jensen staying at your place. How’d it go?”
Sweet Christ on a tricycle, was nothing even remotely private in this place? Not that her sleeping in my guest room (or on my sofa, as it were) was a big deal, but still. “Oh, that,” I said, making it perfectly clear that Jen in my house wasn’t the foremost thought in my head. “She brought pizza and our dogs seem to like each other.”
Carmen’s smile seemed a little too bright. And much as I’d like to tell you Or maybe that was only me, I knew it wasn’t. If I know anything in this world, it’s people of the female persuasion, and this particular female thought she knew a secret.
Hah. These aren’t the droids you’re looking for. Move along, Little Miss Receptionist, move along.
Jensen breezing down the hall into the reception area saved me from actually saying that out loud.
“Morning, Carmen. Why are you in so early?”
I was wondering that myself. The reception area was normally empty when I got the previous day’s mail and messages at seven a.m. Which was exactly why I did it then.
“I guess you haven’t read your memos yet. You’ve got a really big-name interview coming up next week, so I have to tidy up the whole front area.”
I glanced around the lobby; it all looked fine to me. Even the leaves on the plants were shiny and dust-free.
Carmen had apparently noticed me looking. “I know, it doesn’t need a thing. But BK is freaking on it, so he ordered me in early. I can sit around and drink coffee while he pays me overtime—no sweat.”
A squeal sounded from my left and I turned to catch Jensen bouncing on her toes, an enormous grin plastered on her face. “Did you see this yet?” She shook a piece of paper in my general direction.
I scanned my copy. “JT Blackwood from Slanker Knox? He’s been in before. Nice guy.”
“My God, I’m going to babble like an idiot. We never got, like, really famous people in KC.”
“You do know he’s married, Jen.”
“I didn’t say I wanted to sleep with him.” She scowled at me and went on, “It’s just that he’s world-famous, and I’ve ever only interviewed local celebrities.”
“You could send him over to The Morning Crew if he’s too much for you two.” I hadn’t noticed when Milo arrived. If I had, I’d have been irritated sooner.
“We’re fine. You won’t be getting a ratings boost off our backs, Emilio.” I knew he hated his first name as much as I despised mine, so of course, I used it whenever possible. “Besides, Slanker Knox isn’t even in your station’s rotation—why would you interview their lead singer?”
In typical Milo fashion, he was reduced to walking away without another word.
Too bad. I wanted to rub his face in my and Jen’s ever-increasing demographics. And the fact that JT and I were acquaintances who traded dirty jokes via email.
Freaking Milo. Hard to believe I shared a studio with that guy for a couple of years and not one bit of personality rubbed off on him. I didn’t expect him to be a Mini-Me, but for chrissake, did he still have to be Velveeta and mayo on white bread?
Jen and Carmen were squealing and drooling over the mere idea of JT Blackwood and his English accent, so I left to go back to the studio; we had several songs queued up to play, but I was still leery about trusting the software completely. That’s what I told them, anyway. Truth was, those two needed a time-out in the Sexual Harassment Lounge far more than I did.
Jen and I had our usual smalltalk in the booth—at first. It sort of petered out by nine into an easy quiet. I was scanning news headlines; I have no idea what Jensen was up to on her side of the counter.
I was a little startled when she interrupted the silence with, “Tack?”
I looked at her over the top of my laptop screen with raised eyebrows, the universal guy-face for “What?”
“Are you heading straight home?”
“Almost. We need more co
ffee and milk. Why?” Look at me with all the we and shit.
“I was thinking of swinging by my condo after work to make sure they got started on time, and wanted to make sure you’d be home to let me in after.”
I realized we hadn’t addressed much since Come to my house, I have a spare bed. “No sweat, Jen. My mom has a spare key for when I go out of town. I’ll pick that up on the way home, too.”
She just sort of stared at me for a moment, and I swear I couldn’t define the look in her eyes if you put a gun to my head. “That’d be great. Thanks, Tack.”
So, after work, I was headed to the house of my greatest supporter and nemesis.
Then I came to my senses and decided to make a copy of the key at the hardware store. I’d never hear the end of it if my mother knew I had a woman staying at my house, even if that woman was my co-host.
And my friend, I realized with surprise.
I’d never had a female friend before. Co-workers, acquaintances, girlfriends of my friends, ex-lovers by the bushelful—absolutely. A woman whom I sought out to talk to? A skirt-wearing contrary opinion whom I still spoke with after we’d argued? None, that I can ever recall, and I have a damn good memory.
I missed her face when it wasn’t around, and looked forward to seeing her again almost as soon as we’d parted. She had somehow gotten under my skin and, though I’d have never thought it possible, I sort of liked having her there.
While the True Value guy cut the key, I flipped through the rack of keyrings, ‘cause watching him work was stupid and you can only look at so many spray paint cans. There were the usual car logos, cartoon characters, and glittery Hello Kitty heads. Amidst the sparkle, I saw one that I knew Jen would love. I snatched it off the rack and hooked it over my finger, spinning it in circles and watching it flash.
The guy finished with the duplicate and I slid it onto the new keyring. The cashier put the whole works into a small kraft-paper bag, like the kind my mother used to get cards from the Hallmark store in. I folded over the top so nothing could fall out and set it on the passenger seat of my car.
And slapped my hand over it on the first turn so it wouldn’t slide off onto the floorboard and get wrinkled and dirty.
I did the whole anti-slide thing again when I had to hit the brakes fast and hard.
This was getting ridiculous. It wasn’t gift wrap, it was a goddamn bag.
I tucked it up into the visor, instead.
The folded brown edge flirted with my peripheral vision, making me think about what was inside.
It was just a Spare. Damn. Key.
Not jewelry, not the key to my heart (whatever the hell that was supposed to mean—I guess thinking about Mom and her Hallmark cards got me a little sappy), but whatever. Definitely not a big deal.
So why did it feel like the stupid thing was jeering at me from inside its plain brown wrapper?
“It’s just a temporary thing, so shut up,” I mumbled in the general direction of the bag.
It didn’t respond.
Big surprise there.
“Seriously, quit waving your flap at me.” I shoved the bag a little further under the visor wing until I could barely see it was there.
What the hell was with me all of a sudden? I’m talking to a keyring. And stressing over it.
She wasn’t moving in.
She was sleeping over, not sleeping with me, for seven days. (Seven days whispered creepily across the synapses in my brain.) I shook my head and just missed rear-ending an Audi.
I needed to get a fucking hold on myself, and right quick.
‘Cause yeah, it’d just be great to say, “Here’s your key, Jen, but you won’t be needing it after all, since we’re carpooling for the next week while I get my hood and front bumper uncrumpled.”
To show my inner wuss just what a big deal this was not, I yanked the bag down and tossed it on the passenger floor.
Chapter 11
*Scar Tissue*
“I generally keep dinner simple – that okay with you?” Talking to Jen while I got the food together didn’t feel as weird as I expected it to.
“Don’t change on my account. What can I do to help?” She washed her hands at the sink and, God help me, I had to sneak a peek at her ass. She was wearing low-cut jeans and a form-fitting red tee shirt with a hem that danced just above the waistband of the denim. While her perfect glutes were enticing, it was that tiny slice of flesh revealed by the too-short shirt that had me enthralled. I had an urge to kiss my way around that entire peaches-and-cream trail, then repeat it in reverse with a run of my tongue. I imagined how she’d taste, sugary with a little salt. I pictured her shivering in my arms, maybe starting a thread of goosebumps with the first kiss on the dimple above her right butt cheek.
Then I pictured Jensen smacking me on the back of the head and asking me what the hell I thought I was doing.
I dropped the head of lettuce I’d fished out of the crisper drawer and the dogs chased it as it rolled across the black and white tile.
Down, Tack Jr. Remember the Eleventh Commandment:
Thou shalt not fuck thy co-host.
And since she was sleeping under my roof through the upcoming weekend, I’d do well to repeat that like a damn mantra.
And maybe put on a blindfold, just to be safe.
I’d allow myself to take it off when I needed to work with kitchen knives or when I got out the razor to shave. No sense bleeding needlessly.
Although Jen would be sure to notice if I suddenly sprouted a bandanna over my entire face like I was playing Blind Man’s Bluff, and she’d question me about it.
Shit.
Seeing that there was no way to win here, it made more sense to leave my eyes on the seeing side of the spectrum.
Double shit.
“You okay? You look funny.”
Yeah, I’ll just bet I did.
“Just thinking about how to spice the chicken. You want to make the salad?” I turned my back to her and bent down to pick up the lettuce with one hand, surreptitiously adjusting the front of my pants with the other.
This was going to be one long fucking week.
After the clean-up (which I totally did, so keep your comments to yourself—just because there was a woman in the house did not mean that I expected her matching x-chromosomes to take over the housework), Jen wandered to the living room to pick out a movie while I grabbed us a couple of beers.
I also went back to my room and picked up the bag containing her key. It looked a little ratty now, that bag. I shook the contents into my hand and tossed the paper sack into the trash.
As Jen perused the titles on the shelves, I called her name quietly. She tossed a “Yeah?” over her shoulder, her eyes still glued to the spines of the DVD cases.
In her defense, I have over four hundred movies, and she probably didn’t want to lose her place. Still, this was important. I wanted her attention.
I needed to see her expression when she took the keychain.
Sure, I’d given Jen the Pop Tarts I’d picked out for myself, a constant hard time, and that one kiss, but this was the first thing I’d chosen specifically for her, and her liking it mattered.
“I have something for you.”
That got her to turn away from the shelf of videos. She smiled brightly and said, “It’s not an air horn to wake me up with, is it?”
“No, but now that you mention it…”
She took a step closer and smacked me on the arm. “I knew you couldn’t keep your hands off me,” I said, reaching out to grasp the one she’d whacked me with. I pressed the keychain into her palm. “Your key.”
I watched her face as she opened her fingers and took in what I’d found. Her smile widened as she dangled the fob by the key. The pink and black AC/DC logo spun slowly, the matching crystal-studded lightning bolt that ran down the middle of the letters winking in the fading light of the setting sun.
“Wow, Tack. This is really cool. Thank you.” She popped up on her toes and, w
ith one hand on the side of my face, kissed me on the cheek. It was over so fast that I barely had time to register what she’d done. And though her hands were both back down by her sides, I felt the tingle where her fingertips had been on my skin.
It burned. Or maybe that was simply how it felt when a grown man turned into a sappy girl.
She spun off to put the key in her purse, and I just stood there, silent and unable to move. This was a gigantic deal, both the key and what it was attached to, and she’d reduced it to something to stuff into the front pocket of her handbag.
Wow.
I cracked the top of my beer and settled into the corner of the couch.
Jen returned in her flannel pants and tee and told me I should choose the movie. I picked HBO instead; I didn’t want to get stuck with rolling credits and a comfy, snoozing Jensen trapping me on the sofa again.
Since there was beer to be consumed, Jensen decided to sort of recline on the sofa, using me as her backrest. I didn’t argue—she was soft and warm and a total conundrum.
I seriously didn’t know what to make of this dynamo named Jensen MacKenzie. Sometimes she flirted, other times she treated me like I was her brother. She was constantly surprising me with her reactions to pretty much everything, and her wit and intelligence were both razor-sharp. It was rare that someone beat me to a punchline, or treated me like the straightman, but she managed to do it every single day.
I wasn’t sure if I was jealous that she was better than me or half in love with her.
So when she nestled into my shoulder, I decided it was best not to read anything into it (I’d probably be wrong, anyway) and made a spot for her to rest her head by putting my arm up on the back of the sofa. After a few adjustments, she settled her cheek into the hollow I’d created and drew her legs up onto the cushions sideways.
Ted was just starting, and though it was a little raunchy, it was also hilarious and a movie Jensen had never seen. A half an hour into the movie, my arm was falling asleep, and so was Jen. I could tell because she’d stopped laughing, and her beer was tilting precariously in her drooping hand. I took the bottle and polished it off, then set it with my two empties on the floor.
Waking Up in Vegas Page 10
