by Dawn Atkins
Reaching the top of the stairs, she knocked at his door. He called for her to come in and she did, prepared to start her lecture. Except he was playing his guitar on the sofa, wearing the Love Thief’s tight black jeans with just a black leather vest over his bare chest. He looked so good with his muscular arm over the guitar, his skilled fingers on the strings, that she stood there, bags dangling, her speech stuck in her throat.
“What’s in the bags?” he asked softly, his magical fingers still working the strings.
“Stir-fry,” she choked out, mesmerized. “What’s with the outfit?” If he was planning a swooning groupie fantasy, she was there. Let the bok choy wilt on the terrace.
“I have to pretend to be a rock star for Lionel and Lucy’s daughter Abby. She’s turning five and having a little birthday party. It’ll just take a few minutes. Mind coming with?”
“Not at all.” Anywhere, anytime.
The more time Kara spent with Ross, the more she saw of his thoughtful side. She knew he picked up groceries and took out trash for the elderly couple two doors down—he claimed it was so they wouldn’t call the cops when he played his stereo loud, but she knew he was just concerned about them. And he did minor electrical repairs for the landlords and painted all their signage. And here he was serving as entertainment for their daughter’s birthday. Things about Ross sneaked up on you.
Ross helped her bring the bags into the kitchen, then she followed his rock-star-caliber butt down the stairs. Outside the landlord’s door, he started in on a popular rock song.
The door flew open and a little squirt with bright red hair chirped, “You came!” then threw her arms around his knees.
“I couldn’t miss the big five, could I, buckaroo?” he said. He squatted down to her level. “You’ve grown up since yesterday—a whole year’s worth, I think.” He pretended to measure her with his hand.
“I told my friends all about you,” Abby said. “Will you play…” She rattled off a list of songs, to which he nodded, then they all went inside.
Six little girls sat in a rapt circle around Ross while he played and sang, making eye contact with each of them in turn. Kara could practically see the crushes developing on their little faces. She felt a tightness in her chest and realized she had a bit of a crush, too. Temporary, of course, and lust inspired, no doubt.
When Ross finished, Lucy brought out a homemade cake with a lopsided top layer and erratic frosting.
Abby proudly presented two pieces to Ross and Kara.
“You make this yourself?” Ross asked, taking a bite of his.
“Just the frosting.”
“That’s the best part,” he whispered. “But don’t tell your mom I said that. Might hurt her feelings.”
Abby just beamed, then ran off with her friends to play games. Her mother hugged Ross. “She’ll be talking about this for weeks,” she said, then turned to Kara. “I hope you know how special this guy is.”
“I think I do.” The more special he seemed, the more trouble she was in.
“Just trying to rise to the company I keep,” Ross said, grinning at Lucy, then Kara. God, he made her feel good.
They headed up to the apartment and Kara’s thoughts turned to The Talk—no more hot looks at work and Ross ought to get serious about going for the creative department manager’s job.
Ross put his guitar in his bedroom and she was dismayed to see he didn’t put a shirt on under that damnable leather vest. Her attraction was a low-level hum of electricity, sparking now and then when he looked at her or their bodies accidentally brushed.
He helped her unload the bags—a monstrous pile of food—bok choy, green onions, cabbage, peppers in three colors, cherry tomatoes along with peanuts, hot Thai peppers—and a brand-new wok with utensils.
“You bought a wok?” Ross asked.
“You like Asian food. I’ll show you how to use it and you can do some cooking for yourself instead of takeout all the time. Better for you.”
“I’ll pay you for it.”
“It’s a gift—from a friend.” His bewildered gratitude embarrassed her. Was she doing too much?
Now was the time to talk about being civilized at work, but she just didn’t feel ready. Instead, she opened a cupboard to see what he had in the way of dishes. Just some souvenir Arizona Diamondbacks glasses, a few coffee mugs and three stoneware plates, all chipped. “Is this all you have?”
“Plenty for me.”
“I just bought a new set of dinnerware. I’ll bring you my old stuff.”
“Not necessary.”
“I’d rather give them to you than have you buy them from Goodwill later.”
“Okay,” he said, puzzled by her generosity. “You’re doing too much for me.”
She was just making his place more homey and complete. Right? Something about her motives bothered her, but she ignored it.
“Check these out,” Ross said, opening a cupboard to reveal shelves crammed with mugs and tumblers of cartoon characters, comic book superheroes and movie stars. “Now these are worth something.” He held out two mugs with the Three Stooges garishly shaped into their surfaces. “I’ll trade these for your plates.”
“No thanks. You keep them. Drinking out of Curly’s nostril kind of kills my appetite,” she said. She thrust a bag of celery at him. “Clean and chop the vegetables, okay? I’ll work on the meat. That’s assuming you have decent knives.” She pulled open a drawer that should have held silverware, but instead contained watercolor paints and felt markers.
“To the left,” he said.
She opened the drawer he’d indicated and lifted out a huge wrench. “You have tools in here? Next to eating utensils?”
“What do you want? They’re in separate compartments.”
“I’m scrubbing everything. And you need a new drawer organizer. Look at all these crumbs.” She removed the plastic tray and began taking out the utensils, relieved for an excuse to delay The Talk.
Then Ross’s warm hand stopped her. “Kara,” he said softly, taking the silverware organizer out of her hands and putting it on the counter. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing. I’m just fixing dinner and getting you organized.”
“Kara.”
“Okay. I just…I think… We need to be careful at work, Ross.”
“This is about slamming you against the door at S&S yesterday, right? I know. Something came over me. It won’t happen again.” His eyes held hers. “I swear.”
“Okay,” she said, relieved that they could keep their little boat afloat a while longer.
“So no more critiquing the natural habitat,” he said. “Deal?”
She nodded, waiting to scrub the knife blade until he left to put on some music.
Heated blues filled the air and Ross came back whistling along. His meltingly tuneful whistle reminded her of how good he’d sounded at the birthday party. “You played really well for Abby and her friends.”
“Hell, they’d have been happy with the Barney song,” he said, chopping away on the bok choy.
“No, I mean it. You’re very good. Your voice is nice and your guitar work is…subtle. Have you ever considered being in a band?”
“I sit in with friends on some gigs. But just for fun. I don’t need to make money at something for it to be worthwhile.”
“I’m not saying that. It’s just that if you performed in public, then other people could enjoy you, too. Like I do.”
He turned to her in the warm glow of the stove light. “You always want to push, don’t you? Raise the bar? If you’re good, be better?” He gave her that look—as if he thought she was crazy but liked her anyway.
“Why not? And, while we’re on the subject, I’ve been thinking about you and Lancer’s job, Ross.”
“Not that again.” He whacked at a celery stalk.
“You’d be great. I saw how you steered Julie away from that extreme design for Plain Jane without wounding her. Not to mention the overlapping deadlines with Rich i
n production. He gets testy on a dime, and you manage him so well.”
“I appreciate your concern, big sis, but I don’t want the job—and you’re turning that stir-fry into frappé.”
She looked down and saw she’d whipped the vegetables into a froth of oil. Pure frustration. Why wouldn’t Ross even try? He was letting everyone down.
Why does this matter so much? It’s his life, not yours. She took a calming breath and focused on the way the steam rose around them, aromatic with garlic, peanuts and onions. Their easy teamwork felt nice. At least that. And she hardly felt sexual at all.
Before long, the food was ready and they sat at the table set with the chipped plates and the Three Stooges mugs, into which Ross had poured her pricey chardonnay. At least the wine could breathe in the huge mugs. The still-sizzling wok rested on a towel between them—Ross didn’t even have hot pads—and they were face-to-face, sharing a cozy meal for two in an uneasily domestic scene.
Through the window behind Ross, the sky was a gorgeous backdrop of sunset streamers in pink, gold and purple.
“Well, let’s dig in,” she said briskly, dishing out rice, then adding mounds of stir-fried chicken and vegetables.
Ross scooped a forkful into his mouth. “Mmm,” he said, chewing slowly, oil glazing his lips like an invitation. “This is great. You can do this anytime you want.”
How about every night for the rest of our lives? She pushed away that thought. She was skating on the thin ice of her resolve again. Imagining something permanent with Mr. Fleeting. And it had only been two weeks since they’d lain in her bed and agreed that Ross was absolutely wrong for her—out of the question as a relationship prospect, perfectly safe for sex alone.
But coming to his house the past two Thursdays had intensified her feelings for him, especially as she saw more of his lovable side. He’d been so good with Abby tonight. What a great father he’d make.
Stop! What was she doing? Even worse, she could feel herself making a little shopping list—new shower curtain, dish drainer, hot pads, toilet seat cover, maybe some inexpensive bookshelves…oh, and bring over the vacuum….
“So,” Ross said, calling her away from her dangerous plans, “I talked to my friend with the cab. He’s off a week from Saturday, so taxi-driver-and-fare is a go.”
Ross had been more than willing to hail a cab and just go at it to fulfill her cab sex fantasy, but she was too embarrassed to make love with a real cabbie watching them in the rearview, so they’d compromised—Ross would borrow the taxi and pretend to be the driver and they’d go at it in private.
“Good. That should be fun.”
“Fun? I hope it will be sexy as hell,” he said.
She gave a nervous laugh. At least they were talking about this in a civilized way—over the dinner table and far from the couch, where they’d nearly lost it last week.
“And here’s my next one,” Ross continued. “Virgin cheerleader with the football captain. What do you think?”
“I think that’s the last one. Didn’t we agree?”
He shrugged. He always had a new idea. Too bad they were such good ones. “Here’s how it goes,” he continued. “I checked out the high school and no one’s around after about ten. Say the cheerleader’s practicing her cheer and the football star comes out to run the field and he seduces her on the goal line. Sound good?”
“I don’t know,” she said, feeling a little rush as she imagined making love outside under the stars. “Do I have to be a cheerleader? That’s a little too rah-rah for me.”
“Okay, let’s see. What I like about that one is the virgin part. The first time…going very slow, very gentle, savoring every little movement.”
She felt the tingle in her belly start up. “That could be nice.”
“You always respond so intensely—like it’s the first time every time.” His voice reminded her of his fingers under her flight attendant uniform stroking her into heat.
“Oh,” she said, trying to clear her head.
“So, how about a virgin on her wedding night? We rent a tux and a gown—all that tight, gauzy stuff to peel off. What do you think?”
“I can’t,” she said, abruptly snatched from her haze by the picture he’d painted. “Not a bride. It’s too…”
“What? Expensive?”
“Swear you won’t laugh?”
He crossed his heart.
“It’s too symbolic. A wedding dress means two people promising their lives to each other, taking that huge leap of faith.” She swallowed hard. “I just think that the wedding moment means something. Sorry.”
“Sure. I get it. Forget that one,” he said, looking extremely uncomfortable. He played with his food a moment, then looked up, cheerful again. “How about the virgin brainiac and the jock failing chemistry? You can be my tutor. Or I could be the virgin. That might be even hotter.”
“Possible,” she said, hiding an unexpected and stupid sting of disappointment. What did she think he’d say? I understand completely. Maybe someday we’ll wear that tux and gown for real? Absolutely crazy. She was definitely losing control of her attitude.
“This Saturday is the indecent exposure arrest, right?” Ross said. “Will you wear that black dress from the Hyatt?”
“I think it should be something new,” she said, fighting away her worries.
“Okay, but make sure it’s easy to get out of. Something in silk, maybe? Actually, what I’d really like is just you. Naked.”
“Naked?” she said, her pulse quickening. Instantly the tension that always hummed between them crackled to hot life.
“Oh, yeah. The hottest thing we’ve done so far was that time on your bed.”
“You mean when I…”
“Touched yourself? Yeah. Showing yourself to me the whole time, letting me watch you doing what I told you.” His voice grew husky. “You were nervous, but still brave, opening yourself to me, trusting me.”
“You liked that?” She held her fork poised, her hand shaking, heat popping inside her like bursts of fireworks.
“It made me crazy. I was dying to put my hands on you, in you, and my tongue, too. I wanted to taste you.”
“Oh.”
“And when you came, you looked so incredible—innocent and wild and caught off guard. I nearly lost it just watching.”
“Really?” she said, vaguely aware of something falling onto her plate. In a daze, she brought her fork to her mouth, but there was nothing on it.
“Really.” Ross scooped up her dropped food with his own fork and leaned nearer. “Open up,” he said softly.
She wanted to open up, all right—her clothes, her mouth, her legs—and bring him inside to take care of the ache between her legs, the burn in her heart. Right here on the kitchen table. So much for a civilized dinner. There was nothing civilized about this feeling roaring through her.
She shoved the fork out of his hand, spraying rice across the table, lunged forward and kissed him. She was vaguely aware that she’d dipped her chest into the rice bowl, but she didn’t give a damn.
Ross grabbed her cheeks, and she his. Holding each other’s faces, devouring each other’s mouths, they rose to their feet.
“Whoo-hoo.” The muffled call came through the window.
They froze and looked out. Lionel was grinning at them, giving them a thumbs-up.
Ross smiled sheepishly, and Lionel walked on.
“This is bad,” Kara said, panting for air. “We can’t let things fall apart like this.”
“Fall apart? I’d say they’re coming together. How about lonely waiter at a Chinese restaurant and his last customer?”
“If we can’t control this, Ross, we have to stop it.”
“Are you sure?” he said, begging her to change her mind.
“Yes. Absolutely.” He had no idea how close she was to haunting bridal fairs.
They stood there panting at each other for a long minute.
“I should go home,” she said finally.
; “Stay for the game.”
“What?”
“Suns versus Lakers?”
“I don’t know….”
“Come on. Friends watch games together. Let’s just use a little self-control,” he said, smoothing her hair, patting her cheek. “Ross and Kara will watch a game together tonight just like old times. No contact. No hot looks. Just friends enjoying some b-ball. I can do that. Can you?”
Numbly she nodded, though they’d never watched sports together, even before they started having wild sex. She didn’t know a thing about basketball, nor care, but she forced herself to concentrate on the scramble of giant players racing back and forth across the TV screen, determined to memorize the rules, learn all about the players—anything to keep from climbing all over Ross and ruining everything.
“WOW, DID YOU SEE THAT?” Ross looked at Kara for her reaction to the amazing basket the Suns had just made. But Kara’s eyes were shut and her mouth hung open sweetly in sleep. Her breathing was soft and deep, making him want to cuddle up around her. But then he’d want to be inside her. What a horn dog. This was Kara dozing on his couch, not Katherine or Angel or any of the other fantasy women.
She’d stayed, even though she didn’t care about basketball, because they were friends. The truth was that he just wanted her around. More and more, he liked having her in his line of sight, liked hearing her views on things—crazy though they were. He liked how she really listened before she started arguing with him.
He loved showing her his projects, the new music he bought. He found himself saving up witty things to say just to bring that sunny smile to her serious face, that light to her sober blue eyes.
He hated when she started fussing at him, though, like about that damn management job. She wouldn’t let up about that. He liked his life just fine. Why upset a good, smooth thing? Besides, he might lose interest in design, decide to pursue music. He had to keep his options open. Kara thought the only move was up. Ross knew you could move out, move around, move on.
He noticed there was a Nerf dart hanging from Kara’s hair. They’d had fun shooting at each other during half-time. He squatted down to lift the spongy toy from a strand of her hair, then stopped to stroke the silky curve of it. He liked it loose around her shoulders. She’d been wearing it that way almost every day lately. She had a new light in her eye, a nice sensuous swing to her step. All because of their sex game.
