That Guy

by Kim Jones

  Hiccup.

  My head feels heavy. My neck not very supportive. So I keep my head down and run my finger around the rim of my empty glass. “He hurt my feelings, Cam.”

  He eyes me thoughtfully. “I’m sorry he hurt your feelings, Penelope.” The sincerity in his tone is genuine.

  “Thanks. Pee Paw Swagger’s a dick. Jake’s a dick. Alfred’s a dick for giving me that stupid top hat. Ross’s a dick for…well, Ross is okay. And you’re okay.”

  Hiccup.

  “Out of all y’all, you’re the best, Cam”

  “Aww, she said y’all. Can we keep her Jake?”

  A bottle of water appears in my line of sight. “Drink this.” I lift my heavy head and lean back, back, back until I meet the cool blue eyes of Jake Swagger. “All of it…please.”

  I snatch the bottle from his fingers. Try to, anyway. Good thing he has a tight grip on it. I snag it on my second attempt. “So the cocky butthole,” hiccup, “does have manners.”

  “Don’t push it.”

  I mimic him in my head as I drink the water. All of it. Like he demanded. With an underlying promise of spanking me if I didn’t obey. And no. That is not the alcohol talking. Not my writer brain, either. I’m sure of it.

  Hiccup.

  Cam’s phone rings and he looks down at the screen then up at Jake. “Don’t be an asshole. I mean it. Don’t be a dumbass either. Ask her.”

  Jake simply flicks his fingers in dismissal. His eyes on me. He ignores Cam who glares at him across the room. When Cam’s phone rings again, he releases a heavy sigh and leaves the room—frustration evident in his voice when he clips a quick, “What?”

  Jake offers me a second bottle of water. This time I don’t snatch it. I take it and the crackers with a nod of thanks. “Ask who what? Was he talking about me? You want to ask me something?”

  “No.”

  Geeze.

  Hiccup.

  “Whatever. Well, I need to ask you something. A favor. And I’m pretty sure you’re not gonna mind this one.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that.”

  So damn cocky…

  Hiccup.

  He sits down on the couch and gives me an expectant look. I make him wait while I eat a cracker and ogle him in jeans and a gray T-shirt. I can’t decide if he’s hotter like this or half naked.

  “Can you give me a ride to the bus station? Or order me one of those you-bers? I don’t know how to do it.”

  Hiccup.

  His smile is bewitching. All those hard lines on his face melt away. His eyes lighten. This man is sexy when pissed. But he’s devastatingly handsome when he’s not. “Uber.”

  “What?”

  “It’s called Uber.”

  “Oh.” I shove a cracker in my mouth. “They should spell it with two O’s then. Shit’s confusing. We don’t have them where I live. We don’t even have taxis.”

  “What do you do when you need a ride?”

  I give him the best look I can that suggests he’s stupid. “We drive.”

  He rolls his eyes. “I mean when you go out, smartass. Like to a bar or a club. You do have bars and clubs, right?”

  “We have them,” I say around a mouth full of cracker. And a hiccup.

  “So what do you do when you go out to a bar, have too many drinks and can’t drive home? Or do you hillbillies just drive around drunk?”

  I nod. “Yeah. We mostly just do that.”

  “Jesus Christ,” he mutters.

  “Don’t say the Lord’s name in vain.”

  “I didn’t. I was calling on him to bring the rapture to Mt. Olive, Mississippi, ASAP.”

  I shoot him a toothy grin. “You’re funny.”

  “You’re drunk.”

  “I drank nine fingers of whisky.”

  Hiccup.

  “And you’re dropping crumbs all over my thirty-thousand-dollar couch.”

  “There’s probably some pizza crust from the other night between the cushions too.”

  His eyes close and he shakes his head. But he doesn’t get angry. I like him like this—un-pissed. He would wait until I was leaving to start acting nice.

  “So will you take me to the bus station?”

  He looks at me for a long time. I’m not sure exactly how long, but I’ve ate four crackers. If I could hit rewind, I’d have been drunk the entire time I was around him. It’s easy this way. Less intense. I can handle his long, silent, stoic stares without fidgeting or feeling self-conscious. Although it could be that this is the first time he’s looked at me without condemnation.

  “Today was my fault,” he says. I shoot a glance across the room expecting to see a big blimp pass outside the window that says, Psych!

  “Are you apologizing to me?”

  Hiccup.

  “No. But what you said to Cam was true. Yesterday was all on you. But today is on me.”

  “You eavesdropped on our conversation?”

  He glares. “You can’t eavesdrop in your own house.”

  “You did.”

  His eyes fall closed. I think he’s praying again. More for patience than the rapture. I mouth an, “amen” when he finishes.

  And hiccup.

  “You’re impossible.”

  “I can see where you might think that.”

  He squeezes the bridge of his nose in exasperation, but I can see a hint of a smile. And suddenly, I just want him to kiss me.

  Maybe it’s the alcohol.

  Maybe it’s my hormones.

  Maybe it’s because he’s the sexiest man I’ve ever seen in my life and I don’t think I can go one more moment without feeling his lips on mine. Even if I have to climb into his lap, straddle his hard thighs and steal it, I need this kiss.

  If he rejects me, who cares? If he hates me, it won’t matter. I have nothing to lose and everything to gain. I’m leaving here soon. Possibly within the hour. He’ll never have to see me again. If I don’t kiss him, I’ll always regret it. But if I do kiss him, even if it’s terrible, at least I’ll forever have the memory. And maybe a restraining order. But those things sound a lot worse than they really are.

  Not that I’ve ever had one or anything…

  “Can I have another bottle of water?” I’m breathless and he hasn’t even kissed me.

  “Yeah.” He takes the empty bottle from my hand but instead of going to the kitchen, he walks to the little mini bar across the room.

  So much for having the time to form a decent plan…

  It’s now or never.

  I scramble off the couch. Catch my footing on step three just before I face plant the floor, and am two inches from his lips when he turns around.

  “What the f—“

  Say “fuck.”

  Do it.

  Right now.

  Notice how your teeth sink into your bottom lip on the “f?”

  Well…that’s the exact moment I pressed my mouth to his. So instead of kissing soft, puckered lips, then coaxing them apart with my tongue and swallowing his moan as I devour his mouth that tastes like whiskey and mint, even though nobody ever tastes like whiskey and mint, I end up licking his teeth.

  Gums too.

  All while he just stands frozen in place.

  You know, any decent human would at least attempt to salvage the kiss. I mean, he doesn’t have to just stand here and continue to let me humiliate myself. He could easily pull away. Cup my head. Angle his head. Something. But does he? Nope. And I can’t do any of these things because I’m literally pressing my tongue against his teeth to keep from falling on my face.

  At least the hiccups are gone…

  I grab his shoulders and push myself back from him. He doesn’t even flinch. Even when I stumble, he doesn’t move to catch me. His teeth are still pressed into his bottom lip. Brows drawn together so tight I’m afraid the skin at his temples might split.

  After I find my balance, I cross my arms and shake my head at him. “You have got to be the suckiest kisser on the planet.”

&
nbsp; “Me?”

  “Yes. You. You suck at kissing.”

  “Are you fucking serious right now?”

  “You just ruined it for me,” I whine, throwing one hand up in the air. I stumble again. He doesn’t right me again. So I put my hands on my hips to steady myself because it’s obvious I can’t depend on him.

  His face relaxes a little and he runs his tongue over the indentions in his lip. I should be thinking about how those lips felt on mine. How that tongue felt. It should turn me on to see him licking his lips.

  It doesn’t.

  “You tried to lick the enamel off my teeth, Penelope. I think it’s safe to say that you’re the bad kisser here. Not me.”

  I look away from him and mumble, “I imagined it different in my head.” Which reminds me… “You could’ve at least attempted to save it.”

  “There was no coming back from that.”

  I glare at him. “Is Cam still here?”

  He gives me a wary look. “Why?”

  “Because I had it in my head that I was going to leave here kissed. And I always get what I want because I’m stubborn like that. And since my attempt with you didn’t work out—“

  “Yeah, not exactly.”

  “Well, I’m not going to rub it in your face—“

  “Shut up.”

  “Hey! Don’t be ugly to me—“

  “Shut up, Penelope.”

  I stomp my foot. “I will not sh—“

  Say “shut.”

  Do it.

  Right now.

  Notice how your lips pucker on the “sh?”

  Well…that’s the exact moment Jake Swagger kissed me.

  His lips are smooth, but no soft. They’re too powerful. Too demanding. Too dominant to be considered soft. His tongue? It’s soft. He drags it across my bottom lip. Then my top. Bypassing my teeth because unlike me, he’s not an enamel licker. And unlike him, I’m not an asshole. So I take the hint and open my mouth wider so he can devour me. And taste me. And I can taste him. And guess what…

  He tastes like whiskey and mint.

  I don’t know where the mint came from, but trust me the cool hint of spearmint is there. I make a mental note to see how much a bottle of that twenty-four-hour mouthwash he uses runs on Ebay.

  I whimper when his hand slides into my hair. He growls at the noise. Tightens his hold. Curls his other hand around my waist and pulls me closer to him. This time when I stumble, he catches me. Or should I say his chest catches me. Either way, I’m pressed against that unyielding, concrete slab he wears beneath his shirt.

  Slow.

  He kisses me so slow. How can something so languid, so tantalizing, so consuming be so damn passionate? Hell if I know. But this guy? He can do it.

  I never want it to stop. God please don’t let it stop. His hand slides to the side of my neck. Cups my cheek. Thumb rubs along my jaw. He pulls his tongue back but keeps his lips on mine. Pressing soft, sweet kisses across the swell of my bottom lip. I fight the urge to jab my tongue back into his mouth because I know the kiss is coming to an end.

  I’m boneless when he pulls his mouth from mine. But he keeps me pinned to him. So close I can still feel his warm breath on my bruised lips. My eyes flutter open and I gaze up to meet his. Those whirlwinds of color darken by the second with some unspoken promise that I pray is something dirty and erotic.

  “That, Penelope, was a kiss.”

  Fucking right it was.

  “Ahem…”

  Jake releases me so fast my head spins. He keeps a grip on my elbow but takes an immediate step away from me. Then his hand falls away and there’s all this space between us. I don’t want the space. I want his heat. His chest. His penis in my vagina.

  Stupid Cam and his stupid throat clearing.

  “Sorry to interrupt.”

  “You didn’t interrupt. What do you want?” I’m shocked Jake can so easily act like his mouth wasn’t just suctioned to mine. I’m pretty sure I just fell in love with him over that kiss. And I’m almost positive he’s in love with me too.

  How can he not be?

  I’m a great kisser.

  “The agency called.”

  Jake whips around to face Cam. It takes me a minute but eventually I mirror his stance—arms crossed. Eyes narrow and fixated on Cam. Silently killing him with a look because he just ruined the best moment of our lives. He doesn’t even look apologetic about it either.

  Smug bastard.

  “Miss Sims took the train to Milwaukee and got a flight back home. She has no interest in coming back. Just like I knew she wouldn’t. Which is why I told you to ask her.”

  “Fuck!”

  Here we go.

  The Jake show is getting boring. I roll my eyes and take a seat on the couch, then pull the blanket tight around me and snuggle into the cushions. I think I’ll just take a nap. Maybe relive our kiss. My lips tingle and I smile.

  “You think this shit is funny?”

  I peek up at Jake. “Huh? What? The Miss Sims thing? No. Why?”

  “This is your fault.”

  I shrug. “Eh. Maybe. But even if it wasn’t you’d blame it on me because I broke into your house.”

  He does that silent stare thing. I think he experiences some internal battle when he does this. Like maybe he’s trying to talk himself out of killing me.

  “Do you have any idea how much money you cost me when you got in the backseat of my car?”

  I yawn. I’m totally not feeling this conversation. “You forget. I didn’t even know how to pronounce Uber until just a little while ago. So no. I have no idea how much a car ride cost you.”

  “Not the car ride….” He pauses and presses his mouth in a thin line. Either he’s trying to squeeze the lingering taste of me from his lips, or…yeah. That’s what he’s doing. Pretty sure of it. “Fifty thousand, Penelope.”

  He has my attention. “Jake say what?”

  “I spent fifty thousand dollars just in agency fees to find the perfect woman to take to my Grandfather’s retirement party. Ask me why.”

  “Why?”

  “Because despite what you think, I would move heaven and earth for that old man. Not because I’m trying to earn his respect, but because he has mine. So when he asked me to find someone who wasn’t the usual, obvious whore I wear on my arm to these events, I promised him I would. That promise didn’t come cheap. And now she’s gone. All because you stole a bag of fucking dog shit.”

  Actually, I bagged the shit myself. But whatever.

  “That’s very admirable of you to go to such lengths for your grandfather. But did you really pay fifty grand for one night with this chick?”

  “I did.”

  “You couldn’t find like a coupon or something?”

  “For fuck’s sake….”

  “What? I’m just saying. I would’ve done it for half that.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yep. Pay me twenty-five grand and I’ll be whoever you want me to be for the night.”

  Jake smiles. It’s…a scary smile. I don’t like it. “I’m not going to pay you twenty-five grand, Penelope.”

  I shake my head at him. “It was a joke. You couldn’t pay me to hang out with that butthole grandfather of yours.”

  “Good. I’m glad you feel that way.”

  I eye him warily. “Why?”

  His smile only widens. “Because you’re going to do it for free.”

  Chapter Eight

  “Is this like that time you told me Jason Aldean knew we were going to be on his tour bus, and then we got arrested for trespassing?” Why, three years later, does Emily still try to make me feel like shit about that? And why now? After I just gave her the best news of our lives?

  The first thing I said after Jake told me I would be going to the party with him was, “Oh shit! I have to call Emily!” So I did. And now she’s coming at me with this blast from the past instead of just being happy for me.

  She’s probably just jealous.

  �
�So we got arrested for trespassing. It’s not like we were charged. I got those dropped, remember? And you got a selfie on a celebrity’s tour bus. And remember that pair of underwear I smuggled out for you?”

  “They dropped the charges so they wouldn’t have to see your face again, Penelope. You didn’t do anything.”

  “But you got to take selfies.”

  “They confiscated our phones and deleted all of the selfies! It was part of the deal when they dropped the charges.”

  “Those underwear though….”

  “You sold them to the deputy—“

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah, for a half-eaten Subway sandwich and a bag of stale potato chips. Say what you want but that food saved our lives that night. We probably would’ve died from alcohol poisoning without it.”

  “I got alcohol poison that night.” Her tone is bitter. “Probably because you refused to share the fucking sandwich.”

  “You’re missing the point, Em. A billionaire just asked me to go to a party with him to impress his grandfather. I’m living our dream. Be happy for me. And most importantly, lie to my mother and tell her you’re surprising me with a trip to New York and that we’ll be back in a week.”

  “Fine.”

  “And don’t forget to stay indoors and keep all the lights off so she doesn’t drive by and get suspicious.”

  “How about I just take a bunch of pills and sleep for the next three days? Or eternity?”

  “Don’t be dramatic. We can’t afford those kind of pills. And I hear a Tylenol overdose is very painful.”

  Her laughter is music. “You’re such a dick.”

  She still doesn’t know I succeeded in my plan to avenge her broken heart. I decide to save that for when I get home. Maximum praise and all that.

  “I gotta go. I’ll see you soon. Fuck Luke Duchanan.”

  “Fuck Luke Duchanan.”

  “Did you just say the name Luke Duchanan?”

  I jump at Jake’s voice. Drop the phone. Fumble with it several seconds before finally placing it in the cradle.