That Guy

by Kim Jones

“Relax. The less you rush it, the better it’ll feel.” He kisses my temple again. “I promise.”

  I do as he says and relax. The feeling intensifies the higher I get until I’m to the point I’m scared of what awaits me at the top. I stifle a sob. “Jake….”

  “I know, baby.”

  “I can’t—“

  “Shh….”

  My nails dig into his thighs. My entire body becomes rigid. Breath leaves me. Behind my eyes are flashes of colors against darkness. A dull almost silent ringing sounds in my ears.

  I shatter around him.

  Pleasure consumes me in waves.

  Over and over and over until I’m lying limp against him. I don’t have the strength to do anything. My limbs are flaccid and the only thing keeping me from falling is the hold he has on me.

  He pulls out of me and gently lays me on my side on the couch. A blanket engulfs me in warmth. My shoes are removed from my feet.

  His steps are silent as he walks away. Probably to get a warm cloth to clean me like all the good That Guys do. The lights go out. Or perhaps that’s what he was doing.

  I anticipate the feel of his lips on my temple again kissing me goodnight. I shiver with the idea of him sliding beneath the blanket and pulling me into his arms. I fight my sleep just to wait for his return.

  He never does.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Penelope.”

  The deep voice calling my name isn’t Emily’s. The big hand shaking my shoulder doesn’t belong to her either.

  It’s all coming back to me.

  Flaming dog shit.

  Jail.

  Jake.

  Party.

  Sex.

  Mmm…sex.

  “Penelope. Get up.”

  I groan and pull the cover over my head. “Go away.”

  Loud, dramatic exhale. “Cam, do something.”

  Silence.

  More silence.

  I’m curious now.

  I roll over and peak out from beneath the blanket to see Cam sitting on the ottoman less than two feet from me. He grins. “Good morning, princess. You look like hell.”

  He looks like perfection in a suit. “It’s Sunday. Why are you dressed like that?”

  “Because I’m at work.”

  I look around the living room. “You work here?”

  “I do.”

  “In Jake’s house?”

  “When I need to.” He holds up a steaming cup. “Coffee?”

  “I prefer Mountain Dew in the afternoon.” I look out the window. It’s as gray as it was yesterday. “It is after noon, right?”

  “It’s eight in the morning.”

  I can’t keep the edge out of my voice. “Then why are you waking me up?”

  “Because I was told to.”

  “You work for Jake, don’t you?”

  He tweaks my nose. “Nothing gets past you. Now, get up. Seriously.”

  A wave of sadness washes over me. “Are you taking me home?”

  “What is she still doing on the couch?” Jake’s thundering voice turns my head. He’s freshly showered, dressed in jeans and a sweater. He stomps over to us and takes a seat in the chair. Man, he looks good this morning. My thighs tingle at the reminder of how good he looked last night.

  I glance at the window. At the exact spot where he sank to his knees. Out of the corner of my eye, I see his gaze follow mine. I’m looking at him when he turns back.

  He smirks. “The things we do when we’re drunk.”

  Ouch.

  That probably wouldn’t sting so bad if it didn’t trigger the reminder of what else happened last night. What I’ve been trying all morning to forget. At the party, something sparked between us. He’d told me I was the most beautiful woman in Chicago. We shared that dance. He’d held my hand for the greater part of the evening.

  Then we came home. And he fucked me like I’ve never been fucked. Kissed me where I’ve never been kissed. Said things to me that made me feel like I meant something to him. I’m not stupid or naive enough to think that he’d hopelessly fallen in love with me and last night was the start of our happily ever after. But I’d expected more from him than this—left on the couch, alone.

  He treated me like a Miss Sims.

  I feel like one too.

  He slips his shoes on and stands. His towering position over me makes me feel small. The dismissiveness in his eyes makes me feel insignificant. And the pain in my chest worsens.

  “I have a very important client coming over today. I need you to stay out of sight while he’s here. You can use the guest bedroom. Take a nap. A shower. I don’t care. But under no circumstances do you come to my office. Understood?”

  I have nothing to say, so I simply nod.

  “My assistant is working on travel arrangements for you. We should know something by the time my meeting is over.”

  Why is he acting like this?

  I’ve never been one to feel sorry for myself. This time is no different. So Jake Swagger wants to send me home. Today. And he hurt my feelings. It’s not the first time. And just like the first time, I bottle up those feelings. I can think about them later. Or never. Right now, I’m going to spend what little time I have left here focusing on my revenge—the one thing I know better than That Guy.

  “Fine.”

  I stand with the cover around me. It slips and nearly exposes my breast, but I catch it just in time. And I don’t miss the flash of possessive heat or the warning in Jake’s eyes as he plants himself in front of Cam’s line of sight.

  I turn to hide my smile and attempt to sashay out of the room. That doesn’t work. My poor vagina took a beating last night. And I’m feeling it today. So I end up taking tentative steps that I hope aren’t too obvious.

  But leave it to Cam to shit on my dreams.

  “Someone slung the D last night….”

  Asshole.

  I’m not showering in the guest bedroom. After the morning I’ve had, I deserve a nice hot bubble bath in the aquarium-sized tub in the master suite. I probably shouldn’t have added all those bubbles and turned on the jets, though. Turns out that shit can get out of hand in a hurry.

  By the way, when heroines claim they’re, “deliciously sore,” after a rough fuck with a hot hero, they’re lying.

  There is nothing delicious about the way I feel today. It hurts. Everything hurts. My wallowed out narrow channel is battered. Thighs bruised. Clit raw. My limbs are achy and stiff. Nipples tender to touch. And my head feels like it might explode. Partly from alcohol, partly from the hair pulling.

  Jake Swagger should have his ass beat for not checking on me, massaging me or offering me some numbing crème for my lady parts. The first thing he should’ve done this morning was ask me how I was feeling. Then tell me he was going to take care of me today. That’s what swoony That Guy would do.

  But did Jake do that?

  No.

  Why?

  Because he’s an asshole.

  I have no clothes, so I slip into Jake’s closet and sift through his. I choose a gray dress shirt that hangs nearly to my knees. After rolling up the sleeves, I examine myself in the mirror and make a mental note to steal this before I leave. If I belted it at the waist, and paired it with some heels, it would be a super cute outfit.

  “He’d be pissed if he knew you were in here.”

  I meet Cam’s laughing eyes in the mirror and shrug.

  “You like pushing his buttons, don’t you?”

  “Prove to me he doesn’t deserve it and I’ll stop.” I spin to face him. He’s leaned against the doorway, arms crossed over his chest. “What are you doing in here? I thought you were working.”

  He lifts a shoulder. “He’s pissed at me. So I walked away before he could hurt my feelings.” His smile tells me he’s not the least bit worried about his feelings.

  “Why is he mad at you?”

  “Because of what I said about you and him,” he shoots me a wicked grin, “…fucking.”

&
nbsp; Oh.

  “I’m assuming he doesn’t kiss and tell?”

  “Well, see that’s the thing that has me so confused, Penelope. He always kisses and tells. And that comment I made is one I’ve made plenty of times. This is the first time it’s pissed him off.”

  I blanche. “You mean you’ve watched other women do the bow-legged walk of shame?”

  He laughs. “No. That was a first. But the just-fucked hair and the hungover woman on the couch always means the same thing. Someone got the D.”

  Cam just confirmed my worst fear. He did treat me like a Miss Sims last night. And that bottle holding my hurt feelings is just about full. But I make room. And focus on something that will make me angry instead of sad. Like the fact that Jake has ruined yet another fantasy about That Guy. If he’s the hero and I’m the heroine in this story, then he should’ve fucked me in a place he’s never fucked another woman.

  It’s official.

  Jake Swagger is not That Guy.

  He is That Asshole.

  “Always thinking.” Cam grins at me and pushes off the door. “I’m out of here. You need anything?”

  “Nah. I’m good. But it’ll probably be the last time I see you, so should we hug? Also, I need your number to give to my best friend, Emily, because I need you to fall in love with her.”

  He shakes his head at me. “You’re nuts. And you’ll be here when I get back. I’m sure of it.” I want to bombard him with questions. Ask him why he’s so damn sure that I’ll still be here. But he does that mysterious, sexy wink and leaves me on a cliffhanger.

  Whatever. I’m glad he’s gone. I have shit to do anyway. Like find some food. Make a plan. And fuck up whatever Jake has going on in his office.

  “…Everything else is negotiable, but I promise you we’ll stand firm…” Jake’s voice trails off as his eyes meet mine.

  I’m standing in the doorway of his office. Holding a silver platter with a bunch of random shit I found in Jake’s kitchen in one hand. The other hand on my hip. Wearing nothing but his shirt and a smile.

  That vein in Jake’s forehead makes its presence known as he shifts in his seat. Instead of sitting in his desk chair, he sits next to his client—a middle aged man dressed in a Stetson, cowboy boots, Wranglers and a blazer.

  Perfect.

  “Figured you boys were hungry,” I say, in my thickest southern drawl.

  The man stands. Jake, in his stunned/angry state, is a little slower to follow suit.

  “Well, now,” the man says and smiles warmly at me. “Who is this?” I detect a hint of an accent in his voice. Definitely not from around here. Not as deeply southern as mine either.

  “Mr. Canton, Penelope Hart. Penelope, this is Mr. Canton. He’s here on business.” Jake speaks with an edge of annoyance that he attempts to conceal with a smile that doesn’t meet his eyes.

  “Pleasure to meet you. Cracker?” I hold out the tray.

  “No thank you, dear. I had a big breakfast.” He rubs his slightly bulging stomach.

  “Drink?”

  “We’re good—“

  “A whiskey if you have it?” Jim cuts in, shooting Jake a sideways glance.

  “Of course. I’ll help you with that, Penelope,” Jake says, walking toward me and mouthing something about killing me once he’s out of Jim’s sight.

  “Thanks, Jake.” I thrust the platter into his hands and ignore his clenched jaw and hard eyes as I step around him and claim his seat. “I can tell by your accent you’re not from around here.” I keep my gaze on the man so I don’t have to face Jake’s glare. But I can still feel the daggers he shoots at me.

  Jim chuckles as he settles back in his seat. “I could say the same about you, Miss Hart.”

  “Call me Penelope, please.”

  He tips his hat to me. “Alright, Penelope. And you can call me Jim. What state below the Mason Dixon line are you from?”

  “Mississippi. And you?”

  “Kansas. I’ve been here a week on business. I was supposed to fly out a couple days ago but the weather took a nasty turn.”

  I gasp and lean forward to lightly slap his knee. “Same thing happened to me!”

  “Are you here in Chicago on business as well?” He winks at me. “Or some other reason?”

  “Definitely some other reason.”

  “Really?” His smile is warm and suggestive. Like maybe I’m here for Jake. “And what might that other reason be?”

  “To set a bag of dog shit on fire.”

  His brow furrows. “I beg your pardon?”

  “You know, put some dog shit in a bag. Set it on a porch. Light it on fire. Ring the doorbell and wait for someone to run out and stomp on it. It’s quite entertaining to watch. But rather difficult to pull off.” I lean forward, shield the side of my mouth with my hand and drop my tone. “You wouldn’t believe how protective these people around here are of their dog’s shit.”

  Jim stares silently at me for several long moments before he bursts into a fit of laughter. Jake walks in and looks between the two of us confused. I just smile.

  “This…” Jim points at me while he pauses to catch his breath. “This girl is something else, Jake. I like her.”

  Jake’s fake ass laugh has me rolling my eyes. “She is definitely something else.” He moves out of Jim’s sight and mouths, “What the fuck did you do?”

  I shrug and take the other whiskey glass in Jake’s hand that’s clearly for him and not me. But these damn morning drinkers are turning me into an alcoholic. Until I take a sip and nearly barf.

  “You must come to dinner with Jake tonight.”

  “Unfortunately, Jim, she can’t. She’s busy.”

  “No I’m not.”

  Jake levels me with a look and a cool smile. “Sure you are.”

  “Mmm….” I pretend to think on it a second. “Nope. I’m free.”

  “Great!” Jim stands and holds his hand out to Jake who immediately transforms into a charming, gracious host. “I’ll see you both there. My girls are going to love her.” His expression turns solemn despite his smile. “Might make convincing them a little bit easier. No offense, but the corporate world can be intimidating. It’ll be nice for them to see you surround yourself with people who are a bit more what we’re used to.”

  Jake seems genuinely happy now. “I understand. We’ll be there.” He walks him out while I sit and wait for the explosion to happen.

  When Jake returns, he walks around to his desk and takes a seat in his big, important chair. He’s stoic and I can’t read him. I’d almost prefer him angry.

  “That man was convinced that his daughters wouldn’t agree to sell their stock in the company. I’ve spent the past thirty minutes trying to renegotiate our deal because this is an investment I refuse to walk away from. Nothing I said persuaded him to give me the chance to pitch my offer to his family.” He pauses and takes a deep breath. I can tell he’s about to say something he really doesn’t want to. And it makes me so happy.

  “But whatever random shit you said or crazy shit you did in the two minutes I was gone was enough to convince him otherwise. And I don’t know if I want to throw you through those windows, fuck you senseless against them or drop to my knees and do what I did last night until you can’t stand up on your own.”

  I don’t know where I put that bottle of feelings I’d planned to pull out to remind me of who Jake really is, in the event he tried to turn his charm on me. Because, suddenly, I’m mush and hormones and heat. But I keep it together—barely—and remain unaffected on the outside. “A simple thank you will suffice.”

  “Not a chance in hell. What did you do?”

  “I didn’t do anything.”

  “You did something. What the fuck was it.”

  I roll my eyes. “Really, Jake. I didn’t do anything. People just naturally gravitate toward me. I’m a pretty remarkable person. But you’re too busy being a self-centered asshole to notice.”

  He scoffs. “Self-centered? After all I’ve done
for you.”

  Now, it’s my turn to scoff. “What you’ve done for me? What about what I’ve done for you?” He starts to say something but I point my finger at him and narrow my eyes. “So help me God, if you bring up me breaking into your house, I will jump over this desk and ravage you.”

  Ravage….

  Fuck.

  That’s not the right word.

  “I meant, tackle you.”

  “Are you a woman of your word?”

  “Of course!” I snap, not realizing I’ve taken the bait until he has me hook, line and sinker.

  “You broke into my house.”

  I sit back and cross my arms. His eyes move to my exposed cleavage. “You can forget it, sir.”

  “So you’re not a woman of your word.”

  “I’m a woman who can barely walk today.”

  He frowns at that and the cutest little V forms between his brows. “Are you hurting?”

  “Oh, now you care.” There’s no bite to my words. Truthfully, I didn’t even want to say them. I’d much rather nod, pout, make my lip quiver, crawl in his lap and let him comfort me. But I have a little bit of dignity. Not much, but some.

  He stands and makes his way to me. My heart pounds harder the closer he gets. And he keeps breathing all the air and not leaving any for me. He takes my chin in his hand when I refuse to look at him. That V is still there between his eyes.

  “What can I do? Would you like something for the pain?”

  I slap his hand away. “I was fucked hard. Not hit by a bus.”

  I’m mad because that’s not what I want him to say. He shouldn’t ask me anything. This is the part where he is supposed to scoop me up. Take me to his bed. Inspect me. Growl and say something about how much he wants me but that he’ll have to wait. Then cover me up. Demand I stay put. Fetch me a glass of water, two Ibuprofen and insist that I take them and rest.

  I’m so over him fucking everything up….

  “What the hell is your problem, Penelope?”

  “I’m not the one who has a problem.”

  He rears back like I slapped him. “Oh, so I’m the problem?”

  “Yes.”

  “For fuck’s sake, what are you so pissed about?”

  I jump to my feet and poke my finger in his chest. “The fact that you don’t know for starters.”