That Guy

by Kim Jones

  “If you don’t. I will.”

  I frown and turn to face her. “Why would you tell him I love him? That’s…that’s personal.”

  She rolls her eyes. “I’m not going to tell him you love him, dumbass. I’m going to tell him I do.”

  I’m not sure if she’s joking or not. I can’t read her. To be safe, I start plotting my revenge—you know…just in case she’s serious. There’s just one thing I have to know first. So in the most nonchalant voice I can manage, I ask, “On a scale from one to ten, how hard is it to find a fresh pile of dog shit in Topeka?”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  I watched Jake hug old people, pet dogs and kiss babies for as long as I could until the fear that my ovaries would explode consumed me. So I wandered outside. It was there, on the back dock of the warehouse, that I found a group of employees in an intense game of poker.

  Unable to resist, I joined.

  And thanks to my skills and ability to bluff like a pro, I’m one of the last two standing.

  “I’ll see your….” I pick up my opponent’s watch and hold it toward the light. “…Timex, and raise you one Louis Vuitton boot.” Sliding my seat—a five-gallon bucket—away from the table, I pull off the boot and toss it in the pile.

  Jasper, a guy in his late twenties whose been at Canton Industries since he was fifteen, takes a drag from his cigarette, thumps it then shoots me an incredulous glare. “What the fuck am I gonna do with one boot?”

  “Sell it to a pirate. I don’t know. And I don’t care. But it’s worth a helluva lot more than that raggedy ass shit you’ve been throwing in the pot.” Everyone around us laughs. It seems Jasper is one of those who can dish it out but can’t take it. And he met his match when he met me—about twenty hands ago.

  “How the hell do I even call that?” He picks up the boot and examines it. “How much does this thing cost?”

  There are only a couple women still out here. Neither of them, like me, have a clue. But they, also like me, know enough to know that it’s expensive. They’re arguing that point while I try to decide what possessions of Jasper’s might be equivalent to one boot.

  “Your hat.”

  Jasper stiffens. “What did you say?”

  “Your hat.” I motion with my finger toward the hat he keeps twisting on his head. The one that’s old and worn. That I’m sure has little value to anyone but him. “Throw your hat in if you want to call.”

  He shakes his head. “No. This is my lucky hat.”

  “Yeah? And how has that worked out for you?” I point to my stack of winnings that consist of money, a few keychains, a couple knives, a ton of pens, a rubber ball, a box of rubber bands and a rubber chicken—most of which belonged to him. “Throw in the hat or fold.”

  He narrows his eyes on me. “Throw in the other boot and I’ll consider it.”

  “This boot is worth a lot of money.”

  “No. The pair of boots is worth a lot of money. One boot ain’t worth shit.” He points to his hat. “This hat? Is worth more than money.”

  I nod slowly. “Fair enough.” I pull off my other boot and toss it on the table. “Well, there’s my five hundred dollars.”

  “Um, I just Googled it,” one of the women says. “Try two thousand dollars.”

  Everyone starts murmuring that it’s not an equal bet. That Jasper is a piece of shit for trying to bet an old hat against a pair of designer boots.

  I believe it’s safe to say I’m the crowd favorite.

  “You hear that?” Jasper waves toward the crowd circled around us. “I have to work with these assholes every day. This is a lose-lose for me. If I win, I’ll be shamed for taking a lady’s boots. If I lose, I’ll never hear the end of how I lost everything to my boss’s girlfriend.”

  I shrug and take a pull from my beer. “So fold.”

  “Not a chance in hell. I want to renegotiate.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “Keep your boots. They’re probably fake anyway.”

  I shake my head. “Jake bought them. Trust me. They’re not fake.”

  Suggestive murmurs and teasing sounds from the crowd. My cheeks flush and I roll my eyes at them—grinning ear to ear.

  “Like I was saying, you keep your boots. I keep my hat. Winner takes the pot. And the loser…” He leans in and points toward the open field that stretches as far as the eye can see. His eyes twinkle and he grins. “Streaks across the field.”

  The crowd erupts in laughter. Some tell Jasper he’s crazy. Some say they’re going to video him streaking. One says Mr. Swagger is going to kill Jasper if he finds out. And that one is met with a response.

  “Why would I kill Jasper?” I whip my head around to find Jake emerging from the shadows—an amused expression on his face. A possessive look in his eyes. “He’s not the one betting something that doesn’t belong to him.”

  Everyone falls silent as he approaches. I make a mental note to talk to him about when it is and when it isn’t appropriate to show up unannounced around his employees. Nobody wants to hang out with their boss. But of course he wouldn’t know that. He doesn’t have a boss.

  “W-what are you talking about, Jake?” I try to sound tough. I don’t.

  He places his hands on either side of the table, boxing me in. “I’m talking about you running across a field. Naked.” He leans in and drops his voice so only I can hear. “Your body belongs to me, baby. And I’m not in the mood to share.”

  He pulls back and I swallow hard. It takes everything inside me not to wrap myself around him and dry hump his hip in front of God and his employees.

  I shake away the thought.

  This is a poker game.

  Not a brothel.

  We can fuck later.

  Right now, I have a hand to win.

  Jake’s eyes drop to the cards in my hand. “May I?”

  “No. You may not.”

  Jake ignores me and plucks my cards from my hand. Straightening, he examines them. I cast a quick glance to Jasper and find him fighting a smile. I give him the finger, and turn back to Jake whose expression remains stoic—thank fuck.

  Jake slides my cards into a single stack and hands them back to me, face down. I snatch them from his fingers and spin on my bucket to face Jasper. “Winner takes the pot. Loser streaks. Is that the deal?”

  Jasper nods.

  From behind me, I hear a very deep and very final, “No.”

  I take a breath and look up and over my shoulder at Jake. “I’m not going to lose, Jake.”

  “You might.”

  “I won’t. Trust me.”

  “No.” His tone is dismissive and he speaks to Jasper over my head. “Winner gets the pot. You lose, you streak. She loses…I streak.”

  Nobody seems to care anymore that their boss is here. They’re too busy losing their shit. Taking side bets. Getting their camera phones ready. I mean, I’m a little disappointed in the lack of faith these people have in me. Not that I can blame them for their enthusiasm. Hell, for the first time ever, I actually want to lose.

  Jasper and Jake shake hands.

  The moment Jasper pulls back, he flips his cards up on the table. He’s all smiles. On his feet. Doing the robot. Pointing at his King high flush and demanding that I, beat that shit, and telling Jake, take it off.

  I let him rejoice a few more seconds before I crush his dreams.

  “I win,” I state, matter-of-fact.

  Jasper stills.

  Pales.

  Stutters. “W-w-what?”

  I lay my cards down on the table, face up so everyone can see. I may not get to see Jake run across a field naked, but victory is still pretty fucking sweet. Besides, I can see him naked later.

  Now I’m all smiles. On my feet. Telling Jasper to eat shit. Watching as he regretfully starts stripping. Reveling in the sound of Jake’s laughter. At the sight of him bonding with his employees. And of course, I’m performing my own dance.

  River dance, finger snap, finger guns…pointed
at my Ace high flush.

  “I can’t believe I lost.” Jasper gives me a onceover. “To a girl.” He glances over at Jake and gives him a onceover. “My boss’s girl.”

  My inner feminist kicks in and I point to his crotch. “I can’t believe you can hide your entire pecker with those tiny little hands.”

  Once again, the crowd roars. Even Jake laughs. And Jasper, being a good sport, grins and removes his hands—holding them in the air, allowing his cock to hang freely.

  Well…not really hang.

  But before anyone can comment on that, he bolts across the open field. His bare ass is illuminated by the huge spotlights on the corner of the building. It would be lit up with the flash from his fellow employee’s phones if it weren’t for Jake’s insistence that everyone be a good sport and not record this moment.

  “Well, that’s one sight I could’ve retired without seeing,” Jim says, shaking his head as we all watch Jasper run back toward us—stopping every few feet to shake his dick. “I think these people are going to like you, Jake.” Jim turns to Jake and gives him a nod. “I feel good about leaving them in your hands.”

  Jake’s smile is humble. “Thank you for that.”

  “Come on, Mr. Swagger!” Jasper approaches us, trying to catch his breath. “The weather feels nice on the ol’ balls. You should try it.”

  “No.”

  Jasper grins. “How about a hug, then?”

  “No.”

  “Handshake?”

  “No.”

  “What about you, Penelope?” He holds his arms open and shakes his dick at me. “Hug?”

  Jake tosses him his clothes. “I like you, Jasper. Don’t fuck it up.”

  The crowd—Jake’s employees, every day average people—laugh good naturedly at Jake’s words. If it weren’t for the powerful way he carried himself, he could almost pass as one of them. It makes them feel good that he acts as their equal. He’s not just some suit. He’s not the richest man they’ll likely ever meet. He’s not even their boss. In this moment, he’s just Jake.

  As we say our goodbyes, I stand next to Jake—bag of winnings in one hand, his hand in my other—until the only people left are us and Jim, who has just invited us to have dinner with him and his daughters.

  I’m famished—as usual—so I’m quick to agree. But Jake cuts me off.

  “I actually have plans for us tonight, Jim. But we appreciate the invite.”

  Plans?

  Jake has plans?

  I didn’t know about any plans.

  I’m in shock as I hug Jim goodbye. Walk to the car. Let Jake usher me inside. It’s not until we’re driving away that I ask what I’m dying to know. “We have plans?”

  “Yes. I’m taking you out on a date. Dinner…wine…candles…sex.”

  I throw my head back and laugh. “Are you serious?”

  “I am.”

  “You call that a date?”

  “I do.”

  I shake my head. “You’re so lame. That date sounds terrible.”

  He lifts a brow. “What part?”

  “Well…just the candlelit dinner part. With wine. I’m not much of a wine drinker. And I don’t like fancy restaurants with candles. It’s not me. To be honest? I wasn’t aware places like that actually existed, outside of movies and books.”

  “They exist. But you’re right. It’s not you.” His eyes darken and his fingers brush across my temple. “You deserve something much more special than that.”

  “I do?”

  “Yes, Penelope. You most certainly do.”

  Heart flutter.

  Belly flip.

  Pop rocks.

  Clit tingle.

  “So where are we going?”

  “To do something you love.”

  “How do you know I love it? Did I tell you?”

  He grins. “No. But trust me. You’ll love it.”

  I have to bite my lip to keep from telling him I love him. Instead, I just smile and curl into his side. I lean my head back so I can look into his eyes. So he’ll know that what I say is true. And genuine. “If I forget to tell you later….”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah, Pretty Woman.” He rolls his eyes. “You had a good time tonight.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  I’m so in love.

  We’re on our way back to the hotel and I’m seriously considering letting Jake put it in my butt. I mean, if he wants to. Because after the night we had…how can I not?

  He said I’d love it.

  I did.

  Why?

  Because this motherfucker took me river dancing.

  Yes.

  He.

  Did.

  He booked a class. With a professional river dancer. And I, along with ten others, earned a certificate for completing the intermediate level of dance at Acreas Irish Dance Academy.

  But did the night stop there?

  Nope.

  Our next stop was dinner. But not just any dinner. It was a dinner and improv show. Where we had to act out scenes from different eras as we ate…you’re not going to believe this…chicken wings.

  Then we went to a little bar that had Christmas lights strung across the ceiling and concrete floors and a really old juke box and they only served beer. Not any of that fancy beer either. The good stuff—Budweiser.

  And we shot pool.

  And played darts.

  And had there had been anyone else in there, we might have gotten into a bar fight with them.

  It was perfect.

  Jake Swagger is perfect.

  Tonight?

  Perfect.

  And the night is still young.

  We arrive at our hotel and Jake is in full That Guy mode—powerful. A little arrogant. He walks with his chin up. Back straight. Aware of everything around him. Politely ignoring the stares. Offering a courteous head nod at the appropriate times. Growing a little taller whenever he’s addressed as, Mr. Swagger.

  Welcome, Mr. Swagger.

  We’re pleased you’re here, Mr. Swagger.

  The stairs are this way, Mr. Swagger.

  Eighteen flights of stairs later—which I didn’t even ask him to carry me up because I swear I floated the entire time—and we’re in our room that looks like the Penthouse Suite at Caesar’s Palace in Las Vegas. Not that I’ve ever been, but I’ve seen The Hangover. The only thing this hotel room lacks is Mike Tyson on the piano and a tiger in the bathroom.

  I didn’t even know Topeka, Kansas offered rooms this luxurious. Although I wouldn’t doubt it if Jake called ahead and had them build it just for him.

  When the door to our suite closes behind the annoying guy who followed us around the miniature mansion to see if everything suited our needs, I turn on Jake and bat my lashes at him. “Are we alone now, Mr. Swagger?”

  His eyes caress me from head to toe.

  I take a step toward him and place my hand on his chest. With a gentle push, I urge him backwards. When his knees hit the bed, he sits.

  “Would you like to fuck me, Mr. Swagger?”

  Eyeing my breasts that are now at eye level, he licks his bottom lip then pulls it between his teeth.

  I drop to my knees and boldly feel him through his pants before lowering his zipper. I free him and breathe in his clean, masculine scent that’s all him and a touch of his cologne. His cock hardens by the second. Growing thicker. Longer. Bigger until that flesh covered school bus of his is only a hairsbreadth from my lips.

  “Can I suck your cock, Mr. Swagger?”

  He groans. “Don’t say cock, Penelope.”

  I kiss the tip of him. His entire body jerks and I look up from beneath my lashes feeling pretty damn smug. “Would you rather I use the appropriate medical term, Mr. Swagger?”

  “Don’t you fucking dare.”

  “Pe—“

  Say penis.

  Do it.

  Right now.

  Notice how your lips part and your mouth opens on the peeee?

  Well that’s the exact moment
Jake’s dick found its way between my lips.

  I’m left with no choice but to open my mouth. It’s either that or risk him knocking out my front teeth with that big cock canon of his.

  I moan around him.

  Take him a little deeper.

  Remember I have a terrible gag reflex.

  Pull back so I can work the head of him with my tongue. Lips. Hand. And judging by his grunts and groans, I must be doing something right.

  Some girls can suck cock all day. They just love it. All those heroines in romance novels? Oh, they make it sound like sucking dick is the greatest thing in the world.

  I’m not one of those girls.

  As heady as it is to have him in my mouth, I much prefer being selfish and having his mouth on me. So, as graceful as I can manage, I crawl into his lap and straddle his thighs. I link my hands behind his neck and rub myself against his shaft. It feels so good, I’m sure that I can come just like this. So sure that for a moment, I’m so concentrated on making myself feel good, I forget where I am. The sounds I make. That he’s watching.

  “Damn girl…” he murmurs, sliding his hands beneath my sweater and palming both my breasts. His words—there’s something about them. The way he calls me girl. It makes me feel…filthy. And I like filthy.

  I lift my head to find his eyes on me. Wild with fire and passion. “Talk to me, Jake.”

  “You like when I talk to you?”

  “Yes.” I grind my hips a little harder against him. “Fuck yes. Talk dirty to me. Make me feel dirty. Please. Just…I mean…Like, don’t call me names or slap me in the face or anything. You can slap my ass, though. If you want. I don’t know. Tell me what to do. I’m so stupid. I should shut up.”

  “Hush, Penelope, unless you want your mouth filled again.”

  I whimper. Nod. Do everything I can to tell him that’s the tone, words and filth I want him to use without actually talking. Because he told me not to. And I want to be a good fake sub and listen.

  “Stand up.”

  It takes me a second to comply, but eventually I manage to scramble off his lap and stand in front of him. He doesn’t touch me but the sight of his hands so close—lying motionless on his thighs—has my hips bucking toward him on their own accord.