Perfect Little Plan

by Jennifer Miller

  “RIXTON!”

  I hear him sigh through the phone line, “Isn’t it obvious? I left them there so I could have an excuse to call you. Or randomly show up at your place and retrieve them. Either one would have worked fine.”

  I throw his undies on the floor and walk back to my bed, “You are insane.”

  “Some would say charming.” I can hear the smile in his voice over the phone.

  “Maybe so, but not me!”

  “Go out with me.”

  “What?”

  “Go out on a date with me. I want to take you out. People call that a date. Maybe you’ve heard of it?”

  “Take me out?”

  “Yeah. I want to take you out. For dinner.”

  “For dinner?”

  “Are you going to repeat everything I say? Okay awesome. Rixton, you are so sexy, yes, yes, I want to go out with you! And I’ll model all my lingerie for you too.”

  That snaps me out of it, “Ha. Nice try. Why should I go out on a date with you?”

  “Because it will be fun. And don’t deny it, you are attracted to me, can’t get me out of your mind, and are dying to get to know me better.”

  “That is not true,” I insist, but dammit how does he know that? “I haven’t thought about you at all.”

  “Wow, you are great for a guy’s ego.”

  “Um, sorry?”

  “Come out with me on Friday night. We will have a good time. We can talk, and laugh and get to know each other better. You know… other than the biblical sense.”

  “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

  “Look, I really need you to bring me my briefs back. They’re my favorite pair. I’ll pick you up for dinner Friday night, and take you out as a way to thank you for keeping my briefs safe for me. I’m off that night. Does that work for you?”

  I find myself laughing at his ridiculousness. “Okay fine. I will let you take me to dinner. One dinner. Only because I don’t trust you and fear you’ll tell everyone I have your briefs if I don’t get them back to you.”

  “Oh, that’s an excellent idea. Why didn’t I think of that?”

  “Because apparently, I’m more of an evil genius than you are.”

  “I’ll have to remember that.”

  “Okay, well I have to go. It’s been a long day. I was getting ready for bed when you called.” I pull the covers over my legs and settle down into the bed.

  “Oh yeah? Are you in bed now? On the same sheets we slept in together? Do they still smell like me? What are you wearing?” He shoots off his questions like rapid gunfire.

  “Bye, Rixton!” I hang up the phone and laugh despite myself.

  I’m staring at the wall, wondering what the hell I agreed to when my phone chimes in my hand. Looking at it I see he’s texted me.

  Rixton: I’ll pick you up at 7:00PM. Good night, Pyper.

  I stare at my phone a few minutes thinking I will just ignore it and not respond. I reach over, turn out the lamp at my bedside. Then, before I can think twice, I’m typing out a reply before placing my phone on the bedside table.

  Good night, Rixton.

  THE FEW DAYS LEADING UP to my date with Rixton move very slowly. It’s given me plenty of time to doubt my decision. Why did I ever tell him I would go out with him? I don’t know what I’m thinking. Yes you do. You were thinking with your hormones.

  Spending time with him isn’t going to lead anywhere. It can’t. All it will do is screw up my carefully, well-thought out plan for meeting the man of my dreams. I try to picture him in my mind. Navy blue pinstriped suit, shiny black shoes, pants that hug his legs, a shirt tucked in with a shiny belt catching the light at his waist. His jacket and dress shirt will hide a solid and sculpted body underneath and the light blue tie at his neck will match his eyes. When I try to see into my dream guy’s face, it’s blurry, but then suddenly Rixton is staring back at me. I shake my head, trying to rid myself of the image. Yep, this just interferes and interrupts my plans – plans that I need to get busy putting in place.

  A one-night-stand, Rixton, dates with Rixton – none of this is part of that plan. So, what the hell am I doing? Why am I wasting my time this way? I should be going out on dates that have potential to actually lead somewhere. Time seems to pass quicker and quicker all the time. If I really want what Livvie has, I need to get busy. I shouldn’t be screwing around anymore. It’s time to be serious, grow up and look towards the future. It’s time I find Mr. Right. And Rixton? Well he’s not my type at all – certainly not the type you bring home to your parents. Especially my parents.

  But how long might this plan thing take? Is it really wrong to just have fun in the mean time? Hanging out and hooking up with Rixton doesn’t have to mean anything. We are both consenting adults that are attracted to one another. It isn’t crazy that we would consider having a no strings attached relationship, right? I mean Rixton probably has those kinds of relationships with chicks all the time. And why does that revelation make me feel queasy? No worries; I will choose to push that particular thought away.

  Remembering how funny Rixton was on the phone, makes me smile despite myself. Pushing away the unwelcome thoughts, I choose yet another outfit option from my closet and look it over. Dissatisfied, I toss it onto the ever-growing pile that keeps mounting on my floor. I make a noise of exasperation, put my hands on my hips and glare at my clothes. I have no clue what to wear. Why the hell didn’t I go to the store and buy something? No wait, it’s good that I didn’t go and buy anything. This is just a one-time thing, not anything to go crazy over. It’s not buy-a-new-outfit worthy. Oh God, who am I kidding? Everything is new clothing worthy – I’m just being stubborn.

  With a feeling of determination, I grab my favorite Kelly green sheath dress out of the closet, unzip the back, and slide it up my body, and over the matching lace bra and panty set I’m wearing. Pulling up the zipper, I look at myself in the full-length mirror on the back of my closet door. I smooth the dress out around my hips, then with a contented nod, grab my nude stiletto heels and put them on.

  Standing tall, I glance down at my shoes, “Perfect.” In the bathroom, I put the finishing touches on my lip gloss and rub my lips together while I turn my head side to side looking at my face. My makeup is soft – not too over the top, emphasizing my blue eyes. I’ve left my hair down and loose around my shoulders. When I find myself twirling and fidgeting with it, I force myself to stop and walk out of the room.

  Picking up my bag off my bed, I walk out into the living room and open a closet to grab a sweater in case I get chilly just as I hear a knock on the door. I’m grateful that Olivia and Luke aren’t here. I really don’t want to deal with Olivia’s inquiring looks and Luke’s sarcastic comments. I have loved living with Olivia, but sometimes, three is definitely a crowd. Besides, I only agreed to go on a date with Rixton so that he would stop bugging me about it. That’s all.

  Opening the door, the first thing I see are Rixton’s warm golden eyes shining at me. A combination of amusement and heat, they make goose bumps flutter over my skin as a smile curves his lips. “Hello, Red.” His gaze rakes me from my feet to the top of my head, causing me to shiver involuntarily. “You look amazing.” He lifts a sunflower up, handing it to me, “this is for you.”

  I’m surprised not only by his thoughtfulness, but that he would give me a flower other than the typical roses I’ve gotten from other dates. It’s refreshing. I realize he must be able to read the thought on my face when he says, “We have a field of them back home and I’ve always loved them. It seemed like the perfect flower to bring to you.”

  “I love it. Thank you so much.” I smile at him and he returns my smile with one of his own. I quickly get a vase for the flower, turn back to Rixton, only to find that he followed me into the room. He walks toward me, and with each step he takes, I walk backward in kind. I gasp when my back hits the counter. He stands right before me, and picks up a piece of my hair and twirls it around his fingers. “You look gorgeous, Red,
” he purrs. I can’t take my eyes off of his mouth. He leans toward me and I’m so captivated by his eyes that I barely turn my head in time to avoid his kiss. His mouth lands on my cheek, and lingers, until I feel him smile against my skin. Taking a few steps back, he looks at me, giving me a chance to appraise him from head to toe. He’s wearing blue jeans and a dark blue shirt that’s rolled up to his elbows, exposing strong tan forearms. Sure, I’ve seen him many times at the club, but there’s something about having him here, in my place, up close and personal, right now, that makes him seem even more remarkable. His shirt is open at the collar, the flash of skin there holding my attention for a moment. And just as the heat starts to form, I look a little lower and see… he’s wearing cowboy boots.

  I smirk and look up into his face, “Nice boots, cowboy.”

  “You like them?” He grabs his jeans at his knee and pulls them up, exposing his entire boots to my gaze. Turning one of his feet side to side, he is clearly admiring his boots while making sure I get a clear view as well. “I wore these just for you. I wanted to look my best.”

  I roll my eyes – he makes me do that a lot – trying to cover up the fact that I’m feeling a little uncertain. He’s dressed much more casual than I am, but he didn’t say anything so I’m not going to worry about it. Plus, he’s a cowboy; this probably is dressing up for him, and I admit, he looks hot as hell. The last thing I want is to embarrass him by asking if I’m dressed okay thereby suggesting he’s not dressed up enough. Besides, he could pull off a towel. Oh God, now I’m thinking about him in a towel. Wet. With water trickling down his chest, and abs, and… I swallow hard… lower. I try to distract myself with something horrendous. Dead puppies… dead puppies… dead puppies….

  “You ready to go, or would you like to have a drink here before we leave?” I squeak out as I grab a bottle of water from the fridge myself and quickly take a drink to try to calm my nerves. And cool my hormones.

  “Thank you, but let’s go ahead and head out if that’s okay with you.”

  “Okay, sure.” I set the bottle on the counter and follow him to the door. After I set the alarm and lock the door, he escorts me to the elevator with a hand on the small of my back. I can feel the heat of his hand through my dress. It’s… nice. Once inside the elevator, the confined space increases the scent of his cologne. The aroma reaches and penetrates my pores. He smells divine, like first dates and sexual tension. It feels as if my blood starts rushing through my veins. Is it loaded with sex pheromones or something? I move subtly to the other side of the elevator, hoping the space makes the tingles I’m feeling subside. I not only feel hyper aware of him, but of myself. Rixton looks at me with a raise of his eyebrows, “You okay? I’m not going to bite you know.”

  I giggle nervously, “I know. I’m fine.” Giving him what I hope is a casual shrug, I stare at the elevator doors, anxious for us to reach the garage level and have the doors finally open. Leading me out, with a hand once again on the small of my back, I’m not at all surprised to see he takes me to a huge black truck. “Good hell, I’m going to need a step ladder to get into that thing!”

  He smirks, “No you won’t.” With a beep the truck is unlocked and he opens my door. As I step onto the running board and grab hold of the handle at the top of the door, I feel a hand push against my ass helping me into my seat. I sit with a plop and turn to look at him, “Really?”

  He wipes his hand over his mouth as if he’s trying to cover a devilish smile, “Just trying to be gentlemanly.”

  I lift an eyebrow at him, “Well that’s a good thing, considering that once people get a look at your mode of transportation, they are likely thankful at least for your manners.”

  His brows lower in confusion and he leans on the door, “What do you mean?”

  “Well you know what they say about big trucks, right? It usually means the guy is trying to make up for something they may be,” I look at his crotch suggestively, “lacking.”

  He laughs, the sound low and husky. “It’s a good thing you know better. Isn’t it, darlin’?”

  I flush, which makes him laugh harder, but makes me feel irritated. So I lie. “I wouldn’t know. I hardly remember it at all.”

  “Well now, Red, that sounds like a challenge to me.”

  “It isn’t.”

  He ignores me, “I accept.” He closes the door and walks around the truck. Truth is, I do remember. My memory may be a bit fuzzy about the evening, but I remember our interaction and I recall the morning quite clearly. Fact is, Rixton is definitely not trying to overcompensate for anything. Damn him, and his big dick.

  I wait until he starts the truck to ask, “So, where are we going? Need any suggestions, or do you have a place in mind?”

  Buckling his seatbelt he turns to me, a smirk on his face. “I’m insulted.”

  I look up from buckling my own belt, “Why?”

  “Do you actually think I would work so hard to get you to go out with me and then not have a plan?”

  I shrug. “I wasn’t sure. Besides, I don’t mind.”

  “Well I do. And I’ve got a place in mind. Just sit back and enjoy the ride.” He winks at me and then puts his keys in the ignition, starting the car.

  “Okay,” I smile and lean back, making myself comfortable, but when he eases into traffic, I can’t help but turn my head to watch him. His thigh muscles tighten when he pushes the break, the muscles in his forearms and biceps flex as he turns the wheel. He has one hand resting casually on the wheel, and the other is on the console between us. What is it about men driving that’s sexy? The way they handle a vehicle – it’s a casual sexiness that makes me salivate.

  He turns his head, his eyes catching mine and he smirks, “You think I’m sexy don’t you?”

  How does he do that? Read my mind like that? “Um, what?”

  “You know… where I’m from… in Texas? We have two tractors on the farm. I would drive them a lot.”

  “Okay,” I reply, drawing out the word, “What does that have to do with anything?” My mind flashes to Rixton shirtless and operating a tractor. The powerful machinery between his legs, sweat glistening on his skin, muscles bunching in his arms as he turns the tractor. I shift my legs yet again.

  He pushes the power button on the stereo and after a minute, Kenny Chesney’s voice comes blaring through his expensive sound system singing, what else? ‘She Thinks My Tractor’s Sexy’. I outright laugh when he sings, “It really turns her on.”

  Rixton winks at me, “Don’t worry, darlin’, I’m happy to give you a ride on my tractor.”

  Is it wrong that I now picture myself straddling his lap on that tractor? Oh hell. I’m doomed.

  AS WE PULL INTO A DIRT PARKING LOT, I realize we’ve arrived at our destination. The truck bounces as we go over the uneven dirt and I white knuckle the passenger door, trying to maintain my balance. Trying to identify our location, I quickly scan the surroundings as a large building with a neon sign hanging in front comes into focus that says, PRIME STEAKHOUSE.

  Rixton is out of the truck and holding my door open before I process what I am seeing or have the chance to unlatch my seatbelt. “Let me help you down,” he holds his hand out for me to grasp. I do and gingerly step down out of the truck. He holds onto my hand a few beats longer than necessary.

  Walking toward the front of what I’m guessing is a restaurant, my stilettos sink into a soft dirt patch, making me lose my balance. I quickly try to adjust to keep my ankle from turning and avoid falling. “Whoa, are you okay?”

  “Yes, I’m fine.” I push away the hair that has fallen into my face, and flash him a quick, but somewhat insincere smile. He grasps my elbow and holds it tightly the rest of the way to the entrance. We walk up wooden steps to the door and I try to maneuver over the natural cracks in the wood, distracted by the concern that my heels might get stuck. A picture of myself falling flat on my face flashes through my mind. That’s all I need.

  As soon as we walk into the restaurant and my eyes
adjust to the lighting, I quickly skim the interior, immediately feeling both surprise and embarrassment. Rixton should have told me we were going somewhere very casual. To say I’m overdressed is an understatement. The place is really busy. There are people everywhere and practically everyone is dressed comfortably in jeans. I see a few cut off jean shorts and even girls in comfy looking flowered dresses, all accessorized with cowboy boots. The ladies all look great – I look ridiculous. I am immediately aware that this place is very much Rixton and not at all me. I should have expected something like this. But no, I’m all stupid, fancy, five-star venues with their over-the-top five-course meals, while he does off the beaten path steakhouses decorated with peanut shells on the floor.

  Trying to distract myself, I absorb the environment and its, uh, ambiance. The room is large, filled with high bench seats and tables. The walls are decorated with what appears to be old country album covers and pics of country and western performers in haphazardly positioned black frames. There is a prominently displayed guitar on the wall as well. Wood beams ascend to a high ceiling, carving out various seating areas. Otherwise, it is one large open area. There’s even a huge tractor in the corner of the room, affixed with a prominent John Deere sign. Rixton catches me staring at it and winks, “I can pose on it for you later if you’d like.”

  Ignoring his comment, I see a large red lettered sign over a side door stating “BULL OUT BACK.” Somehow, I’m easily convinced it’s a statement of fact, when I swear I hear an audible snort coming from that direction. Oh lord.

  Coming back to the moment and not wanting him to think my pause meant that his arrogant comment got to me, I hastily answer, “Maybe I will pose for you.”

  His response communicates that it was the wrong thing to say. His lips curve into a smile and his eyes fill with heat. “Promises, promises. I would really like to see that, Red. Tell me what it would take.”