Calculated Risk

by Rachael Duncan

  Snapping out of this trance, I pick up the pen and stand up straight, and he does too. Right as I’m about to open my mouth to accept his previous offers to take me out, he says, “Well, I better get going. I’ve got to get back to work, but text me if you need to go over anything else or let me know what the next step is.”

  Pressing my lips together, all I can do is nod. I finally worked up the courage to act on this, and I’m shut down before I get the chance.

  “Thanks again, Lydia. It really is great.” With a small smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, he exits my office, leaving me more confused than ever.

  Marcus

  FUCK, THAT WAS hard.

  Having to sit across from her and pretend I didn’t want to pin her against the wall was probably the most challenging thing I’ve ever done. Every instinct in my body was yelling at me to make her mine, but I know she has to come around on her own.

  And she will.

  She’s already caving and questioning her decision. It’s written all over her face. Every time she licks her lips, stutters, or thinks I don’t notice when she checks me out, she’s wondering what it would be like if she gave me a chance. I won’t make this easy on her though. She’ll be begging me to take her by the time it’s all said and done. For now, I’ll go ice my balls and wait patiently for her to make the next move.

  I’m just about to sit on my couch with a beer in my hand when my doorbell rings. Looking through the peep hole, I see it’s my little brother, Sean.

  “What’s up, bro?” I greet when I open the door.

  “Not much. You busy?”

  I give him a slow blink. “If you were actually worried about that, you would have called first.”

  “Hey, just pretending I care, dude.” He slaps me on the back before letting himself in.

  My only response is to shake my head. We’ve always been close and were attached to the hip when we were younger. Wherever I went, he’d follow. While our mannerisms are the same, we look nothing alike. Where I have dark hair, he’s blond. My eyes are hazel, his are blue. I’m tall and broad, he’s taller and lean.

  “Got anything to drink?” he asks, walking to my fridge.

  “Yeah, help yourself,” I say even though it’s not necessary.

  A few moments later, he comes into the living room and sits in my oversized chair with a beer in his hand. “Anything exciting happen today?” he asks before taking a pull from his bottle.

  Other than seeing Lydia in those black pants that hugged her ass just right? No.

  “Eh, not really. I had a drunk guy spit at me while he was in the back of the police car. Other than that, it was pretty uneventful.” Mimicking him, I take a drink of my beer as well.

  “That’s disgusting,” Sean replies.

  “Hey, not all of us have a cushy job at a bank,” I joke with him.

  He laughs. “Right. Because you had no other options.” I roll my eyes before taking another drink. “Got any plans this weekend?”

  I shake my head and give a shrug. “I’m working a shift on Sunday. Other than that, not really.”

  “Awesome! Then you should come out with me and the guys tomorrow night.”

  My face pulls down as my head moves from side to side in a non-committal way. “I don’t know. I’m not really feeling it. I’ve had a long week and planned to just hang around the house this weekend.”

  He gives me an are you kidding me look. “It’s that girl again. Please tell me you aren’t pussy whipped when you’re not even getting the pussy.”

  I almost choke on my beer. “Shut your mouth, okay?” Suddenly, I feel a vibration from my pocket. Reaching in, I pull out my phone to see I have a new text message. When I see who it’s from, I can’t contain the smile that spreads across my face. Maybe Sean’s right. I am pussy whipped.

  Lydia: Hey, are you available during the day at all early next week? I’ll have some paint samples and like to test it on the walls that will be painted. Colors look different depending on the kind of lighting in the room, so this will help choose the best color.

  “You disgust me,” Sean says with no inflection in his voice.

  “What are you talking about?” I ask, looking up from my phone and furrowing my brow.

  “That gross smile all over your face. It’s her, isn’t it?” His eyes are wide in disbelief, and if I were in his shoes, I’d probably be looking at me the same way. I’ve never been hung up on a girl, especially one that keeps telling me no.

  I try to cool my features before I respond. “There’s no smile.”

  He blinks several times rapidly. “What happened to you?” His whole face pulls in like the sight of me repulses him.

  “Noth—”

  “Dude,” he interrupts as he stands up, “I’m out of here in case that shit is contagious.”

  I hold my hands up. “What’s your deal?”

  He ignores me and goes straight for the entrance. “Sappy bastard isn’t even getting any,” I hear him mumble before he closes the front door behind him.

  Honestly, I’m a little confused by his hissy fit. I didn’t even say anything. All I did was smile. I shrug my shoulders and decide I don’t care. If anything, he can’t drink all my beer now that he’s gone.

  I focus back on the task at hand and type out a message.

  Me: I don’t work Monday.

  Her response comes within thirty seconds, letting me know she was waiting on me.

  Lydia: Perfect. Does 9 a.m. work for you?

  Me: Works for me.

  Lydia: Okay, see you then.

  Me: Looking forward to it.

  This certainly ended my day on a high note. I hadn’t been sure how long it’d be until I saw her next, but three days isn’t bad at all. In the meantime, I can start devising my plan to break down that damn wall of hers.

  Lydia

  THIS WEEKEND WENT by at a snail’s pace. I felt like a kid looking forward to some big event all over again. It was as if Monday would forever elude me. As hard as I tried to stay busy, nothing helped the hours tick by. I’d pace, check the time, and found myself daydreaming about a set of washboard abs and soul-searching, hazel eyes. I’m never this anxious to meet with a client. Excited, yes, but not so worked up that it consumes my every thought.

  I hate myself for it.

  Putting my long, brown hair in a ponytail, I give myself one last look in the mirror. Instead of my usual attire for work, I’m dressed much more casual. In a pair of loose-fitted jeans that are rolled up at the ankles, a T-shirt, and my worn-out Chucks, I’m ready to get dirty and paint some walls.

  After I’ve carried the supplies to my car, I hop in and am about to head that way when my phone chimes.

  Stalker: Hey. I got back from my run later than I thought. I’m going to get in the shower, so just let yourself in and I shouldn’t be long.

  My body shudders with the thought of catching a peek of him naked in the shower. The water dripping down his chest, over his abs, and straight to his—

  Oh, God! I startle myself out of my salacious thoughts. I need to get a grip. With a calming breath, I type a simple Okay and head that way.

  The whole drive is spent giving myself a pep talk. Marcus is just like any other client. I am there to do a job and nothing else. I am a professional and will behave as such.

  When I get to his place, I walk around to the trunk and grab the small box that has the eight different one-ounce cans of paint samples, paint brushes, and drop cloths in it. When I get to the door, I hesitate. I know he said to walk in, but it’s awkward. I’ve only been here once and I don’t know him well enough to feel comfortable letting myself in. I knock on the door in hopes he’ll answer, but he doesn’t. Slowly opening the door, I poke my head in and knock again.

  “Hello? Marcus?” I call out but am met with silence. Stepping over the threshold, I try to alert Marcus to my presence one more time. “Hellooo?” As I continue in through the foyer, faint music hits my ears. I can’t make out what song it is
, only that it’s on. I assume he’s still in the shower, so I do my best to not think of him in there, walk into the kitchen, and set the box down on the island.

  With my hands on my hips, I survey his living room for a good wall to paint while envisioning the transformation that will start to happen over a couple weeks. The sound of bare feet on hardwood catches my attention, so I turn around.

  And wish I hadn’t.

  A gasp leaves my lips as his eyes widen in surprise, both of us startling the other.

  A towel. That’s all that separates my eyes from seeing Marcus in all his glory. My mouth salivates and dries up all at once, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t remove my eyes from his six-pack to save my life.

  “Sorry, I didn’t hear you come in or I wouldn’t have come out like this.” His voice triggers my senses to snap back to reality and my gaze finally moves up to his face. He holds another towel in one hand that he’s rubbing vigorously over his head to dry his hair. I swallow hard as images of what it’d be like to run my fingers through his hair cross my mind.

  I blink a few times as my head shakes slightly. “It’s, uh, okay. I should’ve yelled your name louder.”

  A sinful grin spreads wide across his face as an eyebrow arches. “I’m sure we can work on that.” My face is on fire and I know he notices when he lets out a low chuckle and looks down. My mind has ceased to work and I can’t think of a witty comeback, so I just stand here frozen in place. “Sorry, you walked right into that one.”

  “I guess I did.” I hate how flustered my voice sounds.

  “I’m going to get dressed real quick. I’ll be down in a few minutes.”

  Still trying to control my breathing, I nod in response. As soon as he rounds the corner and is out of sight, a huge exhale leaves my body as does all the tension. How am I going to do this? I have no idea how I’m going to keep my head on straight around him. I can’t talk, I can’t think, and when I do, it’s about him. I’m pathetic.

  “Alright, I’m ready. Sorry for making you wait,” he says as he enters the kitchen again.

  “No worries.” Jumping right into the reason I’m here, I get down to business. “I know we agreed on a gray color for the walls, so I brought over eight samples to see which one you like the best.”

  He scratches his temple. “Eight? I mean, gray is gray, right?” His confusion is actually quite endearing and makes me laugh.

  “I should’ve brought you a color wheel. Gray is not just gray.”

  “I’ll take your word for it.” He doesn’t seem convinced.

  “I thought this wall over here would be the best place to test these out,” I tell him as I point to our left. “If you don’t want random squares of different paint on your wall for a week or so, that’s fine. I have canvases in my car we can paint, but the texture isn’t the same, so it might be a little different.”

  “I don’t care. No one else is going to see it but me.” He pauses. “Except maybe my brother.”

  “I’ll get started then.” I give him a small smile before grabbing my brushes and setting up.

  “Here, let me help you.” He reaches out to take some of the stuff from my hands.

  “I’m fine, I’ve got it,” I assure him.

  “If you think I’m going to sit on the couch and watch you paint, you’re sadly mistaken.”

  I look over my shoulder at him and see he has his eyebrow raised in a challenging manner. I want to tell him no because I don’t think I can work in such close proximity to him. It’s hard enough knowing he’s right behind me, but I give in and say, “Fine, you can help if you want.”

  As we work, both of us are quiet, focusing on the task at hand. At least, that’s what it looks like. My mind is running a mile a minute while I ignore the natural pull I have toward him. The silence isn’t uncomfortable or awkward, which surprises me, but the more I think about Marcus, the more I realize I don’t know much about him.

  “Did you always want to be a cop?” I ask.

  “No, not always. When I was in high school, I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do. My dad had his own plans for me, so I was stuck between doing something I liked, and not disappointing him.”

  I’m not at all surprised he cares about the opinion of his father. Marcus comes across straight as an arrow, so I can see how that would be important to him. “Are you and your dad close then?” The brush soaks up the paint I’ve dipped it in before I sweep it against the wall.

  He moves his head from side to side. “Yeah, I guess we’re pretty close.”

  “What was your dad’s plan for you anyway?”

  “You’ve got a lot of questions this morning,” he lightly chides, but it’s enough to embarrass me. I am being nosey.

  My hand covers my mouth. “Oh gosh, I am being intrusive. I’m so sorry.”

  He laughs softly. “Don’t sweat it.” His easygoing demeanor lets me know he’s only joking, but I also notice he didn’t answer my question.

  Now that all five colors are up on the walls, I stand back to have a look. “What do you think? Which one appeals to you most?” I ask him. He mulls it over for a few seconds. “I think that one is my favorite,” he says, pointing to the light gray. A smile pulls up at my lips because that would have been my choice for this room too.

  “Great.” I clap my hands once. “I’ll put the order in and we should have the painters here in two or three days.

  “Oh, you won’t be painting it?” It might be just me, but I swear I hear disappointment in his voice.

  “Trust me; you want to leave that up to the professionals.” I walk over to the corner where the chair sits and look it over, getting an idea for how much fabric we’ll need.

  “What’s next on the agenda now that that’s out of the way?” He leans against the kitchen counter, putting his bulging biceps on full display. I think this might be my new favorite body part of his.

  “Um, next I’ll pull some fabric choices for the chair. Once those are selected, I’ll come by and reupholster it since it’s kind of my thing.”

  “Your thing?” He seems amused.

  I shrug. “It takes me back to my roots.” We start to pick up the samples and bring them back to the box. “I always had an interest in interior decorating, but when you’re a broke college student, you have to make do with what you have. So I learned how to alter the things I already had in inexpensive ways, which got me the nickname Miss Design on a Dime from my friends. It wasn’t until my roommate at the time suggested I major in it that I thought about making it a career.”

  “Hmmm,” he says with a nod.

  “What?”

  “Nothing, I just like learning more about you.” His honesty catches me off guard and stuns me for a second. I don’t want to like the fact that he wants to get to know me better, but I do. I’m not sure what to make of it, but I find myself repressing a smile as I look down at the ground.

  I clear my throat before speaking. “I’ll bring over some fabric choices this week and we can get started on that project too.”

  He stands to his full height, making me tilt my head up to look at him when he takes a few steps toward me. My heart rate accelerates, begging to be put out of its misery. “Sounds good.” His deep voice vibrates through my body and I know without a doubt I would be perfectly content to just sit and listen to him talk to me all day. His voice is that intoxicating.

  I need to get out of here.

  “Okay, well I have to get going. Thanks for the help and I’ll talk to you soon.”

  A soft touch to my arm causes me to pause. Looking back up at him, I see the turmoil behind his eyes. He wants to make a move, but he’s respecting my wishes to stay away. God, I wish he’d cave.

  “Thank you, Lydia.” My name rolls off his tongue like a song, but when he starts to lean in toward me, I forget to breathe. But instead of giving me what I want—what I need—he plants a soft, chaste kiss to my cheek. The place his lips touch is on fire and my knees damn near give out.

  I co
uldn’t put syllables together to form words if my life depended on it, so with a nod of my head, I make a quick exit out the front door. I’m not going to be able to fight this much longer.

  Marcus

  LYDIA SHOULD BE here any minute, and I’m running around like a chicken with my damn head cut off trying to pick up my shit and make it look clean. She messaged me at eight this morning and sprung this on me last minute. As soon as I told her I was free for the day, she told me she was already out and about and would be here in thirty minutes, so I wasn’t prepared. I haven’t talked to her since she was over here six days ago, so I wasn’t going to tell her no. And that’s why I’m breaking a sweat, trying to make it look like I’m not the stereotypical, sloppy bachelor.

  The doorbell rings, stopping me in my tracks. I survey the area quickly, pleased with what I accomplished in thirty minutes. With a deep breath to calm myself down after running around frantically, I walk to the door and let her in.

  “Hey,” I greet her with a smile.

  “Hey.” She looks up at me from beneath her eyelashes before readjusting the things she’s carrying.

  “Oh! Let me get some of that for you.” I’m such an idiot. Here she is about to drop all this shit and I’m just standing here like a douche. Way to score some points, Marcus.

  “Thanks.” I step aside to allow her in and can’t help but look at her ass when she walks by. She’s wearing some tight, black athletic pants that leave little to the imagination. I can see every line of her hip and the cup of her ass. I guess she goes more casual on the weekends, not that I’m complaining. I kick the door closed with my foot and follow her into the living room.

  “If you don’t mind, I’ll just set up shop in the living room and get started,” she says.

  “I don’t mind at all. Make yourself comfortable and use whatever you need,” I tell her. She responds with an appreciative smile.

  “Some clients are really . . . particular. They don’t want to see the mess or be bothered with the process, so I usually remove things like this from the home and work on it at the office.” That’s interesting. She usually does this off-site, but didn’t even give me the option. I wouldn’t have let her work on this at her office, but the fact that she didn’t want to gives me hope.