Get Wilde (A Checkmate Inc. Novel Book 3)

by Shelly Alexander

  “What the fuck?” I blurt. “What do you mean profile?” I can guess, but I so don’t want to go there.

  That wrinkle over her brow grows deeper. “Are you…Dave? From the online dating service?”

  Now I’m offended. Don’t get me wrong. I have several friends who’ve met great people through online dating. It’s just not for me. I can find women on my own the good old-fashioned way. This is New York City, for fuck’s sake.

  “Do I look like I need to sign up for desperate dot com to get a date?” Shit. That came out way more douchey than I intended.

  One hand goes to her hip, and the color of her eyes darkens to the deepest shade of emerald I’ve ever seen. “I guess not, but you might consider joining Assholes Anonymous.” She puts her drink down and fumbles through her purse. “Sorry for the mix up. I’ll just pay for my drink and be on my way.”

  Best idea I’ve heard since she walked up a few minutes ago. No idea why I shrug and say, “Suit yourself, but I bet I’m a lot more fun than Dave.”

  Chapter Two

  I fully intend to let this gorgeous redhead with the interesting name and the personality that seems just as fiery as her hair walk away. I really do. But I feel bad about acting like an arrogant ass. I may be a confirmed bachelor, but that’s no excuse for rudeness.

  I pull another bill from my wallet while Red is still searching for money in her shoulder bag. Not sure how anything can get lost in a purse the size of a saltine, but she’s furiously digging through the small leather square.

  I hand the bill to Chase. “I’ve got this round. Least I can do for sounding like such a dick.”

  Her head pops up. “I can pay for my own drink.”

  I lounge against the bar again as she dives back into her purse.

  “Come on, that was an apology,” I say.

  She meets my gaze and tilts her head to one side like she’s calling me on my bullshit.

  I chuckle. “Okay, it was sort of an apology. I’m sorry for sounding like a dick. It just popped out.” Because I was disappointed when I realized you weren’t coming onto me.

  I choke back the words that will unleash nine kinds of hell on my world if I let them slip out. I can’t go there with a girl-next-door-type who will surely have expectations. It’s not how I roll anymore.

  “The drink is a peace offering.” I try to sound as cool as the spring air that blows in off the Hudson this time of year. I slide her martini glass toward her. “Why don’t you finish it while you’re waiting for Dave?” I don’t know who the fuck this Dave character is, but his first big mistake is not being on time. Never leave a lady alone in a place that’s swarming with possibilities, especially if the lady is as good looking as Adeline. Surely Dave saw her picture online. Isn’t that a requirement on dating sites? No wonder he needs help finding women. “And if I happen to be standing here while you’re waiting, we can have a friendly conversation to pass the time.”

  She gives me a skeptical look, then sighs. “Okay.” She picks up her glass. “One drink. Only because you said you’re sorry.” She lifts the glass to her lips, but pauses. “And because you admitted to being a dick,” she deadpans, but there’s also a glint of laughter in her eye.

  “Ethan.” I hold out my hand.

  She takes a long, slow swallow from her glass, scrutinizing me over the rim. Then she slides her hand into mine. An electrical current shimmies up my arm, and the gerbils speed to Mach 5 in my chest.

  Her handshake is quick but firm. Not firm as in manly. Firm as in self-assured, and that makes me want to get to know her.

  Quickly, I pull my hand from hers and take a drink. “So why does a nice looking girl like you sign up for online dating?”

  The tip of one long finger circles the rim of her glass like she’s thinking. Choosing her words carefully. Her nails aren’t polished, but trimmed, and the movement of that finger is graceful as she traces the edge of the glass.

  I bet that fingertip would taste sweet if I wrapped my mouth around it and sucked.

  I cough behind a hand. “’Scuse me.”

  “The truth is, my best friend, Noelle—” Red waves her hand in the air and gives her head a charming little tilt.

  Son of a bitch. Words like charming or cute are not in the Dudes Dictionary of Acceptable Vocabulary, and I’m two for two.

  Red keeps explaining her dating drama. “She talked me into it. She’s starting a local matchmaking service and needed a guinea pig. Long story short, I owe her.” She smiles, and her eyes twinkle.

  Aaaaand I’m batting a thousand because the fucking word twinkle is not dude-ish.

  I sip my Guinness. “There are what, eight million people in New York, give or take.” I let one side of my mouth slide up into a teasing smile. “Is it really that hard to meet guys on your own?”

  “I work a lot, which doesn’t leave much time for meeting new people.” Red shrugs. “Plus, the last guy I met on my own forgot to mention he lived at the bottom of the river with the rest of the bottom dwellers.”

  I can relate. I’ll never forget the sting of rejection—make that the searing agony of betrayal from the person I planned to spend the rest of my life with. She was even shameless enough to keep the fucking ring. “Wow. That bad, huh?”

  Red rolls her eyes in a you have no idea way. “My friend is very persuasive, and I figured she couldn’t do any worse than my last boyfriend.” Red shrugs. “I caved and let her sign me up.” She takes in the clock on the wall. “Dave—nice guy that he obviously is—is my first online date.”

  A guy who’s had one too many bumps into Adeline from behind, and she stumbles toward me. My arm circles her waist to steady her, and I don’t let go. It’s just instinct. Nothing more, I tell myself. The zing of lusty adrenaline shooting through me has absolutely nothing to do with it. Neither does the boner, which is pressing into her pretty green dress.

  I swear her breath hitches. The crowd is packing in around us, and it’s shoulder to shoulder. Yet everything but Red melts away. Her wide green eyes staring up at me, her breath washing over my jaw laced with a hint of apple and liquor. It’s a fucking turn on, and I have no idea why because she’s not my type. No, sir, not my type at all.

  “Dave is also my last online date,” she whispers.

  Excellent.

  Whoa. Wait a damn minute. I don’t care who she dates as long as it’s not me.

  I let her go, but I can’t take a step back because of the crowd. “I’d offer to fill in for Dave for the evening, but I doubt I’m your type.” For a second I wish that I was her type, which is unacceptable. “And you’re definitely not mine.” Except for the hair. The red hair is definitely my type. And the green eyes. And the fucking knockout body, too.

  I’m acting dick-ish again, but this girl I’ve known for all of ten minutes has me unsettled. Off balance. Wondering things I shouldn’t.

  Like is she a true redhead?

  I know I’ve gone and fucked up a perfectly nice conversation with a perfectly nice girl because her green eyes are shooting flaming darts at me. I wait for her to call me on my shit. I’ve just met her, but I already know she’s definitely the type to go toe to toe with me or anyone else who crosses her.

  Plus, I deserve it.

  Before Red can say anything, a short guy in his early thirties pushes through the crowd. He’s sporting a spare tire and a pocket protector.

  “Adeline?” he asks.

  “Yes,” she says. That wrinkle is back between her eyes.

  The little guy looks relieved. “Hi. I’m Dave.”

  Red, all five-feet-nothing of her, is actually looking down at him. Her jaw falls open. I mean, the poor guy can’t help it that he’s vertically challenged. It’s just that one of the first things Red mentioned when she walked up to me was height.

  My hand goes to the small of her back, and I squeeze. It’s the only way I can keep from snorting, and I’ve already racked up enough asshole points for the night.

  Slowly, her gaze returns
to me. Now I’m getting visually pummeled with poisoned flaming darts.

  Swear to God, I bite my tongue, hoping the pain will stop me from roaring with laughter. Works beautifully because I want to howl like a motherfucker.

  I clear my throat and hold out a hand to Dave. “I’m an acquaintance of Adeline’s.” That’s true. Mostly. We were just getting acquainted.

  “His name is Dick,” Red says, and a million-dollar smile spreads across her pretty face. It’s big and bright and lights up the whole room.

  I forget to breathe for a beat because she’s so damn gorgeous. Light, barely visible freckles sprinkle her cheeks, and she’s so pleased with her smartass comment that she’s glowing.

  Dave gives my hand a weak shake. You can tell a lot by a person’s handshake, and I’d bet money Dave’s dates would say he doesn’t have much going on between the sheets. Red, on the other hand…

  “Cool.” Dave nods and shoves both hands into his outdated slacks. “I’ll just go get myself a drink. Can I get you anything, Adeline?”

  Red holds up her Appletini. “I’m good, thanks.” She brings the glass to her lips.

  “How about you, Dick?” Dave asks me, and Adeline chokes on her drink.

  Before I can tell Dave that I’m all set with my Guinness, Adeline recovers and says, “Dick was just leaving.” She turns a questioning gaze on me that’s full of smartassery. “What time is your AA meeting?”

  I can’t help but smile at her sharp wit. I know she’s referring to her suggestion that I should join Assholes Anonymous. The joke would be pretty hilarious if it weren’t at my expense. Never mind that I kind of deserve it.

  Dave’s stare lingers on my mug of beer. “I’ll be right back, then.” He maneuvers through the crowd to the far end of the bar where there are fewer people.

  I shake my head, because that’s his second big mistake of the night. Never leave your lady-of-interest with another man if you haven’t closed the deal yet. Dave is in serious need of a dating coach to go along with an image overhaul. He should run, not walk, to the nearest Checkmate Lifestyles Studio and buy the full package with all the bells and whistles.

  “Want me to get rid of him for you?” I ask. “I’ll let him down easy.”

  “Absolutely not.” Red tries to sound incensed.

  This time I should call her on her bullshit because she’s full of it. She already knows an evening with Dave is going to be excruciatingly boring. Her jaw hitting the floor when he introduced himself was a dead giveaway.

  “Dave seems like a nice enough guy.” She chews the corner of her mouth.

  Nice is probably exactly what she needs, but all I can think is how much I want to take Red somewhere and show her how nice is overrated. I should wish her luck with Pocket Protector Dave and make a quick exit. Instead, I say, “Dave might be nice, but he won’t be enough.” My palm molds to her, and my fingertips curve into the firm muscles at the small of her back. “Not for a gutsy Irish girl like you.”

  Her eyes round into moons. “How did you know I’m Irish?”

  I give her a look that says seriously? “Flaming red hair. Fierce green eyes. Fiery tongue.” Oh, the thought of that tongue. My prick turns to granite just thinking about it. It’s all I can do not to bend her back over my arm and lay a kiss on her that’s so smoking hot it would leave her begging. So smoking hot she’d never forget it. So smoking hot she’d never forget me.

  Fuck.

  She stares at me. Studies me. Then she knocks back the rest of her liquid courage in one long gulp and sets her glass on the bar.

  I pull her to me, and heat skates up my arm. “Red,” I whisper against her ear, and a shiver races over her. It feels so damn good, and my chest puffs out knowing I’ve caused this reaction in her. “A woman like you shouldn’t drink on a blind date. There are a lot of assholes out there who might take advantage. Dave doesn’t strike me as dangerous, but be careful.”

  Apparently, all Red hears is “a woman like you” because she tosses it right back at me. “Since you know me so well, what kind of woman am I?”

  The kind I want to fuck over and over, night after night almost slips out. I beat it back because it’s damn well not true. I don’t fuck the same woman over and over unless all the fucking happens in the same night.

  “Nice,” I say. My gaze rakes her creamy skin. “My guess is, you’re nice, and you need a nice guy.”

  “Which would be Dave.”

  Yep, I was right. She’s definitely going toe to toe with me, and I find it sexy as hell. Too bad this little dance we’re doing can’t last.

  I reach down, snag her phone, which is jutting through the opening of her tiny bag, and type my number in. I drop it back into her purse. “Call me if Dave doesn’t behave, okay?” Hey, I’ve got a sister. I’m just doing my good deed for the day by looking out for Red the way I’d want someone to look out for my kid sister.

  She runs a palm up my arms and strokes my bicep, and it ignites a fire deep inside me. “So you really think I’m nice?” Her voice is as sweet as the pudding my Irish mother makes when my sister and I go home for a visit.

  “You’re definitely nice, Red.” Unfortunately, she’s too nice for the likes of me.

  Her laugh is low and sultry. She goes up on her tiptoes and gives as good as she gets by whispering, “You’re wrong, Dick. I’m not all that nice.” Her hot breath makes my skin tingle. “I was pretty good at gymnastics once upon a time, and I can still twist myself into a pretzel.” Her voice drops to a sex kitten purr. “And when I do it naked, it’s quite a sight. Would a nice girl do that?”

  Jesus. Fucking. Christ. That fans the flames, and I go up in a five-alarm fire.

  My arms close around her, and I swear I can’t help but let out a low growl.

  She presses her hips into mine just long enough for me to feel her heat. Just long enough for me to know how perfectly we’d fit. Just long enough for me to imagine how fucking incredible she’d feel with my cock deep inside of her. Then Red pushes out of my grasp and disappears into the crowd.

  Chapter Three

  Monday evening I’m at the gym on West 35th. It’s my favorite location out of the four I’ve opened in Manhattan so far because it was the first. I consider it the hub, and I run the business from here even though I’ve got an office in each gym.

  I’m getting in a solid kickboxing workout before the organizers of the Weekend Warriors competition arrive. Since they stood me up Friday night, they offered to meet here and get a look at the obstacle course where I’ve been training my team for the event. Just so happens, the office supply company next door went out of business late last year. I snatched up the extra square footage and built make-shift obstacles, which mirror the Weekend Warrior course. Once the event is over, I’ll expand the gym with an indoor running track, more equipment, and a broader repertoire of classes that will attract new members. I’ll have to hire more instructors, but the money I intend to earn when my team wins the competition will cover the costs.

  Sweat sluices off my face and bare chest as I give the punching bag a good ass kicking. The kickboxing and martial arts studio is at the back of the gym, but there are no classes in progress. It’s quiet, and I’ve got the room to myself, just the way I want it. Maybe I can clear my head by escaping the after-work crowd that fills the weight room and cardio section of the gym with noisy energy everyday about this time.

  I usually thrive on that energy. It’s the lifeblood of my business, but I’ve been out of sorts for a few days. I pummel the bag with a one-two punch.

  I’m going at it so hard that my hair is soaking. I glance up and see myself in the mirrors that surround every wall in the gym. My dark brown hair looks black from the dampness and curls around my face.

  Best way to work off the pent-up energy that’s had me in overdrive since my run in with a short and sexy redhead last Friday night. A lazy Saturday surfing porn on Tumblr didn’t do the trick. It’s not something I do often, but it doesn’t hurt in a pinch. Fan
tasizing about Red in the shower on Sunday…twice…didn’t work either. It just made my fantasies soar higher, wondering what she’d look like and what she’d sound like and what she’d feel like when I fucked her to the edge of heaven. And back again.

  I take another swing at the bag.

  A pair of fit and trim ladies in their mid-twenties walk through and give me a smile that says they’d like to stop and chat. Uh-huh. I don’t get personal with the female members of my gym. I also haven’t been able to think of any woman but that sassy redhead since she sashayed away from me at 7th Inning Stretch and left me with quite a visual.

  Her. Naked. Performing gymnastics that defy human capabilities and would break even the most athletic people I know in half.

  My pulse revs, because I know she’d master each move. Rock each position.

  Which is precisely why I haven’t been able to get her out of my mind the past three days. Three days, one hour, and twenty-three minutes.

  Fuck.

  I crush the bag with a left hook that could take down the reigning heavyweight champ.

  The fact that it bothers me that I put my number in her phone in case Dave turned out to be a douche and she never called makes me deliver a round of brutal blows to the bag in quick succession.

  “Hey, lunkhead.” My sister, Grace, appears in the doorway. Since she works for me, she’s dressed in workout clothes, and her brown hair is pulled back into a ponytail. “A few more lunkheads are here for your meeting,” she teases.

  Grace is on sabbatical from law school because some asshole at Georgetown broke her heart. She won’t talk about it, so I don’t know all the details. Instead of moving back to Connecticut to live with our mom, she moved in with a friend in the Village and asked me for a job. She’s damn good at running things when I’m not around. She’ll be hard to replace once she goes back to school.

  And if another asshole hurts my sister, I will personally hunt them down.