It’s About Time

by Erin McCarthy

  Light. Fun. Witty. That’s all. “The quick breakdown of the facts is as follows. Trish Jones, prosecuting attorney, age twenty-eight. Raised in Rocky River, currently residing in the Clifton Boulevard area, with no pets, though considering a lizard. I bowl with my friends twice a month, work shockingly long hours, and have been credited with always being direct in both my personal and professional lives.”

  She smiled at him, what she hoped was a confident, flirtatious smile. “How about you?”

  “Caleb Vancouver.” He spoke slower than she did, which could be his temperament or the alcohol dulling his reflexes. “Thirty last June. Grew up in Lakewood, still live there, in a double on Cordova. My two brothers and I run our own construction business, but we focus mostly on concrete. And I already have a lizard, Spanky, who only moves at three A.M. when I’m trying to sleep and he’s screwing around with the rocks in his tank.”

  “So I should rethink the lizard thing? I prefer to sleep at three A.M., not listen to an amorous lizard.”

  Caleb laughed. “I didn’t say he was screwing the rocks, I said he’s screwingaround with the rocks.”

  “So you think.”

  “I don’t want to know.”

  Trish switched her legs and took a sip of water, taking some weird pleasure in making Caleb laugh. This dogooder shit wasn’t all that hard.

  And her interest had nothing to do with the fact that he was damn cute, with the hottest body she’d ever seen off the WWF circuit.

  “We grew up practically neighbors then. When I wanted to be daring and pretend I was hip, I used to go to Lakewood.”

  “Let me guess-you grew up in one of those lakefront houses with private beach privileges. And went to private high school.”

  Damn. “Maybe.” It was fine for her to make assumptions about him, but having it turned back on her was annoying. Especially since he was right.

  “You like to come here and slum after a day out sailing or dinner at some trendy restaurant?”

  If he only knew how little she had fit in at her all-girls high school, how often she’d been reprimanded for breaking dress code with striped black-and-white socks, and how the administration had not appreciated her turning the school newspaper into a hotbed of debate on crime and punishment in America. No one was extending her an invitation to the yacht club, and her parents indulgently referred to her as their “driven” daughter.

  “Sure, I get a cheap thrill from eating greasy food and gawking at the commoners.” Trish swatted him on the arm. “Come off it! I work with criminals all day long. I have no pretensions. I grew up in comfortable surroundings, but so what? I drive a crappy, ten-year-old Toyota, my favorite hangout is the bowling alley, and while I’ve never dated a guy who was technically blue collar, that was never intentional. It was more a convenience factor, but I’m rethinking that. The guys I know are all schleps, so a welder has to be a step up.”

  Caleb had stopped brooding long enough to look amused. “You know any welders?”

  “No, but maybe you could hook me up. You know, I may be on to something here. You realize that we all date in a very narrow circle, usually people we work with or through mutual friends. There are probably a thousand single guys I’ve never even come into contact with, all right here in like a ten-mile radius.”

  “You going to date all thousand?”

  “Maybe,” she said airily. It would keep her busy for the next ten years or so, while her friends all settled into domesticity and diapers and had increasingly less time to spend with her.

  He laughed. “You should probably just start with one, Trish.”

  For some insane reason, she smiled up at him and moistened her lips with her tongue. “Know anyone who might volunteer?”

  The grin faded off Caleb’s face. “Maybe I do.”

  Three

  “Hey, Caleb, Trish.” Joe leaned over the bar in front of them and Caleb was annoyed at the interruption.

  “What’s up, man?” In other words, leave so he could go back to talking to Trish, who after two hours of conversation, had shed her shoes and her reserve. She had a cute little spot of pink on each cheek as she dissected her favorite movie for him.

  “Last call, buddy. You want anything?”

  Jesus, make that four hours. Caleb looked at Joe in surprise. “It’s one-thirty?”

  “Yep. Time flies when you’re sitting on your ass gabbing. But when you’re a working stiff like me, you feel it. It is most definitely one-thirty.”

  Trish laughed. “And we haven’t even gotten started on the secondLord of the Rings movie yet.”

  Joe groaned. “Oh, God, spare me. Caleb’s always boring the shit out of me with that fantasy elf crap, trying to drag me to those movies. I’m glad he’s found another geek to talk about it with.”

  And talk they had. About everything. He’d confessed to Trish he liked bowling, too, but riding his bike better. They liked the same books, movies, sports, and thought getting on the back of a horse was just nuts.

  “Geek at your service,” Trish said wryly, bending over to pick up her shoes.

  She obviously had no idea he could see right down her dress to the tops of her breasts, pushed up with a black satin bra. Caleb’s mouth went dry and he felt a surge of lust so powerful he almost shot off the damn stool.

  “Gorgeous geek,” he murmured.

  “What?” she murmured, breathless as she stayed bent over, fooling with the straps on her heels.

  “Nothing. I said you’re not a geek.”

  But Joe had heard him and gave him a questioning glance. “You want some coffee or something Caleb, before you head out? You were pounding ’em pretty hard earlier.”

  Joe must think it was the alcohol talking. And maybe it was, though Caleb didn’t feel drunk anymore. He just felt a heightened awareness of the room around him, sound louder than normal, color vibrant. And he felt interest in something, someone, for the first time in a hell of a long time.

  “No, thanks, man, I’m fine. I guess I’ll head out soon.” Not that he wanted to leave, go home to his empty house, listen to the silence, and Spanky getting it on with his rocks.

  Trish sat up, all remnants of a smile gone. “You’re not going to drive home, are you?” She nodded to Joe, commanding and prissy and somehow damn sexy. “Joe, call him a cab.”

  Joe, the idiot, nodded. “Sure thing, babe.”

  “Wait a minute! I can’t take a cab. I rode my bike here and I’m not leaving it in the parking lot overnight.”

  Trish fiddled with her bra strap, giving him another flash of flesh. He took a deep breath and shifted, his cock caught in an uncomfortable position as it swelled enthusiastically.

  “So what? Just throw it in the trunk of the cab.” Trish rolled her eyes. “I’m not letting you drive.”

  There was something she was missing here, and it struck him as funny. “I don’t think a Harley will fit in the cab’s trunk.”

  Joe laughed. “I’ll let you two work this out. Let me know if you want the cab company’s number.”

  Trish gave him a blank look, then raised her eyebrows in understanding. “Oh, I get it. Here I was picturing you, this huge guy, pedaling a bicycle, and the thought was killing me, I’m telling you. But on a hog, okay, that makes more sense.”

  “Thanks for your approval.”

  “But you still can’t drive.”

  And she stood up and leaned over him, hands sliding down past his waist, groping and feeling all over his thighs, her breasts brushing against his chest.

  “What the hell are you doing?” He wasn’t sure whether to move out of her reach or grab her, throw her on the bar, and kiss her. Odds were two to one on kissing her.

  “Whoa!” He jerked when her hand dipped into his jeans pocket and fished around. Christ almighty, if she shifted to the right a little she’d be stroking his johnson.

  “I’m looking for your keys.” Her voice was a little breathy, and her eyes had darkened as she looked up at him, fingers stilling in both of
his front pockets.

  “You’re going to find more than my keys.” He tried to maneuver back, but all he managed to do was force Trish to lose her balance. With her hands still trapped in his jeans, she fell forward against him.

  “Umph,” she said, her chin colliding with his chest, breasts giving softly against his lower ribs.

  He put his hand on her back to steady her and forced himself to speak, even though every inch of him was aching with desire. “Trish, I can drive. I’m fine.”

  “That’s what everyone says-then they plow into a utility pole.”

  Maybe she had a point. Better to be safe than sorry. And he was having fun letting her fish around for his keys. He moved his hands to the bar, off of Trish, as she stood back up. “Alright, fine. You’re right. But it’s a moot point if neither of us can get the keys out.”

  “I walk away for two minutes and she’s got her hands in your pants?” Joe cleared the empty water bottles from in front of them. “I’ve known her for four years and she’s never felt me up.”

  Trish was on the move again, tickling his thigh as she pushed herself off him slowly.

  “Shut up, Joe,” Caleb said, thinking the whole scene would be a hell of a lot more interesting if they were in private.

  Then Trish moved like lightning, holding his keys up before dancing out of his reach. “Got them!”

  While he knew she was right, and he no longer had any intention of driving, he still made a grab for her just for the fun of it. She shrieked and slipped out of his hold before he had more than a fistful of her silky dress.

  “Damn, Trish, you’re like a greased pig.”

  “That’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to me.” She taunted him with the keys, dangling them in front of her, laughing.

  Caleb hadn’t laughed with a woman in a long time. It felt good now, right, easy. He stood up to stalk her, back her against the bar, maybe accidentally stick his hands on various spots of her body until he came up with the keys.

  She looked up at him, her grin disappearing in astonishment. “God, you’re huge. Even bigger than I thought when you were sitting down.”

  Caleb was used to that reaction from women. He was a little broad and on the tall side, and while he was comfortable in his own skin, it had always made him a little nervous around women. Like he might knock them down by accident. He took a tentative step toward her, holding his hand out. “Give me the keys. I’ll ask Joe to drive my bike home for me.”

  “What kind of prenatal vitamin was your mother on? You’re like a freak of nature,” Trish said, cocking her head a little.

  That stopped him short. He grunted, though he was amused. “That’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

  Trish laughed, not a girlish giggle or an obnoxious snort but a beautiful, rich sound, her teeth gleaming in the dark room, her hair framing a heart-shaped face. “You like reading fantasy novels, have a lizard and a Harley, are in touch with your emotions, and have a sense of humor, too. Very interesting.”

  Not really, but his heart started a goddamn tap dance in his chest. She looked delicious standing there, rolling her ankles off her shoes, smelling like warm flesh and a subtle layer of sweet perfume.

  “Keys, Trish.”

  “I’ll drive the Harley and you can ride on the back.”

  Clearly she thought he was shit-faced enough to agree to that, but there was no way in hell, drunk or sober, he was going to agree to let a woman drive his chopper.

  No way.

  Trish knew Caleb was nervous, given that gasping, choking sound he was making in the back of his throat, but she was confident as she straddled the motorcycle.

  “You sure you know how to drive this?”

  “I told you, I passed the test and everything. I’m a fully licensed motorcycle driver.” That had been in her early twenties when she had been in a retro-seventies phase, wearing mirrored sunglasses and listening to CDs by angry women. But she was sure she could handle the thing. And as an added bonus she wouldn’t need to use her Thighmaster the next day after squeezing her legs around the wide bike.

  “We’re only going two blocks to my place. It will be fine.” If she could just find the ignition.

  “Your place? What are we going to do when we get to your place? Call me a cab? I know I’m not drunk, and I’m missing the logic in your cunning plan.”

  When Caleb shifted, the whole bike tilted. He towered behind her, six-foot-four or so and about two hundred and forty pounds of muscle. If she were faint of heart, it could very well be intimidating. But Trish had been subjected to curse-laden tirades from psychotic criminals and had even had a rapist spit on her after his conviction. No, fear was not the reaction Caleb was wresting from her.

  More like screaming desire.

  Somehow over the past few hours, he’d morphed into just about the sexiest man she’d had the horny pleasure to meet.

  “No, we’re not calling a cab, because then you’ll be stuck without your bike. We’ll leave my car here, drive the bike to my place, you’ll spend the night, then in the morning you can drive us back here on the bike to get my car.” Trish was glad he was behind her as she delivered this little speech.

  She honestly wasn’t implying anything sexual, but if he expressed an interest, she wasn’t at all sure she would say no.

  “Spend the night? With you?”

  Since she hadn’t started the engine yet-an impossibility, since she couldn’t figure out where to put the key-the summer air was still and quiet around them. He had spoken in a low, rough voice that sent shivers racing across her shoulders.

  “Well, notwith me. You can crash on my couch.”

  “I don’t think this is such a good idea.”

  She chanced a glance over her shoulder. He looked…alarmed. Like she might lure him to her couch and have her wicked way with him. It was an embarrassing reminder that he hadn’t slept with a woman in two years and that he was used to his ex-wife, who surely never would have straddled a motorcycle in a short black dress.

  For a minute, she’d allowed herself to get carried away, which was so not her. Never once had a guy swept her off her feet. Most couldn’t even get her big toe to lift. And she sure in the hell wasn’t going to do the sweeping herself.

  “Oh, come on. I’ve adopted you, remember? If you go home, I’ll just spend the whole night worried that you’re dead in a ditch, and then tomorrow I’ll have bags under my eyes for my friend Kindra’s bridal shower.”

  And shewould worry about him. He had compelled her, intrigued her, from the first moment they had locked eyes, and she couldn’t just walk away from him without knowing he was safe and sober. Besides, it didn’t seem right to send him home alone tonight, when his whole family was off celebrating with his ex. Trish knew what it was like to be alone, and sometimes it just wasn’t all that much fun.

  “Is it safe to leave my Harley at your place overnight?”

  “I rent the second and third floor of a house and it has a garage.”

  “Alright then.” He leaned over and whispered in her ear, making her shiver when his hot breath touched her cool cheek. “I’m trusting you with my life and a really expensive piece of metal. Are you sure you can handle it?”

  Trish turned her head so that her lips were an inch or two away from his chin. She couldn’t see his eyes but she could feel him everywhere, surrounding her with his powerful, masculine body, coarse caramel whiskers dusting below his lips. “I can handle it.”

  “I thought so.” Then he moved out of her personal space, and Trish was disappointed.

  But he came right back and shoved a helmet onto her head, jerking her forward with the force, and sending her hair straight down over her eyes. Her ears bent painfully in half.

  “Caleb!” She parted her bangs to either side of her eyes so she could see, and lifted the helmet to adjust it.

  “Keep it on,” he ordered. “If we wreck, I’ll probably land on you. At least this way I won’t squash your head. A
nd the key goes in there.” He pointed to the ignition.

  No wonder she hadn’t been able to find it-it was in a stupid spot, nowhere near the handlebars. “Of course it does.” She started the bike with a loud roar. “And I’m not going to wreck,” she yelled over her shoulder indignantly, but she kept the helmet on.

  Caleb’s hands went around her waist.

  Then lower, to her thighs.

  Controlling the rumbling bike meant her skirt had inched up.

  So that his rough hands were on her bare skin.

  And by the time they crossed West 117thand turned onto her side street, his hands had somehow traveled under her bunched skirt, a healthy distance above her knee.

  She concentrated on driving. Not on the way her legs were vibrating wildly from the engine of the bike. Not on that delightful little jolt of awareness that was rolling through her body. Or that things had suddenly gotten warm, and maybe even a little damp, not so very far from where he was touching.

  Then his hands slid higher. Resting on the outside of her thighs, thumbs dangerously close to her black seamless panties.

  Trish nearly took out the telephone pole turning into her drive. That would have been ironic. But did he know what he was doing? Or was he so immune to her sex appeal he could pat her crotch like he might the head of a nice, friendly Lab?

  Maybe he was falling asleep.

  Because men always fondle women’s thighs when they’re dozing off.

  Crap.

  This whole idea of having him over to her place obviously fell under the heading of extremely bad judgment.

  “You know,” she said, as she turned the motorcycle off in front of her garage. “You probably don’t realize it, but you have your hand up my dress.”