Scenes From the City: A Knitting in the City Wintertime Surprise

by Penny Reid

  My attraction to him in that moment was heady, almost painful, just like I’d feared. I felt foolish.

  “Greg…” I withdrew my hand, placed it back on the open pages of my book. “Why are you here?”

  “I broke up with Vanessa.” His eyes met mine, and they matched his flat, matter-of-fact tone. He licked the skin adjacent to his thumb, holding my gaze.

  “I know,” I said on an exhale.

  We stared at each other for a long moment.

  He broke the silence, pouring salt on the back of his hand. “Aren’t you going to ask why?”

  I shook my head. “It’s none of my business.”

  He didn’t seem to like my answer, because his mouth curved into a frown. Abruptly, Greg picked up a shot of tequila and handed it to me. I accepted it, glanced at the shot glass, then back at him. His attention made me feel like I was under a microscope.

  “How old are you, Fiona?”

  “I’m eighteen.”

  His eyes moved between mine. “Were you a good gymnast?”

  “Yes. Very good.”

  “How good?”

  “I placed second at the World Championships when I was thirteen and qualified for Team USA.”

  “Olympics?”

  “Yes.”

  “And then you got sick.”

  “That’s right.”

  “And how long were you sick?”

  “Two and a half years.”

  “Chemotherapy?”

  “No. Radiation.”

  “For two years?”

  “Two and a half years.”

  Greg’s jaw flexed; I saw the muscle at his temple jump before he said, “I’m a selfish bastard. You should know that about me.”

  I set the liquor down on the desk, tilted my head to the side, watching him. “What makes you think so?”

  “Because I look at you, and I think, you and me, we’re going to get married one day. And then, if you’re a very good wife…” His eyes skated over my face as he paused, and it felt like a loving caress; but it also felt possessive and dangerous.

  His cadence dropped, deepened, as his stare settled on my lips. “If you’re a very good wife, we’ll have a mortgage.”

  I blinked, the lull of his voice masking the meaning of his words for a split second.

  “A mortgage?”

  He nodded. “Yes. And several children and perhaps a dog.”

  I’m sure I was looking at him like he was crazy, and I followed my thoughts through with words, “You’re crazy.”

  He nodded again. “I am.”

  “And abrupt and abrasive.”

  This earned me a pleased smile that stretched all the way to his eyes, making them warm and inviting. The effect left me breathless again.

  “Yes. I’m also known for my inappropriate sense of humor, offensive jokes, and callous treatment of sensitive topics. I’m a sore loser and an even worse winner.”

  I shook my head at him, unable to help my smile. “Shouldn’t you be playing up your good points? Isn’t that what guys do when they’re interested in a girl?”

  “But you’ve never been kissed,” he responded, his tone still flat but his eyes dancing with mischief, “and you’ve never dated. This is my chance to ruin you for anyone else.”

  “By telling me all about how terrible you are?”

  “By being honest. By playing no games. When I tell you that I’m a selfish bastard, I mean it. And when I tell you that you’re wonderful and amazing and stunning and definitely the most extraordinary woman I’ve ever met, you’ll know I mean that, too.”

  My smile fell because I couldn’t sustain it under the weight of his impassioned words, and my stupid heart thundered, galloped, beat out a violent staccato. I held perfectly still, watching him, suspicious of the feelings he’d stirred because they felt irrational and uncontrollable.

  I swallowed and managed to whisper, “You don’t know me.”

  “Not all of you…” his eyes drifted to my lips, seemed to sharpen, “but I will.”

  “I have a date tomorrow, with Mark from art history,” I said dumbly; the words felt like a sad little shield against his onslaught of honesty.

  “I know.”

  “I’m going.”

  “I know. You should.”

  I could barely breathe.

  “You’re confusing me,” I said.

  “You’re a smart girl. You’ll figure it out. And I…I will be patient.”

  Abruptly I was aware that the suite had fallen silent, Dara and Hivan’s activities having reached their natural conclusion. Comprehending this, I found I couldn’t hold Greg’s stare. My body felt needy, tight, straining, and restless. I didn’t know what to do with myself.

  All my life, my body had been a tool, frequently a disappointment, but not ever a part of me. First, because of the rigors of my training, it was a means to an end. Then during surgery and treatment, it felt like a failure.

  But suddenly, in this room, with this man, it was my mind that felt disconnected from the rest of me. My body felt like it was the victim, on the side of right; my mind was the failure, the disappointment, the mess.

  “However…”

  Startled, I jumped a little when he spoke, and I felt his hand reach out to remove the book from my lap. My eyes darted to his.

  “… there is one thing I want, and I’m afraid time does not allow me to be patient on the matter.”

  Greg’s eyes hijacked mine, his gaze intent and calculating. He stood, tossed the book to the floor beside my chair. Looking down at me, he placed his knee between my legs and nudged them apart. I acquiesced without resistance.

  He then placed his hands on me and spread my thighs, sending shocks of awareness to the pit of my stomach. My breath hitched as Greg knelt between my open legs and wrapped his big hands around my knees.

  “I’m going to take this from you, but you shouldn’t be surprised because you know I’m a selfish bastard.” His voice was low, gravely, almost a whisper, his lips just inches from mine. “But I also want to make sure it’s done right. I don’t know this Mark from art history. He could be a rubbish kisser, scarring you for life. It might take me years of kiss-therapy to undo the damage.”

  Despite all the raging emotions and fluttering and twistings and hot flashes and yearning, his words struck me as hysterically funny. I pressed my lips together to keep from laughing.

  His tone turned mock-stern, “Prepare yourself. I’m going to kiss you now.”

  I nodded once as I searched his eyes, found them slightly hazy, dark and hot; and I knew—despite his protests to the contrary—his motives weren’t entirely selfish. He’d guessed how I felt about him. He might be taking something, but he was also giving me a gift in return.

  Greg paused, giving me a chance to push him away, though I sensed something like desperation behind his stare. I didn’t push him away.

  He closed his eyes.

  I held my breath.

  His generous mouth brushed mine.

  A spike of something new and warm raced through me, making me tremble.

  My eyelids drifted closed.

  His fingers tightened on my legs.

  I pressed my mouth to his.

  He retreated a fraction, our lips separating, then returned, his head tilted slightly to the side, his mouth moving against mine, massaging.

  I breathed him in, lifted my hands, and cupped his jaw, feeling like I needed to hold him in place.

  He retreated again, again just a fraction, and returned to bite me lightly, lick my bottom lip.

  I moaned.

  His hands slid up my thighs, sending shivers straight to my lower belly.

  I arched my back.

  His grip settled on my waist, his palms on the bare skin of my midriff, his thumbs stroking my lower ribs.

  I pressed my mouth more firmly to his, feeling a building sense of urgency.

  But then, he retreated a third time, and this time he did not return.

  I groaned. />
  He chuckled.

  I opened one eye.

  He was grinning.

  I frowned. “No tongue?”

  He laughed, obviously surprised, his smile brilliant, and cocked his head to the side as my hands moved to his shoulders.

  “No guy should give you tongue for your first kiss. Tongue requires practice and feels a bit like a slimy alien creature if you’re not prepared for it or if it’s not done properly.”

  I laughed at his description. “So what do I need to do? How do I prepare for it?”

  “Well…” he glanced over my shoulder, and his voice took on an instructional air. “First you have to want it-”

  “I want it.”

  His smile was quick and just as quickly suppressed. He cleared his throat. “Well, then, I shall give it to you.”

  I closed my eyes immediately and lifted my chin in offering, expecting him to lean forward as he’d done before, feeling giddy and excited and a little intoxicated. I waited, my hands on his shoulders, his on my stomach.

  When he didn’t come to me, my lashes fluttered open. I found Greg watching me, his brown eyes looking lost, almost mournful, as they moved over my face.

  “Ask me when I knew,” he said.

  I frowned, confused by his request, and studied him, hoping I’d discover his meaning. At length, still perplexed, I did as he instructed.

  “When did you know?”

  I watched him take a breath, and with it all pretense fell away. All his walls, all his cleverness, all his grandstanding and pretending. He looked vulnerable, and it made my chest ache.

  “When I saw you…” he whispered, leaning forward, his eyes on mine until he became blurry. He slid his nose against my nose, nipped my bottom lip. My mouth parted in response.

  “I saw you…” he kissed my parted lips, “you’d bent over to pick up your pen, or some such item…” he kissed me again, this time on the corner of my mouth, and my eyelids fell, my heart swelling, my breath catching, “and I thought to myself…” one more press of his lips on my jaw, “I thought, I am going to tap that ass.”

  My eyes flew open, as did my mouth, and my head reared back, “Greg!”

  “And other things!” He grinned, wagging his eyebrows, pulling me forward, “I thought, I am going to tap that ass, as well as other things all having to do with how lovely you are and how much I respect you as a person.”

  Uncontainable laughter erupted from my chest, and I pushed him away, “You are unbelievable!”

  “Yes, darling.” He kissed my neck as I leaned away. “I hear that all the time.”

  I barked another laugh and shook my head, his kisses hot against my neck, sending tremors of delight racing through me. “Get off of me!”

  “I will, but first I must taste you…” He bit my neck, making me moan.

  He did this for a while, kneeling before me, his hands roaming, my limbs growing limp, and heat gathering in my stomach. Eventually his mouth found its way back to mine, and he kissed me, this time with tongue.

  He was right.

  It did feel like a slimy alien creature—for about three seconds.

  Then it felt wonderful.

  THE END… for now. ;-)

  Happily Ever Ninja (book #5 in the Knitting in the City series) releases in Summer/Fall 2015

  Note from the Author

  Dear Reader,

  I hope you enjoyed the quick scenes and glimpses into the lives of Janie and Quinn, Elizabeth and Nico, Sandra and Alex, Drew and Ashley, and Fiona and Greg.

  When I started on this crazy, inexplicable journey back in March 2013, I honestly had no idea these characters and their stories would garner such interest. Truly, I couldn’t (and still can’t) imagine that anyone would want to read about my weird characters. Watching the reviews come in for Neanderthal Seeks Human and the subsequent attention for each of the following books (especially Love Hacked back in March 2014) has been completely flabbergasting.

  I’ve often felt like this is all happening to another person, or that I’ll wake up with a mustache and someone telling me to make the doughnuts.

  Therefore, you can understand how grateful I am to each of you for your existence. These scenes were written and this small collection published because I wanted to express how enormously humbled and appreciative I am.

  I often tell other authors that I have THE BEST readers. I wouldn’t say it if it weren’t true. I do have the best readers. I used to doubt my ability to write; however, now that I’ve interacted with so many of you, I’ve realized that my writing must be smart, funny, witty, heartfelt, and engaging—because that’s who my readers are.

  All my love, Penny Reid

  About the Author

  Penny Reid’s days are spent writing federal grant proposals for biomedical research; her evenings are either spent playing dress-up or mad-scientist with her two people-children (boy-7, girl-4) or knitting with her knitting group at the local coffee shop. Please feel free to drop her a line. She'd be happy to hijack your thoughts!

  Connect with Penny

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  Book List

  Knitting in the City Series

  Neanderthal Seeks Human: A Smart Romance (#1)

  Neanderthal Marries Human: A Smarter Romance (#1.5)

  Friends without Benefits: An Unrequited Romance (#2)

  Love Hacked: A Reluctant Romance (#3)

  Beauty and the Mustache: A Philosophical Romance (#4)

  Happily Ever Ninja: A Matrimonial Romance (#5)

  Book #6 - TBD

  Book #7 - TBD

  The Hypothesis Series

  Elements of Chemistry #1

  (Coming February 2015; continuation of Bunsen Burner Bingo)

  The Winston Brothers Series

  Truth or Beard (Winston Brothers, #1)

  Grin and Beard It (Winston Brothers, #2)

  Beard Science (Winston Brothers, #3)

  (Coming in 2015)

  Sneak Peek: The Hooker and the Hermit

  Releasing February 2015

  Chapter One

  The Email Checker: When one pretends to be checking his/her email on a smartphone, but is instead actually taking a picture of a person/the people directly in front of him/her.

  Best for: Most situations where it is socially acceptable to be checking email, e.g. coffee shops, while dining alone at a restaurant, waiting for public transportation.

  Do not use: In locations with no cell phone or internet reception.

  *Annie*

  I’m not going to pretend that I have pristine intentions. But to be fair, when he initially entered the restaurant I was already checking my email.

  In fact, I didn’t look up from my phone until I heard the kerfuffle and squawking of excited females. These sounds—giggling, squeals, oooohhhhh, whispered Oh My God! and Is that really him?—typically accompanied the arrival of a male celebrity. I’m especially tuned into the signs and symptoms for two reasons: my job and my hobby.

  I am the primary project lead of the Social Media Marketing division at Davidson & Croft Media. My specialty is transforming reputations in the court of public opinion. Give me a disgraced celebrity, politician, or public figure—sex tape scandal, DUIs, arrests, the great rehab escape, sex-ting an intern (what I call ‘Donkey Donging’)—and I
will transform that person’s image.

  I will make her sparkle. I will make him shine. I am legendary in my field. I am the best at what I do.

  And I admit this as truth with absolutely no conceit or vanity, because I’m terrible at almost everything else in life. Take walking or talking for instance, never mind attempting both at the same time. Or smiling. Or not being weird. Or not creeping people out. Or not being the cause of every awkward silence in a five mile radius.

  The only other things at which I excel in life are: 1) responsible financial planning, 2) my hobby blog, and 3) eating.

  Which brings me to now and Tom’s Southern Kitchen and the group of ladies molting feathers left and right as they try to dry hump the remarkably attractive and muscular man who has just entered.

  I’d lifted just my eyes, peering at him and the women as I tried to place his face. He was standing in profile and his handsome mouth was curved in a patient, polite smile. I couldn’t tell if he was enjoying the attention or if he just had exceedingly excellent manners.

  Regardless, he looked quite a lot like the Irish actor Colin Farrell, except a Colin Farrell who’d been working out non-stop, had thighs like tree trunks, and was ten to fifteen years younger. So, maybe a Colin Farrell just back from a visit to the plastic surgeon and a CrossFit boot camp. This glorious specimen of maleness had dark brown hair, spiky and short. His nose was perfect, almost adorable, but somehow fit his face. His jaw was angular and strong. He even had the actor’s high cheekbones, dark brown eyebrows, thick lashes, and doe eyes.

  I couldn’t decide if this guy was a doppelganger or if he was the real deal; but it didn’t really matter. He would be perfect for my Saturday Celebrity Stalker post. It was, without fail, the most popular post every week.

  Which leads me to my greatest and most closely held secret. The truth is that I, Annie Catrel, am The Socialmedialite, the owner and purveyor of the blog, New York’s Finest.

  That’s right.

  I’m the Socialmedialite

  I’m that girl, the most influential infotainment blogger in the world.