She climbs out and we wait until she enters her building before I say to Xavier, “You’re very lucky to have her as a grandmother.”
“Yeah, I am.” His voice is soft, thoughtful.
I tuck a wild curl behind my ear and give him a furtive glance. “You don’t have to drive me home, I can get out and catch an Uber.”
His brows draw together. “Do I seem like the kind of guy that would kick you out of the car on a snowy Chicago night to let you fend for yourself?”
Maybe. It’s my first thought, but I manage not to let the word fall from my lips. While I’ve had a mad crush on Xavier since the second I laid eyes on him, I’ve actually not thought much about him as a person. Based on everything Ashley has told me, and his player status, I’ve always assumed him smart, because he is a surgeon, but shallow. The kind of guy that talks about orgies and how to get buff in his spare time. I’m not sure what that says about me, or my attraction. I’d chalked it up to being swayed by his pretty face, killer body, and the longing for a man I could never have.
I shake my head, clasping my purse tighter. “No, it’s not that. I just don’t want you to be inconvenienced, I don’t want to burden you.”
He shifts in his seat, leans against the door and peers at me for what seems like an eternity before he says, “Do you want to grab a drink before I take you home? You deserve it.”
Surprise lights a path down my spine and my eyes widen. This is the last thing I expect. I blurt out, “Why?”
He shrugs. “I’d like a drink. I’m assuming after that disaster, you’d like a drink. I thought maybe we could drink together.”
I should say no, because all that will do is feed my infatuation. It’s unhealthy for me to fixate on a guy I have no shot with. On the other hand, this is a one-time deal. It’s not like I’ll ever see him alone again. This one night I could have him to myself. To indulge a little.
This one night would feed my romantic soul for months.
I bite my lip, debating.
He raises a brow. “Is it that difficult to say, ‘Yes, let’s go for a drink, Xavier’?” Then he smiles at me and my heart drops into my stomach.
It’s probably not the smartest thing I’ve ever done, but sometimes you have to throw caution to the wind. I nod. “Sure.” I don’t know where the next words come from, but they pop out of my mouth before I can think them through. “But do you really want to go sit in some crowded bar filled with lonely single people? There’s a liquor store on the same block as my apartment. How about we head to my house and drink there?”
The suggestion hangs in the air, suspended between us, and I hold my breath.
This…boldness is not like me. But if I want a night with him, I might as well shoot for the stars. Yes, it doesn’t mean anything. It’s not like he’ll kiss me again. No matter how much I liked it, or how bad I wanted it, it won’t happen again. That was for show.
Spending time, locked away in my apartment is enough.
He stares at me, but his expression is unreadable.
He’s going to say no.
Lips parting, I ready myself for his rejection.
But instead, he nods. “I like that plan.”
Xavier
Do I like this plan?
Is this a good plan?
I don’t really know, but here I am, standing over Tessa as she opens the locks on her apartment to let us in.
I’m not sure why I asked her for a drink, but I’m certain it has nothing to do with that kiss. The kiss was good, and her needy little moans made me hard, but she’s not remotely my type. Yes, I admit I’m a little distracted by her mouth, but it’s not like I’m attracted to her.
So I don’t know why I asked her for a drink, or why I agreed to come back to her place, but here I am. I experience a stirring of unease as I step over the threshold into her small apartment. This might not be the smartest thing I’ve ever done.
The unease vanishes when I get a look inside. A huge smile spreads over my face. It’s a surprise, yet not a surprise at all.
It’s like a fairy princess lives here. It’s cute. Romantic. Girly and sweet. Her entire house is nothing but whites, pinks, and faded reds. The walls are the palest of blush pink. Her white furniture is a flat white and full of intricate, scroll designs, accented with vintage lamps and large blooms of flowers, and ornate knickknacks. She even has a candelabra complete with red drippy candles.
It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before, yet looks exactly right for Tessa.
I chuckle. “I feel like I’ve entered an alternate universe and singing birds and squirrels will pop out from behind the drapes.”
She flushes a shade of scarlet. “I know, I know.”
It’s…adorable. I can’t remember the last time I’ve seen a girl blush. The women I date would be naked already. Not that this is a date.
Tessa shrugs out of her coat and hangs it on an iron coat rack. “I get it. It’s a little much.” She holds out her hand and I give her my jacket, which she daintily hangs up next to hers.
She glances around her tiny apartment and I look with her, trying to soak it all in. It’s the most romantic, most girly apartment I’ve ever seen in my life. It belongs tucked into a woodland forest. I can only imagine what her bedroom must look like.
She’s taking it all in too, as though trying to see it through my eyes. I catch a glimpse of her face and get tangled in her expression. The slight giddy awe. Nothing about her features have changed, but they are bright, alive and glowing, like she’s been lit from within.
It hits me that her apartment gives her pleasure. It’s a reflection of her. This is who Tessa Jordan is. She’s girly and romantic.
I think of my own apartment, a mishmash of things I’d thrown together because I didn’t really care. I slept in my apartment. I occasionally ate meals there. Sometimes I watch television. It was shelter. Not a haven.
I clear my throat. “It’s pretty.”
She laughs, and her blue eyes sparkle. “No need to be nice. I know it’s over the top.”
“You love it.”
“I do. I like pretty things.” She shrugs her shoulder. “My parents are absent-minded professors and growing up my house was dark, shabby and filled with books. I loved the book part, but hated the rest. It was like living in a cave. So when I moved out, I decided that since this was my place, and I had no one to worry about but me, I was going to decorate it exactly how I wanted.”
I laugh. “Is your bed a mountain of stuffed animals?”
“No!” She wrinkles her nose and sticks out her tongue at me.
A tongue that had danced against mine. I pull my thoughts from her mouth, that kiss, which seems best to forget. I narrow my eyes at her. “Are you sure? Because I think you’re lying.”
“I most certainly am not.” She tilts her chin with defiance. “Okay, there’s one stuffed animal. My teddy bear from when I was a kid, but he’s on the shelf, not my bed.”
My gaze dips, settling on her lips. “I think I need to see for myself.”
Her shoulders jerk back and she gasps a little.
Christ. Why I did I say that? A subtle tension fills the space between us and she’s flushing again, a bright pink that spills over her chest and climbs up her neck.
To ease the tension, I wink and eye her with suspicion. “You don’t have a…”
Her face widens with anticipation. “A what?”
“A…”
“A what?”
I twist my expression into a grimace. “A doll collection.”
She clucks her tongue and shakes her head at the ceiling. “Don’t be ridiculous. Of course I don’t have a doll collection, I’m not eight or eighty.” She opens her arms and waves toward the small living room, with a white couch covered in pink roses I’m afraid to sit on. “I just like pretty things.”
“It fits you.” It does. I can’t quite explain how. Before tonight I would have assumed her practical and sensible. But tonight has shown me what she hides.<
br />
I place the large paper bag on her counter and she bites her lip before walking into her kitchen and pulling down glasses from the cupboard.
I pull out the wine and the bottle of lemon-flavored vodka she’d picked out.
She puts two goblets on the counter. “Wine?”
“That’s a good place to start.” The glasses are cut crystal. “You’re so fancy.”
She laughs. “They were my grandparents.”
She returns to the cabinet and pulls out a shaker and two rocks glasses. She peers over her shoulder. “For later, if we’re in the mood.”
“Cool. Do you have a corkscrew?” I ask.
She pulls one from the drawer and I go through the process of opening and pouring the wine before handing one of the glasses to her. We take sips and an awkward—now what—takes hold.
She gestures toward the sofa. “Let’s have a seat.”
I nod, take my glass and the bottle and go sit on the couch. She slips out of shoes and sits down, folding her legs beneath her.
For the first time I notice what she’s wearing.
A simple white blouse and black skirt. She doesn’t look comfortable. Her outfit is sensible. Too practical for her apartment. I tilt my head and ask, “Do you want to change? You look uncomfortable.”
She laughs. “I am. Yeah, are you sure you don’t mind?”
I shake my head. “Not at all, I’d kill for some sweatpants, so I figure one of us should be comfortable.”
“Great.” She jumps up, flies to her bedroom, I see the flash of lavender, and then her door slams shut.
I stare at the white door she disappeared behind, frowning.
What exactly am I doing?
I should leave. Even though I’m not hitting on her. Sure, she’s cute and sweet, but I don’t lust after her. But I still can’t get over the feeling I should get out of here before I do something stupid. Which doesn’t make any sense at all. I hadn’t kissed her to feel her mouth on mine. I’d kissed her to teach that asshole a lesson. There was no risk of me kissing her again.
None at all.
I take a sip of my wine. The door to her bedroom opens and she walks out.
She’s wearing a white, scooped-neck top and a pair of gray lounging pants that look so soft they practically beg to be touched. My heart does a strange little rapid tap as the wineglass stalls halfway to my lips.
What she’s wearing shouldn’t be sexy. Shouldn’t cause a reaction in me. It’s obvious she didn’t change into something meant to seduce me.
But I’ve only seen her in loose, blousy things. Clothes that don’t cling. This clings.
Everywhere.
I lower my glass, taking her in. I knew she was curvy, soft and rounded, not plump exactly, but close. I’d thought her pleasingly full figured, if you liked that kind of thing. Until she walked out of her bedroom I had no idea she was so…so…defined.
Her breasts are full, curving down to a narrow waist before her hips flare back out. She’s the very definition of hourglass. A fact hidden because everything I’ve ever seen her in is too damn big.
My throat goes dry. This fits.
She gives me a furtive glance, tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, and plops down on the couch. She leans over, picking up her wineglass. With a tentative smile asks, “Now what?”
I have no fucking idea. I’m distracted by her cleavage.
I’ve always dated leggy thin girls who are either flat chested or had boob jobs.
Nothing like the soft, inviting swell of Tessa’s breasts.
“Is everything okay?” Her voice rips my gaze away.
I shake my head. “Everything’s great. Sorry.”
She clears her throat. “If you don’t want to stay, don’t feel obligated. I totally understand if you’re tired and want to go to bed.”
She’s giving me an out. One I should take. I put my glass down, ready to agree that I’m tired and need to get to bed, but then I spy the bottle of vodka on the counter and point to it. “Wanna do some shots?”
“Sure. I’ll get it.” She pops up, and turns her back on me, walking to the counter.
I blink. Her ass is lush. The kind of ass you can sink your fingers into while you take her from behind.
She grabs the bottle and glasses and whips around.
I smile at her, and I hope it’s not lecherous.
I mean, okay, so she’s got a nice body. But she’s still not my type.
She sits on the couch and pours two fingers into the glasses before handing one to me. She holds up the glass in a toast. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Xavier.”
Then she smiles at me with her full mouth.
I down the drink, shuddering a bit at the bite.
Not my type at all.
Chapter Three
Tessa
Three hours later, I’m tanked.
I’ve also never laughed so hard in my life. Somewhere around my third shot and second glass of wine, Xavier stopped being an untouchable god and started being fun. The additional shots and wine we’d consumed after that were bonuses. We’ve traded funny stories about growing up, school, and friends.
He’d told me about his grandma raising him.
How he’s an only child.
About how he loved the rush of being a trauma surgeon.
How his dad died when he was ten and his mom couldn’t take it and left for parts unknown. He delivered the words with a casualness that had to be feigned, although I didn’t press him. Tonight was about carefree confession, not deep soul searching.
In return, I told him about my own uneventful childhood, a blessing after he’d described his tragedies.
I’d told him about growing up the middle child of two sisters.
My love of children.
The horrors of teaching second graders and dealing with crazy parents.
My argument as to why Jane Austen is the greatest author ever.
Together, we’ve debated books, movies and politics.
We’ve discussed the problems with the health care system and education.
We’ve gossiped about our friends. Made fun of lovesick Christopher and Ashley.
And we’ve laughed. Laughed and laughed until my stomach hurts.
I’ve only thought about him kissing me every other minute, so I consider that an accomplishment. But what surprised me most is that, despite my lust, I’ve somehow grown comfortable with him sitting on my couch across from me.
Totally goofy, I grin, not caring how silly I must look. I hold up the cards. “Another round?”
He frowns. “You keep beating me.”
We’ve been playing slapjack, turning it into a drinking game, maybe not the brightest idea, but it sure was fun. I giggle. “You know what’s really sad?”
“What?” he asks, grinning back at me.
We’re sitting cross-legged, facing each other. He’s taken off his dress shirt and his shoes, and in his white T-shirt his muscles flex oh so deliciously.
I point a card at him and laugh. “You’re a surgeon, aren’t you supposed to have quick reflexes and steady hands, or something?”
His brows slam together, and if he were standing, I swear he would have put his hands on his hips. “I don’t perform surgery on three bottles of wine and five shots of vodka.”
“Uh-huh.” I give him my most serious look. “That explains it.”
“Are you mocking me, woman?” He’s taken to calling me woman and it gives me a little thrill every time it comes out in his thick, rich voice.
I stop shuffling and meet his eyes, all straight-faced. “I am totally mocking you, Xavier.”
He huffs and it’s adorable. “I’ll have you know I’m excellent with my hands.”
“Except when it comes to slapping jacks.”
“But they’re all blurry.”
I shrug. “I see them just fine.”
“I’m sure you’re cheating.”
“I never cheat.” My voice is indignant. “I don’t have to cheat. I
’m awesome.”
He meets my gaze and something dark flashes in them. “Yeah, you are.”
A flush heats my cheeks, but the alcohol has made me bold, and I don’t drop my gaze. “So you admit it?”
“Admit what?” His attention drops to my mouth.
He keeps doing that, and a few times I wonder if maybe he’s attracted to me too, but no, that can’t be. We’re having fun, and we’re drunk, but that still doesn’t change that I’m not the kind of girl he’d like. It’s okay, him liking me for me, and having a good time, is all I need.
Instinct tells me he needs a good time, and I’m making sure to give it to him.
It’s not a hardship, I’m benefiting, because this is the best date I’ve ever had. Even though it’s not a date. Maybe that’s sad, I don’t know, and presently don’t care. I’m enjoying this for what it is. I am soaking up my time and saving this for my memory bank. The night I had the gorgeous and untouchable Xavier all to myself and he showed me who he really is underneath the playboy.
I grin. “That I’m better with my hands than you.”
He shakes his head. “I admit no such thing.”
“The evidence speaks against you.” I hold up the deck of cards. “Do you want to play again?”
He’s silent for a bit before he tilts his head. “Tessa?”
I raise my brows. “Xavier?”
“Why don’t you have a boyfriend?”
I stop shuffling and blow out a breath. I want to give some breezy answer, like I don’t need men, but I think I’m too intoxicated to filter. I put the cards down, pick up my glass and lean against the corner of the couch, and tell him the truth. “I guess it’s because the guys I like aren’t the ones that like me back.”
“What kind of guys do you like?”
I wrinkle my nose. “You don’t want to hear this.”
“Yeah I do. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have asked.”
I glance around my small living room, before shrugging. “Do you promise you won’t tell anyone?”
“I promise.”
I bite my lower lip before admitting my secret. “I’m a romantic.”
Out of Her League (Love & Other Disasters Book 2) Page 3
