To me that spelled out perfection and I even saw my angel in my mind—all soft, unblemished skin and a voice like tinkling bells or some shit. Indie is not that. She’s tattooed, crude, and loud as hell—the exact opposite of the woman I imagined myself with.
And she really isn’t mine! She’s not. I don’t want a woman who could cut me down with her tongue alone, and hell, if I dressed her in silk and took her to all the social stuff I have to go to she’s stick out like a sore freaking thumb.
No, my ideal woman would be someone polished and soft like Miranda, a female I could introduce at business dinners without the fear of her just blurting out any shit just for the hell of it the way Indie does.
Not that I think there’s anything wrong with her. She’s a beautiful, intelligent, hardworking woman with a good head for business and a kind soul unlike any other I have met. She’s perfect in her own right, just not for me, and that’s why two seconds after offloading like a fire hose I got cold feet.
I didn’t want to lead her on and risk having that awkward talk, which would have possibly led to her busting my balls and cracking my skull, so I took the coward’s way out.
“I need to go,” I grumble as soon as I hit the kitchen to see Miranda setting out some sticky buns and a bottle of wine, one of her favorite midnight snacks.
“Uh-uh, hotshot, you’re cooling your heels for at least the next hour so I can hear all about this chick who has you all tangled up and looking like a bear with a sore paw. Sit, Woody, I’m waiting.”
Freaking woman.
“She doesn’t have me tangled, Randy, I just…I feel bad,” I mutter, glugging the wine with appreciation.
“Why?”
“We both got plastered and ended up in the back seat of my car…it was a mistake, a big one since not only is she a good friend but she’s also part of Callie’s posse. She’s family and I shouldn’t have freaking gone there.”
“You did, though,” she points out around a mouthful of bun. “You did her right in the back seat, something I distinctly recall you saying is crass and not your style. So why do it with her?”
Because I couldn’t help myself. Because one taste of her had me so hard I was wild with the need to feel her wrapped around me. I’ve never had that crazy lust that other guys seemed to lament or even brag about. With me the whole point of sex was always scratching the itch but being in control of the need.
With Indie it was as if I would die if I didn’t have her heat on my dick immediately; it was hard and fast and not at all calculated like all other sex is for me. I felt free and good for the first time in a long time.
That scared me too because it hinted at a part of me I didn’t know was there. Part of me wants to blame the booze and another part blames her for turning me into a horny ass, but Jesus, I would be lying if I said it wasn’t hands down the best sex I have ever had.
And it wasn’t even that great considering we skipped a whole lot of the foreplay I’m so good at.
“Randy, it was just sex—quick, and nothing like I usually crave.”
“Okay. What else?”
“I pretended to fall asleep after and basically threw her out once we got to her building.”
That gives her pause and I see her frown.
“Wait. You mean no cuddles or soft words? Nothing? You just fucked her and ‘passed out’ and forced the poor woman to do what amounts to a walk of shame in front of your driver!”
She is not impressed with me right now and I can’t say I blame her, but I also do not want to sit here with one of my hookups, as much as I adore her, and dissect the reasons for my behavior.
“I gotta go.”
“You gotta explain to me how you, Woody Jones, the man who never leaves a woman without at least one compliment and a soft word, could treat a woman that way. And not only a woman! One of your friends. Jesus, Wood, that was low. That is so freaking terrible I want to slap your face for that poor woman. She knows you, right? She knows all about Mr. I Love All Women?”
“Yeah.”
“That makes it worse! Don’t you see, Woody? She knows you and you treated her that way anyway. Goddammit, how could you?”
I’m ashamed of myself already, so the accusatory glare she’s pinned me with is not helping matters any. What do I say? That Indie below my world apart and for a single second made me consider what it would be like to actually be with her? That I looked past her physical appearance and thought about family and babies and everything I’ve ever wanted?
I can’t have that with her! I’ve mapped my life with the precision of a surgeon and I won’t deviate from it. I will find love with a straight-cut woman who wants the life I see for us, not a hard-talking biker babe who’d cut my nuts off if I so much as suggest she stay at home and be a socialite housewife.
“It was a moment of weakness that I regret. It won’t happen again,” I mutter. “I’ll just wait until things go back to the way they were.”
What? Ignoring her and avoiding her like a case of the clap? Talking to everyone else except her and making her feel like a leper? Good plan, asshole. Why don’t you just take out and ad and tell the world you find her lacking?
“Go back to the way they were? Woody, have you even bothered to apologize to her and explain your behavior?”
Her tone is soft yet reproachful and I feel my hackles rise once more at the scene in Gruffy’s entrance. I’d been ready and set to offer her a ride home and use that opportunity to say sorry and move on.
What did I get for my efforts! She’s going to see that little bastard Finn. That right there is so Indie it makes my jaw ache because it tells me one thing loud and clear; she’s moved on from me and discarded me like a dirty dishrag, something I am in no way used to, and fuck me, I don’t like it.
I’m offended and pissed that she just shook me off and moved her little ass on as if what we shared meant nothing! How could she when even now I can’t stop thinking about her scent, the heat of her sex, and craving another round so that this time I can bury my mouth between her thighs and see if she tastes like vanilla.
“Earth to Woody! You listening, pal?” Randy asks, snapping her fingers in front of my face.
“What, Rand?”
“Dude, you are so screwed if that look on your face is anything to go by. I asked if you apologized.”
“No. I tried but she kept babbling about some asshole she’s hooking up with and—”
“And you didn’t like that one bit, did you?” She laughs, her brown eyes dancing back at me with mirth. “Does it chap your ass that the one woman you don’t want to think about seems to have moved on from you so fast, without another thought to what happened between you?”
She’s outright laughing at me now, her mouth curving so wide I can see specks of her half-chewed sticky bun.
“Shut up, Randy, this is not funny. I’m glad she’s okay with the whole thing, I just do not like the guy she’s hooking up with. He’s too young for her and he’s just in it for the sex,” I mumble.
That brow of hers goes up and I groan as the words register.
“And you weren’t? Tell me, Wood, what is it about this one woman that makes her so off-limits, because I know you. It’s not just the whole friends thing. You’ve screwed lifelong friends and gone on with life, dragging their adoring asses along with you all the way without one thought as to the men they get with after you.”
“He’s an ass.”
I actually like Finn Marks. The guy is cool and he’s never said or done a darn thing to deserve the things I’m thinking right now. Besides, Randy is right. The man may be a skirt chaser, but I am no better.
I’ve only ever slept with two women more than once. Randy is one, but like I said, she’s not in it for commitment. The other was my old high school girlfriend before we broke up and went our separate ways.
In short, I am no better than Finn.
“Is he, or are you just irked because this woman? What is her name, by the way?”
“Indie. Her name is Indie.”
“Right. Cool name. Anyway, are you sure you’re not just annoyed that this Finn is being the good guy in this while you’re behaving like an ass towards Indie?”
Dammit, I do not want to talk about this or the fact that I haven’t even thought about sex at all but to use it as a means to move on from our five minutes together.
“I’m annoyed because I think she liked me as more than just a friend or a fast snog and I blew it because…”
“Because?”
“Because she’s not what I want, alright! She has a million tattoos, she has a potty mouth, and she’s about as refined as a lump of coal. I need an equal partner who wants the things I want, not a woman who will smack talk my business associates and offer them a free tattoo while swilling beer.”
Jesus, I sound like a fucking asshole and I know it, but I can’t escape the fact that her and I are in no way suited. Sure, maybe the sex was fantastic, but that’s not all there is to a relationship.
I want someone well-read and calm, someone who will be my haven when I come home at night after a shitty day. Indie would probably throw day-old pizza at me for dinner, skip off to a club or a bar, and crawl in hours later ready for sex and sleep.
“You know what, Woody, maybe you’re right. This Indie sounds like she doesn’t need to be pining after your prejudiced ass. I hope she has moved on from you, because I swear, I never once pegged you for the kind of man who would look at the surface of a woman and judge her so unfairly just because of a few tats and what she chooses to show the world.”
She sounds so disappointed; it cuts me deep.
“I didn’t mean it the way it sounded, Randy. I’m just annoyed because I messed up and there’s nothing I can say to fix it other than admitting I am an asshole.”
“Hmmm, you know, Wood, for a man who spouts all that crap about soul mates and one true love, you sure are intent on never settling down. You excuse your behaviour by asserting the fact that you’re not a bad guy since you never leave a woman feeling short changed. This Indie, she sounds like a good person, but you have never given her a chance, have you? I guess I was wrong about how great you were.”
“I—”
“I watched this movie once. It wasn’t my cup of tea but this one line stuck with me, and what I clearly remember about it is how true or untrue it could be. It said that women need a reason for sex, be it emotional or just the emotional need for that physical connection. Guys just need sex, and all they care about is getting somewhere they can have it. You’ve been really good at the sex part, and you’re great at pretending to care about women after, but what it all boils down to at the end of the day is that you’re a fraud. You give just as little as any other guy, but at least they’re not foolish enough to believe anything great about themselves. Indie? She’s no less than whatever picture you have in your mind about your dream woman, but you can’t see that because, like all other guys, you’re all about the surface.”
Chapter Four
“Some people play hard to get, I play hard to want.” -Ford Fairlane
Indie
The adrenalin that’s been zinging through me all day is so unsettling I feel like freaking ants are crawling under every inch of skin as Percy waddles into the white-and-grey marble bathroom and stands checking out the layout with a jaundiced eye.
I get it, I don’t like this place either and would so not have ever guessed this was Jones’s style, but hey, I apparently don’t know the man.
“God, this place is like a freaking tomb it’s so lifeless. How does he live here?”
“You think he does anything but sleep here when he’s hopping from one bed to another?”
I bet you’re wondering what we’re doing in his apartment at ten o’clock on a Friday morning while Freddie sits out in the car keeping watch just in case the man comes home unexpectedly.
We’re on a mission of extreme and utter importance, which includes spiking his shampoo and very manly metrosexual aftershave face balm, which I find attractive because I like a man who looks after himself and isn’t afraid to show it.
No, I won’t tell you what we’re doing exactly, mostly because every time I think about what’s going to happen I start cackling, which Callie has assured me sounds creepy and just wrong.
“Come on, creepster, let’s get this party show on the road. You take the shampoo and I’ll do the cream.” Percy laughs, her own chuckle not at all normal as we split off and go to it.
It takes me a while because the man has fancy shampoo that can’t be opened the normal way, and getting the lid off is almost impossible, but I eventually empty the vial into his shampoo and give it a nice good shake for maximum effect before turning back to Percy.
“Oh shit! Oh shit. He’s on his way up here!” she yell hisses when her phone chimes and a text comes through.
“What!”
“Woody! Freddie just texted me and he’s coming up here to get a file he forgot.” She whispers loudly, her face going white.
My first reaction is to freeze as Percy runs around in a little circle before freezing and looking at me through wide blue eyes.
“What are we gonna do?”
I have no idea. This place is gold on the minimalist standard, and the hiding places are pretty limited as far as I could see.
“Oh no!”
The sound of a door reaches our ears and I swear I could just piss my pants when I hear his deep voice and the slam of the front door.
Now we have two choices, both of which suck balls and make my pits drench instantly. We could stand here like two freaking paloozas and hope he doesn’t come into the bathroom, or we could hide.
I don’t know where but I’m pretty sure I’ll have a stroke if he comes in here and finds us skulking around in his bathroom.
I do not wanna go down for what amounts to breaking and entering, even if we have a key that Jack loaned us.
“Hide.”
Percy rushes out of the bathroom in a flash, her little belly preceding her just seconds before I hear Woody’s voice and the opening of his door.
Hide, Indie! Hide somewhere, I wail, my eyes darting left and right in a panic when I realize there is nowhere to hide! Where’s the shower curtain when you need one, I think frantically as I search everywhere.
The shower is one of those fancy getups that’s walled off on one side, but it’s in no way closed enough to hide me. God help me, please. Don’t let him find me in his bathroom.
That voice gets louder and I almost stop breathing when it reaches my ears, letting me know that he’s out there, steps away from me, seconds away from spotting me.
I feel my heart go BOOM when the handle starts descending and dive for the first place I see, ending up behind the door just as it swings open. At this point I’m screwed and I know it. I’m trapped, and with my luck Woody is one of those people who closes the bathroom door even when he’s alone.
Dear God, save me, I whine when it closes.
He’s on the phone and still talking, his back to me, thank God, as he lets go of the door and it swings shut. I’m exposed, like freaking out in the open, and all it will take for me to be found out is for him to turn slightly to his left where I am standing pressed into the corner of the room.
I can’t run because like the ass I am I’m wearing heels.
He’s still talking and moving toward the toilet when I reach out slowly, grasp the door handle and pull down, bringing the door slowly towards me. My eyes are on him, watching his every move like a hawk.
When it’s finally done, when I’m as hidden as possible I push my breath out slowly and peer through the crack left between the door and the wall, my eyes trained on Woody.
All I got right now is the very shaky and illogical hope that he doesn’t notice the door that should be closed but isn’t.
“Yeah, babe, I told you it was okay, didn’t I?” He laughs into the phone as he unzips and…
Oh God!
Watching a man p
ee should not make me feel all emotional but I do.
He’s still crooning to “Babe” as he finishes and shakes, stuffing himself back into his pants before blessedly going to wash his hands. So attractive.
I stop breathing again when he turns back to the door and stops, eyeing it suspiciously. Cue heavy sweating, blue face as I hold my breath. I try not to squeak in terror when he comes closer, every step making my chest squeeze tighter.
This moment is horror-movie scary to me as I squish back into the wall and plead with Jesus for a break. If he finds me here I will never live it down.
The bitch in me is screaming that I jump out and make some brazen show of pranking him while the chick who just got gooey about him is mortified at the prospect of being caught sneaking around in his home like a stalker.
And then there’s the seriously angry part that wants to brain him because he’s talking to some slag on the phone in a voice he’s never used with me.
Mortified wins out, though, and I swear I feel tears well up from the desert that dwells inside me as he reaches for the door and starts pulling it open.
No!
A crash sounds somewhere in the apartment and I see him tense before he leaves the door and strides out, cursing beneath his breath.
“Randy, I gotta go. I think the neighbor’s cat got into my place again and that ball of fur is number one on my hit list after he got into my shoes last month.”
My knees feel like jelly as I peep through the crack in the door and strain to hear what’s happening. I almost screech when he stalks back into his bedroom while muttering curses beneath his breath, grabs a file on the bedside table and stomps out again, the front door slamming loudly seconds later.
I wait a minute or two just to be sure all is clear before gently easing out from behind the door on wobbly legs and sneaking to peep out.
“Jesus! That was close.”
I do screech then and almost ass plant when Percy waddles in from the hall and shakes her head with a giggle.
“Where the hell were you?”
THE NAUGHTY ONES: The Complete 5-Books Series Page 51
