Taming Mr. Jerkface (The Taming Series Book 1)

by Nia Arthurs

  The manager nodded his head and left. Soon, the buzz of the bistro returned to normal.

  I huddled into Spencer as we walked back to our seats, “I’m sorry,” he apologized. “I lost my temper.”

  “It’s okay,” I assured him, “It was kinda hot.”

  He smiled down at me, and I winked.

  After the unfortunate incident with the heckler, I have to admit that Spencer grew even more attractive to me. I was very disappointed when our forty-five minutes ended and he escorted me back to my office. We exchanged my US phone number and Spencer kissed me on the cheek as farewell.

  “Hey, before I forget, I’ll be out of the country for the next three days but I’d love to see you again when I get back.”

  “Lunch?” I asked, pushing back the disappointment because I wouldn’t get to see him for three days and three nights. Like Jonah. In the belly of a whale. Forced to eat sushi.

  What the heck are you thinking, Melody.

  I shook myself back to the present conversation. Spencer was shaking his head,

  “I was thinking more like dinner.” He corrected, walking backwards toward the elevator.

  I floated back to my cubicle, amazed at the complete 360 that this Monday had taken.

  My cubicle was occupied and I stopped short. Susan sat in my swivel chair with her legs crossed, back straight, and rubbing a stapler in a hugely embarrassing impression of a mob boss.

  “I will staple myself to your desk, if you do not tell me everything.”

  Ah, that explained the whole stapler-stroking thing.

  “Susan,” I said slowly, inching in toward her.

  One skinny arm shot out and Susan held the stapler to her long sleeved paisley printed cotton blouse.

  “Don’t push me, Melody.”

  “Okay! Okay!” I seceded, “what do you want to know?”

  “Start with where you met. So maybe I can go there and get one.”

  I laughed at her dramatics. “We met outside the elevator in the lobby downstairs. We sort of ran into each other.”

  “Did you go on a date?”

  I nodded, “On Friday. He didn’t call all weekend and I thought…”

  “Ooooh!!” Susan interrupted, “that’s why you looked like Frankenstein’s bride this morning.” She said, realization dawning.

  “That’s enough,” I yanked the stapler from her and held it safely behind my back. “Work time now.”

  Susan ejected herself from my chair and narrowed her eyes at me.

  “You’re so lucky, Mel. He’s a looker.”

  “Good bye, Susan.”

  But the girl had eyes, good taste, and a point.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Spencer and I texted every day while he was away. We were both too busy to keep up long conversations; especially since we were at work during the day time, but our random, flirty instant messages reminded us that we were both missed. I liked this guy. A lot. And I was determined to milk every experience, every sensation, and not think too much about the expiration date hanging over our heads.

  Tuesday night, Spencer called my cell.

  “Hey, cabeza grande,” I teased, as I accepted the call.

  Spencer’s smooth, low laughter raced over the airwaves and filled my chest with warmth.

  “Hi chica linda, how was your day.”

  I leaned back on the fluffy pillows stacked behind me, protecting my back from the rigidity of the headboards, “It was okay. I had to call the Belize Registry fifty times today just to get some statistics. They kept putting me on hold. And they didn’t even have the nice elevator music to distract me from their incompetence.” I complained.

  Spencer chuckled, “I hope you didn’t call them jerk-face. I know from personal experience how much that hurts.”

  I shook my head, “You really need to let that go.”

  “Me? Nah, that one will live forever.”

  “Silly,” I shook my head even though he couldn’t see me, “So how was your day?”

  I heard the exhaustion in Spencer’s sigh, “Let’s just say, I would have preferred to be with you today rather than with a bunch of money hungry men in a hot room.”

  “Maybe we should exchange places then,”

  Spencer laughed, “I’m sure you would be more than capable of putting them in their place.”

  Glad that I was able to put a smile on his face, I refrained from asking more questions about his job. Spencer didn’t like to talk about his work. Apart from the fact that he was the financial director of some big time tech investment company, I didn’t know anything about his employment. I kind of got the feeling that his boss was a boob and worked him way too hard, despite the hefty allowances (ie the chauffer) that Spencer reaped.

  “I’d do that for you.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Guess what,”

  “What?”

  “I found a collection of Veggietales movies at a dollar store today.”

  “You did?”

  “Yeah? Have I mentioned that I love the American dollar stores?”

  “Only fifty times,” he teased.

  I laughed, “Well, I do. Only paying two Belizean dollars for original DVDs does my heart good. I can’t wait till you get back so we can watch them.”

  “Are you asking me out on a date, Melody Reyes?”

  Smiling, I shifted in the bed, “I’m a lady, Mr. Braden. I would never do that.”

  I heard his low chuckle,

  “Hey,” I played with the fringe on my old shorts.

  “Hey,”

  “Should I be worried that you’re in Las Vegas? I mean, Veggietales can’t compete with strippers and casinos.”

  I heard him sigh, “Listen to me real well, Melody Reyes. I would rather hours of watching limbless vegetables save the world than spend one second in a casino without you.”

  I grinned, “You’re just saying that.”

  “I don’t know.” He teased, “I met this girl. She’s as small as a fry with amazingly beautiful hair and she says the sweetest things to me.”

  “She does?”

  “Oh yes, ‘jerk-face’, ‘jerk-wad’, ‘kisser and ditcher’, I mean, I could go on.”

  Chuckling softly, I asked, “What’s the big deal about this girl.”

  “Well, I know I just met this girl, so I’m trying real hard not to scare her, but the way I feel about her, I’d rather sit in my Las Vegas hotel room all night and talk to her than go out and be with anyone else.”

  Leaning my head back against the baseboard, I whispered, “She sounds wonderful… Who is she?”

  Spencer laughed for a full minute. When he quieted, silence hung in between the phone lines. Content to just hear him breathe, I did not try to start up another topic of conversation. My body relaxed with the realization that I had somebody and we were comfortable enough to just be. That and I was nodding away here.

  “You’re getting sleepy,” Spencer said, spookily accurate.

  I shot up, “How do you know that?” I asked, checking my ceiling for bugs. This was America, you couldn’t be too careful.

  Lifetime Movies had taught me that.

  “You normally cut off by now.” He explained

  “Oh.” I relaxed back into the pillows.

  “You should get some sleep.”

  “No,” I protested. I imagined Spencer’s smile, “how come you’re not sleepy?”

  “Because I found this new thing, it’s called coffee and it actually keeps you up.”

  “That thing will kill you,” I warned, huskily as my voice croaked with sleep.

  “Well, at least I’ll die happy.”

  “Coffee junky,” I said on a yawn.

  “Tea addict. Go to sleep, Melody.”

  I didn’t have enough brain cells awake to argue, “Good night, Spencer.”

  After cutting off the phone, I fell into a peaceful, dreamless sleep.

  Spencer’s homecoming day dawned bright and clear. I dresse
d quickly, pairing my professional tan button-down blouse and black pants with siren red stilettos. Just in case. I stopped by Jasmine’s, Susan and my favorite tea store, before walking down the block to our office building. I was actually in the office earlier than Susan. Hm, this was one for the history books. When I heard her puttering around her cubicle a few minutes later, I stepped out to greet her.

  “Good morning, Susan. Isn’t it a beautiful day?”

  I shoved a warm cup of chai tea into her hands. She eyed my gift warily.

  “Who are you and what have you done with Melody?”

  “Very funny. And stop looking at your tea like that, there’s nothing wrong with it.”

  I ignored her foul attitude and danced out of her office. Susan stormed after me, and hitched herself on my desk, her feet dangling from the floor.

  “You and Spencer getting’ serious, huh?”

  I cocked an eyebrow. “I don’t know. We’re just… getting close.”

  “Getting close? ‘Getting close’ does not bring me chai tea.”

  “Susan, you think too much. I’m having a good day. That’s all.”

  Susan eyed me suspiciously. “Okay, if you say so.”

  After that, we both went into work mode until lunch time. Once again, I remained in office while Susan went to the café. This time, however, I was smarter and ordered my burger and curly fries anyway. If Spencer did arrive to whisk me to lunch, then I wouldn’t be starving like last time. I’d consumed a horde of food in front of him on Monday. I did not want a repeat of that.

  Susan delivered my food and I waited all of five minutes before I gave in to the temptation of curly fries.

  If Spencer comes, I’ll just order a salad, I comforted my thighs which were growing with every intake.

  Spencer didn’t show up, but I was appeased by a beautiful bouquet of hibiscus, orchids and trumpets (all flowers native to Belize). I was touched by his thoughtfulness and Susan was duly impressed. The flowers came with a card that said simply, “THINKING OF YOU”. Susan nearly fell to the floor with her swooning, but I have to admit, I was not immune to Spencer’s charm.

  That day, the clock seemed to be taunting me with its slowly moving hands, like it knew I wanted five- o’clock to come so I could be somewhere else. The fifteen minutes before the hour were the most excruciatingly slow minutes of my life. Thankfully, the moment arrived. I skated out with a measly, “see you next week,” to Susan and rushed to catch the 5:15 Metro bus. I got home, forty –five minutes to spare until Spencer’s driver came for me.

  Originally, I was going to take a cab. I knew that if Spencer was cooking he needed the hour and a half it would take to get to his house to do that cooking. I’d suggested taking a cab and Spencer insisted that he wanted to come for me. We compromised with the driver. Well, calling the driver ‘Spencer’s chauffeur’ was too strange so I thought of him as Spencer’s personal taxi man. I had plenty of my own in Belize.

  As soon as I reached my apartment, I dashed into the bathroom, showered and dried off, slathering myself in my most expensive lotion. I threw open my drawers in search of the perfect outfit. Clothing littered every inch of the floor before I settled on a sweet summer dress that made me feel modest but sophisticated. I paired the dress with cream wedge sandals. Next I tossed my hair into a high pony and applied mascara, eyeliner, and lip gloss. Conservative silver dangly earrings completed the look with one minute to spare. When Spencer’s kind looking driver knocked on my door and introduced himself as Wesley, I was ready to roll.

  Wesley and I didn’t talk much during the hour and a half it took to wade through L.A. commuter traffic and arrive at Spencer’s house. My stomach was in knots and I chewed off all of my lip gloss before we were half hour into the drive. Good riddance, I really didn’t wear much make up anyway. To keep myself occupied in the quiet of the cab, I played “Black Tiles” and “Angry Eagles” until we arrived.

  Wesley parked on the rounded driveway and opened my door for me.

  “Thanks, Wesley!” I called, to the older gentlemen as he helped me out of the car.

  “Welcome, and have a good time,” He wished kindly as I stepped toward the door.

  I had my hand fisted, ready to knock, but before I could, the door swung open. I almost sagged against the wall in a dead faint when I saw my guy. Spencer in a business suit was fine, intimidating, but fine, but Spencer in a white tee and jeans was … incredible.

  “You look amazing,” Spencer greeted, taking me in greedily with his eyes.

  “You don’t look so bad yourself,” I returned.

  Understatement of the century.

  He invited me inside. “Mm, something smells yummy.”

  Spencer padded to the kitchen and I followed the smell of the yummy brick road.

  “I bought a Belizean cook book and tried to make rice and beans but the stuff turned out sticky.” Spencer looked sheepish.

  “Don’t worry; I used to always ruin rice and beans when I was younger. You want to add a bit more rice and some coconut milk powder.” I slanted him a look. “You did buy coconut milk powder, right?”

  He looked playfully offended, “I did. I added it in there.”

  “Did you dilute it?”

  He paled, “I was supposed to?”

  I laughed, “Hand me an apron, buster. Let me show you how it is done in my country.”

  Spencer did as I requested. I deftly tied the strings and got to work.

  “The key is to stir it lightly and then cover it and let it simmer.”

  I demonstrated and then observed the rest of the contents on his fancy stove. A bit of gravy boiled on the front burner.

  “I gave up on the stewed chicken,” he confessed, coming up behind me, “I threw some steaks in a pan and called it a day.”

  “I hope you cooked them before you did that.” I teased.

  Spencer lightly tugged my apron strings, drawing me into his embrace.

  “I missed you,” I melted, “And you just look too cute in that apron.” I solidified back again.

  I pushed him away. “Okay, let’s get one thing straight here. I realize that I am only 5”2’, but I am not small, or cute, or adorable. I. Am. A. Woman.”

  “Yes. You. Are.” Spencer agreed, immediately reaching for my apron strings again and tugged me to him.

  “Could I kiss you, not small, not cute, not adorable woman?”

  “Well-”

  Spencer shushed my retort with a light kiss then eased away with half-hooded eyes. I paused for a moment, and then moved, reaching for him. We ended up in a frenzy of kisses. To be honest, I had no idea exactly what I was doing with the kiss-thing, but Spencer seemed very capable in that arena and I happily followed his lead. As the kiss intensified, Spencer hooked my thighs up with his thumb so my legs wrapped around his. He traced pecks down my neck, then retraced them to my jaw, my cheeks, then my lips. He backed me up against the counter nearest the stove. At first, I had no idea what to do with my hands, until he guided them to his waist. I caressed the hard planes of his stomach through his shirt. My other hand inched its way into his hair.

  I couldn’t breathe, but I didn’t want to stop. I was floating in a heady mix of sensations and …

  Beep! Beep! Beep!

  A loud piercing wail erupted into our serious make out session. As much as I wanted to ignore it, the burst of water that dunked us was hard to overlook. Somewhere along the way, our hands had pushed a kitchen towel under the burner holding the gravy. Spencer and I exchanged heated looks after he put out the small flame that had awakened his smoke detector and I knew, that towel wasn’t the only fire the shower had extinguished tonight.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Friday morning, I was still trying to wrap my mind around the previous night’s events. Not only had I, the ever consummate everything virgin, heavily pawed and made out with a man, it was so fiery God Himself needed to give us cold showers.

  So… that happened.

  Of course, after the dunki
ng, Spencer took me home. He offered a change of clothes so I could stay, but I knew the evening was over for me. And I couldn’t trust myself for the minute I dried off that we’d probably end up right back finishing what we started.

  Growing up, my parents never shirked from the topic of sex. It wasn’t taboo and it wasn’t bad. I remember Daddy likening it to a sweet dance reserved for a lifetime partner. He warned that each partner had sticky glue hands and every time you treated the dance as a cheap, casual thing, and continually changed partners, you’d lose a bit of the stickiness of your hands to a bunch of other people. Dad said when you exchanged sticky hands with only one person, you learned to give and take so you both always had sticky hands.

  I am twenty years old, and I still think of sex in the terms of a tango and sticky hands. Well, before Spencer Braden. Because if the simple touch of lips could produce such a reaction in my body, I could understand why “doing the dance” was so obsessed over in the media.

  But that was the point. I didn’t want to do the tango before I found a lifetime partner. As cheesy as it may seem and as outdated and antiquated as it may sound in a world that sees intimacy as some kind of commodity, I still considered virginity the ultimate gift for my husband someday. And I don’t mean a “heart-husband” or any such modern day crap. I meant an honest-to-goodness, Beyonce’s put-a-ring-on-it husband.

  And yeah, maybe that decision had something do with my faith and the values my parents drilled into my head from a young age. But ultimately, it was my decision.

  And hey, I’m not judging anybody! Like I said, I had never experienced something so compelling as being with Spencer. It was like I couldn’t get close enough. But last night didn’t change my mind or the order of things for me. Marriage, then sex. And that’s final. I just didn’t know if Spencer would stick around for long if sex was completely off the table.

  We hadn’t much discussed our faith or our values. To be honest, I hadn’t planned on diving that in depth with him. We had an expiration date hanging over our heads. I’d be returning to Belize for good in two weeks. “Getting serious” as Susan put it, with Spencer was not something I had foreseen or even initially welcomed. But if our attraction to each other continued to burn like that, I think we needed to have the ‘birds and the bees’ talk.