by R. C. Martin
“Judah.”
He licks his lips, his gaze flicking toward mine before he finds my eyes again. My blush deepens and I wonder why I can’t seem to take deep breaths any longer.
“How old are you?”
“Um—I’m almost twenty-three. Why?”
“I’d like to take you to dinner.”
All the air I had in my lungs rushes out of me as I gape at him in complete and utter shock.
“Dinner?” I mutter.
“I consider myself a gentleman. I usually dine before I fuck—and you, Teddy, would be an exceptionally welcome beauty in my bed.”
“Whoa!” I exclaim, taking a step away from him. He drops his hand, and as his fingers leave my skin, I can feel it as my sense of confidence suddenly snaps back into place. “Did you just—did you just proposition me?”
“I’m simply extending an offer—one adult to another,” he says, clasping his hands behind his back. “An evening spent in my company. No strings.”
I cough out a humorless laugh, my eyes wide in disbelief. For a second, I wonder if this is really happening right now. I look around and find that we are still alone, and when my eyes meet his once more, I see it—I see that he is completely serious. Suddenly, I see beyond his beauty; or perhaps I see what his looks have done to him, turning him into this arrogant man who thought his proposal of dinner and sex would actually work. Whatever the case may be, my perception of him is now tarnished. Rather than a racing pulse, there’s a sick feeling in my stomach.
“Well, then, my answer is no. I think I’m supposed to be flattered, but I’m not. Now, if you’ll excuse me, my lunch has arrived.”
I walk around him, inadvertently breathing him in. He smells amazing, which only makes me want to look at him from over my shoulder. I don’t. But as I make my way to the back room, I can’t help but wonder if by not looking, I’ve missed my last chance to lay eyes on the most gorgeous asshole I’ve ever met.
I watch her leave, my mind already busy planning my next move. I will have her. The hard-on trying the seam of my pants is proof that she’s a challenge I fully intend to accept. There is something about her—something so soft and innocent. She’s shy. It wasn’t an act, it wasn’t contrived, she wasn’t playing me, and it only makes me want her more. I thought she was breakable before, but now—now I see that she’s more delicate than I anticipated, and I want to see her shatter at my touch.
I want to bury my dick into her cunt, making her wild and desperate for more. I want to see the look in her eyes when I make her come. I want to hear her scream my name, her pleasure breaking through her shy demeanor and unleashing the fiery woman I’d imagine exists under all that innocence.
She may have rejected my invitation, but her body spoke louder than her words. The blush in her cheeks, her shallow breaths, and the look in her eyes when I touched her—fuck.
I clear my throat, shifting my thoughts to the painting in front of me. I have to think of something else, or my cock will never calm down. It takes me a couple minutes, but when I have myself under control, I slide my hands into my pockets before I go looking for Logan. It’s time to get out of here.
At my approach, she looks away from the man in front of her and scowls at me slightly before offering the man her hand. “Thank you, Geoffrey. It was nice to meet you.” She holds up his card with a smile before she assures him, “We’ll be in touch.” Then, without another word, she makes her way toward the exit, her fine ass swaying as she goes.
I offer Geoffrey a nod before going after her. When we reach my Porsche, I follow her to the passenger side so that I might open her door, but she waves me away.
“No need to be a gentleman now. I’m fine, Judah.”
I frown at her, ignoring her implication as I reach for the handle anyway. She lifts an eyebrow at me as I stand waiting for her to get in.
“What did you say to that woman?”
“I don’t see why that’s any of your concern,” I state simply with a shrug.
She laughs a humorless laugh, folding her arms across her chest before she says, “I’m not stupid. There’s only one reason a woman would walk away from you like that. I have walked away from you like that. What did you say?”
“If I tell you, will you get in the car.”
She lifts her chin at me defiantly. I take that as my answer.
“I told her I’d like to take her to dinner.”
She arches an eyebrow, silently expressing her doubt while demanding a better explanation.
“Logan—”
“No bullshit, Judah. What did you say?”
I narrow my eyes at her. “Is this us being friends?”
“Yup,” she states, popping the p for emphasis. “Now spill.”
“I offered her full disclosure. Dinner. My company. No strings.”
She rolls her eyes and huffs at me before she finally gets into the car. I close her in, somehow sure that being confined in a small space with the woman is not my best bet right now. Nevertheless, we need to get back to the office. We have work to do.
As soon as I’m seated in the driver’s seat, she turns toward me, and I know I’m in for an earful. I start the car and back out of the parking space, hoping for green lights all the way to our destination.
“You’re going to apologize to her.”
“Excuse me?” I mutter, genuinely confused by her suggestion.
“I’m sorry. You’re going to say those words. Or at least write them. You can send her flowers or something.”
I offer her a side-long glance before directing my attention back to the road. “I have nothing to apologize for. I simply asked the woman to dinner.”
“I don’t know exactly what you said, but I know you offended her. No girl walks that fast in heels that high from a man who looks like you unless she’s pissed. Considering you spoke with her for all of five minutes before she stormed off, I’d say you have something to apologize for.”
I open my mouth to object, but she speaks again before I can.
“And you know what else? There’s no such thing as no strings. There are always strings. Especially if you’re having sex. Sometimes, I swear, our whole world is in denial! Sex is extremely intimate. You can trick your brain into thinking it’s not, but there’s more to your body than your brain. And for you to approach her and suggest your company with no strings—I mean, do you ever stop and think before you say shit like that? Maybe she thinks she’s worth strings. And you know what? She is. So maybe you and all of your asshole glory can’t comprehend how the idea of casual sex with you could be offensive, but not all women are interested in the idea of offering you their bodies with the promised illusion of no strings.”
“Christ, woman—do you always ramble when you’re trying to convince me I’m an asshole?” I ask, remembering her long-winded speech from earlier this year, when she told me to stop coming onto her. I’ll never remember everything she said, but I do recall hearing her call me an asshole more than once before she suggested we be friends.
“Just apologize to her, Jude. That’s all I’m saying.”
She turns away from me, looking out her window as she grows silent.
I think about what she just said—some of it, at least. I don’t agree with her, of course. I’m not a man who does relationships. I consider it fair that I express that before any woman can get the wrong idea. Relationships are overrated. Love is simply a concept—a choice—and people change their mind like they change their wardrobe. To choose to be in a relationship, hoping to fall in love, is a fool’s errand. In the end, there is always a possibility that it all amounts to nothing.
I’ve been in love before. I know what a relationship looks like. The things that are expected—faithfulness, commitment, love—they are all just choices. To trust another human being to make the same choice every day—it’s foolish. I learned that the hard way, and I’m never going back there.
So I will not apologize for my honesty. It is a choice I can live by. It
is a choice that I can swear by. And I will get Teddy in my bed. One way or another, I’m a man who gets what he wants. It’s a promise I made to myself long ago, and I keep my promises.
I press my head against the filing cabinet, the cool metal against my forehead a welcome sensation. I close my eyes and, for a moment, it’s as if I can feel his long, warm fingers on my face. Even now, in my solitude, just remembering him makes me short of breath. I told him I wasn’t flattered by his proposition—which is true. The fact that he wants to see me naked—me, a complete stranger—it means nothing more than that he has a penis and he’d like to use it. That’s not an uncommon desire among men.
But the way he looked at me…
I don’t know that anyone has ever looked at me quite like that before.
I gasp, almost choking on air when I feel a hand press against the small of my back. I whirl around, surprised and disturbingly disappointed to find Geoffrey looking at me with a concerned scowl. I cover my face with my hands, wondering why I thought it could be anyone else—why a tiny part of me wishes it was Judah.
“Teddy, why are you hiding in the supply closet?”
“I’m not. I’m not hiding,” I say, not sounding the least bit convincing. I sigh, dropping my hands to my sides as I look up into his blue eyes, filled with question. “I needed a minute.”
The corner of his mouth curls up into a devious smile. “Theodora Rose Fitzpatrick.”
I bite the inside of my cheek, fighting a smile, willing my irritation to reign supreme in this moment. He’s about to call me out, and I’m not ready for it.
“I’m not even going to ask if you think he’s hot because we both know he’s a walking wet dream.” I blush and his smile grows wider. “Did he ask you out?” I nod my response. “Did you say yes?” I shake my head no, and he studies me for a moment. “Why not?”
“Um,” I pause, still a little shocked that what I’m about to repeat is part of a conversation that really just happened. “He said that I would be an exceptionally welcome beauty in his bed.”
Geoff’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise as his mouth falls open. “Holy shit,” he manages. “The balls on that guy.” He coughs out a laugh and then shakes his head at me. “Then again, I’d fuck him.”
I gasp, smacking him against his chest. “Geoffrey Alexander Fink!”
“Teddy, come on—a man who wears a suit that well, and who is bold enough to speak to you like that, he’s a guaranteed good lay. Besides, he’s not wrong. You are beautiful.”
“Oh, thanks. Let’s just forget that minor detail that I’ve never actually had consensual sex with anyone. Sure, yeah, fucking him is actually a great idea. What was I thinking?”
I start to walk away from him, angry that he would treat Judah’s suggestion almost as flippantly as the arrogant man himself. As my best friend, someone who knows the extent of my devastating sexual history, I expect more from him—on the mend from a breakup or not.
Unfortunately, I don’t get very far before he catches me around the waist, holding me hostage in his strong grip. I try to turn out of his grasp, but he just holds me tighter.
“Teddy—look at me.”
I ignore him, staring at the floor instead. Even though he’s holding me against my will, I still feel safe in his arms. It’s not because he’s gay, either. I just know him. I know he would never hurt me. He’s one of very few men in my life that I trust this much. My relationship with Justin broke me, carving out wounds that might not ever be completely healed. Geoff knows this—he knows that half the reason I don’t date very often is because dealing with the issue of sex is not something I’m willing to grapple with right now.
“Teddy, please?”
His warm, pleading tone softens me a little and I peek at him from beneath my lashes.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean any harm. I know how big of a deal sex is for you. I also know how much it scares you. But, baby girl—it’s been over four years.
“Now, I’m not saying jump into bed with the next guy who asks. I know you. I know that goes against your beliefs, religious and otherwise; but you can’t run from it forever. You have to put yourself out there. You have to let someone at least try to prove that they are worthy of you. Sex is a beautiful thing, and you are a beautiful girl—inside and out. You deserve to experience the passion that comes with that kind of intimacy.” He presses his lips against my forehead, causing my eyes to tear up. “Stop running, baby girl,” he whispers against my skin.
“I wish it was that easy,” I say, shaking my head at him.
“I know that it’s not,” he says, looking down at me once more. “But you can’t just let life pass you by. You’re never going to get your twenties back. And you can stand here and argue with me until you’re blue in the face, but I’m never going to believe you when you tell me that your life is complete just the way that it is. It’s not.
“No one should go through life not knowing what it’s like to be in love. And Justin—Justin doesn’t count. That was not love. That was a selfish, lying, son-of-a-bitch who is something far less than a man. You have to know that there is better out there.”
“I know,” I whisper, wiping away a renegade tear.
“You have to believe it, too, baby girl. You have to know and believe that there are good men out there. Falling for one of them is not the end of the world. Hell, fall for a couple of them. I know I have. I don’t regret it, either. It’s better to have loved and lost, right?”
I shrug, unable to offer him more. I know that if I try and speak now, I’ll only burst into tears.
“That sexy fucker might have been an asshole, but not all guys are Justin. You’ll kiss a few assholes before you find one you’re willing to put up with.” I smile up at him and he smiles back before pressing a quick kiss to my lips. “And I don’t count,” he adds with a wink. That makes me giggle and he wraps me in a hug. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I sigh, nodding against his chest. “I’m good.”
My stomach growls and he chuckles, pulling away from me before reaching for my hand. “Come on. Your salad’s getting soggy.”
I follow his tug, both of us exiting the closet, and I hope that my eyes don’t speak of our emotional conversation. I know if Andy catches on to the fact that I even thought about crying, he’ll be eyeing me with concern for the rest of the week. I certainly don’t need him worrying about me and Geoffrey, so I’m relieved when I don’t see him anywhere.
With the gallery as quiet as it is, I don’t even think twice before popping open the lid to my salad from where I sit behind the reception desk. Geoffrey takes his seat beside me and I pepper him with questions about their earlier appointment while I eat. When I’m finished, we both get back to work; but try as I might, I can’t get Judah out of my head. I do my best not to overthink it. He has a face that’s hard to forget. I decide that remembering him for one afternoon is only natural. Tomorrow, he’ll be hardly more than a memory.
As soon as I sit down at my desk Wednesday morning, I open up my email in hopes that I’ll find some correspondence from Mr. Dixon. I’m disappointed when I discover that my inbox is flooded with a dozen messages, not one of them from him. Logan sent him a variety of art selections for him to choose from for the wall décor in his office on Monday afternoon. His silence has prevented me from having an excuse to make a return visit to the MTA gallery.
Dixon. Such a fucking pain in my ass.
I’ve thought of Teddy often for the last day and a half. Her brown eyes. Her pretty freckles. Her pink mouth—her bottom lip just a little fuller than the top. Her long, wavy, red hair. Her delicate frame, which begs to be broken in the most delicious, forbidden, and explicit ways.
“Hey, good morning,” says Logan, pulling me from my thoughts.
I look up and find her hovering in the doorway, as if waiting for permission to come in.
“Logan, you have a habit of inviting yourself into my office, so I’m confused as to why you’re standing out there.
”
“Actually, I’m—” She stops, resting her hand on her stomach before she shakes her head at me. “Never mind. I don’t really have anything of importance to share with you, I was just curious about whether or not you ever took care of that issue.”
“What issue?”
“You were going to apologize to the woman from the gallery, remember?”
I lean back in my chair as I furrow my brow at her. “I recall you insisting that I should. I don’t, however, remember agreeing to it.”
“Well, I really think you should reconsider. I know a great florist and—” She seals her lips shut, pressing both hands against her stomach this time.
“Logan, you look pale. Are you all right?”
“Um…I just don’t feel well, which is so odd because I—” She gasps, her eyes wide as she stares at me in complete surprise. “Oh, my god! Oh, my god!”
“What?” I ask, standing to my feet, startled by her behavior.
“Oh, my god!”
“Logan—what is going on? Are you all right?”
When she starts laughing, I question her mental well being. I’m so far from understanding what is happening, I don’t know how to respond. Without another word, she turns to leave. She only takes two steps before she’s back in my doorway, the smile on her face bringing the tiniest bit of color back to her skin.
“I think I’m pregnant! I have to—oh, my god—I have to go.” She turns away from me again, laughs, and then reenters to my doorway. “I’ll be back. I have to see Roman. I’ll be back. Um,” she pauses, cupping her hand around her forehead as she shakes her head in disbelief. “I’ll have my cell. I swear I’ll be back. I don’t know when—I just—I have to go. Oh, my god—I think I’m pregnant.”
I frown, still uncertain of the appropriate response to her behavior. “Okay. I’m sure we can manage without you for a couple of hours. I’ll inform Eddalyn when she arrives.”
“Thank you!” she says before leaving me in my office.
I stare at my empty doorway for a moment, hoping that her frazzled state of mind is a temporary state of being in light of her potential news. Selfishly, I also wonder what a pregnancy would mean for her career at Eddalyn’s Interiors. Quite frankly, she’s far too talented to give this up for the sake of motherhood. Not that I think less of women who make sacrifices for their children. I don’t. Yet, in the same breath, I’m sure that I never want to be put in that position. Children are certainly not a part of my future plans.
