Wrong Number, Right Guy

by Elle Casey

  I lift my glass, wondering if we’re toasting my new employment or my status as his roommate. “New beginnings,” I say softly, making sure not to hit his glass too hard. With my nerves being what they are right now, I could easily shatter them both.

  My first sip sends bubbles up my nose. I sneeze, and not very delicately.

  He smiles. “You like it.”

  “I do, I do.” I wipe my nose to keep it from tickling any more. My eyes are watering trying to hold in the next sneeze.

  “This one isn’t very sweet.”

  I take another sip and nod. “No, it’s dry, but I like it.” Now that I’m no longer sneezing, I can appreciate the taste. “It’s like drinking firecrackers,” I say, smiling.

  “Never thought about it that way.” He finishes off his glass, holding the liquid in his mouth for a few seconds. He tilts his head left to right, swallows, and nods. “You’re right. Just like firecrackers.”

  We continue with another glass each, the whole time just looking around. The more time that passes, the more awkward it gets between us.

  “So,” he says, putting his glass down on the side table. “Feel like watching some television?”

  The way he says it tells me he’s not really asking me if I want to watch TV. He’s asking me if I want to do that other thing we discussed before that intruder set off the yard alarm.

  I put my glass down carefully, hoping the tremor in my hand isn’t showing too much. “I don’t know. Maybe. Is there anything good on?”

  He shakes his head really slowly. “No. There’s nothing good on.”

  “We could rent a movie,” I say, kind of teasing. I want to see what he’ll say to that.

  “We could. But there aren’t any good movies right now.”

  “There aren’t?” I’m trying not to smile.

  “No. None.” He steps back a couple feet and slowly undoes his belt.

  Panic rises up into my chest, into my throat, cutting off my air.

  “What are you doing?” I say in a choked whisper. It’s all I’m capable of right now.

  “Taking my belt off.”

  “Oh.” I nod. Of course that’s what he’s doing. Silly me.

  After he drops his belt onto the floor, he pulls the bottom of his shirt out of his waistband.

  I swallow the lump in my throat. “What are you doing now?”

  “Taking off my shirt.” He lifts it up over his head and down one arm with practiced ease, letting it fall to the floor to join his belt.

  I gasp with admiration at all the muscles I see there. Holy shit, that shirt was covering waaay more than I thought possible. His body is beyond sculpted. It’s like a Mr. Potato Head workout body. Clip-on abs, clip-on pecs, clip on triangle-shaped muscle thingies that go down into the front of his pants.

  Oh my god, he’s taking those pants off!

  “Wait!” I yell, holding out a hand like a stop sign.

  His hands pause on his button. “You want me to stop?” His right eyebrow goes up, and half his mouth moves up in a devious grin.

  “Yes. Stop. Stop right there.”

  His hands fall away from his pants and hang at his sides. His grin slowly falls away too.

  I fold my hands in my lap and press my lips together. I have to make sure I don’t say the wrong thing. I need to get it all organized in my head before I start. It’s not that I don’t want to see him naked; it’s just that I’m not sure I’m ready to do anything other than see him naked. And it doesn’t seem fair to ogle him and then not offer him the payoff.

  “Am I moving too fast for you?” he asks.

  “You could say that.”

  “Do you want me to put my shirt back on?”

  “No, not really.” I cringe at my own honesty. How creepy I am. I’m an ogler.

  He smiles. “But you want me to keep my pants on.”

  “For now, I think that would be a good idea.”

  He nods. “Okay. I can handle it.” He walks over to his desk.

  “What are you doing now?” My nerves are frayed. I want him, but I’m afraid to sleep with him. Madonna’s most famous hit runs through my head, a little off tune. “Like a virgin . . .” Yeah. That’s what I feel like. A virgin. How that can happen when I’ve had sex at least twenty times, probably more, I don’t know. But it is. “Touched for the very first tiiiimmme . . .”

  He opens up a drawer in the desk and pulls something small enough to fit in his hand out.

  It has to be a condom. What else would he be bringing over here to the bed where I’m waiting like a non-virgin virgin?

  “Can’t watch TV, can’t have sex, might as well play cards,” he says, climbing up onto the bed on hands and knees, stopping when he gets to the center. He sits, drawing his legs up, bent at the knees.

  I watch as he opens up a deck of cards and starts shuffling them on his leg.

  I can’t help but laugh. “You can’t be serious.”

  “Why not?” He looks up at me and winks. “You afraid?”

  “Who me? May ‘Card Shark’ Wexler? I think not.” I turn around and get to the middle of the bed near the pillows. I cross my legs and tuck my feet under them. This, I can handle. “What’s your poison? Poker? Blackjack?”

  “We’ll start with poker.”

  “Excellent.” I rub my hands together, thankful that the pressure has temporarily been removed. Maybe after we play for a while and joke around a bit, I’ll feel more comfortable about sleeping with him.

  His grin is decidedly sly. “Seven card draw, jokers wild. You lose, you take off an article of clothing.”

  Ooooor maybe I won’t feel more comfortable. I guess we’re going to find out.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  I lose the first hand and my shoes. He loses the next three hands, which has him down to his underpants. He wears boxer briefs, in black, of course. His arms rest on his knees, and his poker hand hovers between them. He’s looking at me. “What’s it going to be, May ‘Card Shark’ Wexler? You want any cards?”

  I’m holding a pair of threes. That’s it. I’m sweating too, because if I lose this one, I’m taking off my top or my pants. He already put the kibosh on me taking off earrings. Clothing only, that’s the rule.

  “Hmmm, yeah. I’ll take four.”

  He chuckles as he pulls four cards off the top of the deck. “Oh my, May. I think you’re in a little bit of trouble.”

  I look at the cards he selected for me and smile. “Maybe. Maybe not.” I’m completely bluffing. I know this pair of threes with a ten high isn’t going to do jack diddly for me. My only hope is to get him to fold. Folding is a forfeit but without clothing removal.

  “I’m going to take one card,” he says, removing one from his hand and taking a new one from the deck.

  One card. Oh, crap.

  “What’s it going to be?” he asks me. “You ready to go down?”

  My face heats up. Go down? Not quite yet.

  “I’m not folding, I know that. Maybe you should, though. You’re going to be starkers if you lose another hand.”

  “Maybe I want to be starkers.” He winks at me.

  I frown. “Have you been losing on purpose?”

  “Who, me?” He frowns a little too hard. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m too competitive to lose on purpose.”

  Or too chivalrous. I try to replay our earlier hands back in my head. Did he forfeit good cards for bad? I wasn’t paying attention then, and it’s too late now to figure it out. Dammit. And here I thought I was being a card shark for real when what I was probably being was a non-virgin virgin wannabe card shark. Double dammit.

  He puts his cards on the bed. “Read ’em and weep.” He has a full house.

  I slowly put my cards on the bed in front of me. “Pair of threes, otherwise known as total suckage.”

  He leans over and takes my top button in his fingers.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Helping you.” He unbuttons the first one.

  I slap his ha
nd away. “Hey! What if I was planning on taking my pants off first?” I feel like I’m going to have a heart attack right here over this stupid deck of cards. We are going to be naked together, and I’m not ready!

  He leans back. “Take your pants off then, if you prefer.” He leans back on his hands and grins. “I’ll just wait over here. Your turn to deal, you know.”

  “I know.” I say it with my annoyed voice. Standing, I first button my shirt up, all the way to my neck, and then I undo the top button of my pants.

  “You nervous?” he asks. He’s not smiling anymore.

  “No.”

  “Liar.”

  I sigh. “Yeah, I’m lying. I am nervous.” I push my pants down to my ankles anyway. Fair is fair; I lost the hand.

  “We can quit anytime you want.” He falls onto his back and talks at the ceiling. “I’m kind of tired of cards now anyway.”

  I step out of my pants, now wondering if he’s still being a gentleman or if really doesn’t care if he sees me naked. That thought should bring relief, but instead it makes me kind of sad. I hope I didn’t blow it with him.

  “What do you want to do instead?” I ask.

  “We could watch TV.”

  “You said there was nothing good on!” I act outraged when, really, I’m happy. I’m glad he wanted to play strip poker with me. That’s a compliment, right? And he’s smiling, so it can’t be all bad between us.

  “I lied. Come on.” He does a back flip off the end of the bed and leaves the room.

  “Wait for me!” I run out of the room in just my shirt and underwear.

  He’s waiting for me on the couch, the television already on. The dogs are curled up together in a giant dog bed on the floor next to the far side of the couch. Sahara is snoring. Felix is crashed out on his back, his feet in the air. I’m tempted to go pick him up, but I don’t. He’ll sleep all night like that, and I want to be with Ozzie right now anyway.

  “Modern Family. Cracks me up.” He points the remote to the wall-mounted television set, and the channel changes. I see the familiar faces of Claire and Phil.

  “You don’t seem like the Modern Family type,” I say, lowering myself onto the couch one cushion away from him. I’m near the end, he’s in the middle. The thing is big enough for six people, probably.

  He flips himself around and lies on the couch, putting his head in my lap like it’s the most normal thing in the world—the two of us watching a sitcom, half naked, in the sword room. I’m obviously living in Crazy Town.

  Instead of overanalyzing something that defies analysis, I sit back and watch the show. My hands find their way to his head where I massage his scalp, lightly drag my hands over his temple and cheek, and play with his ears. They’re soft, where other parts of him are decidedly hard. When he laughs, the entire couch moves. He’s adorable and charming when he’s watching this silly show. It’s definitely my new favorite.

  At some point during the first half of the program, one of his hands goes under my thigh. Then a little while later, the other one reaches up and goes behind my back. It doesn’t look very comfortable, but when a commercial comes on, I see how well it can work for both of us. He flips over onto his back and the arm that was under my thigh comes out. His hand floats up to my shirt button, the one I closed at the top of my neck.

  I pretend to be enthralled with the excellent cleaning features of the Tide Stick that’s being advertised, while he unbuttons three buttons, revealing the edges of my bra. I laugh at a commercial that has a small dog chasing a cat who took his toy, but can’t keep up the charade when his fingers pull the top of my bra down and he cups my breast.

  I tilt my head down and stare into his eyes. He’s all seriousness now.

  “I like you on my couch,” he says.

  “Aren’t you worried someone from the team is going to come in?”

  “No. I have security, remember?” He glances over at the hallway leading to the outer door. “I disabled the lock. No one can get in.”

  “Even with the code?”

  “Even with the code. You could run around here naked, and no one would ever know.”

  The idea makes my ears burn. “You would know.”

  “But I’d never tell.” He pulls me down and kisses me on the mouth, his tongue coming out and reaching up for mine. It’s not the most comfortable position in the world, but it’s hot. He’s managed to get me half naked and not self-conscious about it. I can see his hard-on in his boxer briefs, so I know if I just said the word, he’d be all over me. But instead, he lets me go and just looks at me. Watches me for a reaction.

  “I’m not as nervous as I was earlier,” I say. I need him to know I appreciate what he’s doing.

  “Good. You want some popcorn?” He sits up.

  I frown. “Do you?”

  He shrugs. “Not really. But if you want some, I’ll make it.”

  I shake my head. “No, it’s late. I think I’ll pass.”

  He sits up with his back against the cushions and pulls me into him. The skin of his thigh is warm against mine. I’m so glad I shaved today. The dark wiry hair of his legs tickles the delicate skin of mine. It makes me think of him and me in bed together, touching everywhere, no clothing getting in the way . . .

  He squeezes me tight and kisses me on the top of the head as the show comes back on. “Wait until you see this part,” he says, his mood lightening as he switches into television viewer mode.

  So much for a raging hard-on. I sneak glances at it as it shrinks down to regular size, which, for the record, is still big enough to tell me that he must have a hard time finding pants that will fit properly. Wowza.

  The longer I sit with him as he gently strokes my arm with his fingers, touches my hair, pulls me into him, the more comfortable I feel. And with this comfort comes a frustration. We are so close to getting sexual, but we’re just not doing it. He’s being a total gentleman, and it’s driving me crazy.

  Something needs to be done about this. Something needs to be done about this now.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  I pick up the remote and turn the television off.

  Ozzie’s hand freezes in the middle of stroking my arm.

  I wait for him to make the next move.

  “You turned off the show.”

  “Yes, I did.” My heart is going wild.

  “Does that mean you’re ready for bed?”

  Easy, May, easy. You can do this. “Not exactly.”

  He lets out a long breath of air. For a second, I think he’s angry. But then he speaks.

  “Stand up, May.”

  “Stand up?” I’m confused.

  “Yes, stand up. Here in front of me.” He leans back harder into the cushions and moves his butt forward a little, sinking down into the couch.

  I don’t know what’s going to happen next, but I stand anyway.

  “Face me.”

  I turn around.

  He takes my left hand and pulls me to the left until I’m standing between his knees.

  “Take your shirt off.”

  I swallow with difficulty. We’re totally going to do this. We’re going to have sex right now. In this room. On this couch. Holy shit.

  I reach up with trembling fingers and undo my remaining buttons. It’s all I have strength for, though. When I’m done, my hands fall to my sides. I’m chickening out and I’m not even naked yet. I hate myself! My head drops to my chest.

  Ozzie sits up and pulls on my sleeve, making my blouse fall over to one side. “Take this off,” he says in a calm voice. The fact that he’s not sounding angry or scary is freaking me out. It’s like he’s my boss again, doing some sort of training exercise. “Take off your shirt, May. Don’t make me say it again.”

  A shiver moves down my spine and right into the spot between my legs, ka-zow!

  I do what he says because I’m not an idiot.

  “Good girl,” he says, his voice low, almost dangerous sounding.

  I’m there in my matching bra an
d panties, a set I splurged for last year when the wedding bookings were plenty. I’m so glad I put them on today. Did I know I was going to be stripping in front of Ozzie? Maybe. I guess I’d hoped so. God, I’m so easy.

  “Take off your bra.” He’s leaning back on the couch again, his eyes running up and down my body. The television is back on again, but the sound is off. Light flickers behind me. I hope it’s making me look mysterious and sexy and not fat.

  I lower the straps from my shoulders first, thrilled to see his bulge move in his boxers. He reaches over and squeezes it as his pelvis moves up. That sends a shock running through my body. I never thought a guy touching himself would turn me on, but I was wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong-wrong-wrong.

  As my straps hang loose over my upper arms, I reach behind me and undo the clasp. Crossing my arms across my chest, I hold the loose material against me. Revealing my upper body in its utter nakedness while he sits there below me is too much. It’s going to take a lot more confidence than I have right now to pull that off.

  “Let it go, May.”

  “I can’t.” I’m trembling again. I’m not sure if it’s fear or anticipation in charge.

  “You can and you will.”

  I shake my head no but can’t speak. Fear and nerves have my tongue, and they’re not letting it go.

  He leans forward and reaches up to put his hands on my thighs. His fingers are hot on my air-cooled skin. Slowly they climb over my hips and waist to my elbows.

  “Give yourself to me, May.”

  Tears make my eyes bright. “I can’t.”

  “Of course you can.” He takes the edge of my bra and gently tugs it out from under my arms.

  I let it go because the bigger part of me wants to do this, wants to be naked with him. The smaller part of me that’s self-conscious and finds me lacking wants to run for the hills and never look back. A fall from this height is going to be really, really painful, and we haven’t even had sex yet.

  Now the only thing covering my chest is my arms. Why do they have to be so skinny? My breasts are falling out everywhere.