by Amanda Aksel
The agent’s jaw goes slack. And so does the wife’s, but she’s not exactly appalled.
“What are you doing?” Her husband whispers through grit teeth and shields her eyes with his hand. The little boy splits his fingers, peeking at the scene. When did a shirtless man and a woman in soaked clothes become such a taboo spectacle?
The agent gets in my face, waving her finger around like a crabby old schoolteacher. “Your broker will hear from me about this, Miss Quinn.”
“But—”
“And my clients are no longer interested in this house!”
“What?” the wife says, pulling her husband’s hand away.
“We’re going.” The agent herds the family into the house, leaving the door wide open behind them.
Oh shit.
My broker is not gonna like that phone call.
I turn to Jake, nostrils flared and balling my fists. He’s still shirtless and dripping from our dirty dip in the pool. Not the least bit disturbed by what’s happened, he gives me the same sultry stare he gave me across the restaurant that night.
Daaaaaamn, Jake.
I mean, dammit, Jake!
“Did you know you had people coming to look at the house today?” he asks.
“No.” I snatch my shoes off the pavement. “And now they’re not going to make an offer.”
“Fuck ‘em!” Jake waves his hand. Easy for him to say. He gets paid whether this house sells or not. “Besides, it’s pretty rude to just walk in here without telling you first.”
“I doubt my broker will see it that way. You need to leave,” I say with a stern tone.
“Why?” He smirks. “We were just getting started.” Jake rests his hand on his crotch and gives himself a little squeeze.
“And now we’re done.” I grab my bag and head for the door. “Thanks for nothing, Jake.” He can let himself out.
***
The next day, I get called into the principal’s, I mean, broker’s office.
“Take a seat,” Bill says, dressed in his typical Friday Hawaiian shirt.
I do as he says, but I will not take this laying down. “Look, I know what you want to talk to me about. And I just want to say that I’m sorry. It was poor judgment on my part. I had no idea that the property was being shown. The agent failed to contact me. But in any case, it will not happen again.”
He shushes me with a gesture. “Natalie, relax, okay? I get it. Plenty of agents use their vacant properties for sex, especially the ones who are having affairs.”
“What? No, I wasn’t—”
“I don’t need to know what you were doing, just remember not to leave the key in the lockbox, or else anyone could come in. And maybe try to keep it to after-hours only.”
What the eff is happening? I came in here to fight for my job, and now it’s like he’s handing me the keys to any vacant property and saying good luck. This is by far the weirdest conversation I’ve ever had with a boss. “I don’t understand. You’re condoning this type of behavior?”
He shakes his head. “Absolutely not. But being a broker is kinda like having a crap load of children. You know they’re gonna do dumb shit. My job is to babysit the agents, make sure they don’t get in too much trouble, and most importantly, that they don’t lose any business. But also that they don’t bring their kids to showings. I swear, female agents are like those proverbial women in the field. They pop out the baby and immediately go to work with it on their back. But you get the point. Capisce?”
What can you say after that? “I got it.”
“Okay, good. I heard you just got an offer on that property, so maybe your little stunt worked out for you after all.”
I arch my eyebrow. “Really? I haven’t seen an offer.”
He nods. “Yep, fresh off the fax.”
I leave my broker and head to the main desk.
“Hey, Tammy, did I get an offer in for Armistead Lane?”
Tammy, our office admin, smiles. “Yep, I got it right here.” She hands me the legal sized stack, and a grin graces my face. First offers are always amazing. Even if they don’t get ratified, they break the seal, and offers start coming in. It works every time. I take the paperwork back to my desk, which is nothing more than a three-by-three cubical space. I brace myself looking for the asking price as I always do. Sometimes it’s good and sometimes it’s a joke. This time it’s . . . zero?
Huh? This has to be a joke. That agent better not have done this to get back at me.
I glance below where the price is supposed to be written out, it says, “A date with Natalie Quinn.”
What the—?
I flip to the signature page at the back. It’s signed Jake Bruno with his phone number. Un-freaking believable. What’s my broker gonna say when he finds out that this is a fake offer? I guess as long as I don’t bring a baby to an open house, then he’ll be fine with it.
“Oh, I forgot, this came for you too,” Tammy’s voice rings behind me. She sets a clear cellophane wrapped basket on my desk. It’s filled with snickers bars. My favorite.
“Who sent this?” I ask.
“One of your clients, I think. There’s a card.”
I grab the little note with a scribbled message that looks like a fifth grader wrote it.
I’ll keep making offers until you say yes.
It’s not signed by my little buddy, but I know it’s him. I lift the desk phone receiver and call the number on the contract.
“Hello?” Jake answers in his typical baritone.
“Why do I have a basket of snickers on my desk?” I ask, waving for Tammy to step away from my private call.
“Oh, hey, Quinn. I knew you’d call.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m serious. How did you get a sales contract?”
“I have a guy. Why? Are you impressed?”
“No and—”
“Not even by the snickers?” he jokes.
“I don’t even want to know how you knew about the candy bars.” Stalk much?
“The receptionist said you always have one on your desk, so I took a shot.”
“You talked to the receptionist about me? Are you crazy?”
“No, I’m relentless, which is worse.” He pauses, and I’m tempted to slam down the receiver. “I’m sorry about what happened yesterday, and I want to make it up to you.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea. Let me cut my losses and move on.”
“C’mon, I’ll make you dinner. I’m pretty great in the kitchen.” The subtext of his last statement is the invitation my body desperately wants—especially after yesterday. But with Jake Bruno, there’s always trouble. And I don’t want any trouble.
“Look, I really appreciate the offer, but every time I’m around you crazy stuff happens.”
He laughs. “I get that, but trust me. It’s just gonna be you and me in my apartment. And I promise, no funny business.”
I glance at the basket of chocolate bars and the phony contract, then recall the delicious taste of his mouth. Maybe I should let him . . . make it up to me. Besides, how much trouble could we really get into? “Fine, I’ll come for dinner. That’s it.”
“I’ll see you tonight. Ciao, baby.”
***
When I pull up to Jake’s apartment complex, I can’t help but be totally underwhelmed. Not that I was expecting much. I walk up to the second floor and knock at his apartment. A few moments later, he opens the door, wearing a dark T-shirt, jeans, and a white waist apron with splotchy orange stains on it.
“Hey, Quinn, come on in,” he offers.
I step inside, the aroma of fresh tomato and basil wafts through the air. I half expected hamburgers and hotdogs, but I might actually have a decent dinner tonight. His place is modest but surprisingly tidy.
“Can I get you a glass of wine?” he asks, getting back over to his small kitchen, which is two steps from the living room.
“Sure.”
Jake pulls out a bottle of red wine and fills each glass half way.
I take one and sit at the breakfast bar peeking at the stove. “What are you making?”
He winks. “You’ll see.”
“Got any roommates I should be aware of?” I ask, glancing around the one bedroom apartment, from the bistro table, to the saggy couch, to the flat screen above the gas fireplace. Why anyone in West Palm would need a fireplace, I’ll never know.
“Why, are you worried about screaming my name too loud later?” The audacity of this dude.
I shoot him a wry stare. “I’m not sleeping with you.”
He leans back on the counter and folds his arms, biceps swelling in his sleeves. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Then answer me this . . . did you shave your legs today?”
Oh my god. He did not just ask me that. I narrow my eyes. “What—why does that matter?”
“You did, didn’t you?” His mouth creeps up in a grin.
You’re damn right I did.
“I shave my legs every day. It has nothing to do with you.” I take a sip of the wine. This is the only glass I’ll have tonight. I wouldn’t want him taking advantage of Drunk Natalie.
Jake pops a black olive into his mouth. “Okay, we’ll see about that.”
EPISODE FIVE
“I was grabbing a bandage.” Jake holds up his hand, a fresh white gauze taped around his knuckle. “I cut myself fixing the damn window unit seal. I called your name when I came in. Thought maybe you’d gone for a walk or something.”
I let out a deep, irritated sigh and tuck my towel tightly around me. If Kyle finds out that Jake saw me naked after what happened, he’ll really lose his shit. “Don’t you have a first aid kit in the loft?”
He shrugs. “I couldn’t find it.” Why is it that men never know where to find anything? Anything except naked women apparently.
Geez.
“Well, you shouldn’t be here.” If only he knew how loaded this statement really is.
“Quinn, the only reason I’m here bleeding is because I’m fixing your shit.”
Oh, it’s gonna be like that, huh? “Hey!” I yell. “Nobody asked you to fix anything.”
He squints his eyes, annoyed. “You’re just upset because I walked in on you naked. Well, guess what? Been there, done that.”
Oh. No. He. Didn’t.
“Oh, really? You wouldn’t have seen anything if you had your own place!”
Jake flinches as if I’ve stung him. But you know what? He started it. “Fine, I’ll leave,” he says. Moments later the sound of him stomping down the stairs booms throughout the hallway.
“Good!” I yell after him, and the backdoor slams shut. Lily barks after him.
“Dammit,” I say under my breath. Now they’re both mad at me.
I grab my wedding ring from the guest room and think back to the moment that Kyle proposed. It was totally unexpected. But it made sense. Kyle and I make sense. My stomach churns at the thought of what happened last night. How he must be feeling. I still don’t understand how it happened, and maybe I’ll never make sense of it all. All I can do now is right my wrongs.
Part of me is tempted to just go down there in my towel and “make things right” with Kyle. That’s how I would settle things with Jake. It was definitely the easiest way to get out of an argument. Not to mention angry, make up sex is as hot as everyone says it is. Looking back, I can see how childish and unsustainable that tactic really was. I’m going to handle things differently with Kyle.
***
I walk into Kyle’s office completely clothed—wearing the black top that he says is super sexy on me. “Hi Laurie. Is Kyle free?” I ask the receptionist at my husband’s office.
Laurie chomps on a wad of pink bubblegum and smiles. “Oh, hi, Natalie. Let me check.” She clicks a button on her headset. “Kyle, your lovely wife is here to see you. Can I send her in?” A moment later, her jaw slackens but she maintains her chipper tone. “Okay.” Looking up at me standing over the high counter, she clicks her headset again. “Is everything okay? He’s been in a mood today.”
Like I’m gonna tell her what I did. I shrug. “He didn’t sleep well last night.” Which is probably true. “Thanks for your help.” I tap the counter and head down the hall. His usually open office door is closed today. I just hope his heart hasn’t closed too.
Knock. Knock.
“Come in.” His voice sounds distant from inside.
I open it slowly, not sure what to do with my face—look as shameful as I feel or steer the mood with a photo-ready smile? Who knows what the right thing is. I opt for a half smile and remorseful eyes. “Hey, honey.”
Kyle’s gaze is glued to his computer as if he’s working on something really important. “Hey.” He doesn’t look up, motion for me to sit, or offer any kind of decent greeting.
I guess I deserve this. “How’s your day going?”
“Why are you here, Natalie? I told you we would talk later?” he asks, still refusing to look at me.
I hate how chilly his tone is, and I’m half tempted to rip off my “sexy” top on the off chance it will change his tune. “I know, but I can’t stand you being so angry at me—”
Kyle finally looks at me, pain coloring his eyes. “So you came here to make yourself feel better?”
“And you.” I take a seat in one of the gray, leather chairs. “You seem miserable.”
“Well, maybe if I’d called out my ex’s name during sex, then you’d be pretty miserable too.”
His clunky wood desk sits between us like an emotional barricade. How can I get to the other side?
“Kyle, I know you’re pissed. And you have every right to be. But I came here to apologize. I can’t tell you how sorry I am about last night. I promise you, it didn’t mean anything. And if you want to get back at me by calling out another girl’s name when we’re together, then fine. Because I know how you feel about me. There is no doubt in my mind that you’re mine. I thought you knew without a doubt that I’m yours too. I love you, Kyle. There is nobody else.”
I scrape the last piece of eggplant along what’s left of the red pasta sauce on my plate, taking my time to indulge. They say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, but in this case, it’s a way to a woman’s heart too. Between the satisfying meal and the second glass of merlot, Jake is looking pretty scrumptious himself.
“Mmm!” I mutter, swallowing my last bite.
The cook smirks. “If you thought that was good, just wait for dessert.”
“Huh?” My eyes widen. Is he talking about dessert or dessert? Because right now, I’m craving both.
“I’m making chocolate covered strawberries,” he says, looking somewhat proud.
After the meal he just made me, I was expecting something more out of the ordinary. But I’m not sure why I’m surprised. Men like Jake know that strawberries are an aphrodisiac. “That’s a little cliché, don’t you think?”
Oops. Did I say that out loud?
With an amused chuckle, he takes my glass, topping it off with what’s left in the bottle. “Not the way I make it.”
The purple liquid in my glass rises like the tides in the evening. “Hey, you tryin’ to get me drunk?”
He shakes his head. “Nope, just tipsy. You’re cute when you’re tipsy.”
Yes, being tipsy is fun. It’s kinda like the beginning stages of a relationship. It feels good, and you’re just along for the ride. It’s when you have too much that you get in trouble. Jake doesn’t seem at all like the kind of guy who’s looking for a relationship, which is perfect for me. He’s quickly becoming an itch I’m dying to scratch.
Jake rises to his feet and takes my plate. I watch as he rinses off each dish in the sink. He pulls a few ingredients from a cabinet and grabs a saucepan.
With my wine in hand, I go investigate, hovering behind him over the stove. “You’re not making the chocolate out of snickers bars by chance, are you?”
He throws a broken block of dark chocolate into the pan, adding a few drops of
some extract. “No. I’m pretty sure all the snickers bars in the city are in a basket on your desk.”
“That’s probably true.”
Jake wipes his hands on a kitchen towel, then stirs the melting chocolate. The man is beyond gorgeous. He’s thoughtful. He cooks. He keeps a tidy place. Not to mention he’s a first class kisser. Quite the catch. I wouldn’t be surprised if he entertains a different girl every week.
“I bet you make dessert for all the ladies,” I say.
“Nah, only the cute, tipsy ones.”
I giggle, and he lifts the spoon from the pan. Melted chocolate drips off the tip.
He swipes a finger across the spoon, then holds his chocolate covered finger to my mouth. “Wanna little taste?”
Pretty ballsy asking me to lick his finger instead of the spoon.
Good thing I like ballsy.
My lips part and wrap around his fingertip. Mmm. A light citrus flavor bursts in my mouth. I swirl my tongue, swallowing every bit of the chocolate.
Jake let’s out a little growl and bites his lip. He pulls his finger from my mouth and grabs my face, diving in for a kiss. I love the way his mouth tastes of merlot. I inhale the sweet smell of his breath, his skin—it intoxicates me even more. He lifts me up on the counter like I weigh no more than a candy bar wrapper and glides his hand along my smooth, shaved thigh. I wind my legs around him, clutching his body closer to me. His kiss makes me so high that I feel like I’m floating.
He carries me over to the couch and sits back while I straddle him. He smiles, and I gaze into his deep, chocolate brown eyes. Even though we just had dinner, he gives me a hungered look. Mmm, time for dessert. We kiss again, and I grind my hips over him. He’s hard beneath me, and now I’m positive that I’m an itch he needs to scratch too. I moan in his mouth as he grabs my behind under my dress. In one swift motion, he flips me over on my back and lies on top of me. My head rolls back while he kisses my jaw and tugs on my earlobe with his teeth.
Yeah, I like it, but I prefer his lips on mine. I pull him back in for a kiss, feeling a sultry heat radiating through my skin. It’s getting hot in here. I better take off some of these clothes. I claw at his shirt and pull it over his head, then dig my nails into his back.
