by R. C. Martin
“I’m fine, babe. I was a bit of a ditz last night, though. I locked my phone in the gallery. Then, like an idiot, I locked my keys in my car. You have my spare, and I didn’t know how to reach you, so I was kind of stranded.”
“Freckles, it rained half the night,” he replied in a huff. He then took hold of my shoulders and pushed me away from him. With his hands still gripped around me, he gave me a once over. “What did you do? More importantly…” He scrunched his face, and his eyes raked over me once more. “Whose clothes are you currently swimming in?”
For a fraction of a second, I tried to hide my excitement. My efforts were futile, of course, especially given my company. I knew what the truth would do to him.
“They’re Judah’s,” I answered softly.
I watched as his pretty, blue eyes grew wide in shock. His hands fell away from me and he was quick to turn on his heel as he marched into his unit. As he went, he demanded, “Get your skinny, little ass in here. You’ve got a lot of explaining to do, baby girl.”
Laughing, I obeyed. I shut the door behind me, then discarded my purse on the table he kept in his narrow entryway. After I kicked off my shoes, I followed him to the kitchen. I knew his condo like the back of my hand. Yet, being inside of his home after a night in Judah’s house felt like sneaking into the dark before stepping into the light. While Judah’s décor was rugged chic, Geoffrey’s was sleek and modern. White, dove gray, and navy made up his color palate. It was very cool in comparison to the warmth I experienced in Judah’s space. I found it kind of ironic.
As I traveled through the living room, the absence of Reeve startled me a little. I glanced around and understood why it was sometimes hard for Geoffrey to come home.
“Have you eaten?” he asked, beckoning me toward him. “Now that I’m sure you’re alive and well, I’m famished.”
“I could eat.”
I made myself at home as I walked directly to the cabinet that housed his mugs and grabbed one for myself. His pot of coffee was still half full, so I poured myself a cup and then popped it into the microwave. As it was heating up, Geoffrey gathered what he needed to prepare his signature breakfast dish—spinach, Swiss, and mushroom omelets.
“I hope you know that coffee isn’t free,” he stated, glancing at me from over his shoulder as I pulled the piping hot brew from the microwave. I leaned against the counter beside him. He arched an eyebrow at me and demanded, “I want details.”
I took one sip of my beverage and decided it needed cream. Geoffrey always had the good stuff. Doctoring my drink, I filled him in on how I ended up at Judah’s house. I spared no details from the moment I walked into the man’s bathroom until we’d finished our dinner. Then I found myself slowing down. Not surprisingly, it didn’t go unnoticed.
“So, that’s it?” Geoffrey queried as he plated our breakfast. “The man made you dinner and you talked for the rest of the night?”
“Not exactly.”
I snatched my plate away from him and then took a seat at his round kitchen table. He joined me, handing me a fork as he sat.
“Did he make a move? I mean, damn. I know you’re great company, Teddy, but the man wants you. Don’t tell me he didn’t make a move.”
“He made a move,” I admitted before I shoved a bite of egg into my mouth.
Geoffrey grinned at me, and I couldn’t help but to smile at him in return.
“I know you’re a lady, so I’m not looking for all the gory details—but you have to tell me…”
I didn’t even bother to finish my bite. Lifting a hand to shield my mouth, I muttered, “Better than I ever thought it could be.”
He laughed as he lunged toward me. He then took my face in his hands and smacked a kiss against my forehead. “Just call me proud papa, baby girl.”
I joined in on his laughter but batted away his hands as I shook my head at him.
“I assume, since you’re still wearing his clothes, you’ll be seeing each other again?” he asked as he returned to his seat.
“Next week, I think.”
“We’ll, I’ll be damned. I think that counts as date number three.”
“Negative. This will definitely be our first date.”
“Brother/sister date was one. Last night was two. And, seeing as how he made it to first base, I’m calling this next one number three.”
I hummed a noncommittal laugh and cast my gaze down at my plate as my mind drifted toward my memories of the previous night. I thought of the way Judah touched me, and how he made me feel alive in ways I couldn’t remember feeling. Before him, it had been years since I shared any type of real physical intimacy with a man. I wasn’t sure which base he made it to—but something told me he rounded first and kept going.
And I let him.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Judah silenced his alarm and sat up immediately. He turned, bringing his feet to the floor, and breathed in deeply as he combatted the grogginess that compelled him to delay his morning workout. He ran his hand down the length of his face and then glanced over his shoulder at his rumpled sheets. Through the foggy haze of sleep which still coated his eyes, a single, vibrant strand of red hair stood out from where it rested on the pillow across the bed. He reached for it and stared down at it as he twisted it around a single finger.
It had been two nights since there was a woman in his bed. Eight times as many since there was a naked woman in his bed. Yet, the one who continued to occupy his thoughts was the one he had yet to touch. Teddy lacked the confidence which he usually found enticing; but her tendency to blush and ramble when she was nervous or embarrassed was more alluring than off-putting. And there was something in her eyes. Something not quite dark enough to be a secret, but out of reach, all the same. He knew enough, had seen enough to know she was guarding something.
Judah thought of her tattoos. He remembered what she told him about them. Whatever it was she harbored within her, it more than intrigued him. It had taken hold of him. She was a conundrum. Just as certain as he was that she was far from innocent, he was equally as confident she was in many ways untouched. While he did not think her as inexperienced as a virgin, he couldn’t forget the way she responded to him on his couch. There was a fire in her that burned slowly—and yet, he imagined neither of them had experienced more than a hint of its heat.
He flicked his thumb against his finger, and her tendril of hair floated to the floor. Suddenly flustered by the reality that she was a mystery not easily solved, he stood and headed for his closet. Judah was not a man to be trapped within the clutches of any woman, and he resisted the urge he felt to succumb to Teddy’s will. As in control as she thought she was, as much as she thought she knew after one night and a single story, Judah convinced himself otherwise.
In five days’ time, I’ll remind her who makes the rules.
He dressed for his workout and headed for the basement. An hour and a half later, as he scrolled through the newspaper on his tablet and finished his cup of coffee, Marta strolled through the door. He glanced at the time. Seven o’clock, on the dot. He smiled to himself, powered off his device, and placed his mug in the sink.
“Good morning, Mr. Jude,” she greeted as she reached the landing.
“Good morning, Marta. How are you?”
“Oh, muy bien. And you?”
“I’m well.” She entered the kitchen just as he took his leave. He was halfway to the stairs when he turned in remembrance. “Marta? I need you to make a dry-cleaning run today.”
“I took the dry-cleaning last week,” she reminded him kindly.
“Yes,” he nodded.
He didn’t need to be reminded of their routine. Judah knew Marta washed linens, along with his casual wear, every Monday. His suits, however, were taken to the cleaners bi-weekly. She dropped them off on Monday, and he picked them up on Wednesday. However, he had a promise to make good on.
“I need something in this batch before next week’s load. If you could please drop it off today, I w
ould appreciate it.”
She shrugged and then nodded. “Of course, Mr. Jude.”
“Thank you.”
He continued on his way, his mind suddenly filled with Teddy again. Until that moment, he had managed to go about his morning routine with her in the recesses of his mind. It was quite apparent he could keep her at bay no longer. When he pictured her sleeping form between his sheets, he wondered when he’d have the pleasure of her company there again. It occurred to him, stubborn as she was, it could be a while.
“Marta,” he called from the middle of the stairs. “Don’t change the sheets.”
“You stripped them already?”
“No,” he muttered, shoving his hands into his pockets. He hesitated and then continued his descent. “It’s simply not necessary.”
“Okay,” she replied dubiously.
“Have a good day.”
“You, too, Mr. Jude.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
It was an ordinary Wednesday. At least, I thought it was. Then, as mid-day rolled around, I was on my way out for lunch when something unexpected happened. A courier walked into the gallery, and I knew right away the delivery was for me. Not for the first or the last time, I felt as though I was living someone else’s life.
“Delivery for Fitzpatrick,” announced the man.
“That’s me.” I looped the straps of my purse around the crook of my arm and reached for the dry cleaner’s bag with my white dress and pink blazer inside. He also handed me a small, white bag with matching ribbon handles.
“If you could please sign, verifying you received your parcels.” He held up a clipboard with a sheet of paper on it, half a dozen signatures filled in already. I accepted the pen he handed me and signed where he pointed, beside my printed name. When I was finished, he informed me, “I’m supposed to let you know there’s a note inside the white bag.”
“Okay. Thank you.”
He tucked the clipboard beneath his arm and offered me a nod as he bid me farewell. When he was gone, I returned to my seat behind the reception desk. Rather than sit, I folded my clothes over the back of the chair and discarded my purse before anxiously searching for Judah’s note. A slight blush kissed my cheeks when I found my delicates inside the bag. I tried not to dwell on the fact that Judah had my underwear cleaned. I pushed aside the thought as I pushed aside the bag and tore open the small envelop I found. When I pulled out the card, my eyes immediately focused on the neat, masculine script etched across the paper.
THE NEXT TIME YOU SLEEP IN MY BED WITHOUT YOUR UNDERTHINGS ON,
I REQUIRE ONLY ONE THING—THAT YOU ALLOW ME TO REMOVE THEM.
JUDE
My previous blush returned, this time with a vengeance. As I brought a hand up to cover one of my cheeks, I realized it wasn’t embarrassment I felt. My mind was suddenly crowded with fantasies of exactly what it might be like to have Judah’s hands on my naked skin.
I sucked in a deep breath through my nose and shoved the card back into the envelop as I shook my thoughts away. Sweeping my hair behind my ears, I reminded myself that making-out with the man was one thing. Letting him strip me bare was something else entirely—something I wasn’t anywhere near ready to handle. However, I couldn’t ignore the truth of the matter, which was that he made me think about it in a way I hadn’t before.
He awakened something inside of me on Friday night. It wasn’t just his kiss, or the way he held me and touched me. It was dinner and wine; memories and secrets; promises and patience. He made me want to believe him. I wanted to trust not just his desire, but the gentleman inside of him. And more than that, I wanted to trust myself.
Sex played a major role in my decision to shy away from dating. It wasn’t just about the man and any hesitancy I felt in offering him—whoever he might have been—my trust. There were moments when I still wasn’t sure if I could trust myself to choose. I had chosen before, and it didn’t work out so great. In spite of my solitude, I wanted to know intimacy. I wanted to know passion. I wanted to love with abandon, but it all scared me. I didn’t want to be the reason I got hurt again. Sometimes I still struggled to accept the truth that I wasn’t to blame for what Justin did.
Regardless, I wanted to live in the present. I wanted to explore the way Judah made me feel. I couldn’t figure out what it was about me he thought he wanted. He was older, well ahead of me professionally, financially, and absolutely brilliant at his job. Not to mention, he was unbelievably sexy and confident. What he saw in me, I wasn’t sure; but I didn’t want to get hung up on the answer. I wanted to kiss him. I wanted to touch him. I wanted to be the woman he chased.
It was terrifying—but it was also exciting.
My stomach growled, reminding me of the hour. I took up my purse once more, shoved the small white bag inside, and grabbed my dry cleaning as I exited the gallery and headed for my car. When I reached my first stop, I folded my clothes in the passenger seat, then took out my phone as I walked in the direction of lunch. I didn’t deny myself the pleasure of feeling the twinge of excitement in my belly as I pulled up his contact info to construct a text.
Me: Thank you for returning my clothes, and in far better condition than I left them.
After I hit send, I dropped the device into my purse, not expecting to hear from him right away. My belly fluttered anxiously when I heard the chirp of an incoming message not even thirty seconds later. Quick to dig out my phone, I smiled when I saw his name appear on the screen.
JS: You’re welcome. Can I expect I’ll be receiving my clothing back, as well?
My smile stretched into a grin at his response.
Me: Your clothing is clean, folded, and ready to be returned to its rightful owner. I don’t, however, have any errand boys on hand to deliver your belongings. Guess you’ll have to wait until I see you again.
JS: Friday night, then.
Me: Friday? Are you asking me out?
JS: No.
My heart sank a little at his reply. Only, before I could think of an adequate response, he sent another message.
JS: I’m not asking.
Me: Oh, no?
JS: Six. Tomorrow makes seven. I’ve done as you’ve asked, Theodora. Friday night, you’re mine. I won’t take no for an answer.
My grin reappeared instantly, and I came to an abrupt halt. Suddenly, I was too distracted to travel and text at the same time. Hearing him count down the days until he could see me again made my heart swell.
Me: I guess my answer to your non-question is…yes.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“Let’s go out tonight,” said Geoffrey.
I looked away from my book as he leaned over the top of the reception desk. A slight frown wrinkled my brow before I checked the time. I relaxed upon realizing the day was nearly over. For a while, I thought the afternoon would never end.
Andrew had been in and out of the gallery all morning. For the latter portion of the day, he was locked away in his office. Foot traffic felt slow that Thursday, but Geoffrey managed to remain busy as well. Andrew had been inspired since their trip to Denver and was hoping to put together a small exhibition in a few months, which had the both of them occupied. I knew I’d soon be looped into the grunt work, but they were still ironing out details.
“Come on, don’t make me beg,” insisted Geoffrey.
“Sorry,” I laughed as I began to gather my things. “Yes. I would love to go out with you tonight. Where to?”
“Let’s go to The Tap Room.”
I stopped what I was doing and looked at him cautiously. The bar he suggested was where he met Reeve. While I felt he was handling their breakup better as they days went by, I wasn’t stupid. It was still obvious Geoffrey missed him. I didn’t blame him, either. They had been together for a while.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he insisted with a shake of his head. “I’m fine. Reeve doesn’t own The Tap Room. I can’t avoid my favorite places just because they remind me of him. Fuck—if I did that, I’d have nowhere
to go.”
As proud of him as I was for saying such a thing, I didn’t give in right away. I folded my arms across my chest and stared him down, waiting to see if he was really telling the truth. He stared right back at me. For a moment, neither one of us spoke. When the smart-ass comment I was waiting for never came, I decided his invitation was as carefree as he led me to believe.
“Okay. Tap Room it is.” Thinking it best to play it safe, I added, “How about I drive?”
“Thanks, baby.”
He winked at me as he pushed himself away from the desk, and that was all the confirmation I needed. He was doing all right, but he needed his best friend’s shoulder for support that night. I was more than happy to give it to him.
After the gallery was locked up, we each headed home in order to change. I was at my apartment just long enough to swap out my dress for a pair of distressed, white denim jeans and a loose-fitting pale, blue tank top. I traded my heels for flat, white sandals, tossed my hair into a ponytail, and gave myself a quick once-over in the mirror. Satisfied with how my makeup held up throughout the day, I grabbed my purse and left to pick up my bestie. Forty minutes later, we walked arm-in-arm into a bar buzzing with people.
“Over there, look—a table just opened up.”
He grabbed my hand and pulled me through the crowd until we’d secured our spot. I sat, but he remained standing, his focus zeroed in on the electronic menu displayed above the bar. It was extensive. Their outrageous tap rotation was what made the place so popular.
“You want a drink?” he asked, pointing at me.
“Yeah, I’ll have one.”
“Cider?”
I nodded. I wasn’t much of a beer fan, and he knew it.
