by Lori Wilde
And if it fell apart, then she would have learned something valuable in the process. Honestly, a total win-win.
“Have fun,” she told her reflection, then drew in her breath and added, “and dare to be just a little bit wilder.”
Holy mackerel.
Did Jude have any idea that the male imagination kicked into overdrive as soon as a woman put a closed door between her and the man aching to remove her clothing?
It was impossible not to think about her undressing just a few feet away with only that thin wooden barrier between them.
Heat flushed his body as Tom envisioned what she looked in her panties and bra. Did she wear chaste white cotton or something far sexier? Considering her personality, his money was on the former. Didn’t matter. It was hot either way.
He groaned.
“Are you all right?” she asked from the other side of the door.
Crap! He hadn’t realized he’d actually groaned out loud.
“Just banged my shin on the table,” he lied, quickly sitting back down and crossing his legs to conceal any contrary evidence. He didn’t want to scare her.
“Perv,” he muttered, but she was so darn hot, and he was in this stupid bet which seemed to stir obsessive thoughts of sex. He must have been crazy to think he should come by and check on Jude.
Idiot, he silently chided himself.
He should just get up walk out the door, but he didn’t want to. The idea of spending the evening with Jude intrigued him no end.
And he’d promised to help her find herself in exchange for the Bulls tickets and stop trying to be someone she wasn’t.
Because that was the real issue here.
Jude’s niceness sprang from her desire to please others, but in order to finally please herself, she was going to have to let go of that ‘good girl’ conditioning and learn what she truly wanted from life.
Jude strolled from the bedroom wearing black slacks, a white button-down blouse, and simple gold jewelry. A librarian outfit if ever he’d seen one. She looked understated and brainy, not wild and bold. But he loved it.
She put on a waist-length white ski jacket, and they were on their way. His shop was in Roseville, so he knew this suburb pretty well even though he lived a ways off in South Barrett.
“You hungry?” he asked.
“Starved.”
“What would you like to eat?”
“I don’t care. I can eat anything. What are you in the mood for?”
You, he thought, but he didn’t dare say it.
From Jude’s gung ho stance on changing her image, it might be really easy to charm her into his bed, but he wouldn’t do that. One, he had a bet to win, and two, even though Jude claimed to crave wildness, she really wanted someone to love and admire her for who she was, and he refused to take advantage of her vulnerability.
“Do you really want to stop caring what people think?” he asked.
“Yes!” Her enthusiastic reply let him know his task might not be as tough as he first thought.
“Then stop deferring to other people. Say what you want to eat.”
“I don’t want to control anyone else’s choices.”
“This isn’t about control. You can always compromise. This is about having a preference and stating it. To tell you the truth, guys find it frustrating when the woman won’t ever say what she likes. It’s an annoying guessing game.”
“Hmm.”
Tom cast a glance over at Jude. She looked pensive, slowly tapping her chin with an index finger.
“You’re saying that while I believe I’m being nice by letting my date choose the restaurant, I’m actually being annoying.”
“Yes. That’s it.”
“Wow. I never considered it that way. Jaxon, my ex, never seemed to mind. He just picked a place and told me where we were going.”
“Good thing Jaxon went bye-bye.” He wasn’t trying to be funny, but Jude broke out in gales of laughter so sweet he wanted to keep up her good spirits.
“I want pizza,” she said.
“Pizza it is.”
“Don’t you want to negotiate?”
“Not this time. This time you get what you want. I know the perfect place to grab a slice and it’s only five minutes from here.”
“Rocky’s?” she asked.
“You know that joint?”
“It’s my favorite pizza restaurant in the city.”
“Mine too!”
They grinned at each other, and he rounded the corner to the road that led to Rocky’s Pizza Palace.
The restaurant was pleasingly gaudy with a ceiling of colored Christmas lights that stayed there permanently and pseudo-Roman columns that divided the sections of booths and tables. At this early hour they snagged a choice booth in the rear, far away from a group of rowdy teenagers trying to impress their dates, and a big family with spirited kids.
“What do you normally get when you come here?” he asked as they sat down and a server handed them menus.
“I don’t need a menu,” Jude said to the teenaged server. To Tom, she said, “I love the Roman—Italian sausage, black olives, and artichoke hearts.”
“No kidding? Me too.” His laugh sounded a little too giddy and that gave Tom pause.
He really liked Jude, especially when she looked at him like he was the prize that she’d been coveting in a claw machine, but this level of nervousness was unexpected.
“I also like extra cheese.” She grinned as if she’d just said something naughty.
“A large Roman,” Tom said, passing his menu to the server as well. “Extra cheese.”
“Provolone, parmesan, or mozzarella?” the server asked.
Tom and Jude’s eyes met again and in unison they said, “Mozzarella.”
“I like how gooey the mozzarella melts.” Jude giggled.
“Nice and stringy.” Tom joined in her laughter. They were just grabbing a pizza together, no big deal, but damn, he was having fun. Jude’s beguiling enthusiasm did weird things to him and he didn’t know where to file that information.
Slow down, buddy. Can’t go there. Not yet. Not for over a month.
Why did he have to meet Jude while he was in the middle of that celibacy challenge with his buds?
“And to drink?” asked the server.
“Draft root beer in a frosted mug,” Tom said.
“The same.” Jude nodded.
Goose bumps broke out on Tom’s arms and he had no explanation for it. Jude had
a way of looking directly into his eyes that unraveled him in a really nice way. She didn’t use common feminine flirting body language, like wrinkling her nose, twirling her hair, running her finger from her chin down her throat, using the gestures to call attention to her pretty face.
He resolved to talk to her like a buddy—put a damper on the flames she stirred in him—but he was the one fidgeting.
“So,” Tom said because he couldn’t think of anything else to say. “Tell me about yourself.”
“You know I’m a high school librarian.”
“And you know I craft and sell artisan furniture.”
“No,” she said, sounding impressed. “I thought you sold furniture. I didn’t know you were a carpenter too.”
“That’s how I started. But I couldn’t make enough furniture on my own to keep up with the demand, so I started selling other artisans in my shop.”
“I didn’t know quality furniture was so lucrative.”
“There’s been a backlash to cheap, disposal furniture. These days, people are looking for things that last and are better for the environment.”
“Lucky you! So nice you get to do work you love.”
“Hey,” he said. “I see what you did there.”
“Did what?” She blinked, apparently clueless.
“I asked you to tell me about yourself, and you turned things back on me, rather than telling me about yourself in return.”
“I did?”
“You did.”
&
nbsp; She lifted her shoulders to her ears and let them drop hard. “I don’t like talking about myself much. I prefer to focus on the person I’m with.”
“While that’s great for connecting with people, it doesn’t do much for finding out who you really are.”
She dropped her gaze. “I guess that’s the problem. I’m more interested in other people than I am myself.”
“It’s not a bad thing, but you lose yourself in that dynamic.”
The look that came into her eyes told him she already knew that about herself.
“Why do you suppose that is?” he asked. “Why is someone else’s opinion more important than your own?”
“I don’t like to rock the boat?” She ended the sentence with a question mark in her voice. “Maybe?”
“And letting people know who you are is rocking the boat?”
“I dunno.” She shrugged again but she still didn’t meet his eyes. “People enjoy it when I encourage them to talk about themselves.”
“People like your ex.”
“Yes,” she admitted. “I let Jaxon call all the shots—just the way my father does. Dad is ex-Army, retired major. It shows on him, and I guess, now that you’ve pointed it out, on me too.”
“What does your dad do now?”
“He’s in insurance. He’s the guy who wants to make sure everyone is safe and protected.”
“And your mom?”
“Believe it or not, my mother has never had a full-time job. She does play poker in a local tournament and she wins more than she loses, so that’s a plus. How about your parents?”
The server slipped in with two frosted mugs of root beer and then scooted off.
“Don’t think I didn’t notice how you shifted the focus back on me again,” Tom said. “But to answer your question, Dad’s an airline mechanic. Mom helps out at my shop, but she used to run a day care center. She came from a big family and wanted six kids of her own, but after Tara and me, she couldn’t have more. Now she’s ballistic about grandkids.” Chuckling, Tom rolled his eyes. “I’m hoping Tara will get on the stick and take the pressure off me.”
“My brother Dean has two kids, but when it comes to grandchildren, I don’t think grandmothers are ever satisfied. The more the better seems part of the granny manifesto.”
“Why should they be satisfied? They get to play with kids, hype ’em up on sugar and fun, and then send them home to their parents.”
“That’s a little cynical.” She laughed as if she didn’t mind.
“Maybe.” He grinned, ready to change the subject off children. “What’s your favorite thing to do in your spare time?”
“Read.”
“Granted.” He bobbed his head. “But that feels job related. How do you relax and have fun?”
“Books.”
He cleared his throat and spread his hands out on the tabletop. “Beyond books. Surely there are other activities that you enjoy.”
“You mean like sex?” Her eyes didn’t look so guileless now.
Tom almost choked on the mouthful of root beer he’d just swallowed. “I-er…meant like ping-pong or badminton or mini-golf, but if sex is on the table…”
Holy salmon mousse, had he seriously just said that?
She touched the tip of her tongue to her upper lip and gave him a look so blisteringly sultry it was all he could do not to hustle her out of the restaurant and back to her place ASAP.
But twelve hundred dollars, knocking Dirk off this throne, and bragging rights were at stake. He wouldn’t seduce Jude, no matter the green-light signals she kept shooting his way.
What if she actively tries to seduce you?
He studied her. Nah, she wasn’t the type. But she was trying to push herself outside her comfort zone. It could happen. What then? Well, he’d cover that ground if they got to it.
The pizza came hot from the oven and when Tom served them each a piece on the plates provided, it trailed gooey cheese across the plates.
Jude unrolled her silverware bundle and took out a fork.
“You’re going to eat pizza with a fork?”
“Just the first few bites—until it cools off and the cheese stops dripping.” She shot him a glance and with a jolt, Tom realized by teasing her about her preferences, he was solidifying her erroneous belief that what she wanted didn’t really matter.
He backpedaled. “I apologize for making fun. Eat your pizza however you like it.”
“Thank you, Tom. I appreciate that.” She canted her head and widened her smile and cut off a bite of pizza with her fork and knife.
“Not that you need my permission.”
“I don’t, do I?” Her tongue caught a string of pale mozzarella and she sort of twirled it into her mouth.
He watched, fascinated, and forgot for a minute about his own food.
“It’s sizzling,” she gasped, “but delicious.”
A bit of sauce was clinging to her upper lip where it formed a little bow. Without thinking, he reached across the table and blotted it on her napkin.
“Oh, wow, you must think I’m a sloppy eater.” Her face flushed. “Is there some rule I’m breaking here?”
“None whatsoever.”
He had no intention of telling her how sexy it was to watch her eat. He wasn’t going to say anything to make her self-conscious about it. Jaxon, the dud ex-fiancé, must be an egomaniac to treat her the way he had. Then again, Jude had put up with his bad behavior.
Maybe that was how he could best help her. Teach her to set strong boundaries…
…and keep them.
8
Jude couldn’t believe she’d eaten half of a large pizza. Tom kept encouraging her, and she went hog wild, enjoying his warm smile and witty ways. But now, her waistband was tight, and she kept yawning. Cheese made her sleepy and she’d ordered extra mozzarella.
Why?
Subconsciously, had she done it to put an early end to their evening? Or was she overthinking things?
The cold air outside revived her, but not enough to come up with a clever ploy for talking him out of escorting her upstairs. Not that she tried very hard. Even if this wasn’t a real date, she’d enjoyed herself immensely.
In fact, as he killed the engine in the parking lot of her complex, she blurted, “Would you like to come up for ice cream?”
“I better not.” He patted his belly.
“Are you sure?” she asked, feeling both rebuffed and relieved. “It’s Ben and Jerry’s Chunky Monkey.”
“The chunky part is what blows dessert for me.”
Jude eyed him. “I don’t know why you’re worried. You don’t have an ounce of fat on your body.”
“Exactly. I stay away from the Chunky Monkey.”
“How about coffee?” She should offer him a nightcap, but the closest thing she had to alcohol in her apartment was cooking sherry.
“Can’t. I gotta work tomorrow.”
“Me too,” she admitted with a soft sigh.
He opened the car door and ran around to the passenger side as she was getting out. He had such good manners. Although car-door opening was not something she required in a date, it was pretty nice.
“I’ll walk you to your door.”
“No need,” she said, sweeping aside her hurt feelings that he wasn’t coming up.
“When would you like to get together again?” he asked as they went up the sidewalk.
“Get together again?” She blinked. “Oh, you mean for my anti-doormat lessons?”
Tom laughed until he couldn’t catch his breath. After he’d finally composed himself, he said, “Dang it, Jude, you have a terrific sense of humor. I admire the hell out of you.”
She admired his admiration and that felt weird so she stared down at the cracks in the concrete. “How does Saturday night sound?”
“Good. Great. Perfect.” He gave her a thumbs-up.
“Where should we go?” she asked. “What should we do?”
“We’ll do whatever you want to do
.”
“I don’t care—”
“Uh-uh.” Tom raised a finger and waggled it at her. “No, no. From now on, whenever you have an opinion, want, wish, or desire, speak your mind.”
“I can try.”
“Just answer this question. What would you like to do?”
“Umm.” She crinkled her nose. “I don’t know.”
“Well,” he said. “Think about it because that’s what we’re doing.”
“Listen.” She hauled in a breath. “You do not have to walk up three flights of stairs. We can say goodbye right here in the parking lot.”
“It’s almost ten.”
“I’ll be fine. I go in and out of my apartment at night all the time. This is a quiet neighborhood. I feel completely safe.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
He hesitated. “If that’s what you want.”
“It is.”
“Okay, then.” His eyes met hers, but she couldn’t tell what he was thinking.
“Well, I guess this is good night.” Jude gulped and stood there, waiting and hoping and wishing he’d give her a goodnight kiss.
Tom jammed his hands in his coat pockets, and she saw him clench them underneath the material. Was he cold? Or was something else going on? The night was a little chilly, but fairly mild in the grand scheme of impending winter.
Certainly not too cold for a goodnight kiss. She leaned forward, puckered her lips, lowered her eyelids, and waited.
Kiss me, kiss me, kiss me.
He did not.
Slowly, she opened her eyes, unpuckered her lips, and felt disappointment roll through her in one long wave, starting at her feet and sweeping up to her heart, gathering heat as it went until it lodged in her head as a hot, throbbing frustration.
“See you on Saturday,” he mumbled and with a quick, but really weird salute, he dashed back to his car.
Leaving Jude perplexed and wanting more. So very much more.
Why didn’t you tell him that?
Why? Because she was afraid that he’d tell her she was “too nice” to be his girlfriend. Although, she did have a counter for that argument. She wasn’t asking to be his girlfriend. All she wanted was a temporary bed partner.
But saying that required bravery and boldness.
