Текст книги "Addicted to Sin"
Автор книги: Monica James
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Текущая страница: 5 (всего у книги 20 страниц)
8
Like a Hurricane
MADISON
“Maddy, I hate to say it, but I don’t think he’s coming,” says my best friend, Mary Mitts, as she wipes down table nine.
“You don’t know that,” I argue, her truthful comment snapping me out of my stare-off with the front door. “We never agreed on a time. Maybe something came up and he’s on the way. I mean, I did say sometime tonight,” I state, making up excuses for why Dixon isn’t here.
“Well, technically, it is tomorrow,” Mary says, looking at her watch.
“Not helping, Lamb,” I reply with a smile, using the nickname I’ve had for her since we were kids.
“I’m sorry, but what kind of best friend would I be if I wasn’t looking out for you? I just don’t want to see you get hurt,” she says, and I know she’s referring to Tim, my stalker, who Dixon saved me from the first night we met.
“I know, but Dixon is…”
“Don’t you dare say different,” Mary warns, wagging her finger at me while I bite back a smile.
“But he is,” I quickly rebuke, and duck to avoid getting hit in the face with a coaster.
“No, he isn’t. He’s a guy, therefore he’s a dick,” Mary states, but I don’t take it to heart, as she’s only bitter at the moment because she’s going through a tough breakup.
“Lamb, not all men are pigs. He didn’t have to jump in and save me from Tim, but he did. He didn’t even think twice about it. If that doesn’t scream ‘non-pig’ then I don’t know what does.”
“Oh please, that’s your hormones talking. That man is trouble with a capital T. And not to mention you’re like half his age,” she adds, fastening her fiery red hair into a tighter ponytail.
I can’t help but laugh, as I am so not half his age. Early thirties I’d peg him being, but it’s not his age I find myself uncharacteristically daydreaming about. His bright blue eyes and messy, chocolate brown hair are another story, however.
“I’ll give him another twenty minutes, and if he doesn’t show up, then I’ll forget I ever met Dr. Dixon,” I state, very unconvincingly.
“Ah-ha,” Mary retorts, totally not buying my pledge. “Again, I believe that’s your hormones talking.”
I playfully flip her off while she pokes her tongue out at me before heading off to serve table twelve.
I, however, continue wiping down a spotless table eight with my eyes peeled to the door, because I know he’ll arrive any minute now.
He has to.
Twenty minutes came and went with no sign of Dixon. It’s now 2 a.m., and I’m locking up. I can’t wait to go home and forget today ever existed.
I still can’t believe he stood me up. I know we didn’t have a date per se, but we did kind of have plans. I really thought he was different, as there is definitely something there between us. I know he felt it too, and by the not so covert glances, I also know he’s somewhat attracted to me.
But on the flipside, he did look like he was sneaking out of someone’s apartment this morning, and then he wanted me to fist bump him. Maybe I’m just reading into things ’cause God knows, I have limited experience with this kind of stuff.
I’ve never really had a boyfriend, and Tim doesn’t count. We were seeing one another for a month, and after two dates, I knew we wouldn’t work. But Tim thought otherwise, and that’s the reason why he got so mad at me the night Dixon and I met. He pretty much demanded I give him another chance. When I said hell to the fuck no, he suggested I “give it up,” as apparently that’s what our nonexistent relationship was missing. When I not so politely declined, he got a little physical, and that’s when Dixon saved the day.
Apart from the fact I am in no way attracted to Tim, I don’t actually know if I’ll ever be ready to “give it up.”
I’m good at hiding my emotions and feelings, I always have been. But when Dixon told me he was a psychiatrist, I thought my ruse was up. I almost got up and left, but walking away from the first male I was remotely interested in felt wrong. And besides, I promised myself I would no longer allow my past to weigh me down.
I’m so glad I stayed, because for the first time in a long time, I actually enjoyed myself and wasn’t constantly looking at my watch, or looking over my shoulder. With Dixon, I felt safe, and I also felt alive.
I switch off the lights and lock up. Living in New York, you just get used to dealing with a trillion locks, and it takes me about two minutes to figure out which key goes into which lock. I’m halfway done when someone taps me on the shoulder, which has me screaming in absolute terror.
“Madison, it’s me! Shit, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” says a familiar voice. I turn around so fast, I nearly fall flat on my ass.
“Dixon?” I wheeze, my hand poised over my beating heart. “What are you doing here?”
I watch as he averts his beautiful blue eyes and shame-facedly replies, “I said I would drop by. I’m sorry I’m late,” he adds.
“Did you run here?” I stupidly ask.
“Well, I would call it a brisk walk,” he confesses with a lopsided smirk as he rolls a stone under his sneaker.
The damp hair at his temples reveals he more than just walked, and I try not to bask in the fact that he ran all the way here just to see me. Mentally giving Mary an “I told you so,” I turn my back and finish locking up, needing a minute to center my raging nerves.
I can’t help but wonder where Dixon has been, as he doesn’t appear to be dressed up, and I dare say, he ran here from his house. So what was he doing till 2 a.m.? And more importantly, who was he doing it with? That thought has me envisioning distasteful scenarios and positions, but I tell my distrustful mind to quit it with the conspiracy theories for one night.
“Well, I hope you didn’t give yourself a stitch,” I taunt, wanting to lighten the mood.
Dixon scoffs. “I’ll have you know I was a track athlete in high school.”
“The operative word being ‘was,’” I say as I turn around to face him. “And high school was a lonnng time ago for you.”
“Want to put a wager on that?” He smirks, and my God, he is handsome.
“Sure,” I reply, crossing my arms over my chest in hopes my beating heart doesn’t explode from my ribcage.
“You said you run every morning, well, I challenge you to a race,” he smugly declares, raising an eyebrow.
“Name your time and place, Dr. Dixon,” I boldly reply.
“Tomorrow. 6 a.m. Central Park. First person to run a mile in the shortest amount of time is the winner.”
“Let’s make it two miles,” I cockily say, but quickly curse my confidence.
Dixon looks impressed. “Very well, two it is. Meet at North Meadow?”
“Sure. What does the winner get?” I ask, my competitive streak shining through.
Dixon taps his chin, deep in thought. “The winner will be treated to a lavish breakfast by the loser.”
“Well, you already owe me a breakfast, Doc. And I can’t eat two breakfasts in one day.”
Dixon chuckles at my self-assurance. “Okay, let’s make it dinner then.”
“Dinner it is. I hope you’ve saved your pennies, ’cause I’m gonna order the lobster,” I tease, rubbing my hands together.
“We’ll see.” He grins, and I’m thankful he appreciates my bad humor.
“Well, on that note, I better go home and get some beauty sleep. Night, Dixon.” I search through my bag for my keys.
“Where’d you park? I’ll walk you to your car,” he quickly offers.
“It’s okay. I’m just around the corner.”
“Please, I insist,” and before I have time to argue, he’s leading the way.
With a small smile, I follow, feeling strangely happy that this amazingly hot man wants to walk me to my car—a car that I don’t need, but have, thanks to my fears.
We walk in reflective silence as I desperately want to ask him where he was tonight, but it’s not really my business. I mean, we just met. We’re not even really friends, as I hardly know him, but the thing is, I want to. From the moment I met him, there was something there, but I’m sure a man like Dixon isn’t short of female attention, and has women, not inexperienced, scarred virgins, to satisfy his needs.
“Everything okay over there?” Dixon asks, disturbing my thoughts.
“Yeah, why?” I ask, suddenly worried my thoughts are transparent.
“You’re awfully quiet, which can’t be a good sign.”
“I was just thinking about where I would like to go for dinner,” I tease, hoping to disguise my insecurities as I sound the alarm on my Fiesta. “Well, this is me. I’ll see you in a few hours.” I fiddle with the strap on my bag, not knowing what to do next.
This is the second time there has been some weird static bouncing between us, and I know he feels it too because he totally just checked out my boobs. But this is not me. I’m not one to feel so comfortable with the opposite sex, or care if they like me or not. But with Dixon, that’s exactly how I feel. And I don’t understand why.
“Well,” he says, clearing his throat. “I’ll see you in the morning,” and I cringe, hoping he doesn’t want me to fist bump him again.
However, he surprises me as he unexpectedly reaches forward and brushes a stray strand of hair off my face. Normally, I would shy away, but in this instance I find myself wanting to lean into his touch. But I don’t.
“Night, Dixon,” I whisper.
“Night, Madison.”
And with that, he turns his back on me, and only then do I breathe.
9
Dessert
MADISON
It’s now 5:30a.m., and I look like utter shit. Why I agreed to such an early morning run, on a Sunday I might add, is beyond me. But I have a feeling Dixon could ask me just about anything and I would say yes.
I’ve dressed for comfort, not style, as I intend to run like the wind across that finish line. I’ve been blessed in the boob department and actually have a decent rack for a small-framed girl. However, while most girls would be ecstatic to have boobs the size of mine, I see them as a curse.
Reaching for my water bottle and keys, I lock the door behind me and make my way downstairs. I hit the pavement at a brisk pace, as it always freaks me out being up this early with no one around. But I’m twenty-three and I’ve decided this is the year I won’t allow the skeletons in my closet to haunt me any longer.
For more than half of my life, I’ve lived with a secret I’ve never told a single soul, not even my mother, who I love more than life itself. Even though those secrets can never be told, I feel in some sick, twisted way that they’ve shaped me into the woman I’m determined to become.
Crossing the street, I stop with the nostalgia and focus on finding Dixon. I search the main entrance, but he’s nowhere to be found. Maybe he’s running late.
Starting my warm-up, I turn my head to the left to stretch out my neck muscles. From the corner of my eye, I see Dixon. Someone who’s just about to go for a two-mile run shouldn’t look this good, but he does. He’s in loose running shorts and a tight white T-shirt, and although it doesn’t sound like anything special, on Dixon it looks like he’s dressed for Milan.
His muscular physique is a lot more obvious now that he’s not wearing a suit jacket and pants, and oh my God, as he stretches his arms above his head, his T-shirt rides up, exposing a hardened slab of sculptured abs and toned obliques. My eyes may have deceived me because he’s a few feet away, but I’m quite certain I saw a hint of ink tattooed on his side.
The thought has my toes curling, as that image has just made Dr. Dixon a truckload sexier.
Deciding to stop with the drooling, I make my way over to him and will my racing pulse to calm down, as I haven’t even started running yet.
“It’s not too late to back out, ya know?” I chirp, stopping a few feet away.
“In your dreams,” he says with a lopsided smirk. I watch his eyes unexpectedly smolder as he takes in my appearance.
I look like I always do when running. No make-up, my long hair secured in a high ponytail, and my clothes hardly flattering, but there’s no denying that he’s blatantly checking me out. Maybe he does like me.
My insides warm at the idea, but squashing down my immature fantasies, I quickly say, “So, you ready to get your ass whipped?”
Dixon grins and, thankfully, his eyes return to their normal beautiful blue. “Give it your best shot, little girl.” His cockiness titillates me.
“So, what are the rules?” I ask, lunging forward into a hamstring stretch.
Dixon programs his fancy watch. “I’d say the zoo is roughly two miles from here.”
I nod in agreement.
“Well, the first person to reach the zoo is the winner. Oh, and we have to run the same route,” he adds with a smirk, just in case I thought about taking a shortcut.
“That’s it?” I ask, raising a suspicious eyebrow.
“That’s it,” Dixon confirms with a smile.
He stands by my side and looks over, grinning. “Just a word of warning, I don’t like to lose,” he confesses as he eyes me up and down.
“Well, isn’t that funny, ’cause neither do I. See you on the other side…loser.” I take off in a quick sprint, leaving Dixon at our makeshift start line.
I hear him following in quick pursuit, and his chase only has me increasing my speed to an even pace. The first few yards are always the hardest for me, but once I find my rhythm, I can run for miles. I guess you could say I started running to escape my demons, but no matter how hard I ran, they were always biting at my heels.
“Just so you know,” Dixon huffs, catching up to me. “I let you have a head start.”
We both keep a steady pace, our breaths the only thing sounding between us, and that’s good because if we spoke, I would lose myself in his deep, rough voice. I focus on the way my body feels alive, the blood pumping through my veins and animating my every move.
We jog in silence, side by side for a few minutes, until Dixon pushes forward, taking the lead. I stay back, as I’ll save my energy and pull out the big guns on the last half a mile. And besides, back here, I can totally check out Dixon’s muscular legs and taut butt. He is a work of art, and I can’t help but feel slightly curious to know what that tight butt would feel like in the flesh.
“Tired already?” Dixon teases as he turns around and begins running backward, watching amusedly as I flip him off.
“I’m just being generous. I don’t want to show you up too early. That would be kinda embarrassing,” I say, puffing.
Dixon laughs and turns back around, thankfully watching where he’s going. I decide to catch up to him, as he’s gaining a steady lead because I’m lagging behind, distracted by his hot ass.
“So,” Dixon pants, his eyes focused ahead. “How long you been running?”
“About nine years,” I confess, leaving out why.
“You’re quite good,” he admits. I turn toward him with a smirk.
“And you’re surprised?”
Dixon shakes his head. “Not at all. My mother taught me never to assume anything when it came to women.”
I can’t stop the laugh that breaks free from my winded chest. “Your mother sounds like a smart lady.”
“She was,” Dixon says, and I don’t fail to pick up on his use of the past tense. “She passed,” he explains. “Six months ago to breast cancer.”
“Oh, Dixon. I’m really sorry.” I frown, as the thought of losing my mother tears a big hole in my chest.
“Thank you,” he says with a sad smile.
“So it’s just you and your dad?”
“Um, yeah,” he replies with a pause, which confuses me, but I let it slide as I know uncomfortable when I see it.
“How about you?” he innocently asks, not realizing how a simple question such as this is my worst nightmare.
But I casually reply, “What about me?”
“Do you have any siblings?”
“Yeah, I have an older brother. But it’s just me and my mom.”
“Where’s your dad?”
“Oh, um, he left when I was five. I don’t really remember him,” I disclose, keeping my eyes focused ahead.
“That must’ve been tough.”
“It was okay—my mom is the best. She was my mom and my dad. I really am lucky to have her as my mother. We’re close,” I share, happy to divulge this information about my past.
“She sounds like an amazing lady,” Dixon says, and I nod.
“She really is,” I reply with sincerity, because before my mom remarried, we were doing it tough.
“But I’m sure your big brother looked after his little sister, right?” Dixon randomly says, and I know it’s meant to be an innocent question, but the mere mention of my brother has me suddenly losing my footing and I trip, my forehead and wrists breaking the fall.
“Holy shit! Are you okay?” he asks. His voice mingles with the loud ringing in my ears.
I’m pretty sure I’m not okay, but I nod, which has my brain rolling around my head like marbles.
I fell flat on my stomach, and I’m beyond embarrassed to be sprawled out on the ground, so I try and lift myself up, but Dixon quickly warns, “No, no, don’t get up too quickly, you’ve hit your head pretty hard.”
“I’m fine,” I say, waving him off, as I’m more worried about how I’m going to face him, rather than my injured head.
As I lift myself into a half-sitting position, I see Dixon crouching near me. I watch as his eyes widen, and he gasps, “Fuck, you’re bleeding.” Before I can protest, he’s yanking off his shirt and pressing the amazing-smelling garment to my forehead.
I whine the moment it touches my sore brow, and Dixon flinches, easing the pressure.
“Sorry.” He frowns, his intense eyes focused on my temple.
“It’s okay,” I whisper, mesmerized by being so close to him, and also mesmerized by the fact I’m so close to him while he’s topless.
I try my absolute hardest not to stare, but it’s extremely hard not to as he’s simply stunning.
A totally hair-free, well-defined chest is inches away from my face. As I lower my eyes, I see the only hair visible is the fine dusting of darkened curls painting his navel, which leads into his low-slung shorts. His washboard abs should be illegal, and I won’t even touch on his sculptured V-muscle, which has my eyes bulging at its pure perfection.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Dixon kindly asks, and I snap out of my trance.
“Ye-yeah,” I stutter, raising my eyes to meet his.
His strong features express nothing but concern, and just when I thought I couldn’t fall deeper into obsession with this man, I fall harder than ever before.
I watch as Dixon removes his soiled T-shirt from my brow, his intense eyes examining my wound. “I don’t think you’ll need stitches, but I dare say you’ll have a nasty headache for the next couple of days.”
“Nothing a little Advil won’t fix,” I say with a smile, and attempt to shift so I’m sitting up taller.
Dixon places his hands on my upper arms to help steady me, and I appreciate the support as my head is still spinning.
“So, looks like I’m buying,” I declare, trying to ignore the way my body is responding to Dixon’s touch.
“Well, from where I stood, you were definitely the winner.”
“How’d you figure that?” I ask, not quite following.
“Before you so elegantly swan-dived into the asphalt—” I lunge out to playfully smack him on his arm, but he dodges my attack “—I was going to forfeit,” he explains.
“You were not, you liar.” I chuckle in disbelief.
Dixon grins, placing a hand over his heart, attempting to appear genuine. “Oh, but I was. This old body is obviously no match for your youthful spirit. You won fair and square, Madison.”
I’m not buying his story for a second, but he looks too adorable and I can’t argue with him.
“Well, I would still feel wrong, as it kinda feels like I’m cheating. So how about you buy dinner and I’ll buy dessert?” I suggest, hoping he says yes, as I’m desperate to draw out any time spent with him.
Dixon appears to mull over my proposal, but with a lopsided smile, he says, “You drive a hard bargain, but I suppose that’s fair.”
I barely stop myself from fist pumping in excitement, as I’m sure any sudden movement will enrage my impending headache.
“So it’s settled then. I’ll let you choose the day,” I say, as I don’t want to look too eager and suggest we make good on our agreement tonight.
However, my heart ends up in my throat as Dixon suggests, “How about tomorrow evening?”
Trying not to blind him with my ridiculously excited smile, I nod. “Tomorrow works for me.”
Dixon smirks and slowly stands to his full, topless, dominating height. He extends his hand down to me, and I gratefully accept, standing gradually, as I still feel lightheaded. As we stand toe to toe, my overactive mind invokes images of me pressing myself up against all that tanned, supple skin, and getting lost in its soft smoothness. But I shake those thoughts aside, as I feel a little guilty that Dixon is half nude because of me.
A female jogger runs past us, and she makes it more than obvious she’s gaping at the naked god in front of her. An unexpected sense of jealousy passes over me, and I try my hardest not to eyeball her, because I have no right to.
Dixon seems oblivious and reaches into his pocket, producing a crisp white business card. “Now there are no excuses to run late,” he regretfully says, and I know he’s referring to last night.
I thankfully accept it, but with nowhere safe to put it, I place it in my sports bra, which is a habit I picked up from running without any pockets. It really isn’t a big deal, but as I look up and meet Dixon’s heated eyes, it appears he disagrees. He guiltily snaps his intense gaze from my chest, and gingerly meets my eyes.
“Remind me to never ask you to mind my belongings,” he says, appearing half serious.
“And why’s that?” I ask with a smirk.
“Because I’ll no doubt lose a hand,” he cheekily replies, while I almost gag on my tongue.
Little does he know his hands are always welcome.
