Текст книги "Wet"

Автор книги: Ruth Clampett

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“Awesome response, Paul, to make me feel even better in my state of hysteria. That was epic. Thanks for the suggestion that I do Tinder hook-ups while pregnant. That’s so appreciated.”

Sheesh. “I didn’t mean you should do hook-ups!”

Holy mother of all hormones! Someone hand me a shovel, so I can dig myself deeper into this hole.

She’s riffling through her handbag and then pulls out her phone and starts tapping at the screen.

“What are you doing?” I yell. I’m losing my damn patience with this woman.

“Tinder.”

I can feel my fury burn all the way up to the tips of my ears. “Put your phone away, Elle,” I growl.

“No.”

She starts walking in the opposite direction so that I have to shut down the engine and jump out of the car.

“Where are you going?”

“Home.”

“Get in the car!”

She takes several steps toward me with that diva walk she did when we first met, but rather than opening the door to get back in she points at me.

“I’ve changed my mind about you, Paul.”

I let out a long sigh. “Yeah?”

“You aren’t good.”

I freeze in place as she stares me down. Is she fucking serious with this? This feels like more than just hormones gone haywire. Her expression tells me that she’s beyond pissed off and ready to draw blood.

“You’re a bad man.”

“Really? So now I’m bad?”

She shrugs half-heartedly like she’s undecided but she’s also not taking it back. Doesn’t she know that she’s gone way too far? I’m pretty sure I deserve more than this hormone-driven shit show.

She may not really mean it but she’s hit my sore spot. She could’ve taken a dull knife and carved a hole in my chest and it would’ve hurt less. Is it my turn to get dramatic back because I feel like I can’t breathe? I’ve tried so hard to be what she’s needed me to be, so what the hell? She’s the last person I expected to knock me down, and bring into question what I’ve feared about myself all along.

I turn and look away, staring down the deserted street. Everything looks colorless and I shiver even though I’m not cold.

What can I possibly say to her? I glance back to see if she has any remorse for what she’s said, but she’s already halfway down the street. My heart sinks down low. It’s hard keeping it suspended in my chest when she’s taken part of it with her.

Her words echo over and over.

If I’m a bad man, then I do what a bad man would.

I let her go.

Chapter Twelve

THE WRAPAROUND

On Tuesday Ma calls and I steel myself as I pick up the phone. Ma’s got stellar skills for knowing when something’s up.

“Hey, Ma.”

“How’s my boy? Are you having a busy day?”

“Yeah, super busy.” So can we get off the phone now?

“And how’s our Elle?”

Our Elle? Oh, it’s more serious than I thought. They’re attached to Elle and her baby now, so how do I tell them that Elle went nuts and decided I’m not good enough to be an uncle anymore?

I can’t handle the onslaught, so I lie.

“She’s good. She really enjoyed dinner the other night.”

“Yes, she was so sweet about it when she called the next day to thank me.”

I desperately want to ask how she sounded but it would give me away.

“She told me how kind you’ve been to her, and what a wonderful man you are. It made me proud, Paul.”

“She said that? Really?”

“Indeed she did. You sound surprised.”

“I guess I am. Sometimes I make her mad.”

“No! You?” she says in a highly exaggerated tone.

“Okay now,” I warn.

“You know what? She also said that she doesn’t know how you put up with her.”

“Sometimes it’s not so easy.”

“I know, but I still told her not to be so hard on herself. When you’re pregnant everything becomes emotional and dramatic. Things will calm down.”

“Will they?”

“Yes, they will.”

“So I’m wondering, how did Dad deal with this with you?”

“He just let me be, have my fits and then he would bring me flowers. Why don’t you take Elle some flowers tonight? Nothing like flowers to smooth out the rough edges.”

“I’m not her husband, or even her boyfriend.”

“I know that, but you’re her close friend, aren’t you?”

My mom is clairvoyant and I sense she knows Elle and I had a blow-out. It would be creepy if it weren’t so cool. Either she’s psychic or Elle told her so.

“Got it. Thanks, Ma.”

“You’re a good man, Paulie.”

“I’m glad you think so.”

“I do.”

The florist seems to understand completely. I sense I’m not the first man asking for an apology bouquet.

“Let’s make this happy!” she says enthusiastically as she meanders, collecting stems from tub after tub of colorful flowers.

I nod absentmindedly when she shows me the assortment she’s gathered. I don’t even ask the price. If this warms up Elle to me, it’s priceless.

“So what did you do?” she asks as she winds ribbon around the wrapped flowers.

“I’m not sure,” I reply honestly.

“Well it can’t be that bad if you don’t know why. I bet this will fix it.”

“You really think so?”

“I do.”

When I arrive at Elle’s place her car is in the driveway but she doesn’t answer the door. Wondering if she’s napping again, I go through the side gate to check to see if the back French doors are open. To my surprise I find her kneeling on her lawn messing around with the sprinkler head. I’m immediately bothered. What? I’m not good enough to fix her sprinklers anymore?

I move a little closer and then stop to watch her. Her tongue is poking out the side of her mouth as she twists the head and pushes on it, then pulls it back out to study it.

“What are you doing?” I call out.

She looks up with wide eyes and her mouth agape. Her attention then shifts down to the flowers and she sits up straight. “Fixing stuff. What are you doing here?”

“Oh you know, I happened to be in the neighborhood . . .” I give her a crooked smile.

“Are those for me?” she asks in an unsteady voice.

I’m tempted to tease her and say that ‘no, these are for another woman,’ but then I remind myself that that kind of humor got me in this trouble in the first place. So instead I hold the bouquet out in front of me. “Yes, they’re for you.”

Instead of smiling her lower lip quivers and she blinks rapidly. “I don’t deserve any flowers, I should be giving you flowers.”

I watch a tear skate down her cheek and I shake my head.

“I don’t want flowers, Elle. I just want us to get along. Besides, I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you, too.”

She gives me a soft smile and I feel a surge of relief and genuine happiness to see her again. It’s just been a few days but I’ve missed her a lot. I step right up to where she’s working and hand her the flowers.

“They’re so beautiful. Thank you,” she says as she accepts them. I kneel down to examine what she’s working on. Lying next to the sprinkler set-up is a mangled head. It looks like someone went after it with a machete.

“The gardener again?” I ask.

She nods. “I don’t know how he even does it. Like we talked about last time, he must have some seriously repressed anger issues.”

“I’ll say.” I pick it up and examine it before glancing over at her. “So speaking of anger, are you still mad at me?”

“You? No! I’m mad at myself.”

“Well, if you’re not mad at me, why didn’t you call me?”

Her gaze drops down. “It’s complicated.”

She keeps twisting the new sprinkler head in her hands so I take it from her, and screw it in place. “Done.”

I stand back up and brush off my jeans, before offering my hand to her. “You got any beer inside?”

“Sure,” she says and I follow her into the house.

We’re sitting at her kitchen table. I’m nursing my beer and she’s taking tiny sips of her chamomile tea. I finally ask the big question but this time I have to get an answer. “So why didn’t you call me?”

She casts her eyes down and folds her hands in her lap. “I was embarrassed and I’ve been building up the courage to call. All that stuff I said to you was so stupid.”

I nod. “I agree.” When I smile she play punches me in the shoulder.

“I was kind of crazy, wasn’t I?” Her eyes roll back and forth to emphasize her point.

“Not just kind of,” I answer, giving her my best, startled, wide-eyed look.

“How crazy?”

“Mmm, somewhere between wacked out and bat-shit.”

“Nice.”

“So did you get it out of your system? Are we okay now?”

“I think so. You know, it was really big of you to come by here and bring me flowers.”

“I’ve been worried about you. I wanted to make sure you were okay. Besides there’s a good game on this weekend and I was hoping to watch it with you. I love how you yell at the television.”

“So I can yell at the TV instead of you?”

“That’s the plan.”

Releasing a long sigh of relief, she rests her chin in her hand. She looks deep in thought and her expression gets somber again.

“I’m a mess,” she says softly. “I’m still stunned by all of this. My marriage ending was nothing compared to the shock of this unexpected pregnancy.”

She’s never talked much about her marriage and it makes me curious. “How long were you married?”

“Eleven years.”

My eyes grow wide. “Wow.”

“I know . . . and by the end I was so unhappy that I was relieved it was over.”

I scratch the back of my neck. “That’s a long time to be married if you were unhappy.”

“Oh, it wasn’t always that way. When I met Daniel I was young and naïve, while he was self-assured and commanding. His protective demeanor made me feel safe. I never had that growing up, and I craved it desperately, so in the early days I was really happy as we started to build our life together.”

“What happened to change things?”

She stares out the window for a moment and then her focus shifts back to me. “The best way to describe it is that I gradually grew into myself. I became more confident and independent, and he didn’t like it. Eventually he started to try to control me by undermining my confidence, and once he realized he couldn’t lord over me anymore, he belittled and shunned me.”

I can feel my blood pressure rise as my temples pulse. “What an ass.”

She nods. “So I left our marriage feeling angry and with a fierce determination that I could take care of myself. Unfortunately, I also left with my faith in relationships destroyed. Looking back, I think Tinder appealed to me because I felt in control and could ask for and get what I wanted from men with no complications.” She lets out a bitter laugh.

“What?” I ask.

She waves her hand over her belly. “Could anything be more complicated than this? Obviously I’m still naïve, and now I’m floundering.”

“I know this has been a rough time, Elle. Don’t be too hard on yourself.”

“It’s just that I’m so overwhelmed. The universe dealt me an unexpected hand that’s changed my entire life. Every single day from now on is different than what I’d planned.

I nod. “That would freak anyone out, believe me.”

“Freak out or not, I’ve got a little life to look after, and the only thing that I know for sure is that this baby deserves more than me—more than knowing their life is the result of contraception failure and a dad who couldn’t give a shit about them.”

Reaching over the counter, I take her hand and squeeze it. She doesn’t let go of me but instead holds on and winds our fingers together.

“You aren’t giving yourself any credit. You make it sound like you’re unfit to be a mother.”

“Aren’t I? I think I’m horribly unfit.”

“Hell no. To start with, you aren’t a crack whore . . . so major points for that.” I give her a big thumbs-up with my free hand.

“You always say the sweetest things.”

“I know, I have such a way with words. But seriously . . . you’re an amazing woman. So smart and spirited . . . you’ve got such a big heart. This baby is so damn lucky.”

“How can you say the baby’s lucky?”

“Because you care so much. You’re making changes in your life so this kid will have the best chance. I admire your courage and determination.”

“Oh, I’m not that brave.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Paul, you don’t know what I’m like inside. I lie in bed and I worry about everything. How will I know what’s the best thing to do?”

“Best thing? Like what?” I ask.

“Like I was reading that it would be beneficial for the baby to sleep with me—that it soothes them.”

“Sleep in the same bed? Aren’t babies supposed to sleep in cribs? I mean that sounds dangerous. I, for one, flop around like a beached walrus. What if you roll over on them in your sleep?”

“Exactly! And I’ve never changed a diaper, let alone bought one. Hopefully there’s a YouTube video about how to do that stuff. As for baby food . . . it’s a mystery to me. I checked it out at the grocery store and it looks like space food. Then I can’t even, with the car seats . . . I’m realizing that figuring them out requires a degree in engineering. And I overheard two women talking last week about how getting into pre-school is harder than college for God’s sake. Then there’s the books!

“What about books?” I ask.

“Well, what do I read to the baby that won’t terrorize them? I had bad dreams for years over Hansel and Gretel. Cannibalism isn’t cool, you know?”

She’s starting to make me nervous. Her eyes grow wide as she remembers something else.

“Did you know that some kids get seizures from playing certain video games? My God! How will I know what to do?”

“Isn’t it like anything in life? You learn one thing at a time. What about talking to other moms. Do you know any?”

“Well, none of my friends have kids yet. We’re all career women.”

“Then we’ll go find you some mom friends.”

She gives me a lopsided grin. “We will? And where do we find these mom friends?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. In the park or something. I always see a lot of them in the park huddled together . . . or how about online! Isn’t there like a Tinder for moms or something?”

She almost spits up her tea and I have to pat her back to calm her down.

“Mom hook-ups?” she sputters.

“Yeah!” Damn, I have good ideas.

“You’re a gem, Paul.”

I suspect she thinks my ideas on this subject are ridiculous, but she appreciates the effort.

“I know. How about Sunday before the game we go to one of those baby stores? I bet the people that work there know a lot.”

She blinks rapidly, but thankfully I don’t see any tears. “You’d do that?”

“Sure as long as you don’t jump out of the car and yell at me.”

“Deal.”

That night as I lie in bed, I remember the charge I felt just seeing her again, and I’m pretty sure she was feeling the same. She looked stressed out and depressed when I saw her from a distance in the yard, and once we’d talked things out and got past that stupid argument, her real smile returned.

It feels like there’s some of Elle now in every part of me . . . she’s on the edge of every thought . . . her laugh, the teasing look in her eyes, and the way she curls into me whenever we’re on the couch together. Tonight she laid her head on my chest as we watched some show. It could have been anything on TV, but all I cared about was that I was there with her and how weirdly perfect that felt.

Now that she’s pregnant I know I shouldn’t be thinking of sex with her, but I do . . . all the time. She’s always turned me on but now it’s different. There’s something primitive about it, like I’m a freaking tiger desperate to mate her. Is this some crazy male hormone thing? I should Google that shit.

Everything that I’m attracted to in a woman is accentuated now, her curves and full breasts make me wild. Then her vulnerability, which belies her fierce inner strength, makes me protective of her. I don’t want to just claim her as mine, but I want the baby to be mine, too. I feel attached to that kid already. Is that wrong?

I want it all and I have to face that I may never be satisfied until I get it. I also have to face that I could also end up with nothing. It’s in fate’s hands now.

The visit to the baby-stuff store on Sunday ends up being a kick-ass idea on my part. Our salesperson, Naomi, is so amped up to have a baby newbie that she goes above and beyond. By the time we leave the store Elle has a priority list of purchases and although I find the whole thing anxiety producing, Naomi seems to make Elle calm.

She has a big smile on her face when we finally get in the car to go home and see the game.

“That was the best idea ever, Paul,” she says as she squeezes my arm.

“Yeah, I’m a genius.”

“Can you believe how nice that Naomi was? All that time she spent with us and we didn’t even buy anything.”

“Yeah, she reminded me of my mom. Some women are just ga-ga over babies—not just theirs . . . anyone’s.”

“So did it bother you that she kept referring to you as the dad?”

My chest swells but I don’t want her to know how not only did it not bother me, but I liked it—a lot.

“I noticed you didn’t correct her.” I glance over and see her sly smile.

“Well, it’s not her business. We don’t have to explain anything.”

“Did it bother you?” I ask.

“No, I liked it. Believe me, I wish you were the dad.” My heart practically explodes in my chest. I could be.

If I only had the courage to say those words. Still stunned from her honest confession I finally respond, “Really?”

“Of course. You’re awesome. You’ll be a great dad one day.”

“Thanks. I plan to be a great uncle, too.”

Her expression falls a little when I say ‘uncle’. It gives me hope that one day I really can be the dad.

It’s no surprise that Elle passes out curled up next to me in the fourth quarter of the game. The Trojans are kicking Arizona’s ass, and after a while I’m just embarrassed for the Wildcats. I’m starting to doze off myself when Elle suddenly wakes with a start and sits up. Her eyes are wide.

I rub her back. “Hey, you okay?”

She nods but she still looks startled. “Yeah, just really weird dreams.” She points to the television. “Did SC win?”

I nod. “They slaughtered them. I’m glad you missed it. Honestly it was painful to watch.”

She lets out a sigh of relief. “Okay, good.” She settles back against me.

“So what kind of dreams did you have?”

“Disturbing. I’d rather not relive them. Okay?”

“Sure.”

She’s pulling on the ends of her hair and I know her well enough that something I’m not going to like will soon follow out of her mouth.

“So I want to ask you something,” she says in a serious tone.

“Okay.”

“Will you do me a favor and go out with that girl Melanie?”

My head drops down so I can go eye to eye with her. What the fuck is this about?

“Because?”

“Because I want you to find your happiness. And right now you’re putting a lot of your time into helping me. Don’t get me wrong—I’m so grateful for all that you’ve done. I don’t know what state I’d be in right now without you. But I can’t be selfish. I want all the good things for you.”

“What makes you think that Melanie will be all that good for me?”

“I don’t know that she will be, but you were crazy about her. Right?”

“That was a long time ago.”

“But I could tell when her name came up at dinner that she’s still in your thoughts. Just the mention of her visibly got to you.”

I shrug. “We all hold onto all kinds of stuff. Who knows? Maybe it would’ve been great or maybe we would’ve been all wrong for each other. She could be an epic bitch in a relationship.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. I’m just asking you to find out for once and for all.”

“Is this a crazy hormonally inspired idea?”

She smiles. “No. I feel very calm right now.”

As we stare at each other I wonder if she’s right. Maybe I should just do it so I can let go of the teen-angst curiosity that has stayed with me all these years.

“Please,” she says.

“Okay,” I huff.

“I have rules though.”

“You do, huh?” I ask with an arched brow. “That’s rich, Ms. Bossy Pants. What are your rules?”

“If you sleep with her right away I don’t want to hear about it.”

My eyes narrow as I watch her fold her arms over her chest.

“Well, I would’ve thought you’d want to hear all about it. So why not?”

“I’d be jealous, of course. Think about how hard I tried to get you to sleep with me before I gave up.”

“Gotta say, I feel like I’m being set up here for some major girl drama.”

“No, I’ll be good, I promise. Just no hot sex talk. I’ll let you know when I’m ready to hear it.”

I shake my head. “You’re crazy Elle.”

She smiles and winks. “But you like me enough to put up with me.”

“Yeah, I suppose I do.”

Chapter Thirteen

WOMAN ON TOP

I decide to call Melanie Monday afternoon. That seems like a neutral time. It’s not a sexy time, and it can’t come off as anxious since my mom gave me her number over a week ago. I get her voicemail.

Hey, Melanie, it’s Paul McNeill.

Mom gave me your number after you guys ran into each other. She said you’ve moved back to L.A. Let me know if you’d like to meet for coffee or drinks. It’d be cool to catch up.

I leave her my number and realize that my heart is thundering after I end the call. Damn. I’m really not in the mood to get ignored by her again. But she made the gesture, so she sure as hell better return my call. The text arrives ten minutes later.

Hi Paul

How about drinks tomorrow night at Osteria Mozza. 7pm.

As I reply that I’ll see her there, I realize all the implications that her choice suggests: her choice of restaurant is on trend, in sophisticated and hip Hancock Park, highly ranked food, and expensive as all hell for a plate of spaghetti. That’s Melanie. She’s probably never eaten at In-N-Out.

I arrive early to the restaurant so I can pick our seating and have my bearings before she arrives. I’m swirling the Jamisons whiskey in my glass when a feeling comes over me. I just know under my skin that she’s here. Sure enough I turn and it’s as if there is a beam of light just above her as she gracefully works her way through the crowded bar. I’d forgotten how tall she is, and between the long platinum-blonde hair, and her sleek ivory dress, she stands out in a crowd—not just stands out, she fucking glows. All she needs is a long flute of champagne to finish the picture of how the better half lives.

She gives me a quiet smile as she approaches, and slides into the chair next to me before I have a chance to pull it out for her. She looks amazing. Not that I expected anything less but every gesture seems perfect. Like the way she sweeps her sheet of satin hair over her shoulder so it cascades down her back.

I smile at her. “Good to see you, Melanie.”

“And you,” she says with a nod as the bartender approaches. “Martini, extra dry, extra olives on the side.”

The essence of the Melanie I remember is still there, but now just more polished and confident if that’s even possible . . . more of everything, really.

“New York was good to you, I take it. You look great.”

“Thanks, New York was amazing. It was hard to leave since I found I’m really more of a New York kind of girl. Believe me, it had to be a huge opportunity to get me back here.”

“I’m sure. So where are you now? Mom couldn’t remember.”

“Christopher, Roth, and Reiss. They were especially interested in me because they’ve just landed two huge corporate identity projects. It’s all very exciting. We have meetings in China week after next.”

“Did you do a lot of traveling in your last job?”

She nods before taking a long sip of her martini. “Quite a bit, especially to Australia. Our partner agency was there.”

“Cool. I’ve always wanted to go there.”

We order small plates from the bar and feast on mussels, octopus, and several exotic cheese presentations as she tells me about her favorite projects. I realize when we order our second round of drinks that she hasn’t asked me a single thing about myself. I also haven’t smiled other than those fake smiles you give when you want people to think you’re interested in what they’re saying even though you’re not.

“Do you travel much for work?” she asks, and I have to regroup to realize that she’s actually addressed me.

“Not really unless you call trekking down to Orange County traveling. We mainly do projects in this region, although the partners are doing a big project in Dallas.”

“So how did you end up in landscape architecture as opposed to building architecture? Wouldn’t that be more lucrative?”

“I suppose, but I’ve loved trees and working the earth since I was a boy from hanging out with my dad on jobs. Besides, there’s lots of cutting edge design happening in landscaping. A good design enhances the building.”

“Your dad’s a gardener, isn’t he?” she asks, her gaze wandering off to some people at the bar.

Her tone is condescending like there’s something wrong with what he does.

“He’s an irrigation specialist,” I reply.

“Irrigation. Right,” she says nodding with an intent look on her face. “So do you think you’ll stay in L.A.?”

“I imagine so. My family is here, and I like L.A. It suits me.”

“Hmm, interesting.” She waves the bartender over for a third round. I really feel that two was plenty but before I can say anything the bartender has turned away and starts preparing our order.

She’s a few sips into her fresh martini when I finally see her loosening up. Up until now this tall drink of water has had quite a tolerance for gin. I’m hoping the conversation gets more interesting now that she’s getting a little more relaxed.

“So did you have to leave a boyfriend in New York?” I ask taking the final bite of burrata from the plate of cheeses.

She’s fishing the rogue olive out of the bottom of her glass. “He’s one of the reasons I came out here. I was tired of waiting for him.”

“Waiting?”

“He’s married, and kept telling me he was leaving his pathetic wife.”

I feel a wave of disgust. “Oh, that kind of waiting.”

“And I’m sure she suspected us . . . I mean, all those late nights we ‘worked’ together on projects. I think she just didn’t want to let him go.”

“You worked together?” I have to focus to keep my expression neutral, as much as my stomach is turning. The illusion I had that Melanie is perfect has just faded like a photograph left in a sunny window. Every edge to her is now faded and undefined.

“He was one of the partners. I got spoiled with those long trips to Australia and having him all to myself.”

“Wow. That’s quite a story.”

“And I know he wanted me. I’m sure of it. But he just was afraid of the divorce and how it would affect his kids.”

Oh Jesus. She’s unbelievable.

“Right. So he has kids?”

“Four kids! Can you believe it! One’s just a year old. She got knocked up with that one when I was on a business trip without him. It was just another one of her desperate attempts to hold onto him.”

Wow. So now a man having sex with his wife is cheating on her? The wife did not impregnate herself. He would’ve had to want to have sex with his wife. I guess she can’t accept that.

“So that must have pissed you off.”

“You have no idea. I broke up with him for almost a month that time.”

“Why did you get back with him?”

“He needs me. I’m who he should be with—he’s an incredible, dynamic man and she’s just a housewife.”

“Actually, she’s a mom, and that’s a big job . . . with four kids that’s a really big one, I bet.”

“Whose side are you on?” she asks with a stern expression. I suddenly notice that up close her skin isn’t so smooth after all.

“Side?”

“Oh, let me guess you want kids, too.”

“I do. So I take it you don’t.”

She purses her lips as she shakes her head. “No, I don’t.”

As I watch her sip the last of her drink I marvel that I was once so crazy for this woman. She just seemed so intriguing compared to the other girls in high school. She projected the feeling that she had important things ahead of her and the talent and confidence to get her there. And I have to admit that she was the only girl I ever wanted who didn’t succumb to my charms, so that made her all the more desirable in my eyes. Now that I’ve got her full attention she’s a two dimensional woman with apparently no soul, and not the slightest bit interesting to me.

She looks up at me with one eyebrow arched like she knows a secret. “So I’ve heard quite a bit about you, Paul.”

Wait . . . did she just bat her eyelashes at me? Oh hell no.

“Yeah, what did you hear?”

“That you’re quite the beast in bed.”

I almost spit out the ice cube that’s been rolling around on my tongue.

She leans toward me and speaks in a soft voice. “It is true that you partake in orgies?”

I watch the flush of what I sure as hell hope isn’t arousal crawl up her long neck as she bites her lip, waiting for my answer. “Why do you want to know?”

She chews on the tip of her olive pick. “Because I’d like to try that.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I’ve been with women before. My college roommate turned me onto the wonders of that scene, but I’ve only ever done one-on-one.”

I’m speechless. Melanie is bi. That’d be really hot if I liked her a lot more than I do right now.

“My boyfriend that I just mentioned really likes to watch me with another woman.”

“Really? How modern of him.” I gesture to the bartender for the check.

“What’s the most women you’ve done in one orgie?” she asks, leaning even closer.

“I think the stories about me have been exaggerated.” I hand the bartender my credit card without taking time to open the folder to check the bill.

“Well, I’ve heard straight from the source about your many talents.” I feel the tips of her fingers graze my knee as I slide the credit card back in my wallet.

So is this why she wanted to see me? I’m not even sure in my craziest times that I would have fucked her after hearing all that I did tonight. I may have screwed women I didn’t have anything in common with during my sex fiend days, but I never screwed someone I didn’t like.

I manage to get her outside claiming a really early morning at work. We’re standing next to the building at the valet station—waiting for my car and her Uber—when she suddenly turns and leans into me, pressing me against the building.

“Why don’t you come for a drink at my place?”

If I push my disappointment with her aside, I can’t deny that it feels really good to have a beautiful woman this close to me after two dry years, but there’s no way I’m going to her place.

I choose a vague reply. “Tonight’s not the night.”

She leans her face into my neck and skins her teeth along my stubble while she slips her hand into the back pocket of my jeans. She moans as she squeezes my ass and pulls me against her. “We could have such a good time,” she whispers.

My head starts swimming, it’s been so damn long since anyone has rubbed against me like I was the flint to their flame. I shouldn’t be surprised when she kisses me. Honestly, I’m trying so hard to focus on her home wrecker ways, and not her naked with another woman, that I don’t see her next move coming as her tongue slides in my mouth and tries to take control of mine. She’s moving over me like hot lava and with the resulting roar in my head I barely hear the valet clearing his throat and jingling the car keys.