Loving Ms. Wrong (4 page)

Leave it to a guy to say what even my
girlfriends politely ignored. Let him judge me for being tight on
money without knowing all the details. I don’t care what he thinks.
I don’t even know him. Good-looking bastard. “Probably not. Do you
want that hot drink, or no?”

“Might as well.” He sighs and whips his
soaked shirt off. “Do you have a sink back there I can ring this
out in?”

I nod, incapable of speech at the moment.
The skin of his chest is puckered from the cold, beading his tiny
man-nipples to stiff nubs sitting on the sculpted muscles of his
lean build. A light dusting of hair trails down his torso and over
his six-pack of abs. Holy hell, he looks good.

The light from his phone starts to waver.
“Shit. This thing is just about dead. Don’t suppose you have
candles back there, do you?”

I pry my tongue from the roof of my mouth
and squeeze out a reply. “Uh… yeah. I do.” So worldly and smooth.
Nice job, Trina.

He gives a tiny bow and sweeps his arm
toward the back. “Lead on, my lady.”

I scoop up my shoes and purse as we squish
our way to the back of the store again. The floors will need
attention tomorrow morning before opening, I’m sure.

Yeah, that’s what you should focus on when
you’re leading a hot guy back to your windowless,
college-student-like digs. The floor. Idiot.

His phone dies completely when we’re in the
hall. I almost jump when his hand rests on my shoulder. “Which way
now, Katrina?”

I hesitate and turn left, toward my small
art studio. “I’ve got a blowtorch and a clicker to light it in
here.”

He chuckles softly behind me, pressing
closer as I lead him through the doorway. “Now that’s not something
you hear every day.”

His hand drops to my waist, the other hand
joining to land on my opposite hip, the position apparently easier
for him to follow me in the pitch black. Sparks fly at the contact,
despite the wet clothes making me feel like a half-drowned rat.

We bump our way to the workbench and I feel
around ’til I find the items I need, dropping my shoes and purse on
the flat surface in the process. I open the gas valve just a little
on the hand held tank and attempt to light it. After several shaky
clicks of the metal igniter a sharp-tipped flame sparks into
existence.

“Score!” Marcus says cheerfully from behind
me. “We have light.”

I reach for my shoes and motion toward my
purse. “Can you grab that and dig my keys out? There’s a lock on my
room, too.”

“Sure.”

We make it back through my workroom and into
the hall much faster with the added light from the blowtorch. He
digs around in my purse, spilling a couple of items out to the
floor.

“Whoops, sorry about that.” He hands me the
keys and then bends to retrieve whatever fell.

His soft laughter greets me as I slide the
key home. A grin a mile wide stretches his face as he holds up the
sex die—again.

“Looks like the universe is trying to tell
us something.”

Marcus

Katrina stands frozen in place. I’d only meant my
comment as an icebreaker, but it seems to have had the opposite
effect. At least she’s not looking at me in horror like she did in
the cab. Maybe after working together on the window she’s warming
to me.

“Hey, I’m kidding,” I say, trying to diffuse
her distress. “We just met. I’m not some creep you have to worry
about being stuck in a storm with.”

Katrina lets out a breath and steps through
the door. “Come on in. It’s not much, and it’s only temporary.”

I can’t see much past the circle of
illumination cast from the blowtorch. If she hadn’t said she lives
here, I might have thought it was a really nice break room for
employees. There’s a futon couch, a small table with two chairs,
and a neat counter area with a microwave, a sink, and a tiny fridge
underneath. There may be more to the space, but that’s all I can
make out so far.

My eyes have had a chance to adjust to the
light and I head to the counter with my dripping shirt and her
purse. She bustles around behind me while I set the purse aside and
wring out my shirt in the sink, leaving it draped on the edge when
I’m done. The hiss of the blowtorch cuts off and a faint glow
lights behind me.

I turn to see a round fat candle, with three
lit wicks, sitting on the small table in the corner. Katrina holds
another short candle in a glass container in one hand. “I’m going
to change. I’ll be right back.”

She enters a door in the back wall, which I
assume must be the bath. “Hey,” I call after her. “Can you bring me
out a towel when you’re done?”

“Yeah.”

I stand in place, shivering a little from
the wet jeans. Would she totally freak out if I take them off
before she returns? Probably, so I better wait.

What an odd way to spend a Friday night.
Tony got his payback and more, the bastard. As if a shy, reserved
woman wasn’t bad enough. She also has no direction in life and
lives illegally in her place of business. She’s good-looking
enough, but wrong for me in every sense of the word. I want someone
more like me. For conversation starters, you can’t beat chatting
with someone you share similar interests—so far of which, we have
none.

This one seems like she may have
issues
. Who wants to save someone from
themselves? Too much work. Not me. No thanks. I’d much prefer a
frivolous woman who likes to shop. Much easier to figure out. A
woman with a blowtorch and metal saws in the next room? Wouldn’t
want to piss her off.

Judgmental prick. Aren’t you the one who
always preaches that you’re not looking for anything serious with a
woman? What the hell do you care what her life is like?

Okay, that’s true. I do say shit along those
lines. But it doesn’t mean I’d turn down the perfect woman if she
came waltzing into my life either.

Perfect woman? They don’t exist. Get over
yourself.

I toe my shoes off and leave them by the
door, glad I don’t have wet socks to add to my sodden pile of
clothes. God, I can’t wait to get out of these jeans. I swear I
haven’t been this cold in years. At least with the power out the
building’s AC isn’t making it worse.

The door opens and she walks in shyly,
wearing tight exercise pants and a loose t-shirt, holding a fluffy
towel in one hand. Her short hair is spiked up like she rubbed it
vigorously with a towel. She looks less like a drowned street
urchin and more like a woman fresh from the shower.

“Do you mind if I hang my pants up in the
bathroom?” I ask. “They’re a mess.”

“No, go right ahead.” She hands me the towel
in passing. This all feels a little surreal. I’m literally going to
be down to my skivvies with a woman I just met
and
we’re not going to be getting busy. “There’s a
robe on the back of the door. You’re welcome to it if you don’t
mind pink.”

I smile. “I’m so cold, I’d wear pink satin
with hearts if it was dry and warm.”

I shut the door, thankful she left the small
candle, and strip out of the clinging material, leaving on my damp
boxers. They’re wet, but not as bad as the pants. Just a guess, but
going commando under her robe would probably not be well
received.

Thought you didn’t care?

There’s nothing wrong with showing a little
respect. She is letting me stay here until the storm passes.

I hang the jeans over her shower rod, the
die I pocketed earlier falling onto the floor. I scoop it up with a
smile and shove it into one of the pockets on the robe. After
toweling off I don Katrina’s pink fluffy robe. The sleeves are
short and the hem stops above my knee.

Uncaring if I look ridiculous or not, and
grateful to be dry again, I emerge from the bathroom with a
flourish of arms. “Ta-da! Dry and encased in this year’s biggest
fashion trend: pink chenille.”

Katrina laughs from her position by the
counter. She’s lit the blowtorch again, adjusted it way down, and
holds the wildly flickering flame under a glass measuring
container. “You look good. The robe is cute on you. Not many guys
could pull that off.”

Glad to see her in good spirits, I join her
by the sink. “Not many guys have the inflated self-confidence to
try.”

She smiles while moving the torch under the
glass slowly. “And you do? You didn’t strike me as the cocky,
arrogant type.”

I shrug. “Wait ’til you get to know me. I
put up a good front.”

Her eyes seek out mine in the candlelight.
“Meaning what?”

“Nothing.” Eager to change the topic I nod
toward her experiment. “You’re pretty industrious in a pinch. Good
idea for heating the water.”

“I like to think of it as indoor
camping.”

“Nice! All we need are marshmallows and we’d
be all set.”

“Why don’t you take a seat? I’ve got tea and
hot chocolate. No instant coffee, sorry. Which would you like?”

I move to the futon and take a seat,
conscious to pull the robe closed so I’m not flashing her. Boxers
can sometimes be more open than a guy might like. “Cocoa sounds
great. Perfect for chasing off the last of the chill.”

“That rain was pretty bad, eh? I’m really
lucky you were here to help.”

Her words warm me. How long has it been
since a woman felt lucky to have me around? Granted, I’ve never
actually had to pay for the pleasure of their company, but I’ve had
a bit of a dry spell lately with the fairer sex.

Could be because your standards are too high
and you’re a bit of a dick.

“All the thanks goes to Tony. I’m sorry to
say offering to escort you home hadn’t even occurred to me until he
suggested it.”

She nods, accepting my honesty at face value
and not making me regret it. Some women would use such an admission
as an excuse to beat you down and make you apologize. Like you get
no credit since the idea wasn’t yours even if the action was.

“They seem happy.” She reaches for two mugs
on a shelf over the sink. “What do you think?”

I’ve let go of the minor jealousy I’d
initially felt a few weeks ago, so I’m able to answer from the
heart. “They’re good together. I’m happy for them.”

Hearing something in my tone, Katrina turns
off the torch and says, “I take it that wasn’t always the
case?”

I stare at the candle flame, uncomfortable
admitting my immaturity. “He was my wingman. Hitting bars without
him isn’t as fun. It’s hard, losing your best friend to a
woman.”

She doesn’t respond, preparing the cocoa in
silence and then approaches with the steaming mugs. “Here.”

I accept mine gratefully, wrapping my hands
around the heated ceramic. She settles next to me and watches me
out of the corner of her eye. “I don’t really ‘get’ the whole bar
scene. Never have.”

“Bars are great. Lots of people. Good energy
for the most part. It’s not all about picking up women. Sometimes
it’s just about hanging out with friends.” I take a sip of the
sweet drink and smile. “Besides, it’s not like you’d have trouble
finding a guy.”

Interestingly enough, despite my previous
comments about how wrong she is for me, I mean it. She’s a pleasant
enough sort. And a guy would have to be blind to miss that killer
body—even if she does wear baggy stuff to hide it.

“Hmph… What difference does it make anyway?”
The forced intimacy of the candlelight and our circumstances
perhaps has made her bolder than she would normally be. “Guys just
aren’t for me.”

“Oh…” I say, a light going on inside. “Oh!
So you prefer women? Okay, that’s cool. To each their own and all
that.” I ignore the tiny bit inside that’s disappointed over her
announcement.

She chuckles softly and pulls her knees up
to her chest. “Ah… no… that didn’t work either.” She takes a sip of
her cocoa and then focuses on a spot on the floor.

Fascinating… that’s what she is. Throwing
out conversation bombs like that and then clamming up. She’s been
with men
and
woman. I wonder if she’s ever
been with both at once. I shift slightly in my seat, aware of the
blood rushing to my cock. I bet it’s all some ploy to get me
talking… and it’s working. I can’t see her as a long-term
relationship, but she could be a lot of fun. If I can get her to
relax.

I move on the couch, turning to get a better
look at her and something pokes me in the kidney. Digging into the
pocket I fish out the sex die.

“Maybe you needed to try something daring…”
I say while twirling the little bit of plastic in two fingers.

“Ah… no thanks,” she says, jumping to the
wrong conclusion with my vague statement. “I’ve had sex with
strangers. It’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”

“Really? That’s not what I meant. But I
didn’t take you for the type.”

The flickering flames cast shadows over her
oval face, the dark bangs hanging low over one eye. She appears
lost in thought—or memories she’d rather not discuss. I wonder what
drove her to wild behavior if she didn’t enjoy it.

“I meant rolling the dice and seeing what
position it lands on. Might make for a funny conversation.”

She ignores me and takes another drink.
Thunder booms loudly overhead, rumbling through the foundation of
the building. It’s a nice reminder I’m going to be here for a
while.

Still no response from the woman sipping hot
chocolate.

On a whim, I grab the large candle off the
table in the corner and set it on the low coffee table in front of
the futon. I fist the die in one hand and shake it vigorously,
trying to look silly. Nothing. I open my hand and the plastic
rattles across the wood, settling on a side with a couple locked in
an embrace.

I pick it up and angle it toward the candle
so I can discern the sexual position better. “Doggie-style. Good
one.”