Playing It Safe (11 page)

“Julia, he’s not Aiden,” she says carefully.

“I know he’s not Aiden,” I answer a little too defensively.

“Then what’s the problem? Why do you need anybody’s help or advice?” she asks.

“I don’t know. I … I’m afraid I’ll screw it up. I always screw it up.”

“No, you don’t,” Lisette says. “And if I catch you saying that about yourself again, I will personally kick your ass up and down Ocean Avenue.”

I choke back a laugh at the visual. Lisette may be mouthy and opinionated like me, but there is no way in hell she can take me.

“Don’t laugh,” she warns. “You’ve only seen pieces of my Cuban temper.” She pauses and then adds, “And stop feeling sorry for yourself—it doesn’t become you. So what if you saw Aiden the other day? He’s a jerk and doesn’t deserve to breathe the same air as you. Get over it. Don’t let him be the reason that you hold back on Alex, because that’s not fair to not only him, but to yourself too.”

“You think I don’t already know that, Lisette?” I ask. “Trust me, I do. And for the record, I’m not feeling sorry for myself.”

“Oh no? Are you sure about that? Because it sure sounds like you are.”

“Okay, okay,” I say through gritted teeth. “Maybe you’re a little right about the feeling sorry for myself bit.”

Lisette stands up and places both hands on my desk and narrows her eyes at me. “Julia, you don’t need help or advice. What you need is to let go and admit that you want Alex. That you want more than sex with him. Because until you do, you’re going be a miserable bitch. So do us all a favor, and pick up the phone and call him.”

“Gee, don’t hold back on my account,” I say sarcastically. Inside though, I know she’s right.

Her eyes dart over to the phone at my desk and then back to me. She raises an eyebrow as if to say, “I dare you.”

“Fine, I’ll call him, but you have to promise to help me plan this party. I need you around to be my buffer.”

“That’s not going to happen. I mean, I’ll help you, but you’re going to deal with him whether you like it or not.”

“Whatever,” I grumble, annoyed over this turn of events.

“Yeah, whatever,” she laughs while standing up and heading to the door. “And a hundred bucks says you’re going to like it. A lot. So start dialing.”

Once she’s out of sight and I’ve come to the inevitable conclusion that my plan has turned to shit, I stare at the phone as if it’s about to sprout wings and fly away at any moment.

“Don’t be such a chickenshit,” I mumble out loud to myself. Then I pick up the receiver and angrily start pressing buttons as if I have a personal vendetta against the phone.

Alex picks up on the second ring.

“Julia,” he says. His voice is deep and lush this early in the morning, and a shiver runs through me remembering his words from yesterday:
I’m going to make you come so many times, blah blah blah …

I’ve taken the liberty of just focusing on this piece of his threat because well, honestly, who the hell cares what else he said? It’s not important.

“Julia?” he asks.

“Yes?”

He laughs a delicious low rumble from his chest. Muted, but sexy as hell. “You called me. Is there something you wanted?” he asks.

The question is laced with possibilities. And for once, I’m not going to tuck my tail between my legs and run.

“Yes,” I say, trying to contain the smile threatening the corners of my mouth. “I was wondering if you wanted to get together or something.”

“Are you asking me out on a date, Julia?”

“It’s not a date … technically.”

It’s
soooo
a date.

“It’s not?” he asks, amused. “Then what would you call it?”

“Two friends who obviously are very attracted to each other and—”

“Obviously,” he interrupts. “Go on.”

“As I was saying … two friends who are very attracted to each other and would like to get to know each other better.”

“A date,” he says.

“It’s not a date, Alex.”

“When would you like this not a date but very much so a date to happen?” he asks playfully.

I like playful Alex. Too much. But I don’t want to let that show while on the phone. I’d rather play it cool, safe, and slow. It’s also a bit of a torture trip for both of us, which in the long run makes the chase that much more exciting. I mean, who doesn’t love a good slow burn? I know I do.

“How does tomorrow after work sound for our very much not a date?” I ask. “Fox’s? Say around six o’clock?”

He’s smiling when he answers. “It’s a date. Shall I pick you up at your office?”

“I’ll meet you there.”

“Of course you will because it’s not a date, right?” he asks. “Just two friends who are very attracted to each other and want to get to know each other better?”

“You’re catching on,” I answer.

“I’m a fast learner, Julia,” he says with a light chuckle. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

We say our good-byes, and as soon as I hang up I hear a slow clap coming from my office door. I turn my head to find Lisette leaning against the doorframe with a pleased-as-punch smile plastered across her face.

“Don’t gloat,” I say. “You shouldn’t be eavesdropping.”

“Oh, I’m not gloating. And you left the door wide open for anyone to hear you being all giddy like a schoolgirl on the phone with Alex, so that one’s totally on you.”

“Well go gloat somewhere else then,” I say. “I have work to do.”

She laughs. “Sure thing, boss. Question though—do you need me to be a ‘buffer’ at this not a date but really a date tomorrow night?”

I roll my eyes and swivel my seat to face my computer. “Very funny.”

I can still hear her laughing when she walks away. As my computer begins to power up, the smile I’ve been trying to keep under control breaks free. I did vow to myself that today was going to be better, and so far so good. Hopefully tomorrow it will be even better. At this rate, by the end of the week I may be singing “Zip-a-Dee-Fucking-Doo-Dah!”

W
hat was I thinking?

Me calling Alex for not really a date, when in fact it’s a real date? I must have had a momentary lapse of reason. That or someone slipped a Mickey in my coffee when I wasn’t looking that all of a sudden gave me a pair of really big balls.

I’m a fairly upfront, outgoing, and honest person. I tend to say whatever comes to mind. Sometimes that gets me in a little bit of trouble, but for the most part, it’s a good thing. Or at least that’s what I tell myself. Anyway, in all my years of being on the dating scene, I’ve never once asked anyone out on a date. I know it’s kind of a surprise to hear, but it’s true.

I’ve always been the one to be asked out on a date, not the other way around. I think because I’ve been programmed to believe that a woman should wait for a man to come to her. And that’s a great way of looking at it. Nothing wrong whatsoever with it. It’s laced with good intentions from both parties of the old-school romantic variety.

And maybe that’s one of my problems, along with the other issues that have been dusted up recently. I’m sitting here waiting around for some miracle of a man to step out of the shadows and sweep me off my Jimmy Choos instead of the other way around. Why can’t I be the pursuer for a change?

Oh, gee, that’s right. I almost forgot. It’s because it makes me feel like an idiot with a side of nervous wreck.

Like I do right now, for instance.

“Too late to turn back now,” I say out loud to myself as I turn into Fox’s. I canvass the parking lot and spot Alex’s cherry-red BMW already there. Dammit! There goes my idea of arriving before him and having home field advantage.

I’m blasted with cool air as soon as I enter the restaurant. Then it takes me a few seconds to get my bearings since I’m blanketed in near darkness. Even with the overpowering 1970s decor like red vinyl upholstered chairs and the heavily lacquered bar, the place has a sensual feel due to the scattered lit votive candles. The cozy bar has a few customers already, but not enough that I can’t spot Alex sitting at the corner waiting for me. A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth when he sees me. He stands up when I finally reach him, like a real gentleman and shit. He’s wearing a dark charcoal-gray suit with a black dress shirt and no tie, and it makes him look sexy as sin.

He brushes his lips innocently against my cheek and pulls out a barstool for me. “You’re late.”

“No I’m not. You’re early,” I say, trying to sound cool.

With a trace of anxiety still gnawing inside of me, I sit down beside him. He slides back onto his stool with the grace of a caged panther as the bartender approaches us. Without asking, he orders for me.

“What if I didn’t want to drink a glass of wine?” I ask.

He grins. “I’ve known you long enough to know that that’s what you would’ve ordered.”

“What if I wanted a martini instead?”

“Do you?” he asks with a full-on smile.

My face immediately betrays me without having to answer him. Don’t you hate when that happens? And now he can tell I had no interest in ordering a martini and he was one hundred percent right about the glass of wine. But the smugness in his eyes makes me do the ol’ cut your nose to spite your face thing. One of my most treasured habits but definitely not one of my best ones either.

“Yes, I’d like a martini,” I say.

Alex’s eyes roam over me for a second before he lifts up his hand and beckons me with his finger.

“Um, I’m right here. Why do I need to get any closer?” I ask.

“Kicking and screaming until the bitter end, huh?” he mumbles under his breath.

“What does that—”

“It means, Julia,” he says while smoothly leaning forward and bringing his mouth to my ear, “that you’re going to make this very difficult on me, aren’t you?”

Alex’s voice is so quiet, and his proximity rattles me. I take a gulp, and he chuckles. I think the bastard thinks he’s got me under his spell. I am, but he doesn’t need to be all cocky and self-assured about it. So what do I do? I decide to even the playing field a little. Because if not, I’ll be jumping on top of this bar and spreading my legs faster than I can say, “Kicking and screaming, my ass.”

“I think we need some ground rules,” I say.

He draws back, looking like what I said amused him. I reach for my wineglass, and he raises an eyebrow, acknowledging the fact that I’m drinking exactly what I said I didn’t want. So what if he was right? I’m not going to give him the satisfaction of admitting it out loud. I’m stubborn to the core and to the bitter end. So his depiction of kicking and screaming really isn’t that much of a stretch.

Alex gives a flash of his dimples before taking a long pull from his beer bottle. “What kind of ground rules?”

I turn in my seat to fully face him. “The kind where we know each other’s boundaries so that we don’t make each other uncomfortable.”

“You’re not making me uncomfortable. Am I making you uncomfortable, Julia?” he asks softly.

“Not exactly.”

He’s not, kind of. It’s more the memory of being in his arms and grinding against him the other day that’s throwing me for a loop.

“Okay, so name your ground rules.”

I tap my fingernail against the rim of my wineglass while thinking. “First things first. You stay in your dance space and I’ll stay in mine for the time being. Second, and more importantly, this isn’t a date.”

He laughs. “That’s it? Those are the ground rules?”

“For now, yes,” I say and take a sip of my wine. “But I reserve the right to add on if necessary.”

“Fine,” he replies with a grin.

“Great. Now that we’ve got that out of the way, we can concentrate on getting to know each other better.”

Alex puts down his beer bottle and leans back, looking more casual and comfortable than I do or feel. My fingers give an involuntary twitch while I watch him rake a hand through his hair because I’m dying to touch him somewhere, anywhere. I would even settle for a graze of his knee against mine. I’m that desperate and seriously questioning why I brought up these stupid ground rules to begin with when all I want is to mount him like a saddled horse.

“Go ahead and fire away then,” he says in a charming tone. “I’m at your complete mercy.”

“Seriously?” I ask a little apprehensively.

“You said you wanted to get to know me better, so yes, seriously, go ahead and ask anything you’d like. I’m an open book.”

“Okay.” I smile and pick up my wineglass. Leaning back in my chair, I try to mimic his relaxed and cool-as-a-cucumber demeanor, but I feel like it just makes me look like a grade-A jackass. So I cross my legs and let my foot dangle in between us to give off that “I haven’t a care in the world” look and say the first thing that comes to mind. “Marisa.”

He licks his lips quickly to stifle a smile before he says, “Going straight for the jugular, huh?”

“I try,” I answer. “Plus I already know the basics.”

Alex chuckles and asks, “Like what exactly?”

“Well, let’s see.” I pause to take a sip of my wine. “I know you’re in your early thirties. You’re obviously very close with your older sister and niece, who, by the way, I might just steal for myself. You own the art gallery. Although, I’m not quite sure how that came about. You obviously travel quite a bit as evident by all the pictures in your house. And last but not least, you like to work out.”

His eyes glint with humor at my assessment of his life in less than eighteen seconds.

“Seems like you’ve got me all figured out,” he says.

“For the most part,” I reply coyly. “Just need you to fill in the blanks.”

“I’m thirty-three. I’ll be thirty-four in January, and we can discuss what I’d like for you to give me as a gift another time.” He says that last part so seriously and with absolutely no room for interpretation but keeps right on talking. “I only have one sibling, whom you’ve met, and yes, we are very close. You’ll have to go through me to steal Josie, and I’d really like to see you try. As for the art gallery, I bought it because I love art. I always have.”

He takes a small pull from his beer and smiles fully as if remembering something before he goes on. “My mom might have something to do with that though. She’s quite the art history buff and for as long as I can remember has been passing on all her knowledge to me and my sister, who’s a bit of an artist herself. She used to take me to museums, galleries, anything and everything that had to do with art. So when it came time to go to college, I majored in business with a minor in art history. Did I ever think I’d own my own gallery? No. But when the opportunity presented itself, I took it. My dad was a little upset at first since he thought I’d be taking over his construction business. But that just wasn’t me, even though I’d been working for him every summer for as long as I can remember. And as for traveling, yes, I’ve traveled quite a bit and try to get away at least twice a year.”

“So your family is close?” I ask.

“Very. Yours?”

“Very. Are your parents still together?”

“Yes,” he answers, dimples and all. “Yours?”

“Yup. Although, my dad retired recently, and I think my mom may have plans to kill him soon, so that is subject to change at any moment.”

Alex tosses his head back and laughs. Watching him like this, relaxed and having a good time with no pressure of the sexual variety, makes me less nervous around him. Although, seeing him laugh like that kind of turns me on too, so I guess I’m screwed one way or the other.

“That brings us back to Marisa,” I say nonchalantly and add a flirtatious wink of my eye for emphasis. “Which by the way, nice trying to get me to forget about that one.”

“I wasn’t trying to evade your question about her,” he says while motioning the bartender to give us another round. “There simply isn’t that much to tell.”

“You said that you take her out as a favor to your parents. That alone is enough material to work with. Why don’t you start there?”

While his upper body is partially turned to pay the bartender, I notice an eyebrow quirking up and all traces of humor leaving his face before he turns back around to face me. But it’s too late. I already caught it and almost regret asking about Marisa now. Well, not really because I’m kind of nosy, but still.

“Like I said, there isn’t much to tell,” he answers with a forced look of impassivity about him. “Her family has known my family for a long time. She’s been having a rough time lately, so my parents have occasionally asked me as a favor to them to take her out and show her a good time sometimes. That’s all. There is nothing else going on, and she is not my—”

“Girlfriend,” I finish for him.

He nods in agreement and then brings the beer bottle to his mouth. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound so put off by your question.”

I wave a hand dismissively in the space between us. “No harm, no foul.”

“She’s really not so bad once you get to know her,” he says.

It’s killing me not to say anything in response to that. But somehow my big fat mouth stays shut and lets it slide … for now.

The rest of our date but not a date goes smoothly. Even though there is this underlying energy between us that is so palpable and you would have to be blind not to see it or sense it, it’s not making me as uncomfortable or anxious as before. So it would seem that my idea to get to know each other better was a success.

Before I know it, Alex is walking me to my car. His hands are in his pockets, and I steal a glance at him as I tuck a stray hair behind my ear, noticing the calmness in his eyes. When we reach my car, he holds the door open for me to climb in but doesn’t say a word. I guess I’m the one who’s going to have to say something since I’m the one who asked him to meet me here.

Sadie fucking Hawkins is an asshole, if you ask me. Women aren’t built for this shit. I don’t even know what I’m expecting to happen. I made it perfectly clear that there were to be boundaries from the get-go. So why the hell am I standing here wanting to kiss him so bad that if I don’t, I’m going to punch something or somebody? How do men do this? How can they stand the not knowing of whether or not they’ll be rejected? It makes me have newfound respect for the species.

Alex has one hand braced on my open car door and watches me as I toss my hobo bag across the seat to the passenger side. His lips curl up in a devilish smile that makes me want to break out in hives even more than a second ago. He’s enjoying himself watching me squirm. He knows I want to kiss, lick, and nip those delectable lips of his. And he’s not going to do a thing about it.

So guess what I do.

“Thanks so much for meeting me,” I expel in a rush of words. “I had a great time tonight.”

I thrust my hand out into the empty space between us. He looks momentarily confused and then chuckles when he puts his palm in mine. I give it a firm shake, trying to ignore the warmness sliding over me at merely touching his hand. Letting it go quickly, I slide into my car and pull the door closed just before I mumble a barely audible “good night” over my shoulder at him. Alex is still standing there when I turn back around to start my car. I know because I can
feel
him watching me, assessing me in all my absolute craziness and indecisiveness.

When my hands finally grip the steering wheel, I hear a light tap on the window. I look to my left to find Alex’s head tilted to the side with a grin from ear to ear. Then he lifts up his one hand and beckons me to him with an index finger just as he had earlier tonight while in the bar.

I open the car door, and as I’m stepping back out, he comes closer and traps me into the tiny space between my open door and the driver’s seat. Now there’s only but a sliver of space between us. He is all I can see, feel, smell, and desperately want.

Alex brings his hands up and cups my face, tilting it up toward him slowly.

“I’m in your dance space,” he says faintly.

“I see that. Are you going to ask me to dance?”

He lets out a small chuckle as his thumbs make featherlight circles against my cheeks. God, I love that. Just when I think he can’t get any better, he tops himself by being a freaking face holder.