The Do It List (The Do It List #1) (9 page)

 
“We’re eating at Noodles on 19th after class if you’d like to join.”

“I have an inbox full of…” He cleared the husky arousal from his voice. “I have a good bit of email I should take a look at.”

I nodded. Sure, what gorgeous single man wouldn’t want to hang out with me and my eight-year-old niece at a noodle shop on a Wednesday night? My grin fell a little flat. “Maybe another time.”

Rising up to his full six feet two inches, he looked at me like a sex starved Paleo-man.
 

I feel you, Bradley.
 

I still tingled from his tongue play with my piercing. We were both fighting a bad case of horny-edgy.

He opened the conference room door and half walked, half ran me toward reception. I had to stretch out my strides to keep up with him.

 
“Listen, I’m sorry about challenging your research—”

He took hold of my arm and swept me into an empty office. Riveted by his intense blue gaze, he backed me against the wall.

 
“I want you to be difficult, provocative, questioning—put me through hell—whatever tests you need to do.” Weaving his fingers into my hair, he tugged me close. “Just know that I’m not going away, Gracie, so get used to it.”

I expected a harsh passionate kiss, but he did not take me greedily. His lips brushed mine in a grazing caress. He cradled my head in his palm and licked along the sensitive curve of my upper lip in a slow, possessive assault that included soft nips and sensuous tongue play.

When he finally broke off the kiss, my knees trembled and I gasped for air. The man literally took my breath away.

He eased back and guided me back out the door. We split up at the elevators. “Have a pleasant evening. Say hello to Hannah.”

SHAUN G BARKED out the first eight counts of the dance moves. “Once again, push back—one, two. Pull up and snap out—three, four.”

 
Easily the most sought-after instructor at Chelsea Hip Hop, Shaun had returned from European tour a specimen of fitness with every visible muscle cut. Those high-set cheekbones and liquid-black eyes made him extra drool worthy. Ask any female in his class.

Shaun rocked his hot body and we girls snapped out and rolled down low for the man.
 

“Gimme that ass shakin’ thing. Wobble right—and left.” Shaun counted. “Drop five, six—take it to the floor—seven, eight.”
 

I spotted Bradley in the middle of the second eight count. He sat on a bench in the gallery next to Hannah, whose little hands waved excitedly as she talked.

Shaun pulled his body forward and we all followed. “Up for two—rock it low—three, four…”

 
The sexy-sensuous Usher tune Good Kisser filled the room and we practiced the new moves at tempo.
 

Bradley wore black sweats, a gray tee and hoodie. The words Fight Klub UK ran up one of the arms. He looked younger and athletic, more of a jock. I’d never seen him out of a suit and the effect was stunning. Damp, ruffled hair and some beard stubble enhanced his casual hotness.
 

A shower of tingles ripped through the girly-parts. The same magnetic force I’d experienced in the elevator last night and the conference room this afternoon. The one that wouldn’t let go of me.

And he appeared to be watching my groove with considerable interest. The mere memory of his nipple hardening under my tongue, and his ‘gimme more, baby’ groan made me dip a little lower. I wobbled side to side, rocking the move for the gorgeous sexy man who couldn’t take his eyes off me.

After class I met Bradley and Hannah outside Chelsea Studios. He slung his gym bag over his shoulder and reached for mine. “You take Hannah’s.” Bags situated, we crossed Twenty-Sixth Street, and headed for the noodle shop.

“How did you find us?”

Bradley grinned. “I ran into Sarah at the gym. She helped with directions.”

I nodded. “You belong to the Fitness Center at the pier. It’s such a great gym. Not sure why I don’t join.”

“They have barre classes and antigravity yoga.” Hannah held onto both our hands and Bradley, bless his heart, seemed perfectly fine with it. “And Gymjitsu for kids.”

“I know, baby.” I gave her hand a squeeze. My smile moved from Hannah to Bradley. “What happened to all that correspondence needing your attention?”

“I was too keyed up to answer email.” He shot me a heated all-your-fault glance. “I thought about you in dance class. Then I thought about the running track at the gym.”

I nodded to the shop across the street.

Bradley grinned. “Noodles on Nineteenth turns out to be located on Twenty-Third Street.”

 
The waiter brought water and chopsticks.

 
“Glad I got directions to Chelsea Studios. I would have never found this place.” He perused the menu.

I stared across the table. “No, you would have asked. American men never ask directions—but you’re part Brit. Please tell me your British genes take over when lost.”

“According to a study by British car insurance company Sheila’s Wheels, the average male drives an extra 276 miles every year as a result of being lost—compared to 256 miles for women.” The curl of his mouth was cute. “Sorry to disappoint.”

I blinked. “Do you have like—a photographic memory for obscure data or are you just a handsome geek who loves trivia?”

“So, you think I’m handsome.”

My eyes narrowed. “You know you are.”

“The fact that you think so means a lot.” He genuinely appeared flattered. “Gives me hope.”

 
This disarming unpretentious side of Bradley, mixed with his aggressive sexuality and good looks made him an irresistible package.

We connected over the tops of our menus. “Oh, you have reason to hope, Bradley.”

Hannah exhaled an impatient sigh and flagged down the waiter. She ordered her usual—a half order of potstickers, cup of ramen, kid-size fruit slushie.

“The pork buns are hands down the best pork buns in NY—TDF.” Bradley read the menu’s review quote and looked up.
 

“TDF—to die for.” I translated. “New Yorkers know their Asian Fusion.”

“We could share the buns, and a ginger garlic ramen with…” he searched the menu,“…shrimp?”

 
I nodded, adding an iced green tea. Bradley washed his noodles down with a Kirin.
 

“So—you both have dance class on Wednesday nights?”
 

He effortlessly included Hannah in the conversation, which made for a relaxing pleasant dinner. My niece could be testy and trying, and I wasn’t used to dating a man with parenting skills.

“The school van takes me to Hip Hoppers at four. Aunt Gracie arrives during my class.” Hannah slurped up a long noodle. “I do my homework while she takes her class—which I didn’t finish because you came and sat with me.”

I squinted. “You can finish when we get home.”
 

“I don’t have to if I don’t want to.” Hannah squinted back. “I used up my last energy this afternoon when Mrs. Caparelli asked me to sit quietly and wait for the bell.”

“Hannah has five energies per day,” I explained. “Every time she’s asked to do something she really doesn’t want to do, she uses up an energy, and when all five are gone…” I shrugged, adding a thin-lipped grin.

“After five, I don’t have to do anything I don’t want to do.” She smiled up at Bradley who remained calm, just a slight lift of an eyebrow, barely noticeable.

“The deal you made with your father excluded homework.” I reminded her, which promptly sent Hannah off in a huff to explore the ladies’ room.

Bradley kept his eye on the restroom door like a protective father. He obviously missed his daughter and I couldn’t resist prying.

“What’s going on with you and Liv—I’m guessing custody issues?” I gazed into liquid blue eyes, more vulnerable than I had ever seen them.

Finally, he nodded.

“I’m listening.”

“About a year ago, I had an important dinner engagement. I hired a sitter who turned out to be completely irresponsible—left the flat without calling me. Liv had a nightmare and woke up.”

“No one was there.”

He nodded. “By the time I returned home, Claire was packing Liv’s things. It didn’t help matters that I had a date with me. So…” He picked at the label on his beer bottle. “I’m being punished.”

“I understand you miss Liv, but what I don’t get is why the move to New York?”

“Several months ago Claire was transferred to Washington D. C. She works in International Law. New York was as close as I could get on short notice.” Bradley appeared disgruntled, and his Brit was out. “Claire and I met at U of Penn. She’s wanted to move back to the States for some time now.”

He downed a last swallow of ale. “Just as I was shutting up the flat, she called to say that her firm had asked her stay on in London.

“For how long?”

“Another two months.” He sighed a deep, raspy, masculine sigh. “She and Liv are going to make the move in December during holiday break.”

Hannah climbed back onto her chair spouting a flurry of questions. “Liv is moving here? When can I call her?”

“Let’s set the app on your phone so that you will know when you can call her.”

 
Completely enthralled, Hannah leaned over the table as Bradley added London time to her world clocks.

 
“Right, now you’ve got London, New York, and Los Angeles.”

Hannah counted, “It’s five hours difference.”

“London is five hours ahead of us, and Los Angeles is three hours behind us.” I smiled at my niece who could not have been more delighted with the new addition to her clock app.

Hannah looked momentarily confused, and then nodded vehemently, adding a dash of irritation. “I get it—okay? London’s later and LA is earlier.” Cupping her chin, she looked up at Bradley and exhaled loudly. “Grandma Gwen and Great Grandma Nona live in Los Angeles.”

Bradley checked in with me. “Which would make them your mother and—”

“Grandmother.”

Now it was Bradley’s turn to be curious. “And your father?”

“My father practices in Torrey Pines, UCSD Medical Center near San Diego. He’s a surgeon. We don’t see much of him anymore, not since he remarried.”

Hannah released her slushie straw. “Grandma Gwen used to be a movie star.”

Bradley’s gaze moved from Hannah to me.

My eyes flicked upward. “Gwen Taylor. Late seventies, early eighties blaxploitation film goddess.”

 
Bradley shook his head, unable make a connection.

 
“Cult action films starring black actors. Don’t feel bad,” I sighed. “This all went down before we were born.”

He straightened. “Shaft?”

“Probably the most well-known of all the films.” I grinned. “Mom has a small, but juicy role—her words—in a new Quentin Tarantino film. There’s a premier and party in L.A. Wanna be my date?”

Bradley nodded. “Hell, yeah.” The American drawl was back.

I dug for my phone and checked my calendar. “October Nineteenth, the premier is Saturday night. I was planning to leave Thursday after work, take the red eye. Make it a long weekend. Fly home Sunday afternoon.”

I had just asked him on a weekend date and we hadn’t even done it yet. As if he could read my thoughts, he reached across the table and removed the phone from my hand.

 
“I’ve been meaning to ask for this, but you’re such a distraction…” He synced phones.

I frowned.

He snorted a laugh. “Phone numbers and the weekend calendar date—nothing else.”

 
During the cab ride home, Bradley asked for clarification about Hannah’s five energies. “So…if I told you to jump into an icy cold river you wouldn’t have to do it.”

“Correct.” Hannah nodded for emphasis.

“And what if Aunt Gracie fell into the East River tonight—you wouldn’t dive in to rescue her?”

Hannah had to think about that one. “No life preservers?”

Bradley shook his head. “No, I’m afraid not.”

“Can I call 911?”

“By the time first responders get there Gracie will be an ice cube, bobbing up and down…” His eyes glittered in the dark, alive with humor.

Hannah folded her arms across her chest and contemplated his riddle for the rest of ride home.

In front of the brownstone, Bradley opened the door and she scrambled over his knees.
 

 
“Wait on the stairs,” I called after her.

She hadn’t quite made the first riser before she turned around and stuck her head back in the cab. “I wouldn’t have to rescue Aunt Gracie out of the river,” she announced brightly, “because you would, Bradley.”

He grinned. “You got me, Hannah.”
 

Wearing a smug smile she plopped herself down on a step. “Hurry up and kiss face. I have to finish my spelling book sentences.”

Sometime after midnight I settled into bed and turned on the news. As I clicked through two hundred and fifty-something channels I received a text alert.
 

The bubble read:
I like your dance moves.

My wutang or wobble?
I pushed send and returned to channel surfing.
 

Text alert:
Makes me want to take u somewhere n get hot n sweaty.

I tapped out:
Dance club? Two strangers rub up against each other in the dark.

His answer made me smile:
Put that one on the list.

Night, Bradley.

Night, Gracie.

FRIDAY GOT OFF to a weird start. As worker bees piled into the elevator, I ended up standing next to Derek, who stared at me but didn’t say much. And things got uncomfortably tight, triggering some hyperventilation. At one time, Derek Moubin in such close proximity would have had a stimulating effect on me.
 

It was as if my body and brain had switched off Derek, and turned on Bradley. I wondered if that made me fickle. To avoid eye contact, I checked the definition on my dictionary app: fickle | adjective | changing frequently, esp. as regards one’s loyalties, interests, or affection.