It’s pathetic, that I even thought tonight was a date. I roll my eyes toward the ceiling. More like tonight was a “let’s go grab a beer thing because I feel sorry for my best friend’s little sister.” And of course I had to go and turn it into some kind of date.
Just like me. Making things too serious, too fast.
I scroll. Voicemail. Fine. I’ll listen. I’ll play along, Jake Warner.
Knock, knock, knock.
“Becca, it’s me!”
How funny—almost like he’s here. Of course he’s here.
“Becca, please open the door? I…I need to talk to you.”
I walk to my door. “Go away,” I yell. I press my phone to my ear to listen to Jake’s voicemail. I can’t hear a word Jake says in the message.
“I left you a voicemail. Did you get it?
“I got something.” I press play again and try to listen to whatever it is that Jake told me in the message on my phone.
“Please, Becca. I’m so sorry,” he calls through the door. “Would you let me try and explain?”
I close my eyes. Opening my front door to Jake goes completely against my better judgement. I can open the door and let Jake give me his sad puppy-dog eyes and woe-is-me story as to why he left “poor little Becca all alone at Galvenetti’s” or I can tell him to go away and never come back.
Shit. I wish I wasn’t here. Why didn’t I go meet Carmen and her friends at Paddy’s instead of going to Galvenetti’s? I shouldn’t have come straight home. I should’ve gone out and gotten completely shit-faced. I should’ve let Jake wonder where I was and what I was doing and…like he even cares.
“Please, Becca?” Jake says and taps the door again. “Please open the door.”
Maybe he does care? I press my forehead to the door between us.
“Give me one good reason why I should open this door.” This moment is like flipping a coin when you actually know what you want fate to serve up but you can’t admit what you want even to yourself. I’m actually rooting for Jake to say something that makes me feel like less of a boob about getting stood up and a pushover for opening the door.
“Because you deserve an apology for sitting alone at Galvenetti’s for an hour,” Jake says.
My fingers wrap around the door knob and I open the door a tiny crack. “Two hours,” I say. I’ve never heard Jake apologize for anything.
“And because Kennison told me he had a great time on your date tonight,” Jake says cracking wise at my expense.
That’s it! “Fuck you, Jake Warner.” I yank open the door and there he stands with a giant grin on his face. A forearm pressed up against the doorjamb above his head and his hip cocked to the side.
My breath rushes from my lungs.
“I…I…”
Fuck but Jake Warner is sex on a stick. Every. Single. Time. And he knows it too; he shoots me that wicked-as-fuck sexy-ass grin and my knees start to tremble, and my braless nipples harden under my tank top. His gaze drops a tiny bit and he shows more teeth with that smile—yeah, he can see my nipples getting hard.
Asshole.
I yank my fleece closed and cross my arms. “I had to endure that…that…beer-bellied bozo Keith Kennison all because of you.”
“God, Tiger, you’ve always been good with the words.”
Heat races up my spine with the word Tiger. I look into those bright blue eyes. They’re playful but also a little serious. Maybe even worried. Was he actually unsure as to whether I’d open the door?
I cock my hips to the side with this very important knowledge: Jake Warner is playing defense.
“Can I come in?” he asks, bringing his hand down from above his head. That pose—seeing him holding on to something above his head, a giant hunk of masculinity, just makes my toes curl.
Stay strong.
“No,” I say.
“No?” Jake’s eyebrow lifts in surprise at my response, as though he’s not used to women telling him no after he stands them up.
“No,” I say, cocking my head to the side. “You…you owe me an apology.”
“I do,” Jake says as he takes a step closer to me. “I absolutely do.”
I stand in the doorway with my arms crossed unwilling to budge an inch no matter how sexy Jake Warner is. He moves closer to me. Now we’re both in the doorway. His body skims mine and he leans forward and his chin—that damn chin with the little cleft in it—is just in front of me. His breath caresses my face. The heat of him skims my body.
I swallow.
“You need an apology, Tiger?” He whispers the word Tiger and my body reacts like he’s plugged me into an electrical socket. Jake saying Tiger is the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard. He’s close and hot and I’m dizzy with the scent of him and the feel of him and the nearness of him. I shake my head and wake myself from the physical swoon of being so near Jake.
“I…I deserve an apology,” I say with as much ferociousness that I can muster, and admittedly it isn’t very much because while my mind has tried to forget those handful of nights in Jake’s arms, my body sure hasn’t because I’m wet and ready. My heart thrums at a completely inappropriate level and I keep my arms crossed tight over my chest because my nipples are tighter than the lid of a three-year-old pickle jar.
He leans even closer. His lips graze my earlobe. My breath catches in my throat…I can’t breathe…I can’t think…I can’t… I close my eyes and his arm slips around my waist. And I am so swoony I release my arms and press a hand to his chest and his lips are on mine.
Holy Fuck. Jake’s lips are on mine. And while my brain is flashing a giant red neon sign WARNING WARNING WARNING and my inner voice screams all the reasons why this can’t happen and shouldn’t happen and how standing in the doorway of my condo kissing Jake Warner is the worst thing I can possibly do for a million and one reasons—I don’t fucking care.
I don’t.
His hand slides down my body and clasps my ass. He pulls me close. I hitch my leg around his waist and it’s a good fit. A fulfilling fit, because my clit rubs against his cock and I’m H-O-T. I press my fingers through his hair. He is a mountain of a man and I want to climb him like a tree.
Fuck It. I am all in!
He presses his mouth to mine and grasps me and pulls me closer. His hand snakes around my waist and his hot lips trail down my neck. He stops at my collar bone and presses his hand along my belly. His finger are up and under my tank top. Desire floods through me. How long since I’ve been touched like this? Too long, and no matter how hard I try to convince myself otherwise, there’s never been another man who made me feel as good as Jake.
He skims his hand over my belly and down past the waist of my pajamas. His fingers slide past the curls of my sex and just as he’s about to get to the good stuff and press the little button that will send me into hyperdrive, the little voice in the back of my head reminds me.
“Uh,” I pant out, “Jake?”
He continues to kiss my neck.
“Hmm, feels so good,” he mumbles as he pulls up my shirt.
Oh my God!
“Jake!” I pull his hair and yank his head away from my chest before he slides my really ready nipple into his hot, wet mouth.
“What is it, Tiger?”
“Uh, you were going to say something?”
He leans forward and his lips are on my neck again. “Mmmhmm, like how good you smell”—hot kiss—“how much I want you”—another hot kiss—“how sexy you are.”
Each one is a knock-out punch. One more and I’m down for the count. I duck and weave pulling my body away from this sex god. I yank down my shirt and straighten my hair, trying to right myself.
“No,” I say. “You were going to apologize for standing me up at Galvenetti’s.”
“I am apologizing,” he says and slides his hands around my waist.
“Uh, no you’re not,” I say and take a step back.
“What do you call this?” he asks.
“Seriously?” My eyebrows pull so tight that I can feel my unibrow forming. “I call this, you trying to get into my pants after you stood me up and did not apologize.”
Jake turns his head and takes a step back, “Uh, Becca, I came over here to apologize, I told you that.”
“Then do it,” I say and cross my arms.
“Do what?”
“Say it, say I’m sorry.”
“What do you think I’m doing?” he asks.
“I think we’ve already been over this. Why weren’t you there?” I ask. “You didn’t even say.”
Suddenly Jake’s cocky-ass grin falls from his face and he looks like he’s been caught. I know that look. I grew up with Jake and this look, the one I’m getting now, is the look Jake gives any teacher, parent, friend, colleague, ex-girlfriend, or booty call when he’s been asked a question that he doesn’t know how to answer. In fact, I’ve seen this very look given to me more than once before tonight.
“It was a woman, wasn’t it? You were out with another woman,” I say.
“Becca, it wasn’t like that,” Jake says.
“Then what was it like Jake?”
“I…I can’t—”
“You can’t tell me or you won’t?” I am so stupid. How many times will I fall for Jake’s games before I figure out that this is simply not what I can have in my life. Obviously more times than I thought.
Jake sighs and shakes his head. “It wasn’t like that, Becca. I wasn’t out on a date and I didn’t forget about you.” Jake sighs and shoves his hands into his back pockets. “I had to help a friend.”
“Then tell me how you helped your friend,” I say, knowing that while I may sound like a be-yotch, I have been burned by Jake before.
“I can’t, Becca,” he says and his shoulders droop. “I just can’t.”
My nostrils flare. I’m pissed. Not just at Jake, but at myself too. “Then I can’t either,” I say and I slam my front door.
Just like me. Making things too serious, too fast.
I scroll. Voicemail. Fine. I’ll listen. I’ll play along, Jake Warner.
Knock, knock, knock.
“Becca, it’s me!”
How funny—almost like he’s here. Of course he’s here.
“Becca, please open the door? I…I need to talk to you.”
I walk to my door. “Go away,” I yell. I press my phone to my ear to listen to Jake’s voicemail. I can’t hear a word Jake says in the message.
“I left you a voicemail. Did you get it?
“I got something.” I press play again and try to listen to whatever it is that Jake told me in the message on my phone.
“Please, Becca. I’m so sorry,” he calls through the door. “Would you let me try and explain?”
I close my eyes. Opening my front door to Jake goes completely against my better judgement. I can open the door and let Jake give me his sad puppy-dog eyes and woe-is-me story as to why he left “poor little Becca all alone at Galvenetti’s” or I can tell him to go away and never come back.
Shit. I wish I wasn’t here. Why didn’t I go meet Carmen and her friends at Paddy’s instead of going to Galvenetti’s? I shouldn’t have come straight home. I should’ve gone out and gotten completely shit-faced. I should’ve let Jake wonder where I was and what I was doing and…like he even cares.
“Please, Becca?” Jake says and taps the door again. “Please open the door.”
Maybe he does care? I press my forehead to the door between us.
“Give me one good reason why I should open this door.” This moment is like flipping a coin when you actually know what you want fate to serve up but you can’t admit what you want even to yourself. I’m actually rooting for Jake to say something that makes me feel like less of a boob about getting stood up and a pushover for opening the door.
“Because you deserve an apology for sitting alone at Galvenetti’s for an hour,” Jake says.
My fingers wrap around the door knob and I open the door a tiny crack. “Two hours,” I say. I’ve never heard Jake apologize for anything.
“And because Kennison told me he had a great time on your date tonight,” Jake says cracking wise at my expense.
That’s it! “Fuck you, Jake Warner.” I yank open the door and there he stands with a giant grin on his face. A forearm pressed up against the doorjamb above his head and his hip cocked to the side.
My breath rushes from my lungs.
“I…I…”
Fuck but Jake Warner is sex on a stick. Every. Single. Time. And he knows it too; he shoots me that wicked-as-fuck sexy-ass grin and my knees start to tremble, and my braless nipples harden under my tank top. His gaze drops a tiny bit and he shows more teeth with that smile—yeah, he can see my nipples getting hard.
Asshole.
I yank my fleece closed and cross my arms. “I had to endure that…that…beer-bellied bozo Keith Kennison all because of you.”
“God, Tiger, you’ve always been good with the words.”
Heat races up my spine with the word Tiger. I look into those bright blue eyes. They’re playful but also a little serious. Maybe even worried. Was he actually unsure as to whether I’d open the door?
I cock my hips to the side with this very important knowledge: Jake Warner is playing defense.
“Can I come in?” he asks, bringing his hand down from above his head. That pose—seeing him holding on to something above his head, a giant hunk of masculinity, just makes my toes curl.
Stay strong.
“No,” I say.
“No?” Jake’s eyebrow lifts in surprise at my response, as though he’s not used to women telling him no after he stands them up.
“No,” I say, cocking my head to the side. “You…you owe me an apology.”
“I do,” Jake says as he takes a step closer to me. “I absolutely do.”
I stand in the doorway with my arms crossed unwilling to budge an inch no matter how sexy Jake Warner is. He moves closer to me. Now we’re both in the doorway. His body skims mine and he leans forward and his chin—that damn chin with the little cleft in it—is just in front of me. His breath caresses my face. The heat of him skims my body.
I swallow.
“You need an apology, Tiger?” He whispers the word Tiger and my body reacts like he’s plugged me into an electrical socket. Jake saying Tiger is the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard. He’s close and hot and I’m dizzy with the scent of him and the feel of him and the nearness of him. I shake my head and wake myself from the physical swoon of being so near Jake.
“I…I deserve an apology,” I say with as much ferociousness that I can muster, and admittedly it isn’t very much because while my mind has tried to forget those handful of nights in Jake’s arms, my body sure hasn’t because I’m wet and ready. My heart thrums at a completely inappropriate level and I keep my arms crossed tight over my chest because my nipples are tighter than the lid of a three-year-old pickle jar.
He leans even closer. His lips graze my earlobe. My breath catches in my throat…I can’t breathe…I can’t think…I can’t… I close my eyes and his arm slips around my waist. And I am so swoony I release my arms and press a hand to his chest and his lips are on mine.
Holy Fuck. Jake’s lips are on mine. And while my brain is flashing a giant red neon sign WARNING WARNING WARNING and my inner voice screams all the reasons why this can’t happen and shouldn’t happen and how standing in the doorway of my condo kissing Jake Warner is the worst thing I can possibly do for a million and one reasons—I don’t fucking care.
I don’t.
His hand slides down my body and clasps my ass. He pulls me close. I hitch my leg around his waist and it’s a good fit. A fulfilling fit, because my clit rubs against his cock and I’m H-O-T. I press my fingers through his hair. He is a mountain of a man and I want to climb him like a tree.
Fuck It. I am all in!
He presses his mouth to mine and grasps me and pulls me closer. His hand snakes around my waist and his hot lips trail down my neck. He stops at my collar bone and presses his hand along my belly. His finger are up and under my tank top. Desire floods through me. How long since I’ve been touched like this? Too long, and no matter how hard I try to convince myself otherwise, there’s never been another man who made me feel as good as Jake.
He skims his hand over my belly and down past the waist of my pajamas. His fingers slide past the curls of my sex and just as he’s about to get to the good stuff and press the little button that will send me into hyperdrive, the little voice in the back of my head reminds me.
“Uh,” I pant out, “Jake?”
He continues to kiss my neck.
“Hmm, feels so good,” he mumbles as he pulls up my shirt.
Oh my God!
“Jake!” I pull his hair and yank his head away from my chest before he slides my really ready nipple into his hot, wet mouth.
“What is it, Tiger?”
“Uh, you were going to say something?”
He leans forward and his lips are on my neck again. “Mmmhmm, like how good you smell”—hot kiss—“how much I want you”—another hot kiss—“how sexy you are.”
Each one is a knock-out punch. One more and I’m down for the count. I duck and weave pulling my body away from this sex god. I yank down my shirt and straighten my hair, trying to right myself.
“No,” I say. “You were going to apologize for standing me up at Galvenetti’s.”
“I am apologizing,” he says and slides his hands around my waist.
“Uh, no you’re not,” I say and take a step back.
“What do you call this?” he asks.
“Seriously?” My eyebrows pull so tight that I can feel my unibrow forming. “I call this, you trying to get into my pants after you stood me up and did not apologize.”
Jake turns his head and takes a step back, “Uh, Becca, I came over here to apologize, I told you that.”
“Then do it,” I say and cross my arms.
“Do what?”
“Say it, say I’m sorry.”
“What do you think I’m doing?” he asks.
“I think we’ve already been over this. Why weren’t you there?” I ask. “You didn’t even say.”
Suddenly Jake’s cocky-ass grin falls from his face and he looks like he’s been caught. I know that look. I grew up with Jake and this look, the one I’m getting now, is the look Jake gives any teacher, parent, friend, colleague, ex-girlfriend, or booty call when he’s been asked a question that he doesn’t know how to answer. In fact, I’ve seen this very look given to me more than once before tonight.
“It was a woman, wasn’t it? You were out with another woman,” I say.
“Becca, it wasn’t like that,” Jake says.
“Then what was it like Jake?”
“I…I can’t—”
“You can’t tell me or you won’t?” I am so stupid. How many times will I fall for Jake’s games before I figure out that this is simply not what I can have in my life. Obviously more times than I thought.
Jake sighs and shakes his head. “It wasn’t like that, Becca. I wasn’t out on a date and I didn’t forget about you.” Jake sighs and shoves his hands into his back pockets. “I had to help a friend.”
“Then tell me how you helped your friend,” I say, knowing that while I may sound like a be-yotch, I have been burned by Jake before.
“I can’t, Becca,” he says and his shoulders droop. “I just can’t.”
My nostrils flare. I’m pissed. Not just at Jake, but at myself too. “Then I can’t either,” I say and I slam my front door.
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