So. Long.: Bad Boy Next Door (9 page)

He opens his door again. “Come on in. I’ll throw on some
jeans and take you for something to eat, since my dog had your dinner—
again
.”

I stay rooted to my spot.

Do I go? Should I? What about keeping my distance?

He stops a few feet in and turns back. “You coming in?”

I hesitate at the threshold. “It’s not a date?”

“Do you
want
it to be a date? It could be a date if
you want it to. I’m not opposed to that.”

I chew the inside of my bottom lip.

He’s not
opposed
?

“I doubt you’re opposed to anything that might get you a
piece of ass.” I sound less than sure, even to myself.

His brows rise. “Okay then. Not a date. Just me taking you
out to get a bite to eat—nothing more.”

My stomach squeezes. “Yup.
Nothing
more.”

“I’m gonna go change. Make yourself at home. I’ll be right
back.”

I come inside as Adam heads toward his bedroom.

The last time I was in this house, Adam held me like I meant
something to him, then the next morning, he told someone that a pussy is a
pussy, referring to mine. The memory of the shame that ran through me in that
moment shores up my determination to keep him at arm’s length, though part of
me would love to wrap that arm around him instead.

No. I’m a grown woman. I can have dinner and conversation
with a good looking guy—a
well-built
guy, at least—and I can do those
things without tripping into infatuation or love or whatever.

I sit on the recliner to wait.

Well, Adam’s definitely not an interior designer.

A bump at the side of the chair alerts me to Spike’s
presence. Belly on the carpet, he crawls around from behind me, along the side
of my seat. When he gets to the front corner, he looks up at me, puppy-dog eyes
in full effect.

I whisper, “What do you want, thief?”

He lets out a low whine and claws his way around to the
front of the recliner. His gaze never leaves me as he pushes forward and nudges
the side of my leg with his cold nose. His tongue darts out and he licks my
ankle.

I let out a sigh. “You’re a mess, you know that?”

He lays his head on his front paws, still watching me,
issuing another little whimper.

“That’s his way of apologizing for being a butt-head.” Adam
walks into the living room, pulling a black t-shirt over his head and covering
the parts I like to look at the most.

Probably for the best.

“Oh? That’s an
apology
?” I run my fingers over
Spike’s velvet ears, letting him know he’s forgiven. “Well, I guess that’s more
than I ever get from my little terrorist. Chloe just assumes I’ll love her no
matter how rotten she is.”

“The difference between dogs and cats. That’s why I chose a
dog.”

“Well, I happen to love cats. Thank you very much.”

He grabs his keys from the hook screwed into the wall next
to the door. “Well, I do love some pussy.”

I throw my hands up. “Oh, forget it. I’m having a rotten
day. I’ll go home and gnaw on a granola bar.”

“I changed clothes and everything. I’m taking you out.” He ushers
me into the car.

Adam turns up the air conditioner to cool things off.

He adjusts the vents. “Is this all right? Not too cold on
you?”

“Too cold? Oh, the air? No. This is fine. Thanks for
asking.”

He brushes the back of my hand with his knuckle. “I’ll
always ask.”

That’s the second time he’s done that.

I turn toward the window to hide. Adam’s ability to touch my
heart with the smallest gestures may end up being my undoing. My nose twitches
as the sting of tears pricks behind my eyes. I sniff and shake it off.

Just because Matt’s a selfish ass, it doesn’t mean all guys
are. Obviously, Adam isn’t.

After a couple of minutes of silence, Adam grips the wheel
tightly. “So. Your date? Wanna talk about it?”

“No.” I rub the sudden ache in the middle of my forehead.
“Actually,
yes
. What the hell is wrong with people? Why do they have
this inherent need to lie?”

“Lie?”

“Yes. Lie. Like your telling me you don’t like blow-jobs. Or
the douche I met this evening who turned out to be the exact opposite of the
way he described himself on his profile.”

Adam glances at me and adjusts himself as best he can while
sitting behind the wheel.

I let out a sigh. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have said
blow-job
.
It set off your—your
problem
, didn’t it?”

“Beautiful Girl, that didn’t set anything off. I see you, I
hear you, I think about you, and I get a woody. It’s just how it is. How it
always probably will be.”

I massage my temples, my headache growing. “Don’t call me
that.”

“What? Call you beautiful?”

“Don’t blow smoke up my ass. I’m a realist. I see myself in
the mirror every day.”

Adam whips over two lanes of traffic, cutting off at least
two cars, and comes to a halt at the side of the road.

“What are you doing?” I let go of my death grip on the
oh-shit handle.

“
I’ll
decide what and who I find beautiful. How about
that? And the very fact that you
don’t
know how beautiful you really are
is a failing on the part of the guy or guys you’ve wasted your time on up to
now.”

I want to reply, but the words dangle from my teeth and
cling to my taste buds, refusing to leave my mouth. I snap my jaw shut and bite
my lips into a tight line.

Adam reaches for my hand, but I draw it back.

Just keep this light. A dinner between two hungry people—not
even real friends.

He moves back into the flow of traffic. “You don’t want me
to touch you? Why?”

“No. I don’t want you to touch me. I want to find a good
man, get married, write lots of smutty romances, and have more babies—and you
don’t want any of that. So. There, Lothario, how you like them bananas?”

The light of the setting sun shines through his hazel eyes,
giving them an otherworldly glow. He stares at me, smoothing his beard down over
and over, as though deep in thought.

Finally, I can’t take it anymore. “What is it with all that
facial hair
anyway
? I can’t even see your face. You’ve seen my most
secret parts, and I don’t even know what you freaking look like.”

He grins and waggles his eyebrows. “I
have
seen your
secret parts, haven’t I?”

My pussy twitches. I ignore it. “Yes, and I shave them…why
don’t you try that on your face?”

In lieu of an answer he whips into the parking lot.

When we take our seats across from each other in the most
secluded booth in the corner of the pizza place, the hostess hands us the menus
and assures us that our waiter will be right with us.

Great. It would be the only available table.

Adam props his forearms on the edge of the table and leans
forward. “So, what’s wrong with my beard?”

My head snaps up.

He stares at me, as though the meaning of the universe is
going to fall from my lips.

I swallow hard. Is it going to hurt his feelings? Does it
matter if it does?

I give him a half-shrug. “I can’t see your face. And I keep
wondering what lives in that thing, what kind of germs and little critters must
take up residence there.”

He sits back in his seat, casually nodding. “I see.”

“Look, I’m sorry. Beards have never been my thing. Like I
said, I don’t even know what you look like. I just don’t get it. Do guys think
it makes them manlier if they have a face full of hair? Is it supposed to be
another way to compensate for a small dick? Because you have zero need to
compensate for anything—seriously. And honestly, it kinda grosses me out.”

He leans in again, whispering, “It didn’t bother you when it
was between your thighs.”

My cheeks heat, but I brazen it out. “Touché. But I wasn’t
really thinking about your beard at that point.”

“What
were
you thinking about?”

“Oh, you know…the laundry, the chipped paint on my nails, my
next gynecological visit…” A grin sneaks up on me before I can stop it.

He grabs his chest. “Ouch!”

“You’ll have to find someone else to feed your enormous ego.”

“But it’s hungry.” He pokes his bottom lip out in a pout.

“My back is permanently bent from shoveling shit into a
man’s ego reservoir.”

“You’re ex?”

I nod. “I’m done with that crap.

After we finish our pizza, I wipe the corners of my mouth
and drop my napkin onto my plate. “That was good. Probably better than my
burger.”

“And the super cheesy fries?”

“No. Never better than my super cheesy fries. Those are
delicious. My. Favorite. Food. Ever.”

“Want to know what
my
favorite snack is?” His eyes
gleam with mischief.  “As a matter of fact, I think I’d like to have some for
dessert tonight.”

My pussy heats and throbs. “I’m sure I could guess. But I
won’t bother. We’re strictly neighbors, remember?”

“I remember. What difference does that make? We
are
talking about food here, right?” He lifts on eyebrow. “At least
I
was.
You, on the other hand—I get the feeling you’re thinking about something else
entirely.”

I’m going to have to spell it out for him. “You know, sex
between us is off the table.”

He glances down. “So the floor then? Or maybe a sofa?”

“Kitchen counter—”

“So there’s a chance?”

Not on my life, buddy. “About as much as a snowflake surviving
a frying pan.”

Adam grabs my edge of the table and swings out of his side
of the booth and around into mine.

He comes close so his breath warms my ear. “All evening, all
I’ve been able to think about is your mouth.”

“My mouth?” I reach up to touch my lips. “Is there something
on it?”

“Not yet.” He tips my chin up and lays his mouth over mine.

It’s warm and firm and just as I remember it. He nibbles the
edge of my lower lip. I snatch a breath, and he moves in closer, his leg
pressing mine under the table, his tongue teasing the seam of my mouth, seeking
entry.

The feel of his tongue sends heat to my pussy and makes me
want to melt into him. To let him in and taste him. To allow myself some
pleasure in life beyond what’s good for me. Adam’s definitely not good for me.

He slides his hand up to cup my jaw and pulls back to look
at me. “Not going to kiss me back?”

My body sinks into my seat, suddenly weighing me down as my
shoulders slump. “I want to. I do. But I’d better not.”

His thumb glides across my cheek. “Why?”

“This isn’t supposed to be a date, remember?”

“So? Do we have to be on a date for me to kiss you?”

God, why does this have to be so difficult?

I slide my hands to his chest and put just a little pressure
on his pecs. He leans back, but his attention doesn’t waver.

I lick my lips. “I think we should just keep things strictly
friendly. We’re on two different playing fields. I can’t do casual. And from
the bit of conversation I overheard the other day, I get the impression that
you
only
do casual.”