Vampires and Sexy Romance (82 page)

“Gus knows his potted plants.”  She looked me over, her arms crossed over her substantial chest.  “He must really like you.” 

“Huh?” 

“I mean, he told me not to even charge you.  That’s not like my brother.  So who are you?”

I laughed at the way she said it ... had she no idea about her own brother? 

“He’s just taking pity on me.  I’m hopeless when it comes to plants.”

“Ah-huh ...”  she sounded unconvinced.  But I didn’t care.  I was just happy Ozzie and Harriet were thriving.

I took my plants and she followed me out to the front of the store.  I turned before I got to the front door.  “So will he be back later today?  I just want to thank him.”

Gina still had that impassive look on her face.  “I’ll tell him.  Bye.”

It stung how she just dismissed me.  And it bugged me that I couldn’t get any information out her.  I really wanted to thank Gus in person.  I left with my tail between my legs, but at least my plants looked good as new ... better even.

*****

At work I stowed Ozzie and Harriet in my locker ... for about three minutes.  I couldn’t just leave them in that tiny, dark metal sweatbox.  So I positioned them on the wide faux marble window ledge, right by the tread mills.

What I noticed first was Nicole and her accountant giving each other the eye.  Five minutes later they were strolling out of the room, his arm around her waist, her hand on his ass.  I was impressed with how flagrant and open they were being ... even if it was in the workplace.  Lust was lust.

I was happy for them.

I was happy for myself.

Just a couple of weeks ago I’d be boiling over with jealousy.  Heck, I might’ve been tempted to try talking Nicole into dumping her moon-eyed geek.  But now just looking at them warmed my heart ... made me think about when I could get my hands on Dean’s ass?

The hour Nicole was gone went by in a barrage of replaced hips and one professional football player with an injured thumb.  I didn’t follow sports, but the guys filled me in on how important this guy -- and his thumb -- was to the team.

“He’s the freaking quarterback, for god’s sake.”  mumbled Ricky.

“And we need him back in three weeks for the play-offs.”  Chimed in Denny.

“If it’s so important to you guys,”  I said, “Maybe one of you should work on him.  You’d have way more to talk to him about than I would.”

My three male coworkers all declined.  “You’re better with digital manipulation.”  Lance drawled.

“Nice try,”  I chirped handing him the ball player’s chart.  “Now tell me the real reason.”

Lance paled and pushed the chart back at me.  That’s when his fellow males surrounded me and let me in on their group psychoses. 

“Truth is,”  Roger spoke in a whisper.  “We don’t want the pressure.”

“Pressure?”

“You know, if he doesn’t get better by pay-offs --”

“Or at all.”  Cut in Lance with a gulp.

All three men crossed themselves, closing their eyes and shaking their heads.

“Fine,”  I said as I took the chart from Lance’s shaking hands.  “I’ll take the heat if the quarterback’s thumb doesn’t make it.”

I was still working on the thumb, massaging it after it had been subjected to heat therapy and some electrodes.  The smell of the rubbing lotion a pleasant mint, and the football player had asked, “So do they make this in lavender?  Lavender is soothing.”

“Don’t know,”  I said, and then I took into account his flawlessly manicured nails, his impeccably groomed hair and the way he hadn’t even once looked at my breasts.  “But I’ll find out for next time.”  I was suddenly wondering if Gus liked football ... more to the point, if he liked football players?

Nicole returned twenty minutes late from her break, she was aglow, she looked like she’d jogged up about five flights of stairs, and I noticed her bra had gone AWOL.

“Nice break?”  I asked as she wafted, high as a kite on endorphins, over to where I stood manipulating the golden thumb.

“Roger’s so great.  Did you see the shirt I bought him?”

“Nope,” I said.  “Missed it.”

“He looks better without it anyways.”  Nicole fanned herself with the football player’s chart.”

I introduced Nicole to the football player, and though they nodded agreeably they showed not the slightest interest in each other.  Which proved two things to me: that the football player didn’t play for our team, and Nicole was in love.

Mere lust would make a woman week in the knees and all, but only love would make a man-eater like Nicole not even take a second look at a professional athlete.  Not to mention a six foot two, gorgeous, incredibly well built one like the ball player.

He absently pulled up his t-shirt and scratched his marvelous six-pack.  I froze for a minute.  I was getting turned on by this gay ball player. 

I shook it off as I worked on the rather large muscles in his thumb, the calloused tip.  In truth the sight off his stomach had made me hungry for Dean -- Dean naked on top of me, Dean hard inside me.

But I also noticed that I didn’t have the blind eye of love, like Nicole.  As I took the ball player up to the reception desk to schedule his next appointment, I wondered exactly what -- if anything -- that meant?

*****

Chapter
16

As I strolled home with Ozzie and Harriet in my hand, I felt myself getting revved up every time a good looking man passed by me.   It was starting to bug me, that was until I got to my apartment and found one lone message on my answering machine.  It was from Dean.

“Hey, Lucy.  I’ve been thinking about you all day.  Can I come over tonight?  I promise to bring something really good for you to eat.”

I stood over my answering machine and played the message three times.  Did he sound like a man in love?  Or did he just sound like a horny guy that needed to get laid?

Ultimately it didn’t matter, because I was a horny woman that desperately needed to fuck her boyfriend.

So I called him back.  He answered on the second ring and sounded happy to hear from me.  “I know we’ve been going at it every day this week, I just can’t get enough.”

“It’s like you can read my mind.”  A horny guy, most definitely.

And as I hung up the phone I wondered how I felt about that?

I’m such an asshole.

*****

I decided to try getting dolled up on my own.  First I showered and towel dried my hair.  Next I applied the powdery stuff that so magically concealed my flaws before. It went on easier than I’d thought, the large brush whisking it over my face effortlessly.  Next some mascara and eye shadow, then some lipstick -- I didn’t dare try the eye liner ... seemed like a poked out eye just waiting to happen.

I looked at myself in the mirror and thought, not bad, not bad at all.

Next came taming my curly hair. I took out the flat iron Mother had bought me at Macy’s.  It didn’t look like an intimidating piece of machinery.  On the contrary, the feel of it, light as a feather in my hand, filled me with a false feeling of competence.  After all, Bess had been able to tame my locks in next to no time.  I could certainly do it in ... I looked to the digital clock by my bed. 

Thirty minutes until his expected time.

I’d have sleek straight hair and still have time enough to pick out one of the sexy dresses -- and try on the heels that went with it.

I plugged in the hair flattener, combed out my still wet hair, and then started the process of ironing it.  Suddenly I realized it wasn’t working.  It was warming up my hair but wasn’t flattening or drying a thing.  About ten minutes into this my arms were exhausted and my hair smelled barbequed.  All I had to show for it was limp yet still ruefully curly moist hair.

I gave up on the hair flattening and simply pulled a limp mass of it back from my face with a scrunchy.  This made my face look bloated and the rest of my hair look like it was exposed to gamma radiation, frizzing out as it dried.

Finally I tore the scrunchy out and used it to make my usual ponytail.  At least I was used to the way this looked.  And in truth, though I’d spent time trying to straighten it, it looked now as if I’d done not a damn thing to it.

The dress, I told myself.  Screw the hair, go pick out a dress.

I surveyed the closet and found myself attracted most to the pink dress.  I slipped into the matching underwear and bra, slipped the dress from its hanger and then slipped it on, pulling the zipper up myself.  I stepped into the two inch pink heels, turned toward the mirror and admired the effect the dress and makeup made on my appearance.

And to think I did it all myself this time.

And suddenly I started to feel nervous, maybe downright paranoid.  Most of me just wanted things to keep going as they had so far.  Some great dates, even better sex.  Just keep it fun.  But there was this other part of me, the one that was appalled that I’d gotten turned on by the hot gay football player, that part of me wondered why the hell I wasn’t in love with Dean?  And why the hell he wasn’t in love with me?

There was a knocking at the door and I answered.  Opening the door there stood Dean, tall and handsome as ever, his eyes turning dark and heated just by the sight of me.

That part of me that just wanted good sex was reeling with excitement.  But that pesky love part was searching those orbs of melted chocolate for something more.  And as Dean entered my apartment and wordlessly pulled me to him, I saw nothing else ... just lust.  As he kissed me I wrapped my arms around his neck and tried to turn that other part of me off.  This worked until he broke off the kiss and pulled me gently by the hand to my bedroom.  My mind started asking questions I didn’t want answered the entire thirty paces.  But blessedly once he pulled off my dress and undid my bra, taking my nipple into his mouth as his fingers dipped into my panties and fingered my pulsing clitoris, my mind went blank.

And that’s how things went for the next two weeks.  Every few nights we’d go out for dinner, followed by mind blowing, fun and sometimes kinky sex.  Every other night Dean would just come over and we’d skip the dinner part and go straight for the hot sex part.  And kinkiest of all, one time he came over and we just snuggled ... didn’t even try to fuck me.

Sick...

*****

Something strange happened over the next two weeks though ... actually, it’s what didn’t happen.  What didn’t happen was Gus returning to his shop.  Every day I’d pass by the shop and looked through the window, and every day there stood Gina, compulsively clad in a tank top, every day looking just as immovable as before. 

Usually I’d whisk by and try not to let her see me.  But once in a while she’d be staring out the front window as I passed by and she’d see me looking in on her.  I’d stop, feel nervous and wave.  Gina would nod her head tersely and that would be that.

Luckily for me Ozzie and Harriet were thriving.  Somehow I was getting the watering thing down pat and I wasn’t forgetting.  But the longer Gus stayed away from the shop the more I missed him.  Secretly I was dying to set him up with my injured football player, who by the way recovered from his almost career ending thumb injury to lead his team to victory.  They were now contenders for going to the Super Bowl.  Just one more game would tell.

*****

It was a Monday and I was late coming back from lunch.  Dean had surprised me at work with a lunch invitation and a dozen roses.  But the biggest surprise had been the look in his eyes.  It was bordering on that love look.

Now I could’ve been wrong.  Maybe because we weren’t anywhere near a bed his lust had glazed over his eyes, making him just look lovelorn.  I was still quaking in my cross trainers as I walked dazed through the doors to physical therapy.  Nicole had put my roses in water for me, and had displayed them prominently at the reception area.

That little part of me that had been so bummed out for the last two weeks was now jubilant.  This made the rest of me rather miserable.

What if he was in love with me?  Would I suddenly just fall in love with him?  Was I just waiting to know, for conformation, before I felt something more than lust? 

That bigger part of me was thinking, What the hell?

Listlessly I picked up the next chart and headed over to the waiting room.  I looked down and saw the name, saying it allowed as I tried to wrap my Dean steeped mind around it.

“Gus Miller?”

I looked around the room and saw him, sitting there, looking both gorgeous and pained.  Suddenly his pained looked turned to a curious little smile as he recognized me.

“So this is what you do.”

I couldn’t help but smile back.  “You’ve found me out, my little secret.” 

And then the pained look returned to him as he struggled out of the chair he was folded in.  As he stood--trying to stand straight--and then walked toward me, I saw his problem right away.