Want It Bad (2 page)

Janet put the dildo away, slammed her drink, and then gave her hair a shake.

“Hottie, right behind you. I’m going home with him. Call you tomorrow?”

Carla’s good mood faded. Janet’s schedule was erratic, and this was her first time back in Seattle for more than a week. She’d hoped to have a few more hours with her friend before Janet went trolling for eligible guys.

“Tomorrow’s fine,” Carla said, sighing lightly. “Good luck.”

“I don’t need luck, babe. I’m a force of nature. Toodles.”

Janet gave her a quick hug, winked, and then wiggled over to her mark. The guy was tall, dark, ridiculously handsome. Carla watched, sipping her Manhattan through the tiny straw, as Janet flirted with the man she’d no doubt be fucking later. Within two minutes he’d bought her a drink. Within five they had found a corner spot in the bar, leaning into each other and laughing.

Carla stared, imagining what it would be like to be in Janet’s position, having the complete attention of a good-looking guy. He touched her arm. Her hip. Leaned in close to whisper things. Paid close attention whenever she said something. Probably smelled like sandalwood and wore clingy boxer-briefs and had a six pack.

Carla finished her drink and left the bar without Janet noticing. It was still early in the evening, but the bar scene held no appeal for her without a friend to chat with. Besides, Carla didn’t do pick-ups and one night stands. Maybe she was old-fashioned, but a guy she met in a club and had only known for a few hours had no business at all being in her vagina. It’s not as if Carla didn’t get horny. She did. But she could scratch that itch with a bubble bath, a spicy romance novel, and her handheld shower head. As nice as a man’s touch was, Carla wanted to know who was touching her, and wanted him to know her as well. Janet treated men like they were just another sex toy. Carla envied her friend that ability, but knew that lifestyle wasn’t for her.

Carla’s car—a brand new BMW X6—was parked next to a meter with two hours of time still left on it; a reminder of one more lonely day in the non-existent social life of a rich and successful female attorney.

As she drove home, Carla flipped through the mp3s on her car stereo and decided on some older Alanis Morrisette as she cruised past the city. Downtown Seattle looked pretty at night, like it had dressed up in sparkly eveningwear. She sang along as Alanis mourned lost love, exiting off of Interstate 5, and heading toward her neighborhood of Windermere. Her house was huge and beautiful, with a beach overlooking Lake Washington. She’d bought it four years ago, after being made partner at the firm, and one of her favorite things in the world to do was sit out on her pier and gaze at the water. The beachfront property was ridiculously expensive, but Carla considered it the perfect antidote to the stress at work, and well worth every penny.

It was a cool night, but not cold, perfect for taking an afghan out to her deck chair and watching the waves roll in. She was imagining the sea breeze as she pulled onto her street, and noticed the moving truck parked at the house next to hers. The house had been vacant for almost six months in this soft real estate market, but it had apparently found an owner. Carla slowed down, curious to catch a glimpse of her new neighbor, and saw a young man muscling a black leather ottoman out of the back of the truck.

Then there was the loudest BANG! Carla ever heard, and her car screeched to the right. Carla hung onto the steering wheel and slammed on the brakes, skidding to a stop just as she rammed into her own mailbox.

For a moment, Carla wondered if someone had fired a gun at her. Then she realized it must have been a blowout. She sat there, letting the shock wear off, and killed the ignition just as someone tapped on her window. She turned, startled, and found herself staring at one of the hottest men she’d ever seen. Short, dark, wavy hair, a few days’ worth of stubble peppering a strong jaw and chin, pale blue eyes. He could have been a model. And he might very well be one, and probably successful, since the house next door had a list price of seven figures.

Carla unlocked the door and opened it, and her new neighbor extended his hand to help her out. It was rough, calloused, and he gently steadied her as she stood. Carla gave him a discreet once-over. His body may have been even prettier than his face. If not a model, an athlete, perhaps. Broad shoulders, narrow waist, his muscles impressive in the black, sleeveless shirt he wore.

“Are you okay?” he had a Midwestern accent. “Your tire popped.”

“Yes. Just kind of rattled. I’ve never blown a tire before. I mean, I’ve blown a lot of things, but never a tire.”

Ack! Too much information too soon!

“You know,” she said quickly. “Like blowing an appointment, blowing a job interview. That kind of thing.”

Good recovery. Now play it cool.

“We should probably tell the homeowner you took out his mailbox.”

“Her mailbox. It’s my house.”

“You live here?”

“I hope so. I have the keys in my purse.”

Smooth, Carla.
Why did she always say stupid stuff in front of cute guys?

“We’re neighbors then. I’m Jake.”

“Carla.”

Jake had yet to let go of her hand. He now shook it, formally.

“Well, this is a pretty exciting way to meet,” he said. “When I heard the blowout I thought someone was shooting at me.”

“I thought the same thing. I just bought this car. The tires are brand new. I wonder what happened.”

“Mind if I take a look?”

“Go ahead.”

Jake walked around to the front of the BMW and bent over. His jeans hugged his anatomy, and Carla gaped at one of the nicest butts she’d ever seen.

“Oh, shit. My bad.”

Jake held up something black, with silver spikes on it.

“Is that a dog collar?” Carla asked.

“This? Uh, yeah.” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “I must have dropped it, and the spikes popped your tire. I’m so sorry.”

“Where’s your dog?”

Jake quickly shoved the collar into the back pocket of his jeans. “I, uh, don’t have a dog.  Look, I’ll pay for your tire, and for the mailbox. Want me to put the spare on for you?”

Carla considered it. She had roadside assistance with her insurance, and they’d do it for free. But that meant waiting around for them to arrive.

And, truth told, she wouldn’t mind watching Jake flex his muscles.

Wow. I’m starting to think like Janet.

“Would you mind?”

“It would be my pleasure. I’ll be quick. Promise.”

Carla wanted to ask more about the dog collar—Jake seemed embarrassed by it for some reason—but she nodded, popping her trunk.

He circled to the back and hoisted out the spare tire, wheel blocks, and jack. “Done in a flash.”

Carla felt silly just sitting there doing nothing. But figuring it would help Jake feel better if she let him fix the problem he’d caused, she leaned on the stone half-wall framing her driveway and watched.

What else was there to do?

Jake knelt down in front of the flat, popping the hubcap. His jeans were plain old Levis, 501s with the button fly, his shirt just a tee, and yet on that body, both looked like designer pieces that would run into the hundreds of dollars.

He assembled the jack like a pro, positioned it in the correct notch behind the wheel, and began to raise the car.

The process took about a minute, and Carla tried not to gape as his muscles bunched and flexed. The strain on his face was obvious, his breath labored. Carla wasn’t sure why watching a man, and a much younger man at that, change a tire was so erotic, but it was. There was something voyeuristic about it, watching Jake do a private, manual task, and he was so ridiculously pretty that Carla couldn’t help but imagine other scenarios where he’d be exerting himself.

When Jake grunted, Carla felt her whole body tingle, and she resisted the urge to bite her own fist. The cool, autumn night seemed to heat up by ten degrees.

Oh, God. I’m actually getting turned on.

She looked away, feeling flushed. Obviously, she’d been hanging out with Janet too long. Of course, where Janet would voice these thoughts out loud, Carla could at least pride herself on being a bit restrained.

Carla glanced back at Jake. He had the tire off now, and lifted the spare, fitting it into place, his broad shoulders bunching up. He twisted and glanced over his shoulder, his smile shining through the shadow like the Cheshire Cat’s. “See? Pretty fast, huh?” The hem of his t-shirt rode up, revealing a slice of smooth skin and rippling abs.

Carla jolted up from the wall.

“Something wrong?”

“Nothing. Of course not. I thought I’d go grab you a beer for your trouble. Be right back.”

Carla made for the house. Maybe Janet was right. Maybe it had been too long since she’d had sex. She’d seen fit, gorgeous men before. Why had this one gotten her so flustered?

Racing past the steps leading to her front porch, she entered the garage and raced through the kitchen without even bothering to turn on the lights. Grabbing the handle of her stainless steel refrigerator, she yanked it open.

One bottle of beer left. In her eagerness to snatch it, Carla knocked it off the shelf. It hit the floor, then rolled across the kitchen. Carla chased it down, kicked it, and it bounced over to the open basement door, and down the stairs.

“Shit.”

She bid chase, finding it at the bottom of the staircase. Amazingly unbroken. Carla snatched it up and marched back outside.

Finished with the tire, Jake stood up and stretched, arms over his head, t-shirt rising to once again expose his midsection.

Carla slowed her pace, scoping out the cut of his frame from rippled waist to wide shoulders. He was the very definition of eye candy. No matter how disappointing the sex was, or how disappointing the man was, she’d always appreciated the male body. And right now, watching Jake in the dim light, she could imagine standing in front of him, skimming her fingertips over the bristled hair on his thighs, the taut muscle of hips and buttocks, then following the angle of his rib cage.

Janet is right. Ten months without sex is too long.

“All done, neighbor,” he said. “That beer sounds awfully good right now.”

She closed the last few yards between them and held out the bottle. “You deserve it. Careful, I may have shaken it up a little.”

He took out his key ring, found a bottle opener, and popped the top.

The beer became Mt. Vesuvius, spewing foam out in all directions lawn-sprinkler style. For an odd moment Carla saw Jake in slow-motion as the alcohol drenched his shirt and made it cling to his chest. He grinned, shaking his wet hair, licking the beer dripping down his face.

Oh. My. God. I think I just came.

“I’m… sorry,” Carla said.

She really was sorry. Sorry she didn’t have more beer to spray on him.

“It’s okay. I love the smell of beer.”

“Me, too.”

“Man, my shirt is absolutely drenched.”

He stripped it off, again in ultra slow mo, and squeezed the shirt over his head, dripping beer into his mouth.

Carla fought the urge to grab the shirt away from him and start sucking it. For a moment she imagined herself, slurping beer off his abs.

Why didn’t beer commercials do that? More women would buy it.

“Did I get you wet?” Jake asked.

“Oh God, yes.” Carla recovered. “I mean, just a little spray. I think you got the worst of it. Want to go inside real quick, so I can towel you off?”

Please oh please oh please oh please.

“Wouldn’t your husband mind?”

The flutter she’d felt when she was watching him earlier intensified. “No. I mean, I’ve never married.”

“Interesting.”

“Why?”

Carla looked away.
Why?
Did she really say that? And what kind of an answer had she expected? Jake was easily ten years younger, maybe more. Someone like Janet could capture his interest, give him the time of his life, and probably teach him a few things to boot.

But Carla?

She didn’t know how to be that woman. She didn’t even want to be. And obviously the woman she was would never interest a gorgeous model like Jake. He was right. It was too bad she hadn’t found a husband when she was younger. But looking back at the guys she dated, she was glad she hadn’t been desperate enough to marry any of them. She liked having her life her way.

He drank the last tiny bit from the bottle and ran the back of his hand over his lips, catching some that had trickled down the corner of his mouth. “Do you want to be married?”

An interesting question.

“I haven’t really thought about it. Why do you ask?”

“You said you never married. I couldn’t tell if you’re proud of that, or sad about that.”

“Do I have to be either? Women shouldn’t have to define themselves by whether or not they’re with a guy.”

The statement was a touch hypocritical. Carla believed it in theory, but she’d spent most of the evening defining herself in that very way.

“I agree. But you brought up marriage.”

“I like being single,” Carla said.

“Okay.”

“I’m serious.”

Jake smiled. “I believe you. For the record, I don’t define myself by my relationships, either. Thanks.”

“Thanks for fixing the tire.”

“It was my fault. And don’t worry, Carla. I won’t be done until I’ve fixed everything.”

He grinned, and Carla felt devastatingly uncomfortable. It made no sense. In the courtroom she radiated confidence. During a boardroom meeting, she commanded attention. Jake made her feel like a fourteen-year-old girl during homecoming, desperately hoping the cute guy from math class would ask her to dance.

“How about that towel?” she asked.

“Thanks, but I’m okay. Feels good, actually. Nice cool breeze out here. Can you see how my nipples are getting hard?”

He rubbed his hand over his chest.

“Yes,” Carla said. “Yes I can.”

“I’m not making you uncomfortable, am I? I can go put a shirt on.”

“No! I mean, no need. It’s okay. I see half-naked men all the time.”

“You do?”