Want It Bad (3 page)

“Nope. No I don’t. Don’t even know why I said that. So, you work out? Of course you work out. I mean, to get abs like
that
, you probably spend some serious time in the gym. Serious, serious time. I do Pilates. Some yoga. I can put my legs behind my head. Some guys like that. Ms. Flexible, that’s what they call me. Actually no one calls me that. I don’t even know why I said it. Ever hear yourself talk and you just can’t stop, even though everything you say is coming out stupid?”

“I don’t think you’re stupid, Carla.”

“I don’t think you’re stupid either, Nipples. Jake! Your name is Jake. So, what do you do, Jake? Are you a model?”

Jake laughed. “So you think the reason I can afford the house next to yours is because I get by on my looks? I couldn’t be a doctor or a lawyer?”

“Are you a doctor? I’m looking for a new OB/GYN. I bet you’re good. Probably don’t even need to lube up the speculum. Probably just slips right in.”

Jesus, Carla! Shut up!

“I’m messing with you, Carla. I’m an actor. And not a successful one. I’m just renting the house for a few months. The owner, Mrs. Hotchland, is an old friend.”

Carla wasn’t close to any of her neighbors—with her work schedule she didn’t have time to make friends. But she remembered Gloria Hotchland to be a sixty-something, somewhat frumpy widow. Not the kind of friend she would have expected Jake to have.

Without meaning to, Carla stared at his hands. No wedding ring. But a guy like this no doubt had girls lining up around the block for him.

“Well, thank you for changing the tire. I still owe you a beer. Maybe you and your girlfriend could come over tomorrow night.”

“No girlfriend.”

Carla felt like a fool. A man this good looking, no girlfriend, she’d missed the obvious.

“Okay, you and your boyfriend.”

Jake laughed. It was a deep, full laugh, but Carla didn’t feel like he was belittling her.

“I’m straight, Carla. My personal life… well, it’s complicated. But I will take you up on that beer. My hours are odd. Would eight o’clock be okay with you?”

“That would be fine. My hours are odd, too.”

“Doctor or lawyer?”

“Not a model?” Carla brazenly asked, surprising herself. “Are you saying I wouldn’t get by on my looks?”

“I bet you could model,” Jake said, not missing a beat, “but right now you’re dressing professionally to downplay your figure. If I had to guess, you’re a top level executive, or an up- and-comer in a law firm.”

“I’m a partner,” Carla said.

“So young? You must be really good.”

Oh my, he’s flirting with me.

Isn’t he?

“I’m not that young. I could probably be your mother—erz—mother’s much younger sister.”

“I’m twenty-six. You’re what? Thirty? Thirty-one?”

He was off by ten years, but Carla was secretly pleased. She refused to let that show, however. “Around there. Guessing a woman’s age is rude.”

Jake stretched, locking his fingers behind his head. He looked like the guy who played Thor’s brother. The dark-haired one.

“You’re not like that.”

“Not like what?”

“You’re too self-assured to care about your age. I met the Steinbaums, across the street, this afternoon. I think Mrs. Steinbaum may have a controlling share of stock in Botox, because her face looks like it was chiseled out of marble.”

It was an astute observation. Carla avoided Emma Steinbaum because whenever they had a conversation she couldn’t tell if the woman was happy or sad. Her expression remained the same whether they were sharing funny work stories or discussing world poverty.

“So what else do you think you know about me, having talked to me for all of ten minutes?” Carla asked.

“I’ll bet you twenty bucks you have a pedicure. French, matching your fingernails.”

“Too easy.”

“Okay. I’ll bet you fifty you have a Brazilian.”

“Excuse me?”

“A Brazilian wax. You downplay your make-up, probably the same reason you dress to hide your figure, in order to be taken seriously at work. But that’s a two hundred dollar haircut, probably at the same spa you get your nails done. And when you treat yourself, you also get a hot stone massage, a facial, and a bikini wax. Fifty says it’s Brazilian.”

Carla wanted to laugh, but it came out more like a
humph
. “And what if I said I didn’t?”

Jake’s eyes twinkled. “To get the fifty bucks, you’d have to prove it.”

For half a moment, Carla could picture herself sitting in a chair, her legs open, Jake staring at her
there
. She didn’t know if she should be offended or flattered.

Or aroused.

“You don’t think it’s a bit forward to be talking about…
this
… when we don’t even know each other?”

“You asked me to guess something about you. If that’s too personal, I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

“I’m not embarrassed. But what if I asked you about your manscaping?”

Jake raised an eyebrow. “Manscaping?”

“I read GQ.”

“So what manscaping observations do you think you can you make about me?”

“You shave your back.”

“What are we betting?”

“A hundred dollars.” Carla immediately felt bad about that amount. Jake had just mentioned he wasn’t successful.

“Deal.”

He turned around and stretched out his arms. His traps and lats were just as defined as his chest. It was like being in anatomy class.

“See?” Carla said. “You do.”

“I don’t. I just don’t have a lot of hair on my torso. Run your hand over it. If I shaved you’d feel stubble.”

Carla reached out, lightly brushing her hand over Jake’s back. Smooth and hard. She could imagine digging her nails into it as he drove into her.

“See?”

“Mmm-hmm,” Carla said. Her hands were trailing along his spine, and she stared at his perky little ass. Without thinking, her hands hovered over it, ready to squeeze. But Jake suddenly turned around and Carla quickly hid her hands behind her back.

“Do you want to try to guess where else I may or may not have hair? Double or nothing?”

Carla wasn’t sure if their flirtatious conversation had gone from innuendo to actual proposition, but she was so transfixed by Jake’s body she didn’t really care.

“You said you’re an actor. Is it in… adult movies?”

Jake laughed again. It really was infectious, and Carla giggled as well.

Jesus, giggling? What am I, in junior high playing spin the bottle?

“No, I don’t do porn. Are you disappointed?”

“Well, having a porn actor next door would certainly make the neighborhood more interesting. I can imagine the gossip.”

Jake stopped laughing, and for a moment he seemed hurt.

“Yeah, well, I gotta finish moving. It was nice meeting you, Carla.”

He nodded, and began to walk back toward his truck. Carla was wondering what she’d said. He’d laughed at the adult movie comment, but then completely shut down.

“See you tomorrow at eight?” she called after him.

“Absolutely.” But his enthusiasm seemed to have dimmed.

Carla turned to look at her car, wondering why she felt deflated. Jake wasn’t dating material. He was a boy toy fifteen years her junior. Nice to look at, and to talk to, but she couldn’t imagine bringing him to some office function. Everyone would think she’d hired an escort.

Carla got back into her BMW, pulled away from the broken mailbox, and parked in her garage. Normally, after a night out with Janet, Carla would imagine what depraved things her friend was doing at that very moment. Janet getting it from behind. Janet on top. Janet giving head. Janet being eaten out.

But, strangely, when Carla climbed into bed, she wasn’t thinking about Janet at all.

She was thinking about the hot guy moving in next door.

Had he been serious about the Brazilian bet?

Had he been serious about what parts of his body he shaved?

Carla hadn’t given him the hundred dollars she owed him. She would tomorrow.

But a big part of her wished she’d taken him up on double or nothing.

“That guy I picked up last night was a total horn dog,” Janet said, rice dribbling down her chin.

They were sitting on a bench and eating sushi at the Pike Place Market, Seattle’s go-to spot for fresh produce. Janet was dipping her tuna maki roll in enough wasabi soy sauce to frighten a fire-breathing dragon. Carla had opted for the less-spicy ama ebi, balling up the shrimp tails in her paper napkin.

“All your men are horn dogs, Janet.”

“True, but this one was a major freakazoid. Get this; when I’m blowing him, he wants me to stick my finger up his ass.”

Carla wasn’t as shocked as she’d expected. “You think that’s freaky? I thought you were all about doing da butt.”

“Come on, Carla. I just met the guy. I’m supposed to tunnel up the dirt trail on our first date? Give him the stinky pinky?”

Carla shook her head. “So sucking a guy’s cock on the first date isn’t too personal, but you can’t touch his ass?”

“I’m not talking about touching his ass. I’m taking about poking prostate. Carving my initials in his dinner. I mean, after a shower I don’t mind tossing a guy’s salad, but I draw the line at browning my manicure.”

“You should write greeting cards. Do I even want to know what
tossing salad
means?”

“Licking his asshole.”

“Why is it called tossing salad?”

“Maybe because if the guy isn’t hygienic, you can find croutons.”

Carla pushed away her sushi plate. “That’s gross.”

“It’s not bad. Some guys love it. Some girls, too. You’ve never had a man tongue you down there? He’s eating at the Y, then nibbled on the O?”

“I swear you’re making this stuff up.”

“I’m not. It feels great. Do you know the anus has over one million nerve endings?”

“Prove it.”

“How? Who would take the time to count them all?”

Carla checked her watch. Still twenty minutes before she had to get back to the office.

So tell Janet about Jake? Or not? Carla was bursting to talk about it, but there wasn’t enough time to get in all the details. Maybe it would be best saved for their next girls’ night out. When Carla had a touch of alcohol to loosen her lips, help her relax enough to make it a good story.

“A guy moved in next door,” Carla blurted out.

“Is he single?”

“Yes.”

“Is he cute?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Are you hot for him?”

“I… I think I might be.”

Janet gave her a bump in the shoulder. “You slut! Tell me everything!”

Carla started at the beginning, from first seeing him at the moving truck, up until he mentioned the Brazilian.

“He didn’t say that!”

“He did.”

When Carla told her the part about touching his back and the double or nothing wager, Janet howled like a coyote.

“Please tell me you took him up on that, Carla. Please tell me.”

“Of course not. Like I’m going to pay two hundred dollars to see if a complete stranger has shaved his schlong.”

“I would have paid three hundred just to see you pay two hundred. He’s into you.”

“We were just goofing around.”

“I can move pretty fast, girl. But you got Jake to strip in front of you after knowing him all of five minutes. And he’s built?”

“Like an underwear model.”

“He’s coming over later for a beer, right?”

Carla nodded. Prior to sushi, she’d picked up a six pack of assorted beers at a gourmet shop nearby. While many of her colleagues were wine snobs, Carla had always been partial to the bite of hops and the sweetness of malt. She’d selected six excellent craft brews, and depending on what kinds of beer he liked, she had it covered.

“Go over to his place first and say you changed your mind and will bet double or nothing.”

Carla shook her head. “Absolutely not.”

“Chicken.”

“I’m not chicken. I’ve seen a guy’s dick before. I’m not going to pay for it.”

Janet rolled her eyes. “You’ve paid guys before.”

“Never.”

“My sister’s bachelorette party. You were cramming twenties down that stripper’s pouch. You yanked his junk so hard he shrieked.”

“That was you.”

“Yeah, I guess it was.” She paused, as if to savor the memory. “Like trying to uproot an elm tree. So what do you have against paying for it?”

“I…” Carla wasn’t sure how to answer that.

“A guy ever buy you dinner?”

“Sure.”

“Did you blow him afterward?”

“I can’t remember. Maybe.”

“Isn’t that the same thing as paying?”

“What? No! Of course it isn’t.”

“Why not?”

Carla fell back on lawyerspeak. “There was no contract. You’re talking about implied-in-fact agreements. But there is no implication that if a man buys you food, or flowers, or a box of candy, that he’s guaranteed sex.”

“So he’s not expecting a hummer?”

“Him expecting it and me being required to give compensation are two different things.”

“Ever pity fuck someone?”

Carla looked around, expecting to see Ashton Kutcher pop out from behind a tree.
You’ve been Punk’d!
“How did we get on this topic?”

“Answer the question.”

“I… guess.”

“I’m no lawyer, but doesn’t that mean you agreed to implied compensation? He wanted something, you gave it to him. So why can’t it be the other way around?”

“What are you talking about, Janet?”

“It’s a double standard. Guys can take a woman out, and then expect sex. Guys can outright pay for sex with hookers. Guys can even get sex by playing the sympathy card.
Oh, my poor little pecker is so hard. Can you suck it for me? Pretty please?
Why can’t girls do the same thing?”

“So you’re saying I should go over to my neighbor’s house and give him two hundred dollars to see if he’s shaved down there?”

Janet polished off her last piece of sushi, then swallowed it with a sip of diet Snapple tea. “How much money do you make a week, Carla? Two hundred bucks to you is like regular people tipping a cab driver. He made the offer. Take him up on it. Who knows where it could lead.”

“Jail, for solicitation.”