Almost Matched (Almost Bad Boys) (9 page)

“Listen, about our first encounter…” I start, tucking a loose stray of my hair behind my ear and biting my lower lip.
 

Colin purses his lips, trying to suppress a bigger smile. He waits for me to continue.
 

I roll my eyes. “Go ahead, laugh,” I say in disdainful exasperation.
 

And so he does, throwing his head back. I can’t help but grin. He not only puts me at ease, but he also looks sexy as heck. I smack him on the arm.
 

“Okay, sorry.” He still chortles. “You have to admit, it was the best first encounter ever.”

“Not for me it wasn’t. It was humiliating.”
 

Colin tilts his head and looks at me from under half-closed lids. “You are gorgeous. There is nothing to be embarrassed about. But I get it—running into a stranger and only partially dressed in your office probably wasn’t making you feel great.”

“You’ve got that right.” I press my lips together. “Anyway…”

“Anyway, I dreamed about that bra you wore and what’s in it. More than once.” He chuckles.

My mouth drops open, and I can’t quite remember how to close it. When I finally figure out how to work my jaw muscles, he grins at me and puts the appletini glass in my hand. He raises his beer glass and says, “Come on, Natalie. You must have a better sense of humor than that.”

“If this was a sitcom, I would have dumped that drink into your lap.” I take a small sip.
 

“I bet you would, you devilishly-tempered woman.”

“Is that even a word?”

“Sure it is.” He shrugs. “You know… I have a feeling that you think I’m one of those scums that only want to get in your pants, and then walk away.”

“You don’t want to get in my pants?” I pretend to be astounded.
 

He looks at me for a very long silent moment, his lips gently curling up. He takes my hand in his and kisses my knuckles. He
kisses
my knuckles! “I want to get to know you, Natalie Davenport, before I allow myself to propose anything as deliciously inappropriate.”

Hell on wheels! My heart goes boing-boing between my stomach and my throat. Ohmigod, I am so freakin’ stunned, that I momentarily forget about any of my men-related apprehensions.
 

And just like that I start to relax. Not completely, mind you, but enough to enjoy the evening. I really hope he isn’t a charming liar though. I resolve to be cautious and see where things are going before they go too far too fast. After all, he might not be a true bad boy, but an
almost
bad boy. And that can be potentially as dangerous.
 

Colin puts my hand down on the counter and covers it with his. Still looking in my eyes and smiling he says, “So what do you like to do in your spare time, besides exposing your half-dressed self to strangers?”

I glare at him and smack his arm again. “You will rub it in forever, won’t you?”

“Forever is a very long time. You looked scrumptious enough that day to make me need a splash of cold water over my face.”
 

“You could have taken a cold shower. We have one in our office.” I scowl.

“There wasn’t time before the meeting. And I didn’t see any bath towels.” He leans closer and pushes a chunk of my hair behind my ear. His fingers brush sensitive skin by my ear, and my stomach clenches in that delicious way that sends shivers down under my skirt.
 

My brain immediately joins in the fool’s parade and produces visions of naked Colin covering my equally naked body in bed, his knee pushing my legs open, his hands lifting my thighs up until my bent knees rest over his shoulders. Okay, Natalie, get your thoughts out of the gutter. I suppress a shiver and take a casual sip from my water glass. I have no idea why his touch affects me like this, but I will be damned to let him know.
 

“So you want to know what I like to do? Well, I work out almost everyday at the gym, run on the weekends, read, spend a lot of time with my girlfriends, stuff like that. And I knit too.”

“Like socks?” He looks baffled.
 

“No. Like sweaters. And pretty scarves. Well, I knitted a Christmas sock once, so sure—
socks
. How about you?”

“I don’t knit, but I’m willing to learn.” He sooo pretends to be serious about this. I have to admit, that’s good acting.
 

I learn that he plays guitar and piano and likes football. What guy doesn’t like football? He also knows how to dance, and that’s a really good prospect for a date. If there is to be another date.
 

We both have to work the next day
,
so I declare the fun-quitting time around 10 p.m. Colin doesn’t object, only smiles and nods in agreement. He calls a taxi, and when it arrives, he opens the pub door for me and holds it until I step outside. Wow, a gentleman. I like that. I actually like all those little things that many women frown upon. Maybe they feel robbed off their feminism-driven personas. But I don’t have that issue. I actually like when a man opens the door for me; or helps me put my coat on; or holds the car door open; stuff like that. Maybe it is old school, but that’s just the way I am—a helpless romantic. Which doesn’t mean that if a guy does something absolutely nasty to me I wouldn’t have the nerve to punch him in the face. Twice.
 

Right before the taxi stops at my apartment building, I turn to Colin and say, “It was really nice. Thank you. I had a good time.”

He takes my hand in his, turns it so my palm faces up, and kisses it. Long. God, it is a long kiss, and my insides turn to mush. My vagina sings
Hallelujah!,
and my lungs temporarily forget what their major function is, until I turn red in the face and realize I’m holding my breath.
 

Still bent over my hand, Colin looks up at me. One corner of his mouth lifts very slightly. Ohmigod, he looks like some freakin’ god of lust. Eros, Himeros, Pothos, Peitho—how the hell do I even remember all those naughty Greek gods’ names right now?
 

“Can I call you sometime?” he whispers.
 

Can you? Yes. Yes! Do you really need to ask? “Sure.” I smile sweetly. “You’ve got my number.”

When the taxi stops at my destination, Colin still holds my hand. I squeeze it, and he lets go. He jumps out of the vehicle, runs around the back, and yanks the door open for me. No way! He really does. My mouth usually has a mind of its own, so it opens now but doesn’t say anything. I clamp it shut, scolding my brain for not controlling the situation as it’s outlined in its job description.
 

Colin hugs me lightly, and my pulse reaches the red zone. Hell on wheels, either my hormones are out of whack, or that man is irresistible to me. I don’t recall ever being drawn in such primal way to anyone else before.
 

“Sleep well,” he whispers in my hair. He smells faintly of something sensual—sweet and smoky cologne with leather-like undertones. The fragrance is amazing, and I think it is just like Colin—complex and mysterious.
 

“You too.” I step out of his embrace, trying to look anywhere but at him. Because if I do, I won’t be able to stop myself from kissing him. And my brand new rule says: not until date number
four.
Well, that’s about sex, but I suspect if we kiss, we will end up naked in bed right away.
 

I walk to the apartment building door, enter the code on a small keypad on the wall, and get inside. The hallway is dimly lit, and I welcome the lack of brightness. My eyes feel tired, and I decide to go to bed right away. I climb two flights of stairs as always, since I never bother with the elevator.
 

Soon after I slide under the covers. I sigh loudly when my cheek rests on the cool fabric of my pillow. I turn the side lamp off and close my eyes. And then my cell phone rings.
 

“Gaaaah!” I growl. “What now?” I consider not answering. Whoever it is, could wait till morning. It was a stupid idea to leave the phone on—and on my bedside table.
 

But I reach out and pick the damn thing up. I don’t recognize the number displayed on the screen. “Hallo?” I croak.
 

“Natalie.” It’s Colin!
 

I’m fully awake in a split second.
 

“I’m sorry. Did I wake you?” he asks, apologetically.
 

“No,” I stifle a yawn. “It’s okay.”

“Just wanted to wish you a goodnight.” There it is—that velvety-soft voice with a bit of gruff edges.
 

“That’s sweet. Thank you.” I manage to keep my own voice steady. It wants to quiver, matching my pounding heart.
 

“I’ll call you tomorrow. Goodnight, beautiful Natalie.”

“Goodnight,” I choke out. I can’t remember any guy calling me beautiful. Hot, cute, sexy, but not beautiful. Ever. Holy smoke!

SEVEN

The person who is searching for his own happiness should pull out the dart that he has stuck in himself, the arrow-head of grieving, of desiring, of despair.

Pali Tripitaka

Two days after drinks at The Motto Bar and Grill, which technically was our first date, we are at the Seattle Art Museum to see a brand new photography exhibition. The black-and-white images of the ‘everyday people’ fascinate me. There is something familiar and natural in the way many of them are captured. Colin and I only take photos with our cell phones, but I’m itching to buy a real camera and take a class or two.
 

“Look at this one.” Colin grabs my hand and pulls me toward a wall with six photographs displayed in two rows. He points to one of them.
 

The picture depicts a little girl. She’s maybe eight; nine the most. Her eyes are huge; dark—as if her pupils took over the irises. Her round face is smudged with dirt, and her black hair hangs limp and loose around her narrow shoulders. She’s clad in what seems to be a dress, only that dress is more like a tattered scrap that hardly covers her small body. The girl is squatting down by a little boy, who’s curled around a dirty puppy. The boy’s grin is contagious, and despite the obvious poverty these children live in, he seems very happy. I smile at the scene in front of me, but something tugs at my heart.
 

“They are so little,” I hear my own voice coming out in just above the whisper. “And so sickly looking. They must be hungry and maybe even cold.”

In my peripheral vision I see Colin nod, his eyes on the photograph. I turn my head to look at him. His eyes are opened wide, and his lips are parted. He’s staring the little girl, and I wonder what’s going through his mind. He seems so far away.
 

I touch his arm, “Colin?”

He turns to me and smiles, and I swear, that smile is… desolate.
 

“What is it?”

“Hmm?” he murmurs absentmindedly.
 

“You seemed very absorbed, looking at that photograph,” I say quietly.

Colin puts his arm around me and exhales with force. He pulls me close to him. And then he whispers in my ear, “It is a sad photo, don’t you think?” He kisses my temple. I wish he kissed my lips.
 

I upturn my face to look in his eyes. Colin bents his head, and his mouth is on mine. He presses me to him and wraps his arms around me. The kiss is gentle and sweet. He pulls away and smiles at me.
 

“First kiss?” I chuckle.
 

He nods, his eyes twinkling. “Our first. But I hope this is just the beginning.”
 

“I hope so too.”

We walk around the museum, stopping often to examine various photographs and read the photographers’ names and countries of origin on the tags besides the images. They are from all over the world—the photographers and the subjects. It’s fascinating to see how visionary many of them are while capturing the essence of human nature.
 

After over an hour of perusing, we leave the exhibition and walk to the Harbor Steps. This is one of my most favorite places in Seattle. We hold hands, and I glance around at the passersby, the buildings, and the cars. At the top of the stairs Colin pulls me to him and wraps one arm around me. His other hand gently pushes loose strand of hair behind my ear, and then caresses my cheek and my jaw line. He cups my chin and leans closer to kiss me. I half-close my eyes and tilt my face toward his.