Better Than Safe (14 page)

I paced the floor of my spacious corner office, willing myself not to hang up on the conference call I was listening in on. Stupidity was a difficult trait to endure. I bit my tongue when a junior editor suggested rewording some of the copy in the ad campaign. These were the days I was sure I was surrounded by idiots. How could they not understand those little “ads” took months of research and development? There was no such thing as “off the cuff” campaigns. The Phillips Agency was a highly respected and reputable firm, for Christ’s sake.

Another call buzzed on my cell, giving me the perfect excuse to end the torture gracefully. I said a quick apology and ended the call before answering the next.

“Paul Fallon.”

“Hey, how’s it goin’?”

“Um….”

“It’s Seth. I told you I’d call. I’m calling. You sound busy. Call me back lat—”

“No.” I licked my bottom lip as I struggled to shift gears. This was very… unexpected. A warning voice told me to end the call quickly, but strangely I heard myself say, “It’s fine. I can talk.”

“’Kay,” he chuckled. His voice sounded deep and sexy as hell. “I’m on my way to the studio. I’ve got a couple errands to run but I was wondering—um, how late do you work?”

“Well….”

“Like tonight.”

“I—I’m not sure. Probably six. Why?”

“Cool. Well, text me when you’re on your way home. Maybe we can get together. Ciao.”

He hung up before I could respond. I stared at my cell for a moment, then looked out the window unseeingly. The afternoon spring day was sunny and pleasant without a cloud in the sky. But it barely registered over the wild beating of my heart. Yes, we’d parted as friends after our impromptu excursion through the Natural History Museum, and while it was true he’d promised to call… I didn’t expect him to. I wasn’t so sure spending time together as friends was a good idea. Not for me anyway. My traitorous pulse and suddenly damp palms were a fair sign I was still under a spell where Seth was concerned. If I were smart, I’d forget he called and go straight to the gym after work. And check my online dating prospects.

I
T
TURNED
out I wasn’t so smart after all. The moment I pulled out of the parking garage, I called him. He answered on the first ring.

“Are you done?”

“I’m leaving my office now.”

“Cool. Can you meet me at—hang on.”

I heard a muffled curse and what sounded like a child yelling in the background. “Where are you?”

“I’ll text you the address.”

“No! Don’t hang up. And don’t text me. I’m driving. Just tell me the address. My car’s naviga—”

“Cool.” He gave me a Georgetown address on Wisconsin Avenue and told me to call him again once I was there. He hung up before I could ask where there was.

I repeated the address and let my Audi’s sophisticated navigation system lead the way while I mentally berated myself for being a fool. Thankfully, a work related call interrupted my reverie, so for the twenty-minute ride from downtown, I was distracted by deadlines and placating an editor who was concerned about ad placement. Until I approached my destination. A Safeway Supermarket. What in God’s na—

My cell rang, reverberating noisily in the quiet automobile. “Where am I?”

“How am I supposed to know? Are you here yet?”

I sighed heavily, massaging the bridge of my nose. I was torn between confusion and a sinking feeling I’d been played for an idiot. Again. A car honked behind me, forcing me to make a decision. I pulled in front of the bus stop and stared at the wide screen map in the car’s lush leather console.

“Seth. I’m currently parked in front of a large market. Is this the address you intended to give me or—”

“Yeah. Park and meet me in… um, let’s see. I’m in aisle four. And hurry up, man. I’m starving!”

Of course he signed off before I could say another word. I gritted my teeth and shook my head angrily.
Go home, Paul. Don’t park the car
, I cautioned myself. But when a giant transit bus pulled in behind me, I actually had to pull into the underground parking structure to avoid being hit by oncoming traffic.

“Fuck me,” I muttered.

I parked the car on the first level and sat in silence for a moment. I’d had a grueling couple of days at the office after an odd weekend spent in part with the man I was inexplicably meeting in a market. This was not me. Yet, here I was. I wasn’t certain I’d been tricked either. I simply hadn’t asked the right questions. I took a deep breath for fortitude and opened my door. I was here. I might as well see what game Seth was playing now.

The market was a standard, overly bright food emporium. My idea of hell. I’d been completely honest when I’d told Curt I rarely went to the market. And almost never to larger grocery stores. There was a small family-owned shop near my house on N Street that I stopped by occasionally. Otherwise I ordered takeout. I’d never stepped foot in this particular store. I pulled out my cell as I looked up at the overhead signs neatly labeling the aisle number and what types of goods one might find there.

“I’m here and you are not on aisle four.”

“No. You took too long. I’m in produce.” Click.

I smiled tightly at the harried-looking mother dressed in yoga gear who nearly ran me over with her ridiculously overloaded cart, and made my way toward the produce section. Other than an old woman carefully examining Granny Smith apples talking to a familiar figure with longish dark hair, it was blessedly quiet in this part of the store. I squinted at the two for a moment before heading toward them.

“That’s the problem with apples nowadays. They do a fine job making them green and glossy, but that doesn’t mean they’re decent. You never really know if they’re going to be good until you take a bite. Just like anything else in life, dear.” The old woman’s voice and hands trembled as she held up the produce in question for Seth to inspect.

“True. I try to buy organic usually. They have a nice selection over here if you’re interested. Do you need help with any other fruit?”

“No thank you, dear. Just the apples. I don’t trust that organic nonsense. They charge you twice as much for an apple that’s half the size of—oh hello.” The tiny woman glanced up at me with a pleasant smile.

“Hello.”

“Is this your beau?” she asked Seth.

I smiled kindly and was about to correct her, but the furious blush reddening Seth’s gorgeous face stopped me. In fact, it was well worth this unexpected jaunt.

“Oh uh….”

“Don’t say a word. I’ll leave you two gentlemen to your evening. Your young man is very sweet. You’re lucky to have this one,” she said with a wink as she toddled away.

“Uh… I didn’t tell her—”

I rolled my eyes and shoved my hands into my suit coat pocket. “Why am I here?”

He didn’t answer. Instead he took a step back and gave me a once-over. A small lopsided smile slowly morphed into a lecherous megawatt grin. It was a jolting transformation from the blushing, almost shy look he’d given me while he was chatting with the old lady. “I like. Armani?”

“Yes, but—”

“Beautiful cut. Navy is definitely your color,” he added flirtatiously before turning to a leafy green display of lettuce, parsley, kale, and scallions. “I need Italian parsley, an onion, and some garlic. Are you any good at picking out tomatoes? I think we’ll need four. No, make it five. I have—”

“Stop.” I set my hand on his elbow and pulled him toward me a little harder than I’d intended. He was so close I could see the flecks of gold in his blue eyes and smell the faintest scent of mint and maybe cloves on his breath. I gulped and dropped his arm when my dick swelled at that slightest bit of contact. God, what was it about him?

I gave him a stern look, or attempted to anyway, and tried again. “What are you up to? In plain words please. I’ve had a long couple days at work and chasing you about was not on my agenda tonight. Out with it.”

“I’m making you dinner,” he replied with a sunny smile. “You said we could be friends, right?”

“Right, but—”

“So I figured I’d start with dinner. I’m a pretty good cook, but I’m keeping it simple tonight. Spaghetti marinara with homemade meatballs and a salad. I had a photo shoot this morning and painted all afternoon and—I wasn’t sure you’d say yes. Do you mind?”

“Well, at least you admit you tricked me. That’s progress. I think.”

“I didn’t trick you. I asked if you were busy.”

“I assumed you meant to grab a drink or—something other than meet you at Safeway,” I shook my head and brushed my fingers through my hair in frustration.

“Why did you come, then?” he asked as he studied the parsley. “Didn’t your fancy car tell you where you were going?”

“No. It didn’t tell me the end coordinates were leading me to a bloody supermarket. Nor did it ask if I was certain I had the address correct or better still… if I was out of my fucking my mind. If it had—”

“I get the picture, Paul.” He turned angrily and shoved a neatly tied bunch of parsley at me. “Are you coming for dinner or not?”

The air around us crackled with an intense magnetic energy. We stared at each other heatedly. I felt like I was tied to the moment and wouldn’t be able to move my feet of my own free will if I tried. Moreover, I was afraid if I did I’d give into temptation and kiss him in the middle of the produce aisle in spite of my vow to keep my distance.

“Well?” He inclined his head. His eyes blazed with challenge, and a ghost of a smile lifted the corner of his lush lips.

“Yes.”

“Good. Then make yourself useful. I need those tomatoes and I’m pretty sure they have fresh mozzarella in the deli section. I’ll meet you there.” He turned to the green leafy veggies, then looked back at me when I didn’t move.

“You are incorrigible and very sneaky.”

He chuckled lightly and grinned. “Maybe a little but, I swear I’ll make it worth your while.”

As he probably intended, the offhand comment went straight to my prick. I huffed as I headed toward the mound of plump tomatoes, letting his musical laughter wash over me. It was spaghetti. A simple dinner. Never had the metaphor of having an angel on one shoulder and a devil on the other seemed more apt. “I shouldn’t do this” quickly became “Why not?”

I chose the tomatoes and left him to search for mozzarella in the deli section, which of course was located on the other end of the store. I sidestepped other anxious shoppers wielding carts laden with groceries down crowded aisles. Many were dressed in work attire like myself. Unlike me, however, they seemed to know their way around a market. I became lost in a maze and nearly conceded defeat when I found myself peering at freshly made sushi behind a glass display. My phone buzzed in my pocket.

“Where are you?”

“I’m lost.”

“I figured. I got the mozzarella. Where are you?”

“I’m in the sushi section.”

“Sushi and spaghetti. Mmm. Nah. That won’t work. Stay put. I’ll come find you.”

My stomach growled. I was dead tired, hungry, and more than a little confused. Seth turned the corner before my brain could catalogue any further complaints. I studied his casual attire as he came closer. Worn black jeans, a white T-shirt with paint stains, and an unbuttoned black and blue striped cardigan. He looked more like a wacky artist than a sophisticated couture model, I mused. His sharp features were undeniably attractive but it seemed as though he’d chosen the basic clothing to downplay his beauty. Or maybe he’d just painted and couldn’t be bothered. There was something ridiculously appealing to me about our very opposite looks. Corporate formal versus art student chic. I glanced down at the sushi and willed my dick to behave.

“There you are. What kind of pasta do you want? I don’t have time to make it myself, but don’t worry, I’m buying prepackaged but fresh. Your choices are spaghetti, tagliatelle, or pappardelle.”

I looked at the three choices he held up and pointed to the one in the middle. The tagliatelle.

“Really? I was thinking basic spaghetti but—”

“Then why did you ask?”

“I want your opinion. If you want the tagliatelle, we’ll get that one. Done.”

“Good. Let’s go. Do you have wine?”

“Yes. Hmm. I don’t know about the tag—”

“Seth. Get the spaghetti. I’m not bothered.”

“What do you mean by not bothered?”

“I mean….” I took a step forward so we stood toe-to-toe, Italian loafer to dirty white trainer and gave him a pointed glare. “I don’t give a shit. Pasta is pasta. It doesn’t matter to me what shape it comes in. At all.”

“You’re hungry, huh?”

“What tipped you off?”

“Sarcastic and cranky. Let’s go. You need food.” He turned away, carrying his basket of goods toward the front registers.

“What about wine?” I called after him.

He stopped in the middle of the aisle and curled his finger, motioning me to come to him with a devilish grin on his handsome face. I complied. We were alone for the moment, surrounded on either side of the cramped space by white bread and a variety of colorful cereals chock-full of preservatives and food dyes. I eyed him warily, wondering why he was stalling.

“I told you I have wine. Good wine too.”

“Marvelous. Let’s go.”

“But… there’s a catch.”

I rolled my eyes. “Of course there is. What is it? You need to swing by the dry cleaners first or—”

“Kiss me.”

“Are you crazy?”

“Why is it so crazy?” he asked innocently.

“Here are a couple reasons. One, we’re in the middle of a market in a family oriented part of town and two, we’re barely friends. Not lovers. Friends don’t kiss.”

He grinned. “Sure they do. What they probably don’t do is say something like, ‘you look so fucking hot in that suit, I wish I could take it off you right here next to the Cheerios and Wheat Chex,’ so I won’t go there, but I still think it’s okay to kiss.”

I stared at him with my mouth wide open, unable to find my voice. When he chuckled in amusement at my expense, I acted with uncharacteristic impulse and reached out to cup his neck and draw him close to me. He gasped in surprise at the quick movement. I smiled as our noses brushed, perversely pleased by his shock, and suddenly glad to be the one pushing him one step further. I licked his bottom lip before fusing my mouth over his in a swift but passionate kiss. I backed up with a grin and sauntered away, taking care he didn’t see me adjust my trousers as I moved with purpose to the front registers.