Escort (A Standalone Romance Novel) (New York City Bad Boy Romance) (86 page)

“You know,” I say, “after
things get switched around upstairs, I’d really hate to see the boss have to
bring on new staff.”

The guards look at each
other and then at me.

“All right,” the tall one
says.

“We’ve got your back, Mr.
Dur
—I mean, sir.”

The elevator dings, and
I’m praying that it’s anyone but Mrs. Owen who walks out. To my temporary
relief, it’s Wrigley.

That relief is temporary
because she’s not up to speed on the bullshit I’ve been feeding these guys.

“Hey there, boss,” I say.
“We had a little misunderstanding down here, but not to worry. Our friends here
don’t know
anything
about the
meeting.”

“That’s right, ma’am,”
the tall one says.

“None of our business
anyway,” the short one chimes in.

“Good to hear,” Wrigley
says, doing a decent job of hiding her confusion.

“You ready to get out of
here?” I ask her.

“Yeah,” she says. “Have a
good night, guys.”

We keep straight faces
long enough to get into a cab, but as soon as that car door is closed, we’re in
hysterics.

*
                   
*
                   
*

Back at my apartment, and
Wrigley’s asking if she can sleep on the couch. I don’t really have a problem
with it, especially after the fucking insane night we’ve both had.

That’s not what happens,
though.

Before I know it, we’re
both sitting on the couch and she’s running her fingers through my hair,
telling me that she can’t remember having such a fun night and I’m having
trouble disagreeing with her.

Yeah, I’m thinking about
Leila, but the shine is off the apple. She left without so much as a smile and
a wave, and I’m done feeling like shit for wanting to stop feeling like shit.

Wrigley’s kissing me a
minute later and I’m not telling her to stop. My arms are around her, and I’m
wondering what I was so afraid of. Wrigley wanted to stick with me even while I
was trying to figure things out with Leila and, while that’s not perfect and
her motivations were hardly pure, I’m sick of not being able to sleep at night
because the woman I cared so much for just took off while I was sitting alone
in a bar waiting for one last night together.

Wrigley pulls away for a
second and asks, “Are you all right? We don’t have to do this if you’re still
against it.”

“You know what? I’m
fine,” I tell her.

I’m kissing her again and
my hand makes its way behind her back, up to the clasp of her bra, and with one
hand, I—hold on. Give me a second.

Okay, this hasn’t
happened to me since I was a teenager.

I must just be drunk,
because I know how a bra clasp works, but this fucking thing isn’t coming
apart.

“
Doin
’
okay over there?” she asks.

“Yeah,” I tell her. “Just
give me a second.”

“You’re kind of losing
your touch,” she says with a giggle.

Finally, I give up and
she has to do it.

With her bra off, but her
shirt still on, we’re back to kissing and it feels pretty nice being with
someone I know isn’t just going to leave me, and I really need to stop thinking
about Leila. That’s probably what’s throwing me off tonight. I just need to
stop thinking about Leila.

“You all right?” Wrigley
asks, and I have to ask her what she’s talking about. “You just kind of stopped
kissing me there, right in the middle of everything,” she says. “Are you sure
you’re all right.”

“Yeah,” I scoff. “I’m
fine. I don’t know what my deal is, but I’m fine.”

“Okay,” she says and
starts unbuttoning my shirt.

Yeah, this is nice. This
is how I should be spending my free time: With this beautiful redhead who gets
me, who I can be myself around, who’s clearly not Leila, but—god damn it.

“Okay,” she says, her
patience dwindling. “What’s going on?”

“What?”

“You’re just staring off
into space now,” she says. “Our eyes were about two inches apart and you
weren’t even looking at me.”

“I’m sorry,” I tell her.
“I’m really fine.”

“Are you sure?” she asks.
“We don’t have to do anything. Tonight’s been great already, so if you’re not
up for—”

“No,” I tell her. “I’m
ready. Let’s do this.”

“Okay,” she smiles and
she leans back in, kissing me.

She leans back just
enough to get her shirt off, and she pulls mine off while she’s at it.

Skin to skin now, she’s
pressing herself into me, and her warmth reminds me of Leila.

Okay, I’ve got to just
push through this. It’s understandable that I’d be a little hung up right now,
but it’s over with Leila. She won’t even answer my calls.

“Okay, seriously,”
Wrigley says.

“What?” I ask. “I didn’t
do anything that time.”

“I’ve been trying to put
your hands on me, but you keep pulling them away. Obviously, you’re not into
this, so maybe I should just go.”

“No,” I tell her.
“Really, I’m fine. I think I’m just a little out of it, but I definitely want
to do this.”

“You’re sure?” she asks.
“This isn’t one of those high-pressure situations where you tell me you’re not
down to fuck and I have a conniption fit.”

“I promise,” I tell her,
“I’m fine.”

“All right,” she says and
she’s kissing me again.

I’ve got to keep my mind
focused here. I don’t know what’s with me, but the more Wrigley and I touch,
the more I hear her breathe, the more I feel the soft warmth of her skin, the
more I’m picturing Leila, and the more I just want to break down and cry.

Wrigley’s hand makes its
way down my chest and settles on my upper thigh.

My head’s in the game
now, and I’m holding her close while she reaches up and undoes my pants with
one hand.

At least one of us still
has game.

Pants open, now, she
reaches in and nothing.

“Okay, you’ve got to tell
me what the fuck is going on,” she says. “I’ve seen you a lot drunker than
this, and you’ve always been hard and ready to go.”

“I’m just nervous,” I
tell her. “It’s been a while since you and I have been together like this.”

“Nothing’s happening,
Dane,” she says. “What the fuck? You’re not even sporting a
halfie
.”

I lean forward, elbows on
my knees, palms over my eyes. “I don’t know,” I tell her. “I just can’t do it.
It’s not you, I promise you that. I’m just in my fucking head and I can’t get
out of it. I can’t let go and just let this happen.”

I’m waiting for a
response, but none comes.

After all her time and
effort,
stalkerish
though it may have been, she can’t
be very happy with me right now.

“Fuck!” I grunt and pull
my hands away from my eyes, but Wrigley’s just sitting next to me with a smile
on her face.

“I knew it,” she says.
“You really are in love with her, aren’t you?”

“What?” I ask. “No, I
thought I was, but how can I be in love with someone who just—”

“You can’t help who you
fall in love with,” she says. “It doesn’t work like that.”

“I thought this was what
you wanted: you and I getting back to where we were before Leila and I—”

“That would have been
nice,” she says, “but that’s not why I’ve been giving you such a hard time.”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you really think I’m
dumb enough to think that stalking you is going to make you want to be with me?
That has never fucking worked and it never will. Anyone who says differently is
lying to themselves.”

“Then why—”

“I wanted you to be
sure,” she says. “I could tell that morning after we technically became a
thing. Every time we talked about your roommate, you got this look in your eye.
It’s the same look I had a long time ago and there’s not another one like it.”

“I don’t understand,” I
tell her. “What were you trying to accomplish?”

“I was just planting
seeds,” she says. “While I know that look, I also know you. I know that you
wouldn’t just get out of your own way and let something happen—even being in
love—without a little help, so I helped.”

“You’re talking Greek,” I
tell her. “I don’t understand how any of that was supposed to help my
relationship with Leila.”

“Oh, don’t be such an
idiot,” she says. “Even tonight’s about that. Do you really think I’m so
deluded that I’d try to jump you when you’re clearly heartbroken? That would
just be me taking advantage of you, and you’d end up resenting me for it. That
last part is kind of why I’m telling you all this: I don’t want you to resent
me for anything.”

“But you
did
try to jump me,” I tell her.

“You made the first five moves,”
she says, “but I knew you’d stop it before it got that far. I didn’t count on
your body saying no before you did, but that’s just the way it goes, I guess.”

“What am I supposed to
do, though?” I ask. “I don’t know where she lives. She wouldn’t tell me. She
won’t answer my calls, and anyway, I just spent the whole night with you—a lot
of it with both of us naked, and—”

“Yeah, but notice
anything?” she asks.

“What do you mean?”

She squeezes my still
flaccid member and says, “Most of the time, all it takes for a guy to get hard
is a pleasing view or a little friction, and I’m pretty sure I’ve been giving
you both for about the last ten minutes, and not so much as a semi.”

She lets go of me and
starts getting dressed.

“I’m having a little
trouble believing you’ve been doing all this just so I’d end up with Leila,” I
tell her.

“It’s not just that,” she
says. “I wanted to see if it was real or just a phase. I wasn’t lying when I
told you that I wasn’t so keen on giving up on my fuck buddy, but you’re in a different
place right now. It wouldn’t be fair to either of us to keep pretending like
there’s still something between us.”

My head is hurting, and
I’m not sure if it’s because of the alcohol or because what she’s saying
actually makes a weird kind of sense. It’s definitely a Wrigley kind of sense.

“So, what do I do,
though?” I ask again. “It’s not like I can just call her up and tell her the
good news that I tried to get with someone else, but couldn’t get hard, so that
must mean we’re meant for each other.”

“I think you know that
the two of you
are
meant for each
other,” she says. “But yeah, I probably wouldn’t mention how you came to that
particular conclusion. I get that the two of you aren’t really together right
now, but I can see that disclosure backfiring. You know where she works,
right?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” she says. “Send a
letter to her at work. Don’t do anything over the top—you don’t want to
embarrass her, but you need to let her know that you haven’t forgotten about
her, that you still want to find a way to make things work if you can. After
that, I don’t know, but I bet you’ll get a response.”

Well, this has easily
been the strangest night of my life, but at the same time, I can’t help but
think it could be one of the most important.

“You know what?”

“What?” Wrigley asks.

“You’re right. Thank you
for whatever voodoo you’ve been doing to help me see that, but I can’t just
give up on her and me. I need to know if there’s some way we can make this
work.”

Wrigley tells me that it
might be better for me to call her again when it’s not four in the morning, but
the phone’s already in my hand. I turn on the screen, ready to late-night
drunk-dial Leila when I see the notification at the top of the screen.

“You have one voice
message.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Five
Alarm

Leila

We’re back at my
apartment, Will and I, and I’ve been doing everything in my power to feel okay
getting close to him.

So far, it hasn’t been
working so well.

When I first showed him
in, I was fully intending on ripping off his shirt and seeing what it’s like to
ride a fireman, but I just ended up taking him for a tour of the apartment.

When we got to my
bedroom, I told myself that this would be a perfect segue back toward sex, but
I just stood there for a minute before asking him if he wanted something to
drink.

Even after he said no, I
still walked away from him and to the kitchen where I keep the liquor.

Now, I’m going through
the freezer, trying to pick one of my five half-empty bottles to sooth my
nerves.

I finally settle on
tequila.

Okay, so I grab the
bottle of rum, too.

All right, so I’m
grabbing all of the bottles and setting them out on the counter, and I jump
when Will asks me what I’m doing.

“Just setting these out,”
I tell him. “Just in case you change your mind and you’d like something to
drink. I’m pretty sure we could make some cocktails out of this stuff if you’d
prefer that to a straight drink.”

“No,” he says, “I’m fine.
You go ahead and indulge, though.”

“All right,” I tell him,
and I go to the cabinet and pull out a glass.

I fill the thing half
full with a mix of every one of these liquors and I try not to notice the
shocked expression on Will’s face as I drink the whole thing down in one lift
of the glass. I would say one gulp, but I’m not quite there yet.

“All right,” I tell him.
“Would you like to watch a movie or something?”

“Are you okay?” he asks.
“You just drank about eight shots there.”

“I’m fine,” I tell him,
“just a bit nervous.”

Now that he mentions it,
though, I am starting to feel a little sick to the stomach.

“We don’t have to do
anything if you don’t want to,” he says. “I’m perfectly happy just hanging out
for a while.”

“Let’s start with a
movie,” I tell him. “We can always go from there.”

“All right,” he says and
smiles at me.

He really is pretty
fucking gorgeous, and I don’t know why I’m thinking of Dane as that thought
goes through my head.

My fireman is tan and
free of tattoos. He’s just looks like he belongs on a stage, accepting some
kind of award for bravery or public service.

“Go ahead and make
yourself comfortable. I’ll be right in,” I tell him.

“All right,” he says and
walks into the living room.

With him safely out of
sight, I take a few deep breaths and pop an antacid to try to calm my stomach.
It’s not just the alcohol, although it is hitting me pretty hard already, but I
don’t think I’ve ever been this nervous.

With Dane, I was hardly
ever nervous. I got butterflies and all that, but it was always accompanied by
a wonderful feeling. Right now, my anxiety is wrapped in a sort of visceral
terror that I’m not sure what to do with.

Momentarily, the thought
to take another drink pops into my head, but I almost gag just thinking about
that possibility.

I pull some microwave
popcorn out of the cabinet and pop it in. It’s not so much that I’m really that
in the mood for popcorn, but I would like an excuse for taking so long.

“What do you want to
watch?” Will asks from the other room.

“I don’t know,” I tell
him. “What are you in the mood for?”

“Something light,” he
says. “Something funny.”

“Sounds good,” I answer.
“Check the bottom two shelves. That’s where I keep most of the American
movies.”

“Yeah,” he says. “I see
you’re really into foreign films.”

“Uh huh,” I answer, and I
hope he doesn’t hear the annoyance in my voice.

Why am I so annoyed?

The microwave beeps and I
burn my hands in the steam, pulling the popcorn out of it.

“Fuck!”

“You all right in there?”
he asks.

“Yeah,” I tell him.
“Popcorn’s hot. I’m fine.”

“Need some help in
there?”

I’m bombing the crap out
of this date.

I finally get the popcorn
into an oversized bowl and make my way out to the living room.

“How about When Harry Met
Sally,” he says. “I haven’t seen it in—what’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry,” I tell him.
“I’ll be right back.”

It’s not my brightest
moment, but I quickly set the popcorn on the coffee table and I’m running to
the bathroom.

My stomach seemed to be
doing okay right up until he held up When Harry Met Sally.

I try to be quiet, but of
course, I’m not.

After a minute, there’s a
knock on the door.

“Are you okay in there?”
Will asks.

“Yeah,” I tell him.
“Sorry, I guess I did overdo it on that shot, but I’ll be fine. Just give me a
minute.”

“Maybe tonight’s not such
a good night,” he says, and I feel like an idiot.

I don’t know what to say
to him, so I don’t say anything. I just lie here on the floor and start to cry.

He knocks again, asking,
“Are you all right? Do you need some water or anything?”

“Yeah,” I tell him,
wiping my eyes with absolutely no lasting result. “I’m fine. I’ll be right
out.”

“Okay,” he says. “I’ll
stay until I know you’re going to be okay.”

Humiliation meets even
more humiliation.

This isn’t how it was
supposed to work out.

Dane and I were only
together a very short while, and when it became clear that he wasn’t ready or
willing to move with me, that was supposed to be the end of it. I was supposed
to meet a nice guy here, though I didn’t expect it to happen so quickly.

I never imagined I’d
actually meet a fireman after a week and that he’d come home with me on the
first night.

I’m doing a great job of
fucking this up.

I pull myself off the
floor and flush the toilet. Before I open the door, I quickly brush my teeth
and gargle with mouthwash.

My hopes aren’t too high
about anything still happening, but the least I can do is be presentable.

My eyes are puffy, but
some cold water eases the swelling. Within a couple of minutes, I’ve dried my
eyes and I open the door.

Will is sitting on the
couch.

He goes to speak, but I
start first.

“Is there any possible
way we can just pretend the last ten minutes ever happened and just go from
here?” I ask.

“Listen,” he says, “my
ex-wife was a big drinker, and while I’m certainly not about to tell you what
to do with your life, I really don’t think I can go through that sort of thing
again.”

“I really don’t drink
that much,” I tell him. “It’s just. I don’t know, it’s been a rough week.”

Without any prompting, I
just start telling him about Dane and how I left things. He listens patiently.

“…so I guess it’s just a
little hard for me getting back out there so quick after everything, you know?”

“Yeah,” he says. “I can
totally understand that.”

“That’s right,” I say,
smacking my forehead. “This is your first time out, too, isn’t it?”

“That’s okay,” he says.
“I think this is probably the best thing that could have happened for either of
us tonight.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, we’ve both gone
through some heartache, and maybe we can help each other make it through, you
know?”

“Yeah,” I smile. “So, any
chance you’re still up for a movie?”

“Nah,” he says. “I’m
actually pretty tired, so I think I should get going—”

“Don’t go,” I tell him.
“You’ve humored me this long, the least I can do is offer you a place to sleep
for the night.”

“Yeah?” he asks, thinking
it over. “Do you mean that?”

“Of course,” I tell him.

He slips his shoes off
and lies down on the couch.

“You might find it more
comfortable in my room,” I tell him.

I’m out on a ledge here,
especially given how things went after we got here, but he smiles at me and
sits up.

“All right,” he says.
“I’d like that.”

I’m not entirely sure how
I turned things around so quickly, maybe it’s something to do with the male sex
drive. Who knows? Regardless, we’re barely through my bedroom door before I’m
kissing him hungrily.

He takes off his shirt,
and I could just bite him he’s so sculpted.

I kiss his bare chest and
he pulls my shirt over my head.

I’m still a little
nervous, but all things considered, this couldn’t be going better for me.

That is, until he kisses
my neck and I start to feel sick to my stomach again.

It’ll pass, though. It’s
not like I have anything left to throw up.

Only, as we become more
entangled and less clothed, that feeling only grows.

Gotta
push through it, though, otherwise, how am I ever going to get over Dane?

Taking my own advice a
bit too literally, I push Dane—I mean Will—backward onto the bed. He’s down to
his boxers and I’m in bra and panties, ready to climb on top and make some
memories.

“What’s on your mind?” he
asks.

“I’m sorry, what?” I ask.

“Oh,” he says, “it’s just
you pushed me onto the bed, I guess I was expecting you to…” he trails off.

It takes me a second, but
it finally clicks that I haven’t moved or said anything until he asked me what
was on my mind.

“I’m just taking in the
view,” I lie and walk up to him.

I put one knee on each
side of his body and straddle him. He’s already quite hard, and I’m just
thrilled that I’m about to live out another one of my fantasies.

And now I’m thinking
about Dane.

“Fuck.”

“What?” he asks.

“What?”

“It sounded like you said
fuck,” Will answers.

“Did it?” I ask. “Oh
well, never mind.”

I kiss him on the mouth
and lean into him, encouraging him to lie back. He puts his arms around me and
uses both hands to undo my bra.

“What was that?” he asks.

“What was what?”

“It sounded like you were
giggling,” he says.

“I wasn’t,” I tell him.
“I don’t know, maybe you tickled me a little.”

He shrugs and we continue
to kiss while I wonder just what is so hard about undoing a bra with one hand.
Sure, it’s one thing if you’re wearing the thing and you’ve got to reach behind
your own back, that’s not the easiest position in the world to get into, but
when you’ve got a full range of motion…

“What’s so funny?” he
asks.

“Nothing,” I tell him. “I
guess I’m still a little nervous, that’s all.”

“Okay,” he says and we
start kissing again.

I press my body into him
and grind a little against his hips. He’s so hard beneath me.

“I want to take your
panties off,” he says and this time, I’m well aware of the fact that I’m
laughing.

“I’m sorry,” I tell him.
“I just wasn’t prepared for that. Yeah, take ‘
em
off.”

“If tonight’s not a good
night,” he starts.

“No, no, no,” I tell him.
“It is. I’m just a little excited right now, I guess. I wouldn’t worry about
it.”

“You’re sure?” he asks.

“I’m sure,” I tell him.

“Okay,” he says, but the
word’s no sooner out of his mouth than I’m bent forward with my face in the
bed, trying to catch my breath. “You know,” he says, “it’s kind of hard to stay
in the mood when someone’s laughing at you.”

“I know,” I heave, “I’m
sorry. I’m so sorry. It’s just now that I’m trying not to laugh, it’s making me
laugh more. It’s not you, I promise.”

“Maybe tonight isn’t such
a good night,” he tells me.

I might try to stop him
if I could reign in my hysterics. I know exactly why I’m laughing: this whole
thing, fantasy or not, is just so uncomfortable that there’s nothing else for
me to do. I’m sure if I were to just stick it out, I might end up having a nice
time, but it’s pretty clear that we’re past the event horizon.

“Call me sometime when
things are a little more settled,” he says. “Have a good night.”

“I’m so sorry,” I tell
him. “I really am. I hope you don’t think I was laughing at you. I really
wasn’t.”