The Other F-Word (12 page)

“This isn’t the kind of place you meet for a business dinner.”

“I know. I’m not sure if it’s a date.”

“Wow, Damien fucking Wolfe…nice catch, Emmie.”

“You know who he is?”

“Hell yes, and the man is hot. I saw him once on the social pages, not too long ago. He had a supermodel next to him.”

I swallowed hard, trying to choke down the bitter taste in my mouth. I knew as much from my own research. It wasn’t surprising he dated supermodels. Hell, if I made a top ten list of perfect men, he’d fill every spot. I wanted him to fill my spot. Fuck…how did my mind get so raunchy?

I laughed, but it came out a nervous, jittery noise. “I’m not interested.”

“Why not? The man is incredibly gorgeous, rich as hell, and he has such a good reputation. You know he volunteers for Habitat for Humanity every year. I mean he actually works in the hot sun, putting on roofs and dry walling and shit. He writes them a check too, but he’s pretty hands-on.”

Hands-on… Damn the visual of Damien shirtless, in the hot baking sun, hammering away…it was too much.

“I’m older than him.”

“That’s just another feather for your cap, Em. From what you’ve said, it doesn’t matter to him.”

“It does to me, besides, I haven’t had sex in a really long time. Like over a decade,” I reasoned, not sure why I was whispering.

“Your kids are all out of the house. You don’t have to whisper.”

Oh yeah, that’s why.

“Even if they were here, judging from that awkward conversation last weekend, I’m pretty sure they already know that.”

“That’s true.”

“It may have been a while, however, you’ll find that things still work the same. There haven’t been too many technological advances. Of course, a man like Damien Wolfe probably has a few positions I don’t know about. I wouldn’t worry too much though. I bet you catch on real quick.” She snapped her fingers. “I know, I’ll demonstrate.” She grabbed the napkin ring on the table and began folding my cloth napkin into what I assumed was meant to be a penis shape. I snatched the items from her before she could make that embarrassing visual.

“Thanks for all your wisdom, but I don’t need a tutorial.”

“Then what’s the hang up?”

“I’m no cougar. And I’m so out of practice, and he’s so…advanced. I can’t handle him.”

“It’s a state of mind, not body.”

“Maybe so, but I think if I started doing it with young guys, I’d have to change my lifestyle.”

“How so?”

“You know, I’d have to start wearing leopard print, lots of jewellery, do the big hair thing and drink wine in the afternoon…from a box.” It was a joke, but Kate thought I was being serious.

“Jesus, Emmie, do you seriously think that’s what it means to be a cougar?”

“Of course not, but there is a certain self-assurance that goes along with it. I can joke and flirt, but I seriously lack the claws to be one of those women.”

“Fine, but if you don’t want him, then do the right thing and give him to someone who knows what they’re doing. Like say, your best friend in the whole world.” She tilted her head, giving me a hopeful expression that made me burst with laughter.

“Don’t you think Adam Senior would have an issue with that?”

“Nah, I’ll let him have Kate Winslet.” She rubbed her hands together. “Now we just have to talk Kate into it.”

“I didn’t know Adam Senior was a Kate Winslet fan.”

“Yeah, he’s got a crush on her. It’s partially self-preservation though. He wouldn’t have to keep our names straight.”

“You’re so generous, Kate.”

“You know who I think is generous? You, you stupid girl. You have to be to let a hot man like that slip through your fingers, letting another woman scoop him up. Are you trying to win a humanitarian award or something?”

I shook my head. “It’s not selfless… My motives are pure…purely selfish.”

Kate stared at me quizzically.

“A man like Damien Wolfe is as dangerous as meth—highly addictive and devastating. And you know the best way to stay off drugs right?”

“What?”

“Just say no.”

“This is what happens when you grow up in the Nancy Regan era.”

Chapter Ten

My jeans were tight, but not skin tight. Still, they made my ass look good. I paired them with a white peasant blouse and, per his request, my favourite faux-suede purple boots. I went with rose-coloured sun-glasses. Yes, I actually owned a pair. Every girl needed to look through rose-coloured glasses once in a while, especially when dining with Damien Wolfe. Let him talk about checks for twelve dollars and early suppers tonight.

He was waiting for me in a secluded booth in a desolate corner of the otherwise crowded restaurant, dressed in dark jeans, a black Henley and a baseball cap with the old-world D—the Detroit Tiger’s emblem. Damn…he looked manly even through the pink undertones of my lenses. I slid into the seat across from him.

“I like the glasses,” he said. “Almost as much as the boots.”

I smirked, pleased with my choice. “I like your cap.”

“Are you a fan?”

Yes, of yours.
“I’m from Chicago so if I’m rooting for a team, it’s the Cubs.”

“I admire your loyalty. We all have to represent.”

“I didn’t expect you to pick a place like this.”

“I love this place. I hope you don’t mind it gets noisy in here. I know how you people are.”

I narrowed my eyes. “You people?”

A smug smile graced his lips. “Old people. You like it quiet.”

“Okay, no more insults. I swear to God.”

He bit his lower lip. “I’m sorry, how about some flattery?”

“I don’t need my ego stroked.”

He chuckled. “What area would you like stroked?”

Shit
. This was a bad idea. I’d thought he was flirty before, but tonight he’d come out flinging innuendos like Frisbees.

“I brought the invoices for your approval.”

“Later.”

“Can we be professional, please?”

“Says the girl with the pink sunglasses. You are so challenging.” He had a point.

“I’m not a challenge for you.”

“I didn’t say you were. I said you were challenging.”

I opened the menu, choosing to cover my face with it again because I was pretty sure it was a few shades deeper than my eyewear at that moment. I scanned it, knowing there would be very little I could eat in a place like this.

The waitress came to our table, dropping a smaller menu in front of me, “Miss Mason, here is the vegan menu,” she said. I was shocked they had a special menu, never mind that she knew my name. I was lucky to find one dish to eat at most restaurants let alone have a whole menu.

“I can’t believe they have a vegan menu,” I said when she left.

“They don’t. I had the chef create one.”

My jaw dropped so low, I could have swallowed a lemon. “And they did?”

“They sort of had to, seeing that I own the place. Just like I own Club Cassbar where we first met. Remember that night? You, me, Rodriguez.”

Hell yeah, I remembered that night. “Thank you for this,” I said, pointing to the menu. “It was very considerate.”

“I know it’s very difficult for you to find four letter words beginning with F that you can consume. My only goal is to leave you completely satisfied.”

A woman could get used to that.

I looked at the ceiling, the bright coloured lights of the gaming area, the menu…anywhere to avoid his sexy smirk. “What made you buy a place like this?”

“I’ve always loved video games. I’m pretty wicked awesome at them.”

“You are?”

“I’m kind of a geek.”

I almost laughed. If geeks looked like that, then I’d been wasting my time chasing after the bad boys in my youth. Then again, he did seem extremely intelligent and wickedly goofy at the same time.

“I can probably win every game here.”

“You’re awfully cocky, Mr Wolfe.”

“Yes, I am,” he said, biting his lower lip. It was a completely sexual remark if I’d ever heard one. “I prefer to think of it as confidence. Would you care to challenge me? You can pick any game and I guarantee I’ll beat you.”

“We should finalize the details for the party.”

“You’re right, it’s not like you had a chance anyway.”

I lowered my glasses. “Any game?”

“You pick it, we’ll play.”

Fifteen minutes later, we were standing on the platform of my chosen game, scrolling through a list of songs.

“I can’t believe you chose this,” he said, running his hands through his silky black locks.

I studied the console of The Dancing Twins game where sixteen squares stepped on in perfect synchronization to the music stood between me and the bragging rights I was about to earn. He’d underestimated me with this challenge.

“What’s wrong? Don’t think you can handle it?” I teased. I removed my glasses and set them on a nearby table. Then I twisted my hair into a knot. He leaned against the metal bar denoting his area of dance space.

Damien chuckled cynically. “I can definitely handle it.”

I swallowed hard, not prepared for the visual when he took off his Henley. It caused the white T-shirt underneath to ride up as well, revealing a hint of the sculpted muscles that graced his abdomen. He stretched a little too, and his arms flexed with each move. How was he this hot? I looked away, trying to get my bearings as I took my spot on the platform next to his.

“Are you sure you want to do this? I don’t want you to break a hip or anything.”

I grabbed his T-shirt and pulled him down to my face. “Bring it, geek boy.”

He swiped his card. I pushed the button for my song of choice. Usually these machines had bubble gum pop songs, which made sense since they were easy to dance to, but this was an adult arcade and the tunes were varied. I made a mental note to let the girls and Dillon know about this place.

I settled on Luke Bryan’s sexy as hell song,
Country Girl
. It seemed appropriate seeing as I was wearing boots. He laughed when he heard the music.

“You’re full of surprises, Jessie.”

“Want to give up now?”

He leaned in close to my ear. “I will school you, sister.”

I tried to laugh, only to make some sort of nervous, hollow sound that died in my throat. I’d expected him to walk away. This song was sexy, but not something a guy would dance to. I didn’t look at him. As the music started, I concentrated on making my marks and steps. He missed most of his. When I risked a glance at him, he was just shuffling his foot, leaning against the metal bar, crossing his arms, staring at me, smiling wickedly. He wanted a show? I’d give him one.

Now, I’m not ashamed to say I can dance. This game was all about using your feet to make the right squares, but if you could incorporate your arms, it took something from robotic to creative. The best memory is muscle memory and I had a very good memory. Yeah, I’m a forty-four-year-old woman who can do the Running Man, the Rabbit and every other dance move. The sexiest of them all? The two-step, and that’s what I did. I wasn’t embarrassed. I almost missed my step though when I heard him suck in a deep, audible breath and let out a low whistle.

“Makes me want to become a cowboy,” he said.

I didn’t let him distract me. Not that it mattered, I could stop dancing altogether and I’d still beat him.

I stared at him with great pride when my near perfect score lit up the console. It was a mistake because the deep, lusty stare he gave me took my breath away even more than the dancing had.

“I win,” I announced in a choked voice.

“We’re playing two out of three.”

“You didn’t even move during that. Give up now before you embarrass yourself.” It was an odd statement considering I had been the one gyrating all over the place, and had even managed to draw a small crowd.

He shook his head. “Look, Luke Bryan asking me to shake my ass is not exactly something I can dance to.” He took a strand of hair that had escaped my bun and tucked it behind my ear. “Although I enjoyed watching you. How are you so good at this?”

I shrugged. “I have daughters. We did this every weekend for twelve years. Stevie can beat me, but I’m pretty good.”

“You’re fucking amazing.”

Wow…the compliment combined with the swear word vibrated straight down to my G-spot.

“Don’t start bragging yet. I have a few moves of my own. I’m picking this song.”

I resisted the urge to reply with some smart-ass retort, but words escaped me so I just nodded and gestured to the console.

I laughed when the hard melody of
Cocky
by the one and only Kid Rock came on.

“Do you know who this is?”

“I love Kid Rock,” I replied, narrowing my eyes.

He looked impressed. “Made in Detroit, baby. Just like Rodriguez.” He smacked his chest. “Just like me.”

Damn…Detroit made more than cars.

“This is an appropriate song for you.”

“I think it works for both of us. Or is this not your speed?” he asked, arching an eyebrow.

My smile instantly turned into a frown when I remembered just how crazy-hot this song was. “I can handle anything you can dish out.”

He smiled, appearing pleased. I looked down at my feet, getting in the right stance.

“Hope that’s true, country girl.”

“I will own you,” I said, emphasising each word.

“I believe that.”

His face took on a look of sheer determination—an expression I’d never seen on him, yet I was enamoured with it. He spun his cap around to the back of his head, and assumed the stance.

No more talk. I had to concentrate. I moved around well, even managing to lift my ass on the bar at certain parts.

His score mirrored mine. I had no idea how he was doing that. People hooted and hollered behind us, especially the women. I heard their catcalls and screeches of approval for him and chanced a glance in his direction.

Shit, shouldn’t have done it.

It was one thing for a man to look masculine when doing manly things, like changing a carburettor or lifting weights. Damien looked manly when he was playing a game made for twelve-year-old girls. I knew he could slow dance from our experience at the club, but right now he looked like Channing Tatum in
Step Up
…or maybe
Magic Mike
. He had this crazy hip-hop plus salsa completed with a touch of samba style to him, and he managed to do that without missing a required step. He made the dance all his own. His feet moved so fast and accurately, it looked like he was mechanical and graceful in the same instance. I thought I had moves, but this man put me to shame. This time, I was the one standing, shuffling my feet, watching his fine ass with the rest of the ladies in this place. The lyrics were meaningful too…almost like he was trying to send me a message.