Wet (32 page)

I run my hand down her back and it takes everything I have not to slide my hand down to her ass and tug her against me.

She leans farther into me and the heat between us is overwhelming. I’ve never wanted anything more than to pull her into the house and make love to her all night. The undercurrent of my passion for her is off the charts. Surely she can sense it burning through me.

I can feel everything so acutely—her breasts against my chest, her leg sliding between mine and pressing in all the ways I want her to.

She skims her lips against my neck. “I can feel you, Paul. I can tell that you want me . . . or at least your body does.”

I swallow thickly as she rubs against where I’m already so hard for her. “Is just sex enough for you?” I ask in a low voice.

She looks up at me with a hopeful expression. She’s misread the tone behind my question. “Enough? Sure it’s enough. That’s all I want.”

I shouldn’t be broadsided but I am, and I can’t make sense of any of this. The one thing I know is that sex with Elle without the rest would never be enough for me. I gaze at her, hoping to get a glimpse of anything more.

She pulls away. “Damn. I’m so selfish. You said you needed some space and I throw myself on you. I’m sorry.”

It hurts like hell to agree but I nod. “Just a little time. Okay?”

She takes my hand and squeezes it. “Okay.”

After the door closes behind her I walk slowly back to my car. I’m so damn pent up. In the old days I would have gone directly to a club I used to frequent on Sunset Boulevard where my choice of hook-ups was a given.

Instead I head home for the longest shower of my life.

Chapter Eighteen

PLEASE AND THANK YOU

I
t’s a long weekend and I try everything to get a grip. I even go to church Sunday afternoon and sit in a pew for almost an hour hoping to get answers that I can’t figure out on my own.

By Monday I’ve got to face the fact that I still have nothing. We’ve flipped the traditional man/woman paradigm. Elle wants the sex with friendship, I want the love and complete relationship. How the hell did I end up being the needy one?

Tuesday, Elle texts me a picture of a horrific puffy, purple dress with ruffles and rhinestones. I can’t help but laugh at the accompanying message.

This is what I won’t be wearing Saturday. Thank God I’m not a bridesmaid.

Why do they want a bridesmaid to look like a sparkly bunch of grapes?
I respond.

I have my theories.

Well, good thing you aren’t wearing that. It’d be a deal-breaker for me.

Oh, you’re not getting out of this wedding mister. Remember you promised.

And I always keep my promises.

She replies with a smiley face.

Wednesday morning—after a night of almost no sleep due to thinking about Elle—I consider going back to my Abstinence Until Love meeting, but then I realize I don’t even belong in that group anymore. I must be cured of my obsession with sex. Like Elle said, I’ve turned down three women recently that most men would be thrilled to screw. No, that apparently isn’t my problem anymore.

Instead what I need is EA—Elle Anonymous, since she’s become my obsession. She’s my constant craving, the cool water for my unquenchable thirst. I don’t know why I thought a self-imposed break from her was a good idea. It’s making me fucking crazy.

I literally have to grip the steering wheel extra-hard when I pull out of my garage so that I don’t turn my car in the direction of her house. In my weakest times, which are upwards of a dozen times a day, I pick up my phone and bring up her number just to see the picture of her I loaded there. This is followed by a battle of wills not to press the call button.

Yeah, I’ve become one of
those
guys.

Of course her little teasing texts only make things worse. Wednesday’s late-night text features a picture of what appears to be a wicker trash can shaped like a frog. She hasn’t attached an explanation.

What the hell is this?
I text
.

We’ve been drinking and voting on the tackiest wedding gifts Stella and Brandon have gotten so far. She has some distant relatives that apparently have a sense of humor.

So is this the winner?

It gets my vote,
she replies.

Damn, I need to find my receipt. I got them the same thing. Do you think they could use two?

She doesn’t reply immediately, but when she does her response is golden.

Bwahaha! I just read your text to the girls and Stella spit up her Cosmo.

I grin as I text back
.

Girls that I can make laugh and spit up Cosmos are my kind of girls. This wedding is going to be a blast.

Another minute passes and a picture shows up on my phone of a group of women laughing and holding up martini glasses like they’re toasting me. The blonde in the middle holding the wicker frog must be the bride, Stella. I scan the faces until I see Elle and she’s blowing me a kiss.

Damn, I love that girl.

But then Thursday night she provokes me by sending a picture with the group of them in front of one of those male stripper shows on Santa Monica Boulevard. It’s followed by a shot of her grinning and holding up a bunch of crisp five dollar bills.

Waiting to go in!
she texts.

I grind my teeth for a minute before I can calm down enough to respond. If she’s going to provoke me, I’m giving it back.

Okay. See you inside.

Oh yeah?

Didn’t I tell you? I’m part of the show.

Then I’ll make sure and save some fives for you.

Okay, but don’t expect special treatment or anything. I’ll be working all sides of the stage.

Is that so? I bet you’re popular.

Well I don’t want to brag or anything.

You know what? I don’t want all these horny women crawling all over you.

Really? I promise to keep my G-string on.

Oh hell no. Put your loose jeans on and get your butt home.

I love that she sounds jealous
.

All right, but you don’t know what you’re missing.

That’s the thing, I do.

It’s radio silence Friday and I try not to let my stupid imagination go wild. Saturday morning she texts asking me to pick her up at 5:30 for the wedding, and I’m amped to know I’ll be seeing her within hours.

I can’t believe it’s been over a week. I surrender to the fact that I didn’t figure anything out in our time apart, and I’m giving up trying. I’m as lost as I was the first time I set my eyes on her.

I take my run in the early afternoon and come home to shower and figure out the tux. It’s a long time since I’ve worn one but I have to admit, my last glance in the mirror before I set out to get Elle is pretty satisfying. I look damn good if I do say so myself.

I grab the flowers I bought this morning. I’m not sure if they’re the right thing to be giving her considering our ambiguous status, but can you really go wrong with red roses? They’re the essence of romance and women love that shit.

I’m nervous as all hell when I ring her doorbell, and damn if she doesn’t answer. It really would’ve been nice for once not to troll through her side yard. Glancing at my watch, I realize I’m twenty minutes early. I guess I was more distracted than I realized. I decide to go in the back and hope the French doors are open so I can wait inside.

When I step in her house I can hear Elle singing—wailing really, at the top of her lungs. I vaguely recognize an old Annie Lenox song and she’s into it. I laugh to myself when she misses a high note but owns it anyway.

When there’s a pause in the song I call out her name but she doesn’t answer and starts in on the song again. My gut tells me that I really should let her know I’m here, and enjoying her noteworthy performance. Hopefully she won’t be too horrified to know she’s had an audience.

I approach the bedroom suite since that’s where the singing is coming from and when I reach the entrance to the bathroom hallway I can’t take another step. Hell, I can barely breathe, and my grip tightens on the bouquet of roses.

She’s turned away from me, and swaying her hips as she sings. A second later she rests her foot on the edge of the bathtub and slowly smooths lotion over her leg in long strokes.

I swallow thickly as I watch. If it weren’t for the tiny pale lace bra and panties she’s wearing, she’d be nude, and my carnal reaction is similar to when she sent that white bikini selfie from Hawaii. I’m so instantly aroused that I’m almost disoriented. Reaching out, I rest my hand against the hall doorjamb to steady myself.

I watch her run her lotion-filled hands up her neck in slow motion, down her arms and over her hips. I wish it were my hands sliding over the soft skin of those curves. She stops singing and now hums as she turns to the mirror, and pulls a clip out of her hair so that it cascades around her shoulders.

I’m overcome with the most powerful jolt as I realize that seeing her like this in the flesh is more than I can handle. It’s pushing me off my cliff. All of these weeks I’ve been dangling from the edge with my fingers slipping and losing their grip, my legs wildly waving try to find a toehold in the jagged rock of our friendship—but I can’t fight it anymore. I’m not even sure when I finally let go, what direction I’m going to fall.

I tilt back against the doorjamb, trying to catch my breath, and silently watch her. When she looks up and sees my reflection in the mirror, her lips part. My heart is thundering so hard that I can barely hear her gasp.

She half turns and looks back at me over her shoulder. She doesn’t act embarrassed or try to hide. She studies me with a curious expression but I sense from the hunger in her eyes that she’s as turned on to see me as I am to watch her. It’s incredibly sexy that she’s so comfortable in her own skin.

The corners of her mouth edge up just slightly. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Not long enough.”

Her eyes grow wide as her gaze moves down my body. “Wow.”

“What?” I ask.

Her cheeks are tinged pink and her eyes narrow. “Look at you. You’re so handsome.”

I straighten up. “You like the tux?”

“I like you in it. You wear it well.”

I nod toward her state of undress as I pull on my lapels. “I’m feeling really overdressed. Maybe I should take the tux off.”

“Is that so?” she says in a low voice with an arched brow.

I notice her nipples are hard as I think of all the ways I’d like to touch her, starting there. As she watches me I don’t know if she can tell how aroused I am, but from the way the flush has moved down her neck, and how rapidly her chest is rising and falling, I’m guessing she’s getting worked up, too.

I nod. “Look at you. I could be as bare as you in a matter of seconds.”

Please say yes
. I’m aching for this.

“So now you’re teasing me? We’re supposed to leave in fifteen minutes or we’ll be late for the photos.”

My mouth is dry as she places her hands on her hips. The swell of her ass holds my attention as she pivots. I want to take a bite of that perfection.

“We don’t
really
have to go, do we?” I reach up, wanting to loosen my tie.

For a long pause she looks like she’s going to come to me, but then she shakes her head and steps back instead. “Yes, this is one instance where bailing is not an option. Stella would never speak to me again, so please stop provoking me. You’re making me crazy with want for the very thing I can’t have right now.” She picks up a silk robe that’s draped on the edge of the counter and pulls it on, tying it shut with a defiant stare.

Damn.

She walks toward me. “Are those roses for me?”

I hold them up for her and she takes them with a smile. “They’re beautiful, thank you.”

“Are you sure about this?” I can almost hear the pleading in my voice.

She pushes my shoulder. “Quit toying with me, big boy. Go make yourself busy while I pull myself together.”

I nod and back out of the room, but damn it’s hard to finally take my eyes off her.

A few minutes later she joins me in the den. Her long, dark grey dress accentuates all her best assets, including her curvy hips and full breasts. I let out a low whistle.

Smiling, she turns for me. “You like?”

I give her an enthusiastic thumbs-up. “Now that I see you in that dress, I’m extra glad you aren’t a bridesmaid.”

“Believe me, me too.”

“Honestly though, I preferred what you were wearing a few minutes ago. But this is a close second.”

“What’s gotten into you? A week away from me and suddenly you’re amped up with all this flirty, sexy talk.” She waves her hand. “Not that I’m complaining or anything.”

“Yeah, I missed you.”

Her expression softens. “I missed you, too. But we’ve got the night ahead to have fun.”

I stand up and straighten out my jacket. “Let’s do it!”

When we pull up to the Ebell Club off Wilshire Boulevard, the valet takes the car. Elle links her arm through mine as we walk through the Mediterranean courtyard looking for the wedding group. The coordinator approaches us and explains to Elle where the bridal party is with Stella. She also lets me know that some of the men are at the bar.

“You don’t mind if I leave you for a while? They want to get pictures of us helping Stella get ready.”

“Yeah, you told me about that. No problem. I’ll hang with the guys.”

As I search for the bar I wonder if I’ll find her ex, Daniel, there. Of course he doesn’t need to know who I am in relation to Elle . . . not yet, at least. I plan to show him later in a very vivid way.

But apparently Daniel and some other friend are helping the groom get ready, so I get a beer and chill with Jack and Erik. These dudes aren’t as happy to be here as I am, and they’re taking away my mojo with all of their complaints about wearing tuxes and that they’re missing some movie screening. I’m relieved when Elle finally comes to find me, and the energy from the party starts amping up as more and more guests arrive.

“Isn’t this place cool?” Elle asks as she takes my hand and pulls me into one of the empty ballrooms with the carved ceilings, huge arched windows, and antique chandeliers.