Wet (7 page)

I feel the vein pop out on my forehead. Why is she screwing with me?

“I know what this is about,” I whisper in a dark voice.

“Oh yeah? What’s that?”

“You’re provoking me, trying to get me to come over there and fuck you and break my oath. Well, it’s not going to happen.”

“Good!”

“Yup, good.”

“Because you know what, mister? You don’t fit into my profile anyway.”

“Oh that’s rich. You must have one hell of a profile.”

“Well look at you. You’re searching for a little complacent wifey who will roast your chicken and birth you a bevy of babies.”

“Roast my chicken? What’s that a metaphor for?”

“It’s not a metaphor, it’s dinner.”

I roll my eyes. “You’re pretty weird, you know.”

“And you don’t want to fuck anymore and nothing’s weirder than that . . . so who’s calling the kettle black?”

“Who says I don’t
want
to fuck? I never said that. I want it.”

“Really?”

“Sure.”
I want it bad
. So bad it hurts, but I don’t tell her that.

“So it’s that you just don’t want to fuck me?”

“Oh, I want to fuck you. Right now I want to throw you on the bed and ride you so hard you won’t be able to walk the next day.”

There’s a long silent pause.
Maybe that was too much.

“Ms. Jacoby, are you still there?”

“I’m here, Paul Junior. I’m just distracted thinking about you throwing me on the bed.”

“And mounting you?”

“Yes.”

I hear a soft moan.

“And fucking you hard?”

“God, yes.”

“So you really want that, do you?”

“You’re cruel. Are you going to make me beg for it?”

“Maybe.”

“Please . . . Paul, are you touching yourself? Because I am.”

I pause.

“Maybe.”

“Mmm.”

I feel myself unraveling from this conundrum of a woman with her dirty mouth. I’ve never known a female I couldn’t figure out at all until I met her. When I hear her moan again my mind goes to a visual of her with legs spread and her hand in her panties. I swallow hard.

“Elle, what are you thinking about when you ride your vibrator?”

“That I’d rather it was you.”

Damn.
“Yeah?”

“Or more specifically, your anaconda.”

“I bet you’d like that.” My fingers tighten over the phone, my other hand tightens over my cock.

“You can teach me to be bad. Is that big-boy hard?”

I tighten my grasp. “Does the sun shine?”

“You’re killing me here, Paul. Please come fuck me.”

Oh for God’s sake why am I being tested like this?

My heart is pounding as I hear that little bastard speak up—the annoying voice that lives in my head.

You fuck her Paul, and then what? How will you feel in the morning?

My mouth is dry as I respond to her plea with unbearable regret.

“No. I just can’t.”

It’s another tortured night and it’s becoming apparent I’m on a slippery slope and losing more self-control by the day. No more drunken late night phone calls with Ms. Jacoby. That’s for sure. I can’t even believe the stuff I said to her.
Ride your vibrator?
What the hell am I doing?

I go in late to work the next morning so I can go straight to a meeting. Jim studies me as I approach him.

“Rough night?”

“Yeah, and rough morning too.”

He nods with a sympathetic gaze. “Well you came to the right place.”

That afternoon at work I finish going over the plans for tomorrow’s meeting at the Taylor project when a thought occurs to me. I call my old hook-up buddy Gabriel. Thank God I’m so much calmer than I was earlier.

“Hey, Gabe, you free after work to catch a beer?”

“I’m free now. My day’s over already. You still at work?”

I glance at my watch. It’s not that early before the time I usually take off. “I could head over there now.”

“Brennigans?”

“Yeah, I’ll be there in about twenty.”

Gabe’s already parked at the bar with a beer and watching the game when I walk past the studio techs and grips that are gathered around the pool tables. The wood paneling on the walls makes everything darker through the haze of smoke wafting in from the patio. I buy a beer and then nod to him for us to move to a booth. He’s changed out of his working gear. I almost didn’t recognize him all cleaned up.

I still can’t believe that Gabe stayed in L.A. after high school to work for my dad while I went off to college.

“What’s up, Paul? We haven’t done this in a while. You still watching your partying?”

“Yeah . . . among other things.”

“He gives me a knowing look. Well, your dad says you’re doing great, but if you don’t mind my saying so it doesn’t sound like you’re having much fun.”

I hate admitting to myself that I miss when we used to go out looking to score.

“How about you?”

“No complaints. I’ve got season tickets for the Clippers and I have plenty of other fun too.”

“Got a girlfriend yet?”

“Hell no. Who needs the headache? I’m still playing the field . . . sampling all the flavors. Why settle for one, when there’s so many to choose from?”

He holds up his beer in a toast and we clink bottles.

I lean in toward him. “While we’re on the subject there’s something I want to ask you about.”

“Yeah?”

“Tinder.”

He chuckles. “So you’re telling me you’re ready to have fun. Are you going to start clubbing with me again?”

“No, I’m helping a friend.”

“Sure you are. That’s as good a bogus reason as any, my man.”

I glance around our booth and make sure no one I know is nearby. “Can you show me how it works?”

“Yeah, no problem. It’s a really easy way to get laid. I use it all the time.”

He pulls out his phone and opens the app, flipping through the most recent women interested in connecting with him. He swipes the screen to the right when he’s interested, to the left when he isn’t.

“So what happens to those girls?” I ask.

“Poof. They’re gone.”

“Whoa. Really?”

“Yeah, see how easy it is. And only the ones you keep can contact you. That’s how you arrange the hook up.”

“Can I see who you’ve kept?”

He hands me his phone. “Be my guest.”

I’m stunned as I scan through all of the women he’s saved. All of them are do- able, some actually hot. How out of control would I have been if I’d had this when I was on the prowl? “And all of these women live in close range?”

“Close enough. I’ll drive farther if they really turn me on.”

With the next sweep of my finger across the screen I freeze.
Elle.
She’s wearing a low cut shirt and posed provocatively. She looks like a girl who’d like a little trouble. My heart is pounding.

I hold the phone out to Gabe. “Who’s this one?”

He sighs. “Hot, right?”

I nod. My mouth’s suddenly dry.

He shrugs. “I can’t get her to respond to me. She hasn’t accepted me yet. According to her start date she’s pretty new to Tinder, so who knows what’s up with her. But believe me, the minute she does respond to me I’m going to nail her.”

I let out the breath I’ve been holding. I’m surprised how relieved I am that she hasn’t accepted him. That feeling is followed by feeling like I’m going to have to kick his ass if he ever nails her.

“So what can you do?” I ask.

He shrugs. “Nothing. I can’t send her a message or do anything unless she accepts me. Hey why don’t you get on? Maybe she’ll accept you.”

I glance back down at her picture and become anxious, like I don’t want her on this site . . . other men looking at her, wanting her like I do right now.

He shows me how to check out her other pictures and her statement. I almost knock my beer over as I read it.

I’m a caged bird finally set free.

I want to live big and try things I’ve never done.

I’ve got an open mind, and a free spirit . . . are you ready for me?

Let’s connect . . .

The flush moves up my chest so fast I get dizzy. What the hell, Elle? Does she not understand that men are animals and she’s just asked to be fucked, drawn, and quartered?

Gabe’s expression becomes suspicious. “What?”

I rub my hand over my face before studying her pictures again. “Damn, Elle.”

“Dude. Do you know this girl?”

I nod.

“Can you introduce me? She’s off the flipping charts.”

I shake my head.

“Oh I see how it is,” he grumbles. “I’m your hook-up pimp. Well screw you.”

I throw a tip down on the table and grin. “Screw you too, buddy. I’ve gotta go.”

When I get to her house, her car is parked in the driveway and the porch light is on. I have to ring her doorbell twice, and when she answers she has one sandal on, and the other one in her hand. Her eyes grow wide when she sees me.

“Hey, Paul. What’s up?”

She’s got that lipstick on again.

I realize I didn’t think this out very well. I shouldn’t have just shown up impulsively.

“Do you have a minute?”

“Well, I’m on my way out . . . but I guess I’ve got a sec. Come on in, I’ve got to get my other shoe on.”

I follow her into the living room where she sits on the edge of a chair and straps on a sandal that’s even higher-heeled than the last pair I saw on her.

“What’s up?” she asks as finishes the buckle and runs her hand up her calf. I’m disappointed when she stops at her knees.

“I want to talk to you about Tinder.” I jam my hands in the pocket of my jeans. She looks up at me with narrow eyes.

“What about Tinder?”

“I saw your profile.”

She arches her brow. “You have to join Tinder to see my profile.”

I shake my head. “My friend was showing me how it works and you were one of the girls in his line-up.”

“Oh really?” Rising, she puts her hands on her hips. “What’s his name?”

“Gabriel.”

She nods. “I remember him. That guy is a friend of yours?”

“Yes, we used to be really good friends. He also works for my dad.”

“I wasn’t interested.”

“So your instincts aren’t all bad. He’s one to stay away from for sure.”

“Hmmm. Maybe I’ll check him out again. Gabriel you say?” She picks up a sparkly bracelet off the table and snaps it on.

“Where are you going?”

“Out.”

“To a Tinder hook-up?”

“Nosy aren’t you?”

“Show me.”

“Show you what?”

“On your phone. I want to see who you’re meeting.”

“Why do you want to see who I’m meeting? Jealous?”

My stomach churns.
What if she’s right?
“No, I’m not jealous. I’m going to screen him for you.”

“Oh really?” She steps out of the living room and returns with her phone. She sits next to me on the couch, close enough that I can smell her perfume. Damn, she smells good—like a rose that’s just opened in the garden.

I watch her bring up the app.

“His name is Stephan. He’s an architect.”

“Impressive,” I say.

“He designs buildings.”

“So much better than a sprinkler guy.” I point to her phone. “Let me see Stephan the builder.” I study the screen and chuckle. “Look at that. His hairline is receding. He’ll be bald in five years.”

She grabs the phone out my hand. “What are you talking about?”

Leaning closer to her, I point to the screen. “This isn’t just a high forehead.”

She purses her lips. “I don’t mind. Some bald guys are sexy.”

“As long as you don’t mind hair all over their backs.”

“Excuse me?”

I shrug. “It’s a phenomenon. Their hair falls off their heads right when it starts to grow on their shoulders and down their back.”

“Ewww! No hair on the back!”

She pinches a part of my shirt near the back and starts to pull upward. “I want to see. Do you have hair on your back?”

I brush her hand away. “Of course not. I’m Irish. We have sleek backs and great heads of hair.”

“Oh really?”

I lean my head toward her. “Care to see for yourself?”

She pushes her fingers through my hair then grabs a bunch and tugs. “Wow, you’ve got a lot of hair.”

I groan. I love having my hair tugged at. “Do that again.”

She pulls harder and I groan louder. “Keep that up and the balding guy is going to be very disappointed when you don’t show up.”

“Oh yeah?” she asks as she rakes her fingers into my hair and then tugs so hard it brings tears to my eyes.

“Hell, yeah.” I reach up and wrap my fingers tightly around her wrist and then regretfully pull it away from me.

Before I know what’s happening she eases me forward and then yanks my T- shirt upward.

“What the hell . . .”

“Shhh. I’ve got to know.”

She bunches my T-shirt up near my shoulders, then lightly rakes her fingernails over the surface of my back. She sighs.

“What?”

“No back hair.”

“I told you.”

“Mmm, and you’ve got a really nice back, too.”

“You think?”

Her fingers slowly run diagonally from my shoulder to my waist. “Who has muscles in their back like that? Do you lift weights or something?” I can hear the admiration in her voice.

“Something like that.” I wish it were okay for her to keep touching me. I’ve missed being touched and now I’m kind of aching for it. But if she keeps it up, I’ll be more than touching her.

I point to her phone. “You know Stephan has beady eyes.”

She stops stroking me and pulls my shirt back down.

“No he doesn’t. His eyes are seductive, not beady.”

I shake my head. “What if he’s another asshole?”

“He isn’t. I asked him all the questions and his answers were spot on. He likes to worship a woman.”

I roll my eyes. “He did not say that.”

“Indeed he did.” She grins.

“Let me guess . . . and his bed’s an altar.”

Her eyes widen. “He said that too!”

“And you believed that crap?”

She stands up and straightens her skirt. “Okay, you’ve made your point. Geez, you’re like the big brother I never had. This has been fun, but I don’t want to be late.”