Austentatious (22 page)

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Authors: Alyssa Goodnight

BOOK: Austentatious
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Mssg from Beck:
 
Strip Truth or Dare?
 
Well, someone had a one-track mind. Although, in her defense, it wasn’t a
horrible
idea. Knowing Sean, he’d take the dares and get bored quickly. I’d take truth and he’d know way more than he cared to in under thirty minutes. Tucking my phone away, I just happened to look up and notice Sean snapping a photo of me astride his dark, glossy bike. I couldn’t even imagine my expression: Had I been picturing him naked or bored?
Now that I’d somewhat overcome my fears (I was not so much a limp pudding skin as a living, breathing pudding skin), I was urgently conscious of the fact that I was draped over a very sexy, very ripped man with an accent. It was a tingling ride south on Mopac, over the river and along the shaded, serpentine curves of Barton Springs Road, and it was over before I wanted it to end—shocker, I know. With both of us still playing strong, silent types, we pushed our rented canoe away from the creek bank and paddled out onto Lady Bird Lake.
I’d vetoed the proposed chilly dip into Barton Springs Pool, so with a couple of hours to kill before sunset, Sean insisted that I dump my oar in the belly of the canoe, sit facing him, and soak up the chivalry. It was all I could do not to stare at the man, captaining a canoe in a kilt, his skirts draped suggestively. Thank God for dark sunglasses and a little privacy for roving eyes.
When we’d slid out of the shade and into the full-on, glittering impact of the lake, I pulled out the sunblock, smearing it liberally on the pair of us. And then we just floated, beside a city at work. On a Wednesday.
Shading my eyes against the glare, I peeked at Sean, who seemed perfectly content to paddle us up and down the river with a single oar. “It’s so peaceful. Even crossing over the bridge every day, I forget how nice it is to come down here and just laze about. It’s been years since I’ve been in a canoe.”
Sean smiled and asked, “Was your boss very upset that you dodged out?”
“Hard to say. I left a voice mail, and I haven’t checked my messages.” Except for Beck’s.
“Do you imagine he’ll be upset?” The question was fuzzy and faraway sounding. The rhythmic lap of the oar on the lake was lulling me into a pleasure-filled haze.
“Maybe not today ... but soon enough.” I almost had the urge to giggle.
The rhythm slowed. “You’ve lost me,” Sean said.
Closing my eyes, I tipped my head back and let the sunbeams dance over my face, let my thoughts play with possibilities. Dragonflies buzzed into the silence, and eventually I came back to myself. “I’m considering switching jobs. Maybe.”
“Why is that?”
“I’d thought to stick it out, hold out for management.” I was skimming the tips of my fingers through the water. “But I’m not so gung-ho anymore.”
“I wouldn’t necessarily peg you as management material.”
My eyes flashed open and my spine immediately abandoned its comfortable slump for a defensive, ramrod posture. The canoe rocked with the sudden movement.
“Before you settle into your grudge, you might hear me out.”
I was a fair person. He had a right to have his say before I tore into him.
“You’re relatively shy and rather intimidatingly competent with, I imagine, a desire to get your hands dirty. I suspect a management position would smother your sparkle with office politics and general tedium.” His eyebrow winged up, as if to say, “Fair enough?”
The fledgling grudge, hanging in the air between us, ready to do its worst, dissipated into nothingness. And I found myself with nothing left to say. I was used to people trashing The Plan; I was
not
used to people couching their objections in candid compliments.
“What’s the other job?” Good to know he wasn’t a gloater.
“It’s in failure analysis. Basically I’d be deprocessing the micro-controllers that fail in customer applications, then pinpointing where a failure occurred and how we can screen for it in production. Solid engineering work rather than the babysitting I’ve been doing. I’d have a new boss, a clean slate. And I’d get trained on all these cool machines ...” Out here, floating on the murky water with my cell phone switched off and responsibility far away, it was all starting to sound very nice indeed.
“So what’s the vote—pro versus con?” Sean asked. I flipped my sunglasses up to squint at him in disbelief. What a seriously mind-boggling turn of events. I rallied.
“I haven’t formally tallied things up, but there’s at least one con—a biggie. The whole point of getting my MBA was to get into management. And if I switch jobs now, it’ll be a considerable setback for my career. Not to mention The Plan,” I mumbled.
“What plan is that?”
I looked up at him, calmly rowing, passing the oar from one hand to the other, patently curious. Tipping my head down to stare at the puddle of lake water in the belly of the canoe, I told him.
“I’ve had my life pretty well mapped out since I was around thirteen years old. There’ve been a few changes here and there, but generally speaking, I’m on track.”
“I’d wager I was a surprise,” he interrupted, dimpling.
“You definitely were,” I admitted, nodding, feeling a bit bobble-headed, even without the helmet.
“Well, if something as stunningly perfect as this can just happen, then why bother with a plan that’ll just slow you up and limit your view?”
“
Is
this stunningly perfect?”
“It’s bloody damn close!” There was an edge of exasperation in his voice, and his perfect, lulling rhythm turned jerky. “You’re fighting it, but I intend to be merciless in my pursuit. I’ve discovered I have something of a thing for geeky girls—one in particular. And this is fate.”
Or possibly magic ...
Long moments passed, and neither of us broke the silence. The sun shifted, the light softened, and the sky switched from crisp spring blue to pale lavender. We drifted, watching the cars on the First Street Bridge speed over the lake and the city begin to switch on, incandescent and neon. We scrounged for chitchat, balking at discussing
Us
any further, at pushing too far.
Eventually crowds began to gather along the grassy banks of the downtown hotels, and chattering tourists mingled with Austin locals to wait: the city’s own bat signal.
Sean rowed us cautiously under the Congress Avenue Bridge, and the two of us stared silently up into the dark crevices that housed the city’s bat population. Despite the lively voices carrying over the water, this little stretch of lake seemed shrouded in creepiness. And as I glanced over at the small flotilla of boats passing under the bridge with us, I could tell I wasn’t alone in my impression.
“I’ve never actually been out on the lake to watch the bats come out,” I confided in a whisper, rubbing at the goose bumps that had sprouted on my upper arms.
“Makes two of us.” Sean’s answer was clipped—he was either still ticked at me or else he was distracted with trying to keep the canoe turned so that we both had an easy view of the bridge.
“It would be easier if we were both facing the same direction, wouldn’t it?” I asked, already knowing the answer.
“It would, yeah.” Skepticism was clear on his face.
Damn. I really didn’t want to be shifting around in a canoe out in the middle of a lake, particularly with an audience, but I would. I didn’t know if this was my olive branch or what, but it felt like it was my turn to make an overture. It was my move.
So I made it. I started to anyway. Halfway there, karma decided to make its appearance in the form of five hundred thousand hungry bats.
I could hear the gasps and amazed outbursts from the gathered crowd, but I couldn’t turn, couldn’t look—I was immobilized in this ridiculous in-between position. And then I felt the canoe shift beneath me. Whether it was the wake from the other boats or a mini gust from a million vigorous little wings, I couldn’t say. But whatever it was, it was freakin’ me out big-time.
Before I could decide what to do, Sean snagged my hand and yanked me from my crouch down onto the hard middle seat of the canoe. Crisis averted.
“I didn’t want you to miss it,” he said, as a continuous frenzy of wispy black emerged from beneath the bridge to waft out over the city in search of dinner. Twisting my head around, I caught Sean snapping pictures of the bat-riddled sunset. When he finished, he pulled me back to lean against his chest.
“Smile,” he instructed, aiming the camera back on us and snapping a second picture of the two of us together. It occurred to me that this one could be classified as the “After” photo. Our recent chat had shifted things into stunningly perfect focus. I’d decided to take a chance on fate ... or magic—whichever. I’d decided to take my chances with Sean.
16
In which The Plan is unceremoniously debunked
H
aving definitively decided to seduce Sean within the hour, I should have been a nervous wreck. But evidently Weird Day was working its own magic, because I wasn’t the slightest bit nonplussed, even
without
a plan—I suppose you could say I was surprisingly plussed. I was lucky I didn’t jump him right there in the canoe and send us both tumbling into the water. Somehow I kept it together.
It was mighty difficult to sit patiently and keep my hands in platonic positions while we zipped up Congress Avenue on the last ride of the day. The vibe of Austin nightlife buzzed in my veins, and Sean’s words thrummed in my head. Just before he’d fired up the engine, he’d said, “Where to, your highness? I’m yours to command.” The answer was easy: “My house.”
By the time we glided up the driveway, I was a woman on a mission, poised to drag Sean into the house. The one thing getting through the fog of lust curling relentlessly through me was the knowledge that if I didn’t get Sean locked down in the next twenty seconds, Leslie was going to be out on the lawn looking for a piece of him. And I was hardly in a sharing mood.
Taking his hand, I pulled him along behind me, unearthing my house key on the way to the door. I thought of my cell and the possibility of text messages full of advice but figured I was past that. As of right now it was all me. Fairy Jane was right about one thing—this would definitely be an adventure.
“Should I be nervous?” he teased.
I turned to look at him, his face in shadow, and let a slow smile creep across my lips. “Uh-uh.” The key clicked, and I pushed the door open.
I kept a night-light in my kitchen for late-night forays in the fridge, but tonight it was being repurposed for a different sort of foraying. I didn’t want to turn on the lights—tonight I wanted to be a daredevil in the dark. Sean had pulled off his helmet on the path from the driveway and now set it on the counter, watching while I did the same, heedless of helmet hair. I admit I was a little curious to see what Fairy Jane might have to say by way of the calendar, but it was too dark to see, and I wasn’t about to ruin the moment by turning the light on to check.
“Have you come up with a plan yet?” he said, his curiosity clearly piqued. The element of surprise definitely had its advantages.
“Nope.” I grinned up at him, realizing I’d finally found my feet with him, and that I was on the verge of something amazing.
I stepped forward, closing the space between us, making a conscious decision not to second-guess anything, to just enjoy every minute. I settled my palms on his shoulders and looked into his eyes.
“It’s now or never,” I whispered before curling my left hand around the back of his neck, spearing my fingers into his hair, and pulling his lips to mine.
It was impossible to tell why this kiss trumped all the ones that had come before. Maybe because it was riding the heels of a thrill ride of a day. Maybe because of the kilt, what might or might not lie beneath, and my plan to do some sleuthing. Maybe because I’d decided one Wednesday wasn’t going to be enough, and The Plan was just going to have to get screwed. For whatever reason, this one was in a class by itself. Right up until it got tangled in a fine frenzy of mushrooming love and lust as I marveled at how we’d gotten to this moment—he’d picked me!
And today—tonight—it was my turn to return the favor.
Neither one of us was particularly chatty or inclined to tease, and no objections were raised—quite the opposite—so once we stumbled over to the couch and dispensed with tops and bottoms (the kilt stayed!), we were a very serious pair, striving to make up for lost time.
While Sean had most definitely been going commando, quite thankfully he’d had the foresight to pack a condom or two (crossing my fingers for two!) in the little leather pouch on top, which I’d since ascertained was called a sporran. I looked forward to a very educational evening.
 
“You wear a man out, luv. What with the hiking, the racing, the rowing, and now this? I hope you plan to feed me.” Sean was lying with his head beneath the coffee table and me sprawled alongside him, the pair of us having slid to the floor at some point during the festivities.
“I’ve only been calling the shots for the last forty-five minutes,
luv
. I hardly think I’m to blame,” I answered, nipping at his earlobe. “But I’m sure I can rustle up something. If nothing else, we could make cupcakes.”
“Cupcakes?” Sean queried, reaching for his T-shirt while simultaneously tidying the couch. “Would those be chocolate?”
“Could be,” I said, swallowed up for a moment inside my very own Weird shirt.
“You’ll likely not want my amateurish hands meddling—I’ll just keep myself busy.”
“Your hands are hardly amateurish,” I muttered, yanking my jeans up over my hips. I was working the snap when the rest of his words registered. My head jerked up as I realized that Sean had moved out of my peripheral vision. Curious, I shifted and watched him wander, examining the occasional knickknack that I’d displayed either for sentimental or aesthetic reasons, running his finger across the spines of my keeper bookshelves ... only two feet from where Fairy Jane was hiding. I held myself still, trying to think, then lunged for the TV remote, the perfect distraction.
“The TV can keep you busy! You’ve got your pick of ninety-something channels!” I scrambled for the cheat card that helped me keep track of which channel was which and waved it in the air.
Sean’s progress momentarily came to a halt as he stared over at me, amusement lurking under the surface. “No, thank you,” he answered. “I’m quite content just browsing through the textbooks on lasers and semiconductors ... and semiconductor lasers.” He glanced in front of him, at the shelves to come, and his eyes lit up a bit. “Aha! A few books I’ve actually heard of—one I’ve even skimmed.”
Instantly, goose bumps cropped up all over my body. While I might have just abandoned The Plan I’d been clinging to for the better part of my adult life and celebrated by having sex with the man who’d put me up to it, I definitely wasn’t ready to discuss my resident fairy godmother. Baby steps ...
I lunged forward, my jeans gaping, nearly tripped over the coffee table, and rather fortuitously, collided with Sean just as his hand brushed The Collected Works plus one.
He was momentarily taken aback, and I honestly couldn’t blame him. I’m sure I looked like a psycho, eyes wide and haunted, pulse jumping at my throat.
“You’re not a proponent of the praying mantis style of relationship, are you?” Sean asked, looking slightly concerned.
“Are you asking whether I plan to devour you now that I’ve had my way with you?” I found this oddly amusing.
“Pretty much,” he confirmed, glancing at the respectable row of Austen novels and my hand dramatically plastered up against it.
“It’s your lucky night,” I told him, lifting my free hand to settle at my stomach, suddenly conscious that my underwear was still on display. I smiled widely, with teeth, and tried to rally while I zipped up. “I’m in the mood for a cupcake.” I tried to relax. With my other arm tensed and locked in position over my big little secret.
“Don’t tell me,” he said, the corner of his mouth edging up. “You’re one of those Jane-ites.” At this point, I was thrilled he was amused and not uneasy. Keeping his eyes fastened on mine, and lifting a single eyebrow in challenge, he extended his arm to the shelf above and pulled down my Jane Austen action figure.
It had come complete with a miniature writing desk and quill and had been a gift from Ethan. While he’d intended it as something of a gag gift, I’d recognized it as a subtle reminder of good sense, sound decision making, and perfect romance. I’d bought
Dating with Jane Austen as Your Wing Woman
shortly after that and promptly classified Ethan as a Willoughby. It wasn’t long before Ethan realized his blunder: Jane Austen was a formidable nemesis.
“Maybe a little bit, but it’s not that,” I admitted, rolling with a sudden flash of inspiration. “This just happens to be where I hide my diary—in plain sight, so to speak.” Relinquishing my grip on The Collected Works, I snagged the little black leather journal and held it against my body, on display but out of reach. “Honestly, I’m a little embarrassed.” That much was true; I’d said some weird things in this journal, and Fairy Jane had managed to out-weird me at every opportunity.
“Ah ... a diary, huh?” He glanced down, running his eyes over the shabby little book with the vintage hardware, likely taking in my iron grip as well. Lifting his eyes, now sporting a wicked gleam, to mine again, he waggled his eyebrows and said, “Am I in there?”
“I will admit that you’ve made the occasional appearance.” I sincerely hoped that this modest admission would help him forgive the earlier wild-woman behavior.
“I happen to know that women aren’t always completely honest when it comes to their diaries,” he said, carefully putting Jane back on her shelf.
I promptly abandoned all modesty. “Do tell.”
“Younger sister, remember?” Clearly he wasn’t the slightest bit embarrassed by this behavior.
“You should be ashamed! Girls keep their most private secrets in their diaries. They are
not
for prying eyes, particularly those belonging to nosy brothers or potential love interests,” I said pointedly. “I am going to hide this somewhere else in the house. You are going to stay here and out of trouble until I get back. Got it?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I decided to forgive him the ma’am. His grin sent nervous shivers up my spine, and with shaky legs I turned away and quick-stepped out of the room. I detoured into the kitchen to retrieve the journal’s lovely assistant, the Magical Key, and then locked myself in my room to stash the pair in a shoe box with some long-forgotten burgundy satin bridesmaid heels. Satisfied with my ingenious hiding place, I hurried back to the kitchen to whip up some cupcakes and frozen pizzas and act normal. The quote, I was to discover, read, “ ‘... why did we wait for any thing? why not seize the pleasure at once? How often is happiness destroyed by preparation, foolish preparation!’
Emma
.” On this one thing, Fairy Jane and I were in complete agreement.
A couple of hours later, heady with chocolate cupcakes and requited lust, Sean was persuaded to stay the night. Of course that meant his motorcycle was revving in my driveway at seven-thirty in the morning, right after he’d kissed me senseless, sans bra and makeup, in the kitchen.
And the revving, in turn, was why Leslie was pounding on the door fifteen seconds later. Quickly donning yesterday’s hoodie, I swung the door wide.
“Why, Leslie,” I drawled, “you know how I love the not-yet-decent morning pop-overs!”
Leslie, as usual, ignored me in favor of inquisition-style tactics.
“I assume I just heard the triumphant getaway of yesterday’s bad influence.” She was sporting the proud my-daughter-lost-her-virginity-on-Prom-Night look.
“Never assume, Leslie.”
“Funny,” she said. I couldn’t help but find her reaction amusing, and my own smile settled in to get comfortable.
The stare-down was her next plan of attack, but two seconds after leveling me with a stubborn glare, she abandoned the tactic to play the pity card. “You would seriously deny me the chance to share in this proud moment?”
“Okay, fine. I may not have been cobblered exactly, but I definitely had a little ‘Brown Betty’ action going on, if you know what I mean.” It was very hard to keep a straight face. Leslie, however, had no trouble at all.
“Fine,” I conceded, just wanting to get this over with. “Sean spent the night. Heterosexual activities ensued. Good enough?”
Leslie’s face slumped right along with her shoulders. “Do you seriously not know how to tell a good story, or are you just out of practice?”
“Could be either,” I admitted, completely serious.
She uncrossed her arms, and her boobs slumped in delayed reaction to my subpar storytelling. “Try to work on it.” Seeming to realize her reaction was a little off, she quickly rallied. “Brava, chickadee! You rode the bull!” I got a thumbs-up, and she got fodder for a gossipy breakfast. She was halfway down the steps before she called back, “Bring him over Friday night!”
How could I possibly resist?
Flicking the lock on the door, I made myself a cup of cocoa, fully intending to play up yesterday’s imagined illness with a late start today. Seeing that it was now somewhat of a ritual, I couldn’t help but check the chunky little calendar block. Turns out I’d gotten used to its conveniently updating itself. And reading, “ ‘How wonderful, how very wonderful the operations of time, and the changes of the human mind!’
Mansfield Park,
” on this sunny morning was a pleasure—I couldn’t help but smile. Fairy Jane was back in my good graces, and I needed to rescue her from yesterday’s impromptu hiding place. It seemed a little thank-you was in order....
My room was full of fresh distractions, not the least of which was the tousled, tangled state of my bed. But my eye caught on the purple wadded Weird shirt flung over the nightstand.

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