Better Than Safe (19 page)

I returned his smile and found myself admiring his nonchalant mannerism. His laid-back, devil-may-care attitude was frankly refreshing. We turned the conversation to fairly innocuous subjects like foods we remembered liking when we were kids and television programs we’d watched. He got a kick out of the British cartoons I mentioned, like
The Family-Ness
and
Bangers and Mash
. His eyes crinkled with glee as he leaned forward with his elbows resting on his knees giving me a beguiling “tell me more” look.

I grinned in spite of the fact I was pretty sure he was making sport of me. “I wasn’t interested in sweets. I would take crisps over a biscuit any day.”

“Uh….”

“Potato chips over cookies,” I chuckled as I turned my wrist to check the time. I started when I realized I had fifteen minutes to spare before my two o’clock meeting. “I have to get going.”

“Me too. I’m heading to my studio.”

“Did you ride your motorbike with that jacket? It looks too nice to chance on the elements.”

“According to Donovan, it’s just a rag.”

“The designer? You mean to say that’s a preseason design piece you’ve got on?”

“Yep. It was clash of the divas at the shoot this morning. Donovan hated everything. The lighting, the background, the models… except for me, of course,” he added with a wink.

“Of course.”

“He was holding a glass of water an assistant handed him and when the photographer told him it was best if he wait outside after he screeched when a model stepped on the hem of a skirt, he chucked it at the wall behind me. He went apeshit crazy when he saw what he’d done to the jacket. ‘It’s garbage now! Garbage!’ Total diva fit that ended with him telling me to keep this three-thousand-dollar ‘rag.’” He made a face indicating he didn’t agree the ridiculous price tag fit the garment. “You like?” Seth held my gaze with a wicked smile as he ran his fingers through the fringe.

“It suits you. So you’re saying he gave it to you because you were in the line of fire?”

“In the line of water actually, but yes. He’s got a crush on me too,” he added with a wink.

“Hmph. Well, I could never wear it, but you look good in it.”

“High praise from the ad exec.” He held up a hand when I sputtered in protest. “Don’t get all offended. Suit and tie is your thing. I get it. You look hot in your Cavalli. But I think I like your birthday suit best, ya know?”

I rolled my eyes on cue and stood to tidy the table. “You’ve officially crossed the friend line into inappropriate.”

“Oops. You mean it’s not okay to tell your friends they have sexy bodies, an ass to die for, and a cock—”

“Seth!”

“Fine. I can take a hint.” He held up his hands and sauntered toward the door, looking like a cross between a rock star and a cowboy. “Uh, hey I was….”

I tossed the last bits of trash away and walked toward my desk on the other end of the room. When he didn’t continue, I cocked my head and waited.

He cleared his throat and tried again. “Rand suckered me into playing with him this weekend at a bar in Dupont. It’s a small place, not a big deal, but if you feel like it… come by.”

I smiled and gestured for him to keep talking. “When and where?”

He chuckled with a self-deprecating almost shy humor. “Saturday. Ten. The Pelican Club on R Street.”

“I like that place.”

His hand was on the doorknob. I waited for him to make his exit with his usual flare. A teasing throwaway line or a suggestive innuendo. He went still for a moment, then turned around and closed the distance between us so we stood toe-to-toe in front of my desk. I could feel his breath on my lips.

“Good. I hope you come.”

I swallowed hard. Was that my innuendo? I opened my mouth to say… I didn’t know what, when his expression turned sultry. Part of me was instantly wary, but suspicion took a serious backseat to desire. My heart beat a rapid tattoo as he inched closer still and reached out to trace my jaw. This was where I should remind him we shouldn’t kiss, but when he pulled me forward and sealed his mouth over mine, common sense became static. The kiss was sweet and earnest. Like a lovers’ version of a fervent handshake. And then it became something much more. He held my face in his hands and tilted his head. His tongue dueled with mine fiercely before he backed up slightly to bite my bottom lip, then he licked it better and plunged back inside. There was zero finesse in the lustful assault, but for some reason the Tarzanesque display was sexy as hell. It was sudden, urgent, and raw… like Seth.

A sharp knock followed by an embarrassed, “Oh my God! I’m so sorry!” broke the kiss. Seth chuckled and kissed me softly once more before stepping back.

“See you Saturday.”

L
ATER
THAT
afternoon I was scanning through my e-mail as I finished a call with an editor from New York. I had one from Aaron telling me he was moving forward with his plans to feature Simon Pickard’s work for his magazine’s British influence edition in the fall. Because the designer was one of my clients, he invited me to meet the artist and see some of the pieces they were considering for the shoot.

Bloody fucking hell.

I swiped my hand over my face in agitation. No way. Not going to happen. The mere thought of standing in the same room as Simon after six years made my stomach lurch unpleasantly. Aaron was a professional. He didn’t need my input for that spread. And I didn’t need the headache.

I scrolled through my e-mails a little faster, feeling suddenly anxious to go home. Just seeing Simon’s name on my computer screen felt like an invasion. I’d left England in part to get away from him. I wanted nothing to do with him, but I couldn’t squelch the creative process of my peers and I wasn’t willing to dredge up old stories to plead a case against him. The truth was he was brilliant. And Aaron’s editor-in-chief’s idea to fuse art with a British designer who used bold prints and textiles was sheer genius. I’d have to think of a good reason not to be available that day, I thought, stopping at an e-mail from Curt reminding me about the jazz concert on Saturday evening. He left instructions for my date and me, all in caps, to meet Jack and him in front of the Kennedy Center at six forty-five.

Oh. Saturday.

I didn’t have a date. I’d put it out of my mind and it was now three days away. Damn. Hmm… I couldn’t ask Seth. He’d just told me he was playing with his friend’s band. It wouldn’t be smart to ask him anyway. I was too attracted and I didn’t trust my feelings around him yet. I couldn’t be certain he wasn’t playing with me. I had no idea who—yes, I did. Tom, the tall handsome surgeon, was the perfect choice.

T
HE
NEXT
day I sent Seth a text letting him know I wouldn’t be able to make it Saturday night after all. Tom had agreed to be my date to the jazz concert. He seemed pleased I’d asked him and said he was thrilled to meet my friends. I thought that was a little odd because I knew I wouldn’t be keen to meet his on a second date.

Seth didn’t respond to the text, which wasn’t unusual, but it bothered me. I wasn’t the sort to not show if I’d made a plan. And though I knew his invitation was a casual one, I couldn’t help remembering his parting kiss and intense expression. As had become my new normal, I was suddenly consumed by thoughts of Seth.

I called him at lunch and again later that afternoon. Nothing. A barrage of conference calls and a late meeting kept me from foolishly ringing again before I left the office. I’d try again when I got home.

“W
HAT
D
’
YA
do last night?”

“Um… hello.” I scrambled to unlock my door. There was a big glass of wine with my name on it if I could only get the latch to click. I held my cell between my shoulder and ear and tried again. I couldn’t remember why I’d locked the door leading from my garage into the house now. It was one of those strange things I did every once in a while for no particular reason. “What are you talking about?”

“Last night.”

“I went to sleep.” I fidgeted with the key, twisting it hard to the left until it finally clicked. Damn. That had to be fixed immediately, I mused crankily as I swung the door open. I dropped my briefcase on the distressed wooden bench in the mudroom and tossed my keys in a shallow bowl on the antique table in the hallway, giving myself a quick once-over in the mirror above before heading toward the kitchen. I looked tired. My hair was slightly mussed and my jaw was darkened with end-of-day stubble. I slipped my navy suit coat from my shoulders and idly asked Seth what he had done last night before remembering I’d been trying to reach him all day.

“Wait. Did you get my message?”

“Yeah. No worries. Next time. I played NBA.”

I sensed a great divide opening under my feet. I had no idea what he was talking about. I was sure he was referring to basketball, but I wasn’t clear why. Wine. I reached for a glass and loosened my tie before asking what he meant.

“Video game. It’s frustrating as hell but I get addicted sometimes. You ever play?”

“No.”

“Never?”

“Never.” I was about to add I couldn’t believe any grown man would happily waste time rotting his brain playing video games, but I held back, realizing I was a bit tetchy. I probably should have let his call go to voice mail rather than subjecting him to my poor mood. But I’d been the one trying to get hold of him and honestly, just seeing his name on the display after the long day I’d had made me smile. I wasn’t going to question why.

“Next time you come over, I’ll teach you.”

“That’s all right. I doubt I’d catch on.”

Seth’s musical laughter washed over me like a warm breeze on a cold night. I had a strong feeling his humor was directed at me, not with me, but I didn’t mind. I poured a glass of cabernet and swirled the burgundy liquid while I waited for him to stop chortling at my expense.

“I was right. You are a snob.”

“I’m not—fine. Perhaps I am about some things, like video games. They’re for children, not—”

“Wrong! Have you seen the commercials for some of those games? Not kid friendly. It’s simulated warfare with tanks, trucks, and, hell, bodies getting blown to shreds.”

“Lovely,” I said, taking my first sip of wine. Nirvana.

“Some of them aren’t bad, but I like the sports ones best. FIFA, Madden, NBA, or—”

“NBA is an acronym for what?” I frowned at the phone when he scoffed. “I don’t remember. I know it’s basketball, but I’m not familiar with American sports. Or British ones really,” I added as I carried my glass into the adjoining living area and turned on a table lamp.

My townhouse was small but beautifully appointed in soothing light grays with jewel-toned pops of color on throw pillows, artwork, and various objects d’art. I walked over to the control panel fixed to the wall and pushed a single button. A moment later, the soft strains of classic jazz floated sensuously through the room.

“NBA stands for National Basketball Association. I’m not a crazy sports fan, but I keep up with basics, like trades and standings. You know?”

“No. You’re speaking a language within a language.”

“Like American English versus British?”

“Maybe. So what is interesting about playing video games?”

“Nothing in particular. I’m just making conversation. I watched
South Park
too but something tells me that’s not in your wheelhouse either.”

“No. It’s not.”

“Snob.”

“I—okay yes. I’m a snob, then. How is watching a cartoon of poorly behaved children entertaining?”

“It’s funny.”

“It’s crass.”

“Yeah, but that’s why it’s so funny. It’s unexpected and raunchy mixed with an underlying message of—”

“Oh please! You’re not going to convince me those crudely drawn cartoon characters are spewing words of wisdom. Not in a million years!”

Seth was quiet for a moment. I actually looked at my cell to see if he’d hung up when he finally spoke. “You haven’t watched it, have you?”

“Well… no, but—”

“You know what they say, Paul… don’t knock it till you try it. Here’s the deal. We’ll revisit this discussion
after
I teach you how to play
Madden
and follow it up with a
South Park
marathon. Sound good?”

“What’s Madden?” I asked, amused by his sigh of mock distress.

“Oh geez. This language barrier stuff is harder than I thought,” he groused. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll teach you.”

I chuckled as I made my way back to the kitchen. I loved his easy banter. Seth was exactly what I needed after the day I’d had. I stopped midstride, alarmed at where my thoughts had gone. I was sure he was exactly the opposite of what I needed. It wasn’t so long ago I’d wanted nothing to do with him whatsoever. I wasn’t a wishy-washy sort. I had firm ideas and convictions. I knew what I liked and stood by it. Sure, I made mistakes and had to readjust my thinking at times, but not to the degree I did with Seth. Leave it, I warned myself. There was no point in overthinking.

“Are you still there?”

“Sorry, I was—what did you say?”

“What
are
you doing Saturday night?”

“I’m—one of my friends invited me to a jazz concert a month ago and I’d forgotten it was this weekend. I’m sorry I can’t—”

“Paul. It’s no big deal. What are your friends like? Are they super uptight like you or are they—”

“Funny. They’re not uptight in the slightest. Curt is a lawyer. He’s thirty. He has a great sense of humor and he’s very bright. Jack is more of a mystery to me. He’s older. Midforties I think, but he’d easily pass for ten years younger. He’s… gorgeous really. He owns a motorbike shop and a bar in Dupont. Jack’s. Have you been?”

“Yeah, I know who he is. So you’re going to a jazz concert with Jack, the extreme hottie with the tats and a body that—hmm… and his boyfri—oh! Someone has a date!”

I sputtered, unsure how to answer. I wasn’t going to lie, but the truth was… well, awkward. “Yes, but it’s very casual. I’ve only met him one other time and—”