Crazy, Stupid Sex (9 page)

She did, walking in slowly, her hands clasped in front of her. He shut the door behind her. Evie was back out of her element again.

“It’s not any different than earlier,” he said, gripping her chin with his thumb and forefinger and tilting her face up to look at him. “You remember what you did to me earlier.”

“I remember what you did to me.”

“Come on, baby,” he said, sliding his hand down her arm and guiding her palm to his cloth-covered cock. “Feel what you do to me?”

He was hard already. Had been hard from thinking about her. From fantasizing about what might happen tonight. His Evie was full of surprises. He was the first to admit to being jaded. To finding very little about life exciting or interesting.

But she was exciting. She was interesting.

And in a world where nothing was, it was something like finding water in the desert.

“I thought maybe we should have dinner…or talk or…okay.” He pulled her in and kissed the words right from her lips. He had to, because he wasn’t sure what he’d say if she wanted to talk. He felt weird. He
felt,
period, and that was weird.

He kissed her deep and long, his tongue sliding against hers. She made little kittenish sounds of pleasure, her fingernails kneading his shoulders. He couldn’t remember the last time just kissing a woman had been so rewarding. Couldn’t remember the last time he’d wanted to linger on a kiss.

This wasn’t about rushing through to the main event, but with her, it never had been. With Evie, it had always been the lure of the unknown.

Not because she was slick and mysterious, but because her honesty was so unpredictable. She was sort of scary to watch, too. She was someone who didn’t seem to know how to protect the most vulnerable pieces of herself.

It scared him for her. Made him want to demand she cover up, put on a helmet to keep from the missiles that would fly her direction when other people saw just how unprotected she was.

But at the same time, he wanted her to stay the same. Because he liked what she gave to him. Which was a hell of a douchey thing. To want to use that sweetness, that guilelessness for his own satisfaction.

But then, he’d established early on in his life that he was in fact a dickbag, so it seemed in keeping with his character. If you could call what he had character. And he couldn’t say he cared much either way.

He was all about satisfaction. The here and now. And Evie catered to all of that.

“You got more on your list?”

“Yes, yes I do.”

* * *

A long time later, they lay in his bed, their limbs tangled together. He didn’t like to linger in bed with women, normally. That was why he’d left her sleeping on Friday. But he didn’t want to leave her tonight, and he honestly couldn’t figure out why.

Maybe because the weight of her body felt good. Or because her hair was really soft. Or because he was just too destroyed to move.

“So tell me something about you,” he said, and he didn’t know why he wanted to know that either. Anonymity was safe for everyone involved.

But then, they weren’t anonymous. He’d seen where she worked. She knew who his father was.

They’d exchanged firsts.

“What…anything?”

“Yeah, sure, anything.”

“I…was not very popular in school.”

He laughed. “No kidding. I was.”

“No kidding,” she said, kissing him on the chest. He felt the small gesture with all the impact of a bullet.

“Something else,” he said, “make it good.”

“I lost my virginity on prom night.”

“Me too,” he said. “Not
my
prom night. I was too young to go to prom. But I think a prom may have been taking place somewhere.”

She smacked his shoulder. “I’m baring my soul, asshole, come on.”

“It was formative for me.”

“Unfortunately, my first time was also formative.”

“How was it?”

“Boring as hell. I remember lying there thinking ‘that’s all the way?’ He’d given me orgasms when we were making out, heavy petting and all that, and then we finally ‘did it’ and it was…meh.”

“I think first times are usually like that.”

“Was yours?”

“No. But it was fast. Thankfully, it wasn’t her first time, so I don’t think she held it against me.”

“Want to know the worst part?”

He shifted and looked down at her. “What?”

“I stayed with him. For ten years. And it never got better.”

He’d known that she was inexperienced, she’d said as much, and obviously since they were playing out all these fantasies she’d never tried, her sex life hadn’t been particularly varied, but that she’d stayed with one guy, a guy who sucked in bed, just made him mad.

Not at her, but at the man. He should have given more. If you had a woman like Evie in your life for ten years, why wouldn’t you give more? Why wouldn’t you do what you could to keep her?

He shoved the thought aside as soon as it entered his mind. Nice of him to judge, since he had no intention of keeping Evie. But that was about him, not her.

“He made me feel like there was something wrong with me, and honestly, I mainly stayed with him out of habit. I didn’t love him. But the way he treated me still changed me, and I hate that. I hate it. I never even got to know what I liked in bed, or what I liked in men because I tied myself to Jason when I was seventeen and stayed.”

“You don’t seem like the kind of person to accept blah, Evie, I have to say. Look at how accomplished you are in your job.”

“I know. But I think that’s partly why. My work was what I really loved. I wanted to be successful and I sort of thought, great, personal life sorted, and onto the main event. But he…he hated it all. Not right at first, because he sure loved the money. But he said it marginalized him. To have a girlfriend who was so much more successful.”

“What did he want from you?”

“Honestly? I think he wanted out, but like me wasn’t willing to make the move. Or maybe I’m giving him too much credit. Maybe he wanted me to quit working, be his stay-at-home housewife while he spent the money I already made. Either way, he ended up cheating on me…and blaming me. But it was the best thing that ever happened to me really.”

“When was that?”

“Six months ago. And when I saw you…well, I thought it was the perfect chance to explore some of what I’d missed. To figure out who I am apart from Jason, who is afraid of oral sex.”

“What?”

“Oh, not of me giving it to him. But he sure as hell never wanted to do it for me. Though, he did it for her. Bastard.”

“Some men do not deserve for women—for
anyone
—to give them free rein over their naked bodies. You have to respect a gift like that. Cherish it. Bend it over a desk in the office.” She laughed. “I love that about you.”

The L-word on her lips made his chest do something weird and tight. “What?”

“That you’re this total playboy, and you own it. But that you do, you respect the gift. You’ve never taken advantage of me. You always make sure I’m satisfied.”

“I don’t have a lot of gifts, but I’m good in bed.”

“That’s not true.”

He smiled. “I’m not good in bed?”

“That you don’t have a lot of gifts,” she said. Her expression went all serious and she smoothed his hair back from his forehead. “Tell me something about you.”

“There isn’t much. I’m from a rich family. Had a nice house. Anything I wanted. My first car cost more than most people make in a year. I think that led to my basically dissolute lifestyle.”

“Serious relationships?”

“Nope.”

“Brothers or sisters?”

He opened his mouth to answer, then stopped. There was no easy answer to this question. Say
yes
and they asked what she was doing. Say
no
and it felt like a lie.

“Yeah,” he said, swallowing past the lump in his throat. Why was it still so hard to say? Ten years later it should be easier. And in some ways it was. He didn’t cry about it at weird times anymore. But he still didn’t like to talk about her. He preferred to just forget. Which was what he normally did.

“Younger or older?”

“Older.” Jill had a birthday coming up. But she wouldn’t actually be around to age. He was older now than Jill had been when she’d died. So he wondered if that was true, if she was technically older.

Shit, what a weird thought.
This was why he didn’t think about it. Jill wasn’t any age now. Jill was just dead.

“What does she—”

He rolled over and kissed her, because it was way too intimate of a thing to have this discussion naked and in bed with the woman he was screwing. He didn’t do connections; he didn’t do sharing and hugging time.

He wasn’t about to start now.

“We were talking,” she said, breathless.

“I know, but I want to do this instead.”

“You always want to do this.”

He laughed and ignored the uncomfortable weight that settled in his chest. “And you’re complaining?”

“Not really.” He kissed her again. “Good.” Then again. And again until nothing else mattered but this. But the two of them and this bed and this moment.

And when they were done, she got up, got dressed, kissed him goodbye and left him alone in his bed. Just like he liked it.
Dammit.

“If you like it so much, why are you so miserable?” he asked into his pillow.

Unsurprisingly, there was no answer. Because, like always, he was alone.

Chapter Eight

She went to Caleb’s house every night for two weeks, and never stayed. And it was starting to bother her. Which was silly, because he’d made it very clear what his rules were. And she really, in many cases, didn’t mind following his rules. Taking his orders…whatever.

But this was starting to feel sad. Every time she dressed to leave his house, it was worse and worse. And she was sleep deprived. She didn’t manage to leave his place until the early hours of the morning, then she had to drive home, and try to settle down and go to sleep. She was getting an average of three hours sleep a night and she was starting to climb the walls.

The alternative was asking to use one of his extra bedrooms so she could stay the night. But that seemed even worse.

Hey, I know I can’t sleep with you, but could I crash on your couch? Oh, and thanks for the orgasms, by the way. Maybe tomorrow you can tie me up? Or perhaps I could interest you in some afternoon delight in a semi-public location?

No. No no no. She liked a little kink with her pleasure, it turned out, but humiliation was off the table.

At least humiliation in that context. Sexually, she’d ruled very few things out. She was self-discovering, after all.

Though, none of this would be a problem soon. Because she’d finished the app. She hadn’t told him yet. Which was silly, and immature, but the minute she told him…he would be done working in her office. Their affair time would be over. She wasn’t ready yet.

Soon, but not yet.

It was a Saturday, so she hadn’t seen him yet today, and the anticipation had her all sweaty. Well, that and the little gesture she’d come bearing.

She tightened her grip on the picnic basket in her hand—packed by her favorite restaurant—and pushed the doorbell, waiting for Caleb to come.

He wasn’t going to like her bringing food. She could sense that already. He seemed to try and cut their personal interactions short. They saw each other in the office, he made noise about looking at her app, and in truth he’d had some very good ideas.

Caleb seemed to understand the client a little better than she did, which, considering the client was women who subscribed to a women’s magazine, that was a little sad, but whatever. And his suggestions
had
been very valuable.

He was smart, even if he did do his best to play it down. She wasn’t sure why he did that. The more she got to know him, the more confused by the playboy-reprobate-lazy-rich-boy thing he had going.

Because he was more than that, even if he tried desperately to not let her see it.

The door opened and she smiled widely, holding up the basket. “I brought food.”

His gaze flicked over her, that perfected air of cool interest not fooling her for a bit. He wanted her, and he was dying to get her naked. She was confident in that. More than that, she could see it.

For some reason the veneer seemed extra false. Like being suddenly conscious of a painted backdrop in an old film, and then not being able to see anything else.

Caleb Anderson was full of shit. And she knew it. Had known it for a while, really. And yet it had only just become clear to her how false, how brittle, his playboy facade was.

“Can I come in or what?” she asked.

“Sure. What’s in the basket?”

“Just food. Not handcuffs. Don’t get excited.”

“I can work with food.”

“I’m sure you can work with anything,” she said, walking past him and into the house. “But first, eat.”

“All right, let’s go to the table.”

“I brought a blanket,” she said.

“For?”

“An indoor picnic.” Suddenly the idea seemed stupid. It had seemed fine while she was getting it all together. It had seemed like happy times, smiles and sex and floor. But now Caleb was looking at her like she’d grown a third boob and she was starting to feel like she’d made some grave misstep.

“Well, it’ll hardly seem like a real picnic without the ants,” he said dryly. “But hey, could be fun.” His tone said it most definitely wouldn’t be fun.

And now she just felt like some deluded, romantic idiot. She wanted to melt down into the cracks between the tiles and slither out.

“Let’s just eat at the table,” she said. “Better still, let’s just fuck. That’s what you like.” He put his hand on her arm and gripped it tight, drawing her to him. “What the hell?”

“You could not have made your disapproval of the whole thing more clear if you’d screamed and run from the room. It’s just a picnic. Not a declaration.”

“We’ll eat on the floor then,” he said.

“No. Now I don’t want to eat on the floor.”

“Too bad,” he said, grabbing the blanket from her hands and stalking into the living area. He spread it out, awkwardly, and then sat, his knees drawn up, forearms resting on them.