Fall For Me (5 page)

Plus, he smelled so good.
So
good. I was ready to like, pounce on him and start kissing his neck. Seriously. And he looked ready to do the same. He kept leaning, leaning, leaning towards me as though it was taking great effort for him not to swoop.

And I so desperately wanted him to. So bad.

Oh, I was in trouble.

I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t. I knew if Riley kissed me, I’d be a goner. My brain would melt away—we’d totally make-out and then I’d feel horrible. Guilty and used. Because I really liked him. Like, a lot. It wouldn’t be like what Finn thought, just a kiss. I mean, I guess it would be like that to Riley—he went around kissing girls all the time. To him, I was only a challenge because I was someone else’s girlfriend. Once he kissed me, he’d feel satisfied—another conquest—been there, done that—and he’d be over whatever strange “thing” he suddenly had for me.

I didn’t really want that.

I didn’t know what I wanted, but it definitely wasn’t that.

Besides, if he kissed me, that would be it—the point of no return. We’d be two tangled bodies, making out on the pool table in less than a nanosecond.

So, I couldn’t let him kiss me. I couldn’t.

As he drew his face near mine, his hot, sexy breath on my neck, teasing me on my way to sweet oblivion, making me all tingly and trembley and stupid, I suddenly had a saving moment—an idea. Frantic, I grabbed the cue I’d been clutching and yanked it off the wall. I pulled away from Riley.

“Play me,” I said, my voice all guttural. I darted away from him, to the safety of the other side of the pool table. “If I win, the best’s off.”

Riley blinked, trying to take in the quick change of atmosphere. He ran his hands through his hair, watching me as I nervously pumped the stick. Finally, he shook his head, looking slightly tempted, but unwilling to take a chance.

“I’m kind of worked up for that kiss right now,” he said huskily. “Pool’s not exactly the game I want to play with you right now.”

Me either
, I had to admit—but not out loud. Instead, I held firm to my plan. My good-girlfriend plan. My this-is-Riley-and-I’m-not-going-to-make-out-with-him plan.

“Come on,” I coaxed softly. “Afraid to be beaten by a girl?”

Riley, being a gambling man, grinned. He quirked an eyebrow. “What if I win?”

“Not going to happen,” I answered, racking the balls.

He set his jaw, a trace of a grin still on his face. “Then no, I don’t want to bet.”

“Come on. You know you want to.”

“No,” his eyes danced, “I really don’t.”

I finished racking the balls, feeling his eyes glued to me. I sighed. “If you win, you get my signed Clutch t-shirt.”

Obviously, I wasn’t planning on him winning, but I knew that would pique his interest. Clutch was his favorite band—total favorite. But they were mine too. Last summer I won tickets off the radio to meet them live and they all signed a concert tee for me. I loved that t-shirt and Riley totally coveted it. He held it ransom last year when I wouldn’t give him my extra ticket to see Clutch live, to a sold out show. I took Finn instead, even though Finn wasn’t really into them. Now that seemed kind of lame, but … I used to think Riley hated me.

“Seriously?” Riley sounded intrigued with the stakes.

I nodded, unable to look at him for some reason. “Yup.”

Riley rubbed the back of his neck, then hesitantly grabbed the other cue from the wall. He waited for me to meet his gaze. “I’m not planning to lose.”

I swallowed, ‘cause it seemed he was referring to the kiss, but then I shrugged, trying to act chill. “Finn never thinks he’s going to lose either.”

A small grin grew on Riley’s lips. “That’s what I count on.”

His eyes stayed steady on me as I tried to pretend I didn’t get his meaning—that he’d baited Finn to take the bet, so he could kiss me. Instead, I busied myself getting the balls lined just right, so I didn’t have to meet his gaze, but I could feel his hungry eyes trained on me, drinking in my every move.

Eeek! I shouldn’t have made the bet. It was stupid. I was a good pool player, like, awesome. But I wouldn’t be able to play tonight, not with his eyes on me like this, looking all hungry.

And of course, Riley was awesome at pool too. As we played, I started to sweat, realizing he might actually be better than me. No. Way. The game was close, but in the end, I made him scratch the ball and lose the game.

It was kind of sneaky on my part, but hey, a girl’s got to do what a girl’s got to do.
 
And lately I’d kind of been noticing Riley, at work, noticing when he watched me. He liked my long hair—a lot. Like, when I’d mess with it his eyes would glaze over and he seemed to go into this “guy” little fantasy world and stay there a while. It was funny. And flattering.

And useful.

Tonight—knowing how he felt about it—with every shot he took, I’d mess with my hair as much as possible. I purposely made my actions visibly accessible to him, so he could focus on them. And believe me, he did. By the middle of the game, his eyes were glazed, totally hot for it. He looked as though he wanted to chuck the cue—and the bet—and tangle his hands in my tresses.

So on his next turn, I was merciless. I messed with my mane, twisting it around my finger, flinging it from side to side. Riley watched me silently from across the table, his eyes devouring my every move, though he was trying to focus on his shot. He would take a distracted look at the set-up, then his gaze would keep creeping back to me. Finally, he started to go for it, haphazardly taking the shot though he wasn’t focused. At all.

I purred out a sigh that I hoped was sexy, but I wasn’t quite sure as I wasn’t really up on “sexy.” I bent over letting my hair fall between my knees, then did a gratuitous “fluff and flip,” tossing my tresses back over my head so they bounced all perky and wild over my shoulders. Riley’s shot went wild, banking the eight ball off the table, and sending it flying across the room.

“Yes!” I screamed, totally unable to believe my luck. (Good or bad—depending on how I looked at it.)

In any case, Riley just lost. And I was free to go. So I did. I ran for the door before my body had a chance to negotiate with my head. Because that game—and Riley’s hot, hungry eyes—had me burning. Burning for Riley. For his kiss. For his hot hands in my hair.

So, I didn’t look back. Not once. Knowing if I looked, I would see Riley’s eyes full of want and desire. Desire for me. And I didn’t want that. Well … didn’t
want
to want it, anyway. So I ran. Ran like the wind.

***

Only a week after “The Bet,” I had another encounter with Riley. It wasn’t my fault though. Really. ‘Cause I had planned to stay clear of him for the rest of the summer. Seemed easy enough. He went back to avoiding me, didn’t even look at me now—which made me feel kind of bad. I mean, besides being hot, Riley was a nice guy. He was. And it wasn’t exactly nice, the way I ran out on him the other night. I was feeling a little, tiny bit guilty about that. And somehow, his non-attention made me feel even worse.

So, it was incredibly awkward when the air conditioning went out in the kitchen of the restaurant, because all of my fellow co-workers enlisted me to motivate Riley to get it fixed. Again, they had me take off my uniform shirt and fluff up my hair. Also, they flung water on me—and my tank top—strategically, to make it look like sweat.

“No, that looks too sexy.” Aiden—our restaurant’s hot, 22-year-old bartender—eyed me up and down critically, yet somewhat flirty—I think. “He’ll never fix the heat if you send her in looking like that.”

“No, it’ll work,” Porcha insisted.

“You guys,” I protested for the hundredth time. “You don’t need to do this. He’ll fix the air conditioner. He’s not a mercenary.”
 

“He’ll fix it—eventually. We want it fixed now, though, tonight. I’ve been pleading with him all day. He keeps saying Tuesday. I can’t wait until Tuesday,” Porcha moaned. “I’m sweating like a pig.”

“You smell like one too,” Megan teased, fanning herself with a menu. “I’m going back out in the seating area. It’s nice and cool out there—spoiled customers.”

Porcha humphed. “You can bet if the air conditioning broke in the dinning room he would have it fixed in a heartbeat.” She dabbed some more water on my chest. “There. Perfect.”

Of course I should have objected more. Here I was letting my co-workers pimp me out. But the thing was, they were usually so mean to me. It was lame, but I liked their attention—everyone suddenly being so nice, plotting for me to be their hero. Though admittedly, they had been being a lot nicer to me these days, anyway. And they’d had a right, sort of, to hate me in the beginning. Since right from the start Riley
had
given me special treatment, an awesome work schedule and the best tables. I would have hated me too, probably.

Anyway, somehow, I found myself at Riley’s office door again, my palms sweating, from nerves or heat, I wasn’t sure which. But since I was shaking as well, I figured it was mostly nerves.

When Riley saw it was me at the door, he did a double take. And I sort of blushed, wanting my uniform top back on. The way Riley stared—it wasn’t like when I caught him looking at me in the restaurant; he didn’t look away. He just kept staring.
 
And his gaze had me confused, filling me with mixed emotions, making me want to run and hide, but at the same time, fall into his arms and pant, “Forget Finn, I have a free pass!” After all, lately I’d fantasized night after night about him looking at me just the way he was—full of want.

But I didn’t run away or jump in his arms. Instead, I just stood in the doorway, trying to remember what Porcha had instructed me to do. “Look sexy.” I could remember her saying that, but the way Riley was staring, I was pretty sure I had that covered.

Riley cleared his throat. “Is there something you need, Jones?”

“Uh, yeah. I need next Saturday off. My little sister, Jillian, has a dance recital, and Justin has his first soccer game.”

Okay, I realize this wasn’t what I was sent in to ask for. And I realized it at the time as well. But I did need next Saturday off and it was way easier to ask for that than the new air conditioner. I mean, Riley knew we needed a new air conditioner. And everyone had already been nagging him about it. All of a sudden I just felt dumb coming to his office to bring it up again. I mean, he already knew.

“Okay. Done,” he said.

Well, that was easy.

“Oh, thanks.” I tried to smile, but it was hard because I knew what was coming next and it was lame.

I trudged into his office, but tried to be sexy about it. I perched myself on his desk, showing off a little leg. Riley watched me with great interest, studying my legs as though lives depended on it.

“Um, want to grab some lunch?” I offered.

He raised his eyebrows. “Really?”

“Uh-huh.” I dabbed lightly on my sweaty chest, just as Porcha had instructed, then flung my hair. “It’s so hot in the kitchen. I’m dying.”

Riley flinched his jaw, gazing from my sweaty tank top, back to my legs, then up into my eyes. “Do you really want to play this card?”

My stomach dropped. “What card?”

“The one you’re playing, Jones. ‘Cause I’ll give you what you want. You want Saturdays off to be with your family, you want an air conditioner?—I’ll give them to you. But don’t mess around with me, Jones. You mess around with me and you’re going to have to back it up.”

As if to prove his point, he lightly skimmed my legs with his rough, hot “Riley” hands, making me jump off his desk with a yelp.

The move had my pulse racing and my heart jerking all spastic and wild, but he totally only instigated the move to make a point. And he made it. Loud and clear.