Frenched Series Bundle (36 page)

“You could ask first.” I laid my napkin on my lap.

“Just testing the doneness. I want it all perfect for you, cupcake.”

“Right.” I picked up the burger, trying to look pretty since he was still standing there behind the bar, watching me take the first bite. But it’s hard to look feminine and eat a big thick burger dripping with fixings—kind of like trying to look graceful while giving a really good blow job—so I gave up on grace and went for gusto. I was rewarded with a huge bite bursting with flavors—I tasted the cinnamon and pine nuts and parsley my grandmother cooked with, and the minty cucumber yogurt sauce was the perfect match for whatever was giving it a kick.

“And?” Nick looked eager to hear my opinion. “What do you think?”

“Delicious,” I said, setting the burger down to wipe my mouth. “Sitty would be proud. What’s giving it the heat?”

“Harissa. You like it?”

“I love it.”

Nick grinned, pleased with himself. “I’ll let you eat. Sure you just want water to drink? We have some really good local beers.”

I nodded. “I’m sure.” I had to drive home eventually, and I wasn’t much of a beer drinker anyway. But maybe I’d pack a bottle of something good in my suitcase for the weekend. I couldn’t believe Nick and I were going to the farm—I had thought I’d never see that place again.

Immediately I imagined that old blanket under the stars.

God, I missed that kind of romance. I mean, certainly I hadn’t been celibate the past seven years. There had been a fair amount of sex, some of it good, some of it bad, none of it amazing. And I’d dated one guy for a decent amount of time two years ago, but I couldn’t recall doing anything like Nick and I used to do—midnight skinny dipping, sex in the orchard, naked Scrabble. At the time, I’d told myself that we’d been crazy romantic because we were just kids—not even out of our teens when we met.

But what if it went deeper than that? What if we were supposed to be together?

What if all this party nonsense with Angelina was just a great big ruse the universe had arranged to put us back in each other’s orbits?

What if I’d never gotten over Nick because no matter what I did or who I dated or where I went in the world, every possible avenue just led me right back here to him?

A chill rattled my bones, and I wanted to believe it was the air conditioning, but part of me knew better. I believed in fate, believed in it absolutely. I believed in
feelings
and
signs
. But I had a much easier time dealing with them when they weren’t indicating I should let a wolf play with a lamb.

All right, maybe not a lamb. I wasn’t totally innocent here, not with the way I kept looking at his butt. But who could blame me?

I sucked up the last of my ice water through a straw and watched Nick pose for a picture with a young woman who then asked for a hug. A familiar jealousy gnawed at me when I saw her arm wrap around his waist and his arm circle her shoulders.

Get over it. You’re only friends now, remember?

Right. Friends.

But damn, his ass looked mighty fine in those jeans. And I knew—I
knew
—what it looked like naked. That’s what made this even harder. It wasn’t as if Nick was some unknown quantity, some guy I met who was attractive but off limits for whatever reason. I’d known every inch of his body intimately, and he’d known mine. I knew the exquisite pleasure of being ravaged by that mouth, those hands, that cock.
Fuck yes, that cock.
My panties grew damp as I remembered what it felt like between my breasts, between my lips, between my legs. I knew the sound of his voice telling me he wanted me, loved me, needed me. I knew his gasps and moans and silences. I knew the throb of his heart against mine, the whisper of his breath against my forehead, the pulse of his orgasm deep inside me.

I knew his taste.

Setting the empty glass down, I admitted the truth.

I’d never forgotten him. I wasn’t over him. And I wanted to taste him again.

Tonight.

The trouble was, I knew that one taste would never be enough.

One taste of Nick would be like my trying to eat just one Kettle brand Country Style Barbeque potato chip. No way in hell. I eat one of those things and I need that whole damn bag of chips so just GIVE IT TO ME NOW BEFORE SOMEONE GETS HURT.

Sighing, I tore my eyes off his body and took a few slow breaths, trying to calm down.

Damn, I wanted him again. Badly.

But he didn’t need to know that.

If we broke a rule, we broke a rule, but I wanted it to be Nick that initiated it. I wanted it clear that it was Nick who couldn’t resist me; it was Nick who wanted it more. Since he was the one who’d left, my pride demanded it.

And just to be clear, the only rule I was willing to break was the last one. I still didn’t want to hear his reasons for leaving me, and I definitely wasn’t viewing this as a second chance. Just a good time with a hot guy who made me laugh and happened to give me the best orgasms of my entire life. Plus he said he’d cook for me.

I nearly came just thinking about it.

#

I had to go home and pack a bag, so we agreed to meet at Nick’s apartment downtown. When I pulled out my phone to put his address into Google Maps, I noticed I had missed a call from Erin. She’d texted me too.

I don’t think I can meet you tonight, I’m dirty.

Smiling, I texted her back.
Really? You bad girl. Go get some.

“Get a text from your boyfriend?” Nick asked. He’d walked me to my car and stood leaning against it, arms folded.

“No. Just my friend Erin. She was going to meet me tonight but couldn’t and Auto Correct turned her ‘I’m sorry’ into ‘I’m dirty.’”

Nick smiled. “Have I met her?”

“No. She and Mia grew up together, but she’s a year younger than we are and didn’t go to State, so even I didn’t meet her until after college. But the three of us are really close. She’s smart and sweet and kind of proper, but Auto Correct is always turning her texts into smutty thoughts.”

“Nothing wrong with smutty thoughts.”

I looked at him, eyebrows raised. “Ahem. Address please.”

He gave it to me and I typed it in before unlocking the car door. When he pulled it open, I hesitated a moment before getting into the car, half hoping he’d hug me, or even just peck me on the cheek. When he didn’t, I tried not to let my disappointment show. “Well, thanks for dinner,” I said brightly, sliding into the driver’s seat. “And for walking me out.”

“You’re welcome. Sure you’re OK to drive?”

“Yes.” My earlier buzz had gone away

completely, which made the urge to kiss him a bit more unnerving. I pulled the door shut, started the car, and lowered the window. “I’ll be there in an hour or so. Just have to pack a bag and tell my parents what I’m doing.” Embarrassed, I explained, “I’ve been staying with them to save money.”

He grinned. “Ooooh. Are they going to let you sleep over at a boy’s house? Better not tell them it’s me.”

“Very funny.” I started to put the window up.

“Hey,” he said, knocking on the glass.

“Yeah?”

“
Do
you have a boyfriend?”

I peered up at him. “If I did, I wouldn’t be spending the weekend with you. I’m faithful like that.”

His face contorted. “Ouch. You said no talking about the past.”

“OK, fine. What about you? Girlfriend?”

“Several. Did I forget to mention they’d be joining us?”

Scowling, I put the car in reverse and pulled out, but I could still see him laughing at me in the rearview mirror as I drove away.

Nick actually had a point about my parents.

They weren’t huge fans of his, and it wasn’t because he didn’t have money, like he’d always thought. They liked him fine back then; they just weren’t overly excitable or affectionate people. But that was B.V. Since they knew about the whole marriage and morning- after episode, I was glad when I got home that they appeared to have gone out for the evening. I didn’t really want to explain what I was doing spending the weekend with the guy who broke my heart—not that I really knew what I was doing—so I figured I’d just leave a note, make something up. That was much better for me than having to lie to their faces about it.

Upstairs, my grandmother’s bedroom door was closed, and I tiptoed past it down the hall to my bedroom over the garage. From beneath my bed, I pulled a small vintage suitcase that Mia had found at a flea market for me. It was yellow with three brown stripes, rectangular and hard shelled, the kind people used to cover with travel stickers. This one had only two—one for the Cunard line, and one that said Hotel Pierre, Paris.

Into the case I put two sundresses, a romper, my bathing suit, pajamas that were comfortable and pretty but not too sexy, and a pair of flats. I packed running shorts, a sports bra, and a tank top as well as my running shoes, remembering how nice it was to run on the dirt roads around the farm. Last, I packed some undergarments, carefully choosing pretty, feminine things that were girlish and even a little modest. No thong underwear or crotchless panties or anything that said Obvious. And anyway, I preferred retro-inspired boy shorts and matching bras, which provided good coverage and support where I needed it and complemented my curvy shape. If there was satin and lace and a sheer panel here and there, well, so be it. I wanted to be
prepared
to break the no-sex rule without looking like I’d
planned
on it.

I threw in my toiletries and hair dryer, and was tucking my birth control pills into a side pouch when my grandmother spoke from the doorway.

“You going somewhere?” She wore a robe and slippers, her shrewd black eyes drifting over the contents of my suitcase.

Frantically, I slammed the top and snapped the latches. Had she seen the pills? My heart jack- hammered as I tried to make my voice sound normal. I was twenty-eight and shouldn’t have cared if my grandmother knew I was on birth control, but I did. “You startled me, Sitty. Yes. Um, I’m going somewhere with Erin for the weekend.” Sitty had actually been fond of Nick, and hadn’t really said much when I’d told her we’d broken up—a heavy sigh followed by “Well, you’re still young. You could find someone else” (which she
never
said to me anymore, by the way). But if I told her I would be with Nick this weekend, she’d tell my parents, and that was not a situation I wanted to deal with. Not that they could tell me what to do, of course. Despite their tendency to treat me like a child, I was an adult that made my own decisions, but I was living under their roof at the moment, which gave them the
opportunity
to make my life unbearable, if not the
right
.

“Where are you going with Erin?” Sitty asked.

“Where? Uh, her cottage. I mean, her parents’ cottage. On Lake Michigan. They invited us. For the weekend.” My choppy sentences were awkward, obvious lies, but I was careful to keep my head down so she wouldn’t see my face.

“I thought her parents got divorce.”

“They did. Yes. Um, they’re not going to be there. Just Erin and I will be. They invited us to use it. I mean, her mom did. She owns it now.” Rising to my feet, I knew I should get out before I made it worse. “Well, I better go.”

Sitty stepped aside and let me pass. “OK, habibi. You go for your weekend. With Erin. With fancy underwear. I think it’s nice.”

I stopped moving halfway out the door and looked back over my shoulder. Her eyes told me she was no fool, even if she pretended to be one. “Thanks. Can you tell my Mom and Dad?”

“I will tell them. You have fun. But don’t get another one of those scars.”

I rolled my eyes. “They’re tattoos, Sitty. Not scars.”

She sniffed. “What’s the difference?”

I almost answered the question but realized she could keep me there arguing with her twisted old lady logic forever. There was no way to win an argument with her. “OK, no new scars this weekend.”

I rushed down the stairs and out the door, hoping I was right.

#

On my way to Nick’s apartment, I called Erin. I was sort of hoping it would go to voicemail so I could just tell her my plans in a message and avoid a talking- to, but she picked up.

“Hello?”

“Hey. Are you at the movies?”

“Yes, waiting in line for snacks. Where are you? Did you see him?”

“Yeah.”

“And?”

I filled her in on my evening so far, leaving out the wet panties, urges to lick him, and various other sordid details that would make what I was doing a Very Bad Idea. But Erin wasn’t stupid, and sure enough, when I got to the part about spending the weekend with him, she gasped.

“You didn’t say yes, did you?”

“I had to! He wasn’t going to do Angelina’s party otherwise.”

Silence. “I don’t think you need me to tell you what this sounds like.”

“I
know
it’s a very bad idea, Erin. I’m just choosing to ignore that.”

“Oh for God’s sake. So you’re doing it?”

“I’m doing it. But my parents think I’m away with you this weekend. And if Mia asks, tell her I went to Cleveland to see my brother.” Jesus, this was a mess. It made my stomach hurt, it was such a mess.

Somehow I just had to put the lies from my head for now—I had more immediate problems to deal with, like how to keep myself from tearing Nick’s pants off for two days.

She laughed. “You really are a teenager again. Telling lies. Sneaking out with your boyfriend.”

Frowning, I exited the freeway at Mack Avenue and headed toward Grand Circus Park. “He is
not
my boyfriend.”

“Any chance you guys would get back together?”

“No,” I said emphatically. “This is strictly a business arrangement.” With possible meetings conducted in the buff.

“OK. Keep in touch—I’ll worry if I don’t hear from you.”

“I’ll text you, I promise. But right now I gotta figure out where to park down here, so I’ll let you go. Tell your mom I said happy birthday.”

“I will. Bye.”

I tossed my phone into my purse just as I reached the entrance to the parking structure adjacent to Nick’s apartment building. Formerly offices and retail space, it had been built in the 1920s and renovated in recent years, transformed into luxury residences.

As I searched for a parking spot, I wondered what Nick drove these days. In college he’d driven a rickety old pickup truck that always had a taillight out or squeaky brakes or a window that wouldn’t go down. It was rusty and dented and not terribly reliable, but Nick had loved it to death because it was the first big purchase he’d made with the money he’d earned busing tables in high school. Given that his income had increased substantially, he probably drove something much nicer now, although he’d never been the kind of guy who craved luxury brands or designer labels.

In fact, he used to make fun of me for driving the BMW my parents had bought for me when I turned sixteen. It wasn’t new or anything, by far not the nicest car owned by my group of high school friends, so I never understood why he gave me such a hard time about it. Or why he refused to drive it. We went everywhere in his stupid old truck, and actually I wouldn’t have been that surprised to see the old monstrosity parked in here somewhere. I pulled into the first empty spot I found and grabbed my suitcase from the back, thinking that if whatever he drove now wasn’t as nice as my little Volkswagon, I’d convince him I should drive to the farm. It would be fun in a convertible.

Nick lived on the twenty-third floor, and I found his apartment without any trouble. His door was slightly ajar when I arrived, but I knocked self- consciously without entering. “Hello?”

I heard footsteps, and a moment later, the door swung open all the way. Nick stood there in his jeans and a white tank undershirt, a blue plaid button-down in his hands. “Hey,” he said softly. “You came.”

Not yet, but the sight of your arms and chest might do it for me in the next minute or so.
I forced myself not to stare through the thin cotton to see if my name was still inked there. “Did you think I’d ditch you?”

“It crossed my mind. But I’m glad you’re here.”

Stop being sweet
, I felt like telling him.
You’re too shirtless to be sweet right now.
Nick wasn’t bulging with muscles like a bodybuilder, but he was toned and tight and solid through the core, a boxer’s physique. He’d trained a little in high school, and he’d done some recreational boxing just for the hell of it during college, but his time for sports was limited because he’d always had to work. We’d sometimes run together, although he was faster than I was and had much better endurance. After three miles, I’m ready for a frozen margarita and a plate of nachos, not another lap around the track. Nick actually enjoyed running, but honestly, if I didn’t love food and drinks so much, I’d happily toss my Nikes out the window.

“Come on in.” Nick stepped aside so I could enter, and closed the door behind me. “I wanted to change out of my work shirt, so I left the door open in case I was upstairs when you got here.” He slipped his arms into the sleeves of the plaid shirt but didn’t button it.