It’s Like That (3 page)

“Have no fear, young grasshopper. I’ll be right there.” Before Callie could respond Rebecca had hung up.

Callie darted through the house in her underwear and unlocked the door and then ran back into her bathroom to dry her hair. Rebecca would let herself in, and there wasn’t a moment to lose.

By the time Rebecca poked her head in the bathroom door, Callie’s hair was nearly dry. Rebecca snatched the straightening iron from beneath the sink and pushed Callie down onto the toilet. “Sit. Let the master work. How long do we have?”

“He’ll be here at five thirty.” Callie craned her neck to try to see the clock.

Rebecca pushed her head back and said, “You should have called sooner. Be still and let me finish.”

Rebecca finished Callie's hair and makeup in record time, and when the doorbell rang, all that was left was to dress and put on her shoes.

Rebecca pointed Callie toward the bed, where she’d laid out three dresses. “The black one is a good choice. Wear the pink heels with it. I’ll get the door. I want a look at this guy.”

Callie stood for a moment, staring at the dresses. There was a short but classy black one, a buttery yellow one with spaghetti straps, and a soft pink one with a fluttery skirt. Rebecca wore a half size larger shoe, but had brought three pairs of heels anyway. They were bright pink, white, and dove gray. Callie decided to take Rebecca’s advice and slipped the black dress over her head. She heard rumblings from the living room, followed by soft laughter. If it was anyone else, Callie would be concerned that Chris was getting a hard-core flirting session. But Rebecca had no interest in men for the moment, and she loved Callie too much to do that anyway.

Once she’d slipped her feet into the bright pink heels, she wobbled over to her dresser and put on her dangly not-really-diamond earrings. She fastened her matching not-really-a-tennis bracelet, and wavered for a moment before slipping on a silver anklet. She decided against a necklace, choosing instead to let the plunging neckline of the dress speak for itself. She eyed herself in the mirror. Rebecca had done an amazing job, considering the time constraint. Callie’s brown hair flowed softly around her shoulders, and the hint of grayish-blue eye shadow brought out the deep blue of her eyes. She looked at her reflection in the mirror, took a deep breath, and dug down deep for her courage. “Okay, Callie. You can do this,” she whispered to herself. She took another deep breath, grabbed her purse, and walked out of the bedroom.

*

The instant she walked into the room, Chris knew she was a knockout. But when he turned his head to get a full view of her as she walked into the living room where he was talking to her friend, he froze, unable to move or even think. A cold sweat broke out between his shoulder blades and suddenly he wished he had a jacket to hold in front of his crotch. She looked fucking amazing. Her hair was down and doing a wavy thing around her face that made his stomach clench. The little black dress she wore clung to her luscious curves, and the neckline dipped low enough to give him just a hint of her cleavage. But that wasn’t what punched him hardest. Oh no. It was those fuck-me hot pink heels with a dainty little anklet teasing the top of her foot that really hit him. He opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out.

The redheaded friend clapped her hands, laughed, and then she decided to abandon ship. “You two have fun now!” And with that, she was out the front door.

He cleared his throat and tried again, but his voice came out sounding hoarse and gravelly. “You look amazing. Good enough to eat.”

She blushed, and damned if that didn’t make him think of other pink parts that he could eat. “Thank you. So do you.” She nervously twisted her purse straps in her hands. “Look good, I mean.”

He smiled, hoping to put her at ease. He’d taken great pains with his appearance, shaving carefully, and wearing the soft gray button-up shirt his mom had given him for his last birthday. Paired with black slacks, he knew he posed a dark figure, severe if not handsome. “Thanks.” Remembering suddenly, he turned toward her entry table and said, “Here. I got these for you. Your friend…”

“Rebecca,” she clarified for him.

“Rebecca,” he amended, “put them here.” He handed her a bouquet of soft pink roses wrapped in white tissue paper.

She blushed again, and his cock hardened even further, nearly causing a tortured moan to escape his throat.

“They’re beautiful, Chris. Thank you.” She beamed up at him, and he resolved to buy her flowers at every available opportunity just to see her blush and smile. “I’ll go get a vase and put them in water.”

He nodded. “Sure.” He watched her walk away, appreciating the view of those killer legs, until she disappeared.

Chris rocked back and forth on his heels and looked around. She was neat. He liked that. Her decor was primarily neutral colors, beiges and browns, with a few splashes of light purple thrown in. It was girly and pretty without being over the top. She had class, and with his libido already in high gear, that was a turn-on too.

When she came back into the room her appearance hit him again. He’d had a moment to get used to the sight, though, and wasn’t quite as tongue-tied as he had been earlier. She smiled up at him through long, thick lashes and said, “Thanks again for the flowers. They’re gorgeous.”

“You’re very welcome.” He held out his hand and gestured toward the door. “Ready?”

“Sure, let’s go.” She dug in her purse for her keys and locked the door on the way out.

He held open his truck door for her, ridiculously happy it sat a little high, and afforded him a quick glimpse of her inner thigh, almost all the way to heaven. He’d never been so hungry for a woman before, never had the ache so persistent and intense at the same time. Settling into the driver’s seat and fastening his seat belt, he glanced over as he started the ignition. “Hope you like Greek.”

“Never had it.” She fidgeted with her purse strings again.

“Never had it?” he asked in mock horror. “Well, we’ll just have to remedy that.” He pulled out of her driveway and looked over at her. “Decide what movie you want to see?”

“Um, no. Whatever is playing is fine. As long as it’s not about demons. I don’t like movies about demons.” She gave another one of those barely perceptible shudders. “Too scary.”

“Okay,” he replied. “Whatever you pick is okay with me.” He glanced over at her, grinning. “As long as it’s not about princesses. I don’t like movies about princesses. Too scary.”

She laughed, and his chest squeezed again. He added that to the list along with blush and smile.

Callie decided shortly after arriving at the restaurant that she loved Greek food. She let Chris order for her, since she couldn’t pronounce anything on the menu, and nearly melted when she tried the fried feta cheese he ordered as an appetizer. It was almost painful to consider calories and fat content, so she decided to use the rule every chubby person loves: if the person you’re dining with eats more than you, it doesn’t count.

When the last crumb of the appetizer was gone, they both sipped their wine slowly, and Chris said, “Well, ask away. What do you want to know about me?”

She considered for a moment and then said, “Tell me about your family, where you grew up.”

He gave her the crooked smile, and she squeezed her thighs together against the ache it caused there.

“That’s not a question, but I grew up in middle Georgia. My mom taught second grade and retired last year. My dad served in the navy and worked on airplanes on the base when he got out. I have an older sister, who is forever hounding me to get married, and a younger brother that is a complete dog. Countless cousins, aunts, uncles, and what we call shirttail cousins.”

“Shirttail cousins?” She cocked her head to the side. “What the heck is that?”

He laughed. “A shirttail cousin is someone you’re not related to, but you’re close enough to them to be related. Or someone that is so distantly related that you can’t remember exactly what the relation is.”

“Ah.” She sipped her wine again. She had a few of those, but she’d never heard them called that. “So, where’s your accent? You don’t even have a hint of a twang.”

He chuckled again and swirled his wine. “Yeah, well…like I said, my mom was a teacher. Every ain’t and y’all that escaped our mouths was promptly shot down. Every time we turned the
O
sound into an
Aw
, we had our mouths washed out with soap.” He made a disgusted face. “Dial soap, no less. The worst tasting of them all.”

She laughed at the mental image of a tiny, barefoot Chris twanging away while his mother sputtered and chased him with soap. “I can’t say that I blame her. Some of the smartest people I’ve met are from the south, but the stereotypes are so strong that the accent automatically brings to mind complete ignorance.” She smiled wryly at him. “Just like the southern California accent makes you think of stoners and surfers, and a New York accent makes you think of mobsters.” She shrugged and sipped her wine. “I’m not saying it’s right or fair, that’s just how it is.”

“Believe me, I know.” He chuckled softly. “What about you? Every question you ask me, you have to answer too.”

She bit her lip thoughtfully. “Okay, that seems fair. I’m from Chicago…well,” she amended, “from a suburb of Chicago. Only child. My dad was on the Chicago PD and was killed when I was four years old.”

He sat up and frowned at her, and then he murmured, “I’m sorry.”

She shrugged. “I don’t remember much about him. Just a mustache that tickled and how tall he always seemed. Deep voice and lots of tickling. You know, kid stuff.” She took a deep breath, surprised at the emotions that still had the power to hurt. “My mom is a paralegal and refuses to retire. She works for the DA, and swears none of them would be able to function without her.” She nodded with dry humor and continued, “She’s probably right. Anyway, both parents were only children too, so I have no aunts and uncles. A few cousins several times removed that I’ve seen a handful of times. Mostly just really close friends that are more like my family. You know,” she said with a mischievous smile, “shirttail cousins.”

He laughed and started to say something, but just then the waiter appeared at their table to deliver their meals. It looked delicious, if unidentifiable, and Callie smiled up at the dark-skinned foreigner and thanked him. He returned the smile and offered to refill their wine, which Callie accepted gratefully.

Chris, however, placed his hand over the top of his glass and said, “Water for me, please.”

Callie wanted to cheer with approval. He was driving, and on a date. A gentleman should only have one glass of wine. She was sure it was a written rule somewhere, but it seemed like common sense to her. She watched him closely to see if there was a certain way to eat the meal, and surmising from the way he began to randomly eat, she followed suit.

It was delicious; rich and succulent without being overpowering. She was fairly certain the meat was lamb, but couldn’t be sure without asking. There were some beans that looked like giant lima beans in a pink sauce that made her close her eyes in ecstasy.

When she opened her eyes again, Chris had paused with his fork halfway to his mouth, and was leveling that intense, heated stare at her lips. She licked her lips self-consciously. “What?” She wiped her mouth gently with her napkin and sneaked a quick glance down to make sure she hadn’t gotten any food on her dress.

“No, you’re fine. It’s just…” He closed his eyes and shook his head. When he looked back at her, his eyes were narrowed. He continued, his voice sounding strained, “Do you have any idea how fucking sexy you are?”

She blinked at him in surprise, her mouth opening in a tiny O.

“When you close your eyes like that…” He took a deep, shuddering breath and continued, his voice barely audible, “You look like you’re in the middle of a mind-blowing orgasm. I would love to be the one to put that look on your face instead of gigantes beans.”

She looked down at her plate, unsure how to respond. If he was making fun of her, he was the most convincing damn actor she’d ever seen. It stood to reason he was either sincere or just trying to get in her panties. She felt hot tears prick the back of her eyelids. When was the last time she’d let a man get close enough to talk to her this way? Never. Too self-conscious to so much as entertain the idea of a relationship, she’d never let any of the geeks she’d been on dates with even consider the idea of talking to her this way. Sure, a few months of dating the same bespectacled man, and he’d gradually work up the nerve to kiss her and paw at her.

And the short, boring relationship with her college boyfriend hadn’t reached this level after two years. Bedroom talk on a first date, and with a man like this? Never.

“I’ve made you uncomfortable. I’m sorry, that wasn’t my intention.” He leaned back and put his fork down to take a large gulp of water.

“No, it’s…” She trailed off, unsure how to explain. “I’m just not…used to this, I guess.” She squeezed her thighs together again, acutely aware of the wetness gathering in her panties.

“Not used to what?” He frowned at her, waiting.

She took a fortifying sip of wine and then a larger sip. “Um, being talked to that way. Like I’m…”

“Like you’re what?” He leaned forward, using that stare again.

She gulped.

“Like you’re an incredibly beautiful woman? Like you’re so fucking gorgeous the only thing I can think about is how you’d look spread out on my bed?” His eyes narrowed again. “Or maybe you’re not used to being all those things with a man that’s willing to wait.” He gave a short, dry bark of laughter. “Because, baby, I am willing to wait. You’re worth it. If you want to get to know me better, that’s fine. But I know enough about you, and I’m ready anytime. I’ll learn the rest as we go.”

She blinked at him again, unable to speak. Did he just imply what she thought? That he wanted to actually have a relationship? “Uh…” She wasn’t sure what she wanted to say, or if there was even anything she
could
say.

He shifted in his chair and his large hands clenched and relaxed. “Look, I’m attracted to you. In a big way. But on top of that…I like you.” He reached across the table and took her limp hand in his, stroking his thumb across her knuckles. “I want to get to know you better. In bed and out of it. If you’re not interested, tell me so I can start getting used to the idea.”