L. A. Witt - Rules 1 - Rules of Engagement (10 page)

 

I rolled my eyes.
No different than the last seventeen times you asked, except that I’ve fucked a man now.
“I’m fine, Mom.” “Good, good. Say, listen, you remember my neighbor, Frances, right?”

“Sure I do.”
And I’m willing to bet money she has a single daughter, friend, co-worker—
“Her niece is coming to town next week, and she’s such a nice girl. Frances and I were talking, and—”

“Mom, please.” I gripped the steering wheel and ground my teeth. “I really don’t want to meet anyone right now.”

 

“But Dustin, you can’t just….”

Yes, Mom, I can
. I shook my head and ignored most of what she said. I’d heard it all dozens of times. Even as I pulled into the gym’s parking lot, parked my car, and headed inside, she kept talking. I muttered the occasional “uh huh” and “yeah” to convince her I was listening even though I wasn’t as I walked into the office and clocked in.

“Mom, I really have to go,” I said.
“But, Dustin, really—”
“I’m at work, Mom. I have clients waiting. I’m sorry, I really

have to go.”

She released her usual melodramatic sigh, but I’d long since developed an immunity to it. “Well, all right, I’ll let you go, then.”
“I’ll call you later.”

“Should I tell Frances that you’ll meet her niece?”

 

I closed my eyes, fighting the urge to sigh and let her know how annoyed I was. “Mom, please, I’d rather not.”

“But—”
“Gotta go, Mom. I love you.”
“I love you too, baby,” she said. “Goodbye.”
“Bye, Mom.” I hung up the phone and swore under my breath as I

took off the Bluetooth.

“Mommy dearest again?” Kate, my co-worker and close friend, appeared in the doorway, arms folded across her chest and an expression on her face that was halfway between amused and sympathetic.

I rolled my eyes. “Who else would it be?”

 

“That woman isn’t going to let up until you find someone, is she?”

“No, definitely not.” I paused, drumming my fingers on an appointment book. “On the bright side, at least she was just trying to play matchmaker today instead of haranguing me about my divorce.”

She grimaced. “Yikes, I can imagine.”
“No, trust me, you can’t.” I picked up my gym bag.
“Don’t know how you put up with it, then.”

“Years of practice,” I said with a laugh as I slung my bag over my shoulder. “And once I meet someone, she probably won’t let up because it won’t be Stephanie.”

“Can’t win, can you?”
“Nope.”
“So have you met anyone?”
“Oh, you know, been out a few times.”
“The shade of red on your cheeks tells me otherwise.”

No sense trying to get it past Kate. She could read me better than anyone. Well, better than
almost
anyone. I swallowed hard and nodded. “Yeah. Well, I did, but….” Staring at the floor, I ran a hand through my hair. “I don’t know. I’m not sure where it’s going.”

“Well, you just met her, I assume.”

My head snapped up. I barely stopped myself from correcting the reference to “her.” “Yeah, I, yeah. I just met her.” It seemed strange to refer to Brandon this way. Not just because I was lying about the fact that I’d actually met a man, but the mere idea of being with a woman suddenly seemed foreign, the way being with a man would have seemed absurd not long ago.

“You okay?”
I looked at Kate. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Good God, what did this girl do to you last night?” Laughing, she elbowed me. “Space cadet.”

I chuckled, but then my humor faded.
“What?”
Taking a breath, I said, “I think I might’ve blown it with her.” “How do you figure?”

“I don’t know, I guess I got cold feet, something.” Shaking my head, I exhaled. “I guess I thought things were moving a bit fast, so I pulled back. Now I haven’t talked to—” I caught myself. “I haven’t talked to her in a couple of days, and….”

“So try calling her.” She made it sound like it was the obvious solution, the answer only an idiot would overlook, and she was probably right.

I sighed. “After this long, I doubt she’ll want to talk to me.” Kate shrugged. “It’s only been a few days. Worth a try.”

“I don’t know, I’m worried about letting myself get too involved,” I paused. “You know, this soon after….”
“Look, Dustin,” she said. “Don’t let a good woman get away because she had the misfortune of meeting you while you’re on the rebound. Rebound shit doesn’t usually work out, but….” She shrugged. “Sometimes the right person comes along at the wrong time.”

“Isn’t that the truth?” I started for the door again, then paused. “Do you ever wish you could have a look ahead, you know, see how the relationship will be six months or a year down the line? See if it’s even worth it?”

“Not a chance,” she said without hesitating.
“Really?”

“Really. If I knew how a lot of my relationships would have turned out, I never would have gotten involved in them.” She leaned against the desk. “And I would have missed out on some of the best times in my life.”

I looked at the floor between us for a moment, chewing on what she’d said. “Good point. I hadn’t thought of it like that.”

 

“You know me, ever the philosopher,” she said. “Now go get changed. You’ve got a client waiting.”

A
FTER
a week, my uncertainty about what was going on with Brandon wasn’t keeping me awake nearly as much as my need to see him. We hadn’t spoken in a few days, not since the last bland, non-committal text message I’d sent. He hadn’t replied. I hadn’t initiated any more contact. A week ago, the intimacy had scared me. Now the silent distance was killing me.
I chewed my lip as I drove past his car in the club’s parking lot.

For a fleeting moment, I considered leaving, uncertain if I could face him, particularly after I’d cold-shouldered him for the last few days.
No, no, I’m staying. I have to see him.

I parked the car and got out, glancing at his car again as nervousness tightened in my gut. Over and over, I played out the possible scenarios in my head. He could be pissed. He could be cold. He could be completely receptive to me. Maybe he understood. Maybe he thought I was a jackass.

Whatever he thought, I needed to find out.

Taking a deep breath, I walked through the front door of the club and immediately looked towards the pool tables.
And there he was.

Leaning over the pool table, his head barely turned, but his eyebrows lifted as he looked at me. My pulse jumped, and a second later, my blood turned to ice when I took in the rest of the view. He wasn’t just leaning over the pool table; he was leaning over a petite blonde, showing her how to bridge. The way his other hand rested on the small of her back reminded me of the way he’d touched me on the way into his apartment the first time we’d fucked.

For a moment, I couldn’t decide if I was jealous or aroused.

Judging by the sudden tightness in my gut—and below my belt— it was probably a little of both. As much as it killed me to see that he’d moved on to someone else, there was something incredibly sexy about the way they looked together.

I went to the bar and ordered a Coke instead of a beer. It wasn’t alcohol I needed, just something cold. Something for my mouth to do. Might as well save the money and go cheap.

Surreptitiously watching them from the bar, I pulled an ice cube into my mouth and rolled it around on my tongue.

Their backs were to me now. She watched him intently as he gestured toward the table, saying something I couldn’t hear. Still resting on her back, his hand looked comfortable, relaxed, not the least bit reluctant in his touch. As she leaned over to take a shot, her shirt pulled up, revealing part of a delicate, colorful tattoo.

Brandon looked down at his own hand. Let his fingers drift over the tattoo and the bare skin around it. She glanced at him, grinning, and he smiled at her.

Then he looked at me. Right at me. The corner of his mouth turned up and his fingertips dipped just under the hem of her shirt.
She jumped, missing her shot, and gave him a playful glare, drawing his attention back to her. Laughing, he raised his hands and eyebrows, feigning innocence, making her laugh. She slid an arm around his waist and giggled as he squeezed her ass.

When she kissed him, giving him just a quick peck on the lips, the ice in my mouth was suddenly not nearly enough to keep me cool. I didn’t even taste the Coke as I took another long drink. The new ice on my tongue didn’t do a damned thing, but it kept my mouth busy.

I had no right to be jealous—Brandon was certainly not mine by any means, especially after I’d cold-shouldered him for the past few days—but that didn’t stop me from being jealous.

And turned on. His very presence aroused me, but there was something deeply erotic about watching him with the blonde. Every time he touched her, my body reacted as if he’d touched me. He ran his fingers up the middle of her back, and my arms prickled with goose bumps. He gently brushed her hair over her shoulder to get it out of her face while she took a shot, and my scalp tingled at the memory of his fingers running through
my
hair.

When she bent to take another shot, he leaned over her. Looked right at me. With a devilish, cocky grin on his face, he moved his hips suggestively against hers. It was enough to distract her from her shot and very nearly knock me out of my chair.

He licked his lips, then turned his attention back to her. I pressed the ice cube against the roof of my mouth, but it didn’t help. When I’d walked into the club, I had been prepared to be knocked back, rejected, something. I figured it would hurt.

I didn’t expect him to taunt me with someone else. I didn’t expect to be this aroused and jealous and
holy fuck how is it possible to be this frustrated and still breathe?

More than ever, I wanted him, but he was out of my reach. I knew it. He knew it. And he wasn’t letting me forget it.

They finished their game—or lesson, I guessed—and Brandon reached for his jacket. I crunched an ice cube between my teeth, allowing myself to indulge in some disappointment and jealousy as he put his cue in its case.

On some level, I had known it was coming, but watching it happen was killing me. Brandon put his arm around her waist and they headed for the door.

I turned back to the bar before the door closed behind them.
Well, I wanted to see him. Now I saw him. And watched him walk out with someone else. Fuck.
I rubbed my eyes with my thumb and forefinger.

Releasing a breath, I leaned back in the chair and looked around the club. As long as I was there and painfully turned on, I figured I might as well see if anyone else was in a similar predicament.

A leggy blonde by the jukebox caught my eye. She looked at me and smiled, making a provocative gesture out of raising her beer bottle to her lips.

In my mind, I knew she was hot, sexy, and probably more than willing, but my body didn’t respond to her. My pulse was already soaring, and I was definitely hard, but none of that had anything to do with her. My mind said, “Go!” My body said, “Meh.”

A redhead bent over the pool table, her blouse falling forward and giving me the perfect view of her cleavage. She looked at me and winked.

Nothing.

Continuing my visual sweep of the room, I paused and checked out a pair of broad shoulders that barely fit into a tight, white T-shirt. He was inked, ripped, and had narrow hips that probably would have fit perfectly into my hands.
Still nothing.

Fuck it
. The sexiest woman—or man—alive could have come walking through that door with “Fuck me, Dustin” written on her (his) forehead, and I wouldn’t have felt a damned thing. The only one I wanted had just left with a pretty, petite,
lucky
blonde.

I fished another ice cube out of my glass, paid for my drink, and walked out of the club, wishing it was Brandon’s tongue on mine instead.

W
ALKING
across the parking lot, I tried to ignore the memories Brandon and I had made in this very place. I stared at the pavement, hands in my pockets, berating myself over and over for giving him the cold shoulder all week. How many times had women done the same thing to me? After three days of no contact, I assumed she wanted nothing further to do with me and moved on. Just like Brandon was doing.

“Fucking idiot,” I muttered as I pulled my keys out of my pocket. “Come on, don’t be so hard on yourself.”

I stopped so fast my shoe squeaked on the pavement, and I nearly choked when I suddenly swallowed the half-melted ice cube. My jaw dropped.

Leaning casually against my car, hands in his jacket pockets, he grinned at me.
“What are—” I furrowed my brow. “I thought—”

Shouldering himself off of the car, he came towards me, his presence sucking the breath out of my lungs as he closed the distance between us. A foot or so in front of me, he stopped.

I swallowed. “I thought you were leaving with her.”
He shrugged and shook his head. “Too drunk for my taste. I poured her into a cab and sent her home.” He paused, narrowing his eyes in a way that made my knees weak. “I like my women sober.”
My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. “And your men?” “Sober and wound up.”
I shivered. “How did you know I’d be out here?”
“You had to leave eventually.”
“Were you going to wait for me all night?”
“If I had to.” He put his hand on my hip, our first physical contact in over a week, and I suddenly wished I had more ice to suck on. “But I knew I wouldn’t.”
“Why’s that?”
The tip of his tongue slowly swept across his upper lip. “I saw the look on your face. I knew when I left that you wouldn’t be far behind me.”
“Why? Did you think I was going to come find you?”
“No.” He was so casual, so matter-of-fact. “But I knew you didn’t have a reason to stay.”
He had me dead to rights. I laughed. “Cocky bastard.”
His hand moved to the small of my back, and he drew me towards

him, tilting his head and leaning into me, so close I could feel his breath on my lips. “I was right, wasn’t I?”

“Right on the money.” I kissed him, still not believing that he was there, that I was touching him. The familiar taste of his kiss, the coolness of his hair between my fingers, the heat of his body against mine: everything was there, but I could barely convince myself it was really happening.