Playing It Safe (6 page)

When I get home, I make a beeline for the fridge and grab a beer before collapsing onto the couch in a daze. There are so many things wrong with what just happened at my parents’ house I don’t even know where to begin. I think the one thing that’s bothering me the most is how my parents are “doing it” on the regular, which is still gross, but at least someone is getting some action. And I’m more than happy that my parents are still in love with each other as well as physically attracted to each other after all this time, but I could have easily lived the rest of my life without ever hearing it.

I kick my feet up and lay my head on the backrest, staring up at the ceiling, and then I hear my cell phone buzzing away in my purse in the foyer. I’m contemplating letting it go to voice mail when it stops ringing and then starts up again. Dammit, whoever it is must really want to talk to me, so I begrudgingly stand back up and rummage through my purse until I find my phone.

Alex.

What the hell could he want with me, on a weekend, no less? I debate with myself for a second or two over whether I should answer, but curiosity gets the better of me.

“Don’t you have something better to be doing than calling me on a Saturday afternoon?” I ask while making my way back to the couch.

“That depends,” Alex rasps in my ear. “Would you care to enlighten me as to what that something might be?”

My heart drops, my pulse starts to race, and even my freaking palms get clammy. It’s official, I’m a slave to his torment.

“Settle down. I didn’t expect to hear from you on a Saturday.”

His light chuckle sets off another chain reaction in my body, but this kind is far more pleasant. I imagine him relaxed in a pair of black boxer briefs and nothing else, in bed of course. And those dimples—those dimples that can wreak havoc on me while he has a devilish look in his eyes. A look that could easily make me orgasm without him touching any part of my body, no matter how much I begged. God, would I beg. With absolutely no shame, like a dog for a bone.

“I’m glad to know that I can surprise you, but this shouldn’t take long.”

“That’s what she said,” I mutter, trying to bring some levity to the conversation.

“I guarantee that
you
wouldn’t be saying that,” he says with an unmistakable smile in his voice.

Do you
see
what I’m dealing with here? This has been the way each conversation of ours ends up going. It’s maddening and frustrating and exhilarating and probably a bunch of other “ings” that I can’t articulate at the moment.

“I was calling,” he goes on to say like I’m not at all in a trance over here, “because I’m ready to cash in on our little deal we made last year.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really. Are you still game?”

“Of course I am,” I snap. “I never back out of a deal. What exactly did you have in mind?”

“Julia,” he almost purrs, “you really need to stop leaving yourself wide open with some of the things you say.”

“I could say the same about you.”

A short pause follows until he finally speaks up. “How about you come over to my house tomorrow, say one o’clock, and we’ll figure something out?”

“You’re inviting me to your house?” I ask in shock because I’ve never been to his house and I’m convinced it has something to do with it being the Batcave.

“Yes, I’m inviting you to my house. I’ll text you the address in a bit, if that’s okay with you.”

“Sure, that’s totally fine.”

“Good,” he says. “Looking forward to it.”

“Me too.”

We say our good-byes, and I hate to admit it, but I kind of miss the being toyed with bit at the end of the conversation. It’s becoming something of a trademark for us.

Oh my God! Did you hear what I just said? A trademark for
us
!

I get up and walk toward my bedroom, the whole time thinking to myself,
I’m not going to sleep with him
, over and over again. And to ensure that I won’t, I pull out the rattiest pair of granny period undies from the very bottom of my underwear drawer. You know the ones that you keep for those four to five days every month? Every woman owns at least one pair, and I’m going to be wearing mine, holes and all, tomorrow. If that doesn’t keep me clothed, then I’m fucked—in more ways than one.

A
lex did end up texting me his address last night, and wouldn’t you know it, the guy has been living about twenty minutes away from me this entire time. I’m taking the last winding side street in a ficus-tree-lined Coconut Grove neighborhood, wondering how I didn’t know this and feeling antsy about it. Actually, I’m not sure exactly how I feel about Alex in general now that I know he’s so close to me. Because I can see it now—in a moment of weakness I’ll be at his door, wearing a trench coat (because everyone in Miami has one for no reason at all, but it goes with the fantasy) and nothing underneath except for thigh highs and black stilettos. He’d open the door, and I’d waltz right in with such confidence it would make him confused at first. No words would be exchanged. I would simply command him with a quick snap of my fingers to sit on the couch. Then I’d turn on the music. “Straight On” by Heart would flood our senses as a small smile played on his lips when it dawned on him what was about to happen. I’d perform my best teasing stripper dance for him while he tried to grab a hold of me. But I wouldn’t let him. Not until I ended up on his lap, straddling him, would I allow him to yank the belt of the trench coat open and watch as his eyes feasted on my naked body, splayed open for him like a present on Christmas morning. At that point, I’d be so turned on by his heated gaze that I’d hand the reins over to him by leaning over and whispering in his ear, “I want you to do everything to me … please.” Yeah, I’d add the please bit at the end with a little whimper for effect just to see how he’d react. He’d take the bait, of course, and he’d do
everything
to me, acts that might even be illegal in some states, and I’d love every single second of it.

I’m still humming the chorus of “Straight On” in my head when I pull into Alex’s driveway a few moments later and stop in mid-hum as soon as I get a good look at his house. Holy crap! It’s freaking huge! I do a double take at the GPS on my dashboard and confirm I’m in the right place before turning off the engine and stepping out of the car.

It’s a Spanish-style-meets-contemporary-revival one-story home that sits at the end of a cul-de-sac, hidden away from the hustle and bustle of Miami. Like a little getaway vacation home that you would only see in magazines, but not little at all. The exterior looks to be freshly painted in warm beige with accents in light cream and clay-tiled shingles. The solid wood monastery-looking front door is nestled within a large archway, reminiscent of the Spanish-style architecture that is unique to this area.

I approach the front door with trepidation, feeling incredibly underdressed in my worn, hip-hugging jeans and fitted red cardigan, which I paired with a white tank top underneath. I’m wearing black ballet flats and the barest of accessories in the form of plain silver hoop earrings. I’ve decided to wear my hair down today, after much deliberation, in its natural pin-straight state. Why I decided to wear it down I have no clue, since I’m already pushing it off one shoulder so that it doesn’t stick to the back of my neck.

Standing directly in front of his door for a few moments, I take a deep breath and fidget for a bit before raising my hand and giving it a couple of quick raps. While I wait, I can’t take it anymore; I fix my wedgie from the anti-sex granny panties I forced myself to wear, just in case I decide to lose all sense of decorum and think about giving in to the carnal urges when I’m around him.

The door unlocks and opens slowly to reveal a little girl, no more than ten, if I had to guess. She has long, curly blond hair with big blue eyes and bears a striking resemblance to Alex. What the hell? He has a kid? How did I not know this? It’s not a huge deal because I’ve dated men who’ve had kids in the past. Granted, it never gets far enough to actually meet the kids because they’re idiots—the dads, not the kids. What the fuck am I saying? I’m not dating Alex, so why should I care if he has a kid or not? It shouldn’t bother me, right? Please, someone tell me I’m not crazy for feeling like I’ve been kept in the dark all this time.

“Can I help you?”

Alex’s daughter’s elf-like voice breaks me out of my thoughts. I slide my aviator sunglasses up to rest on the top of my head, and she smiles brightly. So bright that I can’t help but smile back and stare. She is so freaking pretty, just like her dad. Well, technically Alex isn’t pretty, but whatever, same thing. Come to think of it, he could be pretty, I guess, given the right circumstance and correct lighting and …

“Can I help you?” she asks again, this time with a good-natured giggle.

“Oh! I’m sorry,” I say, embarrassed that I’ve been caught up again in my thoughts. “I’m looking for your dad.”

“My dad isn’t here.”

Now I’m confused, and I look at my wristwatch to double-check the time. It’s only ten or so minutes past one o’clock, which was the time he wanted me to meet him here.

“Do you mean Uncle Alex?” she asks while smiling again and revealing her braces, which I didn’t notice before. She’s too cute, and did she just say “Uncle Alex”?

“Um, you’re not Alex’s daughter?” I ask nervously.

“No,” she says with a giggle. “I’m his niece, Jocelyn, but everyone calls me Josie.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Josie. I’m Julia.”

She extends her small hand out to me, and I take it in mine to give it a firm shake just as Alex appears behind her.

First of all, I have never seen him in anything other than a suit or a variation of a suit before today. I almost wish I hadn’t seen him like this, because now I’m going to have a more difficult time trying to remember that I have granny panties on. Speaking of which, thank God they have a couple of holes in them to get some air in there because I feel an instant rush of heat between my legs over the sight of him.

He’s wearing tan cargo shorts and a white linen button-down shirt that has the first few buttons undone and the sleeves rolled up around his elbows. It’s doing wonders to show off his muscular frame and his perfectly tanned forearms. Personally, I have a thing for forearms on men. It’s kind of my kryptonite, along with them wearing backward baseball hats. So if he pulls out a baseball hat, I
might just die and go to heaven right here and now. His hair looks to be slightly wet still from a recent shower, with a few dirty-blond locks falling onto his brow. He’s not wearing shoes, and Jesus, even his feet are perfect. He looks absolutely delicious, like I-want-to-lick-him-from-head-to-toe delicious.

“I see you met Josie already,” he says while putting his hands on her shoulders. She looks up at him with a huge smile on her face, and he bends down to quickly kiss her on her forehead.

“Julia thought I was your daughter,” she says with an innocent laugh.

Alex brings his eyes back to mine and chuckles when I clarify the mix-up. “Honest mistake. She does look a lot like you.”

“I get that a lot when we’re out together,” he answers, then motions with his hand for me to come inside.

The foyer is a small one, but it opens up after a few steps to the rest of the main living area in an open floor plan. The living room has a large, worn-in, and inviting dark brown leather couch with a matching chaise longue that faces an entertainment unit that houses a huge flat-screen TV. To the right of it is an equally big kitchen with oak cabinets and dark granite countertops. Straight across from me are a couple of sets of glass doors that lead to what looks to be a perfectly landscaped backyard with a swimming pool and furnished patio. Everything is in its place, and the accents and decorations are masculine with just a touch of color here and there for effect. And this is what I can see, because just off to the left of the living room there is a long hallway that leads to a few other doors that I’m dying to open.

“I’m going to watch some TV,” Josie announces, and bounces away into the living room.

“Please don’t watch anything that will make your mom upset with me again,” Alex says to her back.

“What did she watch that got you in trouble?” I ask.

He smiles sheepishly and takes his hand to rub the back of his neck. “The ID Channel.”

“You let her watch TV shows about serial killers?”

“Don’t let her fool you,” he says with a laugh. “She can be really sneaky when she wants to be.”

“That, or she has you wrapped around her finger,” I say, taking a guess at the dynamic between the two of them.

“That would probably be a better way of putting it. I know my sister would definitely agree with you on that one.” He grins and puts his hands in his pockets while sneaking a quick glance into the living room. “So …”

“So,” I mimic with a matching grin. “By the way, your house is beautiful, Alex.”

“Thank you. I’m glad you like it,” he says. “Did you have trouble finding it?”

“Not at all, especially since you don’t live that far away from me,” I say while reliving the stripper fantasy in my head.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks, grinning.

“Nothing at all,” I say quickly.

“Would you like something to drink?” he asks.

“Sure.”

He lets me walk just ahead of him and places his hand on the small of my back for a brief moment to lead me toward the kitchen. The contact, as fast as it was, brings a shiver down my spine, and I hope that he didn’t pick up on it.

“Have a seat.” He pulls out a stool from the kitchen island for me and then goes to the refrigerator. “Beer, wine, juice, or water?”

“Water is fine, thanks.”

Grabbing two bottles, he walks over and sits on the stool next to mine before handing me one. I regret wearing jeans because his bare leg rubs up against mine as he brings his chair closer, and I would’ve loved to have felt it without something in the way. Then I remember there is a child present, not twenty or so feet away. With that, I decide to get into professional mode, because if not, I’m afraid for not only myself, but what I may do to him, child be damned.

Out of my oversized purse I take my iPad, a notebook, and a pen, and I efficiently lay them out on the countertop in front of me.

“So, you said yesterday that you’re ready to cash in on our little deal. What kind of event is it? Another opening? A specific artist’s exhibit? A private showing?”

It’s then that I turn my head to face him and confirm what I’ve been feeling the entire time I’ve been talking and setting my things up. He’s staring at me. But not any old stare, it’s with a smile that showcases his dimples while he’s casually leaning back in his chair. It’s as if he’s sizing me up, and even though his eyes never waver from my face, I feel it everywhere. I’m not exaggerating when I tell you that there is a distinct energy between us. Whether it’s purely sexual in nature, I don’t know, but it’s there and it’s making me rather uncomfortable.

“Why are you staring? It’s freaking me out,” I say quietly so his niece can’t hear me.

He slowly leans forward and brings one hand to the back of my stool, trapping me in so that there is barely any room between us. “None of the above.”

“Excuse me?”

“It means none of those kinds of events,” he clarifies. “I have something else entirely in mind for how I want you to repay me.”

Well, if that doesn’t get my mind going into all sorts of dirty territory, I don’t know what will.

“Care to enlighten me?” I ask and start to gnaw on my bottom lip nervously.

Alex’s eyes zero in on my mouth before he says, “I’d be happy to.”

We stare at each other for a moment too long for it to be anything but friendly. I’m great at staring contests, with the exception of yesterday’s little slipup with Darren, but I’m not going to let Alex beat me today. It’s apparent that we both have a thought or two running through our heads that may or may not involve whips, chains, and blindfolds … well, at least mine involve that. As for him, I don’t know what he’s thinking, but whatever it is it’s good, as in
bad
good.

“Alex?”

“Yes,” he answers, all amused and darting his eyes quickly to my mouth again.

It’s my turn to crank up the heat. “You said you were going to enlighten me.”

He chuckles and dips his head so that his lips graze my ear. “I will, but not today.”

That threat or promise, whatever you want to call it, has my insides in a full-on frenzy. It’s like the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade in there, and if it wasn’t for me already sitting down, I’m sure I would have had to excuse myself to take a seat so I could regroup.

Having turned me into somewhat of a mute, he takes the opportunity to call his niece over. I shift in my seat and do my best I’m-pretending-to-be-busy impersonation by opening my notebook and turning on my iPad.

“Julia,” he says, “I want you to plan a party for Josie.”

“Really?” Josie and I both say at the same time, me in complete shock, she in complete adoration of her uncle. Alex smiles at her, and wouldn’t you know it, my heart melts on the spot.

“Yes, really.”

She throws her arms around his neck and gives him a big hug while she squeals with delight. I’m not a “squee-er,” but even I can’t help but feel all giddy inside seeing this reaction. You’d have to be dead inside not to.

“It’s going to be Josie’s tenth birthday next month, and I’d like to throw a big party for her and her friends,” he says. “Obviously, some family members will be invited as well.”

I start to rattle off a few questions. “Any ideas of what you had in mind, theme-wise? Or are we just talking a straight-up party? Oh, and any thoughts on the venue?”

“Venue will be here,” he says. “Everything else I’ll let the birthday girl here go over with you personally.”

Alex stands up and pulls the chair out farther for Josie to sit down and take his place. She’s a ball of energy, ready to burst with excitement at the proverbial keys to the kingdom she’s been given. Her happiness is infectious because I’m all excited now too.

“So, let’s start with something simple: theme or no theme?”

“Theme, for sure.”

“Okay, did you have something already in mind?”

I don’t get the sentence out completely before she blurts out, “Harry Potter.”