Provocative Professions Collection (7 page)

Chapter 6

T-minus eight hours to find a date, how hard can that be? Aren't guys always bitching how a woman can wake up and declare, "I'm gonna get laid today" and make it happen, but a man has to wait till
she
decides? So a simple date, preferably a hot one? Piece of cake.

I arrive at work unshowered, my skin crawling with grime because of the slight change of course at the gym. I compensate by spritzing myself with one of my handy new purchases to freshen up and move on. I've pushed all nagging thoughts of Dr. Reynolds, Brady, and stimulating play from my head and am focused on my immediate goals: work, find a date.

Mimi greets me as I turn on the lights, fire up the computers, and flip on the open sign. Rushing through morning feedings, I feel bad shortening some of the ear rubs, but I've got to make extra time for my date search.

Finishing up and still the only one here, I consult the contact list in my phone. Eleven males. Eleven, which isn't exactly a self-esteem boosting number. And of those one is Brady, five more are actual relatives, two are now married, and one is…yep, he died last year.

Of the remaining three, I'd tried to date two...delete both.

Last one—Dr. Reynolds' office.

Alrighty then, plan B it is. I quickly fire up Facebook, searching madly though my friends list. I don't know half these people, some of whom no one knows, because they're not real people. Scznyi Axyzges wants to be your friend? Can't date a guy whose name I can't pronounce or lives a continent away, can I?

Nevermind.

My forehead drops pitifully onto the desk, rethinking the fake stomach virus ploy. Who wants me tagging along anyway? Maybe we've outgrown our tradition.

I'm pulled out my self-deprecating lull when my phone beside me dings with a text. One guess who it is.

Brady: Not the same w/out you, Moe. Say the word and it's pizza at yours. Or if you're actually sick, say that, and it's Dr. Me & Patient You. Soup included.

The smile that breaks across my face is uncontainable.

Me: I'll be there @ 7

Brady: Then so will I

Going stag doesn't bother me now. I'm not the odd duck, the newbie, the outsider—their dates are. I'll be back next week. Them? Chances are slim to none.

When four o'clock rolls around and no date is in sight, I'm okay with it. I'm gently getting "Bruiser," a small poodle whose leg got casted today, settled in a cage when in walks Ricky, followed closely by a yellow mop bucket he's towing.

"Hey, Addison, how ya been?"

Once the dog's situated, I close the cage and stand, greeting him somewhat uncomfortably. "Good, you?"

Ricky's not at all ugly, he's quite attractive, in fact, with striking blue eyes, golden skin, a nice physique and mussed blond hair. He's everything most girls are looking for... until he opens his mouth.

"Fine," he grins lewdly, speaking to my chest. "View's pretty damn good too."

Told ya
. Bad idea, Addison, you were just resolved to going stag, keep walking.

"Any big plans for the weekend?" I ask with no idea why.
Friendly, simply being friendly.

His eyes widen, as shocked by my question as I am. Of the million times he's tried to engage me in conversation, this is the first time I've bitten.

"Dunno, little of this, little of that." He wags his eyebrows suggestively. "Why do you ask, gorgeous?"

Fifth wheel—
a very helpful tool used for hauling many an item. Walk. Away.

"I was just curious. What about tonight?" I glance around the room, mentally kicking my own ass. "I usually—"

"Yes."

His quick, firm agreement startles me. "I, uh, didn't tell you—"

"Yes. Whatever it is, I'm in. What time should I pick you up?" His face beams bright, eyes filled with nothing but pure lust and intrigue.

Is he moving closer?
Easy there, eager beaver.
HIS. Not mine.

"Oh, I'll uh, I'll meet you there," I say stiffly, nerves buzzing into a tittering laugh at myself as I scoot along the wall toward the door. "Tiko's, 7ish. That work?"

"Hell yeah, that works. Plenty of time to finish mopping and get myself all
prepared
for you, doll face."

There's his eyebrow wiggle again. It's a struggle to maintain a straight face and not scrunch my nose at what "preparation" he's thinking. No need for anything special on my account.

"You sure you don't want me to pick you up? I'd love to see where that tight body sleeps at night."

"I'm sure!" I yell over my shoulder, already halfway down the hall. "See you there."

Pervert—yes. Harmless—I'd always believed so. Breathing and purpose serving— mission accomplished. I blow out a breath, hoping I haven't started something I won't be able to avoid after tonight. Last thing I need is an innuendo-fueled stalker on my heels at work every day.

With a date checked off my list, it's a mad dash to get home and ready. I finally take my post-gym shower, although hurried, and throw on an attractive-but-casual ensemble. My hair is long and thick, so I flip my head, hit it for a few minutes with the blower, and leave it down, knowing it'll dry into a nice, natural wave on the way over.

When I arrive at the restaurant, the boys and their dates are already there, at the same table as always, visible through the door. Playing the dutiful date, I decide to wait for Ricky outside so we can walk in together, as though we rode that way.

That simple plan is thrown to the wind, literally, when evening gusts begin to pick up unexpectedly and my pink halter tank is no longer cutting it. The man better hurry the hell up.

It's as this thought passes and I cross my arms in a shiver that he comes striding toward me, looking more than presentable in dark-washed jeans and a black button up, hair combed nicely, freshly shaved besides his usual trimmed goatee.

"Hey sexy, why're you outside? It's freezing." He places his hands on my shoulders and begins to rub them up and down my arms. I go with it, allowing him to treat me like an actual date. "Need me to warm up that fine ass too?"

So close
, one sentence too many.

"Thank you but no, let's just go in." I step away from his seeking hands, he can use those to open the door. Waiting too long, I impatiently tsk and pick up his slack, opening the damn thing myself. Great start.

"Señorita!" Juan greets me when we walk in. "You're joining your amigos?"

"Yes." I return his hug. "You're busy, I see them."

Brady's already standing with the chair beside him pulled out when we reach the table, attempting to place me between himself and Ricky.
Thanks, but I'm a big girl.
The sidelong glance I shoot him tells him so, but his sternness isn't budging.

So overprotective. All the men shake hands as I get situated then sit,
the silence not allowed to last.

"Hi, I'm Shawna." The date in blue sticks out a hand to me. "You must
be Addison, it's nice to meet you."

"Likewise." I smile, trying to school my face for who I assume is my brother's date.

"I'm Pat." The girl directly across from Brady takes her turn. Why did I think it was Annie? Oh well, Pat definitely suits her better.

"Hi, nice to meet you. This is Ricky," I introduce him with warm acknowledgement directed his way. There's no meaning behind it, but again, my mantra tonight is "go with it."

Predicting me as usual, Brady scoots the cheese dip my way. I snare a chip and dig in, unable to resist. I swear they pack this stuff with crack; I could devour the whole bowl, something I've proven on more than one occasion.

Conversation picks up around me as I stuff my face, ignoring Ricky's arm draped across the back of my chair, his thumb occasionally brushing my skin. When I go to pour myself a margarita out of the pitcher in the middle of the table, it's already done, sitting in front of me. I look up, Brady watching me, flashing a "you're welcome" wink.

As Ricky and Dylan go head to head over some new video game sweeping the market, Brady leans in and whispers, "Isn't he your clinic's creepy janitor?"

"Shush, he's cute and…" Yeah, I have no other adjective to describe the man whose hand is now trailing freely over the slope of my shoulders. The urge to sit back in my chair and deny him access is tempting, but I refrain, instead firing back at Brady.

"Aren't your dates
dating
?" I quip with a sarcastic smirk. The two girls are lost in the table discussion but constantly looking at each other. And
Pat
…haven't made a decision on her yet.

"I think so." He chuckles. "But your brother picked them, not me. What's your excuse?" His lighthearted tone deceiving his severe scrutiny cast upon Ricky's hand.

"Right, Addison?" My name catches my attention so I turn to Ricky.

"I'm sorry, what?" I ask, overly kind.

"Shawna and Pat here don't think I can take them in
Mortal Fear
. Tell
them how good I am."

"Take them where? And why are they scared?" I've only had a few sips, so why is this conversation completely disturbing?

He laughs animatedly and slaps his hand down over my thigh, a little too high for a first date, and leaves it clamped there, giving a suggestive squeeze. "The game,
Mortal Fear
. The one I always play in the break room? Aren't I good?"

Ah, because it
is
disturbing. But what's even more so is the way his hand is creeping around to my inner thigh. Before I can make a move to
re
move his hand, I hear the low, undeniable growl emanating from Brady. When I glance his way, his penetrating stare is still locked on Ricky's hand, looking more menacing by the second.

"She has no clue what you're talking about. Moe hates video games. Don't ya, sis?" Dylan challenges me from across the table.

With a hollow laugh, I casually place my hand over Ricky's and weave my fingers through his. The move is too tender for what he deserves, but I'm not giving Brady the satisfaction of seeing me freak out. I asked Ricky to be here and he's just being friendly. Ricky-style friendly.

I turn to the two women and do my best to make cheerful conversation. "So, you play video games?"

They talk excitedly over each other, "oh my God this" and "freaking
awesome that," while I plaster on a mask of interest that pains my cheeks as I try to listen, appearing interested.

Then it's all four of them, leaning across the table, phones out, quoting scores and friending each other on whatever gaming sites while Brady and I lean back and sip our drinks, willing time to race.

Juan approaches the table to take our orders and we're the only two that notice, or know what we want—another pitcher, STAT. Maybe if they forget to order, I can do cheese dip and a buzz and get the hell out of here.

"No way, you have to leave the princess until at least level 10 or your key's unguarded for Zylyn to steal," Pat explains.

Ricky unthreads our fingers and slaps his own forehead, positively beaming with admiration. "Why didn't I think of that?"

Thank Christ! I subtly wipe my hand on the napkin in my lap, ignoring Brady's silent amusement, bouncing shoulders giving him away. Yeah, yeah, so I'm wiping off possible cooties, ha ha.

"That's brilliant!" Dylan speaks loudly, making a note in his phone.

Once I toss the napkin back on the table, I rest my head in my palm. I could be...doing anything else right now. Organizing my cupboards. Cleaning out my refrigerator. Alphabetizing my CDs. It's when Ricky's hand settles back on my upper thigh that I make my decision—date night over. They really may not even notice, four heads leaned together in conspiracy, engrossed in the world of all that is gaming. But still, subtle and graceful is the way to make my exit.

"Oh my God!" I jump up, knocking over my chair. "I, um, I started my period! I have to go!" I grab my purse, avoiding the quizzical stares cast my way only but a moment before they're once again locked in a circle.
Helluva plan Addison, 'cause calmly saying you had to work in the morning wouldn't have been graceful.

I choked.

Brady's up in a flash too. "I'm a doctor! I'll help." He digs furiously in his jacket pocket, pulling out his wallet and tossing bills on the table. "That's for ours, Dyl, you good?"

Engrossed in What's Her Name's phone, Dylan barely manages a thumbs up.

"Bye, Ricky, sorry, thank you for tonight!" I once again find myself yelling as I
walk away from him. A flash of guilt hits, so I pivot, relieving myself immediately of any sense of obligation as I watch Ricky's hand grip and rub the back of Pat's neck. They
so
have my blessing.

"You in your car?" Brady leans in and asks, pushing me to the door by my back as I nod.

I pull my keys out and he snares them immediately. "Good, my car's still at work and I only had one drink. I'll drive."

We laugh the entire trip to my place, completely sure no one would believe us if we told them about our night—which we won't.

"You should probably pick your own dates from now on." I snicker at him.

"Yours too apparently. The janitor? You could do so much better, Moe."