The Girl He Needs (13 page)

“Does he have any friends?” Jayne straightens up coming back to life. She tosses her empty water bottle in the garbage across from us. “Who might go for an arrangement like you have?”

“I don’t think he has any friends, except his cell phone.”

“And that girl at the bar,” Jayne adds.

“Yes, her, but I don’t even see how he has time for her. I put together his schedule and aside from the flight school he also teaches at the University, mostly evening classes. The man’s a workaholic.”

Another text from McRae.
What are you doing?

“Look,” I say and show the screen to Jayne. “He doesn’t even use text abbreviations.”

She gestures with her chin to the phone. “You’re buggering off aren’t you? To meet up with him?”

“What? No way. I’m all about this girls’ night. Want to go back in and dance?” Miss this moment? Not a chance. This is what I should have done—even occasionally—while in college instead of trying to CLEP courses and outdo my already high marks. Experiences such as this, well, maybe I should have tried to have them sooner, but I’ll take this one right now and enjoy it for everything it’s worth.

I text McRae.
Out with friends. U? Working, aren’t ya?
This part of the night may be all about us girls, but the later part can be all about McRae in hopefully all his buff glory.

Jayne slides down the pole, coming to rest against her heels. “For future nights out like this I propose we do something either with less movement or alcohol. The combination of the two aren’t working for me.”

My phone zings in my hand.
Lots to do with Mark out of town.

Oh brother. This guy needs a Josie intervention.
U+me=sex later?

Yes.
It’s funny how quick his response comes.

I’ll text you,
I text back and refocus on Jayne.

“Have you had anything to eat? You’re looking a weird shade of...”

“Puce. It doesn’t work with your skin tone,” chimes Pippa, who flips out of a handstand and stares down at Jayne. “I bet she’s had a bag of crisps today and nothing else.”

“You know me so well,” Jayne says.

I stand and Pippa and I offer Jayne a hand. She takes ours and we haul her up.

“Any good restaurants around here?” I ask.

“I’d actually like to go home,” Jayne says. Her hair is loose, sweat-formed strands clumped together, and her lips are devoid of the light pink gloss she favors.

“Home then,” Pippa says and points down the beach toward stairs that I presume will lead up to the garage where we left Jayne’s car.

It’s slow going as Jayne stops to clutch her stomach every few steps.

“She’s a baby,” Pippa says. “Never could hold her drink. It’s the only time she gets impulsive. Jayne lives to be deliberate.”

By the time we climb the stairs and make our way to the parking garage Jayne is several feet behind us and moaning.

“Feeling that bad are you?” To give her a chance to catch her breath, I pull myself up to sit on the ledge of the short wall that was designed to keep people from trampling through the bushes.

“I wish I could toss it up already.”

“Greasy food will soak it up.”

“Ugh.” She’s still leaning forward; I suppose hoping gravity will assist. “Actually, that sounds good.”

Pippa lines up, positioning herself to do another handstand against the wall.

“Fuck all, Pippa, just sit on the wall like a normal person,” I say.

Jayne starts laughing and Pippa suppresses a grin. She doesn’t sit on the wall but she doesn’t do a handstand either.

“Come on,” I say. “You can hang your head out the window if you think you might get sick. I know just the thing you need.”

After driving through a local burger joint, the massacre of three cheeseburgers and several orders of large fries, we arrive at Jayne’s townhouse. She’s caught somewhere between exhausted, too much booze, and a greasy food crash so we help her inside, out of her dress and into her bed. Pippa vanishes into the guest room after blowing me a kiss.

I place a large bowl on Jayne’s night table along with a bottle of water and aspirin.

“Thanks, Josie,” she mumbles.

“Of course.”

“Take my car. I’ll get my mum to come and get me tomorrow.” Her voice is fading as if sleep is soon to claim her. I hear her breath even out and I click off the lights, leave her keys on the table, and pull out my phone.

Ready?
I text McRae.

It’s just after midnight on a work night. He’s probably crashed out in some very serious pajamas that cover every inch of his body. But the dancing and pulse of the music still hums through me and I have energy that needs to be spent.

I wait what seems like an extraordinarily long time before he replies.

Yeah.

Sleeping?
I ask.

Nah. Still Working.

I glance at the time and am willing to bet he was out cold a few minutes ago.

I could use a ride. ;-)

Seriously?

Yes.
I send my location.
If you’re hesitating, remember that you want me to be on time tmrw.

I’ll be there in 10.

I wait outside, leaning against the cool, dewy bricks of Jayne’s townhouse. A beat-up old pickup rumbles into the parking lot and cruises slowly toward me.

It’s him, but I look in the passenger window just to make sure.

“Thanks,” I say with a smile and slide in before pulling the door closed. “This truck new?” I tease. “Bench seat. Awesome.”

McRae is all sleep-tousled and sexy with a simple green T-shirt stretching across his divine body. He’s pulled on worn jeans with a hole that gaps by his knee, so sexy I want to crawl across the seat and sit on his lap.

“This is mine; the other is Mark’s company truck. Where’s your biker friend’s motorcycle?” He nods to the townhouse.

“What?”

“The biker. The guy that dropped you off this morning. This his place?”

His hand rests on the shifter, as that’s how old this truck is.

I give a short laugh and place my hand on his bicep. “How many guys you think I got on the hook?”

He shrugs.

“You know that bar I work at, the Fox and the Hound? This place belongs to the owners’ daughter, Jayne. She and I went out tonight.”

After a short pause, he shifts the truck into drive and slowly makes tracks toward our neighborhood. He’s not looking at me and is not as excited to see me as I thought he might be. As I am to see him.

“What’s this about?” I flip off my seatbelt and scoot next to him in the space fondly known as riding bitch. “You jealous, McRae?”

“What? Hell no.” He stares at the road.

“Mm-hmm. I see. This is about wondering if you’re the backup hitter. Relief pitcher.”

When he says nothing, I consider a new tactic, uncertain how to traverse these unfamiliar waters. But because my ponytail is too tight, I don’t bother trying to use brainpower until I set my hair free, which causes the dull ache in my head to ease. I massage the spot and involuntarily moan. McRae shifts in his seat, adjusting his jeans.

“You want to tell me where we’re going?”

I give a few short commands, steering him toward my place. He leaves the engine to idle and stares straight ahead.

I put my hand on his knee, the one exposed from the hole in his jeans.

“You’re the only one I’m doing, McRae. Let’s be honest, I should say you’re the only one I’ve done because we currently aren’t doing anything.”

“So you and that biker guy... I mean, I just need to know because I’m not looking to get into a fight with some dude.” Finally, he looks at me and I see something I recognize but can’t label. Loneliness perhaps?

“There’s nothing going on between Will and me. To do so would be punishable in a court of law, besides being completely disgusting. He’s my brother.”

“Oh. Right. I forgot you mentioned having a brother.” He thumbs out a pattern on the steering wheel. “I just now realized I know hardly anything about you.”

I turn the key and cut the engine. “Now is just as good a time as any to learn.”

He glances around before leaning toward me. “What do you have in mind?”

Wrapping my arms around his neck, I kiss him lightly. He tastes of minty toothpaste, fresh. Nipping at his lower lip, I wrap my hands in his T-shirt and tug him closer.

“Let me show you. I’m an action kinda girl. Less talky-talky, if you know what I mean.” I glue my body to his as I kiss my way up his throat and work my way to his mouth, where my initial light kiss gives way to something more fervent.

Eager to take this further, I fumble with the door handle, finally releasing the latch as we pull apart to catch our breath. We nearly tumble out through his door but Brinn’s quick reflexes right us.

Taking his hand, I silently lead him up the stairs and into my apartment. The soft kitchen lamp I left on gives the living space a warm and inviting glow, but this is not my preferred destination. Instead, I continue through the laundry room and out the garage entrance, which dumps us in the backyard.

I lead him to the pool and push him into a deck chair. The dewy air around is a mix of salty beach water and the fresh droplets from the river.

“Sit.”

Finding the matches on the table by touch alone, I light one hurricane lamp, then another, and finally a third before I come to stand in front of him.

“Jayne and I went to a place called the Ocean Deck and danced most of the night—.”

“The Deck,” he says.

“I beg your pardon?” I step closer.

“Locals call it the Deck. If you’re gonna live here might as well blend in.” He snakes out his hand to cup my calf, his thumb stroking the vines and flowers, causing my knees to wobble.

“Good to know. What I was saying is with all that dancing I worked up a good sweat and a refreshing swim would go a long way right now.” I lift my sweater over my head and toss it to the ground.

“Right now? You want to swim right now?” he asks while staring at my breasts. “Lord, those are magnificent.”

I step closer and stand in the space between his legs. “Can you help me with my bra?”

His gaze makes a leisurely journey from my chest to my face. Without breaking eye contact, he reaches behind me and deftly releases the clasp.

The smoothness of the move catches me off guard so I laugh. McRae’s skilled.

His lips twitch but go still when he returns his focus to my breasts.

The air is warm, as summer is in full force, yet my nipples gather as soon as his eyes drop to them.

“Jesus. I was going to tell you we shouldn’t do this again,” he says and bends to take one in his mouth.

“What a stupid idea that is.” The quiver in my voice belies my boldness, as one touch from him and I’m pliable, bending to his demands.

“I agree.” His head lowers, trailing kisses down my stomach before he dips his tongue in my belly button.

My shiver is joined by a moan as I make quick work unfastening the buttons on my shorts. I step back and he looks up at me with such longing and desire I feel like the center of the universe. After wiggling out of my shorts and underwear, I step back between his legs and straddle him. With our faces nearly touching, I flick out my tongue and lick his lower lip. He cups my rear with one hand and the back of my neck with the other and presses his lips to mine. Our tongues collide and I get lost in the haziness that is McRae and my sheer desire to be with him. To have him touch me. To exist.

It’s a kiss that sets the bar and when we pull back, we’re breathing heavily and my vision is blurry. I don’t want to do it right here.

Correction, I want to do it but not in the small deck chair when a larger one awaits us on the other side, so I gather what’s left of my wits and slide off his lap.

“I’m the luckiest S.O.B in the entire world. Either that or someone has sent you here to torture me.” He rakes a hand over his face.

“Come on, McRae.” I run my hands down his arms, stopping at his elbows to tug him toward the pool.

“What about your landlord?” He nods to the house.

“You just now thought of that?” I’m not surprised he’s having a hard time living in the moment. But it’s a good sign it’s taken him this long to ask the question.

He shrugs sheepishly. “You’re a bit distracting. Chaos.”

“I can be quiet if you can.” I pull him to his feet.

“We can take this back upstairs. That’s your place right?” He tugs me toward my apartment.

“Uh-huh. It’s here and it’s now.” I lift the hem of his T-shirt and with his help pull it over his head in one swift movement.

“I don’t know if this is a good idea.”

Clearly, I need to amp up the distraction factor. Ironic how I get attracted to a guy who spends most of his time thinking with the wrong head.

“Stop, would you, and just live. Enjoy this moment.” I step into the light and gesture for him to come on.

“Are they gun-toting people?”

I shrug.

“’Cause I don’t want to be a ninety-year-old man with buckshot embedded in his ass,” he says while looking over his shoulder at the house.

“At least you’ll have a keepsake from this night.”

“Come on, Josie.”

“You come on.” I’m standing at the edge of the pool and beckon for him to follow. When he takes a step forward, a sign of his commitment toward tonight, I step back and drop into the water like an arrow plunging downward, smooth and sure. When I surface, I smile and notice he’s come to the edge.

“Wait,” I say.

“What?” He quickly turns and looks back at the house, positive someone is coming out.

I laugh. “You can’t come in until you take your shorts off. Birthday suits only.”

With his thumb on his jeans, he pauses, the internal struggle playing across his face.

“Come on, I’m waiting.” My voice is throaty from the anticipation. In one swift movement, he strips from his jeans and plunges in the water. After he breaks the surface and shakes water from his eyes with a quick flick of the head, he pierces me with a look full of need and primal lust.

My insides quiver with eagerness as I flow into his arms. No words are required. The neediness in our touch says it all. We entwine ourselves; his large hands support me. I cup his face as we explore each other’s mouths, and when we pause, reeling, I rub my thumb down his cheek and trace the path that is normally creased with worry or heavy thought but is now smooth and relaxed.