The Rebound Guy (3 page)

She hadn’t come here looking for the world to stop revolving, after all.

All she’d wanted was a few hours diversion from her heartache with a man she trusted to give her what she needed. Eric had done that. And then some.

Why, then, did she feel so horrible and so abandoned?

“Call me later,” he said as he straightened his collar and ran a hand through his hair. He looked fantastic. Better than he had last night, better than he’d ever looked. Lauren raised a hand to her hair, which had to be a frizzy mess. She probably had raccoon eyes and sheet face besides. No wonder he hadn’t actually made eye contact with her since he walked into the room.

“Okay… Have a…a good day.” She gave him a wan, uncertain smile.

“You, too. Oh, do you want to have lunch on Sunday?”

Sunday? Lunch on Sunday? No. She wanted to have sex on Wednesday morning, and Wednesday night and every day in between now and Sunday.
And
she wanted to crawl into a deep, dark hole and hide where the shame of her own slutty actions couldn’t follow.

“Sunday’s fine.”

“Great. Bye.” “Bye.” Lauren sat as still as a statue until she heard Eric’s front door close and his car start. Then she hurled herself over the side of the bed and grabbed his phone from the nightstand. She had to call Tara—or Roxy—whoever answered the phone first, and beg them to figure out a way to turn back time and erase the awful mistake she’d made.

•

Don’t blow this, don’t blow this
. Eric repeated the mantra over and over as he eased into traffic on the turnpike. The hardest thing he’d ever done was leave Lauren in his bed this morning.

She’d looked like a goddess, her auburn hair sultry and wild from their uninhibited night. Her green eyes were heavy lidded, smudged with smoky eye shadow, and her lips swollen and pink from his kisses.

He’d left her looking like a temple concubine out of some hot fantasy novel, wrapped in his sheets, one curvy thigh partially visible, the collar of her black blouse standing up around her bare throat.

What kind of wuss walks away from that?
Every fiber in his being demanded he stay and take her again and again until she cried out his name the way she had at four a.m. when he’d brought her to her final orgasm before they’d fallen blissfully asleep in each other’s arms.

Why hadn’t he followed his heart—or was it his cock? Mental illness, the bad Eric suggested as he picked up speed to match the flow of late rush hour traffic.

No. The big reason, of course, was lack of condoms. Since his last girlfriend had dumped him for the man who’d run up a thousand-dollar debt on her credit card playing on-line Texas Hold’em, he hadn’t bothered to replenish his stock. Forced celibacy was good for the spirit, he’d told himself.

Bullshit. He’d never felt more spiritual or soulful as when he’d held Lauren in his arms and kissed her while she came around him that final time. The truth was, if he’d had a twelve pack of Trojans somewhere in his apartment, he’d never have left.

Of course, he’d considered going free-style, but what would Lauren have thought of him? Would she have seen him as irresponsible and careless? A bad boy?

Damn. Maybe that’s exactly what he should have done. Though he had no idea if she was on the pill or anything. He figured she was. It wasn’t something they normally talked about. He wasn’t one of her girlfriends, after all.

That brought him around to the real reason he’d pried himself out of bed, taken a long, cool shower, and forced himself to get dressed and go to work this morning while she fixed him with that languid, sexy gaze of hers.

He wanted Lauren. He wanted her so badly he’d jerked off twice under the tepid water before he trusted himself to walk back into the bedroom. While he’d imagined sex with her would be good—let’s face it, he’d never imagined
bad
sex with anyone—he’d never thought it would totally blow him away.

But the truth was, she’d wanted him because she’d broken up with Mark. Idiot Mark. What had he done to make Lauren dump him?

Something stupid, no doubt. Something really horrible that would have her running back to him, practically begging to get hurt again. That’s what women did, wasn’t it?

They liked the challenge of thinking they could make a bad boy change. They all wanted to be the “one” who tamed the beast within and turned him into a puppy dog.

Lauren had used him. And that didn’t bother him. He was her friend.

He’d always be there for her when she needed him. Whether she needed a pat on the back and a shoulder to cry on or a mind-blowing fuck—well, he was up for both.

What bothered him was that he wanted her to do it again. He wanted to figure out how to be the one she went running back to—the one she couldn’t get out of her system.

The only way he knew how to do that was to ignore his urge to fall on his knees at the foot of his bed this morning and worship her. He had to walk away, go about his life and treat her as if nothing spectacular had happened. He had to practically ignore her, even if it killed him.

“You’re
where
?” Tara’s voice sounded tinny and distant over the phone, making Lauren’s suddenly skewed world seem all the more surreal.

“I’m in Eric’s…apartment.” She wanted to say “bed”. In fact, she’d said “bed” the first time and she hoped Tara hadn’t heard her clearly. No such luck.

“Bed. You said
bed
, didn’t you?”

Lauren swallowed the knot that had formed in her throat. “Yes,” she said as she scooped up her jeans and headed for the bathroom.

“You did it with Eric? Eric
Reynolds
?” Tara’s voice rose with each word and Lauren’s heart sank lower and lower. What had she done?

Even Tara was shocked.

“I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“Was he good? Did he say please and thank you?” Was that a twang of jealousy in Tara’s voice, or annoyance? She’d always thought Eric’s good boy exterior was an elaborate act. Not that she disliked him, she’d just had enough experience with bad boys to know they could disguise themselves really well. Maybe Tara was right, and now that Lauren dug under the surface, she’d found the real man underneath—the insatiable sex god who could walk away from a night of multiple orgasms as easily as he could walk away from a cold cup of coffee.

“He was…” The best she’d ever had. “Fine. He was great.”

Tara’s voice dropped back to normal pitch. “So what’s the matter?”

“I hate myself. I feel terrible. I should never have used Eric like that. I think he hates me now. He just left for work.” “Well, hon, the man has to work, you know? Don’t we all? What about you? It’s after 8:30 and you’re still lounging around in Eric’s bed?”

“I called in late. I’ll never make it to the office by nine. I’m going to call Roxy and see if she can give me a ride home and a good talking to. I need your help to figure out how to make this up to Eric.”

“You want to apologize for having sex with him?”

“Yes.” It sounded ludicrous when Tara put it into words, but that’s exactly what she wanted.

Tara laughed. “Hon, you made his year. He’s been hot for you for a long time.”

“Come on.” Lauren tossed her jeans in a heap and wiped condensation from the bathroom mirror with a wad of toilet paper. A frizzy haired raccoon stared back at her and she cringed. “Eric and I are just friends, we could never be lovers.” The word echoed off the damp tile.
Lovers.

They were lovers now. Did that mean they weren’t friends anymore?

Why hadn’t she picked someone else to be her rebound guy? Then she could call Eric for advice and he’d know just what to do. She needed a man’s perspective on this and the only man she trusted had just left her with a cheery goodbye and an offer of Sunday brunch.

“Let’s meet for lunch,” Tara said. “How about Blue’s Diner?”

“Okay. I’ll see you at noon.”

Lauren’s hand shook as she hung up the phone and placed it on the back of the toilet. At least she had a much needed therapy session with her two best girlfriends scheduled, but that didn’t help her at the moment.

She looked around the bathroom. She didn’t even have a toothbrush here. Should she shower? Make the bed?

She decided to just freshen up, dig her panties out of her purse and leave him a note, but what to say?

Thanks for the spectacular night. See ya Sunday? XX OO XX.

How about something sultry signed with a lipstick kiss?

Any time you’re ready for more, Tiger.

He’d think it was a joke.

How about an apology?

I’m sorry for everything. Please forgive me. PS: You were fantastic.

Love, Lauren.

Love, Lauren. Didn’t that seem weird now? Of course she loved Eric.

She signed all her Christmas and birthday cards that way, followed by a cute string of X’s and O’s. He did the same.

She’d even said it once out loud. They’d been together on a marathon Christmas shopping spree the day after Thanksgiving. Laden with shopping bags and bundled in a too-warm winter parka, she’d waited on the curb outside of Macy’s while he ventured off into the mall parking lot to find his car.

When he’d pulled up twenty minutes later after fighting traffic that would have made Attila the Hun wet his pants, she’d climbed into his SUV and said in all sincerity, “Have I ever told you how much I love you?”

He’d just grinned like the Cheshire Cat and done his best Han Solo impression. “I know.”

She’d wanted to say it last night, over and over each time she came.

Each time he locked eyes with her and panted her name as he pumped his hard cock into her, she’d wanted to say, “I love you, Eric.” But she hadn’t because it would have seemed false, cliché somehow.

Good Lord, she had to get out of his apartment and get her head on straight before she did something completely ridiculous like start considering a relationship with Eric. That could never happen. Would never happen. He didn’t feel that way about her and she didn’t feel that way about him. Sex didn’t change anything.

•

For the fourth time that day, Eric hung up the phone midway through dialing Lauren’s office number. He had the conversation all planned out in his head. She’d answer the phone, all business-like and sweetly secretarial, and he’d say, “Hey sweetheart. How about I pick you up at 6:30 for dinner?”

She’d giggle and probably blush at his sultry tone and know that by

“dinner” he meant “sex”.

In his fantasy world, that was all he needed to do to make her his. In real life, she was probably with Mark trying to patch up their relationship.

He plunked down the receiver and turned back to the program that sat half-written and mostly full of errors on his screen. She’d call him.

He’d told her to and she would. Lauren kept her word. She’d call. And when she did, he’d be aloof, distracted. He’d reaffirm their date for Sunday and go home and take another cold shower or two or three and try not to think about everything he wanted to do to her, everything he wanted to share with her.

Another uneventful hour slipped by and Eric jumped when the door to his office swung open. JR Ellis, one of Eric’s team managers, poked his head around the heavy door. “A bunch of us are going to Antonio’s.

Are you in?”

Eric looked at his screen and contemplated the monumental lack of work he’d accomplished, then at the silent phone on his desk. Would it help or hurt if he missed Lauren’s call? Would she try his cell phone if she didn’t get him at the office?

His stomach rumbled. He’d skipped breakfast and after all the energy he’d expended last night, he needed to eat.

JR raised an eyebrow. “Once again, in
English
…Eric, are you coming with us for lunch?” He spoke slowly, enunciating each word as if he were speaking to someone hard of hearing.

Eric shot him an evil glare. “Yeah. I’m useless here. I might as well eat.” He pushed back from his desk and grabbed his jacket.

“Got the Hump Day blues?” JR asked as Eric joined him in the heavily carpeted corridor.

“What?” Eric slid his guilty gaze to JR. Was it written all over his face? Did he have a hard-on from thinking about Lauren all morning?

“Hump Day.
Wednesday
is the ‘hump’ of the week.” JR crooked his index fingers in air quotes around the word “hump”. He shook his head as he turned down the corridor toward the office lobby. “You programmer types are so out of the loop.”

“I know what Hump Day is, JR.” Eric sighed as he strolled through the corridor past the mostly empty cubicles of his co-workers.

“You seem more introverted than usual,” JR said when they reached the lobby. “Is the Jericho deadline making you crazy?”

“Yeah.” The project for Jericho Lighting was a bitch and a half, but truly nothing Eric couldn’t handle. It made a good excuse, though, not to think about Lauren and how hot and sweet and sultry she’d looked wrapped in his sheets this morning. He forced the image of her looking up at him, her mouth parted in a gasp of pleasure, out of his mind and concentrated on work for the first time since arriving at his desk that morning. “I was actually going to call a meeting this afternoon to go over the specs one more time.”

JR sighed. “Oh great, because I love being tortured.”

Eric laughed despite his internal turmoil. “Good. Then you’ll have a wonderful afternoon.”

They spent all of the short drive to Antonio’s Pizzeria complaining about the difficulties of working with the snobby staff members of the international lighting company. When they joined the small office crowd at the restaurant, though, no one seemed interested in talking business.

While everyone ate and discussed sitcoms and ball games, Eric let his mind wander to his perfect night with Lauren and how much he wished he could take back the morning and stay with her in bed.

To hell with waiting for her to call, he decided as his co-workers divvied up the lunch bill. He’d call her when he got back to the privacy of his office and tell her he wanted to see her again before Sunday. At least if she refused, he’d know where he stood with her.