“I get—”
“Regularly being the operative word. It won’t hurt the public image, or that of the firm, if you were to have a permanent fixture on your arm that isn’t a family member.” I scoff at his bluntness, but can’t argue his inferred reasoning. “Let alone the fact that it would make your parents happy. Shit, I can see it now. Their baby boy finally bringing a girl home after a decade of nothing.” The smug look on his face is unmistakable.
He knows everything about me, including the fact that my religious, conservative parents are worried that their thirty-four year old son has not brought a woman home to meet them for more than a decade. They think I’m all work and no play.
Grant and I met on the first day of high school. Grant was the geeky, glasses-wielding nerd just about to get his ass kicked, and I was the quiet brooding type who came to his rescue. Ever since I took a punch for him, we’ve been stuck like glue. It’s always been like that.
Together, Grant and I are unstoppable, business-wise. When we first graduated, we both interned at the same big city firm. When the time came for a new partner to be announced, we jumped ship before we were forced to choose. That was when we stepped out on our own and started Alexander Richardson, our biggest achievement by far.
As for my interests . . . He’s tried to encourage me to find a like-minded woman to indulge myself with, but I’ve managed to keep the urges at bay thus far. But when you’ve fixated on something for so long, you become almost obsessed with it. It’s always there with me, the temptation calling my name. I just haven’t met a woman who has made me want to take that next step.
Therefore I keep my relationships physical only—no commitments and no obligations. Short and never public. There is just too much at stake, too much too lose, and if I’m to be honest, too many complications.
So I stamp out the cravings, bury them deep inside, torturing myself but avoiding the mistake of losing control in the wrong situation. It may make me seem uptight and unyielding, but it is better that way.
And I’ve been doing well, up until Lucia. Never has a woman affected me on such a base level as her. She’s the only woman to turn my head and keep it there. I didn’t think much of it at the time, but the way that woman’s touch, albeit brief, has stayed with me and affected me, is unprecedented.
The smart thing would be to stay away, be sensible and bury myself in my new project.
Not imagine what it would be like to wrap my hand around her ponytail, pulling her head back until her lips part on a gasp for me.
Not think about snaking my arm around her waist and crashing her body hard into mine as I slam my mouth against hers and taste her, claim her and take her, relishing in the moans and breathless whimpers that would fill the air surrounding us.
And definitely not think about her naked body beneath me, mouth to mouth, skin to skin, her staccato heartbeat racing against mine as I lose myself in her.
Last night I discovered that despite believing the contrary, I can have moments of normalcy. Where I’m just a thirty-something guy who meets a breath-stealing woman and flirts somewhat innocently without expectations, without the woman planning how to marry me and bear my future children. Without her giving me her phone number, asking for mine, fawning over my every word and acting like I hung the moon and our love was written in the stars.
My phone buzzes through the speakers and I push a button on the wheel of my Range Rover Sport and loud dance music sweeps through the cab.
“Grant, please, for the love of all that’s holy, turn the music down.”
He chuckles but thankfully turns down the aural assault. “So Cal, how are you feeling this morning?”
“Why . . . ?” I ask slowly, my voice dropping an octave as I wait for him to deliver the undoubtedly bad news.
“Now¸ now. No need to be so negative. I was just wondering whether you might’ve gone back and picked up our hot-as-fuck waitress from the restaurant after getting your car last night?”
“She’s the owner, not a waitress—”
“I knew it! You totally went there!” he yells down the phone.
“No, I didn’t go there, as you so eloquently put it. She also isn’t ‘hot as fuck.’”
“She fucking is so. That ass of hers is—” I can’t stop the growl that comes out of my mouth, which just sets him off laughing. “Bet you wish you had gone back to see her now. You were probably up half the night.”
“I slept fine,” I reply wryly.
“You don’t need to be awake for your dick to work, buddy.”
“You’d know,” I reply sardonically. “Didn’t Olivia complain about you jumping her in the middle of the night when you were both still asleep?”
He gasps in mock horror before chuckling down the phone. “That’s a low blow, Cal. But let it be stated that she never once complained at the time. Stop changing the subject. You need to call the lovely Lucia, or pop in to the restaurant later and ask her out.”
“And have her work her magic to get into my bed and then suddenly I find myself in a relationship?”
“I’m sorry. Were you at the same table as me last night? For once you’ve met a normal, easygoing, fucking gorgeous woman who did not once ping on my fan girl radar. To be honest, she seemed to be genuinely interested in what we do and your work.”
There’s that word again.
Genuine.
The same word that kept coming back to me all night. Lucia Harding came across as nothing but genuine. Her reactions, her body language, the way she spoke of her brother, the restaurant, and an apparent love of classic design principles. Her laugh, her smile—everything about her was genuine. Real.
Fuck!
“Besides, don’t you need a date to that charity baseball game next weekend? I know you love me, but somehow I think Lucia would look better on your arm than I would. She’d definitely look better in a dress.” I roll my eyes, happy in the knowledge that he can’t see me do it because of the shit he’d give me. However, he’s not wrong about the dress.
“You think you’re funny, don’t you?”
“I know I am. And anyway, it’s not like I called Mrs. Alexander last night and suggested she start planning the wedding and ordering nursery expansion plans, is it?”
“Grant, there’s nothing to talk about. Especially not to my mother. Jesus!”
“Tut tut, Callum Matthew Alexander. Whatever would Father Duncan say if he heard you take the Lord’s name in vain?”
“He’d whack me around the ear then make me say about a hundred Hail Marys.” I grin to myself at the thought. “But then again, if I told him you made out with Marilyn Tompkins in the boys’ restroom, I think you’d come off second best. Just a hunch,” I add.
“You don’t play fair,” he retorts.
“Never claimed to be a saint, my son,” I say with a laugh.
“Hell! Far from it, with the kind of dirty dreams you have. That’s half the fun though, isn’t it?” And there it is. Like a Mack truck to my chest.
“Grant,” I growl. “Let’s not ruin the nice morning I’m having.”
“Did you have a choke ‘n’ stroke in the shower or something?”
He laughs in my ear, and I have to brake suddenly, almost running through a red light. “On that note, since you almost made me kill myself and possibly a few others, we’ll end this call and I’ll see you in the office.”
He sniggers and I release the breath I was holding, shaking my head at him even if he can’t see me. We know each other’s good, bad and downright ugly. Twenty years of friendship has to count for something, including not getting offended with whatever comes out of each other’s mouths.