Before I can respond he shuts my door and swaggers around to the driver’s side.
“You’re right, I’ll call Sean and see if he can fit you into his hand job schedule tonight. I have to believe that he knows how to stroke a dick better than I do. I’m sure Alex could please me better than you.”
“God, Viv! Talk as much as you want about you and Alex pleasing each other … I dig that shit, but if you ever mention Sean and my dick in the same sentence again, I will seriously lose my lunch in your face. Yuck!”
“So Casa Romero, you watch porn at your place and no hand job it is.” I laugh as Kai pulls out of the parking lot.
There’s nothing typical about my relationship with Kai. I hate him almost as much as I love him. The decision to never be more than friends again was mine and I haven’t regretted it once. However, I still get a pang of jealously when I see him with Kate. The lucid part of my brain knows it’s what they have, not who they have. Kai is my comfort. He’s familiar and as much as we joke around, I never feel the need to impress him. I know he would have chosen me, stayed with me, and eventually we may have been able to forget and love each other the way every human deserves to be loved.
Lately there has been a shift. The face I once couldn’t wait to see is the same one I now avoid, for instance, fake tampon runs. Kai looks at me with glasses from the past. He assumes he knows me better than anyone so if I try to take a new path, he’s the first one to remind me that I’ll most likely get lost. Kai is the mother that yells to her daughter as she heads out the door for her first date, “Don’t forget your acne medication, sweetie, don’t want you waking up with hamburger face in the morning.” There’s nothing worse than trying to make a good first impression when someone who knows your darkest secrets and biggest fears is standing behind you with a megaphone.
“What are you doing tomorrow?” Kai asks, pulling up in front of my condo.
“Washing my hair.” I open the door and he clutches my arm.
“What’s been up with you lately?”
I deflate a little with regret. “Nothing, I’m just …”
“PMSing?”
I laugh because Kai may be a brilliant student and he’ll probably be an equally brilliant doctor someday, but when it comes to reading women who don’t want sex from him, he has the skills of a toddler.
“Yeah, sure, I’m probably just PMSing.”
“Well, take some Advil and eat some chocolate or something. I’ll call you tomorrow.” He smiles, once again oblivious to what’s really happening in my life.
“Bye, Kai Pie.”
“Stop calling me—”
I slam the door and grin at his huffy scowl. He pulls away from the curb allowing my gaze to lift to the set of steps across the street. I glance both ways then walk toward my insanely handsome neighbor.
“You’re a ball of yarn and a set of knitting needles away from looking like a complete dork sitting out here with only a few minutes left of daylight on a Saturday evening.”
Oliver takes his time allowing his eyes to explore me while brushing his index finger over his bottom lip. “I can’t say that I’ve ever been called a dork before.”
“Not to your face anyway.” I giggle.
His eyes find mine and he shakes his head, relinquishing a slight grin. “Come in for some wine.” He holds out his hand.
“Thanks, but no thanks.” I gesture to my clothes. I’m a mess from today, in desperate need of a shower, and it’s a little creepy that you’re so quick to try and get me tipsy.”
“So invite me over and take a shower while I get a little tipsy.”
Gathering my hair in my hands, I pull it off my neck, feeling sweaty on this balmy evening. “You really think that’s a good idea?”
Oliver scrubs his hands over his face. “Probably not, but I’m all out of good ideas tonight.”
Releasing a deep breath, I offer him my hand. “You’re more dangerous than your brother.”
He takes my hand and stands. “Why do you say that?”
“Because it’s easy to say no to him.”
I’m in the shower, naked, and Oliver’s downstairs. I’m in the shower naked, and Oliver’s downstairs.
My mind reels. I’m alone in the shower having the most erotic moment of my life. Desire blossoms and just his proximity downstairs heightens all my senses. It’s his hands massaging shampoo into my hair, sliding down my neck and over my breasts, teasing my erect nipples. Closing my eyes I feel his fingers dip between my legs, parting me and teasing me.
“Oh God!” I moan, resting my other hand on the shower wall while my fingers, his fingers, pulse over my most sensitive area.
Knock, knock, knock!
“I’m going to run home and grab my phone, be right back.” Oliver’s voice drenches me in cold water.
“O-okay.” The frog in my throat croaks.
I skip the orgasm—wouldn’t be the first time that opportunity has gone down the drain. After drying off, I pick out a pair of light pink lace panties and a matching bra. Not to look sexy—that would be a lost cause—just to feel sexy. There really is something to be said for feeling sexy. I know it changes my whole persona. One day I wore a long sundress without any underwear and Alex commented on me having an extra bounce in my step.
Lotion, perfume, a little makeup, and a partial drying of my hair expedites my return to Oliver. Turning my back toward the full-length mirror, I glance around to see how much of my ink shows along the straps of my tank top. Not much, just enough to make me look mysterious, sexy, and badass. Okay, that’s Alex’s quote, but I like how she thinks.
“Looking for a better offer?” I tease, skipping down the stairs seeing Oliver messing with his phone.
“Yes, but it appears you’re as good as it’s going to get tonight.”
“Funny guy, huh?”
“Not usually.”
“You tipsy yet?” I grab my purse.
“Not yet. You haven’t exactly been the most gracious hostess.”
“Let’s go then.” I open the door and wait.
“Go where?” He stands and hesitates a moment before walking to the door.
“J.P. Licks for mango sherbet.”
“You want me to come watching you eat ice cream?”
“What did you just—”
He scratches his stubbly jaw. “Shit, I didn’t mean or what I meant was coming … uh, crap! I just meant we’re coming together … dammit!”
It’s quite possible I could wet my pants I’m laughing so hard as he stumbles through his self-induced awkward moment, rubbing his face and tugging at his hair.
“Never mind, let’s just go,” he mumbles, walking ahead of me.
I wipe the tears from the corners of my eyes. Hurrying to catch up with him, I grab his hand and interlace our fingers. He looks down at our hands and then at me.
“Thought you could use a hand.”
“Hilarious,” he says, focusing on the sidewalk in front of us.
“I think so.”
“First kiss?” I ask.
“Jenna Reed, second grade. You?”
“Milfred Mumford third grade. First heartbreak?”
“Wait just a minute … your first kiss was with a girl?”
“No, Milfred is definitely not a girl. He ended up being the biggest jock in our graduating class and a total stud on the rugby field.”
“Milfred?”