Her Perfect Man (2 page)

The fat orange cat slipped through the opening that should have been far too narrow for his bulk and high tailed it down to the first floor.

“You little—” Kim struggled not to spill the basket and its contents. She should have, she realized moments later, just set it down and gone after her pain-in-the-ass cat. Instead, she tried to save herself an extra trip and rushed after him with the basket in her arms.

Her slippery sock feet slid out from under her.

“Oof!” With no opportunity to grab for the heavy oak banister, Kim bumped down the stairs on her butt.

The laundry basket toppled with her, landing upended at the first floor.

“Ouch. Shit.” Kim lay there, dazed, wanting to cry. Of course this was how she’d end the day. Flat on her ass.

She lifted her head to see Groucho sitting at the door that led outside, blinking at her in curiosity.

What’d you do that for?

“Thanks, buddy,” she muttered, letting her head fall back against the hard step. “Ow.” Her eyes fell shut.

She’d meant to huddle down in the laundry room and have a good old cry, her boo-hoos drowned out by the buzzes, thumps, and soapy sloshes of the old washer. But maybe she’d just lie here and let go… A deep voice broke the silence. “My God, are you all right?”

Kim opened her eyes to find
the teacher
standing in the wide hallway, gazing down at her. She wanted to groan. Terrific. Just the person she wanted to witness her complete humiliation.

Charles Keller gestured toward the door of his apartment, still standing open. “I heard the thump.”

The teacher had the whole first floor to himself. Kim and Mrs. Fogle had the two smaller upstairs apartments in the former one-family home.

“Let me help you.”

Kim’s face was hot with embarrassment as the man helped her to her feet. Though not as bulky as Adam, he was strong. She felt secure as he lifted her, and she was no lightweight. He had big hands.

He was tall, too, taller than her five-nine. A guy built more for basketball than football.

What the hell? Was she actually checking him out? She must have hit her head harder than she thought.

Gingerly she rubbed her sore butt, hoping he didn’t notice as he collected some of the dirty laundry from the floor. “Thanks.”

Though he’d always been pleasant enough to her, Kim mistrusted the man on principle. Just the fact that he was a teacher put her off. Her memories of school were miserable ones. Kim had spent more time in detention than on the Dean’s List, and back in the day, teachers were the enemy. Years later, that
me-versus-them
feeling remained.

Okay, so maybe she wasn’t being fair. It wasn’t like the guy was going to stop her on the way to the mailbox and ask her to recite the times tables. Their paths didn’t cross much, anyway, since he kept teacher’s hours and Kim was a night-owl who rose late. No reason to be a total bitch. After all, he was just being nice.

“You don’t need to do that,” she told him as he continued picking up the fallen items from the floor.

“I don’t mind.” He straightened, something still in his hand. Kim’s eyes went wide as she realized it was a big old pair of cotton granny panties.

He saw her reaction, looked down, and dropped the panties as though they were on fire. “Oh. Sorry.”

“They’re not mine!” she blurted, her ears going hot. She groaned inwardly. What did he care about her underwear? “I mean, I was heading to the laundry room anyway, so I told my neighbor I’d throw some of her stuff in with mine.”

“Oh, yes. Mrs. Fogle. She’s told me how good you’ve been to her.”

Huh? He’d spoken to Mrs. Fogle? About her?

Kim shrugged, downplaying it. “Yeah, well. No point in her going down all those steps for just a few things.” Her glance skittered around the hallway and finally landed on his face.

His sandy brown hair was cut short. He had a long face and nose. Nobody could ever call him handsome, but his eyes—wow. They were so
blue
.

She gave herself a little inward shake. They probably weren’t his real color. Lots of people wore contact lenses.

She felt nervous, her arms loose and floppy at her sides. “Well, thanks, Mr. Keller.” Her expression of appreciation was more genuine now.

“Charlie,” he said and held something else in his hands. “Don’t forget this.” Just as she reached for the small quilt of blue, yellow, and white, he inspected it more closely. “This is beautiful. Did you make it?”

Kim felt a glow of pride, mixed with the heat of embarrassment. Did he really think it was beautiful? “Yeah.”

He showed no inclination to let it go. “It’s amazing. The stitches are so tiny. You must have done this by hand.”

“Some of it.” She grasped the quilt and gently pulled it from his hold. “That must have gotten in there accidently.”

While they spoke, Groucho had managed to claw at the front door, which never really closed tightly, and open it enough to slip outside.

“Get back here!” Kim snapped, as though there were a chance in hell the cat might actually obey.

She hurried outside just in time to see him scramble up the big maple in front of the house.

She stalked to the foot of the tree and scowled up at the scruffy orange cat. The little bastard perched on a lower branch, too high to reach but low enough to tease.
Ha ha, you can’t get me!

“Get down from there, dumbass!”

Groucho scowled back. Though it was hard to tell, considering the former street cat was missing an eye and half an ear and had been in so many fights his face seemed frozen in a permanent snarl.

Whatever the case, he didn’t move.

Shit
. Time to change tactics.

“Aw, come on. Be a good boy.”

Groucho wasn’t fooled by her syrupy tone. He glared at her with his one good eye and stubbornly hunkered down for the long haul.

“Damn it, you little…” She left the curse word unspoken and huffed in disgust. “Ungrateful old fleabag. This is the thanks I get for rescuing your raggedy ass from the streets.”

She could swear Groucho turned up his nose.

Who asked you to?

What else could go wrong today? She’d been dumped in front of a lunch-time crowd at Sammy’s Subs. She’d dusted the staircase with her butt. And now her own pet—her 
supposed 
faithful companion—was dissing her in full view of the entire neighborhood.

The self-pity she’d held back all day came crashing in on her all at once as she heard Adam’s voice.
I think we should take a break.

How could she have been so stupid? She knew Adam didn’t love her, but she had told herself if she just hung in there, gave him a little more time, his feelings would change…

She’d been kidding herself. When did things ever work out for her with guys? They all ended up leaving her, sooner or later. Usually sooner. Adam, the best of the lot, had lasted longer than the others.

Big deal. He’s still gone, isn’t he?

“Come on, huh?” she pleaded, looking up again at the big cat. “Give me a break.”

Groucho just ignored her.

Mr. Keller walked toward her. “If you just leave him alone, I’m sure he’ll come down when he’s ready.”

Kim’s mouth flattened. The last thing she was in the mood for was unsolicited advice from a non-cat owner.

“He got up there. He’ll find his way down.”

“I don’t like to leave him out.” Though Groucho had adjusted pretty well to indoor life, every once in a while the “call of the wild” kicked in and he couldn’t resist the urge to break loose.

“We can keep an eye on him over there.” The man gestured with his thumb to the big porch in front of the house.

Kim’s eyebrows rose.
We?

She trailed him to the house and up the wide steps of the porch. She plunked down on the top step while he stood at the front door.

“How about something to drink?” he offered.

“Sure,” Kim said casually, then feeling daring and hoping to fluster the teacher, she asked, “Got any beer?”

He smiled. “Sure.”

She drooped when her little attempt fell flat.

What was she doing? Trying to take her sucky day out on him?

He came out with a couple of bottles and handed her one. She glanced at the label, expecting some fancy brew so she could indulge in a bit of reverse snobbery, but to her disappointment it was the same inexpensive kind she usually bought.

“Not your brand?” he asked.

“No, it’s fine.” Then, she added “Thanks, Charlie.” Though he’d told her to call him that, it gave her a naughty thrill to do so. She felt like an impudent student daring to address her teacher by his first name.

He smiled broadly, easily. “My friends call me Charlie.” He clinked the neck of his bottle against hers. “I hope that we’ll be friends.
Kim
.”

Looking at that smile, at that set of gleaming white teeth, Kim felt as though someone—or something—snatched the breath right out of her.

Though they hadn’t touched, a spark of static electricity zapped her.

Dizzy and light-headed, she quickly looked away as a tingle flashed through her, concentrating right between her thighs. The mouth of the bottle clicked against her teeth as she tipped it to moisten her dry mouth and quench the sudden heat in her belly.

All she could think was,
Ohhh, crap
.

****

Charlie watched as Kim took a sip from the bottle. She’d never let him get this close before. Oh, she’d nod and murmur a greeting if they ran into each other in the hall, but she always shut him down whenever he tried chatting her up. Charlie hadn’t known if she was shy or stand-offish or maybe just didn’t like his looks.

He liked her looks. He admired her tall, trim figure and the glossy brown hair that brushed her shoulders. He liked the freckles that danced across her nose and cheeks. He even liked the little space between her top front teeth. It didn’t detract from her prettiness but made it more unique.

And he really liked her breasts. They were small, but man did they have some pointy nipples.

He appreciated the fact that she didn’t wear a bra under her camisole today, and he tried not to stare, but those nipples kept drawing his attention. Was it his imagination or did they grow even pointier in his presence?

While he sat there, making pleasant if awkward conversation with Kim, all he could think about was how he’d like to peel that cami off her and roll his cold beer bottle over her nipples. They’d pucker into hard pebbles. Then he’d take them in his mouth and warm them.

His cock hardened, reacting to the fantasy.

Down, boy.

But it was more than her nipples that intrigued him. Kim couldn’t give him the time of day, yet she didn’t mind doing favors for their elderly neighbor.

She’d given a loving home to a scraggly street cat.

And the quilt was a story in itself. She’d obviously put a lot of love into that.

Maybe because she was someone with a lot of love to give and only needed the right person to give it to.
Love?
Laughter rang in his head.
A minute ago 
you were thinking about her nips. You’re getting a little ahead of yourself, aren’t you, Chuckles?

Charlie smiled. He wouldn’t even be here, getting ahead of himself, if Groucho hadn’t run up the tree. He owed that crazy cat a big bag of treats.

Kim stared at her reflection in the mirror above her bathroom sink and frowned.

My friends call me Charlie.
All he did was smile, for God’s sake. But that smile blazed like a thousand stadium lights, blinding her.
How’d he do that?

She stretched her lips into a big old grin, showing the little space between her front teeth. She always liked that imperfection, had resisted getting it “fixed” the way her parents urged her to when she was younger. No, it was her personal
fuck you
to a world filled with orthodontist-straightened smiles.

Well, her smile might say
fuck you
, but it certainly lit no lights. Kim turned away from the glass and went into the living room where Groucho sat on the armchair, licking his back leg. She slumped onto her futon and glared at the cat. “It’s all your fault.”

He ignored her, extending his leg a little farther and flexing his toes.

“If you hadn’t pulled that stunt, I wouldn’t have been stuck talking to
the teacher
.” Kim watched the cat a moment longer, then pulled off her sock and wadded it into a ball.

“Hey!” She tossed the sock-ball at him. “Don’t act like you don’t hear me!”

Groucho startled when the sock bounced off him and fell to the floor. He glanced at it, then at Kim.

What’s your problem?

She folded her arms, in a huff. Mr. Keller had been correct. Groucho had climbed down the tree of his own accord. When he felt good and ready to, of course. And not until Kim was forced into conversation with the man. After all, she couldn’t drink his beer and not at least try to be polite.

So she learned he taught Art at Summit Middle School. He also coached Girls Junior Varsity Basketball. He’d played basketball himself in high school and college and still played from time to time with his friends. He also enjoyed hiking, kayaking, and other outdoor activities.

Kim had to admit that if someone
had
to be a teacher, at lease he taught a cool subject. One of the few classes she’d enjoyed in school, she’d actually been pretty good at Art.

Though he told her a lot about himself, Mr.

Keller—
my friends call me
Charlie
—had tried not to monopolize the conversation. He’d asked her about her own life, tried to draw her out, but she managed to give vague answers or deflect his questions.

After all, what could she tell him? He was a man with a college degree, working on his Master’s. He had a profession, not just a job. A calling, for God’s sake. Kim doubted
Charlie
would be much impressed with her job history.

“He’d be real impressed by my resume, huh, Grouch? Bet he’d love to hear how they canned me at The Sunshine Cafe after I cussed out that asshole who was trying to feel me up. Or how I quit Valu-Buy when the manager and I got into it over…hell, I can’t even remember, now.”