Operation Foreplay (12 page)

“He told me he loves me.” I looked down at the floor and he used his finger to tilt my chin back up.

“That’s not what I asked. Do
you
love
him
?” His voice was barely a whisper.

I couldn’t think of anything to say. His lips were close, too close. His tongue slipped out and ran across his bottom lip. I felt a familiar throb between my legs and a not so familiar skip in my heartbeat. It was hot, too hot. I leaned in, close enough to kiss him, and he tilted his head. I closed my eyes and waited.

Instead, Jared stepped back and laughed. “You mean to tell me the guy has told you he loves you and you won’t say it back and you’re okay with him leaving his wife for you? You’re something.”

“It’s not that I won’t say it. It’s just not something I’ve ever said. I don’t know if I ever will. And you know what? That’s okay.” I kicked off my shoes.

He was too close again. “Oh, you’ll say it, sweetheart. You just don’t know it yet.” His finger tapped my chin and I growled in frustration. I turned and stormed to my bedroom, slamming the door for emphasis.

Chapter Nine

A
fter I sulked for a sufficient amount of time, long enough to realize I didn’t want to be confined to my bedroom for the rest of the day, I walked out to the living room, executing the most nonchalant swagger I could muster. Jared was sprawled out on the couch with his nose in his phone, his thumbs jabbing furiously. By the sound of the music, he was playing some game on his phone.

I saw him peer over the top of his screen and regard my presence. I raised an eyebrow and plopped down in the armchair that used to belong to my dad. Grabbing the newest tabloid, I flipped through the pages stiffly, not really reading any of the words. After a few minutes—I assume he ran out of lives—Jared placed the phone on the coffee table and leaned back, arms stretched across the back of the sofa. I noticed his blanket, sheets, and pillow neatly stacked at the far end.

“What’s up?” That sexy smirk played at the corners of his mouth. It wasn’t until he snapped his fingers that I stopped staring.

“Nothing. Why?” I resumed flipping through the magazine.

“Seems like something’s up.”

“Nope. Nothing.”

“Okay then.” He picked up his phone off the table, walked over to his suitcase, and pulled out clothes.

“Where are you going?”

“The gym. Not going to sit here all day and stare at your ass, though I wouldn’t mind.”

“
I
was going to go to the gym.” I launched out of my chair. I wasn’t actually.

“Then go.”

“So what are we, roomies
and
running buddies?”

“No one said we had to work out together but, yes, I am going to run. You are welcome to join me.”

“Well, I guess”—I stood and dropped the magazine on the table—“there is nothing else to do.”

He laughed as he closed the bathroom door behind him.

He was waiting by the front door when I emerged from my bedroom.

“Damn.”

“What?” I asked innocently and bent over at the waist to pretend to tie my shoe.

“Nothing.” He shook his head. “So, I was wondering if you could do me a favor,” he said as he handed me a bottle of water.

“What?”

“Leave the bitch face at home. I mean, really, I don’t want it making a sudden appearance and ruining my workout. Or at least the part of my workout where I stare at your ass, watch sweat slide from your neck and down your chest into your sports bra, or ogle your breasts as they bounce when you’re running. You know, normal stuff I look forward to when I’m at the gym.”

I couldn’t think of anything clever to say, which was so not like me, so I stood staring at him with my mouth hanging open. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, I managed to say, “Bitch face?”

“Yeah. You know, that look you get when it looks like you’ve been sucking lemons?” He demonstrated what I could only assume was his interpretation. “Bitch face.”

“You’re an ass.”

“That right there!” He pointed at my face. “Leave that here. Let’s go have fun.”

I slapped his hand out of the way and walked out of the apartment.

I popped in my ear buds and turned up the music, making sure there was no miscommunication. I didn’t want to talk. Who the hell did he think he was? Of course, I had to double-time my stride just to keep up with him and it made me feel like I was chasing after him. He didn’t seem to notice, of course. He was busy checking out every student who decided to stay for the summer, and he made no move to hide it.

It took a minute but I shook out the cobwebs. He was doing nothing more than what I did every day as I walked to the gym. He was a good-looking—scratch that, great-looking—single guy. Why should I be mad if he was checking out some coed? He was closer to their age than I was, a fact that grew ever more real the closer I got to my birthday.

By the time we got to the gym, I opened the door and waited while he exchanged numbers with some chick he met half a block away. Was I losing my way? Was I out of touch with my reality? That was my shtick.

Tapping my foot, I checked the time on my phone and cleared my throat. He looked over, winked, and said goodbye to the cute brunette with the waist-length hair I could never achieve because of my annoying curls.

“Didn’t mean to make you wait, princess.”

“I’d like to think I’m past the princess stage. I’m more of a queen.”

“Well, a queen needs a throne. My face is available if you ever need one.”

“What makes you think I’d want to sit on your face? It’s all scruffy. Like a dog. Or a hobo.” I walked in, leaving him holding the door. Smiling to myself, I felt a bit more normal. Trading jabs with Jared was fun, even if I didn’t want to admit it. Not to mention, the scruff was actually very sexy. It didn’t take much to imagine his five o’clock shadow rubbing against my thighs. Truth be told, I loved the beard. I believed in all things bearded.

“Hobo, huh? That’s a new one. Sex god. That’s what I’m usually referred to as.” He headed toward the nearest set of open treadmills.

“I bet you are,” I said, not quite loud enough for him to hear.

There was no escaping the fact that Jared Myers threw me off my game. For the first time in a long time, I’d finally met someone who knocked me off balance. Zac and I were different. There was something entirely too intense about Zac and me. I welcomed the ease of being with Jared.

With Zac, I always felt like I was reaching for something. As a rule, I didn’t chase men. But I chased the hell out of him. And I felt like I’d never reach the finish line. But Jared. Jared called me on my bullshit, called me on my drama. Only the girls did that. Well, the girls and Berk. But this was different. The snarky bravado, the I-don’t-give-a-shit attitude, seemed less about asserting dominance and more about something I couldn’t quite put my finger on.

Everything else in my life was all about immediate gratification. With Jared, it was more of a slow simmer.

We spent the next hour in silence, each running at a pace to challenge the other. By the time we got to the cool down, I felt like my legs were going to fall off.

“Where are you going?”

I turned to him. “Showers.”

“You aren’t going to stretch?”

“Stretch? I stretched back at the apartment before we came.”

“If you don’t stretch after, you’ll cramp. Basic rule of working out. Come on. We’ll do it together, it will take less time.”

I watched him drop to a mat in the corner and crook his finger toward me, motioning for me to follow. Sighing, I threw my towel around my neck and kneeled down in front of him.

“Help me stretch my hammies.” He lifted his leg in the air and I pushed it gently toward his head. As he switched legs, his shorts gapped and I sucked in hard. He wasn’t wearing any underwear and by the look of it, he had a lot to offer a girl. He noticed my slight hesitation as I admired the view.

“What’s the matter? You look like you’ve never seen a dick before.” He lifted the other leg and I averted my eyes just enough that I could still peek out of the corner of my eye if I wanted to.

I rolled my eyes. “I’ve seen plenty of dicks before.”

“So you keep telling me.” He sat up. “Your turn.”

We switched places and I lifted my leg for him. Unlike Jared, though, my leg easily stretched back toward my head until I was nearly in a split. It was my turn to notice his hesitation.

“What’s the matter? Never seen a girl spread like this before?”

He laughed. “Like I said, if you need a throne…”

“As if.” I switched legs and stretched before I stood and touched my toes. It was hard not to notice him standing behind me noticing me. “See something you like?”

I jumped as he snapped my ass with his towel. “Time to go. I forgot to tell you, we have people coming over for dinner.”

“Who? Redhead?” I crossed my arms and tapped my foot. And then I realized my arms were crossed as I tapped my foot. And then I realized he noticed. “I mean, what? Like you have a date?”

“No. But it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had two women for dinner.”

“Cute.” I bitch-faced him. “Who’s coming?”

“Well, I was hoping both of us could—”

I shoved him. “Would you stop?”

“You’re awfully handsy. What’s with you and all the touching?”

“I like touching.” I winked at him.

He leaned in close enough that I could smell the faded mint of the gum he’d popped into his mouth just before we left the apartment. “I like touching, too.” His fingers grazed my cheek and I closed my eyes, nuzzling into his touch.

“I’d like to kiss you,” he whispered.

“Then why don’t you?”

“Not yet.” He stepped back and shook out his arms.

I took a shaky breath and noticed my stomach was knotted. “So”—I attempted to diffuse the almost kiss—“who is coming to dinner again?”

“Sorry.” His laugh told me that he was not, in fact, sorry. “My sister, Drew.” He took a long swig of water. “Berk, Caroline, and Brian. I’m cooking.”

“You’re cooking? How very domestic of you. Are we playing house?”

“I could think of a few other things we could play.”

Since my lady balls were back to being appropriately sized, I stepped close enough so that my breasts we barely touching him. Putting on my best seductive face, I said, “I like to play.”

“You are something,” he whispered as he tucked a stray tendril of hair behind my ear before patting my shoulder and heading out the door. “By the way, you’re helping me cook!”

Completely satisfied with myself, I followed him out.

*  *  *

At the grocery store, I was the driver of the cart. I wasn’t terribly amused at the idea of following him around the store. Until I followed him around the store.

Perfect ass.

I was lost in a daydream of ass perfection when he must’ve stopped short and I rammed the cart into the backs of his legs.

“Still thinking about me naked?” He winced and rubbed the backs of his thighs.

I scoffed, “You wish,” and was glad he couldn’t read minds.

“That’s gonna bruise, you know.”

“Poor baby. We’ll grab a bag of frozen peas on the way out.”

Shaking his head and smiling, he picked up a rubber-banded bunch of asparagus and lectured me on the dos and don’ts of such a vegetable.

Jared Myers’s cooking tip number one: yellow and loose tips are not good.

He tossed lemons and garlic into the basket followed by a container of spring greens, a few bunches of herbs, and a handful of shallots. Considering I’d never seen a shallot that wasn’t cooked in my food, I thought it was a weird-looking onion. I really needed to buy a cookbook.

“Do you have olive oil?”

“What?”

“Olive oil. You have some?”

“I do.”

“Okay.” Without another word, he dove back into his mental checklist and I followed him to the fish department.

“So are we going to have to crack open crabs to make these crab cakes you’ve been talking about?”

“Well, that would be tedious. No, we’re going to buy lump. Already cooked, already shelled.”

“Ahh. Okay.”

I watched as he conversed with the fish guy and ordered a pound and a half. Daydreams about his ass aside, I was actually a bit fascinated by the whole process. After a few more minutes of plucking items off the shelves, he was ready to go.

“I think I have everything.”

I took out my wallet when we got to the registers.

“What are you doing?” He placed his hand over my wallet.

“Paying.”

“Why?”

“If you’re going to cook, I can pay.”

“You don’t need to do that.” He shook his head and took out a credit card.

“I want to. Let me.”