Roomies (A Standalone Novel) (New York City Bad Boy Romance) (12 page)

The only thing that’s
starting to bother me is that Dane still hasn’t come home.

It’s not unusual for him
to be out late or even all night, but tonight feels different. That look on his
face when he saw me and Mike kissing… it looked like he once had a smile, but
that it slowly melted and died. I don’t know how to describe it.

It looked like his heart
was breaking.

I don’t know, maybe I’m
reading too much into it.

After all, Dane has
what’s-her-stupid-name to keep him company.

What does he need me for?

Chapter Twelve

Standard
Procedure

Dane

The view of Wrigley’s
shapely posterior rising and falling as she works me into her is pleasant
enough, but my heart just isn’t into it.

Not that Wrigley minds or
even notices. The fact that I’m hard is more than enough for her.

We’re back on the roof,
but the people across the street are all tired of the show.

I know how they feel.

I’m lying on the ledge
with one foot on each side of it and Wrigley’s got her back to me. Once I got
over the initial fear, this really doesn’t feel like anything exciting or even
new.

“Oh yeah,” she says,
slamming her core onto me again and again, “fuck me hard!”

I’m wondering if I were
reading a book right now, would she even notice?

It doesn’t really matter,
I guess. Things could be worse.

Though I’m not sure how.

I lift my hips as she
comes down, burying myself deeper inside and I may as well be somewhere else
entirely. There’s no passion, no thrill.

To stay interested, I
fantasize about rolling a little to one side and wonder if I’d still be inside
her when we hit the pavement.

I close my eyes and start
to pretend that she’s Leila, but immediately stop. I’m not going to cheapen
Leila like that.

Come to think of it, it’s
kind of a bad sign that I’m not so concerned about cheapening Wrigley like
that.

“Are you about there?” I
ask, trying to put enough enthusiasm into my voice to not pull her out of her
moment.

She stops riding me,
though I’m still inside her.

She moves one leg over
the side of the building so now only gravity is holding her in place. Yeah, I’m
inside of her, too, but I seriously doubt that would be enough to stop her from
going over the edge.

Wrigley lifts her other
leg over my body so she’s facing me now, straddling me and she leans forward,
kissing my lips as she says, “I think I want a relationship with you, too,
Dane.”

“I’m sorry, what?” I ask
before I can stop myself.

“I said I want to be in a
relationship with you, too, Dane. You were right. There’s more between us than
just sex.”

I don’t say anything for
a minute. I don’t move and hardly breathe. This is about the last thing I was
expecting from tonight.

“What do you think?” she
asks, grinding herself onto me to emphasize the question.

I look at her. She’s
already looking at me.

Her eyes are pale blue.
They’re not the darker blue of Leila’s, but they’re not without their warmth.

She kisses me and I just
stay there, hands hanging down.

I look over the edge of
the building and I look back at Wrigley.

And I decide to jump.

“I’d love that,” I tell her.
“Let’s do it.”

She lets out a glee
filled
squee
and puts her hands on my cheeks as she
kisses me vehemently.

“I’ve never wanted to be
with just one man before,” she tells me.

She throws her head back
and to the side, letting her hair fall over her left shoulder.

“I don’t see any stars,”
I tell her.

She stops moving and the
smile slowly fades from her expression.

“What?” she asks.

“The sky,” I tell her. “I
don’t see any stars.”

“Oh,” she shrugs. “The
city’s too bright.”

“Yeah,” I mumble.

This isn’t a bad thing.
Wrigley and I do seem to get each other on a deeper level, even if that
particular level is generally strange and somewhat terrifying.

She’s not a bad person.
She’s into some weird shit, but that’s not a crime. Well, what we’re doing
right now technically is, but you know what I mean.

Her muscles tighten
around my cock and she slides herself up and down my shaft slowly.

“I’ve been practicing,”
she says.

“What?” I ask, still
looking for even a single glimmering point of light in the sky.

“Kegels,” she says. “It
helps me grip. See?”

She flexes herself around
me again.

“You like?” she asks.

“Yeah,” I smile. “I
like.”

“It’s getting cold,” she
says. “
Wanna
go inside? We can always pick this up on
the bed or…” she kisses me. “The couch or…” she kisses me again. “The floor
or…” she presses her whole body into mine and breathes in deeply as she kisses
me once again. “Wherever.”

“Yeah,” I answer. “Okay.”

She grips me again as she
slips herself off of me and a moment later, I’m just lying there on the ledge
atop this building, still trying in vain to spot a single star in the sky.

*
                   
*
                   
*

It’s seven in the
morning, and I haven’t slept yet.

Wrigley’s feathered
breath is warm on my bare chest as she sleeps peacefully in my arms.

What I’m worried about
right now is that I’ve never known this woman outside of a strictly sexual
context.

Yeah, we’ve gone places
and we’ve talked, but we’re always on our way to a new place to have sex. We’re
always talking about what we’re going to do with each other when we get there.

I know there’s more to
her than that, but I just don’t know if I’m ever going to see it.

I’ve spent so much of my
life treating women like flavor of the hour that I’ve completely forgotten what
it’s like to be that guy, to ask those questions and really get to know
someone.

“Are you awake?” the
whisper comes as a slow rush of air, barely audible.

“Yeah,” I whisper back.

I can feel the muscles in
her face pulling back and when she lifts her head to turn and look at me, she’s
smiling.

“Good morning,” she says.

I can’t help but smile
back.

“Good morning. How’d you
sleep?” I ask.

“I don’t think I’ve ever
slept so peacefully.”

“I’m glad,” I tell her.
“Hey, it occurs to me that we don’t really know that much about each other.”

“Yeah,” she says and
waits for me to continue. “Oh, that was your point.”

I scoff. “Okay,” I tell
her and start to sit up. “I get it.”

“No, no, no,” she says,
with a bit of a chortle as she pushes me back down. “We
don’t
know that much about each other. I guess I just figured that
maybe we could start on that today. Do you have to work?”

“Yeah,” I answer. “Later,
though. I don’t have to be in until noon.”

“That’s right,” she says,
patting my chest. “You’re a chef.”

“Yeah,” I answer.

I’m trying to estimate
how bad the fallout is going to be if I tell her that I have no idea what she
does for a living, but she catches on before I’ve got any hard figures.

“I’m a social worker,”
she says. “I mostly work with kids and teenagers.”

“Yeah? That’s got to be pretty
rewarding.”

“It is,” she says. “It’s
one of those few things in my life where I really feel like I’m making a
difference for someone, you know? It’s not all Polaroids and hugs, though. I
deal with a lot of bad shit on a day-to-day basis.”

“I bet.”

“That said,” she
continues, “Every once in a while, I’ll come across someone who’s just in that
receptive place and you wouldn’t believe how even a child can turn things
around when they want to.”

“You know—maybe this is
going to sound rude, but—”

“That’s not what you
expected?” she asks. “It’s not what a lot of people expect, but it’s what I do.
I love it.”

“Yeah, but you’re—I don’t
know how to say this without being a dick,” I say.

She laughs. “It’s all
right. I’m pretty sure whatever you’re going to say, I’ve heard a lot worse.”

“You’re into some pretty
kinky shit.”

She lets out a gut laugh.

It’s the first time I’ve
ever heard the sound, and it paints her as a completely different person than
the nymphomaniac that I’ve been fucking for the past month or so. The laugh
softens her.

“I am,” she says, “but I
don’t take that to work with me.”

“Yeah, but—I don’t know,
aren’t you ever nervous that you’re going to be doing it in one of the paddle
boats in Central Park and have one of the kids you work with see you?”

“That’s why I don’t go to
Central Park,” she says.

“Yeah, but what about the
top of the building?” I ask. “We’ve been up there a few times now and, except
for last night, every time, we’ve had an audience.”

“Parents keep their kids
away from the windows in the city,” she says, “especially in this neighborhood.
You never know what you’re going to see or who’s going to catch you looking at
them.”

“You’ve really put a lot
of thought into all this, haven’t you?”

She laughs again and my
trepidation starts to thaw.

“I guess you could say
that. Look,” she continues, “there’s a way for me to get all the, in your
words, kinky shit out of my system without putting my job or any young eyes in
jeopardy. Sometimes it takes a bit of creativity, like last night at the stadium.
It actually made me pretty nervous being out in the middle of everything like
that, you know.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Seriously,” she says.
“Did you ever bother noticing how I was making sure that you were covered at
all times from an outside viewpoint? I mean, sure, someone might have walked up
and saw my head in your lap, but I’m sure you would’ve noticed before they saw
too much of anything.”

“You know, I was kind of
worried about this,” I laugh, “but I think this just might be the best decision
I’ve ever made.”

“Take it easy there,
Tonto,” she says. “We’re dating exclusively, but that doesn’t mean we’re
married. Pull it back a bit, will you?”

She’s smiling.

This is the first time
I’ve ever really seen her smile in the daylight.

The woman I went to bed
with isn’t the woman I woke up with, and for once, that’s not a bad thing.

“So, you
wanna
fuck and get some coffee?”

Or, you know, maybe she’s
the same woman and I’m just getting to know her better. That’s probably closer
to the truth.

She kisses my chest and I
feel something that I’d completely forgotten.

I feel cared for.

She lifts her head,
asking, “Or do you want to do the coffee thing first?”

I chuckle.

“Maybe some coffee,” I
tell her. “Otherwise, I don’t know that I’m going to make a good showing.”

“Didn’t you sleep well?”
she asks.

I’m about to tell her the
truth, but the look in her eyes is so innocent, so—what’s the word?—concerned
and I can’t bear to hurt her feelings.

“I slept all right,” I
lie. “I think I’m just getting used to having another person in bed with me.”

“I’m in bed with you all
the time,” she teases.

“Not sleeping,” I tease
back.

“All right, I’ll go get
some coffee on,” she says, actually going as far as to cover herself as she
reaches over the side of the bed for her bathrobe.

“What are you doing?” I
ask.

“It’s cold,” she says.
“I’m used to your body heat. I’ve been sleeping with it all night.”

This is what a
relationship feels like. I almost can’t remember feeling it before.

It’s not a bad feeling.

Wrigley’s hair is
disheveled and hilarious as she walks out the door on her way to the kitchen,
and I’m starting to wonder what I thought was so scary about settling down for
a while.

I don’t know if things
are going to work out or not, but this is probably the best morning I’ve had in
a few years.

“So,” I call through the
open doorway, “what time do you go to work today?”

“I’m off today,” she
calls back. “And will you get your lazy ass out here? I’m freezing.”

I smile to myself. This
is quite the turnaround from last night.

Last night, she was
storming out of my rental car because I’d only suggested that we go out on a
real date and when she got in that cab… I guess I don’t really need to go back
over that right now.

Last night was a very
different world with very different people in it.

I’m up and out of bed,
morning wood kicking in, though I haven’t slept, so I don’t bother with pants.
I just check the top drawer of her dresser for a towel. We tend to go through
quite a few of them on any given occasion.