The Panty Whisperer: The Complete Series (20 page)

"What were you going to say?"

He looks down then back up at me. "It's who he was before he met you."

I scoff. "He doesn't even know me."

Tommy gives me a blank stare. "Stop acting stupid in front of me. Seriously."

I give up and swing my arms up more than any sober person would. "I don't know. I don't know what the hell I'm doing. Everything was so simple, and then he came along. Why did he have to kiss me like that?"

"Look, girl talk isn't really my thing. But I can tell you this—the kid has feelings for you. You obviously have feelings for him. I mean what the fuck? Do I have to spell shit out for you? Give it a try. It's not like you have to get married. Go on a date with him, and see where it goes. This shit is not rocket science. Hell, double with me and Megan. Then you two can talk about girly shit if it doesn't go well, and I'll hang out with fucknuts."

I switch the subject, because I can tell it's making him uncomfortable. But I know he's right. "What girly shit do you think we talk about?"

He exhales a long breath. "Man I don't fucking know. Cosmo quizzes, shoes, celebrity babies—you know, girl shit?"

"You guys are so fucking clueless, I swear." I laugh.

"Truth." He holds out his fist.

I tap my knuckles on his. "Tommy?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you."

"No problem. You going to be okay? You good to drive?"

"Yeah, get out of here. Go hang out with your hot girlfriend. I'll catch a cab. Treat that girl nice. She's a keeper."

"I wouldn't dare be mean to her. I love my balls too much. I don't think they could take one of your right hooks."

I fake a quick punch and he shoots back in his chair with a look of fear in his eyes. I laugh it up.

"You think you're funny, woman? Fucking around like that? Your ass needs counseling, man. Jesus Christ." He barely gets the words out without laughing.

"Aww, I could never hurt my big teddy bear." I pinch him on the cheek like he's a toddler.

Wow, maybe I am a bit drunk. I need to sober up. He laughs it off, but I can see that he's worried about me. There's no way he could be best friends with the Joel I've created in my head.

"You sure you're good?"

I need to be serious so he can get on with his evening. "I promise. I'm fine. Just blowing off a little steam, but I'm about to head home. Thank you, Tommy."

"Anytime. You call me if you need anything, okay?"

"I promise."

I finish off scotch number five and catch a cab back to the house. Dear god, please let the queen bitch and dickhead not be there. No such luck. I see a car parked in the driveway, as I hop out and pay the cabbie.

I'm sobering up, and I feel a headache coming on. I shouldn't have drunk that much.

Handing the cabbie his money, I say thanks and walk up the driveway.

I stand there and marvel at Christian's car for a moment. It definitely suits him. A 90s model Prelude with one of those loud exhaust pipes. It has all kinds of Asian decals on it.

"Fucking idiot. I bet he has neon lights under this piece of shit." I chuckle to myself.

I contemplate doing something to it, but I have enough drama in my life. It would be petty. Fun, but petty.

I walk through the front door and prepare for the worst. Fortunately, I think they're all fucked out and asleep. I snatch a bottle of Tylenol and take a couple with a glass of water. I don't know if this method actually prevents hangovers, but hopefully I'll at least get some form of placebo effect.

I just want to go to bed and forget the day. No such luck. Cock boy comes strutting around the corner in nothing but boxer briefs. It's like god hates me.

"Sup?" He nods his head up in the air as he says it.

"Nothing. Going to bed."

"Your friend is a wild one. Redheads, right?" He smiles.

This is why we don't keep guns in the house. "Whatever."

"She's passed out but I could still go a few rounds. You want some company?" He stretches his arms toward the ceiling.

Is that a line? In what world does that fucking work on any woman? Livi's standards have gone to shit. This guy couldn't get laid in a gay bar wearing a sequined shirt. I can't believe that combination of words actually came out of his mouth.

"What the hell is wrong with you? No, I don't want to fuck you. I don't even want to look at you." I scoff at him.

"Yo, you don't have to be a bitch about it." His voice is harsh.

"What'd you just call me?" I think maybe I should've stopped at scotch number three. I'm about to blow a gasket on this fucker.

"You heard me. Don't be a bitch." He takes a step toward me.

Try something, you motherfucker. You picked the wrong one today. "You're going to see bitch if you open your goddamn mouth again. I'm not in the mood."

"Yo, I think you need to be put in your place. Bet you like it like that, huh?"

I grit my teeth. "I'm not going to say it again. Get out of my way,
now
."

He sticks his chest out in front of me like he's a bad ass. "The fuck you gonna do if I don't?"

I move to walk around him and he steps in my path.

I stare hate into his eyes. "You step at me again and I'll defend myself. You've been warned."

"Fuck you." He takes another step toward me.

I've had it. I reach over on the counter and grab a fork that is sitting there and stick it straight into his upper right arm.

"Ahh, goddamn!" He squeals and grabs his arm, then falls to the floor as I walk around him.

"Yo, you crazy fuckin' bitch, you stabbed me. I'm callin' tha fuckin' cops."

I chuckle. "To tell them you threatened little old me and got dropped like a pussy?"

He sits there, clutching at his arm. It's barely even bleeding. Where are the real men in this world? I pull out my phone and snap a picture of him while he flops around on the kitchen tile. Tommy won't believe me if I don't have evidence. I look at him and smirk. "Nice barbed wire, brah."

I nod to the shitty looking tattoo on his arm and walk towards my bedroom. What an asshole. I have to admit I'm pretty happy with myself as I lie in bed and hear him pull out of the driveway in his little Honda with a weed eater for a motor. I'm probably going to need a new place to live.

JOEL

I
STILL
DON
'
T
know what the hell I was thinking.

You can't just kiss that girl. You fucked up.

I mean, she kissed me back for a second, but she's the kind of girl that will go home and analyze everything about what she did, think things through. She probably hates herself right now. I know women more than anything. I can always tell what they're thinking. What they want. She hates herself the more she thinks about it. Her only logical conclusion is that I'm an asshole who takes advantage of women.

I can understand how it might look that way, but it's never been my intention.

I stroll down the hall for day two of the longest week of my life. The offices are more colorful and people dress more casual in marketing. The sounds of voices actually carry across the room. I quickly realize what's different. It's been bothering me the entire time I've been here. In accounting departments, there are always printers running. I miss the sound of the printers.

I'm supposed to meet with some members of management to see how I can make their lives easier and their departments more efficient. It really means I'm supposed to sell them some bullshit they probably don't need, but I have to convince them otherwise.

I scan the room looking for Quinn, just wanting a quick glimpse of her. Where did she go? She just disappeared yesterday. I haven't seen her since. Get your goddamn head in the game, Herbert. This is my career. I can't have my mind occupied by some schoolboy crush.

People carry on like nothing is out of the ordinary. If they were only inside my head right now. I see a couple of ladies—probably in their thirties or forties—checking me out as they pass files back and forth to one another. They really must not get many men down here. I smile to be polite.

The smell of coffee draws me in its direction. I need some caffeine and it's fucking frigid in this office. Someone has commandeered the thermostat and made it their plan to renovate this place into an igloo.

Voices grow louder as I near the breakroom. It's the same in every office. I can only imagine how much productivity is lost in the first 30 minutes of the day. I can't say that my office is any different. People are naturally programmed to walk in, turn on their computer, and then do nothing for the next half hour.

I follow the aroma, and it energizes me with each breath as I turn the corner. I take two steps, and there is Quinn. Jesus Christ. My throat starts to close off, and my palms start sweating. I'm not sure what to do because no woman has ever turned me into a bumbling idiot when I see her, sitting at the table across from the coffee machine. I freeze stiff in my tracks and stare. She looks up from what she's doing, and our eyes meet. There's something different about her today.

She doesn't advertise it, but something about her is off. Her posture, the way she looks at everything. I'm paralyzed, can't move. I can't do anything but stare at her. She has on khaki pants and a red top that hugs tight against her curves perfectly. Her dirty blonde curls drape over her shoulders. I've only ever seen her thrown together—jeans, tee shirt, hair up. She's so fucking beautiful, even when she looks depressed. She
is
definitely the girl you take home to meet your mother.

I don't want to rock the boat any more than I already have. "Sorry, I'll come back."

"No, it's okay. Get your coffee." She actually musters a smile for me and some of the tension releases in my muscles.

I hope she's not in trouble for what happened yesterday. God, what if someone saw her hit me? She'll probably get fired. I can't believe I said that stuff to her. I lean over and get a cup of coffee, then rise back up.

It feels like an eternity as the steam rises from my cup. She's sitting there like she's waiting on me to say something. I want to ask her what's wrong, and why she kissed me back. Did it mean anything? It's like gravity is crushing me into the floor.

My hand starts to tremble. "Ow!" Scalding hot coffee spills over the side of my cup and on my hand.

"Damn, are you okay?" She looks genuinely concerned.

I panic and start to walk away. "Have a good day."

"Sit down."

My heart begins pumping at an alarming rate. I'm pretty sure I just had a hot flash. Can guys even have those? She's turning me into a chick. I turn around and look at her. "Sorry, did you say something?"

She glances back down and doesn't look up from the paper she is reading.

"Don't act stupid. You heard me. Sit down."

It's certainly an improvement from her hitting me in the dick, so I'll take it. My hands still shake when I grab the chair to pull it out.

What in the fuck?

She sets her paper down and looks up at me. Her eyes have dark circles around them.

"I'm sorry for running off and for hitting you."

If anyone else in the world said that to me I'd have some smart-ass comment, especially after how she's treated me. Not that I didn't deserve some of it, but she appears sincere, and I want to be polite.

"It's okay."

"No, it isn't. I really am sorry, though. I don't expect you to forgive me, but I wanted you to know."

"I just, umm, I'm sorry for kissing you like that." I brush my palms down my legs under the table.

Her head drops, and she stares at the table. Fuck, I can't say anything right. She must still be mad about it. What the fuck does that mean? How am I supposed to interpret that?

"It wasn't—the worst thing that's ever happened to me." She lifts her head and a slight smile forms on her lips.

I'm completely out of my element. I should be knocking this out of the park. My hands are still shaking, palms clammy, chest feels like it has a ton of bricks sitting on it. I have no control. Each time I say something I'm taking a risk. I hate it, and it simultaneously excites me. I've never had to work at getting a girl to like me, it's always just happened.