Wicked Bet: A Bad Boy Romance (3 page)

Grimly, I settled in to sort this out. An hour and a half later, after putting out several fires, I climbed into an empty bed. Ian was still working in the den when I told him good-night and got an incomprehensible mumble in return.
 

I fell asleep alone. As I had every other night this week.

Chapter Three

IN THE MORNING, it was a different story.
 

“Shit!” Ian cried out, knocking the backup alarm clock off his nightstand as a shrill beeping filled the room.
 

“Shhh. It’s my alarm. Go back to sleep.”
 

“What time is it?” he said blearily.
 

“Four-thirty. What time did you come to bed?”

“Two-thirty.”
 

“Go back to sleep, hon.”
 

He closed his eyes, and I got ready as quietly as I could. Usually, he didn’t wake up when my alarm went off. His internal clock must be all screwed up from the long nights he’d been putting in.
 

A little after five, I was dressed and ready to go. At the last minute, I decided I’d better check to make sure his alarm was still set.
 

Using my phone as a flashlight, I tip-toed over to his side of the bed. His phone was locked, so I couldn’t tell if that alarm was still enabled. And I couldn’t find the backup manual alarm, the one he’d taken a swipe at before.
 

Waving my phone like a lantern, I panned it along the floor. Nothing. I moved the pale blue light across Ian’s body, sucking in my breath when I saw the way his bare chest looked ripped and toned and completely lickable even in the dim light. God, if we didn't have sex soon, I was going to explode.
 

Finally, I spotted the battery-powered clock. He must’ve scooped it up and tossed it in the middle of the huge bed, an area I referred to as no-man’s land. As I leaned over, the heat from his body was so tempting. I wished I could just climb back into bed. Snuggle next to him. And maybe think of a creative way to wake him up.
 

But I shouldn’t. I couldn’t. I—“Hey!”
 

Strong hands grabbed me and pulled me down. Shrieking, I landed hard on top of my handsome and nearly naked husband. How long had he been awake? Or maybe he was seducing me in his sleep. He certainly didn't have much time for it when he was awake.
 

Laughing, I tried to get my arms under me. “You’ll mess up my clothes.”
 

“So?” he grumbled, his voice sexy with sleep.
 

“I have to go to work.”
 

“You owe me a blow job.”

“You owe me something, too. You were going to get a happy ending last night, but you didn’t have time.”
 

“I have time now,” Ian said, grabbing my hand and pushing it toward his erection. “See? I got it all ready for you. To save you time.”
 

I grinned. “Only you could make morning wood seem like a considerate act. You should be the lawyer.”
 

“How about I just
do
the lawyer,” he said, pulling me in for a kiss.
 

I couldn’t help it, I kissed him back. He was so hot and sexy, even with morning breath. I moaned as his stubble brushed across my cheek, probably smearing my makeup. God, I wished I could stay in bed with him. But I couldn’t.
 

Reluctantly, I pushed myself off him. “I’ve got to go ... I should’ve left ten minutes ago.”
 

He made a half-hearted attempt to keep hold of me. “Why do you have to get up so early?”

“Why do you have to stay up so late?” I countered. “You know I’ve got to keep my billing hours up. Early morning is my most productive time.” He knew how badly I wanted to make partner. “It’s my chance to stay on top of things.”
 

“I’ve got something you can stay on top of,” he said, writhing underneath me.
 

Damn, it was tempting, but instead I sat up, perching on the side of the bed. “I wish I could. I wish we could spend more time together.”
 

He put his large palm over my own. “I know. Me too.”
 

“Well, at least we’ll get to spend the day together next Saturday.” It was the only silver lining I could think of.
 

“Yeah,” he said, squeezing my hand. “Wait, what?”
 

“Ian! It’s Lori and Dan’s third anniversary. We promised to keep that date free months ago.”
 

“Shit,” he said, sitting up in bed. “That’s next Saturday?”
 

“How could you forget that? They’re going to kill us if we can’t both make it.” I paused, irritation giving way to suspicion as I felt the bed shaking. Ian was laughing. That bastard.
 

“Very funny,” I said, pulling my hand out of his.
 

“It was a little funny,” he said. “At least for this early in the morning. Anyway, I wouldn’t forget about Saturday. Lori would cut off my balls and Dan would feed them to rabid wolves.”
 

“They’re our best friends,” I said, still not quite forgiving him. Lori had been planning this day forever. She and Dan hadn’t had a real wedding. They’d started dating a year before we had, and then they’d had a hasty ceremony at the courthouse when they’d found out Lori was pregnant. Later, she’d lost the baby. It’d been a horrible time, but they’d gotten through it. Together. They were one of the strongest couples I knew. I wished that Ian and my marriage worked half as well as theirs seemed to.
 

“Do we really have to spend the day on a boat?”
 

“It’s a brunch cruise around the city. It’ll be fun. And then there’s the renewal ceremony in the afternoon ... ”
 

“I read the invitation,” Ian said.
 

“I think it sounds beautiful. Do you think we’ll ever do anything like that? To celebrate our marriage?”
 

“Sure, when we go on our honeymoon.” He said this like it was a fully-formed plan, and not something we’d been discussing in an abstract way for over a year and a half. “Just think ... a whole week basking in the Caribbean sun. Spreading lotion all over each other’s barely clad bodies,” he said, his hand running across my back.

I stood up. If he started touching me again, I’d never get to work. “It’s going to be hard to spend the week on the beach when we’re touring the capital cities of Europe.”
 

“Beaches. Margaritas. Warm sun and hot sweaty bodies,” he said, standing up, too.
 

“Cathedrals. Museums. Cool gelato and hot Italian accents.”
 

“Maybe we’ll have to go back to the laser tag arena and play for who gets their dream destination. And speaking of laser tag,” he said, giving me a quick kiss before heading to the bathroom, “we’ll settle our bet tonight, okay?”
 

“Okay,” I said, grabbing my coat and hurrying toward the door.
 

As I left the apartment, I wondered if either of us believed that.

Chapter Four

“AND THAT WAS a week ago. A week! What kind of red-blooded American male can’t find time for a blowjob in a week?”

Beer sloshed as I noisily set my glass down in front of me. “A week!” I said again for emphasis, and because there were possibly a few people at the back of the restaurant who hadn’t heard me the first few times.
 

But what did I care? It wasn’t like I knew anyone here at ... at ... where was I again? The sign over the bar said ‘Parody.’ Stupid name for a restaurant slash bar. Maybe they’d been going for ‘Paradise’ and hadn’t used spellcheck?
 

Somewhat to my amazement, I’d actually gotten out of work at a decent hour tonight, quarter after six. That was almost unheard of. Rather than head home to an empty apartment, I’d taken a walk, which was also pretty unheard of. I so rarely got out of work before dark that it usually made more sense to take a cab.
 

When I’d passed this place, it’d seemed familiar. Once inside, the honey-blond wood of the bar and the old-fashioned movie posters jogged my memory. Ian and I had come here a few times when we first started dating. So I’d sat down at the bar for a drink.
 

That was three drinks ago. Luckily, there weren’t many people drinking at this time of the evening, because I was monopolizing the bartender, a tall young woman with a sympathetic ear and a penchant for sarcasm and snarkiness. I liked that in a bartender.
 

“Is this too much information?” I said, the thought occurring to me a bit belatedly.
 

“No such thing,” she said, leaning her skinny elbows on the bar across from me. “This is why I bartend. So I can hear about people’s love lives. Or lack thereof.”
 

I’d never spoken to a female bartender before. I wondered if all of them had a pierced nose or if it was just her. “How long have you worked here?”
 

“A few weeks. This is a temp gig for me. I don’t really know what I’m doing,” she said.
 

A waiter came up, holding a notebook. “Lady at table thirteen wants a Tokyo Tea,” he said, squinting at his pad. “I’ve never even heard of one.”
 

“Soda, gin, melon liqueur, O.J., rum, sour mix, triple sec, and vodka,” she rattled off to the waiter’s amazement. “But I’m a quick study,” she said, winking at me as she started to fix the drink.

Absentmindedly, I watched her mix, pour, and stir like a pro. Normally, I wouldn’t be sharing my problems with a stranger, but I couldn’t talk with Lori, she was knee deep in preparations for Saturday. And I couldn’t talk about this with Ian since he
was
the problem. Well ... maybe that wasn’t entirely fair. Work was the problem. His work and mine.
 

“Have you ever seen a more perfect Tokyo Tea?” the bartender asked, showing a glass of neon green liquid to me. The only part of the cocktail that wasn’t the color of toxic waste was the cherry at the top.
 

“Never,” I said, quite truthfully.
 

“I’m gonna go see what the customer thinks,” she said, placing the drink on a tray and heading off. Blinking, I watched her go. My eyes weren’t the only ones following her. In addition to the neon green drink, she herself was wearing a red miniskirt and purple cowboy boots. Purple! She was an interesting character, but a good listener. And once she was back behind the bar, I couldn’t help spilling my troubles as easily as I spilled the glass of beer I kept gesturing with.
 

“We’re like roommates. Roommates with completely different schedules. He comes to bed after I’m asleep, and I have to leave for work before he even wakes up. Most days, the total extent of our quality time is me waking up at three a.m. to tell him to stop snoring.”
 

She chuckled. “That bad, huh?”
 

“It’s pretty bad. We’ve only been married for a year and a half. Our friends, they’ve been married twice that long and they still behave like newlyweds. They’re always all over each other. If I didn’t love them so much, I’d hate them. They really have it figured out.”
 

“Maybe.”

“They do. They’re having this big thing on Saturday, we’re all going out on a boat and they’re renewing their vows ... they’ve worked so hard on this. They love each other so much.”
 

“Sounds like it, but it’s not always easy to know what’s going on in people’s lives. Unless they come and sit at your bar and start drinking.” She gave me a wink and went to take an order from a customer at the other end of the bar.
 

Morosely, I stared at my beer. What was I even doing here, drinking alone in the early evening? I was becoming a stereotype. Bored, sex-starved wife starts hitting the bottle. Or hitting the tap. Or tapping the bottle. Something like that.
 

A movement in my peripheral vision caught my attention. A big shape sat down on the barstool next to me. I closed my eyes for a moment, wishing with all my might that it was Ian. I knew it wasn’t, he was at work. And he didn’t know where I was. But in my fantasy version, he’d found me using some obscure app on my phone that broadcast my location. And he’d lean over, and whisper in my ear “I need you. Right now. Right here.”
 

I opened my eyes and looked to my left. Not Ian. Definitely not Ian. Damn.
 

“Can I buy you a drink?”
 

“You’re about three drinks too late, but thanks anyway.”
 

“Ah, there’s always room for one more. You don’t have to drive anywhere, do you?” It was an educated guess on his part. Most people around this neighborhood walked or took public transportation.
 

“This is my last drink.”
 

“Suit yourself,” he said. He wasn’t bad looking. Black suit. Blond hair. Glasses that made him look both smart and cute. But he wasn’t my type. My type was men who never stopped working. Or men who never stopped working who were in love with women who rarely stopped working.

“How about I buy you dinner instead?”
 

“No thanks,” I said. “I’m married.”
 

He looked me over. Then looked pointedly at the empty space on my other side. “You don’t look married,” he said, bluntly.
 

“But I am,” I said, whispering ‘technically’ under my breath.
 

“Suit yourself,” he said again, his small grin making me think I’d underestimated how quietly I’d said that last word. “If you change your mind ... or if you decide that you’re not quite happily married, I’m going to be over at a table. Feel free to join me.” With that, he clinked his glass to mine, got to his feet, and left.
 

“Ouch,” the bartender said, coming back.
 

“Yeah.” He’d seen my ring. He knew I was married. He just didn’t think I was
happily
married. And the worst part was, I wasn’t entirely sure about that myself.