Sometime between waking up with my arm around him and eating cheese over his double-well farm sink—which I was in love with—I had decided a few things. One night with him wasn’t going to be enough, I couldn’t quit sexy men cold turkey, and I was a shameless hussy.
Then I made my peace with all three.
It was suddenly clear that although this little tryst was fun, eventually, and probably sooner than later, he was going to move on, all on his own. I could let this thing go on a little longer, privately, at least until the wedding.
After that, I wouldn’t have to see him anymore. Not really anyway. Maybe every once in a while we’d have to be around each other, but by then maybe I’d have a guy who made me feel like this for real.
Because, and as much as I hated to admit it, Cord’s act was good.
So fucking good.
He always said the right things, but even more when he didn’t. Somehow he made those times work in his favor too. His enthusiasm was contagious. His deep laugh. His panty melting half grin. The way he moved, relaxed yet sure of himself. And he was quick, never letting me give him too much shit. In fact, I half thought he could read my mind at times, but chalked it up to the fact he’d probably had a lot of experience with women just like me. Shameless hussies.
Before he took a shower, I kissed him and tried to get him to lay in bed with me again, but he shot me down on account of his big Sunday Funday plans.
He’d argued, “You are insatiable, and I think you need to see a doctor.”
When I asked him if he was a doctor, hoping he’d give me a thorough examination, he shouted fuck again—just out of the blue—then went to his bathroom and locked the door.
Sexy weirdo.
So, thinking of him in his shower, while I stood under the hot stream in mine, was not what I’d call, “hurrying up,” which is what I was instructed to do while he went and got gas or something. He’d told me he’d give me time to get ready and asked how much time I’d need. Well, to be precise, he asked, “When can I come back to you?” I wasn’t sure why that question gave my tummy a little flip, but it did.
Who was I kidding? We all know why it flipped. He was hot and, even if it was just for the moment, he was interested in me. Moi.
Nonsensically, it felt so good. At that point, I was probably just making excuses and seeing what I wanted to see because I was so attracted to him. That’s how my absurd, naïve mind worked.
Yeah, I’d thought I’d had a handle on everything, that I’d known more than anyone how easy it was to fall for their traps. I didn’t know shit.
Since I’d decided to just go with it and enjoy whatever was going on with us, while it lasted, there’d been a weight lifted off my shoulders. It would likely burn out fast, but the wedding was still weeks away which was plenty of time for it to run its course.
However, that day, I was just going to enjoy myself. He was a charming, dead sexy man who was forcing me to wear an old baseball shirt and engage in, what I’d guessed was, sports bar hopping. Sunday Funday wasn’t a new concept to me. It was just that I’d never been on a Sunday Funday date—if that’s what it even was.
I mean, I thought it was, but who knew? Maybe he did it every weekend.
I reminded myself it wasn’t anything special to get worked up about as I toweled off. To myself in the mirror, as I cleared the steam away, I demanded, “Forget all that shit and just have fun.”
Sundays, after all, are the loneliest days of the week. Having somebody, temporary as they might be, to spend a nice day out with was a treat, and what else did I have to do? My laundry was done, and I was almost out of wine.
It was going to be another nice day, but it was Kansas after all, so I chose a pair of old ripped jeans to wear with the t-shirt Cord had given me to put on.
The only reason I was wearing the matching shirt—and I mean the only reason—was that the shirts were for a local sports team and apparently, they were playing that day.
So, it wasn’t us matching in that other way. You know what I’m talking about. The weird couple way. Some can pull it off without being a pair of complete douchebags. The majority, however, just looked a little too extra. Know what I mean?
Since it wasn’t that way, I put the damn shirt on.
Ugh. I’d hoped he’d want it back as soon as possible. I didn’t need it hanging around in my closet. So, as a preemptive anti-forget-me-not measure, I put a tank underneath so I could just give it back at the end of the day.
See? I was totally on to him. He wasn’t about to make some pathetic arm hanger out of me. I’d fallen for that before. But, like I’d said, his enthusiasm was infectious, and when he talked about eating barbeque and having day drinks, I couldn’t say no.
Who would say no?
Funday was going to be just that. Fun, but without expectations from me.
One thing I was sure of was, I’d told him I’d be ready in thirty minutes.
Why? Why thirty minutes? I was an idiot, because to be ready for him, looking like he did, I’d needed about three hours.
Mainly because I had to wash my hair. It had sex in it.
Not like spooge or anything, just those perspiration-glued matted spots that never came back from the sheets. Normally, I might go a few days throughout the week without washing, probably longer than most. But, after sex, especially the sweaty kind I’d had with Cord the night before, it needed a thorough scrubbing.
There wasn’t time to dry it, so I opted for blowing out the front just enough to tame it with a flat iron around my face. I’d let the rest dry naturally. I put some stuff in it to help keep it from looking too wild, but my hair was thick as all hell and naturally wavy and was going to do what it wanted anyway.
I tossed in my contacts, then put on some powder, eyeliner, mascara and the faintest amount of blush.
You know the rule: Plain lip, big eye. Plain eye, big lip.
Lipstick it was.
My favorite color was this burnt red, which I finally found in matte, and I put it on then slipped it into my pocket, hoping it wouldn’t melt and get gross. After a spritz of body spray and some deodorant, I found myself by the door in under thirty minutes, putting on my shoes.
He’d said, “All you’ll need is your ID.”
What did he know? I needed my phone. My lip color. A hair tie. Plus, my debit card. Whoever just left their house with only their ID? That was crazy talk.
When I heard a quick horn sound, I walked out the front door, locked it, and then turned around and found him on his bike. Shit.
What had I gotten myself into? I’d never be able to resist him anyway. Add in a motorcycle, and I was totally done for. After the initial shock began to fade, I trotted down my sidewalk hearing Bon Jovi coming from his Harley.
He lifted his sun glasses and said, “Holy shit. I was going to give you a little more time than that. I could’ve waited out here a while, but you look… pretty.”
He looked impressed, and I was proud of my speedy accomplishment. I wasn’t dressed to the nines. I didn’t have full hair or makeup. I was wearing a pair of Sperry’s, not heels. I was just me, half-done, wearing his shirt.
And do you know what? I couldn’t tell any of that by his face. Sly as he was, he had a way of looking at me like I was beautiful. It was an expression so genuine that I almost believed it.
He just wants round two. But, shit, so do I.
“‘Living on a Prayer,’ huh?” I asked, unable to hide my smile.
“Don’t knock the Jovi, sweetheart,” he said and returned his shades to his eyes, acting suave.
“I’m not knocking it, and my name is Dana. Not sugar butt, not muffin. Not…”
He interrupted, “Damn, I was going to try muffin next.” In one fluid motion, he got off the bike and produced another helmet from a compartment on the back.
I continued with my list as I pulled my hair back and slipped it on. “Not love bug. Not baby doll. Not mouse and not sweetheart. Just call me Dana.”
Was I overreacting? I didn’t need some cute pet name haunting me after this was done. Men do that shit when they can’t remember your name anyway. And I’d lived nearly all my life without a nickname. I certainly didn’t need one now.
Why was he pushing it so damn hard?
Probably because he liked to see me overreact, like I’d just done as I tucked my hair behind my ears to stay out of my face. He put the chin guard in place then pulled the strap tight against my jaw.
“Fine,” he said and lightly slapped the brim of the head gear. When it didn’t move, and he was satisfied, he went on. “Dana, have you ever been on Cliff Drive?”
I’d heard about it once, but I’d never been. “No.”
His chocolate colored eyes brightened, and he beamed at me. “Good.”
As gracefully as he’d climbed off, he mounted his Harley once again and leaned forward for me to do the same behind him. It had been a long time since I’d been on the back of a bike, but it was so beautiful out, and it was the perfect day for a ride.
When I didn’t get on right away, he said, “We’ll take the back roads. I don’t like riding on the highways. Then we’ll go get some food and watch the game. Sound good?”
It sounded too good. I nodded and took a deep breath.
“Then get your ass on here.”
“Okay. Okay.” I steadied myself with one hand on his shoulder as I straddled the seat. Thankfully, the tenderness between my legs from the night before felt better than it had when I first woke up. When I was situated, and my feet were in the right spots, I wrapped my arms loosely around his chest.
Cord’s right hand covered mine, then ever so quickly he lifted it to his mouth and kissed it before replacing it on his stomach. It surprised me and made my stomach warm.
Then he cranked the machine to life. He stood as he walked the bike a few feet away from the curb, then sat again and we were off.
The drive was relaxing. Since I was considerably shorter than him, I couldn’t really see over his shoulder, but I enjoyed the side views just as well. He took us to Cliff Drive and just as the sun was getting warm on my skin, we passed a huge natural-looking fountain built into the side of the bluff. The spray cooled my skin as he passed it slowly.
Cliff Drive was no joke with all its hills and curves, especially on a bike. Cord took all of them leisurely, and I never once felt anything but safe in his care.
The kiss-the-hand move happened three more times. After each one, I found myself scooting closer to him.
Our cruise ended at this little barbeque place on a highway I’d never been on. The smell of smoke and meat was thick in the air as we pulled into the gravel parking lot. He parked the bike on the grass under a tree to the side, threw out the stand, and turned it off.
My butt felt weird from the absence of the rumble under our legs.
He got off and lifted his helmet, then hung it on the handle bar. His hair was sticking up everywhere, but with a few swift pats and swipes he managed to make it look like he’d never even been wearing something on his head.
My situation wasn’t going to be that easy.
The helmet was snug and wouldn’t have fit right if I’d tried to pull all my hair up inside it. So the long ends of my hair were wind whipped. When I took it off, I tipped my head over and shook it out best I could. It wasn’t going to be great.
I hopped off the back seat, and while he stowed our gear inside of it, I pulled my hair over one shoulder and quickly weaved a messy braid. I tugged the elastic band out of my pocket and wrapped it around the bottom, then gave a few of the plaits a short tug to make it seem whimsy, yet intentional.
“There,” I said when I was finished.
He picked up the end, gave it a gentle yank, and then said, “I like it.”
Glancing up at Cord, I was downright sure I’d allow myself to have fun with him. I just had to set some ground rules up for myself. Nothing too affectionate. It would only be that much harder to remind myself it wasn’t real when it ended. That included falling prey to the way he casually touched me or the pet name things he insisted on using.
I’d be careful, and his Sunday Funday thing was safe because it was spontaneous, but I wouldn’t let it become a habit of making plans with him. It would be better to let things happen by chance. Non-committal.
Then again, it was Sunday afternoon and I had no interest in predicting the future—for the next weekend or otherwise. I was living in the moment while I could.
As it got closer to game time, the roadside bar and grill filled up. People shouted to each other as they came in and filled the seats in front of three massive televisions hanging high on the wall between the huge windows at the back of the room. Patrons weren’t shy, and they scooted tables around to suit them like they were regulars, and when the national anthem played everyone sang along.
“Do you know any of these people?” I asked, trying to figure out how he would have randomly picked such an out of the way place. Did he know they gathered there like that?
“No, but I’ve been in here on a Sunday before. It just sounded good when we drove by. I’ve been hungry for this.” He smiled and finished cutting the meat off the barbequed rib before taking another big bite. He was a mess, and although he wiped at his face after nearly every mouthful, he’d still managed to get sauce high up on his cleanly shaven cheek. He’d even tucked a large white napkin into the neck of his Royals shirt, and it lay well-used against his chest.
He pointed at my empty glass. “If you want a beer or something—have what you want. I’m driving. Have fun.” It had surprised me when Cord ordered a water instead of a beer. But it was early in the afternoon, and I’d thought maybe he was just waiting until it got later.
“Are we going to hang out here for a while?” I asked, trying to make up my mind. We were almost done eating, but the game was only a few innings in.
“I’d like to, but we can go whenever you want.” He looked at his watch. “It’s supposed to storm this evening, but as long as we leave before three, we’ll be fine.”
The word we did funny things to me—and I was completely sober.
Dana, don’t get sucked in. He’s charming, but short-term.
When the bartender came back by to check on us, I ordered a cola.
The game got interesting, and from time to time Cord would look at the screen, but more often than not, he devoted his full attention to me.
“I’m not even joking, he wanted me to kiss his armpit.” Andy the Armpit Guy had somehow worked his way into the conversation we were having about our past dating misfortunes.
“Did you do it?” he asked sitting back in his chair, snickering at me.
Bravely, I confessed, “I tried it.”
His hefty laugh bellowed between us, and he swiped at his eyes. His face was flushed red from my story, and I laughed right along with him. It felt really good.
“It was more of his bicep that I licked though. I didn’t want deodorant in my mouth.”
He smacked the table, and the salt shaker fell over. “Okay, stop. You win.” He righted the upcycled Corona bottle and wiped the table clean with the last wet wipe we had.
“Oh, I’m sure you have some stupid thing that happened to you during sex before. Everyone has something.”
“There was this one chick who called me daddy,” he said, and then shook the ice at the bottom of his glass. “I’ll admit, it threw me off for a few seconds.” His face was priceless.
“And what happened?” I challenged him like he had me on the pit-lick, needing to know the rest of the story.
He shrugged. “I went with it.”
“Why aren’t you still her daddy?” I half joked, but it was a valid question.
He tipped his head, thought for a second, and then pointed at me. “Her name was Candice. We hooked up right before summer break my junior year of college, then I never heard from her.”
“You lucked out, didn’t you?” I sucked the last of my Coke until it slurped.
“I guess, but it’s not like I wouldn’t have talked to her again or dodged her or anything.”
I didn’t like pushing the subject, but it was good for me to hear that stuff. After all, it was bound to happen. At least this way, maybe I’d see it coming.
“How do you usually break things off then?”
The bar got loud, people chanted keep going and run as the home team played on the big screen. We both looked to see what was happening, distracted by the commotion. The runner got to home and Cord clapped along with everyone else.
After the play, he picked up where we left off without missing a beat. “You want to know how I break up with women?”
“It’s no big deal,” I assured him, then smiled not wanting him to think I was trying to give him guff about it.
“I don’t know,” he answered. When he didn’t break eye contact with me, it gave me the urge to do it first. I didn’t though. I had to appear unaffected—because I was.
He continued, “I usually just say I enjoyed spending time with them, but that I was looking for something else. Let me guess, you think that’s wrong. Just like Reuben.”
Honestly, I didn’t disagree with that at all, but I thought back to what Nolan had told me at the gym. How Reuben didn’t want us to see each other, and how Cord was different.
“If you’re just being truthful, and you’re not a dick when you do it, I don’t see what the harm is.” A lot of guys do way worse. Way, way worse.
I glanced up at the television, knowing that the conversation had taken a strange turn.
“Looks like you’re lucky. We won,” he said a few minutes later as the Royals fans exchanged high fives and cheers.
He waved at the bartender for the check, and, a few minutes later, the slender woman walked by, placing the ticket on our table.
“You can pay at the counter when you’re ready. Be sure to come back. You two are a sweet couple.” Neither of us corrected her as she walked away.
I put my hand on the bill as Cord pulled his wallet out, but no more had I flipped it over, and my hand was in his.
He leaned over, kissed my palm, and said, “Not this time …” He squinted. “Button?”
“Day-nuh,” I corrected slowly. He placed another quick peck on my wrist and went to pay.
The ride back to Lenox was quicker than I ever would have imagined. We rode down a back highway and suddenly we came into the back side of town, opposite of the way we’d left. My sense of direction had been way off because I had no clue we’d made a big circle.
I liked riding behind him, feeling his back and chest move with each breath. How, when he slowed the motorcycle down, he put his hand on my leg every time. Then before it returned to the wheel, it would graze over where mine were linked on his stomach.
The wind had kicked up, and the clouds were rolling in about the time we got to my place.
He turned the ignition off, and we removed our helmets at the same time.
“It’s about to storm. You better get home,” I said. We got off, he stowed the extra gear I wore, and then leaned against the bike.
It was hard not to be swept up in all of it, and so easy to pretend with him. He may have been clumsy and silly at times, but, in contrast, he also had an easy smoothness, which he was currently demonstrating.
His long legs spread in front of him, he sat side saddle and reached out for me. With little effort, I was persuaded to go. The color of his eyes had a way of looking warmer at times. When they did, it was tough to ignore them.
I held his hand between us as I stepped closer. “I had a good time,” I admitted. “Thank you.” Whatever his end-game was, Cord was sweet and fun. I had to believe that at least some of that was really him.
With his free hand, he pushed my shaggy red braid off my shoulder. His long fingers wandered around my neck, and then straight down the center of my back. The way he touched me did wicked things. It didn’t matter what his hands were doing, somehow they did just what I liked.
What I wanted.
What I needed.
“Can I call you?” he asked, and then watched my lips for an answer. He was still inches above me, even with him sitting on the seat and me standing.
I’d need to get some really high heels. That was—just in case I saw him again.
A bitchy know-it-all voice in my head warned that he’d already got what he’d wanted. After all, I’d basically handed sex to him on a platter.
I was conflicted. If he was only after sex, he wouldn’t have asked to spend the day with me—before we even had sex. Right?
Still, I needed to side with caution.
“You can call if you want to.”
He smiled, and the skin beside his eyes pinched tight as he beamed. “Good.” His head tipped, and, as the bright smile faded naturally, he narrowed his eyes. “Are you going to call me too?”
The whole interaction felt strange, so I thought it best to keep it light. “I might. If you’re lucky.”
He dipped his head and pressed his lips to mine. I stepped closer and placed my hand on his chest.
Kissing him was so much better than talking and far less dangerous.
Cord kissed like a professional—if professional kissing was a thing. Sometimes he’d let me lead, and others it felt like we were sharing it. Then there were times when he commanded the kiss. Those were easily my favorite.
His sure lips moved over mine, like they were making their rounds, leaving no spot neglected before they left. As it deepened, my hand sought out his smooth cheek, and I arched into him.
Doing my damndest to just hold on.