Chapter Twenty-Six
Josephine
second I threw the pepperoni slice at Julian, I regretted it, and not because it got pizza sauce on his cheek. No, it was because I really like pepperoni and the pizza place had been stingy bitches about putting it on our pizza. (Four pieces a slice? Might as well order Chinese.)
“Wait, give that back,” I said, reaching for the pepperoni.
He jerked out of reach. “Finders keepers.”
I watched him pop it into his mouth and chew like a smug jerk. You’d think the pizza sauce on his cheek would have made him look silly, but he looked as sexy as ever, just with a tad more garlic to bring out his tan. His dark eyes were still focused on me, watching me watch him, and before I could think of the hundreds of reasons not to, I leaned forward and licked the sauce right off his cheek.
I thought I was being cute and clever, licking his cheek like it was nothing.
It wasn’t.
The tension in the room shifted in an instant. His breath hitched and I realized that I’d pushed him too far. Before I could lean back, he turned his head and his lips met mine in a crash of pizza sauce and lips and garlic and sweet, delicious lust.
He reached for my arm, grasping right below my elbow so I couldn’t lean away. At first I was too stunned to do anything. My heart hammered against my chest and my hand shook, trying to keep hold of my pizza slice. Finally, my brain caught up.
Julian is kissing you.
KISS HIM BACK, YOU FOOL.
And then like a magician snapping his fingers, my hesitation disappeared. The pizza box, along with our half-eaten slices, was shoved to the floor like yesterday’s news. My eyes fluttered closed and I slipped my hands up over his shoulders, gripping either side of his neck for dear life. He slipped his tongue into my mouth and I twisted my body so that I could face him even more.
He was so in control of the kiss, so much better than me that I felt like I could hardly keep up. I knew I wanted to impress him. I wanted to seduce him with my kiss, but he was too busy seducing me with his.
His fingers skirted the edge of my sweatshirt until he found the patch of bare skin just above my pajama pants. I shivered when his hand pressed up against the base of my spine, tugging me closer until we were chest to chest, heart to heart. He lifted my sweatshirt up, exposing my bare stomach.
I had a moment of hesitation before I lifted my hands up over my head and let him tug my sweatshirt off.
I wasn’t wearing anything underneath besides a cream colored bra. There was no lace, no filigree. It was a tad too small, which meant Julian got one hell of show. I couldn’t even bear to look down. I knew how unruly my boobs were at times. They were very good at hypnotizing men even when properly contained.
At least Julian seemed to like them.
His finger dragged along the line of my bra, tracing each cup as excruciatingly slowly as possible. I shivered at the sensation and gripped his neck, giving him unspoken approval. Of what? I didn’t care. He could have it all. I just wanted him to keep going. I wanted him to unclasp my bra and get on with it.
He leaned back, giving me a second to catch my breath, and I let one hand fall to his thigh, skimming over the silky fabric of his tuxedo pants. It was soft, so much so that it hardly felt like there was a barrier between his tensed thigh and my hand. The higher I went, the more obvious his desire became.
“Holy shit,” I gasped, pulling a half-inch away from him and meeting his eye.
He looked like he’d just gone on a long distance run. His cheeks were flushed, his pupils were dilated, and his hair was sticking up in every direction thanks to my wandering hands.
“What?” he asked, out of breath.
“You’re hard,” I said with wide eyes and a dumbstruck expression.
The edge of his mouth hitched up. “Yeah, that’s usually how it works.”
I shook my head. “No. You’re like, really hard, and…” I couldn’t quite pull the next few words out of my mouth, so instead I presented him with a visual. I held my hands up about a foot away from each other and stared up at him with an accusatory glare.
Julian was definitely packing more than six-pack abs. I’d been too caught up in the moment to notice that fact on Dean’s yacht, but now? Now I couldn’t stop noticing.
He rolled his eyes and pushed my hands aside; I swore there was a blush across his cheeks that hadn’t been there a few seconds earlier.
“Do you always carry a t-ball bat in your pants?” I asked, too far gone to contain my laughter.
“Jesus, Jo. Can we not talk about youth sports while I’m aroused?” he asked, rubbing the back of his neck.
I reached out to touch the bulge in his pants again.
Yup.
It needs its own time zone.
“Jo?” he asked with a gentle tone.
“Yeah?” I asked.
His hand fell over mine on top of his pants, then he gripped my fingers and pulled them off.
“You can’t just hold it like that.”
Oh. Oh! Right.
Oh my god. I’d just been touching my boss’ penis, like it was no big deal. Oh god. What the hell am I doing? My vision widened beyond Julian, to the expanse of my tiny apartment, to the stack of hidden bills sitting beneath the magazine on my kitchen counter.
Just like that, the game was over. My responsibilities flooded in like I was a junkie coming off a high. All the signs were there too: I felt regretful, guilty, angry with myself, and—worst of all—I wanted more.
“Dammit!” I jumped off the couch and shoved my hands through my hair. “We just made out, Julian, and—” I paused when I felt air brush over my chest. “You saw me in my bra!”
I glared at him accusingly and he had the gall to flash me his innocent hazel eyes.
“I hadn’t realized,” he said, making it a point to keep his gaze above my neck. Even still, his smirk gave him away.
I started pacing back and forth across my apartment floor, which was all of ten feet wide. Back and forth, back and forth as my brain tried to work out a plan.
First, I needed a joke to break the tension between us. Why’d the chicken cross the hard body of Julian Lefray?
To get laid.
Which came first?
The chicken or me?
Shit. I was in trouble if I couldn’t think of a non-Julian related sex joke. I blamed him. Julian was not supposed to be at my apartment. What gave him the right to show up in Greenwich Village, one block over from my apartment, when he was supposed to be on a date with another woman?
He couldn’t expect me to turn him down when he literally showed up at my apartment wearing a tailored tuxedo and holding a box of hot pizza. I mean, that’s not playing by the rules.
“Okay, listen,” I said, spinning on the balls of my feet and meeting his eyes.
He leaned back against the futon and spread his arms out along the back.
Perfect. He looked edible.
“You can’t bring me pizza late at night,” I said, trying to get my brain back on topic. “Pepperoni is foreplay to me.”
He laughed. “Good to know.”
“Also, I think we should set up some other ground rules.”
“Rules?” he asked, with one dark brow arched in defiance.
“To prevent future problems like this from occurring.” I pointed at his pants. “Exhibit A.” Then, I pointed to my bra-clad chest. “Exhibit B.”
“I think we should discuss exhibit B first. Maybe let the jury get a closer examination,” he said, leaning forward with a devious smile.
“Julian! C’mon, this is serious. Throw me my freaking sweatshirt already.”
He laughed and shook his head, clearly disagreeing. I didn’t give him time to voice his opinion though. I grabbed my sweatshirt and tugged it over my head as quickly as possible. When I was done, I held up my hand and started counting out rules on my fingers.
“Rule number one: no pizza.”
His brown hair was ruffled from our make out and his shirt was missing another button or two up top. What the hell?
“Second rule: we can’t hang out in my apartment alone. It’s too tempting.”
“Do I get any say in these rules?” he asked.
“No,” I answered quickly as I continued to pace around the room.
“Just to be clear, what are these rules in place for?” he asked, trying to catch my eye as I continued to move.
“It’s to prevent the inevitable demise of our friendship,” I said. “And to ensure that I still have a job in a few weeks when you’re bored of hooking up with me.”
“And why would that happen?”
I paused and stared over at him to see if he was being serious.
He looked hopeful and innocent, with his light eyes trained on me as if he actually expected me to believe he was looking for something serious. He hadn’t once asked me out on a proper date. He’d never even hinted at it. We were friends who pushed the limits when it was convenient. Nothing more.
I groaned. “The odds are not in our favor. This is a straight up Hunger Games situation. I need to keep my job with you and I’d prefer to keep our relationship somewhat platonic.”
His brow quirked. “Don’t you think that ship has sailed?”
I shook my head. It couldn’t have sailed. If it’d already sailed then that meant I was already screwed.
“Nope. That ship is going back to the marina. To a nice, safe spot.”
He frowned.
“Honestly, what do you think my mom and dad will say when I explain to them that I’m banging my boss in New York? I was supposed to move up here and start a life for myself, not shack up with the first guy who befriended me.”
To drive the point home, I reached to pull my hoodie down so it overlapped with my pajama pants.
“You and I are friends, Julian. Friends who don’t kiss anymore.”
Even as I spoke, I scanned his face, trying to decipher his reaction to my rules. His dimples were hidden away behind a confused scowl. His lips were slightly pouted, just enough that I got hung up on them for a moment before meeting his eye.
For a few minutes neither of us said a word. I waited on tenterhooks, trying to prepare for his reaction, and then he nodded once and leaned forward. He clasped his hands between his legs and rested his elbows on his knees.
“Fine. Do friends go to dinner?” he asked with a curious tone.
“What? We just ate.”
I pointed to the open box of pizza on the ground. Our half-eaten slices lay splayed out on the floor, probably soaking grease stains into my rug. Classy.
“I’m talking about sometime next week. Dean and I are going out on Wednesday and you could tag along with us. As a friend.”
Oh. Dinner with the guys. Right, maybe I could do that. Maybe it would be good to be around Julian when we had a third person present, someone to act as a sexual-tension buffer. Although, was Dean really the person for the job? Maybe we needed a buffer who looked a little less like Ryan Gosling.
And then I remembered my new job and my heart sank. If everything went as planned, I’d be working next Wednesday night. There’d be no time for dinner, with or without Julian.
“I don’t think I can,” I answered.
“Why not?” he asked, piercing me with a hard stare.
Why not?
Why not?
I hadn’t expected him to ask that and I hadn’t decided whether or not I was prepared to tell him that I’d had to get a second job, especially when I had no clue what that second job actually entailed. The friend Beth had called helped coordinate the shows for New York Fashion Week; I figured that was a good sign, but I was trying hard not to get my hopes up. For the time being, I was employing the “less is more” approach, at least until I knew what the hell I’d be doing.
“Prior commitment,” I said, averting my eyes toward the pizza box once again.
I could see him frown out of the corner of my eye and I wanted so badly to throw away the rules and finish what we’d started. I knew he’d easily be the best lay of my life—he’d already won the best kiss category by a landslide. I knew Julian had the ability to obliterate every guy that had come before him. All the quick, cheesy sex I’d had in college, the bad kisses, the lackluster dates—they wouldn’t compare to one night with him.
I studied him as he gathered his things. He pulled his tuxedo jacket back on without a word, shoved the pizza slices back into the box then crumbled it in his hand. He looked so devastatingly handsome, and yet, so defeated. His dimples were tucked away behind a reserved frown. His eyes were downcast, trained on the ground near his feet. He rubbed his jawline as he walked to the door and I followed after him.
He stepped into the hallway, turned over his shoulder, and met my eye. I thought my heart was going to leap out of my chest, rip right out from inside of me.
“I’ll see you at work,” he said, offering me a small smile before turning down the hallway.
My mouth opened, but there was nothing I could say to make it better. My words were jumbled in my mind, lost somewhere between “I want you, please stay” and “I’m sorry, you have to go”.