Chapter Two
Stefan
I turned back around, looking for the spare shirt I’d set aside and saw the woman who’d come to my door looking a bit stunned. “Don’t tell me you’ve never seen a man shirtless before,” I said with a grin. “You’re too pretty to still be inexperienced.”
“No, it’s just that I don’t usually see guys dump wine all over themselves and then take their shirts off in front of random strangers,” she replied, her voice tart. “What are you even in such a hurry for, anyway?”
“I’ve got an appointment I need to get to,” I told her, finding my backup shirt draped over the back of the couch. I pulled it on and buttoned it up. “Guess I don’t need any more wine before I leave.”
“I guess not,” she said. “Look, are you going to sign for this or not?” I glanced in her direction again. I’d totally forgotten why I’d even let her into the apartment, and then I saw the flowers she’d set down on the coffee table in the living room.
“Oh, right,” I said. “S. Doss.” I finished buttoning up my shirt and grabbed my bowtie—still, thankfully, clean and dry—and started in on it again. “Listen, can’t you just sign for me? I’m kind of in a hurry.”
“And then later you’ll claim you never got them and I’ll get in trouble,” she said. “Nope.”
“I wouldn’t do that to you!” I grinned at her. “Besides, they’re flowers. How much trouble would you really get into?”
“Considering this bouquet is one of the priciest ones we offer? A lot,” she replied.
I whistled. “Well, clearly, someone loves me.”
“Clearly, they do,” the woman agreed, a sarcastic note in her voice. “Must be some kind of admirer—maybe a fan?”
“Maybe,” I said. I finished tying my tie and decided that it was worth spending a few minutes to talk with this woman. She might be sharp, but she’s pretty. Brown hair pulled back into two braids, blue eyes that wouldn’t be out of place on a kewpie doll, and a figure that even the polo shirt and long skirt she was wearing couldn’t cover up. It’d be nice to see her in some real clothes. A nice cocktail dress. Or maybe a bathing suit. I shook the thought out of my mind and started looking for my jacket.
“Whoever it was put a lot of thought into it, and we want to make sure that they’re satisfied that we delivered on time,” she said, sounding a little less sarcastic.
“I’m sure they will be,” I told her. “So, how many bouquets do you have waiting for you at home?”
“Only the ones I made for myself from the leftovers,” she replied, with a faint smile. “Come on, are you going to sign or not?”
“I’ll sign,” I said, settling the jacket on my shoulders.
“So, just out of curiosity: usually bouquets like this are from people who are obsessed with you, or people who have done something terribly wrong.”
I snorted. “And?”
“And I was wondering who might be so obsessed with you, or who might have killed your favorite puppy,” she said.
“None of the above, but why don’t you read the card while I’m signing this for you?” I took the clipboard from her and looked over the delivery information.
“Okay,” the woman said, sounding amused. She plucked the card from the bouquet and opened it. “Darling, I hope these flowers aren’t the only love you get this Valentine’s Day. Love…” She paused.
“Yeah?” I looked up from the clipboard as I finished signing.
“They’re from your mom,” she said, her face brightening with red. I chuckled. I’d known that as soon as I saw what the delivery was—my mother has sent me flowers every Valentine’s Day, ever since I was in high school.
“They are, indeed,” I said.
“It’s just that—well, normally, flowers have some kind of meaning. The individual ones,” she explained quickly. “There are different flowers for apologies, for romantic love, for friendship... there’s a whole language of flowers, actually.”
I smiled. She actually looked sweet, blushing like that as she explained.
“That’s good to know,” I said, looking her over once, quickly. I felt like I hadn’t been paying enough attention before.
“Well, now that you’ve signed, I’ll just get out of your way, since you’re in such a hurry to head out,” the woman told me, the color deepening in her cheeks.
“I have a minute,” I countered.
“Well, Mr. S. Doss…”
“Stefan,” I said, cutting her off. “My name is Stefan.”
“That seems like a pretty... non-standard name,” She observed. “There’s something about you that seems familiar. Are you a celebrity? I don’t recognize your name.”
“It’s probably my body,” I joked. “People use my body for all sorts of things,” I told her with a little grin.
“I’m sure that they do,” she said lightly, still sounding a little sarcastic, but more in a comedic way than an irritable one.
“It’s pretty late in the day. I guess this is your last delivery?”
“Yep, headed home from here,” she told me, starting to loosen up a bit more.
“And I assume that tomorrow you’ve got some kind of great plan with your boyfriend?”
“No boyfriend,” she said. “But I do have plans to hang out with some friends, have a few drinks, and glory in the fact that we don’t have to deal with all the commercialized crap that comes with Valentine’s Day.”
“You’re part of the industry that benefits from the commercialized crap,” I pointed out. “Doesn’t that make you a little bit of a hypocrite?”
Her cheeks blazed with color again, and I saw her tits push at the fabric of her polo shirt as she took a deep breath.
“I am fine with flowers,” she said. “Flowers have history and significance. It’s all the cheesy stuff—the chocolates and the stupid stuffed animals and all that, and building it up into this big, amazing thing. That’s what’s crap about it.”
“I can see what you mean,” I told her.
She looked me up and down for a moment. “What about you? I assume there’s someone other than your mother who wants to give you flowers.”
“No one, actually,” I replied. “My girlfriend chose work over me. Well, she chose her co-worker over me. So, really, she’s my ex-girlfriend.”
She gave me a sympathetic grimace. “So, then you’re not dressed up for some big date? I’m so disappointed for you,” she said playfully. “Are you going to be one of us bitter singles tomorrow night?”
“I wish!” I said. “My friends talked me into some dinner date. It’s an annual thing. I’m not really feeling it, but I feel bad backing out at the last minute.”
“Well, hopefully, you’ll have a good night in spite of being the only one to go stag,” she said, starting to move toward the door.
“You know, you could help me with that,” I said. “Go with me.”
She gave me a sideways glance. “Not really my scene. Besides, I have plans: the aforementioned bitch-fest with my single lady friends.”
“Well, just in case you change your mind, why don’t you take my number?” I still had her clipboard and her pen, and I scribbled my number down on the receipt and handed it all back to her.
“I’m not going to change my mind,” she said.
“Just in case you do,” I insisted. “If you don’t, I’ll just have to see if I can have a good time without you there to make sarcastic remarks about me.”
She smiled again and turned to leave. “You know, your mom did a pretty good job,” she said, glancing at me once more.
I grinned and halfway struck a pose, pushing out my chest a bit. “She can’t take credit for all this,” I pointed out.
The woman blushed slightly. “I meant the flowers,” she told me quickly. “Happy Valentine’s Day!” She darted out of my apartment and all I could do was grin to myself. I hoped she would end up calling me; certainly, it had been a while since a woman had made such an impression on me so quickly.
“Hey… what’s your name?” I shouted as she walked out of the door.
“…a”, she said, barely audible as the door closed behind her.