Chapter Six
I had no idea what JC meant when he said “I’ll pick you up,” and I half-feared he’d show up in a car and take me someplace fancy. That wasn’t what I wanted from our meeting. I wanted a conversation, not a date. Also, I didn’t want anyone at the club seeing me leave with him and starting rumors.
But I needn’t have worried. When I walked out the back door, JC was standing a few yards away, casually leaning against the side of the next building and not at all appearing to be waiting for me. He was dressed in jeans now, and a tailored gray wool coat that fit him so perfectly it made my stomach flip-flop. He nodded at me inconspicuously as I said goodnight to the other closing manager who took off in the other direction toward the subway.
Then I headed over to meet JC.
We didn’t say anything as he led me a couple of blocks down to Café Angelique. It was cold and still fairly dark, but between our brisk pace and my hyperactive hormones, the temperature barely fazed me. By the time we arrived at our destination, my cheeks were flushed and my heart was beating, and I was grateful to be able to blame it on our walk.
At the café, we ordered breakfast—quiches and coffee—and found a table in the back. I waited until we’d stripped our coats and gloves, noting that the blue of JC’s sweater brought out his eyes, before diving into conversation. “So…your offer.”
With a smile, he shook his head. “You can’t even enjoy five minutes of just hanging out before jumping in, can you? No wonder you need me.”
Actually, it had been closer to ten minutes, twelve even, if you counted the walk over. I pursed my lips, trying to decide if I should correct him or not. Also, there was the irksome you need me remark. It was the latter that I addressed, borrowing a variation of the words he’d said to be earlier. “Don’t be so cocky. It doesn’t become you.”
“Touché,” he said with a grin. “But, really, I don’t think it bothers you very much. My cocky, I mean.” He emphasized the cock, which was totally juvenile, but also sort of cute.
I bit back a smile. “Somehow I don’t think you’re using the term in the same way I was.”
“You are like one-hundred percent uptight, aren’t you?” It was amazing how he could say something like that without coming across as a total douche. He was abrupt, yes. He was bold. But it was evident his motivation was curiosity, not cruelty.
So instead of snapping back at him—my first impulse—I attempted humor. “Ninety-nine percent. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for that small window.”
“Thank God for that.”
His serious response, paired with the intense heat from his stare, shook me. I shivered, not feeling chilled in the least.
His eyes blazed at my reaction. All night as I’d worked my shift, I’d wondered what our meeting would be like—friendly, banal, sensual, or flirtatious. It was in this moment that I realized that whatever happened from then on, whatever else occurred between us, my encounters with JC would be nothing if not electric.
As far as I was concerned, we were here to discuss a repeat of the other morning. Now I knew there was a very probable chance that the repeat would happen before this morning was over.
The epiphany was exciting. And it strangely relaxed me.
JC looked away first, taking a bite of his quiche. I followed his lead. He watched me while he ate, studied me. I couldn’t be so bold, so I snuck in my glances. His eyes weren’t just blue, I realized. They had flecks of gray and I imagined the prominent color shifted with what he wore. When he put the coat on again, I wondered if they would seem less blue.
Mostly, I wondered about his body. I’d only ever seen him covered, but his outfits so far had been tailored and fitted to him. He was obviously fit—I just didn’t know how fit. He’d carried me easily when he’d lifted me to the table in the kitchen. I suspected he was impressively toned underneath his clothes. Just imagining how toned brought a flush to my skin that I hoped he’d attribute to the coffee I was drinking.
It wasn’t until we’d completed nearly all of our breakfast that he finally dabbed at his mouth with his napkin and said, “Okay, my offer to help you be less tense. Are you ready? It’s simple.” He spread his arms out like it was obvious. “Spend time with me.”
“And?” Because I’d expected his offer to be something more explicitly carnal.
“And that’s it.”
I wiped at my own mouth and took another sip of my coffee, trying to decide what it was that bothered me about his offer. Then I figured it out. “That sounds a little like dating.”
“No.” He drew the “o” out, shaking his head. Admittedly, it was nice to see him worked up for once, instead of vice versa. “Definitely not dating. In fact, no commitments.”
“Because you’re a commitment-phobe. How cliché.” Not that I cared. In fact, I counted on it. Just, somehow, sitting there with JC, poking and teasing came easier than usual. Maybe he was right that spending time with him was the answer to all my problems.
“No, not because I’m a commitment-phobe, though that’s not entirely inaccurate. But this is about helping you let loose and commitments are designed to do just the opposite.”
I couldn’t argue with that. “Okay. So I just spend time with you. Not dating. No commitments. I’m cool with that.”
“Good. Look at you. Loosening up already.” He ignored the scowl I shot at him. “Now, we both have weird schedules so we’ll need to set up a time for a standing date. Or not-date.”
“Isn’t a standing anything a flat-out commitment?” I’d been the one to initiate this…whatever this was between us, and now I was the one who kept coming up with arguments. I heard myself doing it. But it wasn’t like I was looking for an excuse for the “whatever” not to happen. Just, I’d been burned before in a casual arrangement. This time there was going to be no doubt about the terms going in.
“I knew that was coming. And, yes.” He pointed in the air with a long finger. “It is a commitment. But it’s the only commitment we’ll have in this. And either of us can always cancel.”
I rolled my hands along the sides of the coffee cup, busying myself, steadying my nerves. “I’m listening.”
“So, I don’t actually live in New York. I live in L.A.”
My eyes flew up to his. “Oh. I didn’t know that.” I tried not to sound disappointed. He had the Viper booked every Tuesday, but I supposed that didn’t mean that he was actually present every week. So how often was he in town?
As if reading my mind, he said, “I’m here every week. For work. I take a red-eye to New York on Monday, and Thursday night I take a red-eye back.”
Thank the Lord. While I was curious about what he did for a living that had him working on two coasts, it was another part of his statement that struck me. “But today is Friday.”
“I skipped my flight last night.”
My stomach flipped. “Why?”
“For you.”
I felt the color leave my face. There was no denying the rush that came from his admission, but another part of me, the smart part, was ready to take that adrenaline and run. I wanted casual. I wanted strings-free. I didn’t want changing-my-routine-for-you.
JC leaned over and placed his hand on mine, sending a mess of tingles shooting through my body. Red alert, my rational side screamed. Take your recently rediscovered sex drive out the door and head to the Pleasure Chest to pick up a new dildo.
Not for the first time in my life, it occurred to me that there was probably something very wrong with me. Besides being completely uptight. Because, what girl in her right mind wanted her sexual relationships to be only physical, no emotion?
Yet that was exactly what I wanted. I was hardened. I’d accepted that long before. There was exactly enough room inside me to love my brother and my sister and nothing else. No one else. Everyone else I’d ever felt strong emotions for had beaten me, left me, or died. Of course I knew that my past experiences didn’t dictate my future. The next person I cared for might not disappoint me—of course I knew that; I was a smart woman. But I wasn’t ever going to take that chance.
And emotional involvement from one party in a duo and not the other was messy. I’d been there, done that. Wasn’t doing it again.
JC gently squeezed my hand. “Gwen, stop freaking. I’m horny, not in love.”
I narrowed my eyes, studying him, trying to ignore the burn of his hand still covering mine. “So you skipped your flight in order to get laid?” It was hard to believe he couldn’t just as easily get laid in L.A.
Unless it was specifically me who had him turned on.
“Pretty much.”
It was me then. Well. Wow. I couldn’t help smiling. So it was over the top to stay for me, but not the craziest thing I’d heard a guy do for sex. And as long as it wasn’t wrapped up in touchy-feely, I could live with it. “Very well then. Carry on.”
JC seemed mildly surprised that I was so easily convinced. “Okay. Now we’re talking.” He removed his hand from mine to gesture as he spoke. “So if this is going to work, there are a few things we have to agree on up front.”
“Right.” Still dizzy from his warmth, I pulled my hand from the table to my lap. If I left it, I was afraid he’d realize how badly I hoped he’d touch me again. And this time not just on my hand.
He seemed oblivious to what was going on with my libido, which was crazy since it was exactly what we were discussing. “First and foremost, we’re just spending time together.”
“Time that involves sex.” The space between my thighs was beginning to itch. I wanted to get through the talking and get to the actual doing.
“Well, yes.”
That tiny acknowledgment made my stomach quiver, deep and low.
Then he was back to hammering out the details. “There will be no relationship stuff. No boyfriend/girlfriend. No getting attached. Are you with me?”
“Yes. I’m completely with you. I have no interest in attachments of any sort.” I hadn’t expected anything else from a guy like JC, but after his earlier remarks that had sounded to the contrary, the confirmation was a relief.
“Are you sure? I really don’t want you falling in love with me. It wouldn’t be pretty.”
Again with the arrogance. Why did he make hubris look so sexy? “Rest assured, JC. There is nothing you could do to make me fall in love with you.” I had very few emotions I indulged in. Romance was definitely not in my repertoire.
“Good. I just wanted to be clear up front. Now I’m going to propose something that might seem extreme, but bear with me. The no commitment will be easier if we keep what we know of each other to a minimum. First names only. Exchanging phone numbers is okay, maybe, but no home addresses or Facebook-friending. Are you good with that?”
I paused and let the idea rattle in my head. It was extreme, and there was only one reason I could think of for him to insist on that. “Ah, Jesus Christ. You’re married, aren’t you?” While that made him less likely to get attached, I did not do infidelity.
Except maybe I had done infidelity, since I’d already fucked him. Ah, fucknugget.
But JC was already protesting. “No, no, no, no. I am not married, Gwen. Not. Married. I swear on whatever you think is holy that I have no wife, fiancée, girlfriend. Nothing. I’m a non-commitment guy all around. Come on, do you really see me any other way?”
I could almost imagine it—could see him as a protective caretaker and a doting partner. He’d shown those qualities to me in our brief interactions and it wasn’t a stretch to envisage him doing that for someone he loved.
But then there were the other parts of him. When it came down to it—even though he could be sweet—no, I did not see him as the type to commit. At all. Ever. “Then why so secretive?”
“Not secretive. Anonymous.” He lowered his gaze, seeming to be unsure that I’d like what he had to say next. “Detached.” He raised his eyes again to meet mine. “Is that a deal-breaker for you?”
It probably should have been. If he wasn’t married, he had to be hiding something else, even though I couldn’t fathom what that might be.
On the other hand, didn’t I want the same thing? I didn’t want him to know about my life—about my father, about Ben. Maybe he had his own family secrets. Did I really want to demand transparency on his part when he could turn around and demand it of me?
“No, it’s not a deal breaker,” I said in earnest. “In fact, I think it’s a great idea.”
“It is, isn’t it?” He leaned closer, his voice just above a whisper. “It’s also really kind of hot. To not know anything about each other except what matters. The things we learn naturally. Through our own discovery.”
His words were full of innuendo, but as other times when he’d said such things, it didn’t feel sleazy. It felt sensual.
Also, he was right—the anonymity and mystery was quite a turn on. Which made me even more anxious to get on with the whole set up. “Anything else we need to work out?”
“Yes. The deets. Are you done with this?” He gestured to my half-eaten quiche.
Since I’d lost my appetite for anything but skin on skin, I said yes. He took our plates to the dish bin and returned, continuing where he left off as he sat back down. “Here’s what I’m thinking. You get up around what time on Wednesdays? Afternoon? Evening?”
I was impressed that he’d remembered my schedule was unusual. “Six-ish. Sometimes seven.”
He nodded as he took in the information. “Perfect. I usually work until around then. Let’s say we meet at seven on Wednesdays at my hotel. Then we’ll plan to spend those nights together. There’s our standing date.”
“Don’t expect me to sleep. I don’t sleep at night.” I felt stupid as soon as I said it. He already knew.
“We won’t be sleeping,” he said, his lids heavy. “Also, I rarely sleep. So we’re good.”
My breathing suddenly felt heavier and my neck warmed. I wanted this. I did. But I was so unused to giving myself things for pleasure, and more, I was not in the habit of trusting other people. This deal with JC, with a man I knew nothing about, took me out of my comfort zone in a big way.
But my comfort zone was, as Norma implied—as everyone around me implied—a tightly wound cocoon. Surely even the caterpillar had a bit of trepidation before breaking out of his cocoon.
Besides, we could cancel at any time. It was part of the deal. “Wednesdays, then.”
“Wednesdays.” He narrowed his eyes. “Is this making you nervous?”
I shook my head but said, “I’m not sure.”
“Well. That’s probably a good thing.” He rubbed his hands together as if warming them, or as if he were also a bit apprehensive. “Honestly, I’m a little unsure too. Not about you. Not about this.”
“Then what about?”
“Everything else.”
His vague answer made me want to dig, but I could tell from his expression that he wouldn’t say more. And maybe that was okay. I didn’t want to talk about my reasons for trepidation. This was better. Mystery could be good.
There was something I thought should be said, though. About me. “Um, JC, about the other day…in the kitchen. I should explain.”
“No, you most definitely shouldn’t. No life details, remember?”
I wasn’t planning to tell him about Ben or anything specific, but he had to know that I’d been acting out of character. I didn’t want him to have the wrong idea about what to expect from me. “You need to know I’m not usually like that. I had—”
“Don’t worry.” He cut me off. “I know. Whatever drove you to act outside yourself that morning is none of my business, and I don’t want to make it my business. I’m grateful I was there. Right place at the right time has never worked out better for me.”
Funny, I’d been thinking he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. But I smiled, and by now I’d lost count of how many times he’d made me do that. Smiling was also out of my character. Perhaps JC just brought that out in me.
I took another swallow of my coffee, finishing it off. “All gone,” I said, hoping that would indicate I was ready to go.
If JC got my hint, he ignored it. “How many men have you been with?”
I was taken aback. The question was surprising enough, but especially with no lead in to it. “I thought you didn’t want to know anything about me.”
“I don’t. But this is relevant.”
Yeah, right. Relevant. Or did he just want to figure out how easy I was going to be to impress in the bedroom.
I wasn’t usually ashamed about my number of bed partners. JC, however, had infinitely more experience. I knew it without asking, but since he’d put me on the spot, I turned it back on him. “How many woman have you been with?”
He shook his head dismissively. “That’s not relevant.”
I snickered. “That’s the kind of answer you give when you’re embarrassed with the truth.”
“I’m not embarrassed.” He considered for a minute. “You want to know? I’ll tell you, but I don’t know if you’ll like it.”
I thought about that. How many women would he have to sleep with to give me pause? I couldn’t come up with an exact number, but it occurred to me that whatever that number was, it would lead me to either feel inadequate or overwhelmed. “You’re right. I don’t want to know.”
He didn’t hide the satisfaction from his face. “But I do want to know how many guys you’ve been with.”
I let him wait in silence for a few seconds before I gave him what he wanted. “Three.”
It was JC’s turn to look nervous. “Oh shit. Are you sure you can do this without getting attached?”
This time I couldn’t ignore his pretension. “Do you have some sort of narcissistic disorder? I’m not going to get attached. For your information, only one of those three men was a boyfriend. One was a drunken night in college. One I banged for fun.”
His eyes lit up like I’d taken off my shirt. “You banged a guy for fun? We’re further ahead than I assumed.”
“I did. Judger.” Actually, I’d banged him because the activity had given me a place to hide. An occasional sanctuary from the trial and the emotional effort it took to survive the aftermath of Dad’s arrest. At first, anyway. Then it became a habit.
“So let me ask this—when’s the last time?”
“That I got banged? Three days ago. In my club’s kitchen.” I knew what he meant. I was stalling my answer.
He didn’t even crack a smile. “Before that.”
“A couple years ago. Maybe three. Or five.” It was more than seven, actually. The last friends with benefits had been before Ben had taken off for the West Coast.
“Uh-huh.” Like before, I could hear the doubt in his voice. “Why did you stop fucking him? The last one.”
The last one—Marcus—had been a nice enough guy. He’d been a student at Pace University. We’d never felt the romantic spark for each other. In fact, when we’d first met he’d been crushing on another girl in our Accounting 101 course. I was simply someone to shag while he waited around for her to notice him, and I liked the escapism sex provided.
Then things changed. “I realized it was easier to get myself off,” I said to JC. “A lot less work, a whole lot less emotion involved.”
“Then you did get attached.”
“Not me.”
It took a moment for him to process that. “He fell for you. And you cut him off.” JC’s expression eased. “Wow. Brutal, Gwen. Brutal.” Yet, he seemed pleased. “Had you set guidelines beforehand? Told him you weren’t interested in more?”
“We didn’t set guidelines like this, but he knew.” Long before he’d moved his crush on Chelle—was that her name?—to me, I’d told him I only did sex for fun.
JC shook his head. “He liked you from the get-go. He probably hoped he’d change your mind about wanting something else through the power of fucking.”
I would have disagreed, except I’d wondered the same thing. Wondered if Chelle was an excuse to get me to spend time with him in the first place. Now I wondered how JC could be so perceptive. “If he did, it didn’t work. In case you were having any ideas about changing my mind about anything like that.”
“Um, no. You don’t have to worry about that.” He laced his fingers and cupped them behind his head. “So three priors. And you don’t have a problem with no condoms.”
It wasn’t a question, but I interjected with an answer. “Oh, no. I do have a problem with that. We’re using condoms.” Even though I’d entertained for a moment the idea of not using them when he’d shown me his clean report, I had since realized the folly in it.
JC scowled. “We’ve already gone bareback. We can’t go to condoms now. That’s moving in the wrong direction.”
“It was one time, and it was a mistake. I can’t have sex with someone who’s sleeping around and not use condoms.” I gathered our empty cups and headed to the trashcan.
“You think I’d sleep around when I’m with you?” JC followed after me, his statement raising the eyebrows of a lady sitting at a nearby table.
I pushed the cups into the trash and turned to face him. “Isn’t that your M.O.?”
“No. It’s not.” He was irked. “We do this, I’m with you and no one else.” The sincerity of his statement was evident in his intense expression.
My chest fluttered. Monogamous sex was what I preferred. Even if I wasn’t interested in romance, I was still a girl. I got insecure and compared myself to others. Sometimes I got jealous.
But while I wanted it, the question was, why did he? I was leery. “That’s commitment number two in our no commitment deal.”
“You’re going to be a hard-ass about this, aren’t you?”
“That’s my M.O., remember?” At least my teasing made him drop the serious expression.
The sound of a throat clearing made me realize we were still blocking the trash. “Sorry,” I said to the man waiting to get through. I grabbed JC’s shirtsleeve and tugged him back to the table where our jackets still sat waiting for us.
“Okay, yes,” JC said as soon as we’d sat. “It’s commitment number two. But I think we can both agree that this is an important one.”
“We could just use condoms.” But the fight was waning in my tone. Even with clean health reports and an IUD, I usually preferred the double protection. But we had already gone condom-free. And if I were truly learning to chill-the-freak-out, then maybe this was a good place to start relaxing my rules.
There was only one issue keeping me from giving in entirely—could I trust JC to be faithful?
JC’s persistence also diminished. “We could. I’d prefer not to. Whether we do or not won’t change that I’m only going to be with you.”
It was weird how I believed him in my heart. He connected with me there, knew how to say things to cause a leap of faith.
But my head still had doubts. “You’d be willing to have sex only once a week? For however long this goes on?”
“Yes. I would. For however long this goes.” JC tapped his palm on the table. “And correction, I’d be having sex only one day a week. I guarantee you it will be more than one time.”
The ball of want in my belly doubled inside. It didn’t matter if my head was convinced anymore—my heart believed him enough to win the ruling. Even if I didn’t say it now, I knew the next time he was inside me he would again be bare. By my choice. Not only because it was the laid-back way to be, but because I wanted him like that. I wanted him that close.
The realization shook me. Scared me. Thrilled me. “You get to me when you say things like that. You know that, don’t you?”
“I don’t know it.” He lowered his voice. “Now tell me how.”
“How what?”
“How I get to you.” His words were heavy and molten.
I was paralyzed with heat, captured in his piercing stare. “It…it turns me on.”
“How exactly?” When I didn’t respond he wrapped his foot around my chair and pulled me closer to the table. Then he leaned in, as if to tell me a secret. “Does it make your heart race? Does your breath feel heavy? Do I make you wet?”
His breath edged across my ear, but it was his words as much as anything that sent a buzz straight to my core. I wanted to answer. I wanted to tell him, yes, all those things. But my voice was stuck in my throat.
He turned his head and nuzzled the upper edge of my lobe with his nose. “See, that’s a problem, Gwen. How can I give you what you want if you aren’t able to tell me what that is?” His mouth brushed my skin, and I gasped, waiting for him to lick me, to suck me, to bite me.
But he didn’t do anything to me. Instead, he sat back, leaving me yearning and keyed up. “We’ll work on that,” he said.
“This time you can’t convince me that you don’t know exactly what you do to me.”
“No, this time I can’t.” His smile was slight, like he was appraising his meal. “But I mean it—what you want, you need to ask for. If you asked, I’d get you off right here at this table.”
“Well, that is not on my list of wants.” Though, now that he’d mentioned it…would I ever be able to do something like that? Let a man touch me, stroke me to orgasm in a public setting? The idea was terrifying.
And really, really hot.
Who the hell was this guy? And how the hell had he ended up in my life? “Seriously, JC. Why would you cease your fuck anyone, anytime lifestyle to shag one girl?”
“There you are assuming again about my lifestyle.”
“Am I wrong?” The look he gave me said that I wasn’t. It also said that he was serious about changing that. For me.
I had to know. “Why me?”
“Maybe you have a magic pussy.”
“Come on. Unoriginal.” I wasn’t letting him skirt around this one.
He shrugged. “Sleeping around gets boring. It’s work. I’m tired.”
“I don’t believe a word of that.”
“Too bad.” He stood and pulled his coat off the back of his chair.
Panic surged through me. Was this pushing him too far? Was this the end of the deal or was he signaling it was time to go together? And even if it was the latter, could I give in without finding out this answer?
No, I couldn’t. I could live without knowing anything else about him but not this. I had to understand this one thing.
He put his coat on and looked down at me still sitting. With a sigh, he sat back down. He ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know why, Gwen. But I want to do this with you. Maybe because I like a challenge. Maybe because I can’t stand seeing someone who’s as potentially brilliant as you shine so dully.”
Maybe I didn’t want his answer after all. “You really need to work on the compliments.”
He caught my eyes. “Maybe because I know that you don’t put out easily, and I like the way it feels to be the guy who gets you.”
I melted. I was an ice queen, and with just one line, I felt a layer of cold dripping away. And for a second, I found myself imagining what it would be like to actually get attached to someone like “Just JC.” I imagined that I might be a person who could do just that.
Then I stopped with that line of thinking. Because if I could get attached, I didn’t want this. And I wanted this. I wanted him to get me. I just had to be clear exactly what was allowed. “Gets me in bed, you mean.”
“Yes. In bed.” He grinned. “And on counters. And all around town, if I have anything to do with it.” He waited for me to smile before going on. “You’re fun, Gwen. And you don’t know it. I’m looking forward to being the person who shows you that. Also, magic pussy.”
I laughed now. The real joke was that he already was the only guy to get me. No one else had ever broken through so many layers of my armor to make me smile so easily, to laugh so quickly.
And whatever if it scared me. It didn’t mean anything other than that sex with JC was going to be fun. Fun was what I needed.
So when he asked, “Speaking of magic pussy, do you want to get out of here?” my answer took no thought at all. “Yes. Yes, I do.”