A Really Bad Idea Read online

  “Because my side of the family is perfect. And hairless. I haven’t shaved my legs since 1999.”

  “That’s because you had it lasered off,” I deadpan.

  “I wasn’t that hairy to begin with. I could have been a leg model.” She’s not even being vain. My mother was a pageant queen and still rocks a bathing suit at the age of fifty-nine.

  “You do have perfectly shaped calves.” I push my hair off my forehead with the back of my wrist.

  “You’re welcome. You get those from me,” she chides.

  I laugh and place a plate in the drying rack. “How are you feeling?”

  “Good. Tired. I slept most of the day, which was a total waste. Judith Kent took my place in bridge today. She was so pleased when I called to tell her. The woman’s been dying to take my spot at the table. It’s fine. I’m feeling better now that I know you’re seeing someone.”

  The glass in my hand slips through my fingers and back into the sink. “Why would you say that?”

  “Aaron Vaducci told his mother you’d told him you were seeing someone. She told Judith Kent. Really, Meadow, it’s a small circle of friends we have. Nothing you do will ever get past me.”

  I close my eyes, not prepared to have this conversation. So, I do the next best thing. I fib a little. “I only told him that to ward him off. It was easier than saying I wasn’t interested.”

  “What in the world is wrong with a handsome dentist?”

  Nothing. He’s just not a handsome heart surgeon who promised to have a baby with me.

  “He’s very nice, but we’re not a good fit.”

  “You two were chatting up a storm at my house. Really, Meadow, your criteria for men is worrisome. Now, don’t get me wrong; I know modern women are adamant that you don’t need a man to be happy. I agree with that.” She pauses for a long moment. I think she’s taking a dramatic interlude until she lets out a long sigh-like breath. “Sorry, I had to catch my breath for a moment.”

  “Are you okay? It’s not like you to be so tired.”

  “I’m fine. My point is, your father and I won’t be around forever, and I don’t want you to be alone.”

  “You’re not even at retirement age, so you can’t play that card yet. And don’t worry about me. I have Dylan and Aiden to take care of me in my old age.”

  “Have you given any consideration to freezing your eggs?”

  I pause, running the sponge along the inside of a pot. “I read the brochure.” I metaphorically pat myself on the back for not lying.

  “Consider it.”

  “I am.” I rinse the pot and then dry it with a dish towel. “Just give me a little time.”

  “You always were my dreamer. Brian is the practical one.”

  I let out the water, watch it empty down the drain, and sigh. “Maybe I’m still dreaming. There’s a guy out there who is going to make all my wishes come true.”

  “You did meet someone!” Her yelp has me nearly dropping the phone.

  “I did not say that.” I turn the water back on to rinse the residual suds.

  “I heard it in your voice. Who is he?”

  “Mom … it’s not—shit,” I shout as water shoots out from the base of the faucet. Not just shoots out. It’s spraying out like a fire hydrant run amok. “I have to call you back. My sink is going haywire.”

  I hang up the phone and hit the valve to turn the water off. It stops pouring out of the faucet, but it’s still pushing up from the base.

  I grab a dishrag from the counter and try to plug up the problem with my hand, but it’s still shooting up and hitting the ceiling. The rag is soaked. I remove it and get a huge rush of water straight to the face. I let out a squeal at the surge of ice-cold water.

  Knock, knock, knock.

  “What?” I yell to see who it is.

  “It’s Christian,” he shouts from the other side.

  I wasn’t expecting him.

  I dash over to the door and open it up. He takes one look at my wet T-shirt and sopping hair and then heads over to the kitchen, pausing in the doorway to assess the situation. He crouches down to open the cabinet below the sink and turns a valve. The water stops immediately, and I take in the mess, which is puddles of water … everywhere.

  “Aren’t you the guy who always comes to my rescue?” I huff, running a hand over my head to push the loose tendrils back.

  He stands up and backs out of the puddle he’s standing in, not even flinching at how the leather of his shoes will warp. “Looks like I got here just in time.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I missed you,” he states, his eyes fixed on the kitchen, mainly the counters that have water trickling off the edges like mini waterfalls. “You’ve made quite a mess.”

  “Thanks, Captain Obvious. I’ll call the super and get this fixed.”

  “Don’t. I’ll be right back.” His shoes squeak as he walks out of my apartment and closes the door behind him before I even get a chance to ask where he’s going.

  I grab all my large towels from the linen closet and sop up as much water as I can. Then, I throw them in the washing machine. With the mop, I clean the rest of the floor and then dry the counters with more towels. I sift through the bills and lay them down to air dry. My calendar needs to be replaced. I make a mental note not to use my toaster for a month because the inside is soaked.

  I’m getting a chill from walking around in wet clothes, so I change into a 2001 98 Degrees Revelation Tour T-shirt and slide on a pair of shorts. I comb my hair and twist it into a high bun.

  I’m walking back to the kitchen when the door opens.

  This time, he doesn’t even knock.

  Christian places a brown bag on the counter and takes out his purchases. He has a new faucet, a wrench, and various other things wrapped in hard plastic.

  He takes off his suit jacket and tie, placing them on the stool near the counter. Then, he rolls up his sleeves and takes things out of their hard plastic wrappers.

  “What can I do?” I ask.

  “Hand me some scissors.” He holds out his hand.

  I place it in his palm as I imagine a nurse hands him a scalpel in the operating room. I even utter the word, “Scissors.” Then, I ask him, “Now what?”

  “Just relax.” He focuses on setting his wrench to the right size. “Smells good in here. What did you make?”

  “Lasagna. It’s delicious, but it sure makes a mess. Want me to heat you up a plate?”

  His right dimple appears with a lopsided smile and a twinkle in his eye. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

  While he gets down on his knees and empties the cleaning products from the cabinet, I go to the refrigerator and take out the lasagna tray. It might seem like a big meal to make for one, but I love to cook, and this will last me all week.

  “When did you learn about plumbing?” I ask as he grabs the wrench and then lies on his back.

  “I can lay pipe pretty well.”

  My eyes go straight to his torso and waist. “Clever.”

  He gives a deep, haughty laugh. “Get your mind out of the gutter. And you say I’m the crass one.”

  I cut a piece of lasagna into a perfect square. “How was your symposium? Did you wow the medical community with your brilliance?”

  “You’ve never seen a room of men and women become completely aroused at the words transcatheter aortic valve implantation. It was fun though. I like explaining the surgeries and showing video taken from inside the heart. I met a man from Düsseldorf who is working on a new synthetic valve that is supposed to last fifty years.”

  “I’m glad you enjoyed your trip. You were greatly missed in the office.”

  He rises from under the sink and doesn’t resist sparing me a knowing look. “I knew you wanted to see me.”

  I suppress a smile as he removes the damaged faucet from my sink.

  “Good thing I came because you needed a new fixture. I got you the same as me. All you have to do is swipe your hand underneath, a
nd the water comes out.”

  “Sounds fancy. I can feel like a doctor, scrubbing in for surgery.”

  “Makes me happy.” He tells the Alexa to play Miles Davis and hums to the jazz music as he works. For someone who made a surprise visit, he sure is making himself at home, playing Mr. Fix-It.

  I set the plate in the microwave and walk over to the cabinet above the refrigerator to take out the bottle of Johnnie Walker. I pour myself a glass and watch him. The way his back flexes through the white oxford shirt and how his ass looks in tailored pants—it’s a sight to behold. Between his suit jackets or doctor’s coat, he’s always hiding his backside, and it’s a shame. It’s such a firm, luscious one. I now know this from experience.

  And, now, it’s time to slow down on the Johnnie.

  When he’s done, he turns the main water valve back on, and my new and improved faucet is in effect. I walk over and test it out. My hand moves over the motion sensor, and it turns on.

  “Cool,” I commend him.

  “I’m happy if you’re happy.” He kisses my hair.

  “If you installed a dishwasher in here, I’d be delirious.”

  “I can make that happen. What were you doing that the faucet broke anyway?” he asks as he puts all the cleaning products back in the cabinet while I adjust the setting to the perfect temperature.

  “I was on the phone with my mother, listening to her plea for grandchildren,” I say.

  “Was she?” His hand goes to my ankle, the hold tender yet firm.

  I swallow, affected, and blow out a raspy breath. His fingers creep up my calf like a spider headed to its web, dancing over my thigh, and land on my lower belly.

  His touch is all I’ve been trying not to think about since he took me to bed. The wonder has been killing me. Will it happen again? How will it happen? We’ve spoken on the phone and texted a few times, but the conversation has never come up. I haven’t seen him in days, and now that he’s here, I feel relieved and oh-so damn recharged.

  “She might not have to wait that long.” Christian rises and places his palms on either side of me, pinning me against the counter.

  I lean back to look into his face. It’s virile, full of vigor and sexual potency.

  My body shakes right down to the core.

  “I see you got my flowers.” He smirks.

  On my counter are the flowers he sent me. I said nothing about the sunflowers, except for a thank you. Now that he’s upped to red roses, it’s time to address the issue.

  “You can’t send me flowers at work.”

  “I wrote nothing scandalous in the card.” He leans his weight into me.

  I inhale sharply. “People might get the wrong impression.”

  “I don’t give a fuck what anyone thinks.” He lays his lips on the skin of my neck. A chill travels down my spine. “All I care about is what you think. What are you thinking about?”

  “Right now?” I breathe, and his kisses move up to my mouth. “Not much of anything.”

  His kisses turn feverish, and I give in way too easily. A fever is a warning system for the body. To suppress it would be catastrophic, so we attack it with a vengeance.

  I unbutton his shirt and push it off his chest. He lifts mine over my head. My hands roam over his chest. My brain doesn’t know when I’ll be able to do so again, so I try to touch him as much as possible.

  He seems to be thinking the same thing as he undoes my bra, rubbing over my erect nipples.

  “I love your breasts. They’re so full and natural. I had a dream about them the other night.” His words are muffled as he places his mouth over a nipple. “How they feel in my hands,” he says between kisses. “How they taste. The way they swell when you’re about to come.”

  I grab his head and rake my fingers through his hair, pulling his mouth up to kiss him. He pushes my shorts down my hips, and his tongue skims his lower lip at the sight of my bare body.

  He drops to his knees. His eyes peer back up with a sinful gleam, and I’m completely unnerved with that one simple look.

  He hooks my leg over his shoulder and rubs his thumb over my clit. I grip the counter and lean back, savoring the feel of his delicate fingers over my very sensitive core. When I look back down, I lose myself in the smoldering stare he holds as his lips lean forward and press onto mine.

  “I love the way you squirm when I go down on you,” he says, his voice is lowered. “The way you arch your back and wiggle your hips into my mouth right before you orgasm, it’s gorgeous.”

  Holy mother of—

  I can’t even keep coherent thoughts as Christian’s tongue licks the folds while his finger continues to move in magical circles. I arc my hips into his mouth, begging for more.

  He doesn’t disappoint as his mouth replaces his fingers, his tongue taking over, licking and flicking, sucking. Not only can this man devour me with his kisses, but he can also devour me with his … kisses.

  I hiss and cry, panting as my body climbs with the build of electricity running through it. I place a hand over my breast and play with it. The sensations are too much; I want all of them.

  “Do you like that?” he asks as he inserts a finger.

  I moan out loud. “Yes.”

  For two people who are supposed to be having sex with the end game of creating a baby, we sure aren’t letting pleasure run away from us. At least, Christian isn’t.

  He works me with his mouth and fingers. My body bends forward, unable to hold my weight as I come on his mouth and hand. And then he works me more.

  I’m sated and so incredibly turned on.

  I grab him by the hair and pull him up to stand, gripping him by the neck and pulling him into me for a kiss. He’s holding my face, caressing my cheeks with his thumbs, as I taste my pleasure on his lips and find it sinfully erotic.

  I drop to the floor and make quick work of his belt buckle, undoing his pants and freeing his erection.

  “You don’t have to reciprocate,” he says between clenched teeth as I pump my hand around the thick steel, my thumb roaming over the tip.

  “I know. I want to.” I put my mouth over his cock and run my tongue wide up and down. I don’t know what’s gotten over me. I’m a savage woman, hungry for this man and his magic fingers and mouth and oh-so-generous cock.

  My hand works in unison with my mouth, pumping him until he grips my shoulders and pulls me up to a standing position.

  He hoists me up, and I wrap my legs around him while he walks us down the hall and into my bedroom, laying me on the bed.

  When he enters me, it’s with a carnal want. My hands grip the sheets, and my hips buck up to meet his. He curls my leg up, getting in deeper, as he rolls his hips and hits every nerve ending in my body.

  I bury my head into his chest as the rush of an orgasm crashes against my core, and I feel the waves of pleasure wash over me as he continues to pump and grind, chasing his orgasm before filling me.

  He’s breathless and spent. His body falls onto mine, and I rub his back as this hot-blooded man comes down from the high we were just riding.

  “What happened?” he asks into my shoulder.

  “You laid pipe,” I say.

  His back rumbles with the laughter, and then he bites my shoulder.

  “Ouch!” I hit him in the side.

  He rolls over. His cock is glistening with the aftermath of our orgasms.

  “For the record, I didn’t come over for sex,” he says. I raise a very suspicious brow. “Well, I was hoping, but I didn’t expect it.”

  “You came at me quite aggressively.”

  He runs a hand over his mouth. “When you opened the door, you were soaking wet. It took a lot out of me to not get hard.”

  I play with the hem of my shirt. He’s always been a flirt, but this new speak is so foreign to me. I still have to get used to it.

  He pulls my hand from my face and kisses the palm. “Don’t be embarrassed.”

  “I’m not. I’m just … I don’t know what came over
me in the kitchen.”

  His thumb runs over my lips. “Whatever it was, I loved every second.”

  As his mouth takes over mine again, I lose myself in his kiss.

  The fever has now broken, and what’s left is a calmness. A warm fervor awakens as he strokes my hair, and I run my fingers over his jaw. My lashes flutter. He’s staring at me, watching me with a quirk to his lips and a crinkle on the sides of his eyes.

  He lowers his hand down to the side of my neck and rubs his thumb over my pulse.

  I move my hand to his forehead and run my finger over the smooth skin, trailing it down his straight nose and full mouth, past the cleft of his chin, and make a beeline to his chest, laying my hand flat over his skin and feeling the beats pound into my palm.

  My gaze holds his as I bite my lip.

  “I have to go home. I took a cab straight here from the airport,” he says and leans down to kiss my lips.

  I don’t kiss him back.

  “Where’s your suitcase?”

  “Downstairs with Sal. I told you, I missed you.” He walks out of the room, his ass is full view as he saunters out.

  “Oh.” I rise, too. I grab a T-shirt from my drawer and slide it on.

  When he returns, he has his clothes in his hands. He takes a seat on the bed and starts to dress.

  I’m adjusting my bun as he buttons his shirt, his back to me. I’m thankful for Christian’s willpower. He knows when to call it a day, so we don’t take this too far. Still, watching him get dressed makes me feel tawdry.

  “Thank you for fixing my sink,” I say.

  He laughs as he runs his fingers through his thick, dark hair. “It makes me feel good to take care of you.”

  “My dining chairs are wobbling. Next time you come over, I’ll hand you an Allen wrench, and you’ll feel fantastic.”

  He kisses my forehead, his tie dangling from his neck. “I’d love that.”

  I walk him to the door and open it for him. He grabs his suit jacket off the stool and folds it over his arm.

  This angsty rumbling of my gut settles in my chest, and I hate it. It’s ridiculous that I can’t talk to him about my feelings. Of all the people I should be able to be totally honest with, it’s him. I shouldn’t be like this with Christian, and I’ve had enough.