Wreck You Page 20

  “Thanks.” I stepped around them and headed toward the kitchen to set the grocery bags on the counter.

  “You have a nice place,” Lauren said from the living room.

  “You sound surprised.” I chuckled.

  “Well, you are a bachelor.”

  “I didn’t think you were the type to lump people into stereotypical categories.”

  She stepped into the kitchen. “It’s something we all do. Don’t judge me. It falls along the same lines of how we always judge a book by its cover.”

  I nodded and smiled as I pulled all the groceries out of the bags and lined them up along the counter. “True.”

  Lauren hoisted herself up on my countertop, directly beside where I stood. A tingle of excitement stirred through me at her motion. My mind dipped into the gutter as it filled with images of slipping between her silky, smooth-looking thighs. A little bit of useless information tumbled through my mind—how, depending on which study you chose to believe, a man thinks about sex every six seconds. I’d heard some say it’s every six seconds, some say every fifty minutes, and some say it’s nineteen times a day.

  Either way, I was positive I would be thinking about sex quite frequently during the length of this date.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  LAUREN

  I noticed the way Ian looked at me. He thought I didn’t, but I did. Call it a sixth sense, if you will, but I always knew when a guy was thinking dirty about me. It was as though I could feel the electrical charge in the air. This thought made me smile, considering Ian was an electrician and dealt with electrical charges all day.

  Stretching my legs out in front of me before crossing them, I knew I was flaming the fire that was already burning in the crotch of his pants, but I didn’t care. This was the part about flirting that was fun to me—knowing you were making someone nearly spontaneously combust with desire. Some would say I was a tease, some would say I was leading him on, but I would say I was having fun. Blaire hated this about me; she claimed it scared her. Maybe I should feel the same, but I didn’t. I didn’t view it that way. To me it was almost magical, like I was an enchantress. If I read books for pleasure, that would be something I would enjoy reading about.

  Picking up my purse, I dug through it until I found my cell phone. Tapping on my favorite music app, I scrolled through the stations I’d created over time. I chose Justin Timberlake and smiled at Ian. “Do you have a docking station or some kind of universal speakers I could plug my phone into?”

  “Yeah, just a second.” He walked around the counter and into the living room. I watched him as he headed toward a little speaker system sitting on an end table beside the couch.

  “No, leave it there.” I hopped off the counter. “Normally, people either have them in their bedrooms or the kitchen.”

  “Well, mine’s in my living room.” He shrugged.

  “Nothing wrong with that.”

  I plugged in my phone and tapped play. Ian was already in the kitchen, pulling out pots and pans for us to cook with, when the first song came on. It was Clothes Off! by Gym Class Heroes. I’d never heard the song before, but that was one of the best things about internet radio, it broadened your exposure of bands and singers. Walking back to the kitchen, I noticed Ian’s facial reaction to the song.

  “What’s wrong? You don’t like rap?” I asked with a smile.

  “Not particularly, but you already knew that. Remember, Miss I had you pegged as rock and country?” he countered.

  “True.” I shrugged. “Want me to change it?”

  He shook his head. “No, it’s fine.”

  While the song continued to play in the background, I opened a few drawers, searching for a cutting board and a sharp knife.

  “In the next one to your left. That’s where the cutting boards are.” Ian smirked. Obviously, he’d enjoyed my blind rampage through his kitchen drawers.

  Opening the one he’d suggested, I grabbed a clear piece of plastic I assumed was a cutting board. My nose must have crinkled at the sight of it, because Ian laughed.

  “What? You don’t like my cutting board choices?”

  “They aren’t even real wood,” I insisted. “I guess I prefer using something solid instead of this limp thing.” I waved it in the air to prove my point.

  “That’s what she said.” He winked, opening the package of hamburger meat we’d bought.

  “Good one.” I grinned. “I guess I walked right into that one.”

  Ian dumped the meat into the already hot pan and walked to the trash can. “That you did.”

  He washed his hands in the sink while I started yet another blind search for a large enough bowl to put a salad in. Cooking in someone else’s kitchen sucked. Ian came up behind me with a large red bowl in his hands and set it on the counter. He then opened a drawer and produced a knife for me.

  “Thanks.” I took the knife from his fingers and reached for a tomato to dice it. I’d only made one swipe through it with the knife when Ian stopped me.

  “Aren’t you going to rinse it off first?” he asked, dumbfounded.

  I shook my head. “No, why?”

  “Um, because that’s what you’re supposed to do. It rinses off the pesticides and germs people in the store could have covered it with.” He said this to me as though he were speaking to a small child.

  “I never rinse my vegetables or fruit off before eating them,” I admitted.

  “What?” His mouth flew open. “Are you serious?”

  “Dead serious. I never believed rinsing them off would actually do anything. If they were treated with pesticides, then the pesticides most likely soaked right on through the skin and contaminated the inside. And I’m not too worried about other people’s germs, because if I were to catch something from eating an unwashed tomato, chances are I would have caught the same thing from touching a shopping cart or whatever. Right?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know about that, but I do know washing them off at least gives you a better change at not inviting unwanted things into your system.”

  I made another slice into the tomato. “So does it bother you that badly?”

  “Yeah, it sort of does.” He nodded, his face still twisted with repulsion.

  Cutting another thin slice, I picked it up and popped it into my mouth. “Really?”

  I was being malicious and I knew it, but I couldn’t help how funny I found his facial expression right now. You would have thought I was on that show Fear Factor and eating bull balls or something. It was hilarious!

  “Oh my God, don’t do that.” He took the knife from my hand and scooped up the entire cutting board and tomato pieces. Stalking to the sink, he then rinsed everything off. “You can cook the meat and noodles. I’ll make the salad.”

  I laughed. “You are a real piece of work, you know that?”

  He flashed me a hot grin from over his shoulder. “I could say the same about you.”

  We cooked the rest of the meal while conversation flowed between us in a natural way. When it was finished and ready to be plated, I had a better understanding of the term opposites attract, because there was not a single thing the two of us had in common. However, I’d had the best time figuring that out.

  We discussed loads of topics, right down to the color of his dishes. He didn’t own white plates like a normal person. Instead, he had straight-up black ones. I thought this was odd at first, and it must have shown on my face, because seconds later, he was explaining his unconventional choice for plate color.

  “They’re black for portion control reasons.” His cheeks flushed a little as he admitted this to me. “I have an issue with overeating at times. On a black plate, the amount of food I dish for myself is more visible, so I’m more apt to keep it smaller.”

  “Where did you learn that?” I asked, completely curious. It was nothing I’d ever heard before, but made perfect sense.

  “Oprah,” he answered in a surprisingly unabashed way.

  “Are you seriou
s? You watch Oprah?”

  “Well, not anymore, but I used to. My mom was a diehard fan. Every day at four it was the only thing we were allowed to watch.” He shrugged.

  “Oprah is one smart woman.” I nodded. “And I’ll have to remember the colored plate trick for myself. I’m totally replacing all my dishes now.” I took a small bite of the spaghetti.

  It was good, simple, but good. I’d never met anyone who could screw up spaghetti. Conversation flowed to other topics as we continued to eat. I learned the story behind the tiny white scar above his eyebrow, and how his ex named his dog, which was a relief to find out. Most guys named their dogs Spike or Killer, not after a girly drink. After we rinsed off our plates and bowls, Ian found me a wineglass and opened the bottle I’d selected at the store.

  “You only have one wineglass?” My eyes grazed along the inside of the cabinet, searching for the match. Not finding one, I couldn’t help but feel astonished and slightly perplexed. “Why? Generally, people at least have a pair.”

  “I wish I could say it’s because I broke one, but that would be a lie.” He poured some of the dark red liquid into the glass for me in a smooth, fluid motion. “My ex enjoyed the fruity wine I told you I’d tasted before. I bought her a wineglass for Valentine’s Day once with a bottle of her favorite.”

  “I didn’t know they sold single wineglasses,” I admitted, letting the second mention of his ex pass.

  I wasn’t a jealous-by-nature person, and I damn sure wasn’t one to dig up information on an ex during a date. To be honest, I didn’t even enjoy knowing what the girls before me looked like. Simply put, I didn’t care.

  “They do.” His lips twisted into a beautifully amused smirk. “At Dollar General.”

  I laughed. “Dollar General?”

  “I wish that had been her reaction.” He set the bottle on the counter, and reached in the cabinet for a regular plastic cup.

  “She reacted badly about where you bought her gift?” Ugh, I hated girls like that.

  Ian nodded and poured a tiny amount of wine into his cup. “She did.”

  I shook my head and lifted my glass. “Ready for a taste?” A brief hint of relief flickered through his eyes at my subject change when he met my stare. “Well?” I pushed, arching an eyebrow.

  Ian crinkled his nose. It was by far the cutest, most boyish thing I’d seen him do yet. “I guess so.”

  I toasted his cup. “Cheers.”

  My eyes never left Ian’s face as he lifted the glass to his lips. I knew the exact moment when the wine touched his tongue. His eyebrows narrowed, and he averted his gaze from me. A visible shudder slipped through him, and he made a gagging noise as he pulled the cup away from his mouth, forcing himself to swallow.

  “You big baby, it’s not that bad,” I chided.

  “Not that bad?” He repeated my words with more disgust than I’d ever heard him muster. “That was the most horribly bitter thing I’ve ever drank.”

  “Bitter? It’s sweet red wine.”

  “There isn’t anything sweet about that crap.” He shivered and stuck his tongue out as though the air would get rid of the taste.

  I laughed. I laughed so hard, in fact, I nearly snorted. Ian was amazing. Jimmy had never made me laugh. He was too broody and serious, too consumed with always wanting sex. He’d been a damn nympho. While having great sex with someone was a large part of a relationship, it wasn’t the sole aspect. My eyes trailed along Ian’s profile. He wouldn’t be all about sex with whomever he was with—a relationship with him would be so much more.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  IAN

  Lauren’s laugh ricocheted off the walls of my tiny kitchen and vibrated straight to my soul. This may have only been date three, but there was something about her I already couldn’t get enough of. She was vibrant and exciting. I was dull, predictable, and too focused. Even after a few hours with her tonight, I could clearly see those differences between us. For whatever reason, though, none of them seemed to matter. We were still having one of the most intriguing conversations I’d ever had this early in a relationship.

  Relationship?

  Was that what this was now? Were we an item? Hilary and I had been together since high school, a time when it was acceptable to ask a girl to go out with you. How did that work as an adult? Was being a couple something that was just assumed?

  “Well, I happen to like it,” Lauren said with a smug smile. She took another sip of her nasty wine while continuing to hold my gaze.

  Forcing all thoughts of relationships out of my mind, I turned to face the fridge. Reaching inside, I pulled out a beer and twisted the cap off with the palm of my hand. Taking a long swig from the bottle, I washed the remainder of the horrible bitter taste down. Some Ke$ha song came on, blasting through my speakers and filling my house with her annoying voice. Eyeing Lauren as she sung the words and sipped her god-awful wine, I tipped my beer back and headed toward the living room. Scooping up her phone, I tapped on “Create new station” in her music app, and typed in my favorite band. The beginning chords to Happiness by Three Days Grace blared through my speakers. It might not have been the best song to listen to on a date, but it sure as shit beat anything Ke$ha could spew.

  “What, now my music choice isn’t good enough for you either?” she asked with mock hurt.

  Normally, I hated it when a woman poked out her lips and pouted like that in a flirty way. The women I dealt with on a daily basis had long ago perfected that look so they could get their way with their rich ass husbands and have a ten thousand dollar chandelier hung in their foyer at the precise height they wanted.

  On Lauren though, all I thought was how sexy it was.

  Against my better judgment—and without the excuse of too many beers in my system and some sexually charged song playing in the background—I stepped to where she stood and bent down to kiss her. Maybe it was because it had been months since I’d kissed a woman, or maybe it was simply because the woman I was kissing happened to be Lauren. Whatever the reason, I felt the sensation of her lips pressed against mine rocket straight to my crotch. Still holding my beer in one hand, I brought the other up to cradle the back of her head.

  Even though I was shocked by my move, she didn’t seem to be. While my mind cramped with hesitations of whether she would care if I deepened the kiss, she took it upon herself to take it to a whole new level. My lips curved into a smile as I continued to move them against hers. This must have been something she’d wanted all along, same as I had. Her free hand came up, and she intertwined her fingers within my hair.

  Moving us toward the couch, I broke our kiss long enough to set my beer down without spilling it. Lauren did the same with her glass of wine, and then her hands were on me again, roaming my chest. My heart lodged in my throat when they descended, and her fingertips slipped along the waistband of my shorts. It was like I was fourteen again and getting groped by a girl for the first time. My fingers dug into her hips as I moved her backward until she rested flat on the couch. I hovered above her, wondering how far we could take this. Her hands snaked underneath my shirt, and trailed along my back in a featherlight touch. I cupped her right breast, massaging the entire perfect thing with my palm and fingers.

  Her thighs widened, and I sank lower into the space available. There was no doubt she could feel my excitement pressing against her now. My hand, having a mind of its own, made its way underneath her top. Slipping across her flat stomach, I moved farther up until my fingertips brushed against the silky material of her bra. Pushing past it, I cupped her breast. A soft moan escaped from her lips and sent a spasm to the constricted bulge growing by the second inside my shorts.

  I wanted her. I needed her.

  Gripping the neck of my shirt, I tugged it off and tossed it to the floor. Lauren’s hands touched every part of my exposed torso, and the desire to do the same to her built inside of me. Tugging on the edges of her top, I hoped she would lean up, allow me to pull it over her head, and add it to the pile I’d
created on the floor. When she did, I didn’t press my lips to hers right away. Instead, I bent down and pressed them to her navel. As I made a trail of kisses along the fiery skin of her abdomen, I slipped my hands beneath her and unhooked her bra in a motion so swift a sense of pride surged through me. I hadn’t done that move in months, and I loved the fact that I still had it.

  My eyes scanned her body. She was more than beautiful. Licking my lips, I hovered above her right breast until even I couldn’t take the anticipation any longer, and then I pulled her nipple into my mouth. The moans that ousted from between her plump lips nearly made me lose it right then. Her fingers tugged at my hair again as her hips thrust against me. The movement made me twitch with want. Slipping the tip of my tongue along the smooth skin between her perky breasts, I made my way up the length of her throat and along her jawline, pausing only when I reached her lips once more.

  Crushing my lips to hers, I allowed the fingers on my right hand to roam her torso and downward to the waistband of her shorts. Slipping one finger in, I skimmed along the edge of her panties. Bringing my hand back up, I cupped the side of her face while I lured her to open her mouth a little wider for me. My tongue delved inside the hot recess of her mouth the moment she granted me access, and I slipped it along hers in a rhythmic motion. She surprised me as she twirled her tongue around mine and then pulled back, wrapping her lips around the tip of my tongue. She continued to suck it, her lips never touching mine. I groaned and shuddered as her hips grazed against me. Inhaling, I went in for a crazed, fiery kiss, unable to control myself any longer. She cut me off before I could get into it too deeply by pushing the palms of her hands against my chest and forcing space between us.

  “I-I can’t do this…” she trailed off.

  Her face turned away from mine, and for a brief moment, I thought I’d pegged her all wrong. Images of the last few minutes burst through my mind as I searched for a moment that would lead me to believe she didn’t want more, didn’t want this to head in the direction it obviously had been since I’d first kissed her.