Contemporary Nights Volume One Page 4

  “I’m going to call my mom. Do you mind?”

  Rocko grabs the remote and mutes the sound, familiar with my nightly ritual. “Nah. Go ahead, man.”

  I finish my beer and shove the guilt of missing my call last night to the back of my mind. My mother would’ve never wanted me to feel bad or obligated, and I’ve got to keep that forefront in my mind so I can enjoy this last bit of time with her.

  I move toward my first love and sit on the cushioned bench, setting my fingers to the keys like I’ve done for over twenty years. I work through scales, warming up, and launch into one of my mother’s favorite Elton songs, Candle in the Wind. The music fills the apartment, bouncing back to fill my soul with warmth. The words spill out, freeing all the heart and passion I lock up at work every damn day to earn a steady paycheck to pay medical bills.

  Rocko raises his beer in tribute, but remains silent, focused on the game.

  When I’m done, I call the nurse on duty. “Hi, Iris. How’s she doing?”

  “Same as yesterday. No change.”

  “Thanks. Do you mind holding the phone for her?”

  “Not at all, child. I love to hear your voice.”

  I set the cell phone on the piano lid and begin to play.

  Chapter Five

  Carla

  Sundays always whip past too soon. The only good thing about yesterday was getting chores done, like laundry, and not having to field more texts from Andrew. At least he took the hint Saturday night.

  A tiny twinge of disappointment swells inside me and I squash it. I want to be alone. I don’t need a man in my life to make me happy.

  Yeah, and you’re such a joy to be around the rest of the time.

  I feel a growl bubbling in my throat and stifle it. Damn, if I could just find a decent guy to sleep with, I wouldn’t be so freakin’ on edge all the time. Used to be I’d spend an evening with one of my many battery powered nightstand buddies and I’d be right as rain. But, the past six months haven’t been the same. Add in the fact every freakin’ guy I’ve tried has been a disappointment in the sack. No wonder I’m a little tense.

  Tense? Is that another word for bitchy and hard up?

  No! It’s just tense. Don’t read in more than it is.

  Uh-huh. Sure.

  I finish the last touches on my makeup, sweep a fine powder over it to set, and then gather the rest of my things for work. Andrew’s help on the Stringer account means I’m starting my day by meeting the owner before heading into the office.

  The meeting goes well. Jennifer is a bubbling cauldron of ideas and energy. She’s the most ambitious and hard-working woman I’ve ever met. I present some new suggestions for exposure and we hammer out the details together. When I leave her office, the high of success buoys me the entire trip to Smith and White. I love my job. It’s always a challenge and never boring.

  I arrive in the office at ten; the rest of the staff is well into their morning. I keep my eyes down as I head to my cubicle, eager to avoid Andrew’s penetrating gaze as long as possible. Heat fills my cheeks over Friday night’s antics. God, what was I thinking inviting a guy from work to my place?

  Biggest mistake ever.

  I settle my belongings and fire up my laptop. Within minutes I’m logged into the company server and skimming emails. One from Andrew catches my eye.

  Do I open it? I doubt he’d act like an idiot at work, so I might as well see what he has to say.

  How did the meeting go with Jennifer Stringer?

  Relief pours through me at his professional inquiry. Maybe we can pretend Friday night didn’t happen. That would make my life sOoOoOooo much easier.

  I send him back a short note. Good, thanks. I’ll be working with the design team closely this week to finalize the pitch on the next campaign.

  Want to share lunch to chat about details?

  Dammit. I knew he’d leap to something personal.

  No. Thank you.

  I fire off the last email, then collect the files I need to copy for the designers. Maybe in a few days he’ll stop trying so hard and we can return to the way things were between us. Professional and slightly distant. Just the way I like it.

  Yeah, because that’s worked so well for you before.

  The hum of the copier distracts me from my thoughts of Andrew. Once one section of the Stringer file is done, I place it back into the tabs and start with the next.

  “Hey, Carla,” Andrew calls from behind me.

  I glance to see him leaning against the doorframe, and he tosses me a hopeful smile. God, it was hell waking up with him in my bed. After a slip up during my first internship nine years ago, I vowed to never do anything so stupid again.

  “Hi,” I turn to my task.

  “We still haven’t talked about our night together. How long do you intend to put me off?”

  Forever? Damn, I was afraid this would happen. Holding in the heavy sigh longing to escape, I face my pushy co-worker. “No offense, but I’m not interested in dating an accountant.”

  “Excuse me?” His tone comes out sharper than I’ve ever heard from him. “Do you think I’m not worthy of you because of my job?”

  “Umm… no. Sorry.” That’s exactly it, but saying so is bitchier than I’d like. I switch to the next file and give him my back. “Listen, it was a fun night and all, but I want more excitement. Something spicy.”

  His footsteps behind me are barely audible over the hum of the copier. Hands rest on my hips and I tense. “You have no idea what you want. You could have excitement right in front of you and you wouldn’t know what to do about it.”

  Annoyed, I whip around to face him, dislodging his hands. “Really? And you think I don’t remember the tolerable three minutes we shared?”

  His deep blue eyes darken in anger and he leans closer, crowding my space. “I think you recall someone named Johnny and seem to be attributing some of our time together to a dream about him.”

  A blush creeps up my cheeks, I do remember having dreamed about an old college flame, but how the hell does he know that? “Umm… I…”

  “You called out his name,” his warm breath tickles my lips, “while I pleasured you.”

  Startled by the revelation, I dart to the side and make for the door. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  His voice whispers when the copier cycles down, “You’re sexy when you let down your guard.”

  I turn to face him. He takes two quick strides and captures my mouth. His lips press against mine and a coil of heat unravels in my middle. A warm hand caresses the back of my head, gently drawing me closer.

  I open my mouth to protest and his tongue slips inside to spar with my own. The rush of blood pounding through my veins brings a tingly feeling that halts my words before they form. His wide open eyes stare into my own, challenging me with the heat I see simmering in their depths.

  His mouth tastes like fresh coffee heavily laced with cream. My knees weaken at the intensity and warmth pouring off him. He nibbles on my bottom lip and a spike of pleasure jolts down my spine, jarring me from the spell he’s weaving.

  I place two hands on his chest and push him away. Our lips break and a shudder runs through me. “What the hell was that?” My tone sounds indignant, but my body betrays me with arousal.

  Andy smiles, a slow, indulgent curve of his lips. His tongue slips out to run along his full mouth. “I think you know exactly what that was.” He boldly reaches out a hand and runs a finger over my right nipple, peaked hard and pressing against the inside of my bra.

  I swat his hand away.

  “It’s passion, Carla. Don’t fight it.”

  I take a step back, putting distance between us and regain my composure. “You do that again and I’ll report you.”

  Andy steps closer, crowding my space. “No, you won’t.”

  A sneer forms on my face. “Oh, really? And why wouldn’t I?”

  “Because I know what you need, darling. And I aim to give it to you.”

>   His confidence and arrogance rocks me. This is a side of Andy I never knew existed. “Go pound salt, bastard.” I storm out of the copier room, wrapping my indignation around me like a cape. Andy’s amused chuckle follows me down the hall.

  Son of a bitch. I’ll be damned if I’m corralled into a torrid affair at work. No matter what my body tells me.

  Crap! I left the files in there. I’m not going back to get them until he leaves. Call me a chicken, but I’m not ready to face him again.

  *****

  It’s Wednesday, and I’ve done my best to avoid Andrew the past two days. When office emails went around about getting a drink after hours, I almost didn’t agree to go. I wasn’t sure if Andrew was going or how to handle him. The memory of his stolen kiss has haunted me.

  The lingering heat stirred from his bold advance left me tossing and turning in bed each night. Twice I tried to seek relief on my own, and twice I was left frustrated and horny. Damn him! I will not date a guy from work. It’s career suicide.

  I run a finger through the condensation on my wine glass and contemplate what to do. The energy in the crowded bar wraps around me in a familiar feeling—the hotspot is always packed. This time, I’m careful not to get drunk and don’t sit near Andrew. God, he’s like a puppy sniffing after me. I have no intention of winding up with him. I want an exciting man.

  And how do you know that man isn’t Andy?

  Because I won’t let it be, dammit! I know what I want and he’s not it. Temporary, hot sex is easier—and he seems to be gunning for more than I’m willing to offer.

  I grab my drink in anger, but wisely take only a sip. I have no desire to muddle my senses with Andrew staring at me across the bar. Why the hell does he like me anyway? I’ve stated I’m not interested. I’ve brought out my most bitchy self, and he still keeps coming.

  He needs to see me pick up another guy. That should wipe away that smug look I see every time I glance over at him. Thinks he’s got my number, does he? I’ll show him.

  Tall, broad-shouldered, and beautiful walks into my field of vision. The big man looks vaguely familiar, so I smile.

  “Well hello, sweetheart. I remember you from last week.” He returns my interest with a crooked grin and looks around. He notes Andrew sitting a few stools away. “You look more stable tonight.”

  Ah, yes. He’s the guy I fell into when trying to leave last week. “Hi.” I tilt my head, allowing my hair to frame my face. “And you look just as nice as you did when we first met. Do you work in the area?”

  “Yeah. I’m in finance—stocks and bonds mostly. You?”

  “Advertising sales exec at Smith and White.”

  A feral look sparks in his eye and I wonder if he could be what I’m looking for.

  “Want to go catch some dinner at a quieter place?” Tall and handsome asks.

  “I’d love to.”

  We leave the bar together and I can almost feel Andrew’s annoyance radiating toward us. That’ll show him once and for all I’m not interested.

  Chapter Six

  Andrew

  I cannot believe that little tease left with that meathead! My hands clench into fists and I have to physically press them under the edge of the bar to stop myself from chasing after her. Why does she go for the hulking, empty-headed guys? Why won’t she look at me with interest?

  I take a deep breath and will the logical part of my brain into working. Maybe because she can control them easier than she can me? After our night together I haven’t exactly reverted to the calm and easy-going guy she used to work with. Her response when I pleasured her is still etched in my mind. She reacted to my advances with an uninhibited sweetness; almost like her body was surprised she enjoyed it.

  The bossy, confident woman she presents to the world is not all that meets the eye with Carla. If she were secure in herself, why would she pick up strangers at a bar? I’ve seen it enough in my time as a musician—a lonely person looking for companionship, often making unwise choices for human contact.

  Could that be true with her, too? And if yes, how do I convince her I’m worth more than a one night stand?

  More importantly, why do you care? Why are you willing to take a risk on a woman who just figuratively thumbed her nose at you in public?

  Because there’s something about her… something that calls to me. Is it the vulnerability I saw in her eyes when we kissed in the copier room? Is it the freedom she only allows herself when she’s sleepy and her guard is down? She acts like she’s in charge, but I bet what she really needs is for the man to take control for a change.

  I throw my money on the bar and make the journey to my apartment. I knock twice on Rocko’s door to see if he’s in. A muffled “Yo!” comes from within. In a moment the door flies open and my neighbor stands bare-chested before me, wearing sweatpants.

  “Dude.” Rocko says, drawing out the word in a long greeting. “I’m going to the gym. Want to come?”

  The tension growing inside me from watching Carla walk out with another guy needs an outlet. “Sounds good. I’ll meet you downstairs in five.”

  Rocko nods and shuts his door.

  I quickly change and meet him in the building’s small basement gym. It’s nothing pretty, and the cramped space filled with old free weights is near the laundry room, but it gets the job done for a free work out.

  About forty-five minutes into our chest and back rotation Rocko says, “You going to tell me what’s eating you or do you plan on giving yourself an aneurism with the extra weight?”

  Sweat drips from my forehead as I push the bar to the top notch of the frame. I slide the weight into the start position, expelling air in a whoosh at the effort. I grab the hand towel I brought and mop the moisture from my eyes.

  “Little minx picked up a guy at the bar after work. Right in front of me.”

  “Damn.” Rocko whistles. “That’s harsh. Didn’t try coming on strong, like I suggested?”

  “I did. But maybe I wasn’t clear enough.”

  I rise, wipe the bench free of my sweat, and then stand behind the bar to spot Rocko on his set.

  “She’s sent you a clear message she’s not interested, man.” He wraps his hands around the bar and hesitates. “Take off twenty from both ends.” He smirks. “I don’t have any issues to sweat out like you.”

  “Fine,” I grumble before removing the weights.

  Rocko watches while I return the weights to the stationary rack behind us. “So, what do you plan to do?”

  I shake my head and return to my spotter position. Rocko lifts the bar and starts his set. “I’m thinking I need to get right in her face and show her what I can do to her body, make her respond to me before she talks herself out of it.”

  Rocko remains silent, concentrating on his form and breathing. At the end he pushes the bar into its starting position. “As long as whatever you’re planning won’t get a restraining order against you, I say go for it. You only live once, right?” His face grimaces. “Sorry man, that slipped out. How is your mom doing?”

  I wave him off. I know he didn’t mean anything by his comment, and I don’t want anyone on eggshells around me. “No change. Still in a coma. They think she could go any day now.” A sigh rushes out, and the last of my tension leaves with it. “It’s a crappy situation all around, but we knew it was leading to this.”

  We select dumbbells and start a round of flys on the incline benches. “How’s Andrea holding up?” Rocko wiggles his eyebrows, possibly hoping to interject some lightness into the conversation. “Does she need a comforting shoulder or manly hug?”

  His distraction works and a sharp bark of laughter erupts from me. “Man, don’t go near my sister. I’ll have to hurt you.”

  “Come on, Ace…she’s so pretty.” Sweat runs down his face as he winks at me. “You sure she’s related to you?”

  We finish our workout and part ways. I still feel keyed up and debate on a run, deciding against it at the last minute and shower instead. The entire time
I’m walking through the motions of bathing and then fixing a meal, I contemplate Carla and what to do. She wants something spicy in her life, does she?

  I’ve got just what she needs. I change into jeans and a polo then head back out to the bar. Here’s to hoping she falls for my plan.

  Chapter Seven

  Carla

  Two hours after leaving the bar, I can barely nod my head politely while Tall- Handsome-and-Dumb speaks. He might be pretty, but I have no desire to take him home. I politely exit after our meal, pleading an early morning meeting and files I need to review. Brian and I exchange numbers, but I doubt very highly either of us will call. The chemistry isn’t there.

  Didn’t have that problem with Andy, did you?

  Could I be wrong and there really is something between us that could spark the sheets on fire? I push the thought aside and refuse to linger on the idea. Counting on any man is a mistake, and one I intend to avoid.

  Pretty soon I’m home alone, snuggled up with comfy clothes, a cup of hot tea, and ready to start a book Heather recommended called Suddenly Beautiful. Last week, she raved about the paranormal story and the hysterical antics of the heroine. I gamely agreed to give it a shot.

  A few chapters in, I’m so fully engrossed I don’t glance at the screen when I pick up my ringing phone.

  “Hello?”

  “Carla, it’s me.” Andy’s voice comes over the line, slightly distorted by background noise.

  A sigh escapes me. I really can’t handle drama tonight. I hear the bitchiness coming out in my voice before I rein it in. “What is it, Andy?”

  “I need you to meet me at the bar. I want to talk to you about the Stringer account.”

  “Seriously? Can’t we just talk on the phone?”

  “No,” he says, and hangs up.

  Bastard! He better not be playing a game or I am so going to report his ass at the office. With the recent increase in the campaign budget, I could request to work with another accountant. The idea fizzles the moment it comes. They’d never switch him off the account without a very good reason. And I don’t have one, yet. I’d never report his flirting, especially after I slept with him. Being a bitch to chase him away is one thing, messing with his career is another.