Chris shifts back and forth a bit, considering.
I go for the kill. “And you like to play games. C’mon, you’re a gamer, Chris. This is the ultimate game. Come on my show and play my game and let’s see if you can win.”
“Oh, those are fighting words that cut straight to my competitive heart.”
“Good. I knew I could hook you that way.”
“So you want me to be your pretend boy toy for the sake of making a point?”
“Dude, I totally want to make a point with you.”
“Now it does sound like you’re talking dirty to me.”
I quirk up my lips and I’m not sure what comes over me, but maybe it’s the fact that I’ve already had his hands on me, his mouth on me, that in my fantasies he knows what I taste like. So I say, “Maybe I am.”
Chris rises and switches sides, sliding into the booth next to me. My heart leaps into my throat. My belly does a flip flop, and I am warm all over. Wait, make that white-hot when he fingers a strand of my long hair, playing with it. Does he have any idea what he does to me? Can he tell that I want to be tangled up in his arms? That I want to him to move me under him, to slide inside me, to lay his hot body on mine as he takes me? “You know, if I’m going to be a candidate, I think it’s only fitting, don’t you think, for me to kiss you?”
“You mean to sort of test the waters?”
“Make sure we’re a good fit.”
“So this would be like a business partner kiss?”
“Since we’re in business together, yes.”
“Then this would be a business kiss.”
“All business.”
“Okay, Chris. You may business kiss me now.”
His hand finds its way to the back of my neck and the feeling of his firm hand on me makes me shudder. I close my eyes reflexively, letting myself feel that little zing that rushes from my belly down to my toes and back up again, as he leans into me, his soft lips brushing mine, his hand still gently resting on my neck, his fingers playing with my hair. It’s not a long kiss, just a few seconds, but enough time for me to notice his lips are soft and full, his breath tastes fresh, and that even a even a starter kiss from him feels a bit like magic and music and falling all in one. He pulls away slowly, his lips taking their time leaving mine.
It’s better than all my fantasies. It’s ten million times better. Because it’s real, and it’s tangible, and it’s happening, and he’s touched me, and I want so much more. I want him. All of him.
I am an open book now – my lips parted slightly, hoping for more, my shoulders rising and falling. My eyes telling the truth, I am sure. He has to know. He has to know this is more with him. That this can be everything.
As he breaks the kiss, the look on his face says he liked it, and he wants so much more. I recognize the look, because I’m sure I’m his mirror image right now.
Plus, now I can date Chris.
Chapter Eleven
“She’s been fed and she had an afternoon walk, but if you can take her out for twenty minutes when you stop by, that would be great.”
I gather my purse and keys as I finish up the instructions with Ms. Pac-Man’s regular dog-sitter/dog walker/dog trainer. I hired Wednesday Logan when we adopted Ms. Pac-Man and I’m also the one who attended every dog training session and implemented the instructions. But who’s counting? Oh, wait. I am.
“Can you be sure to leave an invoice for me on the kitchen table?” I add as we chat on the phone. “I left cash for you already, but if you can leave an invoice that would be great.”
“Absolutely,” Wednesday says. “I can’t wait to see Ms. Pac-Man again.”
“And don’t forget if you run into Michelangelo, stay far away.”
“The horny pug, right?”
“Yep. She growls at him every time. But it’s totally his fault. He tried to hump her once and she’s not into that.”
“Of course not. She’s a lady dog.”
“Exactly.”
I end the call and meet Hayden to catch a bus to Fillmore, since Julia has decided we need a Girls Night Out and we’re meeting her at the Tiki Bar, a loungy-bar with tapas and big, fiery drinks. She said the place is usually packed with young, hot men in their early twenties.
I’m wearing my new V-neck Macbeth shirt, a short flowy skirt, and a pair of red heels with a buckle strap. The whole ensemble can be had for under $100 and I shared the shopping details with my viewers last week. Our stop is a few blocks away from The Tiki Bar, so we get off the bus and walk the rest of the way. My phone chirps from my purse and I answer it.
“Hey, it’s Chris.”
“Hey there. What’s going on?”
Hayden instantly looks back at me. She might as well have boy radar. She can glean within nanoseconds when you’re talking to a guy. Well, any good girlfriend can. It’s in our DNA. It’s a requirement.
“So I guess if we’re really going to be partners in crime, I need to send you a photo to post, huh?”
“Of course. You have to play by the rules.”
We cross the street, Hayden deliberately staying two steps ahead. This pace is part of our DNA too; we are genetically programmed to give a fellow girlfriend the two-step spread during guy calls.
“Rules. I do well with rules,” he says, and his voice is super flirty, and it makes me feel melty.
I adopt a sharp but playful tone. “The rule then is you need to send a picture soon. I announced yesterday on the show that I am posting pictures tomorrow night for voting.”
“Oooh, giving me orders already. I like that. Makes me feel like a boy toy.”
“Better watch out, Chris. Soon, I may be asking you to arrive at my house and pretend to be the pool boy.”
“I could totally do a cabana boy look for you.”
“If I had horses you could be a stable boy.”
“Giddy up.”
I laugh, and so does he, and the sexy banter makes me feel, for a moment, as if Todd might not be the last word in my life when it comes to men. Then I tell myself to settle down. We’ve only had one kiss, and besides, this is all just a game.
He’s a gamer, and his competitive instincts are firing on all cylinders. That’s all this is.
I see the Tiki Bar just ahead. The code dictates you must complete all phone calls to guys before entering the appointed location for a girls’ night out. Phone conversations are only permitted in the window of time immediately before entering the establishment, and phone loitering is specifically forbidden.