Hot Damn(19)

Obviously I’m thinking too hard about it, because suddenly I realize everyone is looking at me like they’re expecting me to answer a question or respond to a comment.

“I’m sorry, what?” I brush it off with a slight laugh even while I feel my cheeks going warm. “I just spaced out there for a second.”

“Jesse here was just claiming he fixed your front door,” one of the guys says. “We didn’t know he was that handy.”

My first thought is to say something like, “It’s not really that hard,” but that would insult Jesse. I’m supposed to be his brand-new girlfriend, still high on the hormonal rush of first lusty crush.

It’s actually not that hard to pretend that’s exactly what’s going on. Especially since being this close to Jesse and having his arm around me, his hands brushing my hair, has my hormones actually doing that rush thing. So it’s also not that hard to turn my head and give him an adoring look. After all, he really did do a nice job with the door. The dead bolt has never locked so smoothly.

“He did fix my door. In fact, he brought me a brand-new one and replaced it.”

Jesse gives a self-deprecating shrug, like it was no big deal. “Well, I didn’t want any other good-looking dudes breaking in and taking you away from me.”

“Like that’ll ever happen.” It just pops out. Damn, this is feeling way too natural. I make myself look away from him and include the others in the conversation. “Anyway, it’s good to know I’ve got a solid door again. My son and I are both very grateful.”

I squeeze his hand, letting him know that part, at least, is as true as it gets. Then I notice a couple of guys giving each other looks, like something I said was funny.

Great. They’ve figured it out. They know it’s all fake. Nobody says anything, though, so I pretend I didn’t see the looks or the way at least one of the guys leans over and mutters something to his neighbor at the table, and they both shake their heads and chuckle.

Jesse seems oblivious. He tosses his napkin down on the table and stands. “If you’ll excuse me”—here he leans down and gives me a quick kiss on the top of the head—“I need to head for the men’s room for a second. Be right back.”

His hand trails along my upper back as he steps away from the table. I feel suddenly exposed with him gone, as if everyone is going to jump on me with questions. However, they apparently haven’t taken Basic Social Nosiness 101 from my sister, because no one does.

Curry, though, has returned to his earlier demeanor, or close to it, a slight sneer curling his upper lip. “So,” he says, and I can feel tension ripple all up and down the table. “You’ve got a kid?”

“Yes. He’s two. He really likes Spider-Man.”

“Cool.” He says the word like he doesn’t actually give a shit about me or my kid. What the hell is this guy’s deal, anyway? “Well, thanks for getting him out of that slump. He’s been a pain in the ass lately.”

I just blink at him. “He did just have a death in the family, or did you know?”

“Sure, I know. But he needed something to get him out of that slump before one of us threw him off a ladder truck.” He laughs, and it’s an unpleasant laugh. “Guess he just needed to get some tail.”

The guy next to Curry elbows him, but Curry keeps going. “Never thought he’d get down with a single mom, though. Didn’t think he liked kids.”

“Seriously, Curry?” another one of the guys says. He turns to me. “Just ignore him. He gets ugly when he drinks.”

I get the feeling this is a man who’s ugly when he doesn’t drink, too, but I don’t say anything. I’d like very much to take him down a peg or two, but this isn’t the time or the place. Plus Jesse has just come back. Everyone relaxes again, though there’s still some vague tension around Curry’s end of the table. I relax, too. I feel safe again, and that’s not something I’ve ever really felt around a man.

“So,” Jesse says. “What’d I miss?”

“Nothing,” I say quickly. “We were just trying to decide whether to order more wings.”

He gives me a broad wink. “The answer to that question is always yes.”

So we order more wings, and conversation continues as if Curry never spoke up at all.



By the time we leave, I’m really, really full even though all we had was appetizers. Jesse tucks his arm around me as we head out to the parking lot. I expect him to let me go as soon as we get outside, but he doesn’t. Maybe some of the guys can still see us.

“Did you have a good time?” he asks.

“Yes. I did.” It’s the truth, too. Aside from the bullshit with Curry, I enjoyed the evening.

“A little different from a comic-book meet-up, I guess,” he adds, “but I was hoping you’d enjoy yourself.”

I study his face, trying to figure out if the reference to the comic-book meet-up is meant to be a dig. But he just tucks me a little closer under his arm and kisses the top of my head again. It feels good. I still don’t understand why he’s doing it, but I don’t want him to stop.

We stop by the truck and Jesse moves to stand in front of me. He takes his arm from over my shoulders, but takes both my hands in his.

“Thanks for coming with me.”

“Sure.” I give an offhanded laugh. “You put on a pretty good show. I was starting to think maybe you were actually my boyfriend and I just forgot when we started dating.”

A corner of his mouth quirks up. “It’s not hard to pretend when I’m sitting next to you.”

A blush rises to my cheeks. I feel it so acutely, like a lightbulb right next to my face. “You don’t have to—”

“You’re beautiful, Madison.”

I don’t know how to take him. Is he for real? I remember the comment Curry made.

I try to draw back, but he doesn’t let me, his hands still firmly holding me in place. He suddenly seems impossibly close, looming over me, not threateningly, but in a way that makes me very, very aware of everything about him. His smell. His warmth. The strength in his body and the width of his shoulders. I feel like I’m melting.

“You still think I’m lying,” he says. He sounds like he’s genuinely surprised.

He’s carrying this too far, and it’s making me uncomfortable to the point where I just want to get away from him. “You don’t have to pretend, Jesse. I know I’m not anything exciting to write home about. Your friends are probably talking to each other right now about how you could do a hell of a lot better—”

He kisses me. No warning, no hesitation, just his mouth hard on mine, then softer, tasting, testing. I start to push him away, but he pulls me closer.

It’s a joke. It has to be a joke. But he’s not acting like it’s a joke. His hand slides down my back, pressing into the curve of my spine just above my hips. The other hand rises to cup my face, tipping my jaw just so, while his tongue starts to trace the seam of my lips.

God. I’m pressed full-length against his body. There are ways to know if a man is faking, and this man is not faking. I can feel his erection against my stomach, hard and long and hot.

I finally give in. I lift my own hands to his shoulders and let my mouth open under his. His tongue immediately strokes inside, teasing mine. I can taste the alcohol on him, but mostly he tastes like a needy man. I let him take my mouth, feeing my own body respond. His fingers touch the top of my ass, move down a little more, drifting into territory where I wouldn’t let just anybody touch me.

I let him. It feels good, like he wants to know every inch of me, explore it with his tongue and his fingers and anything else he can get away with. I’ve never had a man act this eager before. Not that I’ve been with many men, but even Troy, the father of my child, for God’s sake, never acted this much like he just wanted me.

His tongue slips back, and he uses the tip of it to stroke the outline of my lips. Then he kisses the tip of my nose, my closed eyelids. With his lips still touching the curve of my cheek, he says, “Still don’t believe me?”

He strokes my face, trails his fingers down my neck. I don’t know what to say. I’m not sure I could say anything even if I wanted to.





Chapter 7





Maddy




Thursday nights are my favorite nights at the comic-book store. There’s always a little get-together—not a meet-up for any specific discussion, but just a chance for a bunch of us to touch base, have some drinks, and relax. I can’t always make it, but I show up when I can. It’s one of the bright spots in my otherwise fairly humdrum life.

Christopher likes it, too. Other people bring their kids, and he gets to socialize and play. There’s one particular little girl he likes, and right now he’s chasing her around the play area. They both seem to be enjoying it.

“Are you going to the con?” Billie, the little girl’s mother, is watching the kids, too. “I’m not sure I’m going to have my cosplay ready in time.”

I glance up from the new Deadpool issue I’m checking out. “I’m not sure.” I’ve been thinking about it. It’s a cosplay-centric convention that happens every year. I’ve been in the past, but I’m just not sure I’m going to have time this year. There’s too much going on, what with work and Christopher and my parents wanting me to prove to them I’m a fit parent by not doing things like going to cosplay-centric conventions. That alone makes me want to go.