Chapter 6 - Good Deed.
Am I playing a dangerous game? Yes, yes, I am, but I’m only doing this because I feel guilty for the way I treated him when we first met, not because I like him. Pinky promise.
Don’t get me wrong, he’s ridiculously handsome: strong jaw line, over six feet tall with dark wavy hair, and the whole five o’clock shadow thing going on. From the way his shirt clings to each muscle on his arms, he one hundred percent has a well-used gym membership card. Yep, he’s what my sister would describe as a “hot book-boyfriend.”
He’s a distraction in every way, shape, and form. When he asked me in the café earlier if I’d help him out one more time, well, I kind of jumped at the chance. A little too quick for my liking …but I figured us meeting in my piano lesson room would help me bat off those distractions and wandering thoughts. I thought it might ground me and remind me of the reason I came to New York.
I’m not stupid, I know how easy it would be to fall into his trap. I’d tumble into his bed without a care in the world, probably more than once. Get lost in his world. Then when he’s had his fill and I’ve served my purpose, I’ll be left a blubbering mess. Yeah, what this is, is a simple good deed and a clearing of my guilt. That’s all.
“Speech time!” I exclaim.
“Yeaaaaaah, I haven’t even started yet.”
“Shocker,” I mock, placing my hand over my heart.
He shows me his dimpled smile, and I melt. “Ha. Ha. Ha. Ain’t you funny. I have no idea where to start, I just don’t want to fuck it up.” His shoulders sag as he wrings his hands in his lap.
For a split second, he loses that manly charm and looks like a young boy with the entire world on his shoulders. My chest tightens, and I absentmindedly rub his back with my free hand. He’s stiff at first but relaxes under my touch. Racking my brain, I haven’t the first clue how to write a speech. Why did I agree to even help? Idiot.
A throat clearing startles us. I spin to Mr. Donovan standing in the doorway. His hands are braced on his hips and one eyebrow is raised while he taps his foot. Who the fuck wears a bright-green and orange vest.
“Miss Jones,” he grumbles.
“You know this guy.” Colton gestures toward him. Unfortunately.
My cheeks heat and I nod. “Mr. Donovan, meet … my, uhhh.” I pause while pointing at Colton. Fuck, do I say brother, boyfriend. “Colton Shaw, my friend, Colton, this is Mr.
Theodore Donovan, my piano teacher.”
He laughs out loud while looking directly at Mr. D. Great, thanks for that, Colton.
“Sweet.” Colton nods. Before he continues, I grab his hand and pull him up from the piano bench. “We were just leaving, I will see you tomorrow, sir,” I say. I hate calling him sir, but he loves it, so if it gets me out of whatever berating I will get tomorrow morning, so be it. We rush—well, I’m rushing while dragging Colton behind me—down the halls. I stop to catch my breath when we are clear of my lessons room. Colton isn’t out of breath and looks perfectly divine, especially since he’s smiling down at me. “Three things,” he says, holding up three fingers.
“One, were we allowed to be in there? Two, why are you dying from jogging twenty steps, and three—” He laughs. “What the fuck is that vest he is wearing.”
I burst out laughing, holding my ribs like they might break if I carry on. My cheeks hurt as I try to answer his questions.
“Yes, I am and you, hard no. I hate the gym but love burgers, and that’s not the worst vest I’ve seen him in.” I fire out between giggles.
Throwing his head back, he laughs, then grabs my hand and pulls me toward the exit.
******
Where the hell are we going? I wonder as Colton whistles for a cab. The sun is drifting away as the night sky takes over. The temperature has dropped slightly, and I rub my arms to try and rid me of the goose bumps that have scattered along my skin.
As if he hears my thoughts, he says, “We`re off to Joe’s Café. He makes the best burgers in New York, and I still need your help.” I want to decline, but I have to admit I’m enjoying the company; it feels like forever since I really laughed, and Colton has this natural ability of doing just that. Then there’s the fact I haven’t set out and explored the new city I live in. So, maybe having a friend like Colton will be a good thing.
Friends with benefits … No, God no. What am I thinking?
“I’m sorry, Colton, but I should probably be getting home. I need an early night, and Mr. Bright Vests in there will kick me out of class if I’m late, again.” I give him a lopsided smile while pulling the strap of my bag farther up my shoulder.
Biting the inside of his cheek, he seems deep in thought. I was going to ask if he heard me, but then he pipes up, “Take my number down so we can arrange a burger night, then?”
He doesn’t wait for me to respond and opens one side of his suit jacket, then pulls out a mini pencil and notepad. I grin widely. That’s fucking adorable.
He clears his throat. “I usually get an epiphany when I’m in the middle of a meeting, and that’s never the best time to have one. Anyway, it ends up with me panicking that I might not remember that ‘big thing’ by the time I get back to my office so”—he waves the mini pencil and pad in the air— “emergencies and brainstorming, like your dream thing, I guess.” He winks at me.
Rolling my lips in a tight line, he jots down his number onto the pad while muttering that I’m the first girl he’s ever done this with and usually it’s the other way around. I can’t help but laugh at him. I doubt what he’s saying about me being the first is true, nevertheless, it’s bizarrely nice to hear it at the same time.
“Call me,” he says as he delicately rips the paper from the pad and hands it to me, then places his pencil and pad back into his inside pocket. We step toward each other, then lock gazes. My heart feels like it’s trying to escape through my mouth, and I gulp. Everything about myself and the air around me feels like it’s intensifying. I run my hands up his chest—bold thing for me. Yet this feels like the most natural and normal thing to do. He watches my hands move higher while his are still stuffed into his pockets. I tip my head a little further to kiss him on the cheek, but as my lips are going to peck his dimple, he whips his head to the side and smashes his lips into mine.
I stand frozen for a second, dizzy from each passing millisecond he’s on me. In those few seconds, I am unable to react. He’s captured each of my senses all at once, and his scent of fresh pines and jasmine invades my nose. His groans drown out the city around us. Those lips of his: plump, smooth, and sweet. One of his hands has a firm grip on the back of my neck, tilting my head to his preferred position, while the other pulls my body flush to his. I want him back. Desperate for him, for more. Gone are any thoughts I previously had; I couldn’t stop this from happening even if I wanted to.
My heart beats erratically as a moan bubbles in the back of my throat. His kisses are soft but unrelenting. Opening my mouth slightly for more, he wastes no time fighting with my tongue for dominance. Panting for air, I gently pull at his hair, forcing him to stop. Our chests rise and fall in quick succession, and he stares into my eyes, turning my legs to jelly. If it weren’t for his hold on me, I’d struggle to keep myself upright.
“Are you okay, darling?”
I nod. “Yeah, that was …”
“Hot,” he adds while gliding his thumb over my lower lip.
“Mm-hm, that wasn’t what I was expecting to happen to me when I left my apartment this morning.”
Without breaking eye contact or removing his hand from my cheek, he smiles. “But still hot though.”
“Yes.” I giggle, moving my head to his chest and wrapping my arms around his body.
“That was hot.”