Ten #3
“What?” He came around the corner, half-naked, all those rippling muscles on display, the sculpted chest and the washboard abs.
His jeans rode low on his tapered hips, top button open to reveal the white of the briefs underneath.
He should have been on a billboard somewhere; the man was that mouthwatering.
His smile as soon as he saw everyone was huge.
“Oh, hey,” he said, chuckling, pointing back to the bedroom. “Just gimme a sec.”
It took an excruciatingly long time for him to find a T-shirt, because the silence was oppressive. Jeff was downright glaring at me, and Donna just looked like she was going to burst into laughter at any second. Christine had her arms crossed over her chest, clearly unhappy.
“Hey, sorry,” Sam said as he came back into the room. He walked to my side and put a hand on my shoulder. “What’s up?”
“Dinner,” I told him, turning to look up into his face. “You told Christine—”
“No, he told Jeff,” Christine corrected me, smiling at Sam, moving to stand a little closer to him.
“Oh,” I murmured, stepping away from Sam so his hand dropped off of me. “Sorry. You told Jeff that tonight would be good for dinner. Did you remember to pick up wine and salad on your way home?”
His grin was just out of control, flirtatious and evil at the same time. “You’re pissed.”
“What?”
“You are.” His eyes were sparkling as he turned from me to Jeff. “I’m sorry, man, I completely forgot about this. With all the shi—stuff going on at work, I just spaced it. Can we reschedule?”
“Christine made her specialty,” I informed him. “It’s on the stove.”
“Oh.” He nodded. “Okay. Well then, I can run and get something now if you guys aren’t in a big hurry.”
“No, we’re not in any hurry.” Jeff smiled at him. “I’ll go with ya.”
“No, no. It’s freezin’ outside, man. Stay here and I’ll just run over to the Jewel. You guys want, like, antipasto and some Chianti?”
“Sounds great,” Christine said gently. “I can make the run with you. I don’t want you to go alone.”
He turned and looked at me. I shrugged before I said, “It’s veal.” And tilted my head to the side with a snap of my neck. I knew the attitude was just dripping off of me, but I didn’t care.
“Veal?” I saw his jaw muscles flex. Apparently, he didn’t like to eat babies either.
“Mm-hmm,” I replied cheerfully.
“Huh, okay.” He clipped the words, turning back to Christine. “Okay, let’s go.”
I was left alone with Jeff and Donna, who immediately sort of closed ranks and started talking in low whispers.
It was really very rude, and even when I offered them each something to drink, they just declined and went back to talking.
Instead of standing there getting mad, I walked around the apartment I’d still not really explored.
Sam lived in Lincoln Park, and his apartment was on the fifth floor and had one of those cool old elevators that you had to close two metal grate doors to get going.
The apartment itself was very cozy, lots of brown, tan, taupe, black, and rust colors everywhere.
The black leather couch and chair, Navajo-print rug, cherrywood coffee table, and butcher-block kitchen table with tall straight-backed chairs flanking it caught the eye immediately. It was a clean, clutter-free space.
In his bedroom there was a sleigh bed in cherry and matching armoire, a leather weave rug, and a down comforter.
Paintings of the desert adorned the walls, and there was nothing decorative, nothing unnecessary—no knickknacks or little dishes to hold stuff like a watch or a ring—anywhere in his place.
His home exuded a masculine vibe without details like candles or scattered pieces of art.
In the second bedroom were his computer, weights, and a daybed covered in brick and burnt orange colored pillows.
In the living room the TV, DVD player, PlayStation, and stereo were all housed in a huge cherrywood entertainment center that was flush against the wall.
There were assorted shelves on the walls beside it, and I walked over to those and looked at the faces of strangers who were all apparently dear to him.
I gazed at a wedding picture, another of some men at a firehouse, a black-and-white studio picture of his parents—his mother a vision, his father very dashing—more wedding photos, and one of him and all his buddies from his days spent in the Marine Corps.
There were a lot of framed shots, and I found that I liked that there were all these people in his life who loved him.
“So, Jory, how do you know Sam?” Jeff asked, walking over to me.
I looked up at him. “We go way back,” I lied.
“How far back can you go?” Donna winked at me, stepping around the other side of me. “What are you, all of eighteen?”
“Twenty-two,” I corrected her.
“Oooh, that’s ancient,” she teased me.
I looked at her. “Why? How old are you?”
“Sacrilege.” She laughed.
I liked her. “You want a drink now that we’re gonna be friends?”
“I would love one,” she said with a sigh, looking me up and down. “What happened to your eye?”
“I walked into a door.”
“I see.” She nodded, clearly not believing a word of it. “What do you do for a living, Jory?”
“I’m an office assistant.”
“Really. You don’t model?”
I scoffed.
She gave me a knowing smile. “Darling, with your skin and those big dark eyes and that body, you could model. I work for Liberty Magazine. Believe me, I know what I’m talking about.” She stepped forward, brushing my hair back from my face. “How do you get blond hair and brown eyes? That’s amazing.”
“Hey, we’re home,” Sam announced as he came through the door. I turned and looked at him. I was so happy he was back.
“What?” he asked, glancing at Donna, his brows furrowing. The look suggested he was annoyed.
“Sam, you should tell your friend over here to let me introduce him to some photographers I know. I think he could model if he wanted.”
“Oh yeah?” The smile came instantly as he dropped the salad and wine on the couch and strode over to me, close, in my space. His fingers slid under my chin as he raised it to look down into my eyes. “You wanna do that, J?”
I trembled under his touch and stopped breathing.
“No?” He was speaking to Donna, but his eyes never left my face. “He’s not really model material.”
“Oh? Why not?”
“’Cause I said so.”
“And you’re the boss of him, are you?”
He looked back down into my eyes and dragged his fingers up my throat to my jaw.
“Yep. He’s mine.”
Which basically ended any plans Christine Montero had for her and Sam Kage.
“What would possess you to say that?” I asked him fifteen minutes later as we stood in the kitchen with salad and Chianti, the veal having left with Christine.
“Say what?”
“Are you kidding? You basically outed yourself in front of those people.”
“Why do you care?”
“Because clearly, you’re bi.”
“I don’t know about that.”
I shook my head at him.
He shrugged broad shoulders. “So what if I am?”
I was floored.
“Why’re you lookin’ at me like that?”
“You’re amazing.”
The smile was wicked and brought out his dimples. “Thanks.”
“It’s not a compliment,” I clarified for him.
He laughed at me, and I realized how much he was enjoying this.
I hoped my scowl was as dark as I was trying for. “And it was a really crappy thing to do to Christine.”
“What are you talking about?”
“She liked you, idiot.”
He shook his head, putting antipasti on two plates. I was sitting on the counter watching him, the bottle of wine between my legs, trying to work the opener.
“You’re crazy.” He smiled at me, his eyes firing, the laugh lines deepening.
“C’mon, Detective, did you see how upset she was? She is totally pissed off, my friend.”
“Whatever.”
“And Jeff. I hope he’s not, like, a good friend or anything.”
“He’s not.”
“Good.”
“Why do you care?”
“I don’t, that was just harsh is all.”
“What was?”
“That for whatever reason, Jeff thought you wanted to meet his sister. What did you say to him?”
“I have no idea.”
“When did you set this dinner date up?”
“Again, no clue.”
“And do you regularly eat veal?” I asked, the disgust clear in my voice.
“No, never.”
“Huh, so Jeff’s over here and—”
“Talking about her, I guess.”
“And you said what? Yeah, cool, bring her on by?”
He chuckled deeply. “Seriously, I couldn’t recount our conversation if my life depended on it.”
“Oh?”
He smiled at me wickedly. “You’re jealous, and I’m diggin’ it.”
“I am not jealous.”
“Oh no?”
“No.”
“I see.” He continued to smile as he took the bottle from me and easily pulled out the cork. He stepped between my legs. “So you weren’t completely bent out of shape that she was here?”
“I thought you didn’t realize she liked you.”
“I didn’t, but you did, so I’m thinking you were rattled.”
“As if.”
He put his hands down on either side of me and looked at me hard. “Really?”
I was lost in his smoky-blue eyes, so I sighed deeply and came clean. “Of course I was jealous, you moron. Why wouldn’t I be?”