Chapter 21
Malone, whose wet hair indicated he’d also taken a shower, showed up in exactly thirty-one minutes with a bottle of wine and a box of fancy pizza from a place on the square. My subconscious had once again suggested matching underwear.
Not that Malone could see it just yet.
“You must’ve showered in two minutes flat to have accomplished all of this,” I said.
“Ah, but that’s the miracle of DoorDash—especially when you offer an excellent tip with the promise of even more upon a speedy delivery.”
Good tipper, too. Dammit. Why did he have to live in California, and why had I not met him at least ten years earlier?
“How’s your hand?” I asked as I opened the wine and poured a glass for each of us.
“Fine,” he said. “That thing with your dad really messed you up, huh?”
“You could’ve simplified that sentence to ‘your dad messed you up,’ and you would’ve been even more accurate.”
He angled his wineglass to study its contents, then turned his eyes on me. “You’re not messed up, Stark. Not any more than the rest of us.”
“But I don’t even get to punch your ex like you punched mine,” I said before sinking my teeth into the most delicious pizza ever. On focaccia bread, maybe? I was ruined for future delivery. “Not that I thought you actually would.”
“I do what I say I’ll do,” he said. “But funny you should mention my ex. I have a proposition for you.”
This had best not be a ménage à trois situation. I regretted ever putting that out in the universe.
“Another one?”
“Well, my grandfather has this gala event each summer and I have to go. My ex will probably be there.”
“Ah, so you’d like to make her jealous? I can do that.”
“The truth is I hate going by myself because it’s dreadfully dull and pretentious. Making her jealous would, however, be an excellent bonus. It’s such a production, and we all have to go and bend the knee to Grandpa or else he threatens to write us out of his will.”
I took the last bite of pizza and turned my attention back to the wine. “He’d do that?”
“In a heartbeat. Pettiest person I’ve ever met.”
I stiffened in spite of myself. He’d said “pettiest” with such disgust. What if he found out about my side hustle?
Fortunately, Malone didn’t seem to notice my reaction, a rarity, but I could tell his mind was elsewhere as he described how the gala was supposed to be a charity event but really functioned as a way for his grandfather to show off to his colleagues.
That’s when it hit me: Blake might be there, too. If he were in any way interested in an inheritance, then he would be. After emptying several personal accounts and skimming from the family business, one would think Blake would be satisfied. For some people, however, enough was never enough.
“Yoo-hoo, Earth to Stella. Are you willing to be my plus-one?”
“I don’t know. When is it?” I asked, as if a part of me hadn’t already cleared my calendar for him.
“Next Tuesday.”
I whistled at the short turnaround. “Dress?”
“I mean, I’d wear one if I were you. As much as I’m hoping to see you naked shortly, I don’t want to share with other people.”
“Cute. Is the event casual, Sunday, formal? What are we talking here?”
He scowled. “I have to wear a tux. What’s that?”
“Formal. Very formal,” I said.
His expression changed. “And that means expensive, doesn’t it? Forget I asked. I’ll suffer alone.”
“Free meal?”
“Of course. Open bar, too.”
“I’m never mad at an open bar, Malone. I’m in.”
“Even though you’ll have to dress up?” His face scrunched most adorably. I could tell he hated getting dressed up just as much as his cousin purportedly loved primping.
“Don’t worry. My nana has a bridal and formalwear shop. She’ll do layaway for me.” I winked.
“But still—”
“No, Malone. It’s been decided. I have to keep my end of the bargain and do something worse to your ex than throwing a punch.”
“You really don’t—”
“Malone?” Feeling fussy—or needing to do something with my hands—I put leftover pizza in storage bags and cleared the table of all but the wine bottle and our glasses.
“Yes?”
“Accept the help.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
My fingers tapped on the tabletop. It was now or never. “So.”
“So?”
Why was this so awkward? It wasn’t the pizza. We’d had pizza last time, and I hadn’t been thinking about my breath then.
Once I sat back down at the table, I took another sip of wine. Maybe the alcohol would neutralize any garlicky breath problems. “It feels weird to slide into the benefits portion of the evening without any questions to ask you.”
“Kinky, Stark.”
“Oh, you know what I mean!”
“Ask me some questions, then. My safe word is ‘banana pepper.’”
“Now who’s being kinky?”
“Don’t kink shame, Miss Anchovies,” he said.
“Fine. What,” I asked in the same tone of voice as the character from Monty Python and the Holy Grail, “is your favorite color?”
“Whatever color your bra is.”
“So, purple. That’s interesting.”
“I love purple,” he said. “I must look at all things that are purple. It’s a rule.”
“A rule you just made up. How about you start the stripping this time?”
He slid his chair back from the table and placed Brené Brown on the floor so quickly, the poor kitten was confused. Possibly dizzy.
Then he stood and whipped off his shirt. It was my turn to look a little dizzy. I stood and rounded the table to stand in front of him, finally tracing the words that ran around his bicep. I read aloud, “Things are only impossible until . . .”
“They’re not,” Malone finished.
I sucked in a breath. “That’s beautiful. Who said it?”
He sighed. “I’m trying to get laid here, Stark.”
My eyes locked with his. “I’ve had daydreams about tracing that tattoo. With my tongue.”
“Jean-Luc Picard.”
Despite my best efforts, the corners of my lips threatened to twitch upward. His father wasn’t the only Trekkie in the family.
“I answered your question,” he said as he crossed his arms. “I now need to see your bra. Because it is purple.”
I took off my black T-shirt to reveal a royal-purple satin bra.
“Ooh, front hook.” He reached for the clasp, and I smacked his hand.
“You take off yours . . . I’ll take off mine.”
His sweatpants pooled on the floor so quickly, I wasn’t sure what to do with myself. Another point in favor of sweatpants. And Adidas slides, since he’d stepped right out of those before pantsing himself. My eyes locked in on his boxers, once again tented.
“Your turn, Stark,” he said.
I forced my eyes back up to his and kicked off my wedge flip-flops before unbuttoning my denim shorts and unzipping them slowly. One hip shimmy, and they were on the floor.
Malone swallowed hard. “Is that a thong?”
I did a slow three-sixty.
“Yep, that’s a thong,” he said. “And that is a stellar ass.”
He took a step toward me, and I sucked in a breath.
The next thing I knew, he’d picked me up and plopped me on my kitchen table.
He stood between my legs, pulling me toward him so our bodies met where we were most sensitive.
I only had time to gasp before his lips met mine.
My legs wrapped around him of their own accord, and the end result was a delicious friction courtesy of his erection.
Cool air hit my breasts. A light buzzing sound made me look around for ladybugs.
That sound had to be in my head.
No, definitely my apartment.
“Malone, stop,” I said, shuddering as he freed my hair from its messy bun and turned his attention to my breasts.
He paused.
Just as I thought I might have imagined the whole thing after all, the buzzing began again.
“It’s my phone,” he said. “And I don’t want to talk to anyone right now. Not a soul.”
Our lips and tongues met again, our hands frantically exploring each other’s bodies.
The buzzing resumed.
We ignored it.
More buzzing returned.
“Anchovies,” I said with a deep sigh. “At least make sure it’s not an emergency.”
Letting loose with a creative series of curse words, he squatted and fished through the tangle of his sweatpants until he freed his phone. One look at the person who’d been calling him—and texting him, from the looks of it—and his face drained of all color.
After adding a few more colorful words to his repertoire, he looked up at me, then at the phone, then back at me, his expression one of agony.
“You have to take it, don’t you?” I asked, now feeling awkward with my legs dangling.
“I don’t want to,” he said as he stood.
“But you have to.”
“What I want to do is push that thong to the side and bury myself in you, but I’ll be damned if the first time I have sex with you is a hit-and-run,” he said as he shoved his legs into his pants.
“You touch yourself and think fond thoughts of me because I will be back. I can’t guarantee it’s tonight because a catastrophe of epic proportions has just happened on the work front, but .
. . it will happen. I promise you that.”
He pulled me close for a rough and hungry kiss, gave a groan of frustration, and then practically ran out the door. I heard his apartment door open and close, open and close before the Lexus started and departed with a squeal of tires.
Just call me Little All Undressed Up with No Place to Go.
Normally, I didn’t like being told what to do, but Malone’s suggestion had some merit.