Chapter 2 #2
“Okay, really quickly,” he says. “I’ve created a link to your new backup system right here. I updated your antivirus protection and did a thorough cleaning of the keyboard. You’ll want to watch out for this X key, though. It’s still a little sticky.”
I nod. “I’ll try not to type too many words with an X in them.” The second I say that, I think of half a dozen.
Excite.
X-rated.
Fixate.
Sex.
Climax.
Xenorotica.
He looks up at me then, and I could swear the same words just flitted through his mind. There’s a knowing expression in those brown eyes, and I’m positive he read the list. He had to, right?
Or maybe I imagined the look, because he’s back to pointing out some feature he updated on the laptop. Something about RAM or ROM or whatever. I can’t hear anything he’s saying over the voice in my head chanting, “Did he read it? Did he not read it?”
He turns and asks if what he just showed me makes sense, and I nod like a dummy. For all I know he just gave me a recipe for snickerdoodles or told me where Jimmy Hoffa is buried. I have no clue. He holds my gaze, and I try to blink away the panic.
I can’t take it anymore.
I have to defuse the tension or I’ll explode.
I finally blurt it out. “Look, Simon—I’m feeling a little flustered because I know you saw The List on my monitor when I dropped off the computer, and it’s really nice of you to pretend you didn’t see it, but obviously, you did, and I feel like I should explain that it’s probably not what you think it is. ”
I drag in a deep breath to wash down that big mouthful of crazy.
He looks up from the laptop then, a bemused expression in those light brown eyes. “What do I think it is?”
He quirks an eyebrow at me, and I wonder if I’m sharing way too much. He sounds genuinely intrigued, and I feel my cheeks heating up. Did I just make an ass of myself? Certainly not the first time.
I take a deep breath, determined to just get this out so I can stop feeling so damn awkward. “You probably think it’s some sort of Fucket list.”
“Fucket list?”
“Right. Like a sexual bucket list. Things I plan to do before I’m thirty or something like that. But that isn’t what this is.”
There’s a spark of curiosity in his expression. His fingers, long and strong and perfectly shaped, tap the keyboard. I order myself to stop staring.
“If it’s not a Fucket List,” he says, “What is it?”
I take a deep breath and squinch my eyes closed, knowing the words that are about to come out of my mouth will make me sound like I’m hiding eighteen cats in my bedroom. “Over the years, I may have told my sisters a story or two about the wild and crazy sex things I’ve done.”
“So, these are things you’ve already done?”
There’s no judgment in his voice, but there’s a note of confusion. My eyes pop open, and I find myself shaking my head. “No, that’s not what I meant. I meant I made all this stuff up.”
“All of it?”
“I know it sounds stupid, but I wanted them to think I’m this crazy, uninhibited wild girl. Which I’m not.”
I watch his face, looking for signs he might think he needs a restraining order.
I see no hint he’s worried for my sanity.
Just a slow, sexy smile that makes my stomach feel like a phreatic eruption in the magma chamber of a shield volcano. Still, he says nothing, and I feel myself rushing to fill the silence.
“Anyway, I just didn’t want you to think I’m the sort of woman who goes around making lists of sexual exploits. Even fake ones.”
“Exploits,” he repeats, then grins at me. “There’s a word you’ll have trouble typing without an X.”
I laugh in spite of myself. I was right, dammit. The tension’s gone now, or at least the awkward kind is. Nothing like pointing out the elephant in the room to help everyone relax.
Another word I won’t be able to type without an X.
“Right,” I say, clearing my throat. “So anyway, I just didn’t want you to get the wrong idea about me.”
“I see.” He folds my laptop cover closed, still regarding me with humor in his eyes. “But you don’t really want to do all those things on The List.”
That grin disarms me, and I appreciate that he’s not even pretending he didn’t read the list. Who wouldn’t?
If someone handed me a computer with the words “Super awesome wild-ass (holy shit they’re gonna kill me) sex stuff to figure out before D-day” emblazoned in twenty-point font across the top of the page, damn straight I’d read it. I’m only human.
And so is Simon whatshisname, if the heat radiating from his body is any indication. His shoulder is touching mine, and I’m aware of just how hard he is everywhere—how amazing he smells. Like Jory soil and clover in the sunshine, which I swear is much more awesome than it sounds.
I remember he’s asked a question, though I’ve forgotten what it was.
Oh, right. Whether I really want to do all the things on The List.
“Right,” I say at last. “I guess I can’t pretend someone else came up with all the ideas?”
“You could, I suppose.” He grins. “I might not believe you, though.”
“True.” I clear my throat. “So maybe it’s just the product of an active imagination.”
“You have an excellent imagination.”
“Thank you.”
Note to self: get out more. I literally can’t tell if this hot guy is flirting with me or if it’s all in my head.
Just like before, the uncertainty has me ready to spew awkward word vomit.
Things like my phone number or bra size or favorite sex position, which would definitely cue the need for a restraining order.
I manage to keep my mouth shut this time and wait for him to say something else, but he just smiles at me. It feels hot in here, and I contemplate taking off my sweatshirt. Would he take it as an invitation?
Would I want him to?
I shift on the sofa, bumping his knee with mine.
His hand shoots out as though to steady me, which is totally unnecessary, but it feels good on my thigh anyway.
A hot guy is sitting on my couch, possibly flirting with me, and doesn’t seem freaked out by a crazy woman in sweatpants making a list of fake sex stories.
Even weirder, he seems like he’s still waiting for an answer.
Like he really wants to know if I like the idea of doing those things on the list.
“Maybe.” I swallow. “Maybe some of them.”
I can’t believe I’ve just said this out loud. It is hands down the boldest thing I’ve said in my entire life. I might throw up. I might throw up in front of a man so stupid-sexy he makes Ryan Gosling look like the Elephant Man.
This is not happening.
“In that case,” he says slowly, “I’d like to volunteer.”
“Volunteer?” My question comes out like a croak, which I’m sure he finds about as sexy as pocket lint.
“I’d like to help you out,” he says. “With item number four, to be precise.”
Item number four? I fumble back through my wine-tinged memories to recall which act I’d put in that spot on my list. It hits me with the force of a dick-slap on the cheek.
“Sex with an anonymous stranger!” I blurt.
“Well, I believe the way you wrote it was, ‘Crazyhawt sex with a dark-haired, anonymous stranger with great abs.’” He grins again, and it takes everything I have to keep from nodding stupidly.
Before I can say anything, he lifts the edge of his T-shirt to show a perfect washboard stomach. Holy shit, the man is ripped. I’d pegged him as more of a computer geek than a gym rat, but apparently the two can coexist. I open my mouth to say something, but close it fast so I don’t drool.
“So maybe I’d suffice.” He drops the hem of his shirt, and I feel my cheeks getting warm. Warmer. Christ, it’s at least two hundred degrees in here, and I’m pretty sure Hottie McGeekerson has something to do with that.
I feel myself melting into the sofa, but I don’t want him to know this. I take my best stab at bravado, straightening my spine and adopting what I hope is a look of perfect nonchalance. “What makes you think I’m even attracted to you?”
He laughs like this is the funniest thing he’s heard all week, which it just might be. I expect him to say something cocky and dickheadish that will totally kill the fantasy going on in my head right now.
Instead, he does the opposite. He leans in and kisses me.