32. Monster-Size
MONSTER-SIZE
Wesley
I wake up to a note from my dad blinking at me on my phone.
Dad: What’s the verdict? Lunch today? We can go to a new bowl place by the Marina. And I’ve been thinking, if Frieda’s artwork isn’t your style, I can take you shopping for…something else for the walls. Before your session with Domingo this afternoon
.
As I drag a hand through my bedhead hair, I snort a laugh—the dude is relentless, but I guess I did say I’d connect with him today.
Josie rustles. Shit, I didn’t want to wake her. She turns to me, eyes fluttering open, question marks in them.
I waggle the phone. “It’s my dad. I think he acknowledged that Frieda’s art is horrifying. But of course it’s wrapped around reminders of what he wants me to do today.”
“Sounds like a new version of a sandwich compliment—a sandwich admission,” she says sleepily, then stretches.
Damn, she looks good in my bed, her hair fanning out on the pillow, her cheeks flush.
“That’s him for you,” I say, debating whether to reply to my dad right now or not.
“You and he have a complicated relationship,” she says, an observation rather than a question.
“We do. He’s intense. A little controlling,” I say in an obvious understatement. But she’s seen the fridge, she knows my schedule, and she’s aware I work out after games, too, and that Dad hired a personal coach for me as well. “He wants the best for me though. Always has.”
“That probably makes it even more complicated,” she says, with a sympathetic smile.
“Yeah. It really does. He’s a great agent though. The deals he’s landed for me have been top-notch. Both with the teams and endorsements.”
“Maybe because you’re a great player.”
I glance over at her, all soft and morning sexy. “Maybe,” I say absently, then what the fuck? Why the hell am I talking about my agent-slash-dad while I’m in bed with this woman? I toss the phone on the nightstand, far away, then slink a hand around her stomach. “Play hooky with me today.”
“What?” She asks it like she’s never heard of the concept.
I pinch her side. “Did you ever skip class?”
Her jaw drops. She swats my chest. “Wesley Bryant!”
I laugh. “Is that a no?”
She narrows her brow at me, all stern. Librarian stern, come to think of it. And I don’t mind. “Of course I never skipped a class. Why would I?”
“To have fun,” I counter with a smirk.
She lifts her chin primly. “Class is fun.”
This woman. She’s the total opposite of me, yet that doesn’t seem to matter. I drop a kiss to her nose. “You’re such a hot nerd.”
Narrowing her eyes, she growls at me. “And you’re such a sensitive jock. So there.”
“Then you should understand why I need to play hooky with you. It will help my sensitive side,” I say, laying it on thick.
She rolls her eyes. “Right. Sure.” She takes a beat. “Also, I don’t have work today, so there’s no hooky to play.”
“But I bet you were going to do errands, or read a book, or research something. So play hooky from that.” I refuse to give up.
She winces. “I signed up for a walking tour of the Marina this morning. With a local city guides group.”
Damn. That means she’s taking off soon, even though I’m intrigued. “That sounds like fun actually.”
“See? This is why I don’t play hooky. Because other things are fun.”
“When is it? The tour?”
She peers at the digital clock on my nightstand. “In an hour and a half.”
I could offer to tag along, but the thing is…I’d rather have her to myself. I go in for the kill. I nuzzle her neck, grazing my mouth along her skin up to her ear. “I bet I can convince you to skip it.”
With a hitch in her breath, she asks, “How would you convince me?”
Another kiss. Then, a flick of my tongue against her ear while my hand coasts down her stomach. “Let me fuck you again and then take you out for that second date instead.”
She stops squirming. Something I can’t quite read flickers in her blue eyes. A question perhaps? She parts her lips, like she’s going to ask me something after all. But she must think the better of it since she says, “Let me brush my teeth first.”
“I’ll do the same.”
A minute later, our minty-fresh mouths meet and I pull her on top of me, kissing her as the morning light streams through the windows, running my palms along her sun-kissed skin. As she melts into my touch, I slide a hand up her breasts, over her chest to her neck.
She loves when I touch her there. I don’t press too hard. But I do curl my palm around her throat gently and hold her close as I cover her mouth with mine.
It’s the kind of slow, sultry kiss that has her moaning, arching, asking. Then, I fuck my roommate, and I don’t think once about the things or the people I’m avoiding.
Why would I? I’ve convinced my roomie to go on that long-awaited second date with me.
This is winning.
* * *
An hour or so later, I do write back, telling my dad I’m hanging with a friend today, but I won’t miss my training session with Domingo this afternoon. It’s one thing to skip lunch with Dad; it’s another to blow off a trainer. That’s just rude.
But I do feel a little rebellious—in a good way, and in a necessary way too—as I send that note. Maybe that’s why I never confirmed lunch plans with him last night. Maybe I knew on some level I was going to have other plans for today. Plans with her.
I tuck the phone in my jeans pocket and head down the hall with Josie. When we reach the foyer, that inquisitive look from earlier returns to her face—the one that says she wants to ask something. Or maybe she’s working her way up to it.
“Wes,” she begins, as I grab the car keys from the table.
“Yes?”
But she shakes her head, walking toward the stairs to the garage. “It’s nothing.”
Nope. It’s not nothing. It’s never nothing. “Josie,” I say, my tone firm. I’m not worried, but I do want to know what’s on her mind. “What’s going on?”
She stops in her tracks before she goes down the stairs. She turns around, resolute now. “You said this was a date. Right?”
A knot of tension forms in my gut. I’d thought it was crystal clear I was asking her out. “Well, yeah.”
“But…” She lifts her hand, waves it toward the home. “What about the roomie rule?”
“We broke that, didn’t we?” I ask wryly, but it doesn’t quite land as a joke because she’s not only referring to sex.
We both know this thing with us isn’t just about what happens between the sheets.
I clear my throat, giving her the gravity she deserves.
“Are you asking what it means that I’m taking my roommate on a date? ”
She shrugs, smiling, looking uncomfortable. “What do we do in public? Like if someone sees? You’re not exactly nobody.”
Oh. I hadn’t thought about that. It barely occurs to me, though it probably should.
I do get recognized from time to time. I am a public figure.
And roomies or not, I’m still working with her brother, but I don’t think either one of us wants to deal with whatever that means now.
Heaving a sigh, I think this through. “I’m not sure I know the right answer.
For now, maybe it’s best if we”—I stop and gesture from her to me—“keep this between us?”
She freezes.
And I’ve said the exact wrong thing. I’d better fix it, stat. I step closer, reach for her hand. “I don’t mean a dirty secret like an affair. I just mean let’s keep it between us…as we figure it out.”
Only I don’t know what we’re figuring out.
She’s leaving and I’m staying, and we live together.
I don’t know if she’d even want more than a simple arrangement if we didn’t have those obstacles between us.
Just because I’m developing feelings for her—liar, you already possess monster feelings—doesn’t mean she’s on the same page I am.
I don’t want to pressure her though. “What if we don’t rush defining this,” I suggest, even though I want to define it, I want to stake a claim on her, and I want to tell the whole damn city I’m dating the most incredible woman I’ve ever met.
Yeah, monster fucking feelings that I have to tamp down for now.
She tucks a strand of chestnut hair behind her ear, seemingly satisfied.
“That works. Especially since I have no idea how he’ll react.
” The fact that she doesn’t say her brother’s name tells me she’s a little worried.
“Also, I don’t feel like a dirty secret,” she says, curling a fist around my shirt.
“But you should keep fucking me dirty in secret.”
Her eyes twinkle with mischief, and I close the short distance between us, grab her ass, and give her a rough kiss. “It’s a deal.”
That settled, we head down the stairs to the garage, where I open the car door for her. She slides into the front seat, and I head to the driver’s side.
Finally, a month and a half later, I’m getting the second date I wanted. I pull out onto the street and slow to a stop at the red light. I steal a glance at her.
Fuck the rules.
I lean across the console, grab her jaw, and kiss her. Maybe to prove a point. That I’ll do this soon. Then, I take her for our second date at last.
Though it hardly feels like a second one.
* * *
Route 101 Diner is not a roadside diner like the name implies.
More like a waterside one since it sits inside the Ferry Building on The Embarcadero, overlooking the glittering bay.
A vintage neon sign beckons us, giving the place a mid-century feel.
The walls inside are decorated with black-and-white photos from the 101, the highway that runs along the California coast, overlooking the ocean.
We settle into a booth that comes equipped with a mini jukebox. I nod to it. “You can pick show tunes. Or pop. Or Taylor,” I say.
“You’re assuming that’s what I like,” she counters.
I laugh. “Josie, I’ve heard you singing in the shower.”
“Touché,” she says, then opens the menu.
After we order—veggie burger and fries for her, chicken sandwich and salad for me, which isn’t entirely cheating on my meal plan; it’s just bending it—I say, “This is where I was going to take you if I’d given you that scarf and the letter.”