VIOLET
By the time we leave the café, it’s almost eight. Alex insists on walking me to my car. I’m not opposed. While downtown bustles with business types during the day, it’s a prime club crawl location at night. The University of Illinois is only a few blocks away, making the poorly lit parking lot a perfect meeting spot for delinquent kids. Sometimes I find half-smoked roaches and empty Colt 45s on Monday mornings.
Alex keeps his hand on my waist as we walk to my car. The contact makes me aware of how much I’d like him to touch other parts. I have to remind myself it’s not going to happen tonight. Tomorrow is a different story altogether.
My 4Runner is parked in one of the few well-lit areas in the middle of the lot.
“Is this thing safe?” Alex asks as I shove the key in the lock. It takes a few jiggles before it turns. The automatic locks stopped working six months ago.
“It passed the safety inspection last year.”
He pokes at a rusty spot on the side panel. “I can’t imagine how.”
“Stop! You’ll make it worse!” I put my hand over the rusty spot. “I have it serviced regularly.”
“By who?”
“Sidney has a guy. It’s driveable.” This is only mostly true. There’s a clunking sound my mechanic can’t seem to identify and some issues with the rear axle. I’m not allowed to take it on bumpy roads or the freeway.
Alex frowns as he continues to inspect my vehicle. “You’re sure he’s reliable?”
“Yes, I’m sure.”
My 4Runner has been on its last leg for a good year. I bought it with my own money, and I’m sentimental, so I won’t get rid of it. I refuse Sidney’s repeated offer to buy me a new car. It’s too extravagant an expense.
“At least it’s big,” Alex mutters.
“Bigger isn’t always better.” The tank on this beast is bottomless.
“Oh?”
It takes a few seconds to clue in to the double meaning. Maybe he thinks I’m insulting his manhood. I consider his manhood—and how much I hate the word manhood. In Alex’s case, bigger is awesome. The only drawback is how hard it is to walk the day after said manhood has plundered my womanhood. I need to cut it with the historical romance references.
“In some cases bigger, isn’t better. Like with this.” I pat my SUV. “It’s a real gas guzzler. I try to limit my driving to work and the grocery store so I don’t ruin the environment. I’d invest in a hybrid if they weren’t so ugly and expensive.”
Alex is wearing a sexy-as-hell amused smile while he listens to me ramble. One hand is braced on the vehicle, and he’s leaning in. If he moves an inch or two closer, it might feel like he’s planning to kiss me. I want him to kiss me. My brain has stopped working, and I continue with the nonsensical babble.
“For you”—I point in the general direction of his groin—“bigger is sort of better. I mean, huge is nice, too. You’ve got huge covered well. I like it.” I bite my lip to stop the words.
“So what you’re saying is bigger is only sort of better in my case?”
“What? No, no. It’s fantastic, hard on the . . .” I gesture to my crotch. Dammit. I’m making it sound bad. I don’t want to offend him. “I’m sure I could get used to it after a while . . . with some practice.”
“I’m good at practice.”
He moves closer. He smells like chocolate and sandalwood or whatever he washes his hot, firm body with. He’s wearing one of those beanie things, like a ski cap, with a band logo on it. The Tragically Hip, maybe. His hair has grown in the past month; it curls around the edges. I want to press my lips against his and finger those errant strands. Him. Me. I want.
“Can I kiss you?” His palm is on my cheek, his fingers sliding into my hair. “I’d like to kiss you. If that’s okay.”
And he reads minds, too. “It’s okay.”
He’s an inch from my lips. “I’ve been dying to taste you since . . .”
I wait for him to finish his sentence or follow through and kiss me already. Hold up, did he say taste? Hell, I’ll let him devour me.
He traces my bottom lip with his thumb. His fingers are cold. I shiver and inhale an asthmatic breath. Our eyes lock. I can’t look away.
I do that weird thing people do when someone they want to get it on with puts one of their digits—except for toes—near their mouth. I allow my tongue to peek out and taste his skin. It’s yummy, probably residue from the sugary chocolate beverage he stuck it in earlier. I have the urge to bite his thumb. So I do.
He mumbles a quiet curse. Then his thumb is gone, and his mouth is on mine. Our bodies are flush; he presses me heavily into the frame of my shit heap. If I wasn’t wearing a thick wool coat, I might be able to feel whether or not he’s hard.
He angles my head to the side and sucks on my bottom lip. The kiss grows deeper and more frantic. Well, I’m frantic. I grab for his hair, but his hat’s in the way and my fingers are frozen—courtesy of the mid-March cold. It’s annoying and inconvenient.
Meanwhile, Alex has turned into a jacket-MacGyver. He manages to get two buttons undone. Now I can feel him and he can feel me up. I molest his mouth with my tongue and shamelessly dry hump him for all I’m worth.
It’s fabulous until someone shouts, “Woo-hoo! Give it to her good!”
The mouth fucking ceases instantly. Alex spins to face the would-be voyeur. Taking a protective stance, he blocks me from view. I hide behind his jacket for extra cover. Public dry humping is not something I want to be recognized for.
I peek around his shoulder. Two guys, maybe a year or two younger than I am, stand not more than ten feet away.
“What did you say?” His voice is eerily calm.
One of them loses the cocky edge. He elbows the other in the ribs. I assume this may have something to do with them being skinny and dorky and Alex being broad and angry. Nervous guy’s buddy doesn’t get the hint. Instead he holds up his hand like he’s waiting for a high five.
“Spread the love, man.” He must be drunk. It’s the only explanation for his level of stupidity.
“Uh, Gene, we better go.” Skinny guy eyes Alex nervously.
“Wait.” Gene holds up a finger in his much smarter friend’s face. “It can’t be. No way!” He squints and pushes his black rimmed glasses up his nose. “Oh, dude, it totally is. Alex Waters!”
Word to the wise—NHLers shouldn’t hang out near colleges.
“Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” Alex’s irritation is evident.
“S-sorry.” The guy who isn’t an idiot hauls Gene away.
Once they’re gone, Alex shoves his hands in his pockets and turns to me. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get carried away. It’s just . . . it been a while since I’ve seen you, and you taste really good, and it makes me want . . . yeah, anyway . . . sorry.”
“Oh, uh . . . it’s okay.” I wave my hand around like it’s no big deal. I enjoyed the dry hump as much as he did. Maybe more.
“So we’re still on for tomorrow night?”
The question confuses me at first. It’s not like it’s his fault a couple of drunk kids walked by while we were making out. Against the side of my SUV.
Alex rushes on. “Please don’t back out on me. I promise I’ll be a perfect gentleman.”
It never crossed my mind, not even for a half second, to flake out on the date. “I won’t as long as you drop the perfect gentleman crap. That’s a deal breaker. My boobs won’t tolerate it.”
“I love your boobs, they’re so fun.” His smile is panty wetting. “I’ll pick them up at seven?”
We’re so weird. I like it. “Seven is great.”
“Perfect.”
“Perfect.” I return the smile. I’ll be counting down the hours until we can resume our make out session.
“I should let you go home.”
Alex holds my door open as I climb in. If I’d been thinking, I would’ve started it while we made out. However, such actions may well have led to an invitation into the backseat where he could have demonstrated how much better bigger is. Those drunk kids would’ve gotten the free show of a lifetime.
I turn the engine over. Alex waits patiently in the freezing cold for me to roll the window down manually.
“Thanks for the latte and the cake.”
“Anytime.”
I motion him closer and kiss his cheek, right where his dimple lives. It pops out at the invitation, and if it wasn’t so dark, I’d swear he was blushing. He’s as sweet as the dessert I polished off in the café. “See you tomorrow.”
“Looking forward to it.”
The 4Runner makes an awful grating noise as I shift into gear. I should get it checked out.
Later on, Alex sends me a cute text to make sure my SUV hasn’t exploded and left me stranded on the side of the road. After forty-five minutes of texting, I say goodnight and shut off my phone, otherwise I’ll be tempted to message him all night. If I’m going out with him tomorrow, I have work to do. By work, I mean some beaverscaping.
It’s been a month since I visited my waxer. I’m currently living up to the furry nickname below the belt. I must return it to its mostly naked status in case Alex should want to pet it, or kiss it, or bury his wood in it.
I root around in my bathroom cabinet for my waxing kit. Typically, I only mess around with my legs, but this constitutes an emergency. The date is too last minute to schedule a waxing appointment.
I heat the wax in the microwave. Since I’m used to putting it on my legs rather than my cooter, I don’t account for how damn hot it is. I have to wait twenty minutes for it to cool, so I can work on ripping out the beaver pelt without burning myself.
Mimicking the actions of my waxer, I lie on the bathmat, apply the wax, and give a firm, quick tug. It hurts like a son of a bitch.
Usually my waxer leaves a wee triangle I trim every week, except it’s all wonky now, so I’m forced to rip that out, too. On the final strip, I mess up and redo the same spot, resulting in a mottled purple patch. It looks like I’ve been punched in the beave. Verdict: Beaverscaping is dangerous.
Coffee is my best friend in the morning. I slept like crap, too anxious and irritated by my excitement over the impending date. I enlist Charlene to come with me to Victoria’s Secret at lunch. I’m not planning to have sex with Alex again. I simply want to be prepared with a new bra and panties set should all my clothes blow off in a freak wind storm.
Charlene heads for the garter belts and corsets. I refuse to purchase anything requiring snappy doohickeys or laces. I need easy. Depending on how much there is on the gift card, I might splurge and buy a new pair of jammies, something more adult than Spiderman.
I waste twenty minutes of shopping time debating the merits of extra padding with Charlene. It’s false advertising. Alex is already familiar with my boobs, so why pretend they’ve grown since he saw them last? I settle on a red bra with minimal padding and matching frilly undies.
On my way to the cash register, I pick out a cute little sleep set. Charlene doesn’t approve. I argue that not everything I buy has to be sexy.
The cashier rings up my purchases. It’s more than a hundred bucks, which seems excessive for a few scraps of lace. I pass her the gift card, hoping it will cover most of it.
“You have $879.43 remaining on your card.” She holds it out and waits for me to take it.
“Pardon?”
She repeats herself and shows me the receipt with the balance.
Charlene grabs it. “Alex gave you a thousand dollar gift card to Victoria’s Secret?”
“Um, uh . . .”
“He’s got it bad for you.”
“Correction.” I snatch the receipt and the bag from the cashier, whose smile hasn’t wavered. She looks like she’s made of plastic. “He’s got it bad for my boobs. He asked them out on the date, not me.”
“You’re so strange, Violet.”
I shrug. She’s right.
The rest of the day passes in a distracted haze. At five I bolt from the office. I need to choose an outfit to complement my new purchases.
My mom’s car is in the driveway when I arrive home. I’m hoping to avoid her. I haven’t told her I’m going out with Alex yet, and I’m not interested in her advice. She’s been asking me about him lately in reference to the gifts and the flowers. It’s driving me crazy. The Victoria’s Secret bag fits under my coat, so I smuggle it inside and hightail it to the bathroom to get ready.
I hear my mom mid-dress adjustment. I check my phone; it’s five to seven. It’s taken way longer to get ready than I expected. Liquid eyeliner is not easy to apply.
I launch myself out of the bathroom, hoping to get rid of her prior to Alex’s arrival. If I hadn’t been such a hornball when he asked me out, I would have suggested I meet him at the restaurant rather than let him pick me up at home. I’m wearing heels, compromising my already questionable coordination. As I round the corner, I skid on the hardwood and lose my footing and land on my ass in the middle of the living room. It wouldn’t be so bad if Alex wasn’t standing in my kitchen to witness the humiliating display.
I jump up and brush off the fall as he rushes to help.
“Are you okay?” He runs his hands down my arms, checking for injuries.
Other than my ass and my ego, I’m fine.
“It’s a good thing Violet’s so bootylicious! The extra padding comes in handy!”
I close my eyes and take a deep breath, willing my hands to stay at my sides and not wrap around her throat. It’s a wonder I don’t have more deep-seated psychological issues. “Thanks, Mom.” I grab my purse and Alex’s arm. “We should go.”
I’m confident I can make it across this particular surface without falling again. Holding onto Alex’s well-defined forearm definitely helps.
“Don’t you want to see what Alex brought you? He’s such a doll!” My mom makes flailing hand gestures between Alex and the flowers.
The bouquet is even more extravagant than the ones he sent previously. I’m torn. I don’t want him to think I don’t like or appreciate them. I also need to get the hell away from my mother. If given the opportunity for further mortification, she’ll pull out my Mathletes trophies from high school. I pick up the bouquet and give it a quick sniff.
“These are beautiful. Thank you.” Alex beams like a spotlight at the compliment.
“Can you put these in some water, please?” I ask my mom.
“Don’t you want to invite Alex in for a drink? Sidney’s making me a Manhattan. It’s cocktail hour!”
His warm reply negates my snide response. “Thank you for the invitation, but we have dinner reservations. Maybe another time.”
“Oh! Of course! You kids have fun. I’m sure Sidney will be more than happy to have me all to himself tonight!”
“Okay, well, we don’t want to be late!” I tug on Alex’s sleeve, praying my mother doesn’t say anything else to further my humiliation. This is exactly why I need to move into an apartment far away from her.
Alex helps me into my coat and my mother waves us off.
“Sorry about her,” I say as we walk down the path to the driveway. It’s icy, so I hold his arm. “Parent introductions aren’t supposed to happen until the fifty-seventh date or something.”
“No worries. I think she likes me.”
“She’s embarrassing.”
“Aren’t all parents?”
He opens the passenger door and helps me in. I feel like an idiot. Here I am, a grown woman, still living in my parent’s pool house. Yet another reason I should’ve suggested meeting him at the restaurant. He puts the car in gear and we’re on our way downtown.
“Are you okay? That fall looked like it hurt.” His palm comes to rest on the back of my neck.
“My giant booty broke my fall.”
“I happen to like your booty . . . almost as much as I like your other assets.”
“Speaking of which, the Victoria’s Secret gift certificate is excessive.”
“You used it?”
“Maybe, b—”
“What’d you get?” His eyes move to my chest. It’s covered by my jacket. “Did you spend it all?”
“You want to know if I bought something for my boobs?”
“Maybe. Did you?” He taps his fingers on the steering wheel.
“Maybe.”
Alex hums and nods, his attention on the road once again.
It doesn’t take long to reach our destination, which is a good thing because discussing lingerie purchases makes me nervous about what could happen later. Alex turns into the parking lot of a swanky restaurant and pulls into a spot near the door. “If you did happen to buy something for your boobs, I don’t expect to see it tonight.”
“You don’t want to see it?”
He caresses my nape with his thumb. “I didn’t say that. I don’t have any expectations beyond dinner. I realize the gift card may make it come across like I do.”
This is why I like him. Well, one of the reasons. I lean in. Alex mirrors the movement until our lips are less than an inch apart.
“What are you waiting for?”
He bridges the gap. I’m not interested in chaste kisses. I have to sit across from him during dinner. We could be in the restaurant for hours. It doesn’t look like the kind of place where we can sneak into the bathroom for a quickie. Not that I’m considering it as an option. Since sex isn’t an expectation, I suddenly want it to be. I grab the front of his jacket and strain to get closer. Maybe this is how reverse psychology is supposed to work.
With a low groan, he releases me. “As much as I’d like this to continue, we’re going to be late for our reservation if we keep it up much longer.”
He goes in for one last kiss. I’m into this wooing business. If dinner goes well, we can always pick up where we left off.
Alex is very much a gentleman. He opens doors and helps me out of my coat once we’re inside the restaurant. “You look gorgeous. I love this dress.”
It’s red and clingy with a low neckline. Charlene made me buy it last summer. I never had a reason to wear it until now.
Alex takes off his jacket. He looks sophisticated and sexy in his black button-down dress shirt and charcoal gray pants. His tie matches my dress. Almost like we planned it.
The hostess takes us to a private table in a small room, away from the other guests. Alex passes me the wine list once we’re seated.
“There aren’t any prices,” I whisper after the waiter fills our water glasses.
“Just pick what you like.” His smile makes the fountain of beave turn on. I better not soak through my damn panties.
I go with red. I don’t like it as much as I like white, so I’ll drink slower. Wine tends to hit me hard and fast, and I don’t want to make a fool out of myself in a nice restaurant. Bars and hockey games are a totally different story.
There are no prices on my dinner menu, either. I have a feeling it’s purposeful. I order the bacon wrapped filet mignon, medium-rare. There’s nothing better than a nice cut of beef hugged by a pork product. I opt for a garden salad instead of Caesar to avoid garlic breath. Alex orders seafood-something-or-other, and then we’re alone.
Taking my hand in his, he lifts it to his lips. It’s funny how he can be so smooth sometimes and other times he blunders around like me. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“Me, too.”
“I didn’t think I’d ever get you to go on a date with me.”
“Me, either.”
Alex laughs.
When the waiter brings my salad and his soup, Alex moves his chair closer so he’s next to me, like at the café.
“I wish I didn’t have to leave again tomorrow.”
“You’ll be gone for a couple of weeks?”
“We have a six-game series. Usually the long stretches aren’t so close together. The games are spread out, so we’re on the road longer than I like.”
“Usually you only play a few away games at a time, right?” I’ve never really paid much attention to Buck’s schedule. He shows up on my couch a few times a month to play Xbox and eat my food. Over the last little while, I’ve become far more familiar with who he’s playing against and when.
“Most of the time. There’s a couple of long stretches every season, and we’ve got some difficult games coming up against solid teams.”
“Sidney’s been on the phone with Buck lately, discussing strategy.”
“You two seem to get along pretty well.” There’s something in the way he says it—almost as if he’s jealous, which seems silly.
“You mean Buck? I guess. He’s got a pretty busy life. Mostly he stops by if he needs a meal. He has his hockey hookers to fill his time.”
“‘Hockey hookers’?” Alex smiles questioningly, but his eyes look troubled.
“You know, puck bunnies.”
His dimples stay in place, but the tic under his left eye gives away his disquiet.
Thankfully, our meals arrive and I dig in, happy to abandon the topic. My filet cuts like butter and tastes even better. Between decadent bites, I ask Alex about Canada.
“I grew up in a city called Guelph. It’s in Ontario.”
“That’s an interesting name for a city.” It sounds like a character from a Tolkien novel.
“It’s an hour outside of Toronto.”
I nod as if the geographical location helps place the name.
“Have you ever been to Canada?”
I shake my head, unable to respond as I’m chewing.
“You should come when we play Toronto next. I’ll take you to Guelph. You’d like it.”
My stomach flip-flops. We’re only halfway through dinner and he’s inviting me to future games. I’m only able to attend out of town games because Sidney’s company pays for the flights and the accommodations, but the thought is nice.
Conversation with Alex is easy. My life isn’t nearly as exciting as his, but he hangs on my every word as if I’m the one with the high profile life, not him.
He shares how difficult it is to be away from home all the time and how it makes relationships hard. I’m not sure if it’s his way of telling me this is only casual. I don’t have the guts to ask, either.
When he orders dessert, they bring two spoons. We only use one.
It’s late by the time we finish. Chivalrous as usual, Alex helps me into my coat at the door. He lifts my hair and brushes his lips across my neck.
As soon as I am secure in the car, my palms start to sweat. I have the urge to bolt or throw myself at him. Either seems like a good option. The latter better than the former.
Alex slips into the driver’s seat and turns to me. “I don’t fly out until early tomorrow afternoon. If you want, you could come to my place.”
“Your place?”
“Or I can take you home, if you’d prefer.”
“I don’t want to go home.”
“No?”
I shake my head.
“Good. I don’t particularly want to take you home, either.” His voice gets lower.
I stop breathing and wait for him to kiss me as he leans in. I’m not disappointed.
Neither one of us is buckled in, so we meet in the middle of the console and start making out. We go from kissing to mouth fucking almost instantly. I have a distinct feeling Alex may very well get to see my Victoria’s Secret purchases even without a freak windstorm.
