Saturday, May 24, 2008
I'D NEVER SLEPT SO well.
The first thing I thought to myself, when I woke with Casey naked in my bed, was what in the hell was I thinking? The second thing I thought was this guy is sexy and fun and I can’t resist him.
So, before thoughts of my boyfriend totally saturated the last of my resistance, I ran my hand around the waist of the big warm body that lay comfortably next to mine.
Aside from the morning breath of which I probably suffered from, I couldn't think of any other good reasons why not to wake this glorious man up the best way I could think of. I slid my fingers gently around his front and down to find him already hard.
Morning wood.
Casey's morning wood.
I almost pulled away when he stirred, but decided to try staying perfectly still, as not to wake him completely. He moaned a bit and rolled onto his back nuzzling his head deep into the pillow.
His curly hair was a wreck. Big brown curls wound everywhere, sticking straight off his head. I brought the hand that was stashed under his pillow up to touch them. I lightly pulled a lock to see its reaction. Just as I pictured it would, it straightened out to about three times its curled length and bounced right back to its tightened spot after I let it go.
He was so handsome, his face calm and peaceful. Full, black eyelashes fanned across his cheeks. He was adorable, as he lay there looking like he was grinning in his sleep.
Getting back to my earlier mission, I set back to investigating his man parts that were currently tenting my crisp white hotel sheets. I slowly brought my hand around the base of him and was actually impressed.
I'd felt him, all of him, the night before, but I wondered if it had been my excitement and my overactive mind embellishing his size in my memory.
Nope.
My hands were small. Please, no jokes about carnies or smelling like cabbage. I've heard them all. But my fingers wouldn't touch around him, maybe if I squeezed, but squeezing isn't stealthy and I was curious. I wanted to check out this specimen. If only to figure out what it was about him that caused me to be so…so careless. If I could only pin point what it was about him that made me forget why I shouldn't have done what I did, then at least I'd have a good reason.
I didn't know the guy.
I had had a one-night stand, something I’d never done before. Even worse, I’d cheated on my boyfriend in the process. What in the hell was wrong with me? I didn’t have an answer for that yet.
And even though it was true, and my morals and conscience would be all over me later, I found my hand stroking him and my leg crawling up his. It was crazy how touching him turned me on so much. I wondered how far I could go before he woke up and decided to do some other investigating first.
I abandoned his private parts for more conservative locations. I didn't want him to wake up to find me molesting him in his sleep. Who knows, the guy might have been really drunk last night and full of shit about breaking up with that girl. Maybe he just wanted some strange. Ewww. That made me the strange.
My curious fingers made an exploratory pilgrimage over his hipbone and up to his belly button. He had a happy trail and I ran a soft finger in a circle through it, swirling the hair as I watched his sleeping face.
His skin was smooth and hardly even a freckle blemished it. I pretended I was the only one who'd ever touched him, like I’d discovered this paradise in the form of a man. Even though the chances were, that a man who went home with strangers was most likely used to being touched. Probably a lot.
His stomach was flat and tight. He was no beefy muscle man. He was lean. Almost, skinny. His abdominals were visible, but not in a fitness model kind of way, more like a swimmer or runner. His pecks were much the same. The lines of those muscles stretched upward toward his shoulders and hosted nearly perfect right angles in the center before parting aside his breastbone. There, and only there, did I find a few more playful, and somewhat, curly hairs. They'd be easy to count.
I thought about naming them.
The ridge of his collarbone was sharp, and on one side there was a knot before it fell away into his muscle. My hand gingerly roamed over it and I was curious about what had happened there.
I look down our bodies and found his feet sticking out from under the sheets. They were huge. I guessed in his case, what they said about big feet was accurate.
Looking at him, studying him, I should have felt guilty and I noted, surprisingly, I wasn't. Well, not yet anyway. I was sure as soon as he wasn't lying naked beside me that I'd see the error of my ways. I moved my thumb over his nose and traced his eyebrows.
I was being seriously creepy.
And my phone was ringing.
Shit. How long had it been ringing?
I wrangled free, the arm that was trapped under Casey's head, and rolled off the bed toward the sound of Grant's ringtone. If I didn't answer it, he'd keep calling. I didn't answer him the night before. I didn't even text him when I got up here to let him know I'd made it okay. He was probably freaking out.
Bringing the phone to my face, I read that I'd missed seven calls and I had ten new text messages. It stopped ringing while I was on my way over, but only for a second. He didn't leave a message; he called again.
“Good morning,” I said quietly, but somewhat chipper. But then again, I was chipper. I'd had a fantastic night and sex with a sinfully gorgeous man. The problem was that it wasn't with my boyfriend. My almost fiancé. It was with a stranger and he was still there.
“Jesus, Blake. It's about time. I almost called your parents. Are you okay?” His tone was harsh, but I would have been be worried, too. That was, if I’d been calling him all night without any response.
Would I have done that though? Called that much? Probably not. Especially, if he was merely spending time with friends who he hadn't seen in a long time.
Traditional.
Trying to keep my voice low, as not to wake up my guest—I didn't want to be inhospitable—I answered, “Sorry, I didn't hear my phone last night and fell asleep the second my head hit the pillow. I'm fine. How was your night?”
“I can hardly hear you. Why are you whispering? Hung-over?” He laughed a little, teasing me, but he was right. I shouldn't have been whispering. I wouldn't if I were alone.
Trying to compensate for my negligence, I spoke at a normal morning volume, “A little? It was fun though.”
“Listen, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have ditched you. I thought that was why you weren't answering. I thought you were mad and you have every right to be. I should have come with you. I'm a stupid man. I'm sorry.” Very stupid as it turned out. And I was easy to distract.
Apparently, we both sucked.
“You better be. Listen, my luggage got lost on the flight. I have to go buy some clothes and get some things. I'll call you later, all right?” All true. Oh and there was a naked surfer-type guy in my king-sized hotel bed sleeping.
“That sucks. Not a very good trip, huh?”
“Uh, actually it's been pretty great. A girl can always use more clothes. Right?”
I hated shopping. I'd rather saw my arm off.
“Right. Well, pick up something nice. I'm taking you out Monday.” I heard the smile in his voice and I felt dread like I'd never felt before. What if he wanted to propose then?
I almost heaved. In my hotel room. With the very visible left-overs of my one-night stand still in my hotel bed. I spared a glance at a sleeping Casey. My conscience demanded explanations, but looking at him, I realized I would have a difficult time listing them all. Who are you and what have you done with the real Blake?
“Okay, I need a shower though. I have a lot to do. I'll call you later.”
“All right, I love you. Have fun,” he said sweetly and my vision blurred.
What had I done?
I turned away from the bed so I wasn’t facing Casey. It didn't seem right to profess love to one man, while I lusted over another. Merely turning away from him didn't make him disappear though, not like I wanted him to or like it would offer any kind of privacy, but I did it anyway not wanting Casey to hear. “Love you, too. ’Bye.” And I quickly hung up.
Before I turned back around, I heard a faint, “Lucky bastard,” come from my messed-up sheets. I looked over my shoulder and smiled. I lifted my phone showing him that I had been talking to someone, “Grant. Boyfriend.”
“Casey. Horny.” I chuckled. I supposed there wasn't any point in hiding anything from him. He was in the same situation that I was.
“Blake. Slut.” He frowned.
“You're a slut? Shit. I wish you would have told me that before.” He patted the bed were I slept beside him all night and I went to him and sat. “Regrets?” he asked.
Regrets? I thought about it and picked at my thumbnail. Do I regret it? I searched myself for the regret and it wasn't there. “No, I don't regret it. Do you?”
“I can't really remember what happened.” He bit his bottom lip. “You might have to refresh my memory.” Then, his smile broke free. There he went again smiling and wiping clean away any trace of sensible thought I had. That toothy, lopsided smile equaled big trouble.
“Nope. If you can't remember it, then maybe I dreamt it. That makes more sense anyway.” I replied to him facetiously as I thought about how I would very much enjoy to doing it again.
I inwardly chastised myself. But I had been drinking more than normal the night before, when I slept with a guy I had just met. I could explain it away with lots of excuses.
However, at that moment, I was sober. I had no excuses. Not his naked body. Not his pretty smile. Not his sexy, messed-up hair. Not the way his body pulled me to him. Nothing.
“As much fun as that sounds, I really need to be getting around. I have to find some clothes and I will perish if I don't get coffee soon.”
“Perish? We don't need that.” He sprung up and the sheet fell away from his body. He stood and looked around. It shocked me. He hadn't any modesty. It must have been written all over my face. I could feel my eyes about to bug out of my head.
“I know what you're thinking. How is he going to fit that big dick into those jeans, right? I get that a lot.” He rocked his hips forward, unashamed of his obvious arousal, and made a face like he was thinking, “Yeah.”
“Oh my god. Were you like this last night? Maybe I do have some regrets,” I said, only trying to toy with him.
He huffed. “Ouch.” He jumped up and down, getting his jeans on, all the while searching for his shirt, scanning my room. “There it is,” he said as he walked past me to the place where his shirt was wadded up on the floor. That was when I realized I'd been naked the whole time.
Where the f*ck was my brain? Here I was thinking how brazen he was and I was as naked as the day I was born. Newly aware of my exposure, I almost yelped and scrambled for the robe beside the bed.
I wrapped it around myself and fumbled for the fabric belt to tie around and hold it shut. Casey walked to me and found the two ends that I had been looking for. He held them apart. Then, he quickly opened both sides of the robe and said, “Damn,” before tying the robe closed. He chastely kissed my forehead. “I had to have one last look.”
The word “last” made my stomach roll. Last.
He motioned to the bathroom, silently asking if he could use it. I waved my hand showing I didn’t care.
“How about I go downstairs and give you a few minutes and then I take you to coffee?” he offered from behind the closed bathroom door.
I should have stopped it right there. I bit at my thumb, in private, considering what to do.
I'd probably see him later that night and having coffee, and spending any more time with him than I already had, would be detrimental. To my relationship. To my life. To my sanity.
“I don't know. I think I'll grab a quick coffee and hit some shops. I really have a lot to do.”
He came out of the bathroom and demanded, “Don't tell me no. I'll be downstairs.” Then he left. It was obvious that I truthfully couldn't tell him no. So, again, I didn't fight it.
When I got downstairs, he was waiting for me near the door. He looked carefree and comfortable. I felt anything but. My legs moved me forward—my body on autopilot—and I went straight to him.
“’Bout time,” he teased. It had only been about ten minutes. Hell, I was still wearing yesterday’s clothes. Only running a comb through my hair before gathering it up into a messy knot on my head, and brushing my teeth, I looked like a hot mess. With my bag slung over my shoulder, I only answered with, “Coffee,” as I slid my sunglasses over my eyes.
Casey ushered. “Right this way.”
We walked down the sunny street and I was thankful we were in a part of town littered with shops. I didn't care for shopping. I hated malls. I hated feeling like a consumer on a conveyor belt. When I shopped, I preferred stores like the ones we were walking past. I mentally noted to hit a few of them after we got coffee.
“Stop, I'll be right back.” Casey rushed into a store and glanced at me through the window, holding up his index finger. When he came out, about five minutes later, he had two big coffee mugs and wore a pair of lime green sunglasses. One mug was bright yellow and the other was black and white striped.
“I like the sunglasses. What are these for?” I asked pointing at the mugs.
“What do you think they're for?”
“Well, they're coffee cups, but I don't get it. We're going to a coffee shop, right? In my experience, they give you a container with which to drink your coffee from.”
“Gross,” he said and tugged at my arm to continue us down the street. “You're a chef, correct?”
“Yeah.”
“Then you should get it.” His voice was coated with something like annoyance. “Okay. Imagine the perfect steak. You eat meat, right? Otherwise this analogy won't work.” He looks at me and lifted his glasses.
I lifted mine, too, and said, “I love meat.” Then I gave him an exaggerated wink.
“Perfect.” He continued and weaved us around a couple who were window-shopping. “Okay, so you have this steak. It's perfect. Just the right cut. Grilled to heavenly, juicy awesomeness. Shit, I need a steak. Anyway, there has never been, nor will there ever be, a better steak than this one. Now, picture eating it off of a paper plate. Yuck.”
I laughed. “Oh, so you're crazy?”
“That's how I feel about drinking out of paper. This coffee shop,” he stopped us in front of a beautiful brick building, with a chalkboard sign that read The Best Sip and their specials, “has exceptional coffee. Drinking it out of paper should be criminal. It's blasphemy.” He was so animated and quite obviously very passionate about his beverages.
Casey Moore had so many moods. At the bar, he was closed off and reluctant to talk to me at all. Then when he did, he was cocky and bold. The morning had exposed yet another facet of his personality. He was playful and a little eccentric. I wondered if I’d enjoy them all, because so far I had.
Casey opened the door and I instantly thought he might be right. The smell of roasted coffee beans was heavenly as it infiltrated my nose. My tummy grumbled and suddenly I was a believer.
“But I like it when they write my name on the side,” I implored. He looked at me like I had three heads. His eyebrows bunched together as if I'd told him that I liked ketchup on my ice cream. I giggled. “What?”
He rolled his eyes. “How do you like your coffee?”
“Surprise me. Your beer is really good. I'm sure whatever you choose will be, too. I want to know what you like. I'll find us a seat.”
His smile spread across his face like a wild fire.
I found a little table off to the side that seated two. When he reached me he was carrying the two coffee mugs like the cargo was liquid gold. He bobbed and weaved around people trying his best not to spill a drop. I couldn't help my grin.
He offered me the hot mug and I was more than happy to take it. I put it on the table and awaited further instruction. For some reason, I was compelled to wait for him. He sat across from me and unraveled his long legs out to the side of our table. His funny sunglasses, perched atop of his head, held back his hair like a headband. It was adorable and strangely sexy seeing him without the hair framing his face.
“Are you ready for this?” he asked.
“Probably not.”
“Drink it, but be careful it's hot.”
I grasped the handle and I turned it so I could lift it with my dominant left hand. Scribbled on the side was “Betty Is Trouble.” My head swam. I stared at it. I read and reread it. Then, I looked over to Casey's cup. He turned it so I could read his, too.
“Lou Likes Trouble.”
It was so weird and sweet and unexpected at the same time.
Where in the hell did this guy come from?