They drove the few blocks to an old Victorian in Clover Park that had been converted into apartments. She grabbed his hand and led him to her upstairs apartment. Once inside, she launched herself into his arms. “Take me, Dave, I'm yours.”
~ ~ ~
Dave groaned as he wrapped his arms around Steph and wished he didn't have a conscience. He'd been hard from the moment he’d seen Steph in this curve-fitting dress with the stiletto heels. His eyes had done multiple tours of her ample cleavage, her narrow waist, and the curve of her hips leading down to those long legs in stilettos. Honestly, he’d been hard from the very first moment they met at that teachers’ conference. Steph taught fifth grade and had attended his workshop on preparing fifth graders for middle school with the new math standards. Steph was gorgeous—long, silky brown hair, hazel eyes, full pouty lips, and that body. Any guy would want her. But the biggest turn-on for him was her brain. Steph had graduated summa cum laude from Columbia, which meant an SAT score above 2100. Their children would be beautiful and smart.
But he’d taken things slow because, after a few encounters in his past that left him feeling unsatisfied, he’d decided he would only sleep with a woman if they loved each other. Not like when he’d slept with Sherri after two dates, only to discover her divorce was actually a separation that her husband was unaware they were having. And definitely not like when he’d been the rebound guy for Lisa, which he’d discovered after a hot all-night marathon of sex. She’d informed him in a note on his nightstand that he’d been the perfect antidote to her ex’s sleaziness, and her faith in men had been restored. Nice guy strikes again, he thought wryly. He’d restored her faith so well that she’d left him and ventured back into the dating pool.
In any case, waiting for a meaningful encounter hadn’t been too difficult. He tended to collect more women friends than girlfriends because he was the guy women confided in but didn't feel that way about. Tonight, to his delight, he’d discovered that what he’d hoped for between him and Steph was, in fact, true.
She was smiling up at him, waiting he supposed for him to “take” her, but her eyes weren’t focused, and her speech earlier had been slightly slurred. He stroked her hair and let himself imagine for a moment her hair spread out on a pillow as he drove into her. He clamped down on that thought. Ice bath, infinite snowballs heading his way, parent-teacher conferences. That worked. He loved his job, even loved the rowdy middle school students, but dealing with the parents, especially those that didn't understand why Bobby couldn't get an A without turning in any homework, were the worst part of his job.
Gently, he set Steph a foot away from him. He looked around her apartment for the first time. He’d declined Steph’s previous invitations to come up for a cup of coffee, which always followed a goodnight kiss while she squeezed his ass, because he wanted to be sure it was more than a one-time hookup. Finally, they were on the same page. If only Steph wasn’t sloshed when he’d discovered she loved him too. Steph’s apartment looked like those Pottery Barn catalogs his sister was forever poring over—wood coffee table with a silver bowl full of fake oranges, a red velvet blanket thrown over one side of a beige sofa.
He reached down to stroke a gray tabby cat that was rubbing against his leg. Steph's dress hit the floor. He jerked upright.
She was killing him. She looked like a lingerie model—light purple strapless bra with matching lace panties, still wearing the heels that screamed I am very fuckable. Her words rang through his head, Take me, take me, take me.
He grabbed the blanket from the sofa and covered her with it, wishing with every fiber of his being that he’d taken the opportunity to get her into bed before. He mentally slapped himself. What had he been thinking? Who cared about meaningful sex when a guy like him had a chance with a stunning (and smart) woman like her? For a smart guy, that had been a really stupid move.
“Da-aa-ave, I’m too hot for a blanket,” she said as he guided her toward a half-open door that he figured was her bedroom.
“I know.”
Ice and snow, ice and snow.