The One I Want

I had no idea, so I assume most people don’t. It’s become her story to tell, and I’m one of the lucky ones to hear it. “I’ll see if she’s up for it.”

“Okay, but I’m warning you, Andrew. You better show up.”

“I will. You have my word.” My word is as good as gold, too. He knows that.

When I return to the bedroom, Juni asks, “Where are we going?”

Fuck. Why does she have to look so good and be naked saying it?

I shift my dick, willing it to stay down when it overrides my ruling and stands at full salute just for her. With a mischievous grin settled on her face, she struts past me and starts getting dressed. “Nick’s?”

“Yes,” I say, grabbing my shirt from the floor and trying to hide my erection.

It doesn’t work, but it’s the effort that counts.

“When do we leave?”

“Forty-five minutes. Is that enough time?”

“I’ll be ready.” She slips on her shoes, leaving the laces untied. “Meet you down in the lobby?”

“That works.” Every answer is more clipped than the previous one.

She laughs and then blows me a kiss. “See you soon, handsome.”

I hurry to the hall just to get another look at her shaking that great ass. When the front door closes, I return to the bathroom and put the shower on cold. It’s the only way I can hope it will keep me from ravaging her until we get home, and I have little faith it will work.

Feeling loose after the low-key day, I don’t bother shaving or putting pomade in my hair. I like the feel of Juni’s fingers grazing across my scalp, and she only does it when it’s not perfectly in place.

I look in the mirror once more before I head out the door. I may not have done some of the things I’ve added into my routine since moving here, but I still want Juni to look at me the same as when I catch her ogling me with that hint of lust in her eyes.

The lobby is empty when I arrive five minutes early. I was taught never to keep a woman waiting, and the lesson has served me well. I was expecting to see Gil, but a guy I don’t recognize enters dressed in the doorman’s uniform. Jolly with red cheeks, he says, “You must be Mr. Christiansen. I’ve heard about you.”

“Hope it was all good.”

“It wasn’t all bad.”

Funny. I think I’m going to like this guy. We shake hands, and he says, “I’m Mike, the other doorman. I was out with a broken leg, slipped on the sidewalk after a late winter freeze.”

“Are you doing all right?”

“Good as new.” There’s a mobster quality to his accent and the raspy, smokes a lot of cigarettes a day tone and a hacking cough threading through his words don’t dispute the image. Leaning over like he’s going to tell me where Jimmy Hoffa is buried, he adds, “I also needed to get out of the house. I couldn’t take my girlfriend, Adrienne, doting all over me. I couldn’t watch a program on the big screen without her wanting to cuddle. It’s good to be out of the house again.” The back of his hand hits against my arm as he passes. “Know what I mean, Mr. Christiansen?”

Not at all, but I nod anyway. Once he’s seated and the chair stops squeaking, he asks, “What can I do for ya?”

“I’m actually waiting on . . .” The elevator doors open, drawing our attention. Black fitted pants stop just shy of her ankles, and the jewel-toned green top has thin straps that tie on her shoulders. The gold strappy heels bring her a lot closer to reaching my mouth, and she has a jacket draped over her arm. She looks spectacular, but it’s her hair and makeup that have my mouth hanging open. “Wow.”

Her hair is long and straight, all the colors from brown to blond are on display while a soft wave frames her face. The makeup is light, but those lips . . . those full red lips are going to have me fantasizing all night.

Before I can say anything to Juni, Mike is headed her way. “June, it’s good to see you.” I mentally note that he called her June. Barry the barista down at the coffee shop did that, and she never corrected him. I’m thinking the same has happened here.

She says, “Mike? I wasn’t expecting to see you. You’re back.” Rushing to him, they hug, and when she steps back, she looks down. “How’s the leg?”

“I survived.”

“You sure did.” Her eyes finally meet mine, and her smile lights up her expression. “Have you met Mr. Christiansen?”

My insides tighten like Pavlov’s dog to her calling me that. Work should be fun come Monday . . .

Mike whacks me on the back. “Yeah, we’re old friends now.”