Man Candy (21 page)

right, either.

“It’s late, I better go. See you

tomorrow.” He came over to me and

kissed my cheek, and a moment later, he

was gone.

I turned off all the lights and got in

bed, fighting disappointment and angry

about it. What the hell was with me?

Had I missed him that much? Had I

really been about to ask him to stay?

Thank God he left
, said a voice in

my head.
You invite him once, he’ll

think he can do it all the time. You’ve

got a nice thing going here. Don’t ruin

it.

I turned onto my side and hugged my

pillow.

The voice was right. We might be

casually dating, but once the dates were

over, he belonged in his bed, and I

belonged in mine.

Even if it felt empty without him

tonight.

NINETEEN

JAIME

“THIS IS CRUEL. How am I supposed

to get dressed for tonight if I don’t know

where we’re going?” I had the phone

tucked between my ear and shoulder as I

surveyed my closet.

“It’s not cruel. It’s called a

surprise.”

“Are you tricking me? Is this some

kind of ploy to get me to go see a sappy

movie or something?”

We’d been dating for a month now,

and so far I’d avoided having to sit

through any insipid romantic comedies

or sweeping dramatic epics where two

people fall in love and then she dies. We

stuck to dinner dates, outings like

museums or shopping or a Red Wings

game here and there, and we also stayed

in a lot, making dinner together and

watching TV. I’d learned to accept

Quinn’s desire to cuddle on the couch,

and he’d perfected the art of “moderate

cuddling” so that I didn’t feel smothered

to death.

Every time we went out, he snapped

a pic of us and posted it with his goofy

hashtags. Someone invariably

commented,
Does she believe in love

yet???
, and he’d reply,
I’ll ask her
.

The answer was still no, usually

accompanied by an eye roll or a sigh,

and he’d have to report back with
Not

yet
and a bunch of silly sad emojis.

Sometimes he’d add something like,
Still

trying!

If he was still trying, he was being

pretty underhanded about it, since other

than the couch cuddling, he never tried to

hold my hand or kiss me in public or talk

about “where this was going.”

Occasionally, he tortured me with the

horrible nicknames, but mostly he

respected my rules.

Still, today was Valentine’s Day, and

I didn’t entirely trust him not to get

mushy.

“No, sunshine, it’s not a ploy,” he

insisted. “Just wear whatever. You look

great in everything and nothing.”

“If I wear nothing, can we stay in

tonight?” Because those were my

favorite nights with Quinn. Sometimes

we’d play games—we had this one

where I was the landlady and I knocked

on his door demanding the rent and he

offered to be my slave to pay it off

because he was a sexy starving artist

living on a dream. Once he even painted

my body with chocolate syrup and licked

it off. (We went up to my place for that. I

don’t think I need to tell you that Quinn

doesn’t buy things like chocolate syrup.)

We had another game where he was

the doctor making a house call and I was

the proper Victorian lady besieged by

hysteria
(also known as sexual

frustration) which could only be

relieved by a
paroxysm
(also known as

an orgasm) the doctor brought on with

either his hand or my vibrator. (At first

Quinn didn’t believe me when I told him

that this actually happened in history,

and that vibrators were, in fact, invented

by doctors whose hands were cramping

up from flicking sexually frustrated

Victorian beans all day long, but I swear

to God it’s true. Just another one of those

fun facts stored up in my brain.)

“No.” Quinn’s voice was firm. “We

are going out. Get dressed. And hurry up

because I have something to show you.”

“OK, fine. I’ll be down in half an

hour, you big bully.”

He was laughing when I hung up.

I decided on a red pencil skirt with a

bow at the top of the back slit, a black

top, and just for fun, some leopard print

heels. After pinning my hair into a loose

knot off to one side, I put on my makeup,

some earrings, and a little perfume.

Before walking out the door, I grabbed

my coat and the gift bag with Quinn’s

present in it—a Tigers T-shirt and a

voucher from me for two tickets to

opening day at Comerica Park. It wasn’t

like me to buy a guy a gift for Valentine’s

Day, but in my defense, I’d already been

planning on doing the opening day thing

for him because I knew how excited he

was about the upcoming season, and

Valentine’s Day just
happened
to occur

right around the time I had the idea.

Purely a coincidence.

Getting down the stairs in the heels

and tight skirt was a bit of a challenge,

especially holding my coat and the bag,

but I managed to do it without popping

stitches or turning an ankle. But when

Quinn answered my knock, I went more

than a little weak in the knees.

“Wow,” I said. “It’s kind of a shame

it covers so much of your body, but you

can wear the hell out of a suit.” It was

charcoal gray and hugged his shoulders,

tapered smoothly at his trim waist, and

showed a hint of his white sleeves

beyond the cuff. He wore a dark blue tie

my fingers itched to undo, and his hair

was slicked back off his face, which

showed off his eyes even more. “Are

you sure we have to leave the house?”

“Not at all. Now that I see you in that

skirt and those heels, I’ve got all kinds

of better ideas.” He leaned over and

kissed my cheek. “You’re stunning.”

Burying his face in my neck, he inhaled

and then bit my throat. “I could eat you

up.”

Giggling, I squirmed away from him.

“Don’t muss me, or I won’t go out with

you tonight.”

“How about later? Can I eat you

later? We can play Little Red Riding

Skirt and the Wolf.” He leered at me.

“Definitely. What did you want to

show me?”

“Show you?” His eyes were still

hungrily taking me in.

“Yes, you said you had something to

show me before we left.”

“Oh, right!” He shook his head

quickly. “You’ve got me all addled now.

Let me get it.”

He went down the hall to his

bedroom. Pretty soon it wouldn’t be his

bedroom anymore—his condo would be

ready first of March so he was moving

in less than two weeks. We’d yet to

break the No Sleepover rule…as late as

we stayed up sometimes, we always

slept in our own beds. A few times I’d

been tempted to ask him to stay, or to ask

if he wanted
me
to stay, but sticking to

that rule was one of the ways I kept

myself convinced that what we were

doing was OK. I wasn’t losing sight of

myself.

He appeared again, carrying what

looked like a photograph in his hands. “I

think you might have been right about my

mom keeping a picture of my dad. I

finally got through the last of the boxes

in the attic, and this was in one of them,

buried in a stack of old receipts and tax

documents.”

I gasped and set my coat and the gift

bag on the couch before grabbing the

picture from him, turning it right side up.

“Oh my God. It’s totally him.”

The resemblance was uncanny. The

man was older than Quinn but had the

piercing blue eyes, the jawline, the

sandy hair color. In the photograph, he

was standing outside holding a new baby

in his arms. From the angle of his head,

it seemed like he may have been looking

down at the baby and raised his eyes at

the moment the picture was taken.

Quinn stood behind me, looking over

my shoulder. “There’s nothing written on

the back, but…I think it must be him.”

“I think so too. Is that you?” I

pointed at the baby.

“Probably.”

“Awww. Look at your cute little

jammies. And your father was very

handsome.”

We stood looking at the photo

another minute in silence before Quinn

spoke. “It’s funny, the way he’s holding

me—assuming it’s me—he looks like

he’d be a good dad.”

He did, actually. Very natural and

caring. “Maybe he was.”

Quinn made a noise at the back of his

throat. “For what, two years? Doesn’t

count. A good dad sticks around. A good

man
sticks around.”

I nodded, not sure what to say. What

difference did it make if your dad was

handsome if he left you the way Quinn’s

had?

“I’ll be a different kind of father.”

My clothing felt tight all of a sudden.

I cleared my throat and handed the

picture back. “I’m sure you will be.”

“Jaime,” he said, “I—”

“Should we go?” I interrupted. I had

no clue what he was about to say, but my

gut was telling me I wouldn’t be

comfortable hearing it. The past month

had been wonderful, and I didn’t want

anything to change. Staying focused on

the present seemed important.

Exhaling, Quinn tossed the picture

onto the coffee table and picked up my

coat. “Yes. Let me help you with this.”

“Oh, wait!” I scooped up the gift bag

and held it out. “Your present.”

He looked amused as he set down

my coat. “My present?
You
, Nonbeliever

of True Love, got me a present for

Valentine’s Day?”

“Well…” I drew the word out. “I got

you a present, and I’m giving it to you on

February fourteenth. Other than that, I

don’t think we should draw any dramatic

conclusions.”

“Of course.” He pulled the shirt from

the bag and held it up. “I love it! Thank

you!”

“There’s more,” I said, feeling giddy

despite myself.

He poked into the back and pulled

out the slip of paper. As he read it, his

eyes lit up. “Good for two tickets to

Opening Day and a pregame blowjob.”

I clapped my hands. “Do you like

it?”

“Best. Gift. Ever,” he said, kissing

my cheek. “I can’t fucking wait.”

He picked up my coat, and I slipped

into it. “You’ll be in your new place by

then,” I said, buttoning up before pulling

on my gloves.

“You’ll finally be rid of me.” He

took his coat and scarf from the closet

and put them on.

“Thank God. All the amazing sex has

been
so
annoying.”

“Oh, we’ll still have amazing sex.

We’ll just have a new set of rooms to

play in.”

“Yay!” My heart thumped crazily. “I

know I’m twenty-seven, but…I love

playing.”

“Me too. OK, playmate, let’s go.”

He opened the door and gave me a little

spank on the butt as I walked out, and I

felt reassured that everything was OK.

HE WOULDN’T TELL me where we

were headed, only that we had a

reservation at eight. We were driving

south on Woodward and had just crossed

Forest when he slowed down and

signaled, and I looked around excitedly.

Then I gasped. “The Whitney?”

He smiled as he turned into the

driveway of the late nineteenth century

mansion, a massive, three-storied, rose-

colored granite monument reflecting the

wealth of the lumber baron who’d built

it in 1894.

I clapped my hands and squealed. “I

love this place! My dad brought me to

dinner here for my sixteenth birthday.”

“So you’ve been here before. I

wasn’t sure.” Quinn pulled up at Valet

and parked.

“Yes, but not in over ten years. It’s

too pricey for client dinners or girls’

night out.”

“I thought maybe a date might have

taken you.”

“Nope. You’re the first.”

“
Finally
, I’m first at something with

you.” He grinned and pumped his fist

just as a valet opened my door and

offered me a hand getting out, which I

needed in this skirt. Quinn had

practically had to boost me in.

Inside the opulent main hall, Quinn

took my coat and checked it along with

his, and we admired the fireplace,

stained glass windows, and immense

staircase before asking for our table.

“Imagine playing on that staircase,”

Quinn whispered to me as we were

shown into a dimly lit circular room

with high ceilings and ornate wood

paneling. “Or anywhere in this house.”

I giggled and whispered back,

“Naked hide and seek.”

He groaned. “Don’t tempt me.”