Read The Collision on Hardwood Drive Online
Authors: Elizabeth Bryant
The Collision on Hardwood Drive (2 page)
“So,” he said, a mischievous look coming into his eyes when he paused. “What do you think?”
“About?”
“All this.”
“If you’re talking about the house, then I would say I’m guessing you’re not a doctor.”
“You’re right. Though I wish I was—there are some parts of you I’d love to examine a little more closely, if you know what I mean. After all, you did crash into me on Hardwood.”
Instantly, I felt my face go red. That seemed my go-to move of the night. I wanted to play it cool and not feel so easily charmed by his smooth words, but I couldn’t stop a smile from creeping onto my face.
“I have no clue what you’re talking about,” I said, “but you’re right about one thing.
My head is feeling better; it was nothing serious. So, if you ever lose your incredible wealth, you could always consider a career in the medical profession.”
“I played basketball while I was at Princeton,” he said. “Rarely did a practice go by without some boys knocking heads. We had to learn what was serious and what wasn’t—quickly.” So, I hadn’t been
too
far off with my earlier assessment of quarterback.
There was a knock at the door, and Beatrice entered with a bottle of Perrier and a tray of sandwiches. I watched her set the food down on the coffee table in front of me before quickly slipping back into the house. I looked up at Rob and realized he hadn’t taken his eyes off me. It made me feel self-conscious, but also emboldened by his attention.
Rob picked up the small bag of ice from the tray and approached the couch. He knelt in front of me, so close that our thighs pressed together. “Why don’t you let me play doctor now?” he asked, holding the bag to my head.
I complied and sat still for him. Who was I to argue, after all?
“Tell me about you,” he said. His voice was dangerously close to my ear, so close that I could detect a faint trace of the smoky bourbon on his breath. How did he
do
that? How did he say something so innocent and make it sound dirty? It was as though he had asked me whether I’d like to go to bed with him. I found myself fighting to resist the urge to imagine his tall, built body with nothing on.
I realized after a moment that he was waiting for an answer. I cleared my throat and sat a bit straighter. “I’m a dancer. Sorry, not the exotic kind—modern and ballet, primarily.”
“Going home after a rehearsal?” he asked, looking down at my workout clothes.
I nodded. It suddenly occurred to me that I had crashed into this man’s car, and I now sat in
his
study, eating
his
food, and generally being taken care of by
him
.
“This is a kind of crazy way to get acquainted, isn’t it? I don’t think I’ve even properly thanked you. I crashed into your car, and you’ve helped me out—you even want to fix my car, which is completely crazy—and I’m just really grateful for that, but I don’t understand what I did to deserve this generosity.”
Rob set the bag of ice down and placed his hand on my thigh, his touch light and soothing.
“You’re right,” he said. “I don’t make a habit of bringing strangers who crash my car into my home. It’s because you’re beautiful. It’s because the second I saw you, I knew I had to have you. I lusted for you with every ounce of my being.”
I flushed again at the sudden compliment. It was everything I had hoped to hear that night, and yet… something didn’t feel quite right. I forced myself to frown, if only teasingly. “So, I have to sleep with you in exchange for fixing my car? You’ve got some nerve, mister.”
“No, no. It’s not like that. Sweetheart, there’s no point in denying it. We have chemistry—it’s palpable; it’s potent. It’s as explosive as a thousand tons of dynamite. Now and then, there comes a moment when the right factors come together to set off an erotic explosion. This is one such moment.”
“Wow, a poet
and
a doctor. Still, I think I’ll just fix my car.”
“Stephanie, please. I don’t care about that. I just want to get to know you and spend some time with you. And, I assure you, we’ll fuck. It’s just a matter of time. But this has nothing to do with the car. Understand?” He lowered his voice and gazed right in my eyes, every word coming out earnestly and heatedly.
“You definitely are the most impudent man I have ever met,” I said.
“And you love it.”
He was right. Of
course,
he was right. Despite that, I couldn’t stay there a single second longer. I didn’t have a habit of hopping into bed with strangers, and I didn’t plan to start now, but I knew if I kept allowing him to loom over me like that, I wouldn’t be able to resist. He would take me right there on the couch, on those beautiful counters in his kitchens, or maybe even on the balcony next to us—and I would love every second of it.
Another knock at the door interrupted us. “Mr. Huntley?” Beatrice poked her head back in. “I have the driver waiting for Ms. Monroe.”
Rob thanked her, dismissing her. Like magic, she disappeared once more. He stood, slowly, and offered me his hand.
I stood as well, wishing for one second that the driver would drop dead and give me an excuse to stay the night—in a spare bedroom, of course, but maybe I’d hear my door creak open in the middle of the night and feel Rob’s warm body slide under the silk sheets with—
stop!
I breathed deeply and willed myself to focus on reality, on the present.
As we approached the front door of his home, I slowed and faced him. “I don’t know what to say,” I said, feeling as if I was sixteen and on my first date. I waited for him to make the first move, but—what if he never did?
He said nothing for a long moment, allowing the tension to mount around us. Finally, and suddenly, he moved toward me and pulled me in close. The embrace he wrapped around me lasted a moment longer than I should have let it. His hard body fit perfectly around mine. I felt drawn to him as his hand at my back electrified my skin.
As we separated, his full lips brushed my cheek. “I know you want it too. I see it in your eyes. I smell it on your breath. I feel it emanate from every pore of your beautiful skin. I’ll be calling you tomorrow, Stephanie.”
“Well, if you insist,” I said, forcing the words out through my nerves. As we exchanged numbers, I was so aroused that I almost
believed
he could truly see it and smell it all over me.
Then, the moment passed. The front door opened, and the chauffeur stepped inside. “Ms. Monroe?”
With that, I found myself slipping through the doors. The cool night air greeted me as I was whisked into a town car, left to contemplate the night’s thrilling turn of events.
As soon as I got home, I hopped into a cold shower to snap out of this mood. With the cool fall temperature, I could stand only two minutes of the frigid water beating down on my skin before turning up the heat. I sighed, grateful for the steam that quickly filled my small bathroom.
I leaned against the
cool white tiles of my shower stall, trying to make sense of what had happened that evening. I traced the grooves of the wall with my fingers, drifting into those memories. After a shitty day of rehearsals and a totaled car, I decided I should be feeling significantly more distraught than I did now. Instead, I felt surprisingly giddy, quite unlike someone who’d been in an accident mere hours ago.
OK.
OK, self. Let’s go over the facts. Rob was a man who knew what he wanted and took it.
Unfortunately, I had been down that road before, and I wasn’t eager to go back.
Just five months ago
, I discovered my boyfriend in bed with another woman. Soon after, it became apparent that it hadn’t been Michael’s first infidelity and that he had no plans to change his ways. It was painful to discover that I had been so easily manipulated.
Though, at the end o
f it all, Michael probably did me a favor. He was interesting; I’ll give him that. He could engage effortlessly in any debate on current events. He was well traveled and irritatingly good-looking. Unfortunately, he had not used his talents for good. He was a quintessential bad boy, the junk food of boyfriends—delicious in the moment but terrible for you in the long run.
Our relationship
started innocently enough. We were both just having fun with each other, but then, six months in, my apartment flooded. He asked me to move in with him, and perhaps in the heat of the moment, I accepted. I knew in my gut that I didn’t love him, but it soon became easier to be with him than to be alone. For some reason, I desperately wanted this thing to work between us. I wanted to settle down and spend my life with someone—even if he was a dud, I didn’t want to admit another failure on my record. So, six months turned into three years, and three years would have turned into more had I not returned to the apartment that fateful day—and to think, all because I needed to change my shirt.
Muted moans
filled our bedroom. My heart pounding, I threw open the door. They hadn’t even noticed I’d walked in. I had to cough politely as if I was waiting for my turn in line at the grocery store.
All righty, that’s about enough of the facts, there, Stephanie,
I thought, my mind returning to the present. The water was starting to run cold, so I turned it off and got out of the shower.
I
do not heal cleanly. I tend to lick my wounds for so long that they never get a chance to close. Rehashing the whole Michael thing made me realize how sore I still was about it all, despite my outer appearance saying otherwise. If I were a dog, I would wear one of those plastic neck-cones to keep me from making my injuries worse—too bad they don’t make emotional neck-cones for women like me, I thought, climbing into bed.
The next morning, my
alarm buzzed at 6:00 a.m. I was already wide-awake by then, and only one thought filled my mind—there was no way I would risk getting involved with another Michael. I was done with the smooth-talking, dangerously good-looking men. Besides, I didn’t even know whether Rob was genuinely interested in me.
Oh,
whom was I kidding? Of
course,
he wasn’t interested. I wasn’t one of the women who frequented his lofty circles of socialization. Google could tell me that.
Am I the kind of woman Rob the Sex God dates?
I could imagine asking my phone. She would say something such as,
I’m sorry, Stephanie, but Rob only wants to hump you and dump you.
I smiled, wishing my phone could really give me sage advice such as that.
I left my house that
morning, reassured that Rob would not be thinking about me again—which was just fine by me. Men like him were all the same. Every new night meant a new woman.
I pictured Michael h
overing above me in bed, jackrabbiting away. Within minutes, he’d roll off me, sweaty and satisfied. He’d toss a “Thanks, babe” my way before turning over, already half-asleep. It wasn’t miserable, but I rarely climaxed—though this detail didn’t seem to bother him. I’m not sure whether he ever even
noticed
. Michael just assumed he was such a great catch that the mere act of his shoving his boring dick inside me was an honor for me, a favor from him. Thanks, but no, thanks.
I got up, dressing i
n my typical dancewear: long leggings, sports bra, fitted T-shirt. I was determined to have today’s rehearsal go much better than yesterday’s had. The dance floor would be a great place to release all this pent-up energy. I was ready to sweat.
As I finished packin
g my dance bag, my phone jingled loudly. Instantly, I knew it was Rob. I felt my heart speed, beating with anticipation. I hesitated a moment before answering, trying to keep my voice calm. It ended up coming out low and throaty, though, when I said, “Hello?”
“Stephanie, hey.
It’s me.” His deep voice reverberated in my ear, instantly sending a feeling of deep desire down to coil between my legs. I swore he could hear my heart thumping in my chest, but he didn’t say anything about it. Instead, he said, “You know, the man you almost killed last night?”
I shivered.
That deep, sensual voice was clearly meant to bait me into responding. “Which one?” I asked, suppressing a grin, the tips of my fingers on my forehead.
“How’s your head?”
“Much better, thanks.” I twisted the phone cord nervously around my fingers, trying not to feel flustered as his voice dropped impossibly lower.
“I’ve got great news
,” he said. “Your car will be ready by six. It’ll be good as new.”
I blinked, surprised
. I had been prepared to renew my relationship with the subway that weekend, not expecting Rob to move so quickly. “That’s faster than most oil changes I get.”
He laughed, the soun
d warm and masculine coming from him. “Baby, that’s what I do.”
And just like that,
my resolve evaporated. Suddenly, I had to see him. Before I knew what I was saying, I heard myself say, “I’d love to see you again.”
I blinked again.
What?
Where had that come from? I cursed silently, holding my breath and waiting for him to tell me he already had plans or something. He’s probably arranged for my car to be dropped off at my apartment so he won’t have to see me again.