The Rider List: An Erotic Romance (4 page)

“How many have you had?”

She laughs. “Just that one.”

I sip my beer. “Yeah, don’t want to overdo it.”

“Exactly.” God, that smile on her face. I almost can’t stand it.

All the barstools are taken, but there’s a little space between the one I’m sitting on and the next. Audrey keeps squeezing herself more into the tight spot as the crowd gets bigger.

“You want to sit?” I ask.

“No, thanks, I’m good. So, everything going okay? Jeanine treating you right on my days off?”

Jeanine. I can never seem to remember her name. She’s a bit flaky, way too chatty, and she’s no Audrey. I’m glad their roles aren’t reversed. If I only got to see Audrey on Mondays and Tuesdays, that would make for one long week.

I decide to be diplomatic and not let on that I don’t care for Jeanine at all. “I’ve gotten used to having you around. It’ll be good to have you back.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear that.” She blushes a little and I love it.

I let my eyes drift down to her chest, then farther down. “I’m so used to seeing you in your work clothes.” She’s wearing a lightweight dress. It shows off her bronze colored shoulders, the thin straps leading down to an ample amount of cleavage.

I see her legs every time she comes to the bungalow, but this is the first time I’m seeing them in a dress. They become less visible with every inch she gets closer to me, but my mind fixates on an image of me turning her around, lifting that dress, pulling her panties down and fucking her from behind.

She looks down at herself, as if to remember what she’s wearing. “I wish we could wear stuff like this to work.”

So do I
, I think, but don’t say. My heart is tripping in my chest, thinking about touching her, looking at those lips of hers and wanting to feel them, taste them.

Just as Audrey moves a little closer to me, I slip my arm around her waist and lean in to kiss her. I hadn’t planned it, hadn’t waited for the right moment. I just did it.

Our lips touch, and…
fuck
, hers are softer and more delicate than I’d imagined. She moves her hand up, palm flat on my chest. It’s a quick kiss, way too quick, just our lips brushing against each other’s, and I’m instantly hard.

“I’m sorry,” she says pulling her hand away from my chest, “I’d better get back to my friends.” She awkwardly maneuvers out of the small spot she’s been standing in. When she’s out of it, she looks over her shoulder and smiles, but it’s forced.

“See you in the morning,” I say, but with the noise, I know she can’t hear me. I watch her walk away, those tan, muscular legs still visible for a couple of seconds in the dim light, and I instantly know what I’m going to put on the next list I give her.

Chapter Five

Audrey

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Stacy says when I get back to our spot at the bar, and I dread the thought that she witnessed Adam kissing me. Or me kissing him back. Whatever it was that happened—the whole thing is kind of a blur right now, and it has nothing to do with alcohol.

“What?” I say.

She dips her head to one side, and does this bug-eyed thing she always does. “What do you mean
what
? You were talking to that guy and you come back to
us
?”

I reach for my beer—my third and also my last of the night—and nod. She didn’t see the kiss. She would have said something already.

Stacy says, “He’s not just the hottest guy in this place, he’s the hottest guy on the island.”

Stacy’s boyfriend, Trent, who is sitting on the other side of her, says, “I’m right here.”

Stacy turns toward him. “Aside from you. You know that.” She turns back to me and rolls her eyes. “Who is he?”

I quickly make up something. “Some salesman or something. Came by the office the other day.”

Thoughts of the kiss dominate my mind, and I’m torn about whether I should have walked away like I did, or stayed there to see what happened next. A smile grows on my face, but she thinks I’m smiling for a different reason.

“You haven’t smiled like that since Wyatt.”

And just like that, my smile disappears.

“See?” she says.

“You promised.”

“I know. Sorry.”

Wyatt is my ex. It’s been about six months and while I’m not hung up on him, I’d rather never talk about him again, even in passing. Stacy promised me months ago that she’d stop and this is her first offense. “Strike one.”

She looks at me strangely.

“Strike one,” I repeat.

“And what happens if I get three strikes?”

“Try me.” Changing the subject, I say, “I don’t think he’s into me anyway.”

Trent leans over Stacy’s shoulder. “For a guy who’s not into you, he sure is looking at you a lot.”

Without thinking, I turn and look. Sure enough, he’s looking right at me. I smile and turn away. I have to. “Can we just drop this, please?”

Stacy mercifully changes the subject and doesn’t bring up Adam for the rest of the night.

At one point, we move closer to the railing on the side that overlooks the street. A table has opened up, and it’s farther away from the music.

I happen to take a seat that faces in Adam’s direction and the first thing I see is two girls talking to him. They’re smiling, laughing, one touches his arm, the other is twirling her hair with her free hand. Adam’s expression doesn’t change. His face is like a stone as he listens to them. I see him say a few words and find myself oddly curious about what’s happening there, when I see him shaking his head no several times.

It doesn’t last long, though. The girls haven’t even been talking to him for five minutes before he gets up and leaves the bar.

. . . . .

The last thing Stacy had said to me when they dropped me off at home was, “You call me immediately after you hook up with that guy. No excuses.” I had laughed but otherwise ignored her comment. At least when I was awake.

In my sleep, there was no ignoring the seed she’d planted. I dreamed of that morning I met Adam, him finding me awkwardly walking around his bedroom, but in my dream he appeared in the doorway naked. I wake up at that instant, feeling extremely turned on, with an aching between my legs that won’t go away. I look at the clock and see that it’s 5 a.m., and I don’t even try to go back to sleep. I lay there trying to shake the dream from my head.

I try to run three times a week, but it’s not always easy to self-motivate, despite the fact that I have a very good reason for doing it.

Weight was a problem for me in middle school. It started when my father left, and continued until I was fourteen and joined the high school track team. No one urged me to do it, no one shamed me into exercising, it was just something I wanted to do, and I knew I would need the discipline to keep it up. Making the team wasn’t easy, but being included in the track meets was. I ended up last to do everything. But I didn’t care. I had the practices, and that’s the reason I joined in the first place.

I was lucky enough to get my weight under control that freshman year. I know many people struggle much harder than I did. I was never overweight, but I certainly wasn’t what anyone would call thin, either. I was pudgy. And to this day, I know that I’m the kind of person who could lose control of it again in very little time if I don’t tend to it.

I don’t obsess over it, and I’m a firm believer that people can and should be happy with who they are. This is just my personal choice.

When I get back from my run, I see that I’ve received a text from Adam.

It’s the first time he’s used my number to send me a list of things he needs, so I’m surprised when I get it. Even more surprised when I see what’s on the list. Later, I add him to my contacts as I sit in my car in the resort office parking lot.

When I get myself together, I make the usual morning rounds, checking on all the bungalows except for Adam’s. I do my morning run to the various shops where I pick up things people requested, then stop at the hotel restaurant for fruit, load it all into my car and make my rounds on the resort again.

I get to Bungalow B, knock on the door, and the father answers. When I give him the bag of fresh bagels they asked for, I’m caught in the middle of a screaming match. Their two kids are shouting about wanting to go on the beach.

The father sternly tells them no because they haven’t had breakfast yet, the mother is trying to pull the kids apart because they’re both holding on to the same oversized beach towel. Meanwhile I’m standing there at the door, which is still open.

They don’t seem to mind the audience, but this is getting on my nerves. Plus, I’m totally distracted by what I’m about to deliver to Adam.

I back away from the door, saying, “Let me know if you need anything.” The mother waves, then goes back to handling the kids. The father has disappeared with the bag of bagels.

I’m feeling tense as I walk to Bungalow A. The annoying thing I just witnessed, the dream I had last night, a couple of the items he had me purchase this morning. That, along with the fact that he kissed me the other night, is all swirling around in my mind, stirring me up.

Reaching the top step of his front porch, I briefly consider leaving the bag at the door. But I knock instead, and I hear him call out, “It’s open.”

I open the door and as I step inside I see Adam is wearing khaki shorts that are frayed at the hem of each leg, and a white t-shirt that clings to his chest. He’s sitting on a stool at the kitchen counter. His laptop is open and he’s swung around to face me.

“Morning,” he says calmly.

“Hi.” I start to walk toward him.

He reaches behind himself without turning around and closes the laptop. There’s clearly something he doesn’t want me to see, but I’m not focused on that right now.

All I’m thinking about is the bags I’m handing him, and how he takes them from me and places them on the countertop without so much as even hinting about that kiss last night.

He walks into the kitchen and I stand there, almost ready to walk out, when he says, “You look tense.”

An involuntary, heavy sigh escapes my mouth. “Just…these people next door.” I tell him about what I saw and as I’m recounting the story, it doesn’t seem all that bad. The look on his face tells me he doesn’t think it’s a big deal, either.

“That’s not what has you stressed,” he says.

“It’s not?”

“Nope.” He starts taking the fruit out of the bag. “I don’t know what it is, but it’s something else.”

I don’t say anything.

After quickly washing the fruit, Adam takes some of it over to the blender. “Let me make you something. You should try it. It’s really good.”

Seriously? I can’t believe he hasn’t said anything about the kiss yet.

“I have to get going.”

“No you don’t.” He looks over at me.

“I don’t?”

He’s finishing up cleaning the peaches, tossing the pits in the sink. “You take a lunch break, right?” He puts the mango, peach, and walnuts in the blender with the other fruit.

“Yes.”

“Good, then take it here. We’re just having smoothies today. Buffalo steak tonight, if you’re interested.”

“I really need to get home after work, but thanks.”

“You’re missing out,” he says, and I believe him. On top of being hot, he cooks. I mean, come on.

He starts the blender. I look at the one bag I brought him that he hasn’t opened yet. We both know what’s in it, and it sits there like a temptation.

Thirty seconds later, we’re sitting on the couch and even this relatively innocent act feels wrong.

“Why all the healthy stuff?” I ask, referring not only to the smoothie but all the other food he’s had be purchase.

“It’s a new thing for me. It takes some getting used to.”

“Did…” I stop, but I’ve already started the question, and he’s looking at me and waiting, so I finish: “Did something happen?” I put the lightest tone possible into my words, not wanting to them to come across as though I don’t respect his privacy.

He’s drinking, and doesn’t answer.

“Sorry,” I say. “I didn’t mean to pry.” I’ve suddenly made myself extremely uncomfortable. I stand. “I should get going.”

He reaches out and takes my hand, firmly at first, then he loosens his grip but doesn’t let go. “Don’t go yet. About last night—”

“Don’t worry about it,” I say, cutting him off. “Maybe we both had a little too much to drink.”

He shakes his head. “You didn’t seem the slightest bit drunk to me, and I know I wasn’t.”

I don’t say anything. I can’t. I’m overcome with a rush of adrenaline like I haven’t felt in a long time, even when he kissed me last night.

“It wasn’t a mistake.” His voice is low and soft. “I’ve wanted to do that for weeks.”

Weeks? He’s only been here a few weeks. My heart hammers in my chest and I feel my mouth going dry from nerves.

Adam places his drink on the coffee table, takes mine and places it next to his. His other hand is cold when it touches my thigh.

I know what’s about to happen. I should stop it. I should leave. I should get back to work. I should keep things strictly professional with Adam.

I should do all of those things, but I can’t because my inhibitions are crumbling as his hand warms up against my thigh and he runs it slowly down to the back of my knee, my calf, and finally lower to my ankle.

My breath catches in my throat as he unties one sneaker, then the next, lifting my leg to remove each shoe and sock. There’s something strangely intimate about him doing this.

His hands slide up my legs to the tops of my thighs. He looks straight forward.

“Adam,” I say, though I’m not sure why. Maybe a last-minute, albeit half-hearted way of snapping us both out of this moment that shouldn’t be happening.

And suddenly I’m acutely aware of it: I’m on my lunch break, a guest is undressing me slowly, the danger making my neck and face hot.

He doesn’t look up. He doesn’t say anything.

His hands move to the front of my shorts, deftly unbuttoning them. He slides the zipper down, tugging at the hem of the shorts, pulling them only partway down.

I feel like I do when I’m daydreaming. I feel detached, like I’m watching this happen. Part of me doesn’t want it to be happening, but most of me wants it in the worst way.

He leans his head forward and kisses the front of my underwear.

I feel his tongue trace the waistband of my panties, teasingly dipping underneath the fabric. Jesus, if he’s this good already….

And his hands move with urgency, up my thighs and into my shorts, his fingers curling into my panties, and within a second, he has both my panties and my shorts around my ankles.

“Step out of these, Audrey.”

As I’m kicking them off my ankles, he’s moving his head forward again. He kisses me lightly, just above where I want him so badly. I feel his hot breath on me. I feel his lips, his tongue sticking out and sliding across my skin.

My hips thrust forward, almost without my brain consciously telling them to. Like I’m begging him to do it, forcing it to his face.

He lowers his head, tilts it a little, and makes the first contact with my pussy.

My mouth opens wide and I gasp.

Adam’s hands cup my ass and he pulls me closer to his face.

His hair is barely long enough to grab handfuls, but my hands go to his head and I manage.

He’s working his lips and tongue slowly, taking his time. He stops and I hear his low, gravely voice: “Just like I’ve imagined it so many times.”

What?
I think, but don’t say. I don’t know if I could make words come out of my mouth right now.