Not For Me (4 page)

“I’m also compulsive about oral hygiene.”

“That’s good.” She’d noticed he had nice teeth. “Apologies for the serial-killer thing. I quite like your place, I really do.”

She looked up at Grant—he had an open-concept condo, like Allison’s. He was washing something in the sink. When she’d arrived, he’d said something about mussels. As she had ordered seafood linguine on Saturday, this seemed like a thoughtful choice.

“Are you a good cook? It sure smells like it.”

“I can make a few things,” he said. “Or maybe the smell is just to cover up the poison.”

“Now you’ve really got me worried. And I’m sure if something were to happen to me, no one would crack the case.” She sat on his black leather couch and tapped the glass coffee table, which was empty except for a single book of photography. “I like your coffee table. Your shelves, too.”

“Thanks.” He threw something into a pot, then came to join her on the couch, sitting at the far end. “I made the shelves. I don’t have any workspace here, so I had to do it at my parents’ house.”

“That’s so cool. I couldn’t even assemble my IKEA bookshelf properly. It wobbles a little.”

“I could make one for you.”

“Really? That’s so kind.” Sometimes he made her melt. “You don’t need to.”

“But I’d like to. I don’t need anything else myself, and it’s relaxing.”

“I’ll think about it. I’d pay for the materials, of course.” She patted the cushion beside her. “Why are you sitting so far away? I don’t bite.”

He shifted toward her a little. “And yet you called my office to find out what kind of boss I am.”

She put her hand to her mouth. “It was Maya’s idea. She was joking, but I thought, what if you’re a tyrannical slave driver?”

“Mario telling you I wasn’t Godzilla satisfied your curiosity?” His lips twitched.

“Once I asked him, I realized he might not be honest about his opinion of you. Especially since he didn’t know who I was.”

“He was very curious.” Grant crossed one ankle over the opposite knee and draped his arm over the back of the couch, his hand just above her head. “So I explained the situation to him.”

She was such a weirdo. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I think it made his day. He thought it was hilarious.” Grant put his hand on her shoulder for a moment before returning it to the couch.

With those big hands…

She wished he’d massage her shoulders. She bet he would know how to use his hands, just like she was sure he’d know how to kiss.

Stop it, Kristy. Don’t go there. Maya, remember.

Still, she asked, “Do you give good massages?”

“I was once told that I do. Are your shoulders tight?”

“A little.”

To her disappointment, he stood up. “After dinner. The mussels should be ready now.”

* * * *

Kristy was sitting at his dining room table, complimenting his cooking and filling the place with her presence.

Grant was wishing she’d change her mind about him.

“You must send me the recipe.” She reached for another chunk of baguette to sop up the broth.

“From Jon. Supposed to be for impressing dates.”

“Maya would like it.”

Right. He was supposed to be thinking of Maya. “I’ll remember that.”

Once they’d finished eating, she offered to help him clean up.

“You’re a guest. You don’t need to do that,” he said. “It’s not because you won’t wash things to my compulsive standards.”

“I’m not sure I believe you. I think that
is
the reason.” She stood up. “As a guest, am I allowed to see if your bedroom and office are freakishly neat?”

“That’s where I keep the bodies. In my office.”

She laughed. That musical laugh he loved.

Every minute he spent with her just made it worse. Her laugh, her voice, her smile, her hair. The clingy, black top and tight jeans she was wearing sure weren’t helping. She looked amazing in them, but he kept thinking of pulling them off. And she wanted to see his bedroom and get a massage. Interesting…but he didn’t think she meant anything by it.

She only peeked into the bedroom—it seemed like she didn’t think she should be there—but she was very interested in his office.

“I bet you have an excellent filing system.” She nodded at his cabinets, then stepped toward the framed picture above his computer. “Where’s that?”

“Portugal.”

“I’ve always wanted to travel there. Allison and I are going to go someday. You went? Did you take the photo?”

He could say he took it, but he didn’t. “My ex-girlfriend did.”

“That’s something we should talk about. Your love life.”

She turned toward him, and he put his hands in his pockets, looked down. Given she wanted to set him up with her friend, it wasn’t surprising she’d asked about that. But if this were a second date—like he wished—it would be strange to bring it up.

“It’s hardly extensive.”

“Really?”

“I don’t think I come across as a ladies’ man.”

“I think you could be. You’re handsome; you have a good career. I bet you’re great at the meet-the-parents thing.”

But she didn’t want him for herself. The first woman he’d been keen on in ages, and she thought he was a great guy—for her friend. It was sweet she was doing all this for a friend but…damn.

She’d called him handsome, though. He smiled.

“The type of guy you want to take home to meet your parents is usually not the kind who’d be described as a ladies’ man,” he said.

“True.” She glanced at the Portugal beach scene, then turned back to him. “So. Your previous relationships.”

“I’ve had two serious relationships. Sara—we broke up almost four years ago. Just wanted different things, I guess.” Actually, she’d wanted a hotshot lawyer rather than Grant. But he saw no reason to mention that. “Callie—we started dating in high school and broke up in university. Long time ago now.”

“People change a lot at that age.”

“Yes. That’s what happened.”

She was silent for a moment. Remembering someone, he thought.

“So that’s all?” she said.

“Plus a couple dates in between. The past few years, I’ve been focused on getting the business started.” And he wasn’t very good at picking up. Like how he hadn’t gotten up the nerve to talk to Kristy first. “What about you?”

“You got a while?” She laughed.

“Turn around first.”

She turned around, facing the photo, and he rested his hands on her shoulders. “Right! You promised me a massage.”

Not only would he get to give her a massage, but this way, he wouldn’t have to worry about his facial expression as she told him about her exes. Maybe he shouldn’t have asked about that. “So how long is a while?”

“An hour, if you’re going to do this the whole time.”

He dragged his thumbs over her upper back, on either side of her spine, then started rubbing her shoulders. He couldn’t help imagining that she was shirtless, and he was running his hands over her bare skin. Then she’d turn her head back, and he’d kiss her…

“I’ve had nine relationships that lasted more than three months,” she said. That snapped him out of his daydream. “Sounds like a lot, but it’s less than one a year since I turned eighteen. I have a bit of a thing for hipsters.”

He was definitely not one of those.

“The reason for the two-month rule?” he asked.

“O-oh,” she faltered. “I have a tendency to sleep around a bit after a breakup. And nothing that’s happened within two months of a breakup has gone anywhere.

“If you enjoy it…” Not that he liked to think of her being with someone else, but there was nothing wrong with it.

“I don’t, really. Hence the rule.” She tilted her head back slightly. “Oh, that feels amazing. Stay right there.”

This was the great thing about massages: they often prompted a similar response in a woman as sex. And all he could think about was Kristy naked, squirming underneath him. He kept on rubbing her pretty shoulders, felt her loosening slightly, and his mind stayed in the bedroom. She was arching her body against his, skin against skin, taking him deeper.

“Oh, yes. That’s great.” And it wasn’t his imagination—she’d actually said that.

Maybe the massage hadn’t been such a good idea. It was giving him an awkward erection.

“Just like that, but you can go a little harder.”

Harder
. He
was
getting harder. Did she realize what she was saying, what she was doing to him? It didn’t help that he hadn’t had sex in a very long time. The last woman he’d slept with, Sara, had since gotten married and had a kid. Yes, it had been a while.

He made sure he wasn’t standing too close to her, but he kept massaging. A little harder now. But he kept his eyes on the antique lamp his mom had given him and tried to get his thoughts into safer territory.

Or maybe she was thinking the same thing as he was. He couldn’t help hoping that was the case.

She threw her head back. “God, that’s good. You’re amazing.” Then she put her hand to her mouth and laughed. “Would you listen to me.”

Yeah, he sure had been listening, and it had put his imagination into overdrive. He dropped his hands from her shoulders, then spun her around to face him.

Her laughter faded, her smile disappeared. Her big eyes focused on his, and she parted her lips invitingly, like she
had
been thinking about the same thing as he.
Yes
. He would gather her in his arms and show her what he wanted.

But before he could do that, she asked, “Where’s the washroom?”

“Next door on the left.” He cocked his head in that direction.

She shook her head and fled his office.

He sank into his office chair. He wasn’t quite sure what had happened a moment ago. But likely she’d realized he was lusting after her and didn’t like it. What he thought he’d seen written on her face—that must have been his imagination. Wishful thinking. He was an idiot.

When she returned, looking as if the past couple minutes had never happened, she said brightly, “I’ll give you Maya’s phone number.”

What?
Apparently she hadn’t noticed. Because if she had any idea what he’d been thinking about, she wouldn’t be setting him up with her friend. Then why had she scurried away?

“My phone’s in the other room. I’ll write it down.” He didn’t know what else to say.

She dictated the number.

“What about the bookshelf?” he asked. “Do you want one?”

“Okay. Sure. Just like yours. But no rush on that.” She came over to the desk and regarded the phone number he’d written down. Then she looked up at him. “I was thinking I’d come watch you work on it one day. Maybe help you out a bit. Or would I get in the way?”

“No, no. Of course you can.” In fact, he’d love it. “This Sunday afternoon?”

“I could do that. Will I get to meet your parents?”

Right. Of course. His parents’ house. “They’ll probably be around.” And they’d get the wrong idea when they were introduced to Kristy; they’d think she and Grant were a couple. Which was the right idea in his mind, but it wasn’t true.

“I’ll be able to give Maya some meet-the-parents advice.”

“I suppose you will. I’ll put off calling her until after Sunday, just in case my family makes you change your mind.”

She actually wanted to watch him build a shelf and meet his parents?

Interesting…

* * * *

Kristy took the subway back to her apartment.

There had been that moment when she wanted nothing more than to reach up and kiss him. And not on the cheek. Then she’d washed her face and returned to his office, and it was all normal again.

Sure, he was attractive. And she’d very much enjoyed her evening with him. But he was Maya’s. It was nothing.

When she got home, she called her friend. “His place is immaculate, and he can cook.” She left out the part about the good massages. “I gave him your number.”

“I don’t know if I’m ready for this.” Maya sighed. “I know you went to all this trouble and—”

“You have to at least go on a date with him,” Kristy pleaded. “He had to put up with me for two whole evenings.”

“If he was willing to go through all that, he must be awful desperate.”

“Very funny.”

“Maybe there
is
something wrong with him.”

“He’s great, I swear. And he thinks you’re beautiful, and I’ve made you sound perfect.” But they hadn’t talked much about Maya.

“Perfect. Me.” Maya snorted. “Or maybe…
maybe
—”

“He thinks you’re wonderful,” Kristy cut in. She walked to the freezer and took out a container of chocolate-fudge ice cream. “That’s why. But he’s not going to call you until next week. Not until after I’ve met his parents.”

“You’re…
what?
How the hell is he going to explain you to his parents?”

“That’s his problem.” Kristy scooped a generous amount of ice cream into a bowl.

“Whose idea was this?”

“Mine, I guess. He’s making me a bookshelf, and he does that sort of thing in his parents’ garage. I said I’d go with him and watch. Help, maybe.”

“Will you listen to yourself? You want to watch a guy use a circular saw in his parents’ garage? Seriously?”

“When you put it like that, it does sound a little strange.”

“What’s going on?”

Kristy slumped in a chair and started shoveling ice cream into her mouth. “We’re just friends, okay? There is nothing,
nothing
going on between us. And you
are
going on this date with him.”

“Are you eating? Let me guess—chocolate-fudge ice cream?”

Kristy shoved the bowl away. “No.”

“Liar.”

“I am not eating ice cream, and nothing is going on.” He’d given her a massage that had practically made her orgasm, but nothing was going on. Nothing.

“Tell that to Allison. And you might not be eating ice cream at this very moment, but I bet you just pushed the bowl away.”

Kristy slid into the passenger’s seat of Grant’s car. He was right on time, as she’d expected.

“What did you bring?” He nodded at the Tupperware in her lap before he pulled out.

“Chocolate chip cookies. Thought I shouldn’t come empty-handed.” She’d baked them that morning, and she just might have scraped out the bowl.