Heat ignites, roaring to life like it’s been smoldering between us all week. Because, let’s face it, it has. Austin yanks me closer, already easing my lips open, tongue sliding deep to explore my mouth.
Holy shit, can this man kiss.
I melt against him, reveling in the sensual feel of him: Body solid against mine, hands gripping me tightly, I’m in heaven. A hot, sweaty, thrilling heaven. Somewhere, I register the sound of people’s voices, and people hitting balls in the surrounding cages, but right now, Austin and I are the only two people in the world.
And this kiss? Is officially blowing my mind.
I reach up, clutching on to him with one hand as the other finally gives in to temptation and runs over the short hair of his buzzcut. Austin rumbles a groan against my lips, and the sound sends a fresh wave of heat spiraling down between my legs.
Immediately, I’m fantasizing about more. Feeling every inch of this man’s incredible body and exploring that mouth more. As soon as freaking possible. His tongue brushes against mine, and it’s a good thing he’s got those arms because my legs are weak. He might need to carry me out of here and back to the office—
The office. Where he hired me to work, thinking I was somebody else entirely.
Fuck.
A cold shard of reality pieces the haze of desire sweeping me up, and I manage to pull away, even though my whole body howls in protest. I’m overriding every instinct, and my own basic biology. But there’s no other option.
I lurch back, heart racing. “I should, um, go,” I blurt, trying not to notice that Austin looks about as slammed by that kiss as I feel. “Thanks for the, umm, lesson!”
Before he can say a word, I grab my purse and flee, scolding myself the whole way home.
What the hell was I thinking?
Never mind that he’s my boss and sticking my tongue down his throat is about as far from professional behavior as its possible to get, but he thinks I’m Other Jennifer!
My one little white lie made things between us complicated enough, but now that kiss has taken ‘complicated’ all the way to ‘utter chaos’.
That kiss…
I can’t help replaying it, in all its technicolor, hot-as-hell glory.
His hands… His lips… His tongue.
I let out a groan of frustrated despair that makes the other subway passengers look at me funny, but I don’t care. I’ve had my share of kisses, good and bad, but what just happened back there with Austin was downright spectacular.
Spectacular—and absolutely out of bounds.
By the time I get back to my apartment, I’ve just about stopped tormenting myself with the action replays. It’s still early, and I should be at the spa, doing my actual job, but I figure Austin can’t object to me working from home for the rest of the day.
Plus, right now I don’t trust myself not to jump the man if he so much as smiles at me again.
Nope. No jumping, swinging, licking, or any other activity is on the menu for me.I get stuck into emails and strategy to distract myself, and it works, just about.
I’m about to break for dinner when there’s a knock at the door.
I leap up, wondering if it’s Austin. I shouldn’t hope that—I know. But my heart and hormones want what they want.
Instead, I find four familiar faces staring expectantly back at me, armed with bags of yarn and needles.
Stitch-and-bitch. Here. At my place. I totally forgot.
“Don’t look so startled dear,” Evelyn says, breezing past me. “You’ll get forehead wrinkles.”
I stand back and wave them inside, letting out a sigh of relief—thank goodness. Instead of spending the rest of night panicking-slash-reliving the kiss, I can lose myself in familiar chit-chat.
And snacks. Lottie always brings great snacks.
“Where do you want the dip?” she asks, holding up her Tupperware. “I thought I’d go crazy, try seven layers instead of just five.”
I smile. “Because five is child’s play,” I tease. I quickly clear my laptop and work papers away, pull up a couple of chairs to add to my seating, and turn on some soothing background music from my Nancy Meyers playlist.
Luckily, I’ve hosted plenty of times before, and everything is totally relaxed. Roxy’s pulling out glasses for her drink of the night, Evelyn is fetching bowls for chips and the obligatory healthy veggie sticks (for Arthur’s cholesterol), and Lottie’s Tupperware collection is yet again, a work of practical art. Soon, we’re all seated, sitting—and sipping—the evening away.
“Let’s hear the news,” Lottie says brightly.
“Yes, let’s.” Evelyn gives me a meaningful look. “I want to hear who’s done what… and with whom.”
I avert my gaze and focus on my needles.
“Well, I did it.” Roxy offers, taking a gulp of her sangria. “I quit my job.”
“Good on you!” Arthur cheers.
“Very good,” Evelyn agrees, firmly. “That boss of yours was a real piece of work.”
“Exactly,” Roxy says, sighing. “He got handsy. I walked out mid-shift.”
“Oh, boy,” I wince, setting down my half-knitted sleeve. “Are you okay?”
She nods. “I’m just… Tired. Of having to deal with this bullshit in every damn bar in town. Sorry, language,” she nods to Lottie, who waves it away.
“Please. That handsy motherfucker needs to kiss my ass.”
Roxy smiles. “I’d like to see that.”
“What’s wrong with these guys?” Arthur grumbles. “If I was still a young man, I’d tell them to put up their dukes.”
Evelyn’s knitting needles click faster, deliberate. “That bar you worked at, Roxy. What was it? It sounded like two last names. Holmes and Watson?”
Roxy laughs. “Hill and Webster.”
“Hipsters,” Evelyn grumbles, disdainfully. Roxy and I exchange a grin since we’re the one who taught her that word. Then, as if committing the name to memory, Evelyn repeats, “Hill and Webster. Hmmm…”
And suddenly, I know exactly where this is going.
“Evelyn…” I say.
She bats her eyelashes, mimicking me. “Jenn…”
Roxy glances between us, catching up on the tone. “What’s happening?”
“She’s planning something,” I warn.
“I wouldn’t do anything intentionally,” Evelyn says. “But if, say, I stopped by Hill and Webster one night to pick up a man at the bar, as I am wont to do. Well, maybe the manager there offends me deeply. Me—an old lady! Maybe he gets my martini to his face. And a smack of my walking cane. Just for good measure.”
Roxy laughs.
“She’ll do it, you know,” Lottie warns her. “When my prom date stood me up, mom paid him a visit at his summer lifeguard job the next day. Somehow, he wound up falling headlong in the deep end. Right in front of everyone.” She shoots Evelyn an affectionate smile.
“Hey, I’m all for it,” Roxy grins. “Revenge is best served over ice. And far be it from me to tell Evelyn how to spend her time.”
Evelyn beams… And then her eyes land on me.
“So, Jenn, my love. How’s the sexy boss?”
I gulp.
“I—he—” Kissed me! He kissed me. I kissed him. We, together, kissed in the way where it instantly feels like you’re naked—like your body feels precisely how it would feel to undress with this person and—“He is fine,” I say, diplomatically.
“So, you admit it,” Evelyn crows. “He’s fine.”
I roll my eyes, smiling.
“Hal mentioned that he liked you two together,” Lottie contributes from her chair.
I clear my throat. “Yes, we’re excellent… Collaborators.”
She grins. “He said you seemed quite happy.”
“Of course I was,” I say, waving her off. “Hal helped me look good at work, and it’s always a treat to see him. I do have his jam thumbprint cookies, by the way. I’ll send them home with you.”
“Speaking of cookies,” Roxy adds. “Does anyone have a good recipe for a simple sugar cookie?”
I’ve never known Roxy to bake, but soon, Lottie and Arthur are saying of course they do and Evelyn’s wondering why someone would make something simple, when there’s chocolate to be had? Oh my God—bless Roxy. She nabbed that subject change to bail me out of the Austin inquisition.
Thank you, I mouth at her. She gives me a wink.
After my friends have left, I turn on the TV to keep my noisy brain quiet while I clean up. The Real Househusbands of New York theme song starts, and I sway my hips automatically, feeling much more relaxed after having company to distract me. I scrub at Arthur’s favorite coffee mug like I can scrub away the thoughts of Austin.
That stupid kiss.
People talk about fireworks, and I get it. But that kiss? It felt like two puzzle pieces connecting in place. Like finally—I found it. It. That connection, butterflies. And all.
With the one person who is absolutely off-limits—and not just because he’s my boss.
My phone rings, breaking through my thoughts. I recognize the ringtone and wince. “Hi, Mom,” I answer with a sigh of resignation. “Everything okay?”
“That’s how you answer the phone?” she replies curtly. “Of course everything’s okay. Can’t a mother check in with her daughter?”
“It’s later than you usually call,” I point out gently.
“Well, I was on the phone with Aunt Cathy until just now, and she asked how you were. I said fine, but I thought I’d call to check since you’ve avoided my last few calls.”
“I wasn’t avoiding you,” I say, patiently. “I’m just busy.”
“So, your cousin Jeannine is pregnant again,” my mom announces.
“That’s great,” I say. It is great. I like Jeannine. I like babies.
“You know,” my mom says, “Before she met Tom, Jeannine thought about freezing her eggs.”
Here we go. I can almost hear the starter gun. My mom’s off to the races. “That’s nice,” I say blandly, rinsing dishes.
“Might be worth consideration, honey,” she says. “Just as a precautionary measure.”
Mom, I’m only thirty. The words are right there, about to pass my lips. But I don’t want to restart this back-and-forth. It’s easier to change the subject. “So, how’s Aunt Cathy? Her knee still okay after the surgery?
My mom goes on for a few minutes while I get through most of the dishes, making mhmm noises. But when there’s a knock on the door, I’m thrilled for the excuse to hang up. I could kiss whoever’s on the other side—probably Evelyn, who is eternally scatterbrained, leaving jackets and purses behind. “Mom, I’ve gotta go. Talk soon.”
“You don’t have to be so abrupt, Jenn,” she scolds.
“Love you,” I say, seconds before hitting the red button with particular satisfaction.
“Did you forget your phone again?” I tease, as I open the door.
But it’s not Evelyn. The person standing in my doorway is about a foot taller and twice as wide.
“Austin.” I gulp, feeling a flush of awareness. Because now, it’s impossible to look at him and not remember how he felt, holding me tightly in his arms. Running his hands down my back.
Sliding his tongue into my mouth.
“Hi!” I yelp, cheeks hot and my head spinning. Did I drink too much sangria? Or is this 100% Austin’s pheromones sending my world tilting off balance? “What…? How…? I mean, what can I do to you? For you. I mean, for you.”
Kill me now.
Austin shifts, looking supremely uncomfortable. “I, uh, came to apologize.”
“Apologize?” I repeat, a little disappointed the answer isn’t an ‘in vain I have struggled’ declaration of ardent admiration.
“For what happened. Before.” Austin clarifies. “It was totally unprofessional of me to… For us to…” he coughs. “I’m truly sorry. The last thing I want is to make you uncomfortable, in the workplace or… Out of it.”
Oh.
My heart thuds back down to earth. Because while I’ve been swept up in a haze of hormones and pure, unadulterated horniness since our kiss, it’s clear, Austin has… not been.
No, he’s been thinking of sensible things like workplace conduct and boundaries.
“It’s fine,” I say quickly, adopting an easy breezy tone that should win me cover girl of the year. “I was perfectly comfortable,” I add, trying to joke. “Too comfortable. So, please don’t apologize. It wasn’t your fault. We were both… active participants.”
Active, willing, lusty as hell.
Austin’s tormented expression eases as he realizes I’m not about to bring a harassment suit against him. “Are you sure?” he checks, searching my face. “After the way you ran off, I thought I’d misread everything. In the moment, it felt like, well… Like there was a signal…”
“There was,” I assure him. Like, basically a chorus of angels screaming for me to fling myself into this man’s arms. “I’m sorry I bolted. I got… A little freaked out, and then fight or flight kicked in.”
“Well, lucky me that you picked flight,” Austin says, smiling. “I’ve seen you throw a punch.”
I laugh, relieved that we can talk about this lightheartedly. Worse things have happened, right? Two single adults kissed once. Nothing to write home about.
Except… That kiss.
“So, we’re good?” Austin asks, looking hopeful.
“Great,” I insist, even though it’s getting harder to figure what’s going on. When he first started talking, I thought for sure he regretted the whole thing, but now with his talk of signals and misreading things…
Did he want there to be a signal?
“Do want a cup of coffee?” I blurt, gesturing inside. “Decaf. There’s some left from my knitting club.”
“Aw man, I just missed knitting club?” Austin jokes. “Now I’m definitely having the coffee because I want to hear more about it.”
He takes my invitation, and follows me inside, and I’m glad I had already done my ‘fit for company’ sprucing, so I know there’s no dirty laundry piled on The Chair, or smutty books laying open at incriminating pages.
“How do you take it?” I ask.
His head snaps around.
“The coffee,” I add quickly, heart pounding. Because oh my god, that flash of heat in his eyes has just about incinerated my panties. “Cream? Sugar?”
“Black is fine.” Austin sounds strangled.
“Great!”
I busy myself with fixing drinks. Coffee for him, and chamomile tea for me, to try and calm my raging hormones. When I join him, he’s browsing my bookshelf, admiring my collection of cookbooks.
“Have you really read all of them?”
“Most,” I admit, handing him his mug. “I have a problem, I can’t stop buying them, especially the old ones. Every time I walk into a used bookstore, or find a stoop sale, I have to take a look. I mean, Jolly Gelatin: 101 Southern Salad Recipes? Who could resist that?”
“Who’s the author?” Austin jokes, “Is Chef Robby moonlighting?”
I laugh, trying to relax as he takes a seat on the couch,
and I regale him with the cast of characters who filled up my home tonight. “It sounds like a great group,” he says, sipping his coffee.
I nod. “It’s tricky, making friends as an adult. You know, when you don’t have college, or study groups to fall back on. But I love knowing that every week, we’ll catch up, and stay involved.”
Austin nods. “I’m lucky, I know, having the guys. We’ve known each other ten, fifteen years now. through good and bad.”
“I bet they’d have some stories to tell,” I quip.
He chuckles. “Sorry, we’ve all sworn a blood oath. You won’t get a word out of them.”
“Darn it.” I laugh.
Our eyes meet, and the laughter fades, because suddenly, the sexy elephant in the room can’t be ignored any longer.
Austin is here. Just a few feet away. And it would be so easy for me to close the distance between us and finish what we started back at the batting cages. I want to lean in and kiss him slow, ask him to take me to bed. I want to wake up beside him in the morning and pull him into the shower with me. I want to put my feet on his lap as I knit and listen to the ambient noise of a baseball game he’s watching on TV…
“Well, I should let you get to bed,” Austin says, bolting to his feet.
Bed, I think helplessly. My mouth practically waters.
“Thanks for having me.”
Have me, I think helplessly.
“Sure,” I agree, following him to the door. “See you tomorrow.” I realize, it’s the weekend. “I mean, Monday. In the office.”
“Right.” Austin pauses in the doorway, like there’s something he wants to say. Finally, he ventures: “Look, I know I’m your boss, and that makes this a whole lot more complicated. But what happened earlier… The kiss. It wasn’t an impulse thing.”
I blink. “It wasn’t?” I squeak.
“No.” Austin slowly shakes his head, his eyes fixed on me.
Holy shit!
Does this mean… He likes me? Is interested in dating me? Wants to dive into bed for a weekend of unyielding pleasure?
My mind leapfrogs to all the thrilling possibilities, a blissful rush of giddy adventures getting to know this man better.
Like he can get to know you?
An unwelcome voice of logic cuts through the rush, and just like that, I realize, I’m totally, utterly, and completely screwed.
And not face-down in the bedsheets, with Austin using those capable hands to show me pleasure all night long.
Nope.
This kind of screwed is a solo endeavor—and worst still, it’s all my own doing. I’m already in way over my head with this whole Other Jennifer Walker thing. There’s no way I can get tangled up with Austin romantically, not when I still haven’t revealed the truth about our professional relationship.
Especially when he’s been nothing but honest with me.
I could howl in frustration, but instead, I just tear my gaze away from the question in Austin’s eyes. “You should be going,” I mutter, aching with regret. “I bet you have an early workout scheduled, and I’m sure that coffee didn’t help.”
I swear I see disappointment flash across his face, or maybe that’s just wishful thinking. Because, come on, this is Austin Banks we’re talking about. There’s probably a line of women stretching halfway to Staten Island for a chance to help him with his batting form.
Austin nods slowly. “Yeah, you’re probably right. Plus, I’ve got to figure out this investor thing,” he adds, raking a hand over his head. A gesture I already know is a sign of major frustration.
“You’ll find a new investor,” I reassure him. “It’s a great business, and you’ve got the vision, too. The right person will step up to the plate… Sorry. Unintentional.”
He doesn’t look convinced but manages a smile. “Thanks. And thanks for the coffee. I’ll see you at work.”
I watch him go, wishing I could take back my brush-off, but I don’t have a choice.
“Way to go, Walker,” I mutter to myself, heading back inside. “How’s that main character energy treating you now?”
I go console myself with leftover stitch-and-bitch sangria and the rest of The Real Househusbands of New York marathon. The show is pure reality nonsense, and exactly what I need to escape my own tangled reality, but watching the guys bicker over a luau-themed casino night, it’s hard not to take their words personally.
“You’re shady as a weekend in Napa,” an actress’s husband yells at the live-in-lover of a DIY king. “I can’t believe a word you say!”
Ouch.
“Yeah, well you need to figure out who you are, because you’re faker than the Renoir that Swiss guy tried to sell us on vacation last year!”
“Come on now,” the voice of reason, Mac McClintock soothes. His wife, Lanie, made her fortune selling neon shapewear, and he’s the one holding happily down the fort of their palatial penthouse. “We’re all just trying to figure things out. Take a deep breath. Sven!” he calls, and the strapping Swede they have on retainer appears to start massaging everyone’s troubles away.
If only it were that easy for me.
Of course, I’m not a pampered househusband with time on my hands and the money to back it up…
Wait a second.
I sit up so fast, I slosh sangria over my shirt, but I don’t care. Because I think I just had the best wine-fueled idea of, well, all time.
Mac McClintock!
I stare at the screen, watching him try to train Lanie’s twin Pomeranians Cash and Money to do tricks. I’ve been watching this show for three seasons, and Mac notoriously loves two things: Lanie and a spa session. After a long week, my favorite gif to send Millie is Mac leaning over the kitchen island of the McClintock townhouse, muttering, “I need a drink. And a shiatsu massage.”
Wouldn’t he want to invest in Austin’s spa?