“I know it shouldn’t be funny. It’s not, but it is,” she said. “Not funny as in silly, but funny as in ironic. Today has been a minefield of irony, and I’ve lit the charge and now I’m dancing through the blasts.”
I quirked an eyebrow at her, waiting for more details.
“I came home for lunch because I got passed over for a promotion at work. I was pissed and needed some time. According to Chad, the weasel who got the promotion, I’m ‘too safe’ and ‘don’t take enough chances.’ But you know what? I bet Chad, with his ‘innovative ideas’ and ‘ground-breaking ads’ has never had a gun jammed in his ribs. ‘Too safe’.” She snorted. “Nobody appreciates thorough research and extensive market analysis anymore. They just want some reckless troublemaker who takes it in the ass to march in and do something new and exciting. Well, guess what? I could have died today. Doesn’t get any newer and more exciting than that, does it?”
Having no idea what to make of her rant, I shrugged. “Sure as hell doesn’t.”
Her gaze snapped to me, as if she was surprised to see me still standing there. “You don’t think I’m boring, do you?”
No, she was intriguing as fuck. Maybe a little crazy, but I could work with that. “Not a word I’d use to describe you, babe. Chad must be one dumbass motherfucker.”
She grinned. “Yes! That’s perfect. Chad is one dumbass motherfucker.” Her voice lowered around the expletives like she was afraid of being overheard. Jessica wasn’t boring. She was a good girl. Big difference.
“You’re exciting, Jess. You’re smart and kind and funny and sexy as fuck.” And I hated that some bastard had made her feel like less than the angel she was.
She stared at me like she couldn’t believe the words coming out of my mouth. Like nobody had ever complimented her before.
Frustrated, I glanced around her room, looking for more clues about her. Novels were stacked on the nightstand beside her bed. Knowing I could learn a lot about a woman by the books she read, I wandered over and thumbed through the stack, surprised to find half-naked men splayed across most of the covers.
“What are you doing?” she asked, sounding scandalized.
Finally, I came to a title I recognized. “Fifty Shades of Grey?” I asked, holding up the book. “You read this?”
Her face turned bright red. “It was… educational.”
I bet. I hadn’t read the book, but hearing the club whores talk about it made me curious enough to catch the movie. Not solo in the theater like some lonely pervert, but in my room, alone, after it was available to rent. Women raved about it. I liked pleasing women, so I had to see what the fuss was about. Turns out chicks are into being tied up and told what to do.
What a coincidence; I could be a bossy motherfucker and the idea of restraining Jessica in my bedroom made my dick so hard it chafed against my zipper.
“Any time you want a real-life education, babe, all you have to do is ask.”
She blinked. More color flooded her cheeks and her eyes dilated enough to tell me she was considering the idea.
In the game of Spades and in life, I made it a point to play the cards I’d been dealt, and I recognized a good hand when I saw one. If this kind, sexy, nerdy girl turned out to be a closet freak, she’d be wearing my property patch by Christmas.
Jessica
ICOULDN’T BELIEVE Spade was hitting on me. I mean, sure, men hit on me. Occasionally. But they usually wore suits and enjoyed pastimes no more rigorous than chess or golf. Spade was a biker with tattoos and rock-hard pecks that were trying to bust out of his tight T-shirt. The knees of his jeans were dirty, his hands were rough and calloused, he smelled like a cup of coffee in a hardwood store, and the bulge in his pants was so massive I couldn’t stop staring at it.
The last guy who asked me out smelled like vanilla, wore cardigans, worked in accounting, was lactose intolerant, and teared up during romantic comedies.
In contrast, there was nothing metrosexual about Spade. Even the way he studied my mommy-porn novels was masculine. “You ever try any of this shit?” he asked, thumbing through one of the kinkier books.
My hands itched to yank it out of his hands before he read anything too risqué. Knowing I shouldn’t be ashamed about the books I enjoyed did nothing to stop heat from flooding my cheeks. Why couldn’t I have hadWar and PeaceorLittle Womenon my nightstand?
Because you haven’t read any classics since college.
Right. There was that little detail to contend with. Lately, my chosen reading material had been drifting more and more toward BDSM. I was strangely drawn to the lifestyle and curious about all its secrets. But I wasn’t ready to tell any of that to Spade. Determined not to let him rile me about my reading habits, I held my head high and ignored his question.
“I’m gonna take your silence as a no.” His eyes widening as he scanned a page. “Any of it you want to try? Because this spreader bar bit sounds kind of fun.”
Spade had saved my life, but he was virtually a stranger. We were having an inappropriate conversation in my bedroom, where a man had been shot only hours ago. I should be repulsed, but that’s not the reaction my body was experiencing. My nipples pebbled as I crossed my arms in front of myself and stepped into my closet to find a suitcase.
“You’re not a virgin, are you?”
Shocked he’d even ask that, I stared at him.
“Come on, babe. I need to know what I’m working with here.”
