I waited for him to advance on me, but instead he pointed to his mouth to signify I should make the first move.
Ah, so it was going to be like that, was it?
I considered, taking my time to look into his eyes, gauging the difference between chilly blue and warm brown. Slowly, exquisitely, I leaned in to give him the lightest, chastest of kisses before asking in a low whisper, “What’s your first name?”
He groaned. “Can’t we leave some mystique to this relationship?”
“Nope.”
“My first name is Tiberius. My father is a hugeStar Trekfan.”
That answered why he preferred to go by Malone. Middle school must’ve been hell with a name like that. I gave him a long, tender kiss for his past pain and suffering.
When we came up for air this time, he said, “Woman, I will give you my Social Security number, date of birth, and mother’s maiden name if you will get naked with me right now.”
With information like that, I could find out anything and everything I’d ever wanted to know about him, and he knew it. My old friend, confidence, warmed me from the inside out. I couldn’t have quit grinning if I’d tried.
Slowly, I stood, knowing that anticipation was the key to all good things in life. I took the hem of my shirt and raised it ever so slightly, looking at him expectantly.
“January twenty-fifth, nineteen eighty-one.”
Over my head went my shirt, to reveal a lacy concoction of a bra. My subconscious had known I would eventually cave to Malone’s appeal. I loved that about my subconscious.
“Mother’s maiden name: Franklin.”
With a languid grace I had learned from a former client who was an exotic dancer, I maintained eye contact while unhooking my bra in the back and then holding my arm over my boobs so the straps fell but the cups remained.
“This is happening.” Malone pinched himself. “This is really happening.”
I arched a brow.
“Okay, okay. Five four six—”
Someone banged on my apartment door.
Chapter 17
Malone and I froze.
“We’re going to ignore that,” I whispered.
“Great idea,” he whispered back. “Where were we?”
“Your Social Security number.”
“Right, right. Five four six—”
“Stella, open up now. I know you’re in there.”
I flinched at the sound of that voice. The Douchecanoe had found me once again.
“The ex?” Malone asked, one eye fire and the other ice.
I nodded, and he jumped up from the couch. I was gratified to see the tent in his pants. Too old to be a honeypot, my not-so-decrepit ass!
But my joy was short-lived as I pieced together the gravity of the situation in light of our previous handshake agreement. “Malone, don’t!”
“Just a talk, man to man,” he said, even though the set of his jaw suggested otherwise.
