Page 5 of Dirty Sweet Valentine
Oh, fuck. I had forgotten something important. “Is that coming up already?”
“It’s next Wednesday. I’m surprised it isn’t on your mind since you have a boyfriend.”
Yeah, that was surprising. For entirely different reasons than he was suggesting.
I straightened the tape dispenser and the Kleenex box on my desk even though they were already perfectly straight. “Nate isn’t really my boyfriend,” I said, not knowing how to explain to him—or anyone—what my relationship with Nate was. It was definitely something I didn’t like to discuss with my boss. The only reason Hudson knew I was seeing the Creative Director of the ad firm he used was because we’d bumped into each other at a wedding. “We’re, uh, neighbors. Neighbors that get along really well.”
Actually, we were only neighbors because we got along really well. He’d rented the apartment next door just to be close to me. And by get along really well, what I meant was had lots of kinky sex.
That wasn’t fair. Nate and I were more than just fuck-buddies. I had feelings for him that were difficult to pin down, mostly because I was a woman who never wanted to be pinned down at all. Fortunately, he understood because he was exactly the same.
Or, at least, he said he was. In the two months since we’d become “neighbors,” we’d seemed to be on the same page. We saw each other most days, but it wasn’t a big deal when we didn’t. We enjoyed our time together without being overly clingy. We didn’t talk too much about our emotions, except when absolutely necessary. We continued to attend The Open Door, the weekly sex party that we’d first met at, and though we always came and left together, we still fooled around with a wide variety of people while we were there.
Honestly, I was living my best life.
But now that Valentine’s Day was here, I had my doubts. This was the holiday that brought out the romantic of even the most laid-back lovers. The holiday that incited declarations of devotion and inspired conversations about commitment. While mainly a place of debauchery and overindulgence of the sexual kind, the Open Door even had a ceremony the Saturday prior to Valentine’s Day that allowed lovers to proclaim their feelings vocally along with physically.
If Nate was ever going to ruin our “neighbor” status with talk of love, this would be when he’d do it.
“You never know what neighbors can turn into,” Hudson said, assuming that I wanted encouragement. “Alayna was once my employee, remember.”
“Right. Thank you.” This conversation needed to be ended in whatever means possible. “Well, Mrs. Pierce is going to love your gift. Is there anything else you need from me on your way out?”
“No. Thank you, Patricia. That will be all. Enjoy your weekend.”
“You too,” I said, smiling despite the dread gathering in my stomach. Weekends were what I lived for. Specifically, Saturday nights at the Open Door. Nate and I very rarely missed a party.
This Saturday, however, the Saturday before Valentine’s Day, I was going to have to think of a clever way to get us out of it.
Two
The problem with getting out of going to the Open Door was that I’d have to tell Nate why I didn’t want to go. And that in itself meant talking about feelings, which was something I tried to avoid at all costs.
So rather than say anything, I let it fester. When he knocked on my door that evening with takeout in hand, I invited him in, but as soon as the food was gone (which was after he’d fucked me against the refrigerator), I told him I needed some alone time, and he left without any fuss.
That didn’t seem like the behavior of a man on the verge of spilling his romantic guts. So when it was time to get ready for the party Saturday night, I almost went on with the routine as usual.
Then, when I was in my closet trying to choose a dress, all I could think about was, which outfit did I want to be wearing when Nate ruined everything? A stupid question considering the fact that I’d likely be naked by that point. Even more stupid because if I was really worried he was going to ruin everything, then why would I let it happen?
I was halfway out the door on my way to his when I realized that canceling was just as problematic. If I told him I was sick, he’d offer to stay home and take care of me. And if he had intentions of pouring out his heart, he’d potentially do it then. Being alone when that happened was a worse thought than being in the midst of friends.
Alternatively, I could tell him I was too sick for company. But then he might wait until Valentine’s Day to deliver the bomb. If I got out of seeing him that night, he’d get to me eventually, unless I planned to avoid him forever, which...was that a possibility? Could I just keep giving him the slip? Ghost him and end things like that?
If he didn’t live next door, maybe.
Besides, I didn’t want to ghost him. I didn’t want to lose him. I wanted to keep things exactly like they were, which meant I should act like I always did and go to the party as usual.
I was still in my doorway mulling it over when the man I was mulling came walking down the hall from the direction of the elevator, recyclable grocery bag in hand.
“Hey, babe. You looking for me?”
I wrapped my robe tighter around me, feeling naked in a way that had nothing to do with my body. “Uh...no.”
He quirked a brow. “Just like to stand in the hallway in your bathrobe? I can get behind that, but I gotta say I’m a little jealous I wasn’t invited to the party.”
He was joking, but he also wasn’t. He would have zero problem with me entertaining strangers in whatever kinky way I wished, but he preferred that if I did, he’d get to watch.
I preferred that too. It was what I loved about our arrangement. I still got to play in every dirty, filthy way I’d come to enjoy, and I got to have him be a part of it. Like I said—living my best life.
But I wasn’t in the hallway for kink, and I needed to make a decision once and for all about the night. “I mean I was coming to tell you that I didn’t know if I was up to going tonight, then I changed my mind.”
His green eyes narrowed in on me. “You feeling okay?”
Ugh. Now he was concerned. “Yes. No. I don’t know. Just a bit tired, I guess.”
“It’s not like you to want to skip out on a party for being tired.”
“I know, right? Which is why I changed my mind.”
“Are you sure? We could stay in. Order bone broth from that place you like down the street.”
Just like I’d predicted, he’d want to take care of me. “I’m sure. I just needed to get up and walk around to get my pep back. Give me an hour to primp.”
“I’ll give you two.”
God, he knew me so well.
Two hours later, I was dressed in a black mesh maxi, high slits that came up to my hips on both sides. (I rarely wore underwear to these parties, and I didn’t this time either—made for easier access and less items to keep track of when it was time to go home.) My hair was down in curls, my face made-up. With my fake lashes, bright red lipstick, slip-off heels, and a trench coat so that I wouldn’t be arrested for indecency, I was ready to go when Nate knocked.
I crossed to the door and
paused, my stomach fluttering all of a sudden. I liked this guy so much. So much. I might even go so far as to say another L word about my feelings, if I actually took the time to name them. I didn’t want to lose what we had, and if that meant putting on my big-girl panties—or, in this case, putting on panties at all—then I needed to do that and nip any problems in the bud.
He rapped again, just as I opened the door. “Hey, you.”
He was dazzling in his tux and motorcycle jacket, both hardcore and opulence at once. He raised a hand to rub over his close-trimmed beard and dragged his eyes down my body. “Well, hello yourself.”
I looked down to realize my coat was still open, giving him a peek at the goods underneath. Glowing from the heat in his gaze, I tied the belt around my waist. “That’s for later, big boy. If you’re good.”
“I can be very, very good.”
He could also be very, very bad, thoughts of which made my pussy clench in anticipation.
Except, if I wanted there to be something to actually look forward to later, I needed to say some things now. I gestured to my apartment. “Can we talk a minute before we go?”
He frowned and looked at his cell phone. “The Lyft is already downstairs. Can we talk in the car?”
I bit my lip, fretting. Talking in the car meant there’d be no escape if the conversation went wrong. I tried never to have heavy conversations without an escape route.
“Hey,” Nate said, stepping closer so he could put an anchoring hand on my hip. “I know what you’re worrying about.”
“You do?” He couldn’t possibly, but I was highly curious about whatever it was he thought I was concerned about.
“Yes. I do, and I’m telling you right now you don’t need to. I know what we are.”
My breath hitched. Maybe he really did know what I was worried about, and if so, it sure sounded like he wasn’t going to make a big display tonight after all.
Which was good. I was relieved.
“Awesome. Then, let’s go.” Of course, there was always a chance that we weren’t on the same page, that he was referring to something else altogether, but asking to clarify would mean talking more about it, and if I didn’t have to talk more about it…
