Not So Nice Guy(52)
“Where would your dream wedding take place?” he asks, keeping a safe distance from me across the room.
That’s easy.
“The star exhibit at the natural history museum. You know the room right before you go into the planetarium?” It’s domed and lit up with a million stars. “It’s where you stepped in gum that one time. Now come back over here and sit down so I can kiss you.”
He nods and moves to the door. “Okay. If you still want to marry me, meet me there at 4:50 on Friday.”
I jump to my feet. WHOA. This is happening. “Do I need to do anything?”
“I’ll handle all of it.”
“What about my dress?”
“Wear whatever you want. It can be a pantsuit for all I care.”
I grin. “I always knew you had a thing for Hillary Clinton.”
“Sam.” He’s staring at me with serious eyes…I-love-you eyes. “Think this over.” His hand tugs through his hair. “I don’t want to feel like I’m forcing you into anything. Don’t come on Friday unless you’re sure.”
“You’re scaring me.”
“Maybe we should be scared.”
I scurry over and cut him off on his way to the door, blocking his way out. If he wants to leave, he’ll have to go through me.
“I’m not going to change my mind.”
His gaze is on my lips. That cold water is all gone and his bedroom eyes are heating up. I take full advantage, grabbing ahold of his t-shirt and tugging him toward me. He obliges and takes a step closer. I tilt my head back and his throat is so close to my mouth, I tip onto my toes and kiss him there, right on his pulse line. His hand hits the door beside my head.
“Sam,” he warns.
“Kiss me before you leave, just once. I need something to remember you by if I won’t see you until Friday.”
His fingers trail up my neck, slowly. He’s thinking over my request, weighing the pros and cons. I wish I was wearing a teasing little slip. My blue dress is fit for the classroom, not for seduction. My hands are my only weapon, so I trail them up his neck and then I’m cradling his face. His bristly jaw tickles my palms. He swallows and his muscles shift. I’ve never dated a guy as big as him. In the past, I chose pipsqueaks on purpose, guys I could have shared pantsuits with. An image of Ian trying desperately to shove his leg into a pair of my pants sends a smile to my lips.
He tips his head. “Why are you smiling?”
His words whisper against my mouth and a full-body shiver rolls through me, one he definitely sees. It makes him smile too, and then our lips are finally touching, but we’re both still smiling. I laugh into his mouth. His hands grip my butt as he rocks his hips against mine and my heart slams against my rib cage. The move reminds me that Ian can flip the script so easily. One second, he’s my best friend, and the next he’s the not so nice guy, the man who handles me like he’s barely resisting the urge to devour me whole. Our smiles fade, he presses closer, and our kiss turns hot. His hands burn across my skin. A few of the buttons on my dress are undone. My hand is down his jeans. I’ve never undone a zipper so quickly. It’s a talent I’ve largely ignored up until now, but maybe I should go on tour and show off my skills. THE SPECTACULAR SAMANTHA: Look how quickly I can seduce my fiancé. Don’t blink or you’ll miss it!
My hand sneaks down the front of his boxer briefs. My little kiss is turning into a little more, and I’m so damn pleased with myself. I’ll get an orgasm if I’m lucky, but Ian is smarter. He knew my plan all along. He extricates my hand with a heavy sigh and steps back. I hate him for his superhuman resolve. Why does it matter when we have sex? Why can’t we just bang it out right here on my welcome mat? Who cares if the letters on the mat imprint themselves on my ass? Who cares if my neighbors hear us when they walk down the hall to get their mail?
Leonard, grab that package. Wait, do you hear that? I think an animal is dying in 2A.
They’ll file a noise complaint and I’ll tape the yellow warning slip to my refrigerator with pride.
“Friday,” Ian promises before picking me up underneath my armpits, shuffling me to the side, and walking out my front door.
19
S A M
72 hours is enough time to go up and down a rollercoaster of indecision so many times I feel nauseous. One minute, I’m feeling spontaneous and adventurous and I tell myself things like, Don’t second-guess this. Do it! Live! The next minute, I start to think of the logistics. We’re making a hasty decision. You don’t just marry someone on a whim. We know each other so well, but I’m sure there are still hidden sides to Ian. For instance, I’ve never slept in a bed with him. I don’t know what temperature he likes to set the thermostat to at night. He could be an inconsiderate blanket hog.
I sleep very little Tuesday night and on Wednesday morning, it’s time to face the music. All the commotion about the potential elopement means the whipped cream photo took the back burner in my mind.
Technically, Ian and I have been placed on probation until further notice. It’s Principle Pruitt’s way of saving us from a mandatory leave situation, or worse, termination. Mrs. O’Doyle isn’t satisfied, though, and the part of my brain that isn’t taken up with thoughts about Ian is waiting for the other shoe to drop with her.