The Lineup(37)

Dottie squeals and covers up, holding her clothes over her body as I, like the chivalrous man I am, stand in front of her.

“Mr. Trigger,” I say in a cool, even tone, “you’re looking handsome tonight. Dinner plans?”

He narrows his eyes at me and points his cane. “You youngins have no class. Keep it in your pants.”

I chuckle. “It’s not what you think. We were stuck in the elevator. You actually saved us. Thank you.”

“You were stuck? Doesn’t seem like it since you’re on your apartment floor. You’re going to have to come up with something more creative than that.” He motions to our bodies as I feel Dottie getting dressed behind me. “Why are you naked?”

“Technically, Mr. Trigger, naked means being completely devoid of clothes, and as you can see, we aren’t bare ass and chest, winging our willies around—”

“Your friend has a willy?” Mr. Trigger leans to the side, trying to get a look at Dottie.

I chuckle and shake my head as Dottie elbows my back. “No, I think she wishes she had one at times, but no. She has lady parts.” I lean forward and say, “A vagina.”

“Can you not?” Dottie asks, storming past me fully clothed, with her bag at her side. She gives Mr. Trigger a curt wave and then takes off down the hall.

Gathering my shirt, I salute Mr. Trigger and as I pass, I whisper, “She’s sensitive about her vagina, so it’s nothing against you. Have a good night, sir.”

I walk down the hallway, watching Dottie struggle with her purse the entire time. She sets it on the ground and starts digging around by the time I reach her. I pull my key out of my pocket and unlock my door only to lean against it and ask, “Looking for something?”

She groans and sits on her heels, frustrated and exhausted. “I forgot the key to their apartment at my office.” She pulls on her silky raven hair. “Could this night get any worse?”

“I think it started off pretty well if you ask me. Shared dinner with a devastatingly handsome man, played a few nostalgic games, aired out a bit . . . I think your night is just getting started.”

Her eyes snap at me and her finger points, a slight shake to it. “This is all your fault.”

“Me?” I point to my chest. “How is this my fault? I didn’t tell the elevator to stop. You’re the one who started pressing all the buttons. If you didn’t press them, the doors might have opened instead of you confusing it. Ever think about that?” I tap my temple. “This has elevator confusion written all over it.”

“That’s not even a thing.” She stands, tosses her purse over her shoulder, and starts marching down the hallway.

“Where you going?”

“Back to my office to get the key. What does it look like?”

“Oh okay, but if you don’t want to go all the way back to your office, I have a spare in my apartment if you want to use that. Up to you.”

She pauses and spins on her heel, charging right back to me. I open my door, giving her plenty of space to come in. When she steps inside, she immediately crosses her arms and stands as close to the door as possible.

“Make yourself at home. You don’t have to stick yourself to the wall.”

“I’m just here for the key.”

“Okay, that might be a few minutes.” I toss my shirt on the back of the couch, near the pile of laundry I’ve yet to fold, and then I put our dinner trash in the kitchen.

“Why will it be a few minutes? Just hand it to me.”

“Yeah, about that.” I scratch the side of my cheek. “I can’t remember where I put it. Emory brought it over here before they left in case of emergency and I’ll be honest, I was a tad drunk.”

“You’re a moron.” She huffs in frustration.

She goes to leave, but I stop her by saying, “I think it’s in my bedroom. Give me a second.”

“Oh, let me guess, you want me to help you look for it, and then oh look, we fall into your bed, and our clothes just happen to come off—”

“I mean . . . you said it, not me.”

“You are going to make me drink,” she mutters, stomping back to my bedroom. I let her lead the way, loving the way her pert ass sways with determination.

“Do you want to get naked first or should I? We could do it at the same time. That might be fun.”

“Shut up. My God, Jason. I’m helping you look for the key. Two eyes are better than one.”

“Ahh, yup, I knew that’s what was happening this whole time.” I truly think teasing her is becoming my new favorite hobby. Talk about a short fuse. Yeesh. This girl is strung tight, but I like that about her. It’s like she’s seconds away from either ripping all our clothes off and letting out her frustration or screaming and giving my junk a good old one-two punch. Either way, the uncertainty is thrilling.

When I get to my bedroom, she’s already rummaging through my dresser, plucking through my underwear drawer.

“Looking for keys, or looking for those man thongs I was talking about?”

“Get over yourself, I couldn’t care—” She lifts up my black thong with embroidered roses on it up in the air. “Where on earth did you get this? And why is it so big?”

I chuckle and walk up to her, taking the thong away. I stretch it and say, “Grammy Q made this for me. She wasn’t sure what size I was, so she went with the largest size. She said if I was anything like her hubby, I was going to need the extra crotch room.” I whisper, “Crotch room is greatly needed.”