Hanging On (Jessica Brodie Diaries #2)(39)

The thing with William, though, was that he could show up in a suit and tie and own the room, but he could also show up in a poor man’s suit, like now, and light a girl’s underwear on fire. The man was God-damned gorgeous and I was hard pressed to keep my jaw from dropping.

He walked toward me with a confident saunter and a smirk, his broad shoulders swaying as he closed the gap.

“Hi beautiful.” He slipped his arms around my middle.

“H—hi.” I gulped then smiled. He smelt so good.

“Cat got your tongue?” He leaned forward and connected with my lips lightly, feeling the electricity pass between us. Then he deepened the kiss, slipping his tongue into my opened mouth, until I was panting and clutching on to him. He backed off then, slowly, letting the kiss linger, until he separated and said, “Down girl.”

“Not fair.”

He smiled down at me. “What’s not fair?”

“I’m not sure, but it fit.”

“You two done or what?” Adam called from inside the kitchen. “That shit’s gross. Can I go?”

“Language, Adam,” I said, slipping my hand into William’s.

“I’m not apologizin’,” came the disembodied voice. “You’ve said worse.”

William chuckled. “Don’t blame you. And yes, you can go. Thanks.”

We walked out to my car—well, technically Adam’s car, but I was driving it—and I thought it would be funny to open William's door for him, being that I was taking him to dinner and all. He was fine with me shadowing his steps, until he remembered I was driving.

“Do you want me to drive?” he asked in confusion, stopping. Adam stopped on the way to his truck, wondering if there was a problem.

“Nope,” I said, waiting patiently.

William looked behind him, unclear why I was still back there, then half turned, waiting for me to figure out what I was doing. He wasn’t in the habit of letting a woman trail around behind him. Much like a prisoner in a shower, the thought made him skittish.

“I plan on opening your door for you, sir.”

William turned to look at me fully, mock anger doing a poor job of erasing the smile. Adam started laughing.

Adam said, “Thank God you got her Willie—she’d drive me to drink!”

“Don’t you have somewhere to be, Adam?” I yelled.

“Nope. I wanna see the end of this dog and pony show.”

“Jessica,” William said patiently, ignoring Adam, “you are taking this a bit far. You wanted to drive, which is fine. You want to take me to some backwoods BBQ joint in the middle of the ghetto, against my better judgment, I consented. But there is no way, no way at all, that I will let you open my door for me like I was a chick.”

“I’m being polite.”

“I understand that sweetie, and I appreciate the gesture, but no. Just… no.”

I pouted a little—not because I wanted to open the door that badly, but I wanted to get my way. Sue me. A girl likes to have the run of the mill sometimes.

William’s eyes caught my lips and a pained expression crossed his face, still not dislodging the smile. “Not fair, Jessica.”

He loved and hated that pout. He loved it because it was cute and I put a lot of hip and boob into it. He hated it because he could never resist when I used it, or how happy it made me when he relented.

“What’s she doin’?” Adam called over, still leaning against his truck, nowhere at all to be.

“She’s doing that pouty face.”

“The one with the heart shaped lips?”

“Yeah. She’s even batting her eyes. How the hell can I say no to that?”

“Can’t. You’re whipped. Accept it and let her open the door for you. Pansy!”

“Least he’s getting laid regularly,” I said to Adam.

“True enough,” Adam acceded, climbing into his truck. “Y’all have fun. Call if anything happens.”

In resignation and a smile, William closed the distance to his door and waited patiently for me to open it. I did so with a flourish and got a pat on the butt as he got in.

“Cad,” I said, walking away.

“What—you aren’t going to close the door for me, too?”

“I’m not your manservant. Polite only goes so far.”

Chapter Nine

The next couple weeks passed quickly. William and I were with each other every chance we got. I knew his friends must have been irritated, but they never showed it.

Adam hung out with us more often than not, and he became like a big brother to me. Fred, the Doberman, was also with us every second. His dog bed moved from house to house, and as long as it was there, Fred rested easy. It was the one time we forgot it that no one got any sleep.

William apparently hated whining. In people, in dogs, in kids, it didn’t matter. His dogs, as a result, were scolded if they whined. The night I was at William’s and forgot Fred’s bed at my house, the dog wouldn’t settle down. He didn’t know where to be. He jumped up on the bed and tried to sleep at our feet. He was a bad dog for this because he wasn’t supposed to get on the furniture—so William said. After being kicked off he went to sleep on the couch. He was a bad dog for that also—William yelled from the bed. We heard him getting down and padding back in with us. He didn’t whine, but he moaned and grunted like a banshee. It was intolerable.