The Boxer (Modern Love Book 2) Page 11

  “I can imagine,” I mumble, cupping my coffee mug.

  “Oh, great, the cinnamon roll came.” He eyes it and then nods my way for me to have the first bite.

  I mentally add ‘feed them cinnamon rolls’ to Lucas’ morning-after repertoire.

  “No, thank you,” I say, my gaze darting over to find the blonde girl staring at me again. Now her attention is pinging between Lucas and me. Her mother tries to divert her gaze away, but we must appear like a car accident you can’t help but look at. I’m starting to feel like we’re a car accident because as soon as we left the cocoon of his apartment, things started going south.

  Picking up his fork and knife, he cuts a piece off and holds it up to my lips.

  I shake my head and he pushes it closer, the icing hitting my lips.

  I shake my head again.

  He frowns then turns the fork his way and places it in his mouth.

  “Is something wrong?” he asks, putting the silverware down.

  “No.” I sip my coffee again.

  The waitress taps our table. “One more second, Lucas.”

  He nods absently at the waitress, but keeps his gaze on me. “You seem upset.”

  I glance across and the little girl is still watching me. “Is this your usual Sunday morning routine?” I ask the question before I can stop myself.

  I might not understand all the rules of casual dating, but I’m fairly sure one is not to be upset the next morning when a guy wants to buy you breakfast.

  “Excuse me?” He leans back, not understanding my question.

  “This. The toothbrush, the cinnamon roll the waitress knows to put down before you even ordered it. You know, where all your walk-of-shames are fed before you release them back into the wild.”

  He sits there, calm and cool, and as edible as the lemon meringue pie in the glass case at the front of the diner.

  “What does it matter?” he asks and I uncross and cross my legs again, sliding my ass to the back of the cushion to straighten my back.

  “It doesn’t.” I wipe my mouth with the napkin and place it next to my coffee cup. My hand lands on my purse and I’m about to slide out of the booth when he raises his foot to the edge of the booth to stop me.

  “I think it does.” He raises those perfect eyebrows.

  “Let me out,” I whisper-yell, my blood heating in anger.

  “Why?”

  I lean over the table so he can hear me. “I’m sorry, this is my fault. I should have warned you. I don’t do casual, and I’m unfamiliar with the parting gifts and the morning-after cinnamon rolls. Sitting here, I realize that I can’t do this.”

  “Do what exactly?”

  “This whole ‘you screwed me senseless last night and now we’re going to have coffee and ignore any possibility of doing it again.’ It isn’t me.” I slide again, knocking into his sneaker, but he doesn’t budge.

  “So you didn’t get enough of me last night?” he asks, a smirk across his lips showing me how amusing he finds this.

  His question throws me for a second before I realize his foot has dropped off the booth. The cocky grin on his face does it. My silk dress slides along the booth and I’m standing at the edge of the table with my clutch tucked under my arm, my chin held high as if it’s every morning that I’m in a wrinkled dress with sex hair and no make-up on.

  The waitress comes over, eyes the confrontation in front of her with her pen and pad of paper poised to take our order and just stands there waiting to see what happens next.

  Lucas’s eyes don’t leave mine, humor filling the green hues and his lips teasing a smirk.

  “Thank you for a great night.” I nod and swivel on my heel.

  “You sure you don’t want the cinnamon roll?” he calls out to me and I stop, the waitress’ eyes boring into me again.

  Turning around, I grab the cinnamon roll and leave the diner and Lucas Cummings behind.

  16

  “Hold on!” I scream as water drips off my body onto the hardwood floors of my apartment as I run to the front door.

  I open the door to find Lennon’s smiling face.

  “I told you I’m done with my experimenting phase,” she says, bypassing me in my towel, inviting herself into my apartment.

  I follow her into my living room and she plops herself on my couch, putting her feet up on my coffee table.

  “Make yourself at home.” I walk to my bedroom door. “I’ll be right back.”

  “I’ll be waiting for all the juicy details.”

  “Get your feet off my table,” I holler out and shut the door to my room.

  After I get dressed and comb out my hair, I walk out to my living room to find that Whitney has now joined the party.

  “You girls are early,” I say, moving toward my coffee pot.

  Whitney and Lennon stand from the couch and come to sit down at my breakfast bar, each holding their own mugs, having already helped themselves.

  “Did you really think we’d wait around for you to offer up the deets of your wild night of abandon?” Lennon smacks the counter like a judge’s gavel. “So…”

  “It was nice,” I say. “Until this morning.”

  “Did he ask you to drop off his dry-cleaning when you left? Disappear early and leave you in his apartment like Cole did to Whit? Did you wake up in his childhood room surrounded by trophies and gaming systems?” Lennon rambles on and I don’t even want to know if these are things that have happened to her. “Once I knew this girl who was so smashed that she woke up with his mom staring down at her. He still lived with his parents. They fucked on his SpongeBob SquarePants sheets!” She looks over at Whitney, who is struggling to swallow her sip of coffee. “Can you imagine?”

  Whitney strangles down her coffee and then bursts into laughter. “Are you sure it wasn’t you?”

  Lennon huffs as though she’s offended but holds up her hand in the air in the Girl Scouts’ honor sign. Everyone knows she was never a Girl Scout. “Swear. It was Tina Reynolds.”

  Whitney and I share a look like, Whatever, it was so Lennon. Then they both direct their attention back to me and I feel as though there’s a spotlight over my head and I prepare myself for the interrogation to come.

  “So…” Lennon starts as usual. Whitney props her elbows up on the breakfast bar and rests her chin on her hands.

  “I may have had a minor freak-out at the diner this morning.” I lean against the counter and cross my ankles, bringing my coffee to my lips to distract myself.

  “Diner? As in breakfast? He took you to breakfast?” Whitney asks with a that’s-so-sweet tone and a smile teasing her lips.

  “Yeah.” My voice is so low with embarrassment that it couldn’t be heard by a dog, much less a human being.

  “That means you were more than a booty call, girl.” Lennon raises her hand for me to high-five her, but I shake my head.

  “I think I ruined it.” I sip my coffee again.

  “How so?” Whitney asks.

  “Um…” Both their eyes are zeroed in on me and my voice catches in my throat. “I didn’t know what to do, what was appropriate behavior after a one-night stand.”

  “Appropriate behavior?” Lennon says with a fake British accent. “Why, Lucas, a lady never kisses and tells.” She raises her pinky while she sips her coffee.

  Whitney knocks her with her elbow to stop and then focuses in on me.

  “I just… I was with Chase for so long. He’s the only man I’ve ever slept with. I’ve never done this whole casual dating thing. Then I found these toothbrushes and the waitress brought us a cinnamon roll.” I begin to ramble but they get lost the longer I speak.

  “Oh, man, a toothbrush and a cinnamon roll. You’re right. There’s no coming back from that.” Lennon eggs me on and I slam the coffee cup down on the counter, the caramel liquid overflowing.

  “I’m going to die with twenty cats around me. They’ll probably gnaw at my body once I can’t put their food out anymore.”

  “Don’
t be so dramatic, Tahlia. One of us would find you first,” Lennon jokes, trying as usual to lighten the mood and make me laugh.

  “You guys will be off with your grandchildren or something.” I wave a hand at them.

  “Grandchildren? This body is not meant for procreation.” Lennon raises her arms for us to look her over. She’s probably right, but not because of her body. I’m not sure the girl could ever settle on one person long enough to make the commitment to have children with them.

  “By then Cole and I will be empty-nesters and you can live with us, but no cats, Cole’s allergic.” Go figure, Whit’s the one to actually put it in a realistic scenario.

  I stare at the two of them, tearing off a paper towel to wipe up my mess. I throw away the dirty paper towel, refill my cup only to find the two of them looking at me again. This time with pity.

  “So, seriously, what happened? It sounds like it was going great.” Whitney leans back this time, sipping her coffee. “Let’s start with the good stuff.”

  I blow a long breath out. “The good stuff.” My smile emerges full-wattage as I picture all the ways Lucas took control over my body last night. “He’s amazing in bed. Nothing like Chase.”

  “Chase aka selfish lover.” Lennon adds in her two cents.

  “Oh, I forgot to tell you. We ran into Chase.” I place my coffee down, climbing up on my counter because I know they’ll want to hear this.

  “What?” Whitney screeches.

  For the next twenty minutes I tell my two best friends everything that went down last night. How Chase was with Quinn and that he wanted to speak to me and how Lucas pretended to be my boyfriend so I could save face.

  “What a douche.” Lennon’s face contorts like she just drank sour milk.

  “What about Lucas though?” Whitney is quick to keep the Chase train from running off course. Thank goodness.

  “Lucas is sweet, hot, good with his hands. No complaints in the sex department.”

  “I could tell by his voice. He has a voice that could make you wet just hearing it,” Lennon remarks and I hope that didn’t happen last night.

  “This morning he made me a horrible cup of coffee that I tried to swallow down with no complaints. But he could tell, so he took me to a diner.”

  “So far so good.” Whitney waves her hand to keep going.

  “We had to wait in line and there was this family in front of us. The daughter kept staring at me and the mom looked disgusted. I started to feel dirty and whorish.”

  “Whorish?” Lennon clarifies.

  “You know what I mean. I had on my dress from the night before and he was in sweats. My hair wasn’t a rat’s nest, but it still had that just-fucked vibe. Anyone could figure out what had transpired between us.”

  “That’s their problem.”

  I release a long breath again. “I’m not you, Lennon. I freaked. I found a stash of toothbrushes under his sink.”

  “His parting gift?” Lennon asks.

  “Exactly.” I point to her. “Is that a thing? Like do men give the women things before they leave?”

  The two of them stare at me again and burst into laughter.

  “No.” Lennon shakes her head. Her tone suggests that I really am clueless. “No, they don’t.”

  “It’s like a courtesy then?” Whitney chimes in, ecstatic she has the answer correct. She’s not exactly the girl with a long list of one-night stands.

  Lennon shoots her the same bored weirdo look. “No. They’re probably for the girls he sleeps with, but it’s unusual. My finger and his toothpaste are my usual morning-after routine.”

  We both nod.

  “Continue,” Whitney says.

  “I took the toothbrush thing to mean he has a steady stream of women in and out of his apartment. Then we’re seated and the waitress just lays a cinnamon roll on the table while he was taking a phone call by the cashier.”

  “How dare she?” Whitney says, giggling.

  Ignoring her, I continue. “I told the waitress we hadn’t ordered it and she said, ‘It’s his usual.’”

  “Where is the diner?” Lennon asks.

  “Across from his apartment.”

  “Safe to say he goes there a lot?” Lennon asks.

  I shrug, embarrassed. “Probably. He mentioned how good the cinnamon rolls were while we waited in line.”

  “You have to wait in line to get in?” Whitney asks, her eyes lighting up.

  “Yeah.”

  She pulls her phone out. “What’s it called? Those are the best places. I’m going to ask Cole to take me there next weekend.” Her fingers are poised ready for the four-one-one from me and I glare at her for the fact that the best short-stack pancakes are what’s on her mind in this moment. She tucks her phone away. “Sorry, carry on.” Her head shrinks down into her shoulders.

  “Anyway, I don’t know. Everything started adding up in my head and I didn’t know what to do. I panicked thinking he was just waiting for me to cut loose. And…”

  “You did. You left him at that restaurant to eat the cinnamon roll all by himself?” Whitney asks, her lips turning down like he’s the kid at lunch with no one to sit with.

  “No.”

  “You didn’t?” Lennon asks with a smile.

  “I took the cinnamon roll with me.” I bury my head in my hands, the heat of my embarrassed flush covering my body.

  “He didn’t even get the cinnamon roll?” Whitney asks, her lips turning true pouty. “Bad, Tahlia.”

  “Nope. I ate it on the way home in the cab,” I confess with shame like I’m a closet over-eater at a Weight Watchers’ meeting.

  The two of them burst out laughing, Lennon slapping the counter, Whitney’s gaze moving from me to Lennon and back again.

  “Was it as good as he said?” Lennon asks between chuckles.

  “I’m glad that my life is so humorous.” I hop off the counter, take the final sip of my coffee and place the cup in the sink. “I have to do my hair.”

  I leave the two of them in my kitchen while I walk into my bedroom. I’m unwinding the blow dryer when Whitney peeks her head in through the door.

  “Sorry,” she says. “Can we come in?”

  I nod and the two enter the small confines of my bathroom. Lennon takes a seat on the toilet lid and Whitney hops on the counter.

  “I’m sure it wasn’t as bad as you think,” Whit tries to assure me.

  I cock my eyebrow at them and they snicker a laugh.

  “Seriously, Tahl. He sounded nice last night and like he only had the best intentions. Who else would take the time to call the girl’s friend to get her out of the taxi?” Lennon remarks and I guess she’s kind of right. “I blame myself for this. I should have prepared you more. I failed as a teacher. I’ve let you down on your journey to singledom.”

  I plug in my blow dryer. “I’m twenty-six, Lennon. I should be able to handle a casual hook-up.”

  “Look, we forget that you’ve been prepared your entire life. You went to etiquette school, débutante school. Your mom has never let you just walk into a situation without you knowing exactly how you’re supposed to act and what you’re supposed to do. Casual sex is a beast for even the most prepared. It’s my fault I didn’t tell you that there are no parting gifts handed after and that if the guy attempts to make you coffee, that’s a good sign.” She smiles and I laugh at myself.

  “I bet he calls,” Whitney says.

  “I never gave him my phone number,” I remark with a frown.

  “If he wants to see you again, he’ll find a way to get your number.” Lennon’s lips quirk up into a smile and I hope for once she’s right.

  17

  My assumption is that Lucas didn’t want to call. It’s been five days and nothing. Isn’t the rule three days or something?

  “Miss Santora.” A deep voice pulls me from my internal debate on where I heard about the three-day rule in the first place.

  Michael Plotter leans against the door frame to my office with a smile
across his face. He places his computer bag on the floor just inside the door, walks into my office without asking and plops himself down in the chair in front of me.

  I sit up straight in my office chair, crossing my legs, and try to appear like the professional I am, not like a girl trying to figure out why a boy didn’t call her.

  “Lunch plans?” he asks, his eyes dipping to my cleavage and back up to my eyes.

  “I don’t take lunches.” I tap my pen on the desk.

  “You don’t eat?” he asks. He brings his leg up to rest his ankle on his knee. His movements are suave and effortless.

  “I eat. I just don’t leave the office.”

  “Let’s order take-in then,” he offers. His fingers strum the arm of the leather seat.

  “Mr. Plotter, why would I want to have lunch with you?” His gaze never veers away from mine so I hold his stare.

  “Why wouldn’t you?” His phone vibrates in his pocket, but he never pulls it out.

  “Because I have a lot of work to do here.” I eye the files that Midge, my secretary, just brought me.

  “I bet you work way too hard, Miss Santora.” He takes a moment to pull out his phone to see who was calling.

  “It’s my family’s company, of course I do.”

  He nods. “I think Santora Sausage can spare you for an hour.” He stands, tucks his phone back in his jacket pocket. “I hate to eat alone.”

  “I don’t suppose you’re alone often.” I comment, standing to see him out.

  He chuckles. “True.” My stomach growls and he eyes it and then raises his eyebrows at me as if to say, Stop the act.

  “Fine.” I relent because I have no argument now. Plus, I was supposed to have lunch with a client who canceled last minute. “You’re buying though.” I shrug on my raincoat and grab my purse.

  “I’d have it no other way,” he says behind me before we walk out of my office.

  Midge glances at me as we pass her desk and when she spots Mr. Plotter behind me and she does a double-take. There’s no doubt he’s a male Adonis. He’s just not my type—anymore.

  “I’ll be back in an hour, Midge.”

  “Yes, Miss Santora.” She nods. “Mr. Plotter.” She nods again.