Make Me Read online

  “Rebecca! Are you all right?”

  Amy Winehouse sang low and smoky, No, No, No. Rebecca snatched at the vinyl puddled around her and water bounced off of her soapy head, sending sudsy rivulets into her eyes. No, No, No.

  “I’m fine. I just slipped.” She scrubbed at her eyes and pawed at the air, reaching for the towel she thought she’d left folded atop the sink. It appeared in her hand along with the wisp of Manny’s fingers over hers. “Thanks, um, can you get out now? That’s why locks were made for doors, you know.”

  He cleared his throat. She peeked at him beyond the towel. He looked genuinely flustered; except she was the one naked on the floor of his tub.

  “Sure, yeah. I was just worried. I didn’t know what the—” He smiled weakly and nodded once in a firm, sharp gesture. “Cool. OK. I’m heading off to bed.” Turning to the side, so that he wasn’t actually looking at her, he continued. “Don’t worry about getting that fixed. I’ll take care of it in the morning.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be. Just glad you’re all right.”

  “Thanks, I guess.”

  He shook his head and closed the door.

  Why did she have this rankling need to be mad at him? It must have sounded like World War III in there when she fell. Anyone would have been worried. But did he have to bust the door in? Sheesh!

  Rebecca scraped herself up from the bottom of the bathtub and switched the water from the shower to the tub faucet, electing to rinse her hair from the more controlled stream and saving the bathroom from a bigger mess. Bent on her knees, with her head hung upside down under the warm water she imagined how crazy it would be for Manny to see her like this. She made quick work of her hair, but she wasn’t able to resist the urge to slip a hand over the weighty globes of her breasts as they swayed beneath her, and then her fingers moved lower, between her legs.

  How would it be for him to see her now? The sheer lunacy of it made her laugh a little. Lunacy or not, she couldn’t deny that the idea made her wet.

  Rebecca emerged from the bathroom in her pink “Kiss me, I’m Irish” nightshirt to find the futon open and Manny reclining on it with nothing on but a pair of basketball shorts. A sheet lay folded next to him, and he used his arm, tucked under the back of his head, as a makeshift pillow. TV images blanketed the darkened room in a shadowy blue wash. He didn’t look her way. On the screen, the detective made an arrest, and his sidekick cracked a one-liner.

  “I changed the sheets on my bed for you, in case you were wondering.”

  “Your bed? No. The futon is fine.”

  “I wouldn’t subject my worst enemy to sleeping on this thing. Besides, I went through basic training, remember. I can sleep anywhere.”

  Her heart melted a bit. Manny seemed to have that effect on her. Feeling nervous all of a sudden, she wrung her hands together. “Thank you. I know I was kind of a bitch earlier.” He didn’t look her way. She really wished he’d look at her. “It’s just that this whole thing has taken me off guard. I’m not so good with surprises.”

  “You wanna watch some TV with me?” He patted the spot next to him on the futon without taking his eyes from the screen.

  She chewed on her lip. What harm was there in that? She was definitely not going to be able to fall asleep in some strange guy’s bed so easily. She may as well hang out with him until she at least felt sleepy. She didn’t answer, since he didn’t seem in the mood for sharing too many words. She simply eased into the place next to him and sat there with her legs tucked underneath her, thankful for the dark and how it disguised the outline of her braless breasts. She’d never really been comfortable with the attention her generous helping in the boob department had garnered throughout her young adult life. Sitting there in the thin cotton nightshirt made her feel oddly like being back in high school.

  “This is a good one.” He flicked a long finger toward the screen.

  Rebecca was more of a PBS, Downton Abbey type of girl, but she recognized the popular who-done-it series. Instead of watching the overscaled actors play out another courtroom drama, she found herself staring at the way the light flickered over the features of Manny’s face and the landscape of his chest. For God’s sake, did he have to be so gorgeous? And nice. She shouldn’t forget how nice he’d been to her. She supposed it was the least he could do for stealing her apartment, even if it wasn’t really stealing, even if she’d been foolish enough to make an agreement on a sublet over a dainty handshake and scones. He had been honorable about the whole thing in a city where the modus operandi was typically “watch your own back because no one else will.” She could practically kiss him…on the cheek, where it couldn’t be misconstrued.

  She drew a pattern of circles with the tip of her finger on her thigh. “What I was trying to say before was that you didn’t have to do any of what you did. I know that. I think it was really nice of you to take the time to pack my stuff up and—”

  “Maybe if I kiss you, you’ll stop talking.”

  She frowned. “What?”

  “Clearly you need something to do with those lips. They’re in perpetual motion.”

  She gasped. “I’m just trying to say thank you.”

  “You did, I believe. Like twelve times or something.”

  “Not twelve times!”

  “Kiss or no kiss?

  “You’re impossible!”

  “OK, no kiss, then. Now shhh. We’re watching TV.”

  Rebecca huffed, not exactly sure what she was most perturbed by, the pleased smirk on his face, the blatant request for her to shut up, or the missed opportunity to kiss him. She decided to focus on the first two, because number three was just a road to crazy town. Why would she want to kiss someone who made her so bananas?

  Chapter Three

  Rebecca left in a huff, stomping off to the bedroom. Manny was only a little sorry about it, because the way his heart had beat like a stampede of bulls in his chest when he’d thought she’d hurt herself had scared the living shit out of him. Catching feelings for someone was exactly the wrong medicine for his situation, especially someone like Rebecca Sinclair. The moment he’d seen her in that tub, a tangle of hair and limbs clutching his Pittsburgh Steelers shower curtain, he’d felt that dreaded tug on his heart.

  Shit. He didn’t want this now. Ninety days alone. He’d made himself a promise to press the reset button on his love life. Ninety days—cold turkey. Three months hadn’t seemed like a very long time, just long enough to be sure he had control over his emotions, long enough to stop kicking himself for letting his guard down. What had seemed like the homestretch just the day before now seemed like a lifetime.

  The last time he’d had an orgasm, the floor had fallen out from under him. Fucking literally. If it hadn’t been the worst day of his life, it might actually have been funny. Never make the mistake of getting a blowjob in an equipment loft. Fatigues dropped to his ankles, he’d let himself be talked into an off-duty quickie one dusty night in the desert clusterfuck they liked to call the graveyard of empires.

  Fuck, it had been good to sink into Kyle’s mouth and lose himself in pleasure after the shit they’d been through that morning. Manny had held Kyle’s head still against his thrusts, registering the moment he pushed all the way to the back of his best friend’s throat. Kyle had a way of stroking his balls at just the right time to make his knees go weak. Only it wasn’t the orgasm that put Manny on his ass. The access hatch had given way and dumped him to the first floor. He’d managed to rise unscathed, except for the bruises up and down his right side. Those bruises had healed easily. He’d barely even noticed them.

  Kyle hadn’t found it the least bit funny, panicking over who might have seen them. When their commanding officer came to question them an hour later about reports of improper conduct, Manny wasn’t laughing either.

  He rolled onto his side and pulled the sheet over his shoulder. A little session with the palm of his hand wasn’t completely out of the question. The temptation that lay on
the other side of that door practically demanded it. He enclosed his cock inside his fist and moved his hips at just the right tempo. An image danced in his head, and he focused on it, pleasantly surprised that the tresses bobbing in his lap were long and strawberry blond.

  * * *

  “Morning.” Manny stretched his back and cracked his neck as he came into the kitchen.

  Rebecca watched with a healthy dose of guilt over the sleeping arrangements. “Good morning. Coffee?” She took a sip from his Semper Fi mug, the guilt abating and transforming into an entirely different emotion as she took in the view of Manny rubbing his bare shoulder and then his chest before scratching at the back of his neck.

  “Sure.”

  “I’m on my way out to check the rental listings in the realtor’s window before I start scouring the Internet.”

  “Give me a minute, I’ll come with you. Planned on heading to the gym. We can walk together.”

  “It’s only two blocks to the realtor.”

  “Yeah, right past Petite Fours. We can grab croissants.” He put down his cup of coffee. “And maybe a real cup of Joe.”

  “It is kind of terrible, isn’t it?”

  “Please don’t make me drink this.”

  Rebecca took the mug from him and tossed the contents into the sink right after hers. “Get dressed, we’re going for gourmet coffee and baked goods.”

  “Now, you’re talking.” He beamed at her, looking as virtuous as he possibly could with only a towel slung low around his waist. She’d been trying to keep her attention on the top half of his body. Her resolve was about as good as her coffee.

  Manny dipped into the bedroom, but continued to speak through the cracked door. “How’d you sleep?”

  “Fine, thanks,” she said, remembering the orgasm she’d whipped up with the help of his pillow and feeling suddenly guilty about that too. What kind of freak humps a guy’s pillow while he sleeps in the next room? She heard a little voice inside her scream, meeeee! And she knew she’d be powerless to stop the color from flooding her cheeks.

  He only took a moment to throw on a pair of track pants and a T-shirt. With sneakers in hand, he came back into the kitchen and sat down in one of the two chairs.

  “What’s got your cheeks so rosy?”

  She burned hot under her skin with embarrassment. “What? Nothing.” Bouncing past him and back into the living room she let out a wobbly chuckle. “It’s just hot in here.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I estimate that we have no less than twenty minutes before they sell out of their last chocolate-filled croissant, so if you’re finished misdiagnosing the condition of my face, I’d like to get the one with my name on it.”

  “Are you always so bossy?” He arched an eyebrow from his hunched-over position in the chair.

  Rebecca shrugged. “Maybe. I like to get things done.”

  “Well, then I guess I’d better fall in line.”

  “You got it, soldier.” She grinned, but she noticed that his smile faltered.

  “Right, I’m ready.” He was up and grabbing his wallet from the counter with efficient movements.

  She wondered what had turned his mood so suddenly. He probably didn’t like to joke about his time in Afghanistan. The atrocities he must have seen—how could she have been so dense?

  They headed down the hall toward the elevator. “You know, I didn’t mean—”

  “Oh shit, I forgot to grab the letter I need to mail.” He turned abruptly and jogged back to the apartment. “Hold the elevator, I’ll be right back.”

  “OK.” She felt a little off her game with this guy. He made her mouth dry. She mashed the button on the elevator and leaned against the wall next to it. The door opposite opened.

  “Hey, Becca! When did you get back?”

  Rebecca rummaged for a smile in her bag of polite pleasantries. “Hi, Wilson. I got back into town last night.”

  “Call me Wil. Only my mother calls me Wilson.”

  She nodded with the recollection of their first introduction some months back. “Only you call me Becca.”

  “I kind of like that, being the only one.” He smiled, looking pleased. So what if she hated it? To point that out just seemed like more work than it was worth.

  “I thought maybe you had moved out,” he went on.

  “Ha! Yeah, that’s a funny story, actually.” The fluttering lilt to her voice didn’t match the words.

  Wilson frowned and tilted his head expectantly.

  “Got it!” Manny called from a few paces away.

  “Wilso—uh, Wil, do you know Manny?”

  “’Sup man?” Manny said, holding out his hand.

  Wilson tucked his leather iPad holder under an arm and shook tentatively with him. “Oh—are you two…?”

  Manny chuckled at the suggestion and looked down at Rebecca. She shook her head with vehemence. “Oh, no. I was subletting from his grandmother and when she passed away, he couldn’t reach me. I’m only staying there for a few days, tops.”

  Wilson took a moment to digest the explanation, and then his face lit up. “So you’re out an apartment? You could stay with me.”

  She looked at him quizzically. Why hadn’t she thought of calling Wilson? He was pleasant enough—a little short maybe, but she didn’t hold it against him. And at least he wasn’t a perfect stranger.

  Wilson had a beautiful two-bedroom apartment with a terrace. He was a hedge fund manager for a large investment firm. They’d gone on two dates since he’d moved in, both ending up with soft music and an expensive glass of port. Then it was a short walk to Rebecca’s door, where he’d given her a chaste, if not inquisitive, kiss on the lips. She’d never given much thought to those evenings after they were finished. One word summed up Wilson Goodman: dry.

  “Ummm…I didn’t want to bother you.”

  “Nonsense. I have an extra bedroom.”

  Manny stood up a little straighter; Rebecca noticed the shift in his shoulders. “I kind of owe her, see?” he said. “For putting her out on the street in the first place. She can stay as long as she needs until she can find something permanent.” He cast his eyes down on her with an impish smile. “My bed was comfy, wasn’t it?”

  Rebecca felt the heat rushing to her face. That little devil; he was purposefully distorting the truth.

  “Sorry about your back getting worked over by that futon.” Rebecca’s voice fluttered, as if she had a feather caught in her throat.

  “Oh, I don’t mind being worked over.”

  Rebecca thought she just might spontaneously combust into flames right there in the hallway. The elevator dinged, and she realized that she and Manny had been staring at each other as if Wilson wasn’t even on the same planet with them.

  She took a breath. “Umm…are you going down?”

  Wilson shook his head, eyeing Manny carefully. “Actually, no. I’m headed up to the observatory to read.” He shook the iPad case. Rebecca guessed it to be calf’s skin by the smooth matte finish.

  Manny clapped his hands together. “Well, alrighty then. We’ll see you later.” He guided Rebecca into the elevator with an effortless press to the small of her back. It felt good there, even if the gesture was a bit presumptuous.

  “Can I give you a call, Becca? Same number?” Wilson asked.

  “Ah yes…same number,” she confirmed, with a wave between the closing doors.

  As the elevator descended, Rebecca tapped her foot as if smoking embers had appeared beneath it. She pressed her lips together, and they separated with a soft pop of suction being released. “So, are you a cappuccino kind of guy?”

  “Did you have something going with that dude?”

  She sucked in a bit of air. “Uh…I don’t really see how that’s any of your business.”

  He shrugged. “The guy just seems a bit too much of a pencil neck for you, is all.”

  “Where did you grow up? Not New York. No one around here says ‘is all.’”

  “Oh, not proper en
ough for you?”

  “You have a way of twisting my words.”

  He smiled. “And you have a way of changing the subject.” He winked at her and fished into his pocket. Flipping open his wallet, he pulled out a Pennsylvania driver’s license. “And by the way, you probably should have asked to see this yesterday. I could have been a psycho killer after all.”

  “Well, what good would it have done to know your real identity when you’d already gone all Jack the Ripper on me?”

  “Good point.”

  Rebecca noticed the way his hair flopped into his eyes in the photo. He had kind of a badass, who-gives-a-shit look on his much younger face. “So what part of Pennsylvania do the Tescaderos hail from? I don’t recognize the town.”

  “I grew up in the western part of the state. Where they say stuff like is all.” He accepted his wallet back from her.

  “And do stuff like bust in on girls in the shower.”

  “I think that’s something I picked up here in the city.” He glanced sideways at her. “Bad habit?”

  “You think?” She laughed at him and fought the urge to grab his hand as they set out onto the street. They felt so natural together, fell into step so easily. She caught a glimpse of herself with him in the blacked-out window of the medi-spa next door. They looked like a couple, the way people look after they’ve become familiar with each other over months and months of movie dates and back rubs. Only she’d just met him yesterday, and he drove her batty half of the time. More than half if you didn’t count the time she spent dreaming about him slotted between her knees.

  By the time they reached the bakery with the familiar logo of chocolate brown fours arranged on a white cake, Rebecca had completely forgotten about Wilson.

  “So are you going to call him?” Manny asked as she collected their drinks from the barista. He handed her the tall insulated cup and covered her hand with his when she tried to pull out her wallet. “Nah, put that away. I got it.”