Page 33 of Lethal Seduction

“Get ready. I’ll go make us some coffee so you can be fully caffeinated for breakfast.”

I close the bathroom door and smile at myself in the mirror above the sink. The giddiness I feel is only tempered by the idea that what I’m going to do once again puts myself out there and potentially gets me hurt along the way.

I turn on the shower and strip naked. As I step into the flow of steaming hot water, I shiver and goosebumps spread across my arms and legs. Unable to stop myself from thinking aboutMichaels broad shoulders, trim waist, big strong hands, my cock jumps to life. Instinctively, I start stroking it, but then remember that I am a guest of my best friend and there’s nothing classy about jacking off in a friend’s shower.

Sighing, I lather up and wash my hair, still thinking about the man I’m going to meet for breakfast. Is this too good to be true? He checks so many of my boxes and yet I’m nervous.

Whatever, I think. I can hear Tina’s voice in my head saying, Even Katniss was nervous the first real date she had with Peeta. And who was I to argue with that logic?

14

MICHAEL

Iget to Patrick’s apartment early and don’t want to seem too eager, so I do the next worst thing possible—start fussing with my hair in the rearview mirror. It’s like a fifty-car-pileup on the freeway. When I move one strand of hair to the left, it dislodges a curl I didn’t even realize I had. I push, pull, flip, flop, beg, pray, and eventually give up.

Sighing, I go to return the mirror to its normal position when I see the panicked look in my eyes. Why am I so nervous? Something about this date feels different. Like, Patrick could be the one. What the heck am I thinking? I’ve been on dates that didn’t even last two hours and I never saw them again. What makes me think this is going to be different?

I smile. Are those crow’s feet? When did I get so old? Thirty-five is old? “Hi, Patrick.” I practice in the mirror. “What’s going on?” Duh, what a stupid question. We’re going to a concert, that’s what’s going on. I shift the mirror back to its regular position and shake my head. Better not practice too much, I’m liable to sound like one of those automated intelligence programs, like when I ask the phone for help. That annoying, fake, pleasant voice, that says, “This is what I found.” And nomatter what I ask and what she finds, it’s never what I was looking for.

The time on my dashboard clock nudges me into action. It’s time, and I need to get to the door before I’m late. No sense in getting here early and then being late. I open the car door and get out. As I turn, close the door, and lock it with a touch of my finger on the door handle, a woman approaches me from behind.

“Hey, sugar,” she says. “Can I interest you in some of this?” She jiggles her breasts and smiles. She’s missing most of the bottom row of teeth, but the tops are all there. It’s clear she’s a prostitute, and I can’t help but wonder if her teeth were knocked out by a John.

“No, thanks,” I say. There’s no point in flashing my badge, I don’t want to ruffle her feathers or start something I would have to pursue. I’m here for a date and that’s exactly what I intend on doing. “I’m here to see a friend.”

She looks disappointed, but then turns to look at the apartment I’m standing in front of and smiles again, putting her hands on her hips. “Oh, that explains it. You’re here to see sugar. You don’t go breaking his heart now. I don’t want to have to rough you up.” She puts up her hands in a playful fighting position.

“I wouldn’t dream of it, ma’am.”

“You can call me Diamond, boo. I have a feeling we’re going to see a lot of each other if you keep coming by to see your… friend.”

“Nice to meet you, Diamond.” I turn and hurry up the steps to the second floor where Patrick’s apartment is located.

I take a deep breath and let it out slowly before raising my hand and knocking on the door. A few seconds pass like uncomfortable minutes, my brain already trying to make excuses as to why he wouldn’t be home. Before I manage toconvince myself to leave and drown my sorrows in a beer or three, the door swings open wide.

Patrick stands there looking like a dream come true. He’s in good shape, slender, but not waif. He isn’t as tall as I am, in fact, he looks a good six or seven inches shorter than me—why I hadn’t noticed this before I don’t know. But what really impresses me is the smile on his face and the spark in his eyes. Everything I’ve learned about reading people as a police officer tells me he’s excited to see me.

“Michael,” he says. “It’s great to see you.”

“You look fantastic,” I say. “I hope I’m not underdressed.”

He looks me up and down with a twinkle of sexual hunger in his eyes. Shaking his head, he says, “Not at all. Would you like to come in while I finish getting ready?”

Patrick steps aside while I walk into the apartment. As I brush past him, I catch the scent of sandalwood and vanilla. Whatever it is that he’s wearing, soap or cologne, does it for me. I follow him into the living room, unsure as to where I should sit.

“Can I get you something to drink?” he asks. “White wine… vodka and soda?”

“Nothing for me,” I say. “I figured I’d drive us to the concert. But thank you.”

Patrick smiles. “I know you’re a cop and you have to obey all the laws and stuff, but I like the good boy in you.”

What do I say to that? The way his gaze consumes my chest before slowly moving southward to my cock, I can tell he’s imagining what I would look like without all these clothes on. To be fair, I already sized him up by the time I walked into the apartment. He’s thin, but muscular. The way his shoulders bulge underneath the tight t-shirt he’s wearing tells me he doesn’t see himself the way the rest of the world does—all man.

I’ve seen this before in guys I dated. It seems that they want desperately to hold onto their youth at all costs, dressingyounger than their age would seem appropriate. Although, I can’t say that Patrick is quite like those other guys. He wants to get into Hollywood, but he doesn’t seem shallow enough or hung up on his look or brand.

Looking at my watch, I say, “We should probably leave soon if we’re going to catch the opening act.”

“Oh, crap,” he says. “You’re right. Sorry, I got distracted.” He turns and rushes deeper into the apartment and closes the door behind him.

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