Forty-eight thousand dollars was pocket change compared to the two-point-four million I was going to make in commission if the home sold.
“I’d like to see the product,” I said.
“Shane!” Frank bellowed. “Hustle your ass out to the truck and grab some of that travertine-looking shit, would ya?”
Shane emerged from behind us. He silently sauntered past and then reappeared with a box of tile. Apparently there was a hierarchy in the motorcycle club. Devin must have been above Frank, who was clearly above Shane.
He handed the box to Frank. Frank knelt, spread eight pieces of tile on the floor, and fitted them together. He stood and stepped away.
“What’s that look like?” he asked.
I studied it. It looked like stone. “It looks like travertine.”
He tapped it with the toe of his boot. “Step on it.”
I did as he asked. It looked—and felt—like a much more expensive travertine tile. In fact, I couldn’t tell it apart. The best part was that they were going to be able to lay it over the existing flooring.
I’d spoken to Margaret about the changes I was considering. She promptly advised me to do whatever was necessary to sell the home. I didn’t know if this was the right thing or not, but I needed to do something to make the home more marketable.
“Let’s do it,” I said. “I’ll let you and Devin decide the actual square footage and final price.”
“I’ll have Shane grab a tape measure out of the truck,” Frank said. “We can measure it up really—”
“We don’t have time tonight,” I said. “We’re just about late for that meeting.”
Frank glanced at Devin and then at me. He looked me over good. I felt like he, too, could see right through me. It must have been a biker thing.
“Shane and I need to beat feet, too,” Frank said. “Shane’s got a tryout with the Miami Dolphins in a few minutes. Hell, I damned near forgot.”
“The Dolphins?” I asked. “Really?”
Devin looked at me like I was nuts. “He was joking.”
Frank laughed and then gestured toward me. “She cool?”
Devin nodded. “She’s good.”
Frank looked right at me. His mouth was twisted into a smirk. “Pretty obvious the only meeting you two are having is a meeting of your uglies.”
“Our uglies?”
“Yeah,” he said with a nod. “You two are bumping uglies when we go. Good thing, I suppose. You look like you need it.”
He knew? My face flushed hot. “I look like I need it? What does that mean?”
He glanced at Devin.
“Don’t look at me,” Devin said with a laugh.
“You look uptight,” Frank said apologetically.
I cocked my hip. “Uptight?”
He patted my shoulder with his massive hand. “Just a little.”
How did Frank know we planned to “bump uglies”? What about me looked uptight? Did others see me that way? Red-faced, I stared, wondering about the answers. As I stood before them, looking uptight, the two men shared a light laugh at my expense.
A moment later, Frank and Shane bid their farewells, agreeing to return in a few days to start the project. As their truck drove away, I realized what was likely going to happen as soon as the door was closed. In the thirty minutes that we’d wasted, I’d floated back down to earth from the euphoric cloud I’d been perched on. Uncertain of how—or if—to proceed along the same lines as before, I pulled the door closed and checked my nails.
“Grab your purse,” Devin said. “Let’s go.”
My eyes shot from an errant cuticle to him. “Excuse me?”
He gestured to my purse. “Let’s go.”
“Go? I thought. But. We were,” I stammered. “We were going to—”
He shook his head lightly. “Changed my mind.”
Sixty seconds earlier, I was undecided. Now I wanted to fuck.
I gave him a condescending look. “Changed your mind?”
He brushed past me. “Yep.”
I glared as he sauntered toward the kitchen. When he was out of my eyesight, I rushed after him. I stormed into the doorway and put my hands on my hips.
“What do you mean you changed your mind?” I spat. “What is your deal?”
He opened the refrigerator and removed a bottle of wine.
“You brought wine?” I asked.
He dropped it into his weathered leather satchel and turned around. “I did.”
It was Friday night. A few glasses of wine and a mile of dick eight inches at a time would be a perfect night.
“What’s different between now and thirty minutes ago?” I asked, nearly pleading with him to reconsider.
He stepped to three feet in front of me and gazed into my hopeful eyes. “Look. I came here to do two things. One, I wanted to get a good price on the flooring. Two, I wanted to grudge-fuck you until you couldn’t walk out of here. I got the first one—”
“We can do the other,” I blurted. “Wait.” I gave him a confused look. “Grudge-fuck? Because of what I said in that meeting?”
“More or less.”
“Okay, fine. Grudge-fuck me.” I wagged my brows. “Sounds fun.”
Waiting for me to unblock the doorway, he looked me over. “Too late for that,” he said dryly.
“Too late? It’s barely past six.”
“I was going to grudge-fuck you because you were an irritating bitch,” he said flatly. “Now? After being around you for a bit? I’ve changed my mind.”
I wondered what I did to piss him off so much that he wouldn’t even grudge-fuck me. I quickly ran through everything that had happened and came up short.
“What did I do?” I asked.
“Nothing,” he said. “I just decided I kind of like you.”
My face flashed hot. I hoped he couldn’t tell, but I was sure he could. “Oh,” I said snidely. “So now you don’t want to get your little feelers hurt.”
He took the one step that separated us and pressed his massive chest against mine. A faint hint of his cologne mixed with the aroma of his manly musk.
I nearly melted into a puddle at his feet.
He peered into my eyes. “If your pussy’s half as good as your tits, your ass, or your pretty little face, fucking it once isn’t going to be enough. It’s not a risk I’m willing to take.” He pushed his way past me and strode toward the door. “Don’t forget your purse.”
Chapter Nine
Devin
I’d spent the night wondering if my decision to walk away from Teddi was a good one. I desperately desired her, but I feared the aftermath. If my past “relationships” were any indication, she’d eventually get fed up with my antics and run as fast and as far as she was able.
For some men, aggressive sex followed a night of drinking. For others, it was a means of controlling their sexual partner. Slow, soft, sensual sex had never been an option for me. In fact, I couldn’t achieve an erection without having a fistful of a woman’s hair in my hand.
Eventually, my sexual requirements grew old with my partners. It wasn’t surprising. Deep within my being, I yearned to one day be normal. Sadly, I knew that day would never come.