Boy #1: The Wannabe Rockstar (Oh, Those Boys) Read online

  “You look great.”

  It was the first thing Josh said when she walked up to his table, and she almost wanted to weep. She'd spent the entire night before and all that day fretting about her looks, so it was nice to hear she wasn't a complete disaster.

  Fuck you, Micah, for making me doubt myself.

  “Thank you,” she smiled in response, and she turned when he reached to pull off her jacket. “I was a bit of a mess earlier, not sure what to wear, so wound up just grabbing anything and dashing out the door.”

  “Really? You look fantastic,” he complimented her again, and she laughed while they took their seats.

  “As do you,” she returned the favor, and gave his looks a small golf clap. “Dapper as always.”

  Normally, Josh was in tailored and fitted suits. Very sexy. The day they'd set up the party, he'd been in jeans and a polo shirt. Still sexy. She was glad that night he'd opted for something in between. Trousers and a blazer, a lightweight sweater underneath. When he took off the jacket, she loved how the sweater hugged his chest and shoulders. A shiny watch sat on his wrist, the large face catching the lights.

  “I try,” he chuckled. “My ex-wife, she worked for a fashion magazine for a while. I was a lost cause, didn't know dick about clothing, but she eventually turned me around.”

  “Then I commend her for her excellent taste – both in clothing and men,” Cassie teased.

  “I'll let her know.”

  A waitress finally turned up, dropping off a bottle of wine that Josh had ordered before Cass had arrived. They ordered some appetizers and cocktails, then settled back in their seats.

  “To a successful party – I saw pictures in the Examiner, and the Post,” he toasted his glass to her. She toasted right back.

  “All thanks to your special guest, I'm sure.”

  They smiled and took their sips.

  “So,” he asked. “Can I be cliché?”

  “Only if I can still be Cassie.”

  “Ha ha. How come a girl like you is single?”

  She put her elbows on the table and her chin in her hands, then stared at him. Normally, with dates and boyfriends in the past, she played everything by the rules. Soup-and-salad starts to relationships, putting her best foot forward. Clearly, though, none of that had ever worked out for her.

  Besides, this isn't a date, anyway. This is just two people getting to know each other.

  “My last boyfriend dumped me on Valentine's Day. I was really pissed off, and a little drunk, so I went home that same night and slept with my neighbor. It was fantastic, getting out all this frustration without any strings attached, so I've basically just been doing that for the last three months. Made having a boyfriend seem kind of ... pointless,” she was honest.

  Josh's eyebrows were raised, but he didn't look scandalized, like she had expected.

  “So, you've been seeing your neighbor since February?” he checked. She shook her head.

  “No. Just sleeping with him. Up until recently, we barely ever even spoke.”

  “Ah. I wish I had a neighbor like you.”

  Cassie burst out laughing.

  “You don't think it makes me some kind of dirty whore?” she joked.

  “Oh, I for sure think that,” he nodded his head, and she laughed some more. “Lucky for you, that's my favorite type of girl.”

  “Ooohhh, that does make me lucky.”

  Appetizers arrived and after they ordered their meals, they dug into the food. Cass was hopeless with chopsticks, and Josh laughed when she finally started eating rice with her bare fingers. He attempted to help, holding his chopsticks across the table with gyoza trapped between them. She wrapped her lips around the dumpling, and noted how he watched her mouth move.

  He was easy to talk to, just as he'd always been in a professional environment. He was funny and lovely, not to mention flirty. He certainly fit the mold of her previous boyfriends – in looks, and in station in life. But his personality was different, and for that she was grateful. He was sweet and kind, but also witty. Cheeky. She loved that he didn't mind a dirty or off-color joke, and loved it even more when he said one back to her.

  “So tell me a story,” she said after they'd left the restaurant and stopped in at a crowded bar.

  “What kind?” he asked, sitting down on the stool closest to her, their knees intertwined.

  “The story about your marriage and its obviously tragic end,” she requested, twirling her straw around in her drink. He rolled his eyes, then sipped at his dirty martini.

  “I wish it were that interesting – you asked for a boring story. Married too young, right out of high school. Realized we were better as friends than as a couple. She kept the apartment, I kept the business. We still talk.”

  While he spoke, Cassie propped her elbow on the bar and rested her head against her hand. She watched his face while he glanced around the room. Stared at his lips as they wrapped around the words. Wrapped around a speared olive. His tongue flicked against the toothpick, and she felt her blood pressure rise.

  It almost made her feel guilty – Micah had been the only one to inspire that kind of reaction in a long time. But she refused to think about him. He would not ruin this for her, too. So she wiped him from her mind and focused on Josh's mouth.

  “You still talk?” she was surprised, and he nodded his head.

  “Yeah, fairly regularly. She does event planning, too, sometimes sends business my way.”

  “Talk and work together still,” she murmured, sipping at her cosmo.

  “Don't worry, it's strictly professional,” he assured her.

  “Professional,” she snickered. “So you talk regularly, and work together occasionally, but you never sleep together?”

  She couldn't quite tell in the bar's dim lighting, but she almost thought he blushed. He didn't seem embarrassed, though; he stared right back into her eyes.

  “Well, I never said that,” he was honest. “I just said we always kept it professional.”

  “Sounds scandalous,” Cass laughed. “Professionally occasionally sleeping with your ex-wife. You're a liar, Mr. Cavitt, you said this story would be boring – it's getting downright sinful.”

  “Now that I know the kind of stories you're into, maybe I can think of something even better to tell you.”

  “You think so? Let me hear it.”

  “Oh, those kind of stories are only for bed time, Ms. St. John.”

  Oh, my.

  He continued to surprise her. Something about him, she never expected him to rise to her baits. Yet not only did he rise to them, he went above them and was able to turn them around on her. Leave her a little shocked and breathless. On her toes.

  She loved it.

  He drove her home in a sleek six-speed Audi. When she commented on it, he admitted to being a little obsessed with automobiles, and even racing occasionally in his down time. Another shocker. Under those pressed shirts and ironed ties, there was something of a wild man.

  There was no parking near her building, which wasn't surprising – she left her own car at work, and took a bus or train into town. He stopped a couple blocks away, and she was pleasantly surprised when he followed her out of the car, offering to walk her to her door. When they turned onto her street, he casually reached out and grabbed hold of her hand. Laced their fingers together.

  “This has been too good,” he said when her building came into sight. “So I'm not gonna press my luck, and I'm gonna stay away tomorrow. You'll have the hall to yourself to clean up.”

  “Such a kind soul,” she laughed.

  “You think so? Just wait until I don't call you for a week.”

  “Did I say kind? I meant you're both a gentleman and scholar, with the heart of a poet.”

  “Damn straight.”

  When she went to step up to her security door, he stopped moving and held fast to her hand, keeping her just out of reach. She looked back at him, not sure what was going on.

  “I meant it,” he s
poke in a soft voice. “This has been an awesome night. I feel like I've known you forever. Is that cheesy?”

  “Yes,” she smiled at him. “But I love cheese.”

  “Me, too. Would it make it even cheesier if I kissed you?”

  “Definitely.”

  His lips were warm, and the hand he pressed to the side of her face was downright hot. She was affecting his blood pressure, it seemed. She leaned into him, loving how solid he felt. It wasn't like the hurried, random kiss they'd shared in his parking lot. This one held promise. This one spoke of what was to come later on.

  So why, she wondered, did her first kiss with Micah flit through her mind?

  Josh's mouth was soft, his lips closed against her own. Micah had been all in, all the way, right from the beginning. Tongues and teeth, bruising lips, shoving her against a wall. Hands in her hair. Josh's one hand was still on her face, and the other was still holding her hand, wrapping their arms around her back.

  It was sweet, and Cassie loved sweet, she really did.

  Just not as much as she used to.

  “Maybe I'll call in less than a week,” Josh breathed when he finally pulled away. She licked her lips and nodded.

  “I hope you do. Call me tomorrow. Or call me when you get home tonight. Or maybe ten minutes from now, from my living room.”

  “Jesus, you're incredible.”

  When he kissed her that time, he blew all other thoughts right out of her mind. She let out a muffled squeak of surprise when he dove into the kiss, his tongue filling her mouth. She let go of his hand so she could grip onto the lapels of his jacket, yanking him as close as she could. His own hands squeezed her hips, then smoothed down to her butt, sliding into her back pockets.

  “Wait, wait,” he was panting when he pulled away that time. “Why would I call you from your living room, if we're both there?”

  “I don't really give a fuck why, so long as you're there,” she mumbled, pulling him back down for another kiss. He laughed against her mouth, kissed her roughly, then pulled away for real.

  “Seriously. This is too good of a thing, and if we sleep together right now, I think it'll just ruin it. I've been working my ass off for the past couple years, sorting my shit out after the divorce,” he explained, raking his fingers through his hair. “Getting my business up and thriving. Barely having a life. I feel like ... like you're my gift for all my hard work. I wanna take my time unwrapping you.”

  Cassie laughed, and he laughed with her. Smoothed his fingers through her hair, then pressed his hand to her face once again. She turned into it, kissing his palm.

  “I understand, and it's very sweet,” she assured him. “And I can promise you that if you do ever get to peel the wrapping paper away, it'll be very worth the wait.”

  “I have absolutely zero doubt of that, Cassie.”

  They shared one last kiss – very chaste, no tongues – before she turned and opened her security door. After she got in and opened her inside door, she turned and waved him away. He waved as well, but still stood there. He was standing there when she got on the elevator. And when she got into her apartment and looked out her window, he was still standing there. Grinning like an idiot.

  When he finally did start to walk away, she opened her window, and could distinctly hear him whistling. Then at the corner, he did a jaunty little shuffle around a light post, before fist-pumping the air and walking out of her line of sight.

  9

  Micah was a stubborn, hard headed, mule of a man.

  But he could admit when he was wrong.

  Sometimes.

  And he had done Cassie St. John wrong.

  She was gorgeous and she was funny and she was a good time, and goddamn, he couldn't keep his hands off her. Even when they were apart, even when he was with other people – hell, even when he was with other women, he found himself thinking about her. Imagining her. Fantasizing about her.

  He didn't forget for a moment that there were a lot of things stacked against them having any kind of relationship. She was a posh army brat who dressed like she was straight out of a magazine, and always looked picture perfect. He'd only ever lived in two places in his whole life, and dressed like he was coming down from a bender, and he fucking hated getting his picture taken.

  But they also had a lot of things in common, and if he was too scared of their differences to make the most of their similarities, then he didn't deserve her.

  And that thought was what led him to her door Sunday afternoon.

  He didn't want to be there. He'd known she'd gone on her stupid fucking date the night before, and he could already guess that it had gone perfectly. Josh Cavitt was basically her in male form – cool, successful, good looking, well dressed.

  Fuck him.

  But that didn't mean Micah didn't stand a chance. After all, he'd been there first, and she did keep coming back to him. He wasn't ready to end whatever it was they had, over a stupid misunderstanding.

  “This is gonna suck,” he breathed, dropping his head forward. He'd seen Cassie angry – she brought new meaning to the word “bitch”.

  Then he lifted his head and knocked loudly on the door.

  There was a clattering noise, a muffled curse, then footsteps scampering across her hardwood floor in her living room. The sound dulled when she hit the linoleum of her kitchenette.

  “You better not have forgotten the bagels,” Cass called through the door, obviously thinking he was someone else. That would just make everything worse, he was sure, so he leaned against her door frame and waited for his punishment.

  The door swung open wide and she went to step forward, then froze when she realized he wasn't whoever it was she was expecting. Her lips were in a perfect O shape, instantly making him think dirty thoughts. Then they clamped together in a hard line, and she swung the door shut.

  “Cass,” he chuckled, slapping his palm against the wood and stopping it from closing. She glared at him and shoved at her door.

  “Sorry, wrong house,” she growled.

  “Cassie, stop. Let me come in.”

  “No.”

  “C'mon. You know you're going to cave and let me in, anyway, so let's cut out the in between bullshit,” he suggested.

  He swore he saw steam come out of her ears. Then she disappeared, and he could feel her putting all her weight on her door. Pushing and shoving it, trying to shut it against his hold. He laughed at her efforts, not budging an inch.

  “You're such a dick!” she growled. “You think you can just pop up and be rude to me whenever you want, don't you?”

  “Pretty much.”

  She slammed all her weight against the door. He still didn't give.

  “Well, not anymore, buddy. This gravy train has officially come to an end. Fuck off.”

  “I'm sorry,” he laughed. “Did you just say gravy train?”

  “Go away, Micah.”

  He figured he'd made his point. He leaned forward, putting his shoulder to the door and pushing it open. He easily pushed her backwards with it, and almost laughed again when he heard her feet squeaking against the linoleum as she tried to hold her position. When he was inside and could glance around the door at her, she was glaring back at him, her whole body pressed against the slab of wood.

  “It was a valiant effort,” he offered.

  When she snapped out her hand to hit him, he simply stepped away from the door, removing the resistance. She shrieked as it fell away from her, almost falling to the floor when it slammed shut under her weight.

  “No, no, no,” she shouted when he strode down into her living room. “Uh uh, you are not invited today. Or any day.”

  He snorted and shrugged out of his jacket, then looked around her space.

  “What's going on here?”

  There was a large square of white poster paper on the floor, ragged at the edges. A city skyline was sketched across it, with the right side of it mostly colored in with what looked like chalk pastels.

  When he glanced
back at her, he immediately noticed that the fingers of her right hand were covered in the colors, and there were streaks down the legs of the oversized overalls she was wearing. She actually looked ... adorable. Under the baggy denim, she wore a plain gray sports bra, and her hair was pulled back into a low, stubby pony tail. She wore no makeup, no jewelry, not even shoes. One of her bare feet was angrily tapping out a rhythm on her floor.

  “What's going on here is none of your business. Please leave,” she demanded, and he had to give her credit, she was dead serious. One of her eyebrows was arched in her classic “I'm pissed at you” look, and her arms were folded in front of her. In response, he tossed his jacket onto her couch, then started toeing off his shoes. “Oh no, don't even think about taking anything off. Just keep your clothes on, and get out.”

  “You wish,” Micah snorted. “Now stop pouting and tell me what's happening here, or I'm gonna figure it out on my own.”

  When she didn't respond at first, he knelt at the edge of the picture and grabbed one of the pastels out of the set. Before he could touch it to the drawing, though, she hurried up behind him. Dropped to her knees before wrestling away the bright pink stick from him.

  “My friend Natalie has a niece,” she growled. “She needed some decorations for a class project. She asked me to help, so you will not ruin this the same way you ruin everything else.”

  “Harsh, St. John.”

  “Truth hurts.”

  “I'm actually pretty good at this,” he lowered his voice. Spoke softly to her. Grabbed the color burnt orange from the set. “If I promise to take it very seriously, will you let me help?”

  She looked incredibly wary. But she also looked like she'd been at it for a long time, and would welcome the help. She finally let out a long sigh and scooted to the far edge of the drawing, away from him.

  “Just don't talk, then leave when you're done.”

  “Gracious of you.”

  “That's strike one.”

  They worked in silence for a while, and Micah enjoyed himself. He hadn't been lying, he was actually a fairly gifted artist. Not that Cass would know that, because he'd never shared that side of himself with her. There were a lot of things she didn't know about him. But they'd get to that later – for that afternoon, he'd work on regaining some semblance of a friendship.