The Panty Dropper (Valentine's Love in the City Short) Read online

  “What the hell are you wearing? A tank and black cotton briefs?” She holds up some sexy panties. “I found these in the back of your drawer.”

  “I can’t and won’t wear them, because he’s not going to see them. I’ve never slept with anyone on my first date.” I look her dead in the eyes. “Never.”

  “Is this a hard and fast rule of yours?” she asks. “Because I overheard your exchange together. Remember? I could feel the chemistry between you through the line.”

  I giggle and tilt my head. “I know. There definitely was something...”

  “Well, your old yoga pants didn’t scare him away so keep what you have on, but don’t forget to bring a condom just in case.”

  She thrusts the jeans at me again and I take them for good this time. I squeeze myself into the legs and with a few little jumps the jeans make it over my hips. I hope they give a little after wearing them. They seem too tight, but after sucking in my stomach I get them buttoned.

  “Tell me they stretch,” I say. “Because I can only hold my stomach in so long.”

  “Quit whining. You look great.” She takes me by the arm. “Now, hair and makeup before the shirt goes on.”

  I’m being lead into the bathroom. “Sit on the toilet, lid down.” I start to laugh and she joins me.

  “Thanks so much for helping me tonight. I feel bad that I’m ditching you.” I place my hand on her forearm. “You’re a great friend. You know that, right?”

  “Same to you, Em. We’ve been through a lot together these last couple of years.” She stops for a second and smiles. “Here’s how you can make up for tonight. Have something naughty to tell me tomorrow.”

  She just doesn’t give up. We laugh and she gets busy with the blow dryer, tugging my head in every which direction. It’ll be a miracle if there’s any hair left when she’s finished.

  After finishing my makeover, she finally allows me to look into the mirror. It’s amazing. She’s made my frizzy hair look shiny and bouncy. Those two words have never been used to describe my hair.

  “Wow. How did you get my hair to do this?”

  “It’s the serum I used. My stylist swears by it and I have to agree. I’ve never seen your hair so tamed.” She smiles big, proud of her creation: me.

  “I’m going to buy a vat of this stuff,” I remark while touching my hair. “And my eyes look smoky but not porno. Perfect.”

  “You look great if I do say so myself. But we aren’t through. Next is the top and shoes.”

  “Okay, Personal Shopper. Finish me.”

  We walk back to the bed and I see the shirt set out for the evening. It’s a black chiffon blouse with sleeves gathered at the wrist. The hem is longer in the back giving it a flowing look. It’s feminine and not over-the-top sexy or dressy. “I love this top,” I murmur as she helps me get the blouse on so my hair stays in place.

  “Now the shoes.” She has a pair of red pumps dangling from her fingers. I know these shoes, but I’ve not seen them in ages. They’re her “one-night stand” pumps.

  “Not happening. I know what you’re up to.” I back a few feet away. “I can hear my panties dropping on the ground just by looking at those evil things.”

  “What are you talking about? It’s Valentine’s Day. Red works.” She’s approaching me with the shoes and I curse the fact that we wear the same size.

  “True, but those shoes are dangerous. Every time you’ve worn them out they end up on the floor of an unknown man’s apartment.”

  I hear her muttering but can’t make out what she’s saying. She kneels to the ground and has me lift my leg. I acquiesce and put the shoes on. Damn if they don’t fit great.

  “Alright, I’ll wear them, but I’m breaking their bad reputation tonight,” I state.

  “Whatever.” She hands me a tube of lipstick. “Wear this one tonight. It’s the perfect red for you.”

  “I don’t wear red.”

  “How many Panty Droppers have asked you out in your life?” I look at her defeated. “Exactly, so pucker up and go with it.”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this bossy before.” I’m standing in front of the mirror over my dresser applying the lipstick. She’s right, the color looks great.

  “I’m your biggest cheerleader tonight and don’t mean to come across bossy. But an opportunity like this doesn’t come knocking at your door every day.” We both catch the irony and burst out laughing.

  “So true.” I stand up and face her, placing my hands out to the side. “What do you think?”

  “You look great,” she approves. “There’s something about you tonight. I bet he can’t keep his hands off you.”

  “It’s strange. I feel different too.” I’m nervous in an excited way, not the usual I wonder if he likes me mood. It’s pretty clear he does. The connection was there earlier.

  “One more thing.” Monica reaches into her bag of tricks and pulls out a bottle of whiskey. “Show me to your shot glasses.”

  “I don’t think this is a good idea,” I warn.

  “Just one. It’ll loosen you up. Besides you never get sick when you mix alcohol. You old rock gut.”

  I place two shot glasses on the counter and watch the amber liquid pour from the bottle. We pick them up and tap them against each other.

  “Here’s to Valentine’s Day. Who knows? It may become the best day of your life.”

  “Yeah, who knows? Cheers.” I place the glass to my lips and slam the whiskey back. “Wow. I forgot how wicked that stuff is. I’ll need a breath mint for sure now.”

  Monica digs around in her purse and hands me some mints. “We can’t have you reeking of booze.”

  “Oh, I almost forgot. I need to spray on some perfume.” Before the whole word perfume is out of my mouth, I see Monica holding her cherished Chanel No. 5. “Jeez, you’re quick.”

  She has me hold out my arms like she’s spraying me with bug repellent. I’m afraid that she’s overdoing it, but her movements are quick and few. It’s like I’ve been spritzed not doused, so hopefully, I won’t overwhelm him.

  Him. Ethan, The Panty Dropper. I can’t believe my luck.

  Glancing at the clock on the microwave I see that I need to leave now or I’ll be late.

  “Well, this is it,” I tell Monica bending down to grab my tote. “Wish me luck.”

  “I hope you both get lucky.” Monica can’t quit the push for us to have sex and I give her the stink eye. “Hey, I’m living vicariously through you tonight.”

  “I know.” After giving her a hug, I head to the door. “Thanks for everything. I mean it. And if I’m never heard from again, his name is Ethan Murphy, apartment 814.”

  “Got it,” she says with a smile. “I’ll stay and clean off your bed, though I hope you don’t sleep in it tonight.”

  Funny, but something inside of me just might be fine with that too.

  Dinner is served

  I take the elevator up to his floor. It’s just two flights via the stairs, but I can’t risk twisting my ankle in these heels. As the elevator carries me up, I get almost giddy. The door opens and I walk out into the hall taking a few deep breaths to calm myself down.

  There are fewer apartments on his floor than on mine. Since it’s the top of the building, I’m imagining they’re more spacious, penthouse style. The thought makes me wonder what he does to afford such a place. He seems fairly young, around thirty or so.

  Well, I’m going to find out a lot about him. I raise my hand and form a fist.

  Here it goes.

  My knuckles tap on the door. Hopefully, the knock was loud enough for him to hear.

  Literally, two seconds pass and the door swings open. He’s in dark jeans with a black fitted shirt. His sleeves are rolled up to the elbows. But the killer for me is that he has on a burgundy apron. Nothing says sexy like a man cooking me dinner while donning an apron.

  I sense trouble and think I just heard a nail in the coffin of “I don’t sleep with someone on the first date”
get pounded into the wood. He’s smiling and I smile back.

  “Hey. Come on in.” He shuffles to the side to make room for my entrance while his eyes move over me. Stopping at the shoes. “Wow, you look great.”

  Monica was right. Damn her and these wicked pumps.

  “Thanks. So do you. I love the apron.” I lightly brush my fingers across the part of the apron covering his chest as I pass by. He stiffens like the last time when I touched his finger. Seems like he’s sensitive to my touch. In a good way too. I pause after walking past him, waiting for him to lead me into his apartment.

  Something about his smile has taken away the butterflies in my stomach. I’ve never felt this at ease on a first date. Amazing since he’s The Panty Dropper. I think it’s the fact that I feel welcome here. Being invited into his home is different than meeting at a busy, noisy restaurant or club. There isn’t anything formal about tonight at all. Just two people having dinner, getting to know one another. How well is to be determined.

  “Dinner is close to being finished,” he says turning toward me after shutting the door. “I have to confess that I’ve never cooked for anyone before.”

  “Really?” I respond. “Should I be scared?”

  “Probably, but if the sauce stinks then we can blame Ragu.” He laughs and I really like the sound when he does.

  “Ragu has never let me down,” I confess.

  As he comes to stand next to me, I feel his hand on the small of my back and it’s my turn to stiffen at a touch. He gently pushes against me as he walks out of the entry area. I purposely follow him slowly, this way his hand stays pressed against me. It feels heavenly. I believe I’m in all kinds of sweet trouble tonight.

  We arrive in his open kitchen and living room area. The space is big and bright. There’s crown molding, high-end granite and shiny, stainless steel appliances. His place looks nothing like my rental just two floors below. Everything seems customized. I look at him confused.

  “Your place is unreal. I don’t feel like I’m in my own building. How did you talk them into letting you do all of this?” I wave my hand across the whole room because everywhere I turn there’s something that seems out of the ordinary.

  “Well, actually I own this apartment,” he answers me sheepishly.

  “I didn’t realize that you could own an apartment here. I figured they were all rentals. How did you pull that off?”

  “When I said I own this apartment, I really should say I own the building too.” Now he’s appearing even more embarrassed.

  “So you’re my landlord then?” I say teasingly.

  “I’m afraid so. And a very rude one too. I haven’t gotten you a drink yet. How does some red wine sound?” Oh he’s good, real good.

  “You don’t want to talk about being the EM Properties, LLC, that I write my rental check to, do you?” I want to know more about him now as I’m totally intrigued.

  “Have a seat at the bar. I’ll get you some wine and explain.”

  “It’s just unexpected.” I follow orders and take a seat on the bar stool, hoping the jeans have stretched a little to make bending at the middle easier. And they have, thank God.

  He sits a half-full wine glass in front of me. “You’re the only person in this building that knows my secret. Are you good at keeping them?”

  “I’ve been told I’m like a vault, so I think you’re safe.”

  “A vault? Meaning impenetrable?” I snort and he blushes. God, he’s getting more and more irresistible.

  “Well, I wouldn’t say that.” I wink for fun. Turnaround is fair play after all. He smiles back so I know we’re good. “Does the onsite management know?”

  “No one knows. Including the doorman and super.” He’s shaking his head. “With living here I prefer it that way. And as long as they receive their paychecks and are treated fairly, they seem okay. I have a manager contracted to be my go-between.”

  “I’m actually amazed. I would’ve never guessed.”

  “The whole ownership thing happened because of my job. I work for a real estate investment trust. I travel around the country looking for distressed properties to add to our portfolio.” He’s smart, successful and gorgeous. Add a genuine sweetness to the mix and I feel like the luckiest dinner guest of all time.

  “I’ve never heard of a real estate trust.” I’m way out of my league here. I’ll need to concentrate to follow along.

  “I won’t bore you with the details. But the partners at my company didn’t want to invest in this building, so I asked if I could buy it personally. They not only agreed, but helped me find financing.”

  “You’re really young to be this successful. I bet your parents are proud of you.”

  “I think so. Funny how that means more as I get older. Nothing like having my father say, ‘Well done, son.”

  His sweetness might just be irresistible. I glance down at Monica’s red pumps and smile.

  “My parents feel the same way. They’ve always supported my career decisions and helped me along the way. But it feels good to be totally supporting myself now.”

  “Yes, it does. So I told you what I do; now it’s your turn.” I watch him move to the stove and check on something in the oven. I sip more of my wine before I answer him.

  “I fly for my job. Literally. I’m a flight attendant.” I can tell I have his full attention now. He’s lowered the knife he was using to cut up the vegetables back down onto the cutting board.

  “Really? So you understand the travelling thing pretty well too.”

  “Totally. I’m gone around twenty-one days a month. Most airlines use fifteen days as a base, but I tend to pick up a few extra days here and there. Maybe someone’s child is sick or has something going on at school. It’s easy to find extra days.”

  “Time wise, that sounds a lot like me. I’m on the road every weekday. Occasionally, there will be a property here in the Bay Area, though I can’t remember the last time that happened. Maybe when I did the due diligence for this building.”

  “So you’re all over the country?”

  “Pretty much. One week I might be in New York, then the next week it’s Saint Louis.”

  “Oh, I’ve had a couple layovers in Saint Louis. Great place for Italian food.”

  “The Hill, right?” he asks.

  I nod. “Best Italian food I’ve ever had.”

  “The whole Hill area is such a unique community and unexpected for that city.”

  Another sip on my wine and I’m done with my first glass. I’ve not had anything to eat since lunch, so I’m wondering if I should slow down.

  “Your glass is empty. Can’t have that.” He grabs the glass before I can protest, and refills it to almost the top. Interesting...

  “I bet we’ve been to a lot of the same cites.” I throw caution and likely my morals to the wind and take a drink of the wine. “Do you have a favorite?”

  “It’s hard to pick just one. I have a few favorites, though.”

  “Me too.”

  He takes a big drink of his wine, finishing off his glass and pours himself another one. The red is flowing tonight.

  “I really enjoy New Orleans. The food and people there are great. Do you fly into there often?”

  “I actually went to Mardi Gras last year. Talk about wild.” I notice him looking at my chest and I just know he’s wondering if I showed anything for beads.

  He coughs and checks the oven again. Maybe I shouldn’t have said wild so enthusiastically. Damn alcohol. He probably thinks I’m easy now. A boy in every city kind of gal. Oh crap.

  He pulls a casserole type dish out of the oven and sits it on the burners. It’s bubbling at the top and smells divine.

  “It’s done,” he says laying aside his oven mitts. “I’ve never seen that side of New Orleans. I’m usually with business colleagues, so my trips have been more subdued.”

  “Honestly, I only watched the crazy from the periphery. Let’s just say it was interesting.”

  “I be
t.”

  I’m pretty sure he’s relieved after I tell him that I wasn’t a wanton hussy in New Orleans as his sweet smile has returned.

  He goes to the refrigerator and brings a bowl to the counter. It’s a green salad with chopped up Romaine lettuce. I sip my wine as I watch him gather up the vegetables and toss them into the salad. He looks up at me and smiles so big I even see that sweet dimple appear. There’s just something unbelievably sexy about watching him cook. So I return his smile though I’d rather be kissing that dimple right now.

  “I think we’re ready to dish up our plates. I made my favorite. Spaghetti casserole. Like I said, nothing exciting.”

  “But it looks and smells great.”

  I watch him slowly remove his apron. Even the simple movement of him raising it over his head and straightening his shirt makes me want to stick a dollar bill as a tip in his pocket. He’s just that smooth.

  I steady myself as I rise out of the chair just in case my lower half has gone numb from my tight jeans. All’s well as I make my way around from the counter bar to stand by Ethan. Even with my heels on he’s probably a good four inches taller than me. He looks me over again like he did when he answered the door. It feels inappropriately nice.

  “I mentioned earlier that you look great didn’t I?” He’s playing with me now.

  “A girl can never hear that enough,” I say while lightly touching his arm. This time I keep the connection and don’t pull away.

  He stares at my hand and brings his eyes up to mine. They’re hooded and a darker blue than before. He’s definitely turned on. We both are. And before I know it, he’s gently spun me around pressing me against the counter’s edge.

  He releases my arms and places his hands on each side of my face. His touch is warm and I feel his thumbs gently rubbing my skin. It’s sweet and enduring and my eyes remain fixed on his.

  I lean into him as he leans forward. His eyes move to my lips and I know he’s going to kiss me. And he does...

  Turning his head to the side, his lips softly meet mine. Our bodies are only touching via lips and his hands. I want to touch him too, so my hands find his waist. It seems like the best place to land. I feel the top of jeans and gently rub his skin through the shirt. Solid, there’s nothing soft about him.