The Panty Dropper (Valentine's Love in the City Short) Page 3

  His kisses become harder, more intense. The kind I can get lost in. And just when I think he’s about to draw me into his arms, he pushes back instead and his hands fall from my face. His lips are gone from mine, but their touch lingers like a phantom. And I know one thing’s for sure. That was the best first kiss I’ve ever had.

  As we both catch our breath, I see his lips and I start to laugh. Not just a chuckle or snort, but a breath stealing, full-fledged laugh. I try not to but I can’t help it. My red lipstick... It was everywhere. Like, Ethan the clown, everywhere.

  He seems confused by my odd reaction, as he should be, and all I can do is point to his lips as I laugh. Finally, he gets the hint and rubs his fingers across them. Now the red is smeared even more than it was, on his lips, face and fingers. I quickly grab a paper towel by the sink and wet it down.

  “Ethan,” I spit out between laughs.

  I take the wet towel and gently wipe the red off his face. He’s kind of laughing with me now, which is a relief.

  “I’m so sorry,” I say after finally cleaning him up and calming down.”What a way to ruin a great kiss too.”

  “So, great kiss, huh?”

  “Very much so.” I make sure our eyes are connected before I continue. “Likely the best first kiss ever.”

  “Really?” He’s all grins.

  “Really,” I repeat like an echo. “I usually don’t wear red lipstick. It’s obviously a beauty hazard.”

  “But it looks good on you.”

  He glances down at my shoes and I suddenly feel the need to divert. Maybe it’s my hollow stomach. I’m not sure.

  “We probably should plate up dinner.” I point to the stove. “It’s looking lonely.”

  “You’re right. I got a little carried away. But when you touched me...” He stops without finishing.

  “Hey. I enjoyed it a lot too,” I reassure him. “Maybe we can get carried away after dinner. No lipstick, though.”

  “I like that idea.” He gives me a little bump with his hip as he walks by me toward the plates on the counter. Stinker.

  “Hey.” I give him a little punch on the arm as I walk up next to him. Funny we turned off the kissing, but we can’t keep our hands to ourselves. I hear Monica’s voice from earlier saying he wouldn’t be able to keep his hands off of me, and I wonder what else she might be right about.

  We fill our plates and head to his dining table. It’s set with black and gray placemats. They go perfectly with his plates. He even has cloth napkins set out for us. Very impressive and very metro. He sits at the head of the table and I sit to his left.

  “This is a stylish table setting for a man who never cooks for company.” I take my first bite of pasta and it’s pretty damn good.

  “Everything on the table is a gift from my mother.”

  “Well, then cheers to your mother. She has good taste.” I raise my wine glass and take a sip. It appears to be full again. He’s pretty sneaky. I don’t remember him refilling it.

  “Yes, she’s an interior designer by trade.”

  “Nice.”

  “She helped me redesign the apartment and decide on what to purchase for furniture. I eventually just gave her carte blanche to do whatever. With my traveling schedule I couldn’t keep up with the approvals.”

  “Good decision. The place looks like it belongs in a magazine.”

  “She wants to get it in a local publication here in the Bay. But I’m concerned about being exposed as the building owner.”

  “That makes sense. It’s hard to believe that you’ve kept it a secret so far.”

  “I guess it wouldn’t be the end of the world. But I don’t want people knocking at my door with problems. It could get ugly.”

  “Ugly, like a knock on the door at midnight from someone who’s locked out of their apartment. Or even worse, has a stopped up toilet.” We both laugh.

  “Exactly. That’s the reason I have a reliable super on site. When I’m home, I really want to be home, not dreading a knock at the door. Travel has a way of wearing me out.”

  “I hear you there.”

  We continue eating and sipping on our wine. As we finish, he opens bottle number two or is it three? Either way, I’m feeling slightly tipsy. I wonder if it’s part of an evil plan. I’m pretty sure I’ve drunk more than him too. He was busy cooking and I was busy staring...

  “I need to slow down on the wine. I think I’m holding my fourth glass now.”

  He says nothing out loud but I can tell from his face that he finds it amusing.

  “I need to pace myself.” He picks up our plates and carries them to the sink. Totally mum. “I’m not kidding.” He’s smirking at me now. “Aren’t you going to say something?”

  “You want the truth?” he asks.

  “I think so.” My answer is a plea to be gentle. He sits down at the now cleared table. Cleared of everything but the wine.

  “Tonight has been great.” He briefly glances down to the table like he’s gathering courage to continue. “I can’t remember when I’ve had such a good time getting to know someone.”

  “I feel the same too.” My words are a confirmation that there’s something between us. “But what’s with all this wine, mister?”

  “I like the way it makes your face blush.” His hand covers mine as it lays flat on the table. I feel his fingers slide under my palm. “With each glass, your skin lights up. It’s so beautiful.”

  “Wow.” I’m shocked. Oh boy. What do I say to this one? I’m flushed even more now. I feel it. My eyes stare at our intertwined hands as I search for what I want to say or do.

  “I’ve embarrassed you?”

  My hair is a covering around my face as I shake my head to let him know that he hasn’t. Actually, the words he spoke make me want to jump up and kiss his beautiful face. But even with my wined-up brain, I know things are moving fast. Getting too real. The kiss in the kitchen, my hand that he’s holding now a little tighter. I just don’t trust myself. And I’m afraid to look up, he’s just too tempting. But I have to...

  “You haven’t embarrassed me at all.” Our hands are magnetic. Pulling away from him is difficult, but I finally manage it. I need to break our connection for a minute.

  “I’m making you feel uncomfortable.” He scoots his chair away from me and I want to grab it and bring it back closer. I’m completely conflicted with myself when it comes to him.

  “Please don’t think that.” I hope my eyes speak more than my words. “I’ve enjoyed everything about tonight. That’s the problem.”

  “Problem?” he asks. “Enlighten me.”

  “Well, I’ve been attracted to you for some time.” I can’t believe I’m confessing this. Monica would kill me. I might even kill myself.

  “This is enlightening.” He glides the chair closer again and I’m relieved. “So, before we met today?”

  “I’ve seen you working out in the building’s gym. It’s great by the way.”

  “Thanks, but I would have remembered seeing you. I’m sure.” He appears to be concentrating, probably trying to remember me from before today.

  “I doubt it.” I think he’s given up on searching his memory as his face relaxes. “I lurked in the back when I saw you at the gym. I was sweaty and gross. You on the other hand...”

  “I’m sweaty and gross at the gym too.”

  “You’re the sexy version of sweaty. Believe me.” I really emphasize those last couple of words with a little attitude. I think one day after a “gym experience” he earned the nickname, The Panty Dropper. It was the day I hid behind some weight machines and watched his backside while he ran on the treadmill. This train of thought isn’t helping me at all.

  “It’s crazy how we met today.” He stops and the mood between us shifts to serious. “I feel like I’ve known you for years. It’s odd, a good odd, though.”

  “Reincarnation maybe?” The mood is lighter again as he laughs at my question.

  “Would you like to see what’s on TV?”
he asks cautiously. “We could rent something off cable.”

  “Sure.”

  He pushes back his chair and stands and I follow his lead into the living area.

  It’s open to the kitchen with a wall adorned with the largest big screen television I’ve ever seen. Beautiful built-in cabinets filled with books and modern decorations encase the television as it fits perfectly into the center. The surroundings form an altar to the god of the room.

  “That’s some TV you have there.”

  We’ve moved toward the couch and he motions for me to take a seat. Do I choose to sit in the middle or at one of the ends? Or maybe somewhere between the middle and the end? I decide on between the middle and end. So confusing. He mirrors my decision by doing the same. We have a little space and can easily reach out and hold hands. Not that we should or will.

  “I’m not a big TV person.” His words make me giggle. He raises his brow probably wondering what brought on my response.

  “For someone who isn’t a ‘TV person’ you have a gigantic TV.’” I use those annoying finger quotes in a teasing way when I repeat his words.

  “Remember, I gave carte blanche to my mother. I guess she thinks that every bachelor builds the room around the TV.” We laugh and he starts scrolling through the cable channels.

  “I was going to ask what your favorite TV shows were but since you don’t watch much...” I stop speaking, hoping he’ll continue.

  “I watch a few shows when I’m out of town in the hotel room at night. Helps me unwind.”

  I angle myself toward him on the cushion and bring my legs up where they’re now folded under me. My arm stretches across the back. He turns and mimics me with the exception of his legs. One bends, the other stays on the floor. He’s almost crossing his leg at the knee. Our bodies form an open circle as he places his arm over mine.

  I lean against the back of his couch settling into the soft cushions. It’s more comfortable than I thought it would be.

  “This couch is great.”

  “My mom,” he states. “She knows I wanted comfort. Looks were second.”

  “Lucky for you. This has both.” My fingers rub the upholstery.

  “Her true masterpiece is my bathroom.”

  “Really? I hate my bathroom.” My hand covers my mouth as I realize he owns my bathroom. “Oh crap. I’m sorry. It’s just that...”

  He interrupts as I try to recover from insulting him. “It’s okay. Why do you think I redid mine?” He smiles and reaches for my hand. “Let me show you.”

  He’s standing in front of me clasping my hand and helps lift me from the couch. Seeing the bath means we venture into his bedroom. A little warning bell is going off somewhere in my head, drowned out by the wine, literally. But I’m too curious to pay attention and willingly follow him. Our hands are magnets once again. Sure enough we’ve crossed into his bedroom and it’s ultra-modern and male.

  “I was out of town for two weeks when she finished the work. Was a great surprise.”

  “Your bedroom.” I glance around the room. “I love it. It really fits you too.”

  “You think?” He seems hesitant. “Maybe too modern?”

  “No, it says, ‘I’m a serious grown-up.’”

  “Never thought about it that way. Definitely moved away from the college look from before.”

  We take a few more steps and stop at a door. He cracks it a bit and then shuts it quickly.

  “Had to check and see if I picked up all the towels.” He gently tugs me toward him. “Close your eyes.”

  I do as I’m told. He pulls my hand and I move with him and quietly hear the door open. As we progress forward I can feel the floor go from hardwood to something smoother, like tile. A couple more steps and we stop. He lowers my hand and tells me to open my eyes. I slowly peek at the room and then turn to scan it. It matches the blacks and grays in his bedroom. Black, gray, and white. Amazing.

  A large mirror dresses the wall above the double sinks. My reflection stares back at me. Ethan’s right, I’m flushed. Glowing. Wine and him. Has to be both. I run my hands through my hair and face him.

  “It’s unbelievable.” My hands glide along the sink. “Really.”

  The walls are straight lines of horizontal glass tiles. Grays meet black and mix with white. My eyes end at the shower. The same tile on the walls extends there too. The shower is an invisible space as it’s encased in glass from floor to ceiling.

  “You like it?” he asks curiously.

  “Love is more like it.” I open the heavy glass door to the shower. It has to be seven feet tall from the step-in ledge to where it’s flush with the ceiling. The glass connection is tight as a drum, sealed.

  “Look up at the ceiling,” he instructs. I see a rainfall shower head. A personal favorite. I’ve stayed in a couple of hotels that have them. I never want to leave once I’m under the water’s stream. So relaxing.

  “God, I love taking showers under these.” I throw my head back as if the water’s cascading down on me. I can almost imagine its touch and feel its warmth.

  “Emily.” I hear Ethan’s strained voice and find his eyes on me. He’s looking at me with an “I want to devour you” fire in his eyes. Something inside me silently hopes he does.

  It’s clear to me. Right now, one of life’s crossroads stands a couple feet away from me. Either I answer the desire in this man’s eyes with a kiss and maybe more, or diffuse it with a rejection by walking past him coldly. I see no other route out of these walls of glass as he stands at the opening. Slowly, I approach him, still trying to decide. But the second I hear him whisper my name again the battle’s over. He’s won.

  “Good damn, you win, Ethan.” His arms are spread and flexed high on the glass door’s edge. My hands meet behind the back of his neck and settle in the soft waves of his hair.

  “Good damn?” He smiles all sexy. “Don’t you mean God?”

  “No,” I explain while twirling locks of his hair in my fingers and trying not to get distracted from his scent. “It’s more, ‘damn, I’m giving into you’ and I’m pretty sure it’s going to be ‘good.’ See I can’t resist you anymore. Not gonna even try.”

  Ethan pulls me to him in an embrace. His hands are drifting to the edge of my shirt and I feel warm fingers skim across my lower back. Desperate. Now that I’ve given in, that’s how I feel. Our lips remember and continue where we left off in the kitchen. Nothing is tentative now. We’ve broken through the awkward and now we’re heading to the bed.

  When he scoops me up in his arms, my hands clasp behind him holding on to his collar. My eyes find Monica’s red heels and I push one shoe off with the toe of the other. I kick my foot and the red shoe goes flying off.

  “I shouldn’t have worn these,” I mutter between breaths and kisses.

  “God, I love them.” His voice is raspy. His breathing’s short. I maneuver the other shoe off and it goes sailing. He lays me down on the white comforter. My hands fan out and it feels crisp and cool under my touch.

  “But they’re one-night stand pumps.” He’s standing over me, silent. I watch him tugging his own shoes off. “And I don’t do one-night stands. Ever.”

  “Oh, Emily , this isn’t a one-night stand.”

  “Well, good damn.”

  Warm and blissful, I lay across his chest. We’ve given all we can to each other tonight. His arm and comforter drape over and anchor me. I snuggle into him further and my eyes start to close while I smile in contentment. What a night. What a guy. I say a little prayer of thanks that sixes can look like eights. Otherwise the doorman might have never made the wrong delivery.

  As I slowly wake up from a sleep-induced fog, I remember where I am. In bed. With Ethan. The touch of the sheets and the smell of him are familiar to me now. His warm body spoons mine and we fit together perfectly. I want to stay here cocooned in his bed all day. I’m afraid of losing our connection and hope the light of day doesn’t melt away what we had together. Either way I won’t regret it. Last
night was worth it.

  I gingerly open my eyes, roll over and see Ethan, all disheveled hair and scruffy face. He’s in full-blown panty dropper mode. And from the look on his face, I have a sneaking suspicion that fate and red heels worked some magic. He’s sporting the biggest grin. It smoothes away any worries of where we might stand now. His dimpled grin sweetly calms me. I end up laughing while telling him good morning. He pulls me into his arms and makes sure it’s great.

  Epilogue

  It’s 2 p.m. on Saturday, February 14th, exactly a year since I met Ethan. My dear father leads me to the closed doors leading to the church’s sanctuary. Our arms are intertwined. Slowly, we make our way to the entrance. We stop and wait until the ushers open the doors. I hear my chosen processional song and know that we’re about to be revealed.

  My father whispers softly as the doors open, “Be happy, Emily.”

  Holding back tears, I answer back, “I am. Very much so.”

  He escorts me toward the altar and my love where very soon I’ll become Mrs. Panty Dropper.

  About the Author

  Liv Morris lives in Manhattan with her husband. Her three grown daughters are scattered across the United States. Currently she is working on another installment in the Love in the City short series along with completing her debut novel.

  To learn more, visit: www.livmorris.com.

  Table of Contents

  Copyright

  Prologue

  Fate

  Ready, Set, Go

  Dinner is served

  Epilogue

  About the Author