Almost Married(3)

By: Kylie Gilmore

But he’d taken things slow because, after a few encounters in his past that left him feeling unsatisfied, he’d decided he would only sleep with a woman if they loved each other. Not like when he’d slept with Sherri after two dates, only to discover her divorce was actually a separation that her husband was unaware they were having. And definitely not like when he’d been the rebound guy for Lisa, which he’d discovered after a hot all-night marathon of sex. She’d informed him in a note on his nightstand that he’d been the perfect antidote to her ex’s sleaziness, and her faith in men had been restored. Nice guy strikes again, he thought wryly. He’d restored her faith so well that she’d left him and ventured back into the dating pool.

In any case, waiting for a meaningful encounter hadn’t been too difficult. He tended to collect more women friends than girlfriends because he was the guy women confided in but didn't feel that way about. Tonight, to his delight, he’d discovered that what he’d hoped for between him and Steph was, in fact, true.

She was smiling up at him, waiting he supposed for him to “take” her, but her eyes weren’t focused, and her speech earlier had been slightly slurred. He stroked her hair and let himself imagine for a moment her hair spread out on a pillow as he drove into her. He clamped down on that thought. Ice bath, infinite snowballs heading his way, parent-teacher conferences. That worked. He loved his job, even loved the rowdy middle school students, but dealing with the parents, especially those that didn't understand why Bobby couldn't get an A without turning in any homework, were the worst part of his job.

Gently, he set Steph a foot away from him. He looked around her apartment for the first time. He’d declined Steph’s previous invitations to come up for a cup of coffee, which always followed a goodnight kiss while she squeezed his ass, because he wanted to be sure it was more than a one-time hookup. Finally, they were on the same page. If only Steph wasn’t sloshed when he’d discovered she loved him too. Steph’s apartment looked like those Pottery Barn catalogs his sister was forever poring over—wood coffee table with a silver bowl full of fake oranges, a red velvet blanket thrown over one side of a beige sofa.

He reached down to stroke a gray tabby cat that was rubbing against his leg. Steph's dress hit the floor. He jerked upright.

She was killing him. She looked like a lingerie model—light purple strapless bra with matching lace panties, still wearing the heels that screamed I am very fuckable. Her words rang through his head, Take me, take me, take me.

He grabbed the blanket from the sofa and covered her with it, wishing with every fiber of his being that he’d taken the opportunity to get her into bed before. He mentally slapped himself. What had he been thinking? Who cared about meaningful sex when a guy like him had a chance with a stunning (and smart) woman like her? For a smart guy, that had been a really stupid move.

“Da-aa-ave, I’m too hot for a blanket,” she said as he guided her toward a half-open door that he figured was her bedroom.

“I know.”

Ice and snow, ice and snow.

He gently pushed her onto the bed. The blanket parted in front, and he focused on her feet. Those slender feet in heels.

“I love you, David Olsen,” Steph said in a soft breathy voice that made him break out in a sweat.

Maybe he could sober her up with coffee. He berated himself for bringing her that vodka when she’d asked. He glanced up at her face. Her eyes were already closing.

“I love you too,” he said in a husky voice.

He pulled off the heels and stroked the top of her feet, feeling guilty about the red marks from the toe-stepping he’d done on the dance floor. She stretched out those long legs and sighed. He bit back a groan.

“I have to tell you about…” She curled up on her side, giving him an eyeful of curvy ass in lace panties. Just kill him now.

He yanked the comforter over her. “About what? Steph?”

She was sound asleep.

It sucked to be a gentleman.

Chapter Two

Steph stepped into her friend Jasmine Davis’s apartment the next day, still battling a headache from a raging hangover, and announced, “I need a divorce.”

Jaz’s mouth dropped open in a perfect O of surprise. She pulled Steph in and settled with her on the black leather sofa. “Back it up. Say what? I didn't know you were married!”

Steph grimaced over Jaz’s volume. “Technically, I am.”

Her friend crinkled her nose. “Does your boyfriend know?”

“You see the problem.”

Jaz’s brown eyes looked huge. “Uh, yeah?”

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