Halftime Husband -Erin McCarthy Page 0,7
The wind whipped around us, a sharp February bite of cold, but I barely noticed as his tongue teased over mine. Desire rose inside me instantly, a hot demanding need.
I shifted closer to him.
He gripped me tighter.
Our kiss became deeper, a precursor to where the rest of the night was going. There was no mistaking that kind of chemistry. I broke away, breathing elevated. “It’s freezing out here,” I said, rubbing my arms, and not wanting to let him know exactly how much that kiss had just turned me on.
“You’re not wearing a coat again,” he said. “Didn’t your mother ever tell you you’ll catch your death of cold?” He turned and raised his hand for a taxi again, more purposefully this time.
“I don’t listen to my mother, remember?” But then I remembered I actually had worn a coat. I was so eager to leave with Brandon, I’d completely forgotten about it. “In this case though, I just forgot it inside at the coat check.”
Brandon smiled. “Here, get in the warm cab and I’ll get it.”
A cab was pulling up and Brandon opened the door for me. I slid in, grateful for the blasting heat, while Brandon opened the front passenger door and had a word with the driver. Digging the ticket out of my purse, I handed it to him and watched him retreat into the bar. I wasn’t used to having men do things for me and it wasn’t a bad feeling. Lately, life had kicked the stuffing out of me, and I was tired. A little help and consideration didn’t go unnoticed and was really appreciated.
“How’s your Valentine’s Day going?” the driver asked, making eye contact in the mirror. He had a thick Russian accent and didn’t sound even remotely friendly, despite the conversational question.
“Better than expected,” I said. “How about you?”
“Bah. Relationships are for idiots.”
That was charming. “They’re not for everyone.” Clearly not this dude.
“You guys married?” he asked.
Did we look married? I didn’t think so. Brandon was at least ten years older than me, and I was overdressed compared to him. But who knew what the cynical cabbie saw when he looked at us. “No. I barely know him.”
His sour expression brightened up. “Now that’s what I’m talking about. Sex. Just sex, sex, sex. That’s all that matters.”
I was pretty sure that wasn’t all that mattered in life, but I wasn’t going to argue. For the night, sex was what mattered. In the overall grand scheme of life though, I was pretty sure love outranked sex.
“Hmm,” I said, noncommittally, debating getting out of the cab. I didn’t want this guy killing my vibe. I didn’t want to think about the future, I didn’t want to have expectations, I just wanted to enjoy the night with a very sexy man.
I decided to do just that. I pulled out my debit card, swiped it in the meter and said, “I’m going back in to find him, he's taking too long. Thanks, have a good night!”
He may or may not have called me something rude in Russian as I exited the cab, I wasn’t sure, but I was approaching the door to the bar when Brandon came out, my coat in his hand.
“Hey,” he said. “Got your coat.” He held it out for me to slip my arms in.
I shrugged into it and said, “The cab driver was telling me relationships are stupid and how sex is all that matters and you know, I’d rather not discuss any of that with him.” I laughed. “Valentine’s Day makes people get philosophical in the worst way.”
“Before I moved here, everyone assured me New Yorkers don’t like to chat in cabs or car services, and it’s a lie. Straight up, a lie. I’ve pretended to talk on the phone in the back seat and drivers still try to have a conversation with me.”
“Right? Okay, next cab, we pretend like we’re in a fight so the driver doesn’t talk to us.”
Brandon raised his hand and then eyed me. “What are we supposed to be fighting about?”
“You drank too much and I’m worried you have whiskey dick.” I tried not to grin, knowing full well what his reaction—any man’s reaction—to that would be.
“What? No way. Fuck that. Try again.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “You’re trying to get a rise out of me.”
I glanced at his jeans. “Maybe.”
His eyes darkened. “You’ve been getting a rise out of me since the first second you shoved me on that elevator. But I’m not