Page 6 of Misadventures With The Mistaken Twin
But Jane was a little wary of him as he didn't know her. The one time she'd stopped by Violet's house, Old Mr. Chalmers had come out and started yelling at her not to sell Bibles to his daughter.
“Right, the van's fine.” I looked at my watch. “Listen, I've got to run. Men are waiting for me and all my knowledge about women and sex,” I added sarcastically.
“Have fun—and a thank you from Zach.”
I dropped my phone into my purse and picked up the box for the party—the one that no longer had the Triple Smacker—and headed out.
The sky was an inky black, the fields of snow spread out around me glowing in the sliver of moonlight as I drove to Mike Ostranski's house. The headlights shone on the road, coated with a thick layer of compacted snow. On the back roads like this one, it was dirt beneath, but that wouldn't be seen until spring thaw. My breath came out in puffs until the heater kicked in. I chose to drive the plumbing van instead of buying a car as it was cheaper, but I wouldn't have minded the luxury of heated seats and power windows—and four-wheel drive.
Mike lived east of town about five miles. His house was log cabin style and sat up on a rise on ten acres, a view of the Gallatin mountain range out the large family room windows. The house wasn't a Montana version of the McMansion, but it was a masterpiece of construction on a smaller scale. No detail had been missed when Mike had it custom built about five years ago. Views, high-end appliances, complex and confusing multimedia equipment hardwired throughout. The Jacuzzi tub in the master bath was like a swimming pool. The house had a two-hundred-gallon instant hot water system, radiant floor heating and even a heated driveway. I knew about these special features like the Jacuzzi, not because I'd used it, but because I'd installed it. I knew the plumbing features of the home intimately. As a podiatrist, Mike could afford all the fancy amenities.
I parked by the three-stall garage and went around to the back of the van to grab the box, the freezing air stinging my cheeks. Mike popped one of the garage doors, came out and nudged me aside after I opened the back doors of the van.
“Here, I'll take that.”
He picked up the box for me as if it weighed nothing. I grabbed my purse off the top as we walked inside. Mike had played football in high school and college, and it showed. He could be Paul Bunyan for Halloween if you gave him a flannel shirt and an axe. I only came up to his shoulder and he had at least a hundred pounds on me. But football was as short-lived as the scholarship and medicine took over. Now, he ran his own podiatry practice and was especially busy during the ski season. There seemed to be a never-ending supply of bad arches and bunions.
“You're not going to believe it,” he said, pushing the button for the garage door on his way into the kitchen.
I sat on the bench in the super-sized mudroom and pulled off my boots, dropping them on the little plastic tray meant for wet footwear. The mudroom was the catch-all area between the garage and the kitchen. Coats, shoes, umbrellas and all the other random items you didn't want either in the house or the garage ended up there. It was particularly nice in the winter when you had on so many layers and had to put them somewhere—besides in a pile on the kitchen counter. On top of that, it kept all the mud and snow from tracking into the house.
My house was too small for one, and I didn't have a garage. I lived vicariously through Mike's.
“Guess who I ran into today and is coming to this little shindig?” he asked.
We'd been friends long enough that I got to use the garage entry instead of the fancy front door. I dawdled, pretending to rearrange my argyle socks as a miserable feeling settled in my stomach. I knew exactly who was being dragged to the party.
I paused and sighed. “Jack Reid?” I guessed.
Mike popped his head back into the mudroom and looked surprised, and not because of the crankiness in my voice. “How did you know that?”
For being in town for less than a day, word—and the man himself—got around. “Wild guess.”
5
I was saved from explaining by the doorbell. After a questioning look, Mike left me in peace for a few minutes while I took off my heavy layers and pulled myself together. I wasn't quite ready to face Jack again. I didn't think he'd be too keen on seeing me. Ever again. But we were to be roomies, so I'd run into him eventually. Doing so publicly meant he wasn't going to kill me, at least right away. Men's voices carried through the house. I heard the TV come on, a commentator recapping some sporting event. Pulling my compact from my purse, I checked my makeup, my hair and made sure nothing was stuck in my teeth.
“V, come on! Want a beer or something?”
“Something,” I mumbled to myself as I put the mirror away and wiped my sweaty palms on my jeans.
I lugged the box of toys Mike had left on the kitchen counter into the great room. The space was two stories tall with a bank of windows that showed off the beautiful scenery—if it wasn't pitch black beyond the glass. A large stone fireplace filled the north wall, a crackling fire in the hearth. Dark leather sofas faced the fireplace with a wide screen TV in the built-ins next to it. Opposite was a wet bar. Platters of snacks covered the counteralong with a bucket full of ice and bottles of beer. Mike stood behind the bar mixing some kind of alcoholic beverage.
Between the heated floors and the fireplace, it was a warm and cozy place to be on such a cold night.
“Want one?” Mike called to me. I nodded, not caring what it contained. I needed fortification and I needed it fast.
I was a little unsure of how this was going to turn out. Six, I counted heads, no make that seven guys and a box full of sex toys. I was going to be grilled about women and what they really wanted in bed. I wasn't a porn star, nor a virgin. I fell somewhere in the middle and had the experience to match. Toys were great and all, but a guy who was good with his hands really melted my butter.
After working at Goldilocks for, well, forever, I’d learned a thing or two about what a guy wanted in bed. Or out. The first year Goldie tutored me in her entire arsenal of toys, lingerie, videos, and what not. She even sent me home with one video a week to watch with the warning if I told my mother I'd be fired. Not that I would have ever done that. To this day, I'd be mortified to tell her I'd spent my Thursday nights watchingDebbie Does DishesorDirty Girlz. And those were the tamer titles.
Goldie’d had me watch instructional videos on every possible subject over my lunch breaks. I was the only person in the world, I was sure, who’d watchedKama Sutra 101andHow To: Oral Sexover microwaved leftovers.
I peeked a glance at Jack, lounging on the couch, beer in hand. He was watching me, his blue eyes sharp and assessing. Obviously, I hadn't knocked anything important loose since he'd been released from the ER. I felt exposed, vulnerable thinking about what he'd seen—what I'd exposed—earlier.
Surprisingly, I also felt hot. The fire sure was warm! Yeah, right. Who was I kidding? My fantasy hadn't changed even after his obnoxious words.
Jack. That's whom I wanted in my bed. Anywhere. Even if he was a complete jerk and drives me bonkers.My head might be thinking strangle the man, but my body wanted to do something completely different to him. With him. I was just glad my sweater was thick enough to hide the way my nipples had gone hard at just the sight of him.