The Trouble with #9 by Piper Rayne

“Did he say where he wants to take you?” Jana asks on speaker as I search my closet for something to wear. I should have gone over to Jana’s place. She has endless options.

“Nope. Best guess, restaurant and a movie. Or maybe just dinner, no movie? Italian restaurant maybe. Then I’ll want to order the spaghetti, but a first date and spaghetti… you might as well say you don’t want a second date.”

Jana laughs. “Something tells me Maksim isn’t going to care how you eat spaghetti.”

“Then I’ll end up getting some kind of salad, and I’ll come home and eat cereal after because I’m starving.”

She laughs again. “You think too much.”

“Because I’m not the gorgeous blonde across the table from them like you.”

She’s silent for a moment. “I hate it when you do that to yourself.”

“I’m not down on myself. These are facts. You’re gorgeous and I’m the girl next door. And there’s nothing wrong with the girl next door. I’ll probably marry some good-looking insurance guy who will take me for Italian dinners and always remember our anniversary.” What I don’t say to Jana is that he’ll probably let me run the house and make corny jokes like, “happy wife, happy life.”

“You don’t sound like that’s what you want.”

“Because it’s not. I want someone who challenges me. Who will fight with me until we end up having hot sex on the floor and he pulls my hair back and drills into me from behind.”

“Man, I think our friendship just took a turn.” She laughs. “Tell me more, sex kitten.”

I flop down on my bed, still in my robe. “You can’t tell me you’d want some guy who treats you like a porcelain doll.”

“No. Definitely not. And I know you’re probably going to think I’m boring, but I like missionary.”

“I didn’t say there’s anything wrong with missionary. I just don’t want to be staring up at the ceiling every night, faking an orgasm and pretending to enjoy his sweaty body on top of me.”

“Paisley!” she yells and cackles with laughter.

“What?” I chuckle.

“I never knew any of this about you.”

I sigh. “Well, now you do. But I’m either going to have to teach my future husband how to fuck me or just resort to a sex toy drawer to fulfill my fantasies.” Going after the kind of guy I want is dangerous—I’ve seen how that works out.

“Maksim is smitten with you. I see the way he looks at you. There’s no way that man isn’t going to toss you around in the bedroom.”

She’s right. I know she is. Sometimes I hate myself for only seeing myself as a plain Jane, but I look identical to my mother. The dimple. The curls. The sweet demeanor as though she’d harm no one. My dad’s mistress was blonde, with dark eyeliner and red lipstick. She wore short dresses that clung to her ass and breasts with high heels that made her legs go on for miles. Eventually, men tire of the girl next door. She seems like a good idea when you’re looking for someone to mother your children, but that gets old fast.

The night my dad left, I swore I’d never allow myself to get in a relationship like that. His absence set off a phase in high school, one I’m not proud of, where I was the girl who’d fool around with anyone. Of course, I kept it to the public school boys. Boys who lived in my neighborhood and didn’t attend the private school I went to. They thought I was that much more appealing because of the Catholic schoolgirl uniform—“Wear your short plaid skirt,” they’d say.

I shake my head, wanting to forget that girl. It’s the one piece of my life I’ve never shared with Jana.

“Want to bet it’s Italian?” I say.

“My money’s on Maksim being more original than that, but wear a dark color just in case the sauce splashes up on you.”

“I’m just going to wear my boring black dress then.” I get up off the bed and take it off the hanger.

“I hope he surprises you.”

“Me too.”

“I’ll be crossing my fingers for some doggie style in your future.” She laughs, and we both say goodbye before hanging up.

I stare at the black dress I wear on almost every date. It’s simple, and I can pair it with a jean jacket and sandals to tone it down, depending on what he’s wearing when he shows up. I make my hair a little bouncier, spray the curls in place. My makeup is light, barely there, a natural look with my lips a little pinker than normal.

The doorbell rings a minute later, and I take one last look at myself, preparing the standard date answers as to why I chose psychology, where I went to school, how long it will be until my practice is doing well. I open the door and find Maksim in shorts, a T-shirt, and a sweatshirt over top, looking handsome as ever and casual.

“Um.” I look down at myself. Even if I put on my jacket and sandals, I’m still way over dressed.

“Yeah, go change into shorts and a T-shirt while I snoop.” He walks into my house without an invite.

There’s a comeback on the tip of my tongue, but I kind of like his take-charge behavior.

“There’s nothing to find.” I smile, leaving him in my small living room while I head to the bathroom.

“We’ll see about that. Hurry up, I’ve got reservations.”

“Where?”

“You’ll see.”

Sitting in Maksim’s Mercedes, one that almost looks as if it’s matchbook-sized compared to him, the scent of his aftershave or his cologne makes my body hum. Now that I’m here with him and we’re really doing this, my nerves are working overtime. I was prepared to sleep with Maksim when we were in Toronto, but I have a feeling that being wooed by Maksim will be something else entirely.

“Where are we going?” I ask.

He smiles at me as he heads onto the freeway. “It’s a surprise. Sorry to disappoint you if you thought I was going to take you to a fancy restaurant.”

“No. I’m not disappointed.” I’m not, although I did assume.

“You thought that, didn’t you?” He grins, and the way it lights up his crystal-blue eyes should be criminal.

I shake my head, but my smile gives me away and his grin widens. “Maybe.”

“I’m more original than that.” He winks.

Isn’t that the problem though? He’s unlike any other man I’ve ever met, and the harder I try to push aside any curiosity I have for this man, the more he pulls me in.

“I guess we’ll see.”

“Are you challenging me?”

“Maybe.” I shrug.

“How many dates do you think I can plan before I do something unoriginal like dinner and a movie?”

I shift in my seat to face him, curious where this line of conversation is going. I’d love to go on more dates with this man, especially since the bubbly feeling in my stomach is a nice change of pace. But I don’t want to get my hopes up. “Who’s the one to decide unoriginal versus original?”

“I think we can manage that ourselves. How many?”

“Two,” I say.

He groans. “Kotik, you’re making this too easy.”

I chuckle. “Okay.” I don’t want to make it too hard for him. I’m not sure how many dates I could plan that were original. “Five.”

“Let’s say nine. It is my lucky number.” He looks away from the highway for a moment and grins at me.

“Nine dates?” My eyes are wide as he nods. “You’re going to commit to nine dates with me?”

When he pulls off the highway, the car idles at a stoplight and he glances at me, his eyes holding a devilish glint. “I’d commit to an infinite amount of dates with you.”

I’d like to say “only until you find someone else who interests you more,” but I push that thought aside, excited to see him even attempt nine.

“And what do you get if you pull off nine original dates?” I ask.

“If I succeed, then you have to plan an unoriginal date for me.”

I nod in agreement. “And if you lose?”

“We can do an honest therapy session and I won’t come on to you once.”

How can I turn that down? I hold out my hand. “Deal.”

He takes it, and heat courses through my veins from where our skin meets. “Free up your calendar, Miss Paisley.”

“That’s Dr. Paisley.”

“Now you’re putting thoughts in my head of you in a white coat and naked underneath. I think I want to change up my reward after the nine dates.” His hands tighten on the steering wheel and he turns onto the main road.

“What do you have in mind?” It’s hard to hold back my smile.

“A little doctor/patient role-playing?”

I smile and bite my lip. “That can be arranged.”

He squirms in his seat. “Damn, you’ve got me tense now.”

I laugh and he does too. We continue to drive, butterflies filling my stomach at the possibility of what this could be. What could grow between us. I don’t want to be hopeful, but the trouble with number nine is that he makes it so hard not to be.

He pulls into our destination and I’m shocked. Never in my life has anyone ever taken me to an amusement park.

“Busch Gardens?” I ask.

“You do ride roller coasters?” He follows the attendant’s directions and parks his Mercedes.

“I do.” That’s not really true. I hate rollercoasters but I don’t want to put a damper on this date when he went to the effort of planning it.

“Great. And they have pretzels here. Maybe I’ll finally get that answer on why you pick pretzels over nachos.” He turns off the engine, folds himself out of his Mercedes, and meets me at the hood of his car.

People look on, mostly families leaving the park with kids passed out in their parents’ arms. Maksim takes my hand and escorts me over to the tram to take us into the park as though he’s just an average guy. He’s so far from average it’s not even funny.

As we wait for the tram, I can’t help but notice how small my hand feels in his large one. I look up at him—the stubble along his jaw, the slightly crooked nose, his strong jawline that I can’t wait to lick. The natural blond highlights in his hair that I’m dying to run my hands through.

“Keep looking at me like that and we’re not gonna make it on the tram, kotik.”

“Promise?” I grin cheekily at him.

He looks down at me and his tongue slides out along his bottom lip. “Tell me one thing…”

“What?” I’m already breathless.

“Do you kiss after the first date?” I open my mouth to respond, but he holds up a finger. “Hold that thought.”

The tram arrives and we file into the back row. There are fewer people going in at this time of day.

Something occurs to me while we sit there and wait for everyone to get situated. I don’t want to be the shy girl who waits for a kiss. Not at all. Something about this man makes me not want to play it safe.

“So, do you kiss after the first date?” Maksim asks again once the tram moves.

I turn toward him, my hand sliding into the hair at the back of his head. “I kiss on the first date.”

My lips touch his and he wastes no time sliding his tongue into my mouth. Our kiss only lasts seconds, but I’ll never forget that feeling, as though I’m lifting off in a hot air balloon when his lips meet mine.

“We have to be semi-careful because we’re in public,” he whispers. “Wouldn’t want my doctor to lose her license for sleeping with the patient.” His breath tickles my ear, and he places the softest kiss right under my earlobe.

I realize suddenly that this is probably part of the reason we’re here, so far from where we live. He doesn’t want us to accidentally run into someone from the team.

I’m completely screwed. All I want to do is straddle him and beg him to fuck me right here, damn my license. But I sit nicely, trying to remember the last time I was at Busch Gardens and where all the hiding places are so we can have some make-out time.

He pays for my ticket, and we walk into the park. He pulls a ball cap from his back pocket, though it doesn’t do the best job of hiding who he is. I still see the fingers pointed in his direction and the hushed whispers, but no one comes right up to us.

“Shall we?” He looks at the biggest and scariest roller coaster at the park.

My stomach rumbles. I lied when I told him I was into roller coasters, but I don’t want to be that girl, so I buck up and say, “Definitely.”

Twenty minutes later, the harness comes down over my shoulders and I fear I might die of a heart attack with the way my heart is practically beating out of my chest. Maybe the headline could read, “Sweet girl dies trying to be someone she’s not.”