Page 52 of Grump and Grumpier
They’ve become a habit, and maybe I can use this time to break it.
At work, I steer clear of Charles and have a very productive week. When I’m not working, I escape the real world by disappearing into books, and it’s lovely, though my real-life problems persist.
I’m called into Derek’s office the morning the men return. Jansen closes the door, and folds me into his arms, but I pull away. “We can’t, and especially not here,” I hiss.
“It’s okay. The door is locked.”
“I don’t care. Now that someone knows, I don’t feel right about it.”
“Come over for dinner, then,” Derek says.
I try to refuse; I really do. I think about how Charles knows I was with the men, and maybe he’ll somehow know if I go to Derek’s home again. There are so many reasons I shouldn’t keep seeing them, but after only the mildest amount of persuasion, I fold like a piece of origami paper.
There’s a chef at Derek’s home when I arrive. After searing salmon and tossing a green salad with freshly-made dressing, he leaves, and the three of us sit down to the delicious meal.
We talk about their week away, and how the new shop is looking. I keep things light when they ask how I’ve been. Charles and his awareness of our secret is never far from my mind, but I don’t want to ruin the mood by bringing it up.
The cat’s out of the bag, so there’s no point in talking about how to try to put it back in. Especially when I seem to be unable to stay away from these men.
As we enjoy berries and cream for dessert, Derek asks what I’ve been reading lately.
“It’s mostly always romance,” I tell him.
“What’s the latest one about?” Right after Jansen says this, his lips close over a strawberry that was on his spoon, and I’m so distracted, I nearly forget that he asked me a question.
Why do they ask about my romance books ifthey’re not interested in romance? And why do I always have to be reading books I’m embarrassed to talk about?
“Tell us about it,” Derek urges. He gets a bit of cream on his lips with his next bite, and I feel like I’mina smutty book rather than being encouraged to talk about one.
“Well … I’ve been bouncing back and forth between a couple of series lately …and it just so happens that I’m reading another one about male strippers.”
“I knew you had a thing for strippers.” Derek’s hand finds its way to my bare knee, sending a thrill across my skin.
“I don’t! Well …I mean, the book is pretty sexy. There’s a scene where the men give the heroine a private show in her bedroom, and … who wouldn’t like that?”
“Did they play stripper music?” Jansen pulls out his phone and scrolls for a moment before a thumping bass beat comes from his speakers, quickly getting louder as he dials up the volume.
Laughing, I tell him I don’t remember that detail.
“I’m trying to picture the scene. Was the heroine sitting in a chair?” Derek jumps up and slides my seat—with me still in it—out into the middle of the floor, where there’s plenty of open space. “Maybe they moved like this?”
My eyes bulge out of my head as, standing right in front of me, Derek juts out his hip, first to one side, then the other. Is he going to strip for me?
“What are you doing?” I’m caught between shock and delight as Jansen joins his partner and starts to unbutton his dress shirt, making a big show of it and keeping time with the music. When he eventually gets it undone, he opens one side, exposing half of his impressive chest, then closing the shirt again as he dances around me.
When I look Derek’s way, he takes the opposite approach, tugging hard at both sides of his dress shirt and pulling it open, sending me into a fit of giggles as buttons go flying.
“There’s special tearaway clothing meant for that!” I call out as shiny little white buttons roll away across his dark hardwood floor.
He pulls his shirt over his shoulders, teasing that part of his anatomy, as Jansen continues to flash me half of his chest at a time.
Who are these playful men, and what did they do with my bosses?
Their moves are a little stiff, but they’re actually far better dancers than I might have guessed. Their good looks definitely make up for any deficit in their rhythm.
As the music continues, and after some awkwardness with their pants, which donottear away, theygradually get down to their boxer briefs, and even though they’re still trying to entertain me, I’m no longer laughing.
The bulges in front of me have me swallowing a lump in my throat. “Sorry I don’t have any dollar bills,” I tell Derek as I run my hands over the smooth skin of his rock solid ab muscles.