Breaking the Ice

Chapter 16

16

Bridget Jones chose vodka and Shaka Khan. Samantha Evans chose vodka and Oreos. Definitely a higher carb content than Bridget’s choice but at least the cookies would help soak up some of the alcohol.

Samantha dumped her shopping bags on the kitchen bench and poured her first shot. If she was going to do this thing, she’d better get started. The fiery liquid hit the back of her throat and she swallowed it quickly.

Ahhhhhh! Braver already.

Next step was putting herself in a romantic mood. A relaxing bath, complete with candles and slices of cucumber for her eyes helped. As did the two shots she consumed while relaxing in the water. She was definitely feeling mellow as she slipped the cool satiny burgundy of her Victoria’s Secret nightdress over her head and stepped into the matching underwear. Both items had lacy trims and felt slinky against her skin.

She ate another two Oreos in the kitchen before bringing her phone, the vodka bottle, the cookies and the brown paper bag to the coffee table. Sitting on the couch, she pulled the Orgmaster out of the bag and released the beast from its packaging.

Samantha placed it on the coffee table, its flesh-colored girth giving it more than a hint of realism as it rose majestically from the glass top. Out of the packet and under the harsh glare of the overhead light it looked comically potent.

A deadly phallic missile.

Flicking the switch, it buzzed and vibrated, practically walking its way around the coffee table. She laughed, finding it outrageously funny in her vodka-addled brain.

Also slightly scary.

Samantha switched it off. Better not run the battery down. She’d hate to be in the middle of the best time of her life and have it whir to a halt. She laughed again as she reclined against the couch, accidentally knocking her phone off the arm. She barely registered it though, as she stared at the vibrator for a while. It looked like a cactus with its extra protruding bits for maximum stimulation sprouting at odd angles from its base.

Holding up her hand, she could easily count five fingers which meant she was nowhere near drunk enough. Taking another shot, she helped herself to two more Oreos before reclining once more but the angle was all wrong, the vibrator seemingly bigger and bigger.

Or maybe that was the vodka.

Whatever it was, the cacti-like features had taken on amazing proportions. The Orgmaster looked just like a giant cactus of black and white Western fame. The kind that could always be seen in the background silhouetted against a weird rock formation.

Okay. Maybe she was drunk enough.

But there were still four Oreos left and it seemed such a shame to waste them. Especially given that she’d probably never be able to eat another again without thinking about the night she had intimate relations with a huge, cactus-like latex phallus.

She guessed that was one positive about a mechanical sex aid, they didn’t care about how many calories in an Oreo or the resultant effect on the hips of devouring an entire packet.

Samantha sat up because the Orgmaster really was freaking her out from this angle. It was far less intimidating when she could look down upon it… kind of. The room spun a little and Samantha hung onto the arm of the couch as she poured herself another vodka shot.

Then another. And another.

The Orgmaster grew more and more intimidating until she felt it was actually taunting her with its presence. One lone Oreo sat on the table waiting to be eaten but for the first time in perhaps ever , Samantha wasn’t remotely tempted. She leaned forward and flicked the switch on her toy again. It dutifully performed its bag of tricks and a tear roll down her cheek.

She looked away, her watery gaze sweeping the room, desperate for anything to erase the image. The walls loomed around her.

Oh, God, not them .

The velvet uteruses multiplied through the prism of her tears, mocking her further. Samantha shut her eyes tight admitting defeat.

Nick was right. She couldn’t do it. It was like saying, okay, I acknowledge it, I am a total loser who can’t get a man and have to resort to a penis substitute. Not that there was anything wrong with using a vibrator but right now it felt like the ultimate in settling. Which really wasn’t true. She was just having a bad run and her eggs and the wallpaper were pressuring her.

She opened her eyes, her vision still blurred, and looked at the offending article again. The Orgmaster also multiplied before her eyes.

Jesus. One was scary enough.

Nick had said they were fun. Fun? How could something that looked like it would need a surgical team to retrieve it ever be fun? This was all his fault. If he hadn’t followed her into the damn store and then dared her, she wouldn’t be sitting here now, a lethal mix of vodka and Oreos brewing in her stomach, an enormous phallus staring her down.

Damn him!

If she didn’t like her job so much, she’d call him and quit before he had the chance to wheedle out all the humiliating details. Although, maybe if she did it now she could avoid the face-to-face embarrassment?

Rising on unsteady feet, she cast around for her cell phone. Vaguely remembering that she’d knocked it off the arm of the couch, Samantha glanced to the floor, spying her DKNY handbag still stashed beside the lounge from that dreadful night with Paul. Grabbing it, she drunkenly upended the contents over the couch. Her cell spilled out along with two hundred individually wrapped condoms.

The little foil packets cascaded everywhere. On the couch, over the side and across the coffee table. Preferring not to relive that night in this state, Samantha ignored them as she plonked herself down, scattering the condoms further. Focusing on her phone, she tapped in the code which took several attempts with so much vodka on board.

Eventually she managed it, navigating straight to Nick’s number in her recently dialed folder and tapping on his name. He picked up within three rings but she didn’t give him a chance to speak first.

“You won, okay?” she muttered accusingly, her words a little slurred. “You won.”

There was a pause. “Are you okay?”

“ No . You were right. I couldn’t go through with it. I hope you’re satisfied. It’s just sitting there, looking at me, silently taunting me. Even the vodka didn’t help.”

“Vodka? How much have you had?”

“Oh, I’m pretty smashed.”

“Jesus! If I’d have known you were going to have to wipe yourself out to use the damn thing I would never have dared you. For God’s sake, it’s a vibrator, not a cyanide pill.”

Samantha ignored his bitching as her stomach started to reject its contents. “Oh, God. I’m going to be sick.”

Moments later Samantha was holding on to the toilet seat with one hand and her hair with the other, wishing she was dead. She retched and retched, bringing back all her Oreos. Had she been sober she would have lamented the loss of such an exquisite biscuit.

A loud banging on her apartment door interrupted her pity party. Nick . She knew, deep in her bones that on this humiliating night, it could only be him.

Go away. Just go away and leave me alone.

She retched again but the banging was persistent and, as it was quickly becoming apparent that he wasn’t going to let her die in peace, she knew she had to get up and answer it. Rising on shaky legs, Samantha quickly gargled some water as she risked a look at herself in the mirror.

Oh hell. She looked bad. White as a sheet, swaying a little, her hair tousled.

“Okay, okay,” she shouted, as another volley of bangs thundered through the apartment. “I’m coming.”

Making it to the door on unsteady legs, Samantha unlocked it and yanked it open. Nick was standing at her door in shorts and a tee looking better than any man had a right to.

“Jesus. You look a fright.”

“Thank you. I am aware.”

“Are you okay?”

“No.” She shook her head. “I think I’m going to be sick again.”

Samantha left Nick standing at the door as she ran to the bathroom and vomited some more. She wasn’t aware he’d followed her until he was sitting on the edge of her bathtub, one hand gathering her hair, the other rubbing her back.

Part of her knew she should object. She really didn’t want him to see her like this. But the other part was glad he was here, murmuring nonsensical words as she continued to heave.

“Oh God!” she groaned as she sat back on her haunches, her stomach now completely empty. “I’m going to die.”

He chuckled as he produced a cool wet washer and mopped her face. “No, you won’t. It’ll just feel that way for a while.”

Samantha wanted to purr at how good the cold water felt on her flushed face as she shut her eyes and let him administer to her. “You sound like you’re talking from experience.”

“Unfortunately, yes,” he chuckled.

It was such a soothing noise Samantha collapsed against him, her head on his knees and thought how nice it would be to have him here for her every night.

“Have you finished?” he asked gently a few minutes later.

She nodded. “I think the worst is over.”

“Come on then. Get up. Clean your teeth. There’s nothing worse than vomit breath.”

He helped her up and stayed with her while she dutifully obeyed. He was right. A fresh minty breath had an instant reviving effect and some of the fog cleared from her brain. She was still fairly inebriated but at least she could stand up without swaying now.

With his arm around her waist, Nick supported her as they returned to the lounge. Samantha pulled up short as she spied the Orgmaster still sitting in the center of the table.

Mocking her.

“Do you think you could stash that thing somewhere I never have to look at it again?”

He laughed and said, “Sure,” as he sat her on the couch then picked up the offending article, his eyes widening as he noticed the multitude of foil packets strewn around.

“You do know that you don’t have to use a condom with a vibrator, right?”

Samantha shot him a withering look. “Oh. That’s what I was doing wrong.”

His eyes twinkled and a traitorous thought whispered, Plan B . But she quashed it, ruthlessly. Any hope she’d ever had of Plan B’ing him had just evaporated. The man had held her hair while she’d vomited into the toilet. He was about to play hide-the-vibrator for her.

He was obviously destined to be her friend forever.

“Any place in particular for this?”

“No.” She yawned as she lay down on the couch, suddenly feeling weary to her bones. “Put it in the fishbowl for all I care. If it’s not real, I’m not interested.”

Nick watched as Samantha’s eyes closed and she snuggled into the squashy embrace of the couch, her head on the arm. She was lying on her side, her bottom leg bent at the knee, her top leg stretched out along the length of the couch. The position emphasized the curve of her hip and the dip of her waist and the fullness of breasts barely held in check by the lacy, satiny cling of her nightdress.

He thought about the pretty date who’d been getting friendly with him on his couch when Samantha had called and there was no comparison. He’d been trying really hard to get into the action but it just hadn’t been working for him and he’d been about to call it a night when his neighborly emergency had cropped up. Nick had jumped at the excuse to discontinue and had zero regrets about hurrying her out of his apartment.

Which probably made him a real dick.

Nick’s gaze drifted to her mouth, soft and pink. Like it had been in the alley that night when he’d lost all sense of time and place. He’d been aware of only her. Samantha. Her mouth and her soft body pressed against his, her arms around his neck urging him closer, deeper.

Her perfume. Her essence. Her deep, contented sigh as she’d opened to him.

And even when they’d drawn apart, the rough pant of her breathing had gone directly to his groin. He had done that to her. He had made her sound breathy and sexy and he’d wondered how in the hell he was ever going to keep his hands to himself.

Sure, he’d managed it. They’d talked about putting the alley behind them and he’d agreed. They had very different life goals, so complicating their relationship with sex would be just plain dumb. But hell, if he didn’t think about it.

A lot. Too damn much.

Picking up the Orgmaster, he strode to the fishbowl to find the fattest goldfish he’d ever seen. Okay… not the fishbowl. Godzilla was bizarre enough without adding a twelve-inch phallus to the mix.

Locating her bedroom next, Nick crossed to a bedside table and stashed it right at the back of the drawer. Who knew, maybe she’d thank him for it one day? She might feel embarrassed about her purchase now but at some point, she might change her mind.

Mission accomplished, Nick made his way back to the living area. Samantha was still sleeping and, spying a mohair throw on the back of her couch, he covered her up. Dithering for a moment, he wondered if he should get a vomit bucket or stay for a bit longer in case she… aspirated? Or something?

Undecided, he sat on the floor, his legs out in front of him, his back supported by the squishy arm of the couch. Amidst the debris of condoms scattered across the nearby coffee table, sat a half-empty bottle of vodka.

Yep, that’d do it.

Beside it sat a single Oreo which Nick grabbed and absently bit into as he contemplated whether to stay or go. His chewing, loud in the silence of the apartment, must have disturbed Samantha because there was some rustling behind him.

“Thank you, Nick,” she murmured.

Nick half-turned, tucking his knees up, to find her looking at him, their heads tantalizingly level. He smiled. “What are friends for?”

Friends , douchebag. Friends.

Except she was looking at him intently. Like she had in the alley. A look that made him want to throw all caution to the wind and just explore the possibilities. Her gaze dropped to his mouth and Nick’s stomach fell away as if he’d just fallen from a great height.

“Nick?”

“Uh huh.” His eyes went to her mouth, her lips so close and inviting. Full and lush and pink and he’d be lying if he didn’t admit to the blinding need to taste them again.

“Did you really mean that thing you said about your 100 per cent success rate?”

“Uh huh.” He couldn’t take his eyes off her mouth.

“Wanna prove it?”

Nick closed his eyes and quashed the mad stirrings of his body. One kiss in an alley had blown his mind – what would sex do? He let himself go there for a few seconds but already knew it would never be that simple.

She reached behind her back and retrieved a foil packet, brandishing it between them. “I have plenty of condoms.”

Nick’s gaze traveled from her mouth to the silver packet and back to her mouth. He’d never been more tempted in his life. He looked at the condom again and licked his lips as he imagined ripping the foil open and plunging into her. He wanted it so badly he could almost feel her around the painful erection that was straining against his zipper.

“I thought you just wanted to be friends?” His pulse was loud in his head as he swallowed against his suddenly parched throat.

“So…” She frowned. “You don’t want to?”

Nick almost groaned out loud. Of course he wanted to. He’d been thinking of little else since that kiss. But… there was that half-empty bottle of vodka.

Taking the packet from her, he stared at it longingly for a second. “More than anything,” he sighed as he tossed it on the table. “Knock on my door one day when you’re sober.”

For a moment, he thought she was going to protest but instead she smiled a serene sort of smile, her eyes fluttering as if too heavy to keep open. “Oh, I will, Nick, I promise.”

Her eyes drifted shut and Nick knew she was out for the count.

Great, just his luck that the woman he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about had made him a promise she was never going to remember…