I wrote an alternate POV for the Pucked Love prologue (I can’t remember why anymore, or where it was posted, or when, but I wanted you to be able to read it if you felt like it). I hope you enjoy this peek inside Darren’s head on their first date.
I’m early. Twenty-four minutes early to be exact. I drive by Charlene’s house, my GPS telling me I’ve arrived and then indicating I should make a U-turn. I keep going, all the way down the street until I can make a left and circle the block. It’s a nice enough neighbourhood. The houses aren’t in disrepair, there are no creepy looking fuckers standing on their front porches smoking cigarettes in bathrobes.
I park down the street and check my reflection in the visor mirror. I look exactly as I did before I left my house, nervous, but still put together. I root around in the messenger bag sitting on the floor in the back seat, checking once more for the paperwork. I debate whether I should bring it to the door with me or leave it in the car.
I should wait until she invites me in, I decide. Then I can go back to my car to get it. I blow out a breath, more nervous than I’ve ever been for a date before. Charlene isn’t just a random woman. My best friend is already dating her best friend. It’s an added layer of complication.
But I’m willing to deal with that because Charlene is unlike any other woman I’ve had the pleasure of spending time with. And memories of what it felt like to kiss her—make out with her—for the better part of an hour, have consumed me since the night I met her. So I’ll take complicated if it means I get to kiss her again.
At ten to ten my patience wears thin and I shift my car into gear and roll the hundred feet down the street to her house. I pull into her driveway and cut the engine. “You got this Westinghouse. She said yes to seeing you again so you’re already ahead of the game,” I assure myself.
Fuck, I’m nervous. And giving myself a pep talk like an asshole.
At eight minutes to ten I get out of my car and approach her door. I wipe my damp palm on my pant leg and ring the bell. There’s a mat under my feet that says WELCOME! in cursive.
The door opens and my mouth goes instantly dry. I’m unprepared for the vision that is Charlene. Jesus Christ she’s stunning. She’s wearing a pair of jeans that hug her lean, luscious curves like a second skin. Her long sleeved shirt is a buttery yellow and has a gauzy quality to it. A breeze wafts through her foyer and ruffles her gorgeous auburn hair, which is loose around her shoulders. The last time I saw her I had my hands in all that soft, luxurious hair.
I’d love to have it wrapped around my fist. I’d love to hold it tight while I guide those plush, glossy lips along the length of my cock. Fuck. I need to get the head below the belt under control. This is a coffee date that will hopefully lead to lunch and future dates, not a let’s get naked and fuck date. Although, I wouldn’t be opposed to the latter at all if she happens to be interested.
Her huge hazel eyes meet mine and I try for a friendly, approachable smile. I don’t have a lot of experience with friendly or approachable, so the way her eyes flare doesn’t help me much with gauging how intense I’m coming across.
“Hi.” Her voice is a caress I feel everywhere.
“Hello, Charlene.” I hope that doesn’t sound nearly as lecherous to her as it does in my own ears.
“Hi.” She bites her bottom lip which momentarily fritzes out my brain.
“I’m a little early.” Way to state the fucking obvious. “I hope that’s okay.”
“Yes! Yeah, of course. Just let me get my purse.” She turns, but her purse, which is already hanging from her shoulder, bumps against her hip. “Oh, never mind. Looks like I’m all set.”
I wonder if she’s as nervous as I am. And now I have no reason to invite myself in so I can get the paperwork out of the way and get to the good stuff, which is our date.
I help Charlene into her jacket and free her hair from the collar, trying hard not to be super creepy when I sniff her hair. She smells so fucking good. I wish I’d thought to bring coffee to her place, then we could drink it here while she signed on the dotted line and we could make out again.
Maybe with less clothes this time. It’s been a long ass time since I’ve been naked with anyone, let alone someone who jacks me up the way she does just by touching her hair.
I manage to remember what the hell manners are and hold her door open before I take my place behind the wheel. I ask her about her morning and her weekend plans as I drive toward the waterfront, which is closer to my neighbourhood.
I would take her right to my house, but I need to figure out a way to broach the whole paperwork business, and I’m thrown by the fact that she didn’t invite me in. Maybe she doesn’t really want to be here. Maybe she’s only out with me as a courtesy to her friend.
Shit. I never considered that. We’d spent that night at the bar talking. Well, she’d done most of the talking. I couldn’t tell you half of what she’d said, not because I don’t find her enthralling, which I do, but because I needed to come up with a way to see her again and knowing that I needed to get her to sign an NDA to do that was a little preoccupying.
I pull into a Starbucks drive-thru for lack of other options. I can tell Charlene is confused, but she rolls with it. I drive to the park near the water, mentally working out how I’m going to make this happen so I can bring her back to my house for lunch.
I’ve never brought a woman back to my house for lunch on the first date. Most of the time it’s dinner at a private restaurant, a nice hotel room and a night of decadence that may or may not be repeated. It rarely turns into more because I’m such a private person. I know it’s a problem. I know I’m the problem but my family is a fucking nightmare and public relationships mean dealing with things I don’t want to, so it’s the only way I can manage.
I park close to the water, but leave the engine running. Charlene is definitely trying to figure out what the hell is going on. And for some reason all the things I’ve done in the past with the women I date seem . . . ridiculous. But I don’t know how to do this any other way. So we drink our coffees and people watch and talk about things that don’t matter, but do.
Charlene loves sweets but generally tries to avoid them because her cravings get out of control, and the sugar makes her edgy. She loves terrible reality TV. She smells like home and is gorgeous in jeans. She would look amazing naked in my bed.
She tells me stories about Violet that I’ve heard from Alex’s point of view. It’s interesting how differently he perceives things considering the way Charlene spins it, Violet is eternally embarrassed by the things she does and Alex is nothing short of obsessed with her.
Maybe a little like I’m obsessed with Charlene. And how amazing she smells. And how much I want to spend more time with her like this, talking about nothing, drinking coffee, just being.
Eventually the desire to touch her overrides my ability to speak. I hate the fact that there’s a console impeding my ability to get closer to her, even though I acknowledge that it’s presence will prevent me from doing something stupid.
I skim her cheek, marvelling at how soft and smooth and warm her skin is, and sweep her hair over her shoulder, all that satin softness brushing across the back of my hand.
Charlene’s eyes, so wide and expressive, lift to meet mine as she leans into the touch. I mirror the movement, that magnetic pull between us taking over. I tip her chin up until her lips are an inch from mine. “I would like to kiss you.”
“I have coffee breath.”
It’s everything I can do not to laugh, or fall in love with her. “As do I.”
She blinks up at me, so sweet and perfect and nothing I deserve but everything I want. “Okay then.”
For a moment I fall back in time, to the moment my lips first touched hers. I want that again. I want it to be just like that. Sweet and soft and electric. I sincerely hope it wasn’t the beer making it feel like something it’s not.
The second her lips touch mine it feels like I’m being electrocuted with lust. I sweep her mouth with my tongue, tasting coffee and vanilla and that same sweetness from our first kiss. And I can’t stop. I just want to sink into this and stay here forever. I want to kiss her until the world ends and my past disappears and it’s only us, and now, and here.
When I’m at risk of suggesting we move to the backseat I break the kiss. “Would you like to have lunch with me?”
Charlene’s gaze is heavy with the same lust that’s turning me into a walking, talking hormone. “Definitely.”
“Great.” I smile, excited by the prospect of bringing her back to my house where we’ll have lunch, and then, if she’s interested, we can continue this make out session in a more comfortable location.
I reach into the backseat and retrieve my messenger bag with the paperwork. I’m nervous all over again as I produce the folder with Charlene’s name printed neatly on the front of it.
“What’s that?” All the lust and need in Charlene’s gaze turns to wary uncertainty.
“A non-disclosure agreement,” I try to sound nonchalant about it so she doesn’t think it’s a bigger deal than it is.
Charlene’s frown grows deeper, as does the line between her eyebrows. “I’m sorry, why would a non-disclosure agreement be necessary?”
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. I hope I didn’t read this wrong. She has to have heard the rumours. Everyone has. “Because I’d like to have lunch with you.”
I don’t miss the way her fingers creep along the armrest and settle near the handle. “You need a non-disclosure agreement for lunch?”
I run my sweaty palms down my thighs, hoping I’m not fucking myself right now. “I’d like to take you to my house.”
“For lunch?”
“Yes.”
“Is lunch code for something?”
“Code?” I have no idea what she’s talking about.
“Yeah, like, is lunch a code word for some kinky sex games or something?”
So far Charlene has struck me as . . . sweetly innocent. The way she kisses tells me a lot about her as a partner. She’s gentle, soft, she lets me lead until she gets excited and then she gets a little aggressive. I wonder about that side of her, and what else I’ll discover if she agrees to have lunch with me.
“No. Although I’m certainly not opposed to kinky sex games if that’s what you’d prefer in lieu of lunch.” I’ll take whatever she’s willing to give.
Charlene doesn’t respond. Instead she picks up the folder and flips it open. The agreement is several pages long. Charlene glances at me and raises her eyebrows.
“Take your time. I can wait.” I smile again, but it feels a lot like a grimace since I know the contents of the agreement. With most women it wouldn’t be unexpected, but maybe I should have prepared Charlene a little better.
I try not to fidget while she scans the contents. It’s incredibly thorough, with a whole bunch of clauses. There’s even one pertaining to a credit card and a budget for clothing and lingerie because I make a lot of money and lingerie can be expensive. Especially my particular tastes.
After several long minutes Charlene closes the file folder and passes it to me. “I’d like you to take me home.”
I smile, relieved that it’s going to be so much easier than I anticipated, and produce a pen.
Charlene’s expression goes stony as she holds up a hand. “No, you’re not understanding. I’d like you to take me to my house, not yours. I’m not signing an NDA agreement for a lunch date—especially this type of NDA.”
My buoyant mood deflates and I blink rapidly, my fingers tapping against the manila file folder as I try to figure out a way to persuade her that I think we work well together, and that I want more of her. “But I thought we were enjoying each other’s company.”
“We were. But there’s no fucking way I’m signing this, so if you want to have lunch with me, you’ll have to do it without an NDA.”
In all the years that I’ve produced this document no woman has ever said no. Over time have they decided they couldn’t deal with my need for secrecy and my inability to give them more of myself than what they expected? Of course, but not one woman has ever contested signing this agreement. “It’s meant to protect us both,” I tell her.
“It’s not a condom, Darren. It’s an NDA. The next thing I know I’ll have some kind of tracking chip and I’ll be tied to your bed.”
I try to picture that, Charlene tethered, but I can’t. She’s too much of a firefly, flitting around, shining her light for the few who are lucky enough to capture her for as brief a time as she’ll allow. “Would you like to be tied to my bed?”
“Not if I have to sign an NDA.”
I love how irritated she looks right now. “And if you don’t have to sign an NDA?”
She shrugs, intending to come across as nonchalant but the flush in her cheeks and the way she crosses her legs tells me more than her wordless response.
I decide to be honest as I’m able. “I’m a very private person, Charlene.”
“So am I. Doesn’t mean I make all the people in my life sign an NDA because of it. If you want to have lunch with me, you can do it without asking me to sign away my rights.”
Her chin is tipped up, defiance warring with lust. She wants me like I want her, but she wants her freedom just as much. It’s something I can relate to in ways she can’t understand and likely never will, because there’s no way she’ll stick around long enough to know the real me. But for today I’m willing to concede and pretend that this will be more than a few weeks that will become sad, fond memories.
“Okay, no NDA,” I agree. “But I have rules for dating, Charlene.”
“So do I, and we can discuss them over lunch.”
How was I to know that one lunch date was all it would take for me to fall hopelessly in love with her, or that it would take me more than two years to fully understand that she’d managed to become as necessary as the air I breathe.
