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My chest aches.
Why did it hurt so much to see him with someone else?
There’s a knock on my door and I nearly fall out of the tub as I scramble to get dried off and slip on a robe. My heart is racing. Who could be here at this time? I grip my phone, ready to dial 911. I tiptoe to the door and peek through the little hole and my stomach dips.
Aidan Willoughby stands there holding a bag in his hand, looking like every woman’s wet dream.
Blond hair that is a little disheveled, plump lips, broad shoulders, his jaw peppered in scruff that I long to feel against my fingertips. Again.
Wait. We hate him right now.
Keep your head on straight, girl.
He probably just dropped off his lover on his way over here.
“I can hear you breathing, Mazie. Open the door.”
“Don’t boss me around. I will open it if I want to open it.” I take a minute to quickly pat my bun that I’d tied on top of my head when I got in the tub and look down to make sure my robe is closed before whipping the door open. “It’s late. What are you doing here?”
His eyes scan my body and I squeeze my thighs together.
I will not react to this man.
I am a strong woman.
I will not be disrespected nor fall for the charms of a player.
“I, uh, I wanted to drop this off.” He holds out an Athleta bag. I look inside and see a gift card.
“What is this?”
“I still feel bad about ruining your outfit. So, I got you a gift card because Sabrina said they sell great athletic wear for women.”
I huff at the mention of her name.
“It’s almost ten o’clock at night. You just went there now?” I don’t know why that’s the first question I have.
“Well, they closed at nine, but Sabrina knows the store manager and they let me in to grab a gift card really quick.” He shoves his hands in his pockets as he stands out in the hallway, and I glare at him.
“Well, please tell your lover thank you for thinking of me.” I attempt to slam the door in his face, and he chuckles and puts his hand up to stop the door from closing.
Why is this funny? I’m not laughing.
“She’s not my lover.”
“Oh. She’s your girlfriend then? Good for you. I hope you’ll be very happy together.” Again, I try to slam the door in his face, but if I’m being honest, I’m not trying that hard. I want to hear what he has to say, I just don’t want to admit it.
“Are you jealous?” His tongue dips out to wet his bottom lip, and I nearly combust.
Damn this man.
I huff and gasp and make all sorts of noises to let him know how outrageous that is. “Jealous? Of what? We’re nothing.”
“I don’t agree.”
“You don’t get to agree or disagree, you…you…dirty, slimy…douchey-player,” I spew, and he bursts out laughing in response.
“Mazie.” He steps closer to me.
