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“Or maybe we’ve gotten this out of our system, and we should stop,” I say, though I already know that a second time hasn’t cured my appetite for him.
Each time only makes me want him more.
But it’s just a sex thing, right?
We can’t build a relationship on that. Not like the relationship that Win and I could build.
Comparing them doesn’t feel fair but it’s the only way to know if I’m making the right decision.
He pulls up his pants and secures the button while I step down from the desk and then pull my dress into place.
He walks over to a box of tissues and pulls three sheets from it.
“Here,” he says, handing them to me.
“What’s this for?” I ask, taking the tissues from him.
“For your underwear. I was really turned on. There’s going to be… a lot.”
As much as I don’t love a bunch of tissues in my panties, I don’t need Slade's cum dripping down my leg at the coffee shop while I try to convince Tessa that nothing is happening between us.
I place the tissues where they need to go, though I wish I could take a few minutes to wash them off in the bathroom. Leaving Tessa to wait any longer will only make this worse.
"Also, I'll have to order a new showerhead. The one in your shower is clogged. It should be here in a couple of days, and then I'll install it," he says.
"Thank you for doing that. If you know what I owe you for the part, I'll reimburse you."
"Don't worry about the money. I'll take care of it."
"Thank you," I say, after putting the tissues in place, and then reach over and grab my purse and cell phone to head to Serendipity. "I should go."
He nods and I slip past him towards the door.
I'll give myself another day or two before I buy a test because I'm not sure if I can handle the results right now.
Positive or negative.
Chapter Nineteen
Penelope
Walking into Serendipity’s, I spot Tessa sitting at our usual table. She’s already wearing her “I told you so smirk,” so I know I’m in for it.
She let me off too easy the first time, but twice in two weeks? There’s no way she won’t demand information about what’s going on between Slade and me.
The birthday hate-sex excuse won’t work twice in a row. And she barely believed me the first time.
With the long lunch line already forming, I stop at the back of the line to order before I face the firing squad of one sitting at the table. Tessa Tomlin, my executioner of truth, and when she aims, she rarely misses.
“Nice try but I already ordered your usual,” she calls out the busy coffee shop. “Now get your butt over here.”
I head her way, practically dragging my feet as I go to buy myself more time.
How am I going to explain this one?
I hook my purse to the side of the wooden chair and then plop down in it.
She pours a packet of sugar into her coffee and then stirs slowly, not unlike the villain in old movies who sits in their chair petting their cat menacingly.
