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I follow his backwards steps into the lounge area. The lights are muted, and the electric fire is on below the television that plays a quiet playlist, lending a sultry heat to the air around us.
“Sit,” Leif orders, pulling out my chair.
There’s not a whisper of an argument as I follow his instruction and he tucks me in before sitting in the chair beside me. The close proximity makes it hard to focus on anything but the spark of static crackling between us. The sensation is overwhelming and cathartic. My mind is so wrapped up in him that nothing else exists in this moment.
For the first time in over a year, I feel like it’s okay to be me. To live a little even though my dad is gone. It feels good to find a smidge of joy, and it’s all because of Leif.
CHAPTER 6
LEIF
“We’re adults, you know?” Cassidy calls from the bathroom, where she’s getting changed into one of my T-shirts and a pair of compression shorts I brought for the gym. “I’m sure we can top and tail without any funny business.”
“I’m not sure I want your feet in my face.” Sitting on the edge of the bed, I search on my phone for a size conversion chart so that I can arrange for clothes to be brought for her.
“Unless you have a foot fetish you haven’t told me about, you’ll be fine. Besides, I have nice feet.”
“No one has—” I instantly pause when the bathroom door opens.
“You were saying?” Cassidy pops a hip, positioning a foot out in front of her to disprove the point I didn’t get to make.
“You have nice feet,” I answer. It’s true; she does.
“Why, thank you, sir.”
Her over the top curtsy makes me laugh. I’m not sure if she’s being flirty, but I like this side of her. It creates a need to make sure she’s always so smiley and playful. If she’s fully aware that I’m attracted to her, she’s got no idea how fucking deep my attraction is entrenched with the way she’s sashaying on the spot.
I could maul the fucking pleasure right out of her right now if she’d give me the green light. There’s a reason my nickname is Grizzly, and it’s not because I’m as cute as a Pooh Bear. If Cassidy does know what she’s doing to me, she must be having a great time watching me suffer. Every muscle in my body coils tighter, aching and burning when she comes closer, stopping a few feet in front of me with her glasses low on the bridge of her nose. My T-shirt hangs down to the middle of her thighs, and my shorts practically fall down her svelte legs. Cassidy isn’t tiny in any shape or form. Her hips are pronounced, and her tits are more than a handful I want to get a good feel of. They hang pert and full beneath the white cotton, bouncing with every move she makes, taunting me until my thoughts jar on how perfect they must be, and how soft they must feel.
“The couch is comfortable,” I tell her hoarsely, bracing my elbows on my thighs so that my body will hide the effect the sight of her is having on my ‘trouser python’.
“This is your suite, your bed. I told you I’d be fine on the sofa. I’m nowhere as tall as you and—”
“Hospitality one-oh-one: your guest always gets a bed. My mom would never forgive me if I let you sleep on the couch.”
A one-sided grin pulls at the corner of her mouth. “Who knew you’d turn out to be a mummy’s boy.”
This damn vixen is lucky I’m intent on holding on to my control, because that look she’s holding me with—flushed cheeks, bitten lip, and fluttering lashes—is making it real hard not to pull her closer and give her a first-hand feel of the goods she and her friend were gossiping about on the phone earlier.
For a moment, I was worried she’d been looking me up and that she’d come across my not so clean history, but there’s no sign of her being aware of my past. I want her to get to know me before she finds out I’m no saint. More than that, I want to be the one to give her my story in my words, so she doesn’t get the dirt from over-dramatised, bias media. It’s the reason I haven’t told her about my career in rugby.
“You take the bed. Honestly, the couch is fine. I’ve slept in worse places.”
“Oh, yeah?” Cassidy throws herself on the bed beside me before she crawls up to the headboard and sits, hugging her legs to her chest.
“I slept on a wall once.”
A low laugh bubbles from her. “A wall?”
“Yep. Another time, a couple of my friends and I were too drunk to make it back to our hotel, and we ended up passing out on a roundabout in Bristol.”
“To be fair, the amount of roundabouts in that place, you’d be forgiven for thinking they were real estate.”
“The few years I lived there I struggled driving around. Swear to God, I was constantly dizzy.” The sound of her laughter is addictive, and I hate that it’s short-lived, so I continue telling her random funny shit I’ve done. “This one time after a game, the boys and I had a lot to drink on the bus home. Anyway, I fell asleep, everyone got off the bus but me, and the driver didn’t check.”
“So, you spent the night sleeping on a bus.” She scoffs with an exaggerated roll of her eyes. “Big deal.”
“You drive a hard bargain, Miss Morgan.” I twist to face her, keeping one leg off the bed so I don’t overdo it with the closeness.
