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She picks up her beloved cat and kisses him on the head. “I hope you said thank you to Rock?” She turns to look at me.
I shrug. “He rubbed up against me, I think that means it’s okay.”
Her face is genuine when she says, “Thank you, Rock. I really appreciate it.”
“That’s alright.”
“I like how you kept the view for us.”
Us. Should that sound so fuckin’ hot?
“Well, chicken wire looks tacky.” Who even am I right now?
“Now you’re speaking my language.” She gives me the brightest smile as she squeezes my arm, taking Pirate inside.
I swallow hard. Her hot little hand touching me isn’t what I need.
I close and lock the door behind us.
“You ready?”
“I just have to pick some shoes.”
I sigh. “This isn’t a date, Trouble. We’re pickin’ up dinner, remember?”
She frowns. “So we can’t eat there? I’m getting so bored of take-out. I need a home-cooked meal.”
I can’t exactly deny her that, even if she is used to having a personal chef. And if we go to the Grill, we’ll be under the club's protection. I don’t think Cash can shoot me for that.
“Fine. The Grill and only for an hour. It’s my ass on the line here.”
She smiles, happy that she got her own way.
I’ve been doing a lot of research about her over the last few days. I’m starting to wonder if she actually is some kind of saint.
She was a straight-A student. And president of her sorority in college. Excels in all her charity work, which I have to admit was pretty impressive. Aside from that and a few fashion week photos, she isn’t out a lot. And doesn’t have a criminal record.
Her only crime is dating the wrong kind of men who are completely unworthy of her. She seems to be good at it. I’ve seen a string of men she’s rumored to have been romantically involved with. There are multiple pictures of her on the arm of some pretty boy type. Each one just like the next. Yet, I’ll bet my last dollar that she’s never been fucked like she truly deserves.
My dick stirs at the thought.
At least she’s in a good mood about the cat enclosure.
She coos and talks to Pirate like he’s a little kid, kissing him on the head while she places him in another one of his fluffy cat beds. He seems to have a lot of those.
I glance down at the shoes she just retrieved from her room.
They’re sky-high red stilettos, the same color as her lipstick, and I withhold a groan as I imagine her wearing those shoes and nothing else.
Oh, I’ve pictured Aspyn in a range of positions over these last few days. Manny and the girls seemed to do the trick as she hasn’t come onto me again, and she hasn’t pouted once.
She even burned me some toast this morning—accidentally, of course. So we’ve both agreed we need to just stay out of the kitchen.
“Ready?” I prompt, glancing again at my watch.
“Are you in a hurry?” She slides her heels on.
“Nope.”
