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Of course, I’d nodded and waited until he wasn’t watching to do the Carlton dance by my desk. I didn’t even know how to do the Carlton, so I basically just spasmed and fidgeted with joy for a full minute. I’d also rushed to the bank immediately after work and cashed that bad boy. I bought Luna a toy on the way home, picked up a nice takeout dinner for my brother, and paid two bills I was late on. I also electronically paid Milly back the seven dollars I’d owed her for two years and lived in eternal dread of her remembering. She’d bought me a burrito at the mall once when I forgot my money.
All in all, life wasn’t so bad. I was even starting to believe I was really going to get my first paycheck when Friday rolled around. Six days. Six days until everything would really start to be okay. It’d be a life changer, and it might mean I could actually drop all the side gigs that were eating up the little time I did have with Luna.
Damon came storming into the room several minutes later. He closed the door behind him, then stared at me. I was sprawled out on the bed and wearing one of the complimentary robes over my clothes. “Comfortable?” he asked.
“Yes, actually. Do I have to go to my room now?”
“No. There was a mistake and they only booked one room.”
“There wasn’t another one?”
“There’s some event going on this weekend. Every hotel in the city is fully booked up. Waiting list only.”
I couldn’t help grinning. “So you’re stuck with me in your room?”
“And you’re stuck with me. The bed is mine.”
I sighed and started to get up.
“That was a joke. I’ll sleep on the couch.”
“Oh.” I waited, watching him carefully.
Damon was rooting through his suitcase for something. “What?”
“I’m waiting for the catch. You can sleep on the bed, but…”
“There’s no catch. I’m not going to make you sleep on the couch.”
“But you’ve been going out of your way to make me miserable ever since I started here. Isn’t that exactly the kind of thing you’d normally do?”
He set his suitcase down and stood with a few pieces of clothes in his hand. “Yes. Maybe. But I’m going to give being civil to you a try this weekend. As much as I hate to admit it, you have actually handled your responsibilities well. Especially considering my behavior.”
“Are you feeling okay?”
“No. Airplanes are disgusting, and I need a shower. So if you’ll excuse me.”
The bathroom door clicked shut behind him and I heard the water start running.
And in that moment, my castaway fantasy was suddenly and violently shoved aside by a new one. In this one, Damon would emerge from the shower in nothing but a tightly wrapped white towel. The outline of his bulge would be clearly visible just below his sixteen-pack abs. He’d point to something he needed, and the towel would fall, revealing his waiting and ready manhood—which of course would be rock hard from the idea of plowing me into next Tuesday. Actually, I’d prefer if he plowed me straight into Friday so I could pick up my paycheck.
Cha-ching.
I closed my eyes and flopped back onto the bed.
Bad.
Bad, Chelsea.
Or was it bad?
One could make a compelling argument that it’d actually be my motherly duty to sleep with Damon again. And again. And again. And again.
After all, he was the father of my daughter. Sure, he was rough around the edges, but who said I couldn’t work a little Chelsea magic on him and turn him to the light side? I’d even been told once that my personality was the human equivalent of sandpaper. If I was sandpaper and Damon was rough cut lumber, maybe all we needed was to rub ourselves together until we smoothed each other out.
When Damon emerged from the shower, he was depressingly clothed in a black shirt and running shorts. He even had his tennis shoes all laced up.
“Did you take a shower so you could exercise? Wouldn’t it have made more sense to do things the other way around?”
“No. What if sweat carried whatever grime was on me from the airplane into my mouth or eyes?”
I smirked. “Then you’d let your body do what bodies do and deal with it? Are you really a germaphobe? How did I not know this by now?”
“I’m not. It’s just airplanes. They’re disgusting.”
“Right. Well, if you’re going for a jog, let me come.” I hopped off the bed and went to my suitcase.
Damon eyed me. “No. I was going to go by myself.”
“Right. Until I said, ‘let me come with you.’ What’s wrong? Worried you won’t be able to keep up?”
He shrugged. “Suit yourself. But I’m not going to slow down for you.”
“You won’t have to.”21DamonBreathe in through my nose, out through my mouth. I’d learned a long time ago that running was all about letting momentum and gravity do the work for you. Lean forward, lift one knee at a time, extend the foot.
