I twist my neck to the left, truly unsure. My uncertainty can’t be helped. Alex’s body is extremely firm, even firmer than his head that cracks open skulls with nothing more than a measly bump. He works out. That’s not an assumption. It is a fact. You can’t have a body like his without putting in an effort. My six mile run every morning ensures I can’t be mistaken.
When Alex curls his arm around my shoulders to guide me in the direction I nudged, I raise my eyes to his. “I don’t recall requesting a chaperone home?”
“I don’t recall needing permission to be a gentleman,” he snaps back.
My abrupt chuckle startles a couple standing next to us. After a whispered apology, I return my focus to Alex. “You’re being a gentleman?”
As we sidestep a homeless man begging for change, Alex makes an affirmative noise with his lips. His hum switches to a groan when I break away from his stride, spin around, then make a dash for it. I watch his reflection in the shop window. I swear he looks five seconds from throwing me over his shoulder and stomping to my building like a caveman. The only thing stopping him is the realization that I’m not fleeing. I’m merely bobbing down to hand the homeless man a twenty dollar bill.
“You shouldn’t give them money,” Alex cautions when I return to his side.
“Why? Because he’ll spend it on booze and cigarettes?” My voice is full of attitude. . . until the homeless man proves Alex right. My jaw quivers when he throws off his blanket and races into the closest liquor store.
“Save it as a life lesson.” Alex grips my elbow, impeding my mad stomp to the ass-peddler. I worked hard for that money. Perhaps not as hard as some people, but I still earned it. It wasn’t handed to me.
After a few more steps, Alex suggests, “If you truly want to help the homeless, donate to shelters. Whether it is an hour of your time or a monetary amount, they’ll put your generosity to good use.”
The knowledge in his tone slicks my skin with sweat. It also keeps my mouth shut for the next several blocks.
* * *
“I swear to god this place is a minefield. The town planner should be shot,” Alex grumbles when we pass the same pizza shop for a third time in a row.
I could put him out of his misery, but watching him sweat as he “takes charge” is too enticing. Once he finishes throwing around his authoritativeness, I’ll advise him my apartment building is half a block up. Until then, he can keep sweating.
“That’s cheating,” I mumble when he seeks directions from a cab driver grabbing a slice of pizza.
They only interact for a few seconds, but it is long enough for me to realize my ruse has been unraveled. Alex’s jaw is ticking more now than when a group of men on a bachelor party asked if I could be their stripper. They already had one in tow but were more than eager for another. I swear, Alex nearly burst a blood vessel in his hand from how fast he clenched his fists.
When Alex’s eyes drift from my apartment building to me, I push off my feet and make a dash for it. I weave through standstill traffic without any fear for my life. Alex is on my heels thirty seconds later.
“You play dirty.” His growl ruffles the fine hairs on my neck more effectively than the air-conditioning when I take off my coat. Add the full-blast AC to a three-mile trek through a human jungle, and you have a sweaty disaster. I can't remember the last time I've been this sweaty. . .
My inner monologue trails off when disappointment takes its place. I had no problems flicking the bean until a pompous, egotistical asshole walked into my life. Now, I can’t achieve half the thrill. You’d think Alex’s panty-wetting face would be sufficient to get me off, but no, for some frustrating reason, my body doesn’t want to play pretend. It wants the real deal.
Ugh! An accountant! Seriously, you could do so much better, I scold myself before entering the waiting elevator car.
I whip around so fast, I give myself whiplash when a pair of teenage shoes scuffle across the silver tracks of the elevator car.
“What are you doing?” I ask Alex, my voice brimming with snarkiness.
I’m not angry at Alex. I’m peeved at my lack of libido. Whether it is done by my own accord or with the assistance of a handsome suitor, I’m a sexually promiscuous person. The drought I’ve been crawling through the past two months hasn’t just made my vagina depressed, it’s made me an irrational, aggravated bitch.
If Alex enters this elevator, he better be packing heat, because concerns about being shot down by a man carrying an actual gun may be the only way I’ll handle him and his schmexy scent at the same time.
Alex’s head flops to the side like a little puppy when it’s in trouble. “I’m making sure you get home safely. Elevators are magnets for creeps. Who knows what you’ll be subjected to between here and your penthouse?” He smirks, acting smug.
His smile is wiped straight of his face when I ask, “Who said I’m going to my penthouse?” Pretending his balk didn’t create an earthquake in Japan, I add on, “Don’t act shocked. No woman on the planet goes to this much effort to eatandsleepalone.” My overemphasis of certain words ensures he can’t mistake what I’m referencing.
“Then I’ll make sure you get totheapartment you’re visiting.” Alex’s words fly out of his mouth like daggers as jagged as his final step into the elevator.
“Perhaps you can follow me tohisdoor? You know, to protect me from the boogeyman hiding in the shadows.” The snark in my tone shocks me. Clearly, extreme horniness is more detrimental to my sanity than tequila shots. I’ve never been so unhinged.
It doesn’t help that Alex’s attitude is fed by my arrogance. “Uh-huh. That’s precisely what I’ll do. I might even stay outsidehisdoor until you’re done. Boogeymen don’t disappear when the sun rises, Rae. They just find a new shadow to hide in.”
He twists his body to face the elevator panel, hiding his flaming-with-anger face from my view. He shouldn't bother. I can feel the tension radiating off him. It makes his scent more masculine and pulse-quickening delicious.
“Floor?” he growls a few seconds later.
