We’ve been sizing each other up, scooting closer and closer as the meal progressed until the heat radiating through his clothes nearly scalded me. And now it’s time for the months of flirtation, glances, and innuendo to turn into something real.
Damon’s eyes smolder with sensual promise.
“Check, please.”
Chapter twelve
Damon
In the quiet elevator ride up to her apartment, I thank God once again that I chose the navy button-down over the sky blue or salmon options. Anything lighter would’ve shown the nervous sweat that showed up the moment she stepped out of the car.
How did she do that? Set my body to buzzing with just a flutter of her eyelashes or a dab of her napkin to her lips? She kept me captivated from the moment she arrived, each giggle or sigh ramping up my interest further.
I tug my collar at the memory.
None of that changes anything, though. I showed up with hearts in my eyes, but she only wants “friends with benefits”, and I would do well to remember that. As bad as Cory and Noah’s razzing was before I made my move, it would become unbearable if they knew I had any misgivings at all about beingKendra’s dick for hire. It’s a dream scenario, and I need to get out of my head and just enjoy it.
“Nice place you have here,” I murmur when we walk through the door of her elegant corner apartment. She responds with thanks, and my eyes track her as she drops her keys onto a tray by the entryway and moves further into the living room.
Calling her placeniceis like calling the Mona Lisapretty—a grave understatement and one Henry (the family’s resident art buff) would probably gasp at. Two walls of windows give the illusion of being down on the street, the skyline twinkling in the background. Bathed in the warm glow from gold sconces and hanging pendant lights, with a cushy taupe sectional arranged in an L-shape around a leather ottoman and a fireplace accented with elaborate African masks, the space feels like a cozy retreat. A dark wood table is littered with fashion magazines—evidence of her craft.
Kendra glides gracefully to the kitchen, which holds more pendant lights over a marble island and spotless black appliances. I gulp just thinking about what all this must cost.
“More wine?” she offers, and I nod silently, still taking everything in.
One thing is for sure; I’mwayout of my league. I’m commuting to Brooklyn on the subway, where I teach snotty kids how to dribble, while she comes home from photo shoots on tropical islands to what’s basically a five-star hotel. No wonder she only wants a booty call. For someone like her, this date is essentially charity.
She comes around the counter carrying two glasses of red wine, pressing one into my hand. We drink in silence, letting the city sounds fill the pregnant pause between us. The skin of her neck moves subtly with each swallow, and my own throat goes dry, despite the wine. The air in here feels electric.
“So…” She sets her empty glass down. “Should we do this on the couch or in the bedroom?”
I stop mid-sip and turn to her.Right. Down the business.My glass clinks when I place it on the island next to hers.
“I think the bedroom is best,” I answer with a grin. “I’m not sure I could perform in front of all those windows.”
I expect her to crack a smile, or reassure me the windows are one-way. Maybe even lean in to kiss me. But she simply takes my hand and leads us away from our wine and the amazing view without a word. She hurries us down the hall, not bothering to point out the rooms we pass or even look at me.
This doesn’t feel like excitement, or getting swept away in lust. She seems almost…frantic. I would swear her hands were a little clammy, but that can’t be because I’m me and she’sKendra Fucking Gray.
She pushes open the door to another stylishly appointed room, waving her hand towards the king-size bed in the center like a host presenting prizes in a game show.
“After you,” she says, and this time, I’m certain I hear her voice waver. Her eyes are bright—toobright—and her easy smile from earlier now seems forced.
As I struggle to adjust to the drastic shift in her mood, she launches herself at me, pressing her body against mine in stilted movements. Alarm bells sound in my head. Something’s off, and we can’t move forward until I know what it is.
“Hold up. Wait a sec, Kendra,” I urge, grasping her by the shoulders as I step away. Her eyes dart around the room uneasily, and her chest rises in quick pants.
“Talk to me,” I prompt when she stays silent, staring at me. After another tense moment, her face crumbles and she slumps onto the edge of the bed.
“I’m sorry,” she nearly wails. The self-assured woman from the restaurant is gone, replaced by someone mortified her weakness is on display. I come to sit next to her, hesitating before putting my arm around her shoulders. “I really thought I could do this.”
Her small sniffle guts me.Did I somehow pressure her into this?
“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, Kendra,” I say in my most soothing tone. I mean it; if she sent me home right now, this would still be one of the best nights of my life.
She pats the hand resting on her shoulder and leans into me.
“This isn’t on you. Somehow, I know you would never force me. This ismybullshit.”
