–Max: He’ll work me like a dog to “get his money’s worth.”
–Me: Stay strong. You can do eeeet!!!!
–Max: Thanks, girl. You too. Do everything I’d do. Like riding that hot-as-hell lawyer of yours who charged in like a knight in shining armor. And for our next apartment, I want to consult a feng shui book before we decorate it, in case bad furniture placement gave me this hellhound with rabies for a boss.
I laugh softly. I’ve already done some dirty things with Josh in my head a few times, but that’s about it. I don’t have the courage to actually go for it for real, especially if I’m sober. Even though he said to try it when I’m not drunk, I’m terrified I might not measure up somehow to his gorgeous exes, and he’ll end up disappointed. Sort of like how my parents felt as I grew older and they realized I’m nothing like Katt.
Still, the impulse to give in to the urge to kiss him is becoming increasingly difficult to resist, especially since he insisted that I call himJosh. How can the way I address him decimate our professional distance so easily?
Sighing, I get up—slowly—and shower. I probably smell like lingering alcohol if nothing else. Afterward I brush my teeth, then gargle twice, just to be sure. The mirrors reflect a chalky complexion. I seriously need to tan or something. If I had a littlemore pigment, I wouldn’t look this awful after an evening of mild drinking.
The walk-in closet is now fully stocked with everything I need. I throw on a comfy white T-shirt and teal knee-length skirt, then pad barefoot downstairs to make coffee. The rhythmic sound of a knife hitting a cutting board comes from the kitchen. Josh must be up and making something. Interesting. I thought he didn’t cook. As I get closer to the first floor, the smell of coffee drifts up.Oh my God.Josh is the man.
I freeze on the bottom step because Josh is—topless. I blink a few times just in case I’m still dreaming or seeing things, but he’s real.
My hangover instantly vanishes.
Not only is he topless, but a baseball cap is placed backward on his head, giving him a casual, bad-boy charm. He looks younger than his thirty years. And eminently more approachable, without the usual razor-sharp lawyerly aura.
The morning light pouring in through windows show every contour of lean, strong muscle in his long arms and gorgeous chest. Veins stand out on his surprisingly thick forearms, which are covered with a light dusting of hair. The muscles flex as he cuts some green stuff on the cutting board. That’s literal forearm porn material right there. And those abs! I’ve only seen abs like that on fitness magazine covers. Every ridge is perfectly defined, not an ounce of fat anywhere. He even has that V-line on his lower abs… I lick my lips before I can stop myself. At least he hasn’t noticed me yet.
A pair of gray sweats hangs low on his narrow hips. He lifts his head. “Good morning,” he says cheerfully.
Don’t step away from the counter, don’t step away from the counter!
But of course he does, to toss whatever he’s been chopping into the pan on the stove.
Don’t look below the hips…!
Aaaaand my eyes immediately drop. I almost swallow my tongue at the impressive outline.
How would it fit?
Of course my mind immediately goes…there. I mentally smack myself, but my mind won’t get off the rated-R track it’s on.
Wait, wouldn’t it get bigger when he gets hard? So what’s the final girth and length?
He checks whatever’s frying in the pan, then smiles at me again. His eyes roam over me, and the weight of his gaze is almost physical. My cheeks warm. I resist the urge to squirm and merely smile, hoping it’s hiding the fact that I’ve been mentally measuring him.
“Feeling better?” he asks.
“Yeah. Thanks for the aspirins.” I clear my throat. Now I wish I’d put on at least blush so I don’t look so pale compared to him. I pour a coffee for me and stir in some sugar. “Didn’t realize you like to be topless on weekends.” I flush as soon as I blurt it out. That sounds a bit judgmental, which isn’t what I meant. I take a very long sip of the coffee to hide my face.
He laughs. “Why? Like what you see?” He flexes his pecs—left, right, left, right.
I stare, absolutely mesmerized. “I thought that was a trick that people posted on social media using AI.”
He chuckles. “Just so you know, I go outside to check on the garden on weekends. And to get some sun on my skin. Otherwise I spend way too much time inside.” He cuts the gas to the stove. “Hope you like eggs. They’re the only food I can make with confidence.” He serves, creating generous mounds of fluffy scrambled eggs on a couple of plates.
“I like anything,” I say quickly. “I’m surprised you cook.”
“I do when I want to feed someone.” His eyes crinkle with a soft smile, which feels so intimate.
I pull my lips in and swallow as heat pulses through me.
He sprinkles chopped green bits on the eggs. “Chives from the garden.”
“You grow chives?”
