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“Bye, Mother.”
I get off the call and resist the urge to call my sister, it’s way too early there, so instead, I stare out the window at the traffic. And it’s irritating.
I’ve done audits, fired the people responsible, and today I’m teleconferencing with a couple people from head office to talk about a reorg. Then I’ll have human resources help me recruit replacements and additional staff so I can get the office ship-shape. So I can go home.
A vision of a sleeping Jada assaults my mind with a stab of regret. She lives here. I live there. And my life is complicated as fuck. What’s she gonna do when I leave? Where’s she gonna live? Work? How will she support herself? I haven’t asked her about her brother either, how things are going with him being in jail.
I feel like a shithead.
I am a shithead. But I’ve justified that to myself. Not feeling so justified right now though.
Last night was good. Damn good. And it was what I needed. I wanted to keep it strictly games, but after her reaction at the window, I decided fuck it. No sex games. Just sex.
But it didn’t feel like just sex.
I have to remember it’s in my best interests to keep this thing with her uncomplicated because of how convoluted my life is right now. I shouldn’t have spent the night in her bed. I shouldn’t have kissed her goodbye this morning. I need to back this up to casual, unemotional, uncomplicated.
39
Jada
My heart is racing, absolutely galloping like the running of the bulls is happening in my chest when I hear keys go into the door. I make a mad dash for the bathroom.
I’ve already turned the hall light on to draw more attention to what I’m doing. I’m crouched over the tub, my butt up in the air, yellow rubber gloves on with a sponge in my hand.
I hear keys hit the counter, hear what I’m sure is his stuff being hung over the coatrack, and then footsteps approach.
And they stop.
I lean over a little more, grunting with effort as I spray some bathroom cleaner on the tiled wall.
“Well, well, well,” I hear in a deep, husky voice.
My heart skips a beat.
It’s five twenty. He didn’t work late today. So far, he doesn’t seem to work late on Fridays and once came home early, so I’ve been on pins and needles all afternoon waiting for this.
I’m pretending to clean the already clean bathroom (I cleaned it properly this morning), while wearing a skirt.
I don’t have all my clothes here yet; I got a number for my brother’s friend Sedge and texted him. He was out of town but told me there was no rush for me to get my and Shane’s stuff out of the storage unit. That said, I want my stuff. But I did have a jean skirt here, so that’s what I have on. A short, frayed jean skirt and an off the shoulder slouchy black top with a black bra. My hair is up in a top knot and I’m wearing makeup.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Groucho, sir,” I say softly, my voice a little shaky. I dare to look over my shoulder.
He’s leaned against the doorframe with his arms folded across his chest. He’s wearing jeans, sneakers, and a grey Henley style hoodie with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows as well as an expression that makes my heart play hopscotch.
Austin Groucho the Third looks totally edible. He didn’t shave today and he had a five o’clock shadow yesterday, so today he’s got sexy scruff. His hair falls into his blue eyes a little. They look extra blue right now. Is that because of the lust? Because he’s definitely looking at me with lust in his eyes.
I moisten my lips with my tongue.
“Would you like me to do something for you, sir, or should I resume cleaning this… very, very dirty tub?”
My eyes bounce to the vanity where I’ve intentionally left a condom. And then I watch as his eyes move there, too.
And then Austin Groucho The Third Carmichael straightens up and grabs for the fly of his jeans and this has the magical effect of further soaking the gusset of my undies.
“Looks like you’re done. Are you done?”
“I… think it might still be a little… dirty.”
“Keep where you are with your belly over the ledge of that tub, Miss. Sweetheart, I need to do an inspection.”
The sponge and cleaner tumble into the tub as my hands grip the ledge. My eyes take him in as his shirt flies up over his head. His fingers then finish undoing his fly and he moves closer.
I pull the gloves off, their rubbery smell turning my stomach a little.
“Eyes forward,” Austin orders.
My gaze snaps forward and I stare at the pretty brushed silver, bronze, and white leaf mosaic tile pattern.
