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I know he's referring to those photographs of the sailboats in the hallway. I've thought about those since he told me he moved out of that apartment. If they meant anything to him, he would have taken them with him to his new place. For some reason, they're hanging in an apartment he's left virtually untouched for years.
"The calendar was stuck at the month of May five years ago and the newspaper on your desk was open to a day from that month too. Is that when May was left in the lobby?"
The month of May. The baby named May. Wait.
"Did you name your daughter after a month?" I ask, without thinking the question through. Does it sound judgmental? I don't mean it that way. I've given some minimal thought to what I might name my kids when I have them. I'm leaning toward vintage names.
"She's named after my mother," he answers evenly. "Her maiden name was May."
I nod in understanding. "I should have realized you didn't live there when I was standing in the office. I knew something wasn't right. I wanted to ask you last night why you have the packaging from a smartphone that hasn't been sold in years on your desk."
His eyes drop to where his phone is resting on his leg. "Before last night I hadn't been to that apartment in more than a year. I have someone go there to check on it every two weeks. They dust and wash windows and do whatever else needs to be done. I gave them very strict instructions not to touch anything in the office because there are still some personal items in there. That's why it looks like a shrine to a day five years ago."
"The day May arrived?"
"Yes." He stiffens slightly. "I didn't put much thought into the move. I had other things on my mind."
An unexpected child and an entirely new life. I can't imagine being thrown into the role of parent and protector without a moment's notice.
"Why do you keep it?" I lean closer to him. "If you don't live there anymore, why keep the place?"
He shrugs as his hand slides from his leg to mine. "You could say that I'm keeping it for sentimental value."
I nod with a smile. "That makes sense. You keep an entire apartment because it has sentimental value while the rest of us just keep our mementos in a shoebox under our beds."
"Is that where I would find all of Ellie Madden's secrets?" His hand moves higher, edging the hem of my shorts. "Do you have a shoebox under your bed with all your keepsakes in it?"
"I'm not telling," I tease as I rest my hand on his leg. "I don't like showing my hand. It's much more interesting if you learn all about me piece by tiny piece."
"I'd like to learn more about what's beneath this tiny piece of material you apparently think passes for a pair of shorts?" His hand moves higher until his fingers inch beneath the leg of my shorts. They skim the tender flesh of my pussy.
I feel the weight of arousal instantly just from the softest touch of his fingertips.
"You're wet, Ellie." His voice dips, lower, throaty. Lust is there woven around the words.
I move my hand higher until it's brushing against his erection through his jeans. "And you're hard. It seems that we're even again."
"You have condoms."
I can't tell if it's a question or a statement. "You have assumptions."
"I have a raging need to fuck you." He pushes my hand around the outline of his cock. "Do you have condoms, Ellie?"
I straighten my back and huff out my answer. "No. I haven't bought any since I've been back."
"Good." He moves closer, his hand parting my folds under the tight material of my shorts. "You weren't planning to fuck either of those clowns."
"What clowns are you talk…oh, oh my God," I stutter when his index finger circles my clit.
"Spread your legs," he growls in my ear. "I'll get you off like this. I want to watch you come."
"My roommate," I whimper. "She might come home."
"It won't take long. You're close. I can feel it." His breath is hot on my neck, his lips kissing a trail to my ear. "Spread your legs, Ellie."
I do it. I know I shouldn't. If Adley walked in I'd be horrified, but his touch and the words. All of it makes me want the release his fingers promise.
He pulls his hand out and within the next breath it's down the front of my shorts. He runs his fingertip over my clit, rubbing, teasing, pressing. Every stroke of his finger, each movement is in perfect concert with my body's need.
