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A tiny piece of me is disappointed when I pull up outside a regular apartment complex, just one like a hundred others around town and not some special, secret hideaway with unicorns in the driveway befitting the fairy-princess sparkle of this girl. I walk her to her door, planning to get her safely inside and then call a cab . . . from the parking lot, not wanting her to feel weird about being alone in her apartment with the huge, scary guy from work.
Hey, I know what I look like, and yeah, I use it around work to my advantage. I’m surprised when I turn to go and she calls out, “Shane!”
I turn, hearing the fear returning to her voice. “Yeah?”
She’s clutching the door, the toe of her Ugg boot digging in the carpet, looking for all intents and purposes like the scared little girl she is. My heart melts even as another side of me growls possessively, wanting to claim her as mine.
She takes a deep breath, biting her lip, but her voice is surprisingly strong when she speaks again. “Do you want to come in? Have a cup of coffee or something?”
I pause, most of me wanting to say no. This has bad idea written all over it. We’re pushing four in the morning, I’m with a girl who’s had a scare and might be slightly drunk, and for the past two months, she’s jumped to the top of my fantasy list as she ticks boxes on my mental fuck list I didn’t even know I had.
But I can man up, be the security she needs, and not let on that she’s slowly driving me insane every time she looks up at me in those glasses. That half of me wants to comfort and soothe her, to tell her she’ll never be hurt . . . while the other half of me wants to rip her clothes off and make her hurt so damn good she screams in blissful agony before I empty my balls deep inside her body.
“Are you sure?” I ask, keeping my voice calm. “You’re home, and you’re safe. I can just call a cab.”
She doesn’t answer, just gestures with her hand into the apartment, inviting me in. I walk past her, careful not to touch her or crowd her so she doesn’t spook again. Keeping my steps casual, I feel dirty as my heavy boots cross the threshold into her apartment, and I feel an intense, sudden need to just take them off and not pollute her space.
Her apartment is cute, just like her. Her living room is full of soft furniture, with fuzzy blankets thrown over the arm of an old, overstuffed sofa and a floral coffee mug sitting on the table. The room is white and beige and all the other shades of . . . white. With a few highlights of pink.
I’m nervous to sit on her furniture. I think of the places my pants have been, and I’m afraid I’ll sully it up just with my presence. But she motions for me to sit, so I do. “Uhm . . . thanks. It’s a nice place you’ve got here.”
“Thanks. Just hold on a moment, would ya?” she asks, bustling off to the kitchen. Moments later, she’s making coffee, by the sound of the clinks I hear.
I look around and see a huge bookcase filled with books. I don’t recognize any of the titles, but whatever type of books she reads, she’s got a shitton of them. “You’re a reader, huh? Lots of books in here.”
Her laugh from the kitchen is slightly self-conscious, and I hear the click-thunk of a knob being turned through the open doorway. “Yeah, I read . . . a lot. Little bit of everything. Non-fiction, like historical stuff and biographies, and fiction too, romance, drama, mystery. You read much?”
I grin, even though she can’t see me. Romance, drama, and mystery? God, you’re fucking perfect, Meghan. “No, can’t say I’m much of a reader,” I reply. “I’m more of a dumb jock type.”
A minute later, she appears with a tray, holding two cups of steamy coffee and the fixings. “I wasn’t sure how you take it.”
She sets the tray down, and I lean forward to grab a cup. “Black is fine. Sugar at this time of night gets me jittery.”
She scrunches her nose and adjusts her glasses again. “Ew, too bitter for me. I like lots and lots of cream.”
Oh, for fuck’s sake, she’s really testing me here. If it were any other girl, I’d think it was intentional. But Meghan seems completely oblivious to the effect she’s having on me.
She sits down next to me, and I watch as she adds enough creamer and sugar to her cup to make it basically coffee-flavored ice cream before taking a sip and sighing happily. I sip my own coffee, and I have to add another mark on this girl’s list of accomplishments. I haven’t had coffee this good since a vacation to Chile two years ago.
