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I’m damn near ready to strip her bare and claim her on the hood of my Mercedes, and judging from the way her nimble fingers are plucking at the buttons of my shirt, Stacia’s on board.
That is, until Jed exits the building and clears his throat—loudly. Fucking cockblock. “Y’all have a nice night,” he says. “Just take it somewhere else.”
Stacia’s cheeks pink, and she buries her face in the crook of my neck. “Oh my God!”
I lift a hand in a half-hearted wave. “Will do.”
Jed lingers for a minute, presumably to make sure we leave, so I wrap an arm around Stacia’s shoulders and guide her the rest of the way to my car, this time with no sexy detours, sadly.
The drive home is quiet. You’d think after getting hot and heavy, it’d be awkward, but it’s not. If anything, it’s a comfortable sort of silence, one that feels warm and familiar, ridding us of the need to fill the void—because there isn’t one.
As I pull into the driveway, I notice Stacia’s fallen asleep. And as much as I’d love to pick up where we left off, I’m not about to wake her. With great care, I extract her from the car and carry her upstairs. She must be fucking exhausted, because she doesn’t stir, not even a little.
With her laid on her bed, I slip her heels off but leave the rest and tuck her under the fluffy duvet. I linger for a minute, absolutely enraptured by her beauty. I’m not sure when it happened, but at some point, my feelings for her became…more.
Suddenly, she’s more than my friend. She’s more than my roommate. She’s more than a hookup. And if I have my way, she’ll be my everything.
I lean down and press a soft kiss to the corner of her mouth before heading back down to my room. I have a lot to think about. A lot to plan. A lot to put in motion if I’m going to well and truly make this stunning woman mine.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Stacia
After my magical date with West, the rest of the weekend flew by, and now, all too soon, it’s Monday. And while the first day of the work-week typically sucks, this particular Monday sucks extra hard as it crash-lands in a flurry of soul and uterus-crushing cramps. Just what I need…said no woman ever.
Except, cramps mean my period is coming, and my period means that mine and West’s irresponsible, but oh-so-hot sex didn’t leave any lasting consequences. So, actually, yes, this is just what I need, even if it will make training tonight miserable. Plus, it’s nothing a hot shower, coffee, and a few Tylenol can’t cure.
With the studio being blessedly closed on Mondays, I take it easy, lounging in bed most of the day with a heating pad on my belly. I alternate between reading my latest find—a book about sexy-as-sin pro-baller Lukas Callihan and the fiery redheaded teacher who brings him to his knees—and watching episodes of my favorite cooking show. I may not be able to cook, but I love watching other people do it. It’s truly a shame West can’t cook, because that man, shirtless in a kitchen, would be fucking lethal. Maybe it’s for the best he isn’t competent in the kitchen, seeing as I already want to tear his clothes off and mount him on a daily basis anyway. Especially with how he’s been woo-ing me.
It’s like he’s put a spell on me that makes my vagina tingle at even the sound of his name. Add in that I have firsthand knowledge at how adept he is between the sheets, and even him doing the most mundane things gets my panties wet. Things like twisting the cap off of a water bottle—hello, arm porn—or the way he always brings me a snack when he makes himself one.
At four, I shove all thoughts of the thoughtful, sexy bastard aside and start getting ready for training. I pull my hair up into a high ponytail and curl the ends before doing what I call my everyday-glam makeup routine—light contour and highlight, golden eyes with winged liner, and a glossy nude lip.
Getting dressed presents a small conundrum—neither Buck nor Lesli ever mentioned a dress code. I opt for a pair of black leather high-waisted leggings I nabbed from AJ, pairing them with a black fishnet shirt over a lace bralette, punctuating the look with my favorite blue heels. The outfit may seem a little risqué for work, but based on Cari’s outfit, and Lesli asking about leather or lace, I think I’ll blend right in.
I arrive at Buck and Lesli’s a few minutes early, wanting to stand back and observe the place a little before my official training starts. The parking lot is jam-packed, and it’s barely five o’clock. The sight alone gives me hope—if they’re this busy on a Monday night, maybe I’ll make it after all.
