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8
KAYLA
Thenextmorning,I’m sitting on the kitchen island with a bowl of cereal in front of me. While one hand is holding the spoon, the other scrolls through the ’Gram on my phone.
I slept like a baby. His guest room bed is comfortable, like a cushion of soft feathers, and the silky sheets made me feel like I was in heaven. After two weeks of barely getting any sleep, this was a welcoming change.
I liked staying with Jensen and Rae, but I also felt out of place, making it hard for me to really relax. The tension that was still sitting inside of me made me broody at night, resulting in more lack of sleep than I anticipated. But when my head hit the pillow last night, I fell asleep like a log, and I woke up feeling like a different person before my alarm went off.
I’m humming the latest Pink song, when I hear footsteps coming from Bodi’s hallway and I look up. My breath startles when my eyes collide with his tanned chest. Gray sweatpants sit low on his hips, showing the V. You know the V? The only V that will make you drop from your chair and dislocate your jaw when it falls to the floor. His hands are rubbing a towel through his wet hair as he saunters into the living room while I shift on my stool to ignore the tension surging through my core.
Finally, his eyes land on mine and he comes to an abrupt halt, shock washing his face, right in time for me to close my mouth to prevent him from noticing the gawking.
“What are you doing?” he spits, as if I’m killing his cat or something.
“What?” I screech, glancing around the kitchen to find whatever he’s talking about.
“You can’t wear that.”
Confused, my chin dips, looking at my tank top and shorts. The lower half of my legs are shown beside the kitchen island and when I look up, I notice his eyes trained on them before they move back to my face. Or chest. I don’t know.
My eyes roll to the back of my head. “I’m not wearing this to work, Bodi. Geez. Clearly, you don’t think highly of me, but you could give me a bit more credit than that.”
Unbothered, I go back to my breakfast, scrolling through my phone.
“That’s not what I mean.”
Giving him a bored look, I bring my attention back to his eyes while ignoring the six-pack on his upper body that is screaming to be touched by my twitching fingers.
“I mean, you can’t wear that. Ever,” he growls.
“Are you serious?”
“Yes, Kayla. New rule: when you leave your bedroom, I want every inch of your body covered.” He continues to saunter forward until he reaches the other side of the kitchen island and holds my gaze with a big scowl. He looks furious. And sexy as fuck.
“Even my face?” I blink, taunting. I can’t help myself.
He throws the towel on the countertop, then presses his palms into the marble while grinding his teeth.
“Either you make sure you’re dressed every single time you walk into this living room, or you are fired before you even begin your first day and I’m spreading you on my kitchen counter. Right now.”
My lashes flutter in shock, my lips parting, and I feel my chest heaving while I actually weigh out my options. I know what I want to do. What I’m dying to do. I also know what I should do. What is the wisest choice? The two are not really aligned right now. Unfortunately.
Too tempted to sway to the devil’s side, I lick my lips, a devious smile tugging at them.
“Get dressed, Kayla!” he shouts, making me wince.
“Okay, okay.” I throw my hands up, placating. “I’m going.”
I slide off the stool to get ready for work, gasping when I turn my back to him. His eyes are burning through my back, making my insides feel like a freaking oven, my inner self screaming silently in excitement. Having a man yelling at me brings back a flash of memories, but Bodi doesn’t seem to startle me like Trent did. When I reach my bedroom door, I peek back to him again, our eyes locking once more. He hasn’t moved a muscle and just keeps staring with flaring nostrils and what I recognize as a horny look in his gaze.
I suppress a chuckle, then open the door, disappearing from his sight with a smug feeling.
I guess his no kissing rule will not be as easy as he wanted it to be.
Thirty minutes later, I walk into the living room wearing a cream sweater with some washed out jeans while holding up two pairs of sneakers.
“Yo, sneaker boy. Which ones?”
