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Chapter Twenty-Five
Malcolm
“That’s ice cream. I want breakfast.”
Nala rolls her eyes, before slamming the freezer door shut. Hopping up on the counter, she takes her spoon and digs into the carton of Haagen Dazs, popping a spoonful of strawberry into her mouth. “It’s like yogurt.”
“No, it’s like dessert.”
“So uptight.” Her grin is wicked when she takes another bite, this time spending an unnecessary amount of time licking the spoon clean.
Jesus Christ, it’s like a switch. I go from casual to rock hard in mere seconds. “Careful,” I warn, stepping forward into the vee of her legs so she feels me. “Or you’ll be late to class.”
That has her eyes switching to the clock, a yelp escaping her as she drops the carton and vaults from the counter. “Class.Shit. I only have fifteen minutes.”
“So skip,” I say, wandering into her bedroom behind her. She’s still got my T-shirt on, and she’s pinned the hem between her chin and chest in order to button the cutoffs she’s thrown on. “Isn’t that what college kids do?”
“Not this college kid,” she says, dropping the T-shirt back down and shoving her feet into her Jesus sandals. “I have a test in sociology this week and we’re reviewing today.”
In less than two minutes, she has her hair in a knot on top of her head and her teeth brushed. She’s slathered lotion on her face, which is apparently the only thing she wears on it, and is grabbing her bag on the way out the door. Still wearing my T-shirt, now knotted at her hip. I never saw her put anything on under the T-shirt, though, which means…
“Hey,” she says when I grab her hand and spin her back inside. “Mal, seriously, I don’t skip class. I’m on scholarship, and I want to keep it.”
Pressing her against the doorframe, I swoop down to kiss her neck, inhaling her scent while my hands fill themselves with her breasts overmy shirt. Just like I thought. “Jesus, you’re not wearing anything under this.”
Her back arches, and her nipples pebble so I can feel their tight little points through the material. “No one will notice. Besides, I usually wear a swimsuit top, but it’s kind of been a long time since I did laundry, and my options were limited.”
She’s panting, her bag falling unnoticed to the floor. Thinking of what else she might be low on, I use one hand to palm her ass, skimming under the hem of her cutoffs and finding her. All of her. “My god, Nala, you’re going to make me kill someone. You can’t go to class like this.”
She bites me, hard enough that I suck in a breath, and then she presses her lips firmly to mine before shoving away from me. My cast is uncooperative, and forces me to take a step back to steady myself before I fall on my ass, allowing Nala the time she needs to swoop up her bag and slip out the door.
“You didn’t eat,” I shout at her.
“I had ice cream,” she hollers back. “And I have a break around eleven-thirty. I’ll grab something then.” She leaves me in the doorway, watching her as she rushes down the steps and hops into her Jeep, gunning the engine before she peels out.
I watch her drive away, wondering what the hell just happened. I wanted a lazy morning—one where we got something to eat, and then I got her back into bed. Because one night with Nala, no matter how many times I had her, is not enough. I need more. I’m about to close the door when the neighbors’ opens, and Mr. Date-night walks out.
He pauses, doing a double take. I stay where I am, arms folded over my chest. At this moment I could not be happier that Nala took my shirt. The only thing better would have been if this douche walked out two minutes ago and saw her wearing it.
“Looks like someone had a change of heart.”
He says it with an easy grin I don’t return, because it’s time he understood that being her neighbor is all he’s going to fucking get.
He stares at me a second, waiting for a response, and when he doesn’t get one, he shrugs and walks off, decidedly more irritated than he was a second ago. Good.
My phone buzzes and it kills me to know my heart actually leaps at the thought that it might be Nala. Instead, it’s Brooks, asking if we’re still on to finalize designs and fonts for the brand this morning. I head inside to grab my keys.
Since I’m sporting nothing but ink, Dickie shorts, and a cast, I have to stop by my house. Though, if the phone number printed on the outside of my coffee cup from the drive-thru girl is any indication, Nala did me a favor when she took my shirt. I snap a picture and send it to her.
You stole my shirt…and got me a date, offer good any time.
Twenty-five minutes later, I’m pulling into Brooklyn’s driveway and my phone buzzes. This time, it’s Nala’s name and my heart does that weird slamming thing in my chest. Then it stops when I swipe my finger across the bottom of the screen and open the text, because staring back at me is a selfie of Nala from the neck down.
Here’s another offer…wait until you see what’s under it. ;)
The phone was angled just right so I can see the curve of her unfettered breast beneath the soft cotton, which she’s un-knotted so it spills over her shorts and rests against smooth, tan thighs. I can see all the way to her light pink tipped toes, and I wonder how many people were around when she took this picture because it sure as shit doesn’t look like a bathroom floor beneath her feet.
Staring at the image, I’m debating between keeping this photo so I can use it later to give myself relief, or turning the truck around and heading to the university to give Nala a sweatshirt and sweatpants because fucking-A, no one else should see her like this.
