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WREN
Click. Click.
I craned my head out of the bathroom door. Where the hell was that clicking noise coming from? I released the clamp on my curling iron, letting the lock of hair fall into my hand before looping it around a roller to cool. I plucked a duck bill clip from between my teeth to hold the roller in place.
Click. Click. Click.
The faint tapping sounded like it was coming from my bedroom. I tugged my robe closed and grabbed the thickest design book within reach. The tome on color theory weighed at least five pounds and, as a bonus, it was hardback. I’d smash the intruder’s face in, then run like hell.
Click. Click.
I stood with my back to the hallway wall, let out a shaky breath, then jumped into my bedroom.
Huh. Nothing.
Click. Click. Click.
“What the ever-loving—” I saw the pebble hit my window that time. Hurrying over, I lifted the window, unlocked the iron bar gate, and stuck my head into the cold November air.
Tatum stood three floors below, grinning from ear to ear, dressed in a nondescript hoodie with a pouch full of pebbles
“What are you doing?” I hissed, ducking out onto the fire escape.
He pointed to the questionably rusted ladder that hung six or seven feet from the side of my building. “Can I come up?”
I waved him up. “You could have called, and I would have buzzed you up.”
“Too many people out front,” he said before bending his knees and leaping, catching the ladder halfway up the rungs and using nothing but those glorious muscles that wrapped around his arms and shoulders to hoist his massive body up onto the second-floor landing. He took the creaky stairs two at a time until he was ducking into my bedroom window. Pebbles spilled out of his hoodie pocket with every step. He stretched back out to his full height and, in a whirlwind, had me pushed up against the wall. “And it’s more romantic this way.” A hand the size of a tennis racket slid up my side, gathering my silk robe as he went. Cool air swirled around my hip from the open window. His hand moved lower, down the curve of my butt, as he let out a rumbling groan. “I’ve missed you, Little Bird.”
Tatum kneaded my ass cheek as he left warm, wet kisses along my throat. The back of my skull smacked against the plaster wall. “What are you doing here?”
“Coming to see my girl.” He tugged at the knot that held my robe closed. “Practice let out early. A little perk since we won on Sunday.”
A smile pulled at the corner of my mouth. It had been a good season so far. Not like the washout of last year. The Reds had managed to snag the win for ten out of the twelve games they’d played so far.
“One more week,” he said, mumbling behind my earlobe. His body pressed against mine. “One more week, then I’m taking you somewhere warm, sunny, and alone.”
We had one more week of insanity before the Reds had their bye week. A whole week off from anything football related. No games. No practice. No rehearsals. Usually, I used bye week to catch up on laundry, get ahead at work, and rest my aching joints. Now, I was stretching in preparation for the epic sexcation Tatum and I were planning. I had cashed in some of my PTO at the firm. The minute that Sunday’s game was over, I’d be living on island time.
I looped my arms around his neck. “I like the sound of that.” I jumped and Tatum caught me, looping my legs around his waist. He backed me into the wall, rocking between my thighs. I ghosted my lips over his as I raked my fingers over the top of his thin fade. He groaned as I massaged his scalp. “I have an itty-bitty bikini that’s been shoved in the back of my drawer for far too long.”
“I have this fantasy of you lying in a cabana, sipping one of those umbrella drinks.”
“I like that fantasy.”
Tatum smiled against my mouth. “You didn’t let me tell you the best part.”
“What’s that?”
“In my fantasy, you’re completely naked.”
I smirked. “Pretty sure that can be arranged.”
He pushed one side of the silk robe away, then the other, exposing my breasts.
“Tay—” I said with an unsatisfied sigh. “I need to pack. The only reason Colette is letting me take time off next week is that I promised to meet her in Manhattan tomorrow to discuss the new branch.”
I hadn’t decided whether I wanted to accept the promotion to branch manager. Colette had been taken aback when I told her as much when we met this morning.
