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Genesis
“Hey,man,”Sethsaysto Royce. “I’m out.” Seth, scrubbed up clean, is ready for a night on the town. Gone are the overalls he wears around the apartment like a house robe. In its place are boot cut jeans, a UT shirt (or t.u. to us Aggies), black cowboy boots, and he’s turned his ever-present red cap backwards in true country boy style.
“Who is the lucky lady this time?” I ask Seth from the kitchen. He has a string of girls on speed dial—the kind that are always willing, always ready, and always available. I swear he gets as much ass as the band members he works for.
Seth graces me with a condescending smile. “That’s on a need to know basis, Gen.”
“Shut down,” Royce mutters loud enough for me to hear.
Seth laughs, fist bumping Royce. “Too right, man.” He half turns and gives me a salute. “See you later,mom.“ Walking to the entrance, he throws over his shoulder, “You two kids have fun.”
The door closes and I’m alone. Alone with Royce.
I grow as nervous as a drug mule caught by airport security, my body trembling like I’ve just emerged from a New Year’s Day plunge in the Arctic Ocean. My hands—
Chill, Gen.
Yeah, that’s what I need to do. Chill like my guest. He’s the picture of ease with his thick arms spread on the back of my couch, lookin’ damn fine in his crisp white Polo shirt, dark blue jeans, and long legs crossed at the ankles. He’s too damn perfect with his black hair tousled like he paid to have it done. Not to mention how his equally dark five o’clock shadow comes across as uber-sexy on his handsome-mansome face.
Yep, he’s just a-sittin’ thar, watching the lovely Kerry Washington, in a re-run ofScandal, take down yet another person intent on destroying her man…
The shrillbeep-beepof the timer halts me from eye-fucking my boss and saves the lasagna from burning.
I’m thankful I had the presence of mind to set the buzzer, otherwise I’d still be staring at Royce as if he were a magical, mystical being intent on ravishing a mortal woman before disappearing into the night.
At least that’s the way I think of him.
When I’d gotten out of the shower and heard that deep slow talking voice of his, I pinched myself, unable to believe that someone like him (billionaire, philanthropist, and lover of eating pussy) was in my apartment.
Just six feet from where I’m standing.
Not fifteen feet from my bedroom.
And just a few steps more than that to my bed.
I guess it’s a blessing I can’t talk much. At least there’s no chance I’ll blurt out that I want him.
Royce savors every morsel of food he puts into his mouth. This is the first time I’ve seen him eat and I pull up a chair to watch the show. His cheeks bunch and flex with each bite, and sometimes, when he catches me staring, he’ll close his eyes and let off a sigh filled with immense over-the-top satisfaction. I guess he does it because it makes me laugh.
And I do, every time.
Really weird how when you’re attracted to someone, you laugh at the silliest things they do.
Although laughing is okay, talking is not. After hanging up the phone with Nat, my throat got scratchy, just like it did last time when I’d lost my voice. It’s probably just a phantom itch. At least I hope so, because it’s as bad as the one in my pants.
Royce pushes his plate away and pats his abs. “That was great. Thanks for cooking. How was the soup?”
Earlier, I told him I’d rather not talk. That’s why I give him a thumbs up instead.
He nods, smiling. My breath catches. How can a simple smile make the butterflies in my stomach swirl?
Rather than mull over the answer, I tear my eyes away from his face and rise to gather the plates. He stops me with a hand on my arm. “Don’t. You rest. I’ll clean up.”
He doesn’t have to tell me twice. I show him where everything is. He then flaps his hands, shooing me away.
I leave him to it and sit down on the couch. Royce whistles as he works, and I find I like the perfect pitch sound. It’s so comforting, I close my eyes and drift…
A tap on my shoulder startles me awake and I sit up, wiping at the drool that has leaked from my mouth.
