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A note.
A name.
A number.
I stand, frozen, still looking at it when Josh walks in minutes later. “You doing my laundry?” he asks, and I can hear the smile in his voice.
For the first time, I’m glad I don’t speak often because it’s given me the experience to formulate proper words instead of just blurting them out like most people do. Only now, I can’t think of anything to say.
His hand settles on the small of my back as he looks over my shoulder. His breath catches—he knows he’s been caught. “Becca?” he says through a sigh. “It’s not what it looks like.”
Slowly, I turn to him and try to ignore the fact that he’s standing in front of me wearing nothing but boxers. I do my best to ignore the muscles on his shoulders, the ripples of his chest and the dips of his abs, and that perfect V of his that turns my insides to dust. I look back up at him and clear my throat. “Who’s Angela?”
He doesn’t skip a beat. “She’s just this mom from Tommy’s daycare. She invited Tommy over for a play date and gave me her number. That’s all.”
“So… what? You go to her house and drop Tommy off?”
“Well, no. I’d stay there while they played. I don’t feel comfortable leaving Tommy alone with someone I don’t know that well.”
“So you’d be there… with her.”
He nods. “And our kids.”
“Is she pretty?” I ask, even though I really, really don’t want to know.
He shrugs. And it’s all I need to push him out of the way. He doesn’t let me though. He stands in front of me, his shoulders squared. “What’s wrong?”
I drop my gaze. “Don’t be dumb. You know what’s wrong.”
“Say it.”
I glare right at him.
“Say it,” he says again, smirking this time.
“Say what?”
“You’re jealous.”
“You’re mean.”
He chuckles lightly and bends down so his mouth’s to my ear. “You’re crazy cute when you’re jealous.”
“Shut up,” I try to say, but it’s barely a squeak because his bare chest and arms are wrapped around me now, forcing all the air out of my lungs.
“So cute,” he murmurs, his mouth on my neck. “I was kidding, by the way. She’s like forty and goes to church with your grams.”
I push against his chest but he doesn’t move, just chuckles louder and a second later I’m being lifted onto the washer.
“Why would you make me feel like that?” I whisper.
He settles between my legs and pulls me closer to him. “Like what?”
“Josh…”
“I’m sorry,” he says, but he’s not. I can see it in the stupid smirk and the stupid amusement dancing in his eyes.
“No you’re not.”
“So I like it that you got jealous. Sue me.” His hands drift down my back and settle on my ass while his eyes drop to my chest. And the amusement in his eyes is gone and replaced with something else completely. He licks his lips, his eyes moving to mine.
“What?” I whisper.
He squeezes my ass, pulling me fully against him. “You know what.”
I curse my hands when they move, almost on their own, to his bare chest, the tips of my fingers warming from the heat of his skin as I lower them to his stomach—my gaze following my movements.
With one hand on my back, the other in my hair now, he tugs lightly and tilts my head back. His lips lower; already parted when they cover mine and my eyes drift closed just as he kicks the door shut and reaches over to switch the light off. “Let’s play in the dark,” he says, and there’s absolutely nothing sexier than feeling him between my legs, his breaths warm and heavy against my neck and his hands everywhere all at once. The sounds of my breaths mingle with his while his mouth trails from my mouth down to my neck, kissing every inch like he kisses me. I run my hands all over his torso, his shoulders, his arms. Goddamn, his arms. His muscles flex beneath my touch. His hands are on my thighs now, moving higher and taking the hem of my skirt with them. His kisses are soft against my throat, and my legs tense when I feel his fingers skim the fabric of my panties. “Fuck,” he spits, pulling away and gasping for breath. I take the opportunity to return the favor and kiss down his neck to his shoulder. His fingers dig into my thighs as I lick down his chest until I find his nipple. My tongue flicks across it, eliciting a deep guttural moan from him. “Jesus, shit,” he whispers, cupping my face. His thumb searches for my mouth in the darkness of the room and when I open my mouth and wrap my lips around his thumb, he loses it.
We both do.
Our lips crash together, our hands searching for something, anything. Between our frenzied kisses, we gasp for air. His hand covers one of my breasts, squeezing gently and my hips jerk at his touch but it just makes it worse because now I can feel him hard against my sex. He’s pushing into me and I’m pushing back and he’s kissing me harder until I’m forced against the wall behind me. My hands skim down to his stomach and—“Shit.”
His thumb rubs against my panties, between my legs, slowly moving up and down.
My hips jerk forward. The backs of my fingers run through the tuft of hair just above the band of his boxers—the band I’m slowly lowering…
He whispers another “fuck” as he pulls down on my top, revealing my bra. His lips, wet, skim the top of my breast just as my hands find their way to his—
