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He tugs at his collar. “So, here’s the thing.” He pauses, and the silence stretches. And stretches. And stretches.
“Desmond. Rip off the Band-Aid. Just tell me. What’s this proposition?”
He holds my gaze for a long moment. Long enough for me to huff and start closing the door in his face.
Finally, he says, “I need a date to my family’s Thanksgiving reunion.”
I can honestly say that I’d rather roll around in human hair and set myself on fire. “No,” I answer, and slam the door in his face.
12
DES
I stareat the door for a beat, eyes level with the brass numbers, and almost start laughing. Then again, I guess I deserved that reaction from Mia. I deserve a lot worse.
But I also need to wipe Vince’s smug smile off his face at this year’s family Thanksgiving. And, more importantly, I need Mia to not hate my guts.
It would probably be smart to let her cool off and approach her later. When she told me she didn’t have enough money to pay the rent, I was so fucking mad at myself for putting her in that position. Not only did I humiliate her tonight, but I also made her life unbearably difficult by raising her rent before I knew her situation. She’s hurting because of me.
The last thing I should do is push my proposition on her when she’s already irate. But she’s just on the other side of this door, wearing a gorgeous black dress, looking like a goddess at whose altar I want to serve. It’s physically impossible for me to move my legs to walk myself across the hallway and into my condo. I’m tethered to this spot, as close as I can get to her without breaking a hole through the door to get to the other side.
Screw it. I knock on the door.
No answer.
I knock again. “Mia!”
The door swings open. Mia stands in the gap, brandishing a plastic fork like it’s Excalibur, a hunk of orange chicken pierced on its tip. “What.”
“Please, just hear me out.”
She pops the chicken in her mouth and chews, moving the fork in a circular “let’s hurry this up” motion.
“I’m sorry,” I start. Then words just—stop. She’s so beautiful, and so fearfully angry. I want to kiss her again. It was a mistake to indulge in the parking lot. Now that I know how she tastes, I think I’ll die if I don’t get to do it again.
Mia takes her time to swallow her bite, then shakes her head gently. “Is that it?”
“No. I’m just trying to get my thoughts together.”
“Herculean task, I gather.” Her snark snaps against my skin, and my cock swells. Not the right time.Sonot the right time for me to get hard, but what am I supposed to do?
My voice is gravelly when I speak again. “How about half off your rent for November in exchange for attending Thanksgiving with me.”
The silence between us is thick as soup. Mia lifts her chin slightly, eyes narrowing. Then her face clears, anger fading away, and my heart sings. Yes, I want her to look at me like this forever. I want to wake up to that face. I want to kiss those lips for hours.
“Des,” she says softly.
“Yeah?” My upper body leans forward. Her lips are my own personal siren song. I want to crash my ship against her rocks, then crawl out of the surf to get a taste of her again. Just one taste.
Her lids lower slightly, and her hip curves out to the side. Her body is so beautiful. So small and lithe and perfect. She leans toward me, a mirror image of myself, her upper body just poking out of her front door, close enough to touch. Her scent wraps its soft, feminine fingers around my chest, squeezing, squeezing.
Then she whispers, “You’re fucking delusional,” and slams the door in my face—again.
This time, I do laugh.
13
GEORGIA
