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He tosses the note on the counter beside me, and my heart drops with it.
He steps away, looking at himself in the mirror behind me. “Nice dick by the way.”
I blink, snapping myself out of the lust-induced trance. “What?”
“On my mirror,” he says with a dry, sardonic smile. “It was true to size.”
My throat clots. “Was it?”
Don’t look, don’t look, don’t look.
My gaze drops to his slacks.
Fuck’s sake.
His laugh washes over me, but there’s nothing smooth about it. It grates me in places it shouldn’t, and I know when I’m staring at my dark bedroom ceiling at five a.m. I’ll still be thinking about it.
With a tight smirk, he turns and strides toward the door. I hate the feeling that he’s won this round—as well as the last—and in an attempt to level the playing field, sarcasm shoots from my mouth before I can stop it.
“Is that all, boss?”
He slows to a stop. Pops his knuckles.
Triumph. But it only tastes good for a second, before his calm, smooth voice slices through the locker room and assaults me.
“Careful calling me boss when you’re half naked, Penelope,” he drawls. “I might just get the wrong idea.”
The door slams shut louder than usual, and its echo reverberates around the hollow cavity in my chest.
Scratch the laugh. That’s what I’ll be thinking about at five a.m.
