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“There’s fine, I guess.” I’m not loving the wrinkle of his brow, but maybe I’ll get the look that makes me squirm when he’s warmed up. “I think you might be more comfortable over here, though.”
I pop to my feet and scurry the short distance to him. Resting my shoulders against the closed storage doors beside him, I spread my arms, pushing my hands against the custom cabinetry. “Like this?”
There’s a blankness to his stare that I recognize from my own amnesia when I look in the mirror. That can’t be right, though. He invited me into his little love closet. “Sure,” he says, not taking advantage of me offering myself against his built-in storage. “Whatever’s comfortable.”
Worried about my head hitting the cabinet, I nod. “You’re right. This might not be wise. At least not yet, maybe down the road.”
“What road are we talking about?” Bending down, he slips his hand behind my leg, and he pulls open a drawer.
A subtle bump against the back of my thigh has me shifting out of the way. “My healing journey.”
With the drawer full of T-shirts pulled open, he stands back up and scratches the back of his neck. “What are we talking about?”
“We’re talking about se—wait a minute. Why’d you invite me into your room?”
He pulls a T-shirt from the drawer. “So you could find something more comfortable to wear than that dress.” He holds up the burgundy tee.
Beacon University is printed across the front, though it’s worn and faded. It looks soft, so I touch it. It’s as soft as I suspected. I take it from him and then look up. “So it wasn’t to—oh God. I’m mortified.”
“Why?” As if the obvious hits him square in the eyes, his bulge. “You, uh. Um. Huh.” He drags his hand across his forehead. “You thought I invited you back here to have sex?”
Fanning my face, I rush through the door. “We don’t have to say it out loud.”
He follows me out of the bedroom. Walking behind me down the corridor, he says, “Dammit, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”
I turn back, fisting the shirt in front of me. “Why are you sorry? And what didn’t you mean?”
“I’m sorry you think I’m the guy to just ask you to come to my room to fuck, rather than me romancing you and making love to you. Properly. Like you deserve.” He comes even closer, cupping my face. Lowering enough to look deep into my eyes, he says, “Trust me, Tuesday, there will be no doubt in your mind when I do ask you to come to my bed for that purpose.”
Dead.
Just bury me now. I’m dead right here in his apartment.
Sliding his hands down, he gently pinches my chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Got it?” A cute smirk lifts one side of his mouth.
Words are my enemy, escaping me under the intensity of his gaze, so I nod.
He walks back to the bedroom but stops in the doorway and looks back. “Good girl.” He signals for me to join him again.
If he can kill me twice, he just did. Am I a “good girl” kind of lady? Do I like this? I’m not sure about “before” me, but “now” me definitely likes this, especially with Loch.
Since my body melted into a puddle of mush, I glide across the floors. By the time I enter the room again, he’s entering the room from the closet. “Shorts or boxers?”
I look between the choices, trying to pretend I didn’t assume we were about to have sex. “Shorts.”
He tosses them to me and says, “You can change here or the bathroom over there.” When he walks out, he turns and closes the door behind him. I look around, not taking the time earlier. Painted slate-blue walls surround creamy bedding and a large rug that’s super soft under my feet. I wiggle my toes and notice the wood headboard and nightstands in the same stain but different in style.
“Good girl” begins playing on a loop, a wave of goose bumps ripples across my body, and my nipples pert to the memory. Since I don’t have many, that will be one I’ll regularly play on repeat.
Running the tips of my fingers over my chest, I take a deep breath, relaxing into the mattress.
“You okay in there?”
I jump like he just heard my naughty thoughts. “Good. Fine.” I rub the back of my head, knowing I should be more careful. A rush of blood to my head doesn’t help with the pain. “Be right out.”
“You sure you’re okay?”
“Yep. All is good.”
I hear him chuckling as he walks away.
“Food should be here soon.”
“Thanks.”
It’s fun to pretend, but I undress and slip the shorts and T-shirt on. The shorts instantly fall to the ground. I walk into his closet and find the boxers he had pulled lying on the bench. I try those on for size. If I roll the stretchy band down twice, it tightens them enough to fit around my hips.
