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6
Kyle
I’m waiting for Chloe as soon as she steps out onto her porch. From now on, I will deliver my good mornings face-to-face.
“Good morning, my dearest neighbor,” I greet, not startling her this time. “I enjoyed our dinner. Next time, maybe you can bring your vibrator as the guest of honor.”
I can’t stop thinking about last night.
Like yesterday, I’m dressed in my uniform. I promised Gage I’d come in early and help with extra paperwork, but I didn’t want to miss seeing her.
“Fuck off,” she replies, fighting a smile.
Another one of those black skirts I love hugs her hourglass curves and stops at her knees, and though it’s not revealing, it’s sexy. Her white button-down blouse is thin, and evidence of her hard nipples shows through.
“I was down for it last night and will be later this evening. Care to make a date for it?”
She hands me her coffee tumbler and tugs her jacket over her shoulders. “Last night was a mistake, and I’d appreciate us acting like it never happened.”
“A mistake I’d love to make again.” I inch closer. “I’ll relive it repeatedly. My brain will never forget the sound and sight of you coming for me.”
Flustered, she snatches her coffee back. “I’m being serious.”
“Let me remind you that, every time I’ve touched you, you’ve enjoyed it. Keep attempting to persuade yourself otherwise, but we both know you love my hands on you.”
She blushes. “You’re right. I enjoy you touching me. The problem is, I’ve never enjoyed the consequences.”
We’re side by side as we step off her porch and walk to her car.
“I see you still hate me for that.”
“I will always hate you for that.”
“Hate is an expensive grievance to carry in life. It shortens your life span, triggers depression, interrupts sleep—”
“I’ve hated you for years, so what harm is a little more?” she interrupts.
“Do you know whatdoeslengthen your life span? Orgasms—”
She interrupts me again. “This is the part of the morning where I instruct you to fuck off.”
“You already said it.”
“Then,fuck offagain.”
“Wow, Chloe, way to make a man feel used,” I say when we reach her car.
Instead of getting in, she rests against it, grips her coffee, and stares at me, not interested in ending our conversation.
“I seriously hate you more than the Grinch hates Christmas.”
“You need to work on your insult game. That was the worst I’ve ever heard.” I smile. “All joking aside, have dinner with me again tonight.”
She smiles back, surprising me. “Fine, I’ll do dinner with you tonight atmyhouse, but keep your hands to yourself. Got it? This is because I don’t make deals with people and not keep them.”
I hold my hands up. “These bad boys will stay to themselves—unless you beg me for them. Deal?”
“Yeah,” she draws out, “not happening.”
