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“You can’t be serious.”
His expression remains unchanged.
“I can sleep on the couch.”
“No.”
“You know I don’t mind sleeping on your couch, Cowboy. I mean I picked it out, remember?” Seeing the twitch of a smile has me playfully adding, “Youwanted to bring home that white plaid flannel mistake that belonged in someone’s great grandmother’s backwoods basement, but Isaved youby dragging you over to that gray, plush, luxury, piece of heaven that is now more than acquainted with my rounds of drool.”
“It is a medical marvel that that much spit comes out of somethin’ so small.”
Playfully punching him causes laughter to spill out into the air.
Yet again banishing the bad blood that’s trying to build between us.
“Regardless of your…very intimaterelationship with my couch,” another swat is delivered to his shaking abdomen, “you’re sleepin’ in my room. It’s cleaner. It’s nicer. And it’s a much easier position to defend than the living room which has too many points of entry to protect.”
“But-”
“Angel Cake could youpleasejust…notargue with me about this?” The pleading in his tone matches the one in his stare. “Could you just…let me do my job?” My sheepish nodding is by an almost whispered expression of gratitude. “Thank you.”
No more orders are given, nor words exchanged.
Slater abandons my phone on the counter, gingerly grabs my hand, and leads me to the one area I can honestly say I’m theleastfamiliar with in his penthouse.
And you know what?
Part of me is more than okay with that.
I don’tneedto constantly be in the area obviously not meant for me.
It’s the place you bring the woman you’re planning to fuck, not the woman you’re planning to talk about poor decisions made during the NHL Entry Draft.
Upon entering the room, the switch is pushed upward, an action that causes all of the industrial styled lights to highlight a surprisingly lifeless space. Between the neatly made bed and the clutter free nightstands, I can’t help myself from wondering where his real room is. Not because he’s messy – he’s actually obnoxiously neat, which is something I blame his military background for – but because this entire area screams “for display use only”. Hell, I’m pretty sure even the bottle of whiskey on the mini table next to his leather sitting chair still has its price tag on it.
I hope he knows, I’m more than willing to help him open and or empty that.
Slater releases his hold to cross over to the wall nearest the floor to ceiling windows. “I tend to keep these open when I sleep in here because I love the city lights, but I can close ‘em. It’s no trouble. Just a push of a button.”
“So, youdosleep in here?” I playfully beam his direction. “This isn’t just the place where the magic happens?”
He swings his stare back to me just in time to see my eyebrows waggle. Light laughs are attached to a slow headshake. “That type of magicneverhappens in here.”
Curiosity once more gets the better of me. “Then where does it happen?”
“Bathroom stall of the bar.”
“Super classy.”
“Or the back of my truck.”
“Getting more Double 0 Douche by the moment.”
“I’ll have you know that when I’m on my James Bond shit, I book us a suite at The Frost.” His grin grows to match the impish nature of mine. “I’m a gentleman jus’ like he is.”
“Are we suregentlemanis the word we wanna use for him?”
Slater chuckles, hits the button, and suggests, “Maybe we do a marathon tomorrow? Catch up on hockey highlights and then spend the rest of the day debatin’ on who wore the title best?”
