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Keeping up appearances, my ass. She likes me. She isn’t ready to admit it, but I can be patient.
I scroll through our chat. She didn’t respond to the link I sent with a studio for rent.
Did you see the studio I sent?
The typing dots pop up, disappear, and pop up again.Yes. Thanks.
And??She sends a shrugging emoji, and I frown.Too expensive?
It’s expensive but not outrageous.
Too big? Too small?The listing said the space has two studio rooms.
No. It’s a good size.
I shake my head at my phone, confused.Let’s check it out when I get home.
I don’t think I’m ready yet.
I remember what she said after the dinner with her family while tears rolled down her face, about how if she couldn’t help her mom, how is she supposed to help other people, and my chest hurts. The need to make this situation better for Hazel claws through me.
You’re ready, Hartley. What does Pippa think?
I don’t really talk to her about this stuff. She’s busy with her own career.
I let out a heavy exhale.I think you should talk about it with her, and I think you’re ready.
Hazel admitting these things to me has to mean something, though. This thing between us might be more than she lets on.
The typing dots appear, disappear, and appear again before her next message pops up.I seem to remember winning a bet.
I shake my head, laughing. I’ve been thinking about it all week, and the photos are ready to go, but…
I wanted her to ask. I wanted to see a little sliver of desire from her. I still get hard thinking about her sayingI didn’t know it could be like thatafter I ate her pussy like my life depended on it.
She’s asking, though. I grin at my phone.You cheated.
Now who’s being the sore loser?
Put my jersey on, I text back. Christ, I love sparring with her like this.It’ll turn me on.
Wow. Your ego, Miller.
A laugh chokes out of me. I wish I was in her bed, watching her try not to smile. We had a game Wednesday, so I couldn’t attend her online yoga class. I feel like I haven’t seen her in forever.
The picture pops up in our chat. She has her back to her bathroom mirror in the photo, peering over her shoulder with a little smile,MILLERacross her back in bold letters.
Possessive satisfaction curls through me.
You’re beautiful, I text.
Are you talking to me or the jersey?
My smile turns high-watt. I’m buzzing, warmth spreading through my chest and over my skin.Why can’t it be both?
Excitement and nerves thrash through me as I go to the last photo in my camera roll, a shirtless picture I took in front of the mirror yesterday. My phone makes a whooshing noise as the photo sends, and a moment later, she responds.
Wow.
