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“Bree talks about her so much I feel like I do.”
He couldn’t argue with that. His daughter’s two favorite subjects were ballet, and Vivien.
“She likes you,” Zoe stated as if it was a fact.
There was no way that she could have gleaned that from his daughter talking about her. “You don’t know that.”
“Yes, I do,” she maintained firmly.
He shook his head. He couldn’t believe that they were having this conversation.
“When I asked for you, she looked like I just ran over her dog in front of her. She. Likes. You.”
“Ready, Mommy!” Bree ran back into the front room with her backpack and shoes on.
He’d never been so happy to have his daughter interrupt a conversation in his life. Glenn walked his ex and daughter out, and after putting Bree’s booster seat in the back of Zoe’s rental car he stood back and watched as they pulled out of the driveway.
Bree waved her arm wildly out of the window that was rolled down. “Bye, Daddy!”
“Bye, Peanut. Love you!”
“I love you!”
“Have fun with your alone time this weekend,” Zoe called out with a wink before driving away.
Glenn stood outside staring out at the street, now vacant of cars, as his stomach twisted in knots. He’d gotten a call from Dominic this morning with a solid lead on Mason Wells and he needed to tell Vivien what he’d found.
He lifted his hands and ran them through his hair. He never did something unless he knew that he could succeed at it. That was part of the reason that he’d been so hesitant to get back into the ring. He wasn’t convinced that he could beat any opponent he faced. That he had what it took to go all twelve rounds or deliver a knockout punch.
That was the same situation he found himself faced with now. Could he go all twelve rounds? He wasn’t sure. This called for the self-control of a saint, and no one had ever accused Glenn of being a saint.
When he’d seen Vivien in the kiddie pool in that bikini, at first, he’d thought it was a mirage, that it was a figment of his imagination. He was sure he was having a cartoon character seeing an oasis in the desert moment.
There was no way that her body could be that perfect. Her breasts and hips were so full compared to her waist that looked like it was cinched in the middle - like she had a natural corset. Then there were her legs. Those fucking legs were a wet dream. Her thighs were thick and toned and tapered down to thin calves. He wanted them wrapped around him while he drove deep inside of her.
Since the first day he’d met her, she’d starred in fantasies in his mind. He’d imagined what she’d look like naked thousands of times over the past few weeks. Seeing her nearly naked was all the proof he needed to know that all the mental images he’d conjured up hadn’t come close to doing reality justice.
He hadn’t been able to speak, or think, or move. It was everything he’d felt the first time he’d seen her times a million.
Then she spoke and he’d almost come in his pants. He’d never had a woman be so upfront, bold, and confident and that had turned him on even more than the visual of her bikini body, which he would have thought was impossible.
He took a deep breath as he turned and faced her house. He knew what he had to do; he just wasn’t sure he could actually do it. He walked up the steps to the porch and couldn’t help but feel like he was walking a plank. Nerves rioted in his stomach like they were in a mosh pit on the Warped Tour.
When he reached her front door, he knocked twice and waited. There was no answer. He knocked again. All of her windows were open and her Jeep was in the driveway so he knew that she was home.
Maybe she didn’t want to speak to him because he’d been such an asshole. He wanted to kick his own ass for telling her that he didn’t do casual and walking away. But it was that or come in his pants right in front of her.
He chose asshole over humiliation.
After telling her he didn’t do casual, which had to be the top three douchiest things he’d ever said, he’d gone inside the house, headed straight to the bathroom, pulled out his cock and exploded after one stroke. No lotion. No lube. Just a hand on skin, dry stroke. Even when he was at the height of his hormonal teenage years, he’d never come from one stroke.
The fact that he had after only seeing Vivien in a bikini was fucking with his head.
He sighed and knocked again. It was clear that she didn’t want to talk to him. If this wasn’t as important as it was, he would not be standing at her door. He was actually considering looking for another place to live. It was clear that this living situation was proving too much for him to handle.
He lifted his hand to knock one last time when the door flew open, and his throat closed. He was choking on lust. He couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe.
You have got to be fucking kidding me.
