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I grin. “She got him on a tight leash?”
“Oh, yeah. But he likes it.”
To be honest, I wouldn’t mind being on Tessa’s leash.
Okay, that sounded weird. But half of me already feels like I’m under her pull. I’d woken again this morning hard against her. I must have been moving in my sleep because I was so turned on, it had been all I could do to retreat to the bathroom and jerk off in the shower to relieve myself.
I need to stop thinking about her like that. Need to stop wanting her so badly. But what the hell am I supposed to do when she’s snuggled up to me every night?
Things will get better at least when she’s back in her apartment. Until then, I have to keep my hands to myself.
Grabbing my phone out of my gym bag, I find a text from Danielle asking me to pick up shredded cheese for the tacos she’s making for dinner. Fuck, I’d half-forgotten about that.
I walk over to Uncle Marty’s empty office and close the door behind me as I call her, needing to set some ground rules for tonight.
“Hey,” she answers, “you get my text about the cheese? Can you believe Dad doesn’t have any? I mean, not even slices. What is he, a barbarian?”
I ignore her, getting to the point. “Why’d you invite Tessa over for dinner? I know you got my hint that I wanted you to leave.”
She scoffs. “I was doing you a favor. You’re welcome, by the way.”
A favor? Is she delusional?
“You can’t tell me you’re not into her,” she continues.
And she figured that out from the five-minute conversation we had in the hallway? “She’s a friend.”
“The two aren’t mutually exclusive. You like her.”
I’m silent, knowing she doesn’t need a response.
“You don’t have to confirm. I can tell.”
Is she a psychic or something? “How?”
She lets out a light laugh. “You barely talk to anyone. There’s no way you’d let some girl stay with you if you didn’t want to bone her.”
“Jesus, Danielle. I’m not an animal. She’s going through a rough time and I’m helping her out.”
“By going out to clubs with her?”
I groan. Why is she so fucking infuriating? “Why do you care, anyway?”
“Because I’m your wingwoman tonight.”
“You absolutely are not.” God only knows what she’ll say.
“You want her to like you, right? She’s halfway there already, I can tell.”
“Seems like you can tell a lot of things,” I mutter.
“Yeah, actually. I can. It’s called a woman’s intuition.”
When has she ever acted like a woman in her life? “Just don’t embarrass me.”
“You think that little of me?”
“I don’t know what the hell you’re doing.” What I’m doing either, for that matter.
