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I check the time. It’s only just after eight and the sky is still light. I haven’t had sex since the weekend before I met Claire, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t itching to bury myself in something hot and wet. But the very thought of Claire has my fingers hesitating over my phone and I’m not sure why.
Me: Sorry Sam. Busy.
Samantha: Boo. Tomorrow?
Me: Can’t. Maybe next time.
Samantha: :(
Shit, what is wrong with me? Sam is hell on wheels, sexy as sin, and up for anything. I honestly can’t remember the last time I’ve gone this long without sex.
Trying to focus on something other than the sex I just turned down and how much my brain hurts from how baffled I am by it, I sift through my work email, noting one from a contractor I reached out to Saturday morning about the kitchen reno at Cherry Lane. His email tells me he can come by tomorrow to take a look, otherwise he’s busy for the next three weeks.
I shoot Claire another text.
Me: Contractor for quote for kitchen coming tomorrow @ 10. See you then. Have your binder ready, noodle legs.
Claire Bear: K. Thanks. Will do. Noodle legs are soaking in a bath right now.
The mental image of Claire in a bath is such a lovely one that I have an urge to ride the elevator down and slip through her door.
And it looks like I might get that chance, because ten minutes later, my phone vibrates where it rests on my thigh. It’s Claire, and she’s calling me.
“Want me to come dry you off? Or do you wanna get wetter?”
Claire grumbles a string of curses into the phone at my greeting. “How are you with spiders?”
I blink. “Spiders?”
“Spiders. You know, those eight-legged freaks of nature.” Her agitation that she needs to waste any time clarifying this to me only makes me want to drag this on, and a slow smile sweeps over my face.
“Do you need me to come downstairs and save you from a spider, Claire Bear?”
Her groan vibrates in my ear. “If you’re going to make fun of me, just forget it. But if that’s the case, start looking for a new place to live, ’cause I will burn this place to the ground.”
My laughter is interrupted by her shrill shrieking. “Please, Avery! Oh my God! Oh my God, stop! Stop moving!”
There’s a shitload of clanging and banging happening on the other end of the phone, and my entire body vibrates with laughter as I push up off the couch. “Be there in two.”
When I creep through Claire’s unlocked door, her apartment is eerily quiet. The sun finished setting in the two minutes it took me to get down here, and the only illumination comes from the dim glow of the twinkly lights around Claire’s balcony door, and the hood above the stove.
“Claire?”
A whimper from my left has my head swiveling, and I almost die when I spot my favorite redhead, perched atop of a high-top stool, balancing on one foot and wielding a frying pan—for what purpose, I’m not sure. She’s got a light blue towel wrapped around her head, a baggy Tragically Hip tee hangs off one shoulder and pools around her hips, and—oh dear God—she’s donning only a pair of pale purple panties with little daisies on her lower half.
Fuck me.
“Well, hey there, crazy.” I sidle up next to her, peering up at the gorgeous girl who’s been occupying every inch of my brain for the last ten days. I’m tall, so I come face-to-face with her purple cotton-covered pussy. Or I guess face-to-pussy would be the correct term. “Whatcha doin’ up there?”
Sage eyes drift down to me, Claire’s body quivering. She squeezes her eyes shut.
I wrap my fingers around her ankles, running my hands over her calves. “And why are you half-naked? You know what that’s doing to me, right?” Her nipples pebble in her threadbare shirt, letting me know she damn well knows what she’s doing to me, and that she also doesn’t mind my hands on her, even though she bites out her next words.
“You.” She aims the frying pan at my head and then swings it toward the far wall of windows. “Spider. Now.” She slices the pan through the air. “Kill.”
Jesus, this woman. I lean on the kitchen island with my elbow, propping my chin up in my hand. “What were you planning to do with the frying pan? Smash your wall in? Or catch the little guy and fry him up for dinner?”
With a gagging sound, her shoulders curl forward. “Avery. This is no time for games.”
