She looked up at me, her face shielded from the water by my body, a little smile playing over her mouth. “That was the dirtiest shower I’ve ever had.”
I chuckled and kissed her again. “You want me to clean you up?”
She shook her head, then nodded, then shook her head again. “You can try. But I might be forever sullied.”
“Well. At least let me give it a solid effort before you decide I’m incapable,” I teased.
“All right. But I can’t say my hopes are high.”
I spent the next five minutes making sure every inch of her received a thorough, soap-laden rub down, then moved on to grab her bottle of coconut-scented shampoo. She studied my face for a second before turning so I could massage the thick liquid into her head.
“This is another first for me,” she admitted softly.
“Which part? Letting a very manly man wash your hair, or letting the same manly man fuck you silly in the shower?”
She let out a breathy laugh. “Well. Both, actually.”
“Is either a bad thing?”
“No. You’re good with your hands.”
“Just my hands?”
“I think you know the answer to that,” she said, leaning back and closing her eyes so I could rinse her curls. “In my head, this should be weird.”
“In your head? Do you spend a lot of time imagining this particular scenario?”
“No. I mean, I might have fantasized a time or two about having my stylist at my beck and call, but I draw the fantasy line at showering with a sixty-seven-year-old gay man.”
I grinned. “There goes my dream.”
She jabbed a playful elbow into my stomach. “Shut up.”
“Resorting to violence already? That’s cheap.” I kissed her tilted-back forehead, then grabbed the conditioner. “What about the other part of the fantasy? You think shower sex should be weird?”
Under my hands, she nodded. “Mm-hmm. All the water and awkward positions and the slipperiness.”
“That’s what makes it good.”
“I think you’re what made it good.”
“Flattery?”
“Fact.”
Smiling, I smoothed the conditioner through the length of her hair, then started to rinse. “This is a first for me, too.”
“To quote you…which part?”
“Both,” I admitted.
“What? No crazy hot shower in your old hometown?”
The question sounded casual, but I could hear the serious undertone. The weird thing was, it didn’t bother me. Not that my sex life was a secret, but I usually didn’t have much interest in obligating myself to share my history. Especially with a woman I’d just met.
But my answer came easily.
“My ex definitely added some craziness to my life for the year we were together,” I said. “Not sure it translated to hot. Not in a good way, anyway.”
“Is she the reason you moved?”
“Nope. I came out for work. Doing a favor for a friend of my dad’s. Things ended months ago between me and Janie. It wasn’t pleasant, but it was just a breakup.”
“Not a broken heart?”
I thought about for a second, then shook my head. “Maybe I thought I loved her at one point. But her priorities were different than mine. I work hard for what I get. She wanted things handed to her. I think I was just relieved when it was over. What about you?”
“I’m glad it’s over, too. I hate having shower sex with another woman’s man.”
I laughed. “Not what I meant.”
She turned and reached past me to twist the shower to the off position, then stood up again to meet my gaze. There was something a little guarded in her eyes, but she sighed and spoke anyway.
“I’ve never made time for a traditional relationship. Work’s been my focus for as long as I can remember. The last guy I was with…” She trailed off and shrugged.
Carl.
I locked my jaw for a second to keep from telling her that I was well-aware of the man’s douchebag status, then made myself relax and say, “He didn’t appreciate awkward, slippery sex?”
She offered me a small smile. “I don’t think he would’ve been capable.”
“Good.” The word came out a little more forcefully than I intended, and Aysia blinked up at me in surprise.
“Do you have a jealous streak, Marc?” she asked.
“I have a need-to-be-the-best streak.”
“Me, too.”
I kissed her. “Trust me. There’s no fucking competition.”
A blush crept up under her skin, and she slid open the glass door to reach for a towel. The one she pulled off the rack, though, was soaked. She paused and surveyed the disaster in the bathroom. Everything was wet. The floor. The countertop. My clothes, of course. Even the mirror was dripping.
“Shit,” Aysia said.
“Pretty damned impressive.” I stepped past her and out of the tub. “Extra towels under the sink?”
“Yes.”
I opened the cupboard, grabbed one for her and one for me. “You go do whatever you have to do. I’ll clean up.”
“Seriously?” She shook her head. “You know what? Never mind. I’m not going to argue. You do your thing, slippery, sexy manservant. When you’re done, there’s an extra robe in my closet and the clothes dryer is downstairs beside the other bathroom. I’ll be in the kitchen waiting for you to cook me naked breakfast.”
I pulled her in for a quick kiss before I let her escape, then turned my attention to tidying up. Admittedly, back in L.A., I had someone come and do most of my housework for me. Putting in a ten- to twelve-hour day most of the time didn’t allow much time for laundry and dishes. Of course, I never made much of a mess at home since I spent such a minimal amount of time there. I wondered if Aysia was the same. She definitely seemed like the driven type. She’d mentioned how important her job was to her. Did that mean she had someone scrub her floors? I can’t say the thought of her bent down on all fours doing it herself didn’t appeal to me. Especially if she happened to have a kinky little maid’s costume kicking around somewhere.
Yeah. But then the floors would never actually get clean, I thought. You’d be too busy taking advantage of the position.
I grinned to myself and finished wiping the mirror. Maybe if she wasn’t an avid housecleaner I could talk her into a little role play. I stepped back and checked out my handiwork. Things were mostly dry and mostly tidy. I grabbed my clothes, wrapped them in a towel and stepped into the bedroom to search for the robe. I paused, though, in the doorway.
Aysia was sprawled across the bed, one arm over her head, one tucked against her stomach. Her eyes were closed, her lips parted just slightly.
Sound asleep.
Moving quietly, I slid the sheet from the bottom of the bed and tucked it up over her body. She barely shifted in response.
“Sorry, honey,” I murmured. “Can’t pretend I didn’t enjoy wearing you out.”
I let myself out of the bedroom and got to work on the rest of her snarky little instructions. I put my clothes in her dryer, then made a much-needed pot of coffee. Next, I dug through the fridge and helped myself to the ingredients I needed to put together a ‘naked’ breakfast. Still smiling, I set everything out on the counter. As I put down the final item—one of those as-seen-on-TV no-stick pans—I accidentally knocked over Aysia’s purse. Which in and of itself wasn’t a big deal. As I bent down to retrieve it, though, a business card slipped out, and what I saw made my heart smash against my ribs.
What the fuck?
With suddenly stiff fingers, I lifted the card.
Aysia Banks. Human Resources, Eco-Go Developments.
My eyes flew from the embossed letters to the stairs that led to her bedroom. She was a goddamned employee. Why the hell hadn’t it occurre
d to me? It made sense. That was how she knew Carl. It was why she’d been at the pub recommended as a favorite of the staff. Even the fact that she lived in an Eco-Go building should’ve been a hint.
“Fuck,” I muttered, at a loss for a better word to describe the panic setting in. “Fuck-fuck-fuck.”
I ran a hand over my hair, unsure what to do. Part of me knew I should wait for her to wake up, then explain it all. From Carl’s video to the pub to this moment right now. A bigger part of me had no interest in dealing with it.
Selfish coward.
I eyed the stairs again.
“Fuck.” This time it was a snarl.
I forced in a breath and began putting away everything I’d just taken out. I needed time to regroup. To think about what I wanted to say. To convince her that I wasn’t a selfish coward.
I didn’t know where to start, but I did know I had to leave. No way could I get the head space I needed with her so close.
I tucked the eggs back into the fridge, then scrawled a hasty note telling her to enjoy her nap. I hesitated, not sure how to close it.
Call you later?
See you at work?
Apparently, I’m an asshole?
Finally, I settled for a simple—copout—letter ‘M’. Then I grabbed my still-wet clothes from the dryer, forced them on, and pulled the most chicken shit move of my life. I slipped out as fast as I could without looking back.
* * * *
Aysia
I made my way down the stairs, rubbing my eyes. I’d been stunned to roll over and see that the late-afternoon sun was already dipping down over the horizon. My first thought had been of Marc, and I half-expected to find his muscular form beside me. Instead, I found an empty bed.
And now that I was downstairs and a little more awake, I discovered an equally empty main floor and a vague note.
Enjoy your rest.
Talk soon.
M.
Not that I could blame him for taking off. Hours had passed. But I could think of a few very pleasant ways for him to have woken me up. My stomach growled, and I acknowledged that yes, food would’ve been one of them.
I swung open my fridge, puzzled to find everything out of order. My cheese was in the fruit drawer, and my egg carton was upside down. Overall, it looked a little like someone—Marc—had knocked the whole thing over, then shoved it back in as hastily as he could.
“Weird.”
I grabbed an apple, then my phone, and moved to the living room where I dropped down onto the sofa. I scrolled through all the messages from Marc’s phone to mine, noting that he’d programmed his name into my address book, complete with a copy of the picture of him and his oh-so phallic carving. Then I moved on to everything I’d missed while he’d had my phone, laughing at the texts from Liv.
Hey. What’re you doing?
Hello? BFF here!
Oh. Right. Shit. Forgot you didn’t have your phone. You did tell me that.
And Marc, if you’re reading this. Stop it.
There was a voicemail from my mom, sent before I called to let her know I couldn’t be reached at my regular number. There was another from my boss, letting me know the senior team needed to come in for a meeting on Monday morning with our new PR manager. Normally, that would excite me. But not today.
I sighed and sat back to take another bite of my apple. Work—for once—was the last thing on my mind. What I really wanted was a funny, sexy message from Marc. So I typed one to him myself.
So. Rearranging fridges…I wrote. Is that a fetish, or…?
I hit send and waited. Surprisingly, an answer didn’t come right away. In fact, one didn’t come for hours. It gave me time to catch up on some reading, to go through my emails, to run a few errands, and even grab a coffee with Liv.
Which was where I was at the moment, staring down at my decidedly silent phone.
My friend finally snatched the device away from me, clicked through my messages over my protests, then raised both of her perfectly shaped eyebrows at me.
“You had phone sex with him?”
“Possibly.”
“Holy shit, Aysia. I’m impressed.”
“Shut up.”
She looked down at the screen again. “And then he rearranged your fridge?”
I tried to grab my phone from her, but she yanked it back quickly.
“C’mon,” I whined. “Why are you being such a jerk-face about this?”
“Because I care. And it’s weird to see you acting like some teenaged girl. Hell, Aysia. Even when you were a teenager girl, you didn’t act like this. You’re practically moping.”
“I’m not.”
But maybe I was. Maybe I was letting my hormones—and okay, stupid, girlie feelings—get the better of me. I exhaled and met my friend’s eyes.
“I don’t know,” I said. “I’ve had more sex in the last three days than I’ve had in probably three years. It’s not an exaggeration to say that Marc’s phenomenal in bed. But it’s not just that. He’s funny, too. And thoughtful. He bought me a gift card for Jo’s, and when I fell asleep today, he tucked me in.”
She let out a low whistle. “You’ve got it pretty bad.”
I didn’t see the point in lying; my best friend knew me too well to buy it anyway. “I like him, Liv. And I think I could get to like him even more. I’ve had this weird, bubbly feeling in my chest since I woke up Saturday morning.”
“That would be what all the kids call infatuation.”
“It hasn’t been long enough for it to be infatuation.”
“Okay then. The anticipation of infatuation.”
I couldn’t suppress a sigh. “Fine. I’ll concede to that description. I’m excited about the idea of connecting with someone like this. We feel…compatible.”
It was a lame description. But I couldn’t bring myself to say that when I closed my eyes, his delicious face filled my mind and made my heart jump like a drunk frog.
Liv narrowed her eyes at me. “Stop making it sound so reasonable.”
“I am reasonable.”
“Just admit that you like his butt.”
“It’s a very nice butt.”
“Can’t say I didn’t notice.”
She finally handed over my phone, and I looked down at the screen again with a mix of irritation and forlornness. “He hasn’t answered my last text. And maybe my brain’s been turned to mush by all the sex, but I genuinely think he likes me back.”
“Aw. Cute. And also…gag.”
I wrinkled my nose at her. “I’m serious. I didn’t ask for any strings or anything, so it’s not like he had to impress me with his powers of commitment. He could’ve walked out Friday night and not come back.”
“Aha. So you’ve now beguiled him. Maybe he’s out buying your engagement ring.” Liv laughed at the expression on my face, then added, “I know, I know. Shut up.”
“You said beguiled.”
“Are you mocking my mad vocab?”
“I’m mocking your weird vocab.”
She stuck out her tongue, making me grin. “Back to Marc. You said he just moved here, right? He’s probably just busy unpacking or whatever.”
“Yeah. But why not text and tell me that?”
“Because he’s a dude. And dudes can be dicks.”
“That’s so reassuring.”
“Will you feel better if I tell you they don’t even know they’re being dicks?”
“Um. Not at all.”
“Fine. I won’t tell you then.” She took a sip of her coffee. “But…”
“But what?”
“Don’t call him.”
“I’m infatuated! Not desperate.”
“It’s a fine line to ride.”
I offered her each one of my middle fingers. “By the way…does Peter know
you think all guys are dicks?”
“Pretty sure I told him last night when we broke up.”
I groaned. “You guys broke up and you’ve been letting me sit here and talk about Marc’s perfect ass?”
She shrugged. “Priorities. I’m a good best friend.”
“You’re the best best friend,” I corrected, stuffing my phone away where it couldn’t distract me. “Now. Tell me what happened.”
I sat back to listen to Liv tell me all the things she’d—unapologetically—said to her now-ex boyfriend. I loved her to death, but she was a serial dater and a serial heartbreaker, so she’d had lots of practice coming up with insults. Usually I tried to reason with her, pointing out that she wasn’t perfect, either. But for once, I was content to just nod and let her rant. It made it easy not to think about Marc and what he might be up to. But when Liv exhausted her very full repertoire, and we’d consumed every drop of two more lattes, and I finally found myself back in my condo, Marc jumped back to mind again.
I wasn’t into games, and if he wanted to play them, I was definitely out. Nice ass or not. If the one-night stand turned sex-capade weekend turned out to be nothing more than that, I’d be disappointed. But also fine.
Not wanting to dwell on it any more than I already had, I climbed into bed and settled in to binge watch something mindless on my phone. As I scrolled through my list of favorite comfort shows, several text notifications pinged along the top of my screen in quick succession.
Marc.
His name flashed insistently, and I considered ignoring him. But it would’ve been a childish move. And not a very genuine at that. I wanted to see what he had to say.
The first one made my heart skitter a little. Hi, honey.
“Promising start,” I murmured, then scrolled down to the next one.
Sorry for not answering u sooner.
“Even better.”
Stressful thing came up at work, added the third message.
That was something I could understand.
I want to make it up to u and I need to talk to u in person, read the fourth text.
“Hmm.” That one made me a little nervous for some reason.
Can u take a coffee break tomorrow at about 10? Meet me at Yellow Fin’s?
After Hours Page 9
