Lenore
I spend the whole weekend crawling out of my skin. Jittery as hell, with a knee constantly bouncing or my lip chewed between my teeth. I just—I can’t believe I did that. Can’t believe that was even me back there, stripping off in my Uncle Roderick’s office and touching myself for a builder to watch through the glass.
But not just any builder. Gabe.
The man who calls me beautiful. The man who makes my heart pinball around my chest with a single heated glance. The blue collar man of my dreams.
Still, it’s like nothing I’ve ever done before, and I’m still half-convinced it was all a fever dream: that I fell asleep slumped at my desk, drooling on the scratched wood, and cooked up that crazy interaction in the depths of my sleeping lizard brain.
There’s no other explanation. Right?
Except it happened. I know it did, because when I finally stumbled home to my studio apartment, my freaking dress was on backward, and there was a sticky glaze on my inner thighs.
So: I stripped for Gabe.
Touched myself. Teased us both.
Did he like it? He seemed to like it… before I ran out like a lunatic, anyway. He pounded on the glass for what felt like hours, knocking and calling my name, his faint voice taut with worry out there. So even if he liked the initial show, he’s surely gone off me after that meltdown.
Crap.
The whole weekend, I bargain with myself. Argue in my head. Tell myself things like: If he ignores you again, you can change your name and move to Mexico. But you need to see him at least once first. Suck it up.
But how can I ever go back there? How can I ever look Gabe in the eye again? Forget family punishments and timed served in the beige prison; if I see that man and he looks at me with pity, I’m going to howl like a banshee.
Back and forth it goes.
I can’t wait to see him again; I hope Monday never comes.
That was the hottest thing ever; I must have looked like such a fool.
He didn’t ask for my number, but he did pound on the glass and call for me until his voice went hoarse.
Hmm. It’s a dilemma, alright.
I scrub every inch of my apartment until it sparkles and then rearrange my closet, but nothing takes my mind off Gabe. Not even sewing late into the night on Sunday, trying desperately to catch up with my college workload, doing what I can with hand-stitching and my cheap portable sewing machine.
Teasing eyes drift through my brain. Somehow, the buttons I’m adding to this A-line skirt change to be emerald green, just like Gabe’s eyes. Even in my fashion designs, I’m not safe.
“Lord,” I say at last, squinting up at the ceiling around midnight, the pinstripe waistcoat I’m working on draped over my lap. The only light in my apartment comes from a desk lamp, arranged on the bookshelf behind me to shine over my shoulder. My place is so small, it still lights up most of the room. “Please let tomorrow not suck. I’m counting on ya, big guy.”
* * *
The building crew gets here an hour before the office workers, and instinct tells me Gabe is always the first. That’s why I’m here at the ass crack of dawn on Monday morning, clutching a thermos of blackberry tea and hovering by the stone steps that lead up to our building. Counting backward from one hundred under my breath and trying not to panic.
Scrubby lawn fills the gap between the building and the sidewalk, dotted with a few gnarled trees. Their branches are half-bare, the final red and gold leaves clinging on for dear life, fluttered by the wind.
Pigeons peck in the grass, feathers puffed up against the cold. I blow on my tea, stomach churning, but it’s too hot to sip. Too hot to do anything except grip my thermos like a lifeline.
Gabe is coming. He’ll be here any moment.
But what if he doesn’t come? What if he’s so horrified by what I did that he refuses to step foot on this site ever again? Gah!
I’m saved from spiraling even deeper by the sight of Gabe rounding the corner, scuffed work boots thudding against the sidewalk.
His strong shoulders are hunched against the cold, a thick padded jacket zipped up to his chin. When he sees me, his eyebrows bounce up his forehead, and Gabe straightens, yanking his hands out of his pockets.
His steps slow as he comes closer. I fidget inside my blue pea coat, so nervous I can’t speak.
Gabe looks tired. Dark shadows cling beneath his eyes, and his cheekbones are starker somehow than a few days ago. When he smiles at me, it’s cautious.
“Hey, beautiful.”
My breath leaves me in a whoosh. I give him a wobbly smile back. “Hey.”
Nailed it so far. Who knows? Maybe this won’t be the most awkward interaction of my whole life.
But Gabe comes to a stop in front of me, winces and says, “About Friday night…”
So that’s that. Kill me now. Bash my head in with a spade and bury me under that sycamore.
One look at my stricken expression and Gabe groans, digging the heel of one palm into his eye. He shakes his head, looking so miserable. “I shouldn’t have done it, baby. Shouldn’t have pressured you like that. You just looked so beautiful in there and it seemed like you were into it too, and… fuck, I’m sorry. I got carried away.”
He got carried away? Gabriel Dempsey got carried away?
I’m the one who sucked two fingers into her mouth then slid them inside her body, holding eye contact the whole time. I’m the one who came harder than a freight train.
My throat aches as I clear it. My tongue feels extra heavy as I force it to form words. “It’s not your fault. You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m the one who’s sorry, okay? I shouldn’t have done that, and I definitely shouldn’t have freaked out after.”
Gabe looks so miserable standing there, the wind tugging his dark blond hair. His mouth has turned down at the corners, and his eyes seem one thousand years old.
“I liked it,” I offer, in case he got the wrong idea about that. “I… I really liked it.” It was the single hottest moment of my life so far—not that there’s a ton of competition. “But then I remembered where I was, and that you weren’t all that sure about me anyway, and I freaked out.”
Ran away like my hair was on fire. Real classy.
“Not sure?” Gabe’s frowning now, like he’s pissed off—but not with me. With the world at large. “You think I’m not sure about you?”
Well. Yeah.
Fiddling with my coat sleeves, I squint over Gabe’s shoulder at the early morning commuters hurrying past on the sidewalk. There aren’t that many of them, and they’re too far away to hear us talking, but still…
Will I ever be alone with this man? Truly alone, and in the same room? Seems like an impossible dream.
“It’s not a criticism,” I say carefully, picking my words, because it’s totally fine that Gabe’s not head-over-heels yet like I am. He barely knows me. “I just mean that—”
“You’re wrong.” Gabe steps closer and takes both my wrists in his hands. He places them firmly on his chest, like he’s planting a tiny flag with my face on it. “I’m sure about you, . Dead sure.”
He is? “You are?”
“Yes. And seeing you tease me like that on Friday night was the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen. Don’t doubt that, baby. The only thing I didn’t like—the only thing—was seeing you run away from me afterward all upset.”
Is he real? I stare at this man, the early morning sunshine shining gold in his hair. As he speaks, his plush mouth draws my eye.
“Please don’t do that again, okay? Don’t run away from me, . I can’t bear it. Spent the whole weekend wanting to slam my head against a wall.”
My breathy laugh is snatched away by the wind. Gabe sags with relief, the gaunt look on his face fading away.
Already he looks healthier again. Happy and smiling; less tired. A broad-shouldered Adonis in worn jeans and tan boots, staring down at me like I’m the best thing he’s ever seen.
“So, will you give me your number?”
His question makes fireworks explode in my tummy. I nod and fumble Gabe’s phone when he passes it to me, already unlocked. It’s an older model, scratched and battered, and the thought flickers across my brain that no man my family picked out for me would ever have this phone. My Hattworth-approved suitors always have the latest iPhone, without a single scratch on it.
Just shows that the Hattworths don’t know shit. There are more important things in life than money and power—like the way Gabe grins at me when I send myself a text from his phone. It’s like the sun coming out six inches from my face. I’m warm down to my toes in their thick wool tights.
“Anyone here yet?” Gabe nods over my shoulder at the office building. I unlocked the front door, but that’s all. No one else home.
“Nope.”
“Good.” With a quick glance over his shoulder at the thin crowds on the sidewalk, Gabe turns back around and cups the sides of my neck.
His fingers are cold. Shivers race down my spine, but the shock of cold isn’t the only reason why. It’s the hungry look on his face, the possessive glint in his eye, and the desperate way he kisses me square on the mouth.
My head tips back, bowed by the force of his kiss, and heat sears through my veins. There’s a heavy throbbing low in my belly, and I grip his shirt and give as good as I get.
Lips. Teeth. Tongue.
Gabe holds nothing back. Not the pleased rumble in his chest when I kiss him back, nor the hard ridge pressing against my belly. He kisses me until my head spins, hot and hard and endless, and when we break apart panting, he grins.
I blink, unsteady on my feet.
The whole world looks brand new. The sun is brighter; the sky pinker than before. Even the frosty wind smells clean and fresh, like peppermint.
“Think about that kiss next time you doubt me, .” Gabe presses the pad of his thumb against my bottom lip, sliding it gently inside my mouth. He grunts when I suck, tongue swirling around his thick knuckle, and when he draws it back out, he swipes wetness over both my lips. “Think how goddamn starving I am for you. How I’d do anything to get my hands on you again.”
Hands. Mouth. I want all of him, and I want more than stolen moments next time.
“Text me,” I say. “Prove it.”
Gabe’s smile is full apex predator. “I will. Keep your phone close, baby.”