Chapter Twenty-Nine
Ailee
“Ow.” I groan against the pillow in the cool darkness, then shift to get comfortable as something hard jabs into my ribs. The movement sets off a bunch of toddlers banging on drums inside my head. Or at least that’s how it feels.
So unfair. I didn’t even drink that much. The bottles were tiny, and the plum wine was too smooth and sweet to have much alcohol. I open my eyes gingerly, willing the drum beaters to settle down. On the nightstand are a bottle of water and a selection of aspirin, Tylenol and Advil.
Must have been Josh. This act alone makes him God’s gift to humanity.
Practically groaning with appreciation, I down four aspirins and then take stock.
I’m still in my dress from yesterday, and the bra’s digging into my chest—so annoying.
And the fabric’s totally wrinkled, but maybe it’ll smooth itself out after a wash.
I massage my throbbing temples and try to recall what happened after Josh and I left the family dinner. We got into his car, and then…
Oh shit. My face grows hot with embarrassment. The singing. Josh joined in, but… Ugh. I don’t have the best voice, but when I’m happy and drunk, sometimes I let go.
Note to self: Don’t get drunk in front of Josh again. Ever.
And… Oh my God. Did I make him carry me? And then I told him about the missing underwear, and he offered to replace it. I press my fingers to my face, wishing it hadn’t happened. But nope. I even told him that I’ve never had a really good orgasm.
Ack!
I swallow a scream and flop back onto the pillows. I got so carried away after hearing Akiko say that if I wanted something, I should ask. It felt so liberating, full of potential. I felt like a lonely child given permission and encouragement to go out and play with the other kids.
But I shouldn’t have been so bold with Josh. What’s he going to think of me? How am I going to face him?
Ask me when you’re sober, and I’ll make it so good you won’t be able to go a day without tearing my clothes off. I roll over—slowly—and bury my face in the pillows. Holy shit.
If he hadn’t said that he wouldn’t touch me until I was sober, I might’ve done something I shouldn’t have.
Like grabbing him and kissing him, with my tongue in his mouth.
I want to see if the hot, shivery experience from our earlier kiss was real or a fluke, because that much chemistry has never happened for me.
Okay. What happened when you’re drunk stays unremembered, I tell myself. That’s the only way you can act unaffected.
Still, my mind is going wild with things he could make me feel. If he could make me wet and wanton with just a kiss, imagine the things he could do with the rest of his body. He might prove that romance novel sex scenes aren’t all fake. Just thinking about it makes me fan myself.
I’m not sure what’s wrong with me, but something about him makes me want to let loose.
He provides a sense of security I’ve never felt with another man.
His words from last night actually seemed genuine.
If I fall, he’ll catch me. If I make a mistake, he’ll make everything all right again.
And throughout it all, he won’t judge me.
My heart beats so hard, I have to press a hand over my chest.
My phone rattles on the table. Maybe it’s Josh. I take a deep, steadying breath and peek at the screen.
–Max: I thought I’d be in L.A. by now, but noooo! The fucker is taking me to Tokyo to make me work on some BS project. Can you be my alibi? I’m only going to murder him. Just a little.
–Me: LOL What’s “just a little?” You gonna just mur him? Besides, didn’t you say you wanted to go to Tokyo? Make it a semi-vacation.
–Max: He’ll work me like a dog to “get his money’s worth.”
–Me: Stay strong. You can do eeeet!!!!
–Max: Thanks, girl. You too. Do everything I’d do.
Like riding that hot-as-hell lawyer of yours who charged in like a knight in shining armor.
And for our next apartment, I want to consult a feng shui book before we decorate it, in case bad furniture placement gave me this hellhound with rabies for a boss.
I laugh softly. I’ve already done some dirty things with Josh in my head a few times, but that’s about it.
I don’t have the courage to actually go for it for real, especially if I’m sober.
Even though he said to try it when I’m not drunk, I’m terrified I might not measure up somehow to his gorgeous exes, and he’ll end up disappointed.
Sort of like how my parents felt as I grew older and they realized I’m nothing like Katt.
Still, the impulse to give in to the urge to kiss him is becoming increasingly difficult to resist, especially since he insisted that I call him Josh. How can the way I address him decimate our professional distance so easily?
Sighing, I get up—slowly—and shower. I probably smell like lingering alcohol if nothing else.
Afterward I brush my teeth, then gargle twice, just to be sure.
The mirrors reflect a chalky complexion.
I seriously need to tan or something. If I had a little more pigment, I wouldn’t look this awful after an evening of mild drinking.
The walk-in closet is now fully stocked with everything I need.
I throw on a comfy white T-shirt and teal knee-length skirt, then pad barefoot downstairs to make coffee.
The rhythmic sound of a knife hitting a cutting board comes from the kitchen.
Josh must be up and making something. Interesting.
I thought he didn’t cook. As I get closer to the first floor, the smell of coffee drifts up. Oh my God. Josh is the man.
I freeze on the bottom step because Josh is—topless. I blink a few times just in case I’m still dreaming or seeing things, but he’s real.
My hangover instantly vanishes.
Not only is he topless, but a baseball cap is placed backward on his head, giving him a casual, bad-boy charm. He looks younger than his thirty years. And eminently more approachable, without the usual razor-sharp lawyerly aura.
The morning light pouring in through windows show every contour of lean, strong muscle in his long arms and gorgeous chest. Veins stand out on his surprisingly thick forearms, which are covered with a light dusting of hair.
The muscles flex as he cuts some green stuff on the cutting board.
That’s literal forearm porn material right there.
And those abs! I’ve only seen abs like that on fitness magazine covers.
Every ridge is perfectly defined, not an ounce of fat anywhere.
He even has that V-line on his lower abs…
I lick my lips before I can stop myself. At least he hasn’t noticed me yet.
A pair of gray sweats hangs low on his narrow hips. He lifts his head. “Good morning,” he says cheerfully.
Don’t step away from the counter, don’t step away from the counter!
But of course he does, to toss whatever he’s been chopping into the pan on the stove.
Don’t look below the hips…!
Aaaaand my eyes immediately drop. I almost swallow my tongue at the impressive outline.
How would it fit?
Of course my mind immediately goes…there. I mentally smack myself, but my mind won’t get off the rated-R track it’s on.
Wait, wouldn’t it get bigger when he gets hard? So what’s the final girth and length?
He checks whatever’s frying in the pan, then smiles at me again. His eyes roam over me, and the weight of his gaze is almost physical. My cheeks warm. I resist the urge to squirm and merely smile, hoping it’s hiding the fact that I’ve been mentally measuring him.
“Feeling better?” he asks.
“Yeah. Thanks for the aspirins.” I clear my throat.
Now I wish I’d put on at least blush so I don’t look so pale compared to him.
I pour a coffee for me and stir in some sugar.
“Didn’t realize you like to be topless on weekends.
” I flush as soon as I blurt it out. That sounds a bit judgmental, which isn’t what I meant.
I take a very long sip of the coffee to hide my face.
He laughs. “Why? Like what you see?” He flexes his pecs—left, right, left, right.
I stare, absolutely mesmerized. “I thought that was a trick that people posted on social media using AI.”
He chuckles. “Just so you know, I go outside to check on the garden on weekends. And to get some sun on my skin. Otherwise I spend way too much time inside.” He cuts the gas to the stove.
“Hope you like eggs. They’re the only food I can make with confidence.
” He serves, creating generous mounds of fluffy scrambled eggs on a couple of plates.
“I like anything,” I say quickly. “I’m surprised you cook.”
“I do when I want to feed someone.” His eyes crinkle with a soft smile, which feels so intimate.
I pull my lips in and swallow as heat pulses through me.
He sprinkles chopped green bits on the eggs. “Chives from the garden.”
“You grow chives?”
“There’s an herb garden over there.” He tilts his chin toward a side door I didn’t notice before. “Picked out some seeds and planted them on a whim. Now they’re growing like weeds.”
I blink slowly. The image of him squatting down in the dirt and messing around with seeds and fertilizer and all the things that go with gardening is just…
It simply doesn’t fit his whole killer lawyer vibe.
I tried to start a small garden in a box on my balcony, thinking it’d be great to have fresh herbs and save a little money.
More than half the stuff I planted died, including the green onions that my nice Asian neighbor said would outlive me.
He puts the plates on the counter, then stretches his arms up for two long-stem glasses hanging upside down from a rack above his head.
His muscles stretch across his massive ribcage, the triceps and biceps flexing and sliding.
As the stems come free from the rack, he deftly turns them and cups the bowls in his large palms, holding them in front of him.
What would it be like if he held my breasts like that?
My nipples suddenly ache at the thought. I try to shake it off, but the tingling lingers. Thank God I put on a bra. No need to point my headlights at the man who’s just doing his…morning kindness of feeding me eggs.
“I made some agua fresca de maracuyá,” Josh says.
“Basically, a passion fruit drink. Used some ripe ones from the garden, and here are some more if you want to try the fruit itself.” He gestures at some half-cut deep purple fruit, then pours a pulpy, yellowish liquid into the stemware and extends a glass to me.
I stare at the drink, his beautiful hand and the bare arm stretched toward me. My gaze travels to his face, the stunning lines that blend to create an absolutely mesmerizing masculinity. His eyes are too warm, too captivating, as he studies me.
Suddenly, it doesn’t seem real. Things like this don’t happen to somebody like me. I thought this was like Cinderella’s ball before the stroke of midnight, but it’s still too good to be true.
“By the way, Klein?”
“Yes?” I say, unable to look away from him.
He lowers the glass to the counter and pushes it toward me. “Regardless of what you might’ve been told or think about yourself, you’re a beautiful person who deserves everything you desire.”