Chapter 20 #2
“Her cat.” I shake my head. “Anyway. I cried for days, and when I told Lola the story, she wanted to make me feel better and got me those figurines in honor of George.” I point to a pair on the shelf.
“That was the name I gave him. From there, it became a bit of an inside joke between us. After a couple of years, it died down. And then Charlee happened.”
Charlee, who thought it was sooo funny and teased me about it for weeks.
“Looks more like a cock shrine than a collection at this point,” Zoey says as she surveys the second shelf of knickknacks, all “gifts” from Charlee.
“Cocklection,” I say flatly, and regret it instantly.
Zoey spins around, eyes wide. Her hand flies to her mouth, shoulders shaking like she’s about to explode. “ What ?”
I sigh, internally cursing myself. And Charlee.
“That’s what Charlee calls it. My cocklection. All her doing, by the way. She travels so much, and I swear, she finds rooster coasters, salt-and-pepper shakers, and little glass figurines everywhere she goes.”
This time, she can’t hold it in. Head thrown back, she laughs, loud and bright. The sound, the vision, is like a power surge for my own heart.
“Why don’t you… tell her …. to stop?” she asks between bouts of laughter.
“Because Daphne loves it.” I shrug. And I secretly do too. Minus the name she’s given it. Not that I’d ever admit it to Charlee. She’d never shut up about it. “It’s her favorite part of the house.”
“That’s adorable.” Zoey puts the candle down, a smile lingering on her lips, and continues to survey the shelves. “But they’re arranged all wrong.”
I take a step closer, assessing the setup. “What do you mean? There’s no true order. I put them where I have space.”
“I see that,” she says, her voice trailing. “You should order them by cockiness. Like this one, for example.” She picks up the biggest rooster trinket of them all. “This is definitely the cockiest cock. It should go at the top.” She moves it to the highest shelf.
“Are you sure that’s the one?” I ask, a smirk tugging at my lips when her cheeks catch fire.
“Matt,” Daphne calls from the top of the stairs. “Are we eating soon?”
“Once you’ve washed your face.”
She grunts, then shuts the bathroom door with a little too much force.
Zoey’s lips twitch. “Does she have a room here?”
I nod. “Upstairs. Next to mine.”
“It’s great that she has her own space.”
“She’s over here quite often. I think she prefers it.”
Her face softens, her eyes so tender it melts my heart a little further. “Not hard to see why. You’ve made it so safe for her.”
A lump forms in my throat. “I try. She needs it.”
Upstairs, the bathroom door creaks open, followed by Daphne’s quiet footsteps leading to her bedroom.
“Do you want to take a shower while I make dinner?” I force my voice to sound casual, though I’m not sure I’m pulling it off when the only thought of her naked in my house drives me out of my mind.
Her eyes widen. “You cook?”
“I suggest you get out of your dirty clothes, and that’s what you focus on?”
With a tsk, she shakes her head, her hair brushing her shoulders. “Wow, calm down, sir. I kiss you once, and you think it’s an open invitation?” She takes a step closer, laying her palm flat on my chest. “Where are your manners?”
I swallow hard. Fuck, I don’t know if it’s the “sir” or the way she’s scolding me so sweetly that turns me on more, but I’m like a dog in front of a treat. I want more. It takes everything in me to keep my cool; her proximity is fucking with my head.
“Just being a good host,” I say, voice low but miraculously steady.
Her touch on my chest doesn’t help the overwhelming need surging through my extremities and all the way down to my balls. Yeah, I’m royally fucked.
Zoey raises an eyebrow, her mouth quirking at one corner. “I’ll take you up on your offer if you don’t mind, while you whip us up something fancy.”
I blink. “Fancy, huh? And, uh, for educational purposes, what, uh… what do you consider ‘fancy’?”
Her hand falls, and she looks up at me, a glint of mischief in her gaze. “You know, five-star Michelin meals. What I eat every day, of course. You do have a waiter, right?”
I cough, trying to appear confident, but the reality is, my shirt is probably drenched again, this time from sweat. “Okay, I have to come clean.” I glance toward the kitchen. “I don’t exactly cook, per se.”
“I should have known you were hiding a red flag or two. Here I was thinking I’d finally found myself someone who could rescue me from my home delivery spiral.”
Her words have a searing effect on my heart. As if she’s marking me as hers in capital letters.
“In my defense, I can heat things up.”
That gets the cutest laugh out of her. The sound emboldens me. I need to hear it again.
“My buddy Oliver hooks me up with meals every week. The food at his restaurant is incredible.”
She crosses her arms, clearly holding back another laugh. “ Every week ? Okay, no. Second red flag.”
“Hey! I’m busy,” I say, my face burning. “Don’t knock it till you try it.” Recovering quickly, I spin and stride to the freezer. There, I pull out a bag and toss it onto the counter. “Dinner is served, milady.”
She stifles a giggle, and I mentally high-five. Another one . I won’t rest till I have them all.
“You’re something else, Matt Becker.” She walks to the counter. “So. What’s on the menu? Microwaved lasagna? You’re spoiling me.”
I laugh, probably too loud, but I can’t help it. That’s what she does to me. She puts a fucking smile on my face until my cheeks hurt. God, I don’t want it to end.
“Don’t worry. It’ll be fancy enough for ya.” I rip open the bag and dump its contents into a baking dish. “Oliver would kill me if I messed it up. It’s not that hard. All I have to do is add the ricotta at the end.”
Zoey peers over my shoulder, her breath hot on my neck. A moan escapes her mouth, and everything—and I mean everything —in me clenches.
“Not to be dramatic,” she says, her mouth so damn close to my ear, “but this is my favorite food in the whole universe. I’d die rather than live without it.”
I survey the frozen stuffed shells and marinara sauce. “I think the chef does the pesto himself.”
As she backs away, she mutters under her breath. The words are unintelligible, but I swear they sounded filthy.
“Let me jump in the shower quickly, then we can get started on those bad boys,” she says, already headed for the stairs. Halfway up, she freezes, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip. “Wait, I don’t have any spare clothes. Do you have something I can borrow?”
I blink, then internally curse myself for not thinking of that tiny but crucial detail.
Now that you offered her the opportunity to clean up, idiot, you can’t unoffer it.
As if it’s not hard enough keeping my mind from going places it shouldn’t when I think about her in the shower.
“I, uh, I have… Let me check.” I take the stairs two at a time, my blood running fast in my veins.
In my bedroom, I grab a clean towel, then find a worn T-shirt in the closet and a pair of sweatpants.
“Come here. I think we can work with this,” I call.
A moment later, her footsteps echo softly upstairs. “It’ll definitely be too big for you,” I say when she appears in the doorway, “but it’s all I have.” Hoarseness coats my words as I toss the clothes onto my bed.
Zoey walks over to the bed, surveying the shirt and sweatpants. “I’m sure I can make it look good.” She lifts the shirt to her chest, then turns to me, a teasing tilt of her head. “How do you think it’ll look? On me?”
I swallow. Hard.
The image of her in my sweatpants and shirt hits me hard, but honestly, my imagination already went off the rails ten minutes ago when she mentioned wearing something of mine.
“I think it’ll look… just right,” I manage, my voice tight.
Lie. Lie, lie, lie .
She’s gonna look fucking delectable. I’ll have to tug on the invisible leash clasped to my collar all night to avoid playing out the naughty thoughts swarming me.
“Just right, uh?” she says, her smirk morphing into a full-on smile.
I’m clearly not a good liar and I don’t care. Let her see how much I want her.
“I’ll be quick.” Winking, she turns and sashays into the bathroom.
I swear I’m about to combust from the sight of her swaying hips. I watch her walk away, and I just know she knows. She’s got me wrapped around her finger.
Once the bathroom door clicks shut behind her, I slump back on my bed and close my eyes, exhaling shakily.
Pull yourself together, asshole . Daphne is right next door. She needs me to be at my best all the time. I can’t let myself get swept away like that.
And yet I can’t wait for Zoey to come out of the bathroom. I can’t wait to see her with her hair wet from the shower. Can’t wait to find out how good she’ll look in my clothes.
I drag a hand down my face and rub at my clenched jaw. I’m so fucked.
Zoey wasn’t lying about stuffed shells being her favorite. Goddamn, did this woman eat tonight. Even Daph, who is a sucker for Oli’s food, has never cleaned her plate as well.
She also didn’t lie about making my clothes look sinfully good on her. When she came out of the bathroom, barefoot, with my sweatpants rolled at the waist and the ankles, my shirt damp from the tips of her hair, I could have fallen to my knees.
It hit me like a brick to the chest. You’d think it’d be impossible for her to look more beautiful than when she’s wearing her pantsuits and high heels, her makeup and hair done, ready to take on the world.
But no.
It’s the sight of her in those ridiculously large sweaters that drives me over the edge.
And her in my oversized shirt? I’m a goner.
I’m honestly surprised I haven’t burned holes in them with how often I’ve stared, secretly desperate to rip them off her body or slip my hands under the hem and roam her soft skin.