CHAPTER 17 #2
Hold on a fucking second.
This dude just happens to run into us at a zoo fundraiser, acts surprised to see Maple, pretends like I don’t fucking exist for at least a minute, and then just drops the bomb that he’s going to possibly work with Maple?
What kind of con artist is this guy?
“Ahhh!” Maple squeals before pulling him into another hug. “Oh my God! I’m so excited.”
Christ.
A con artist that Maple seems to believe.
And she didn’t even introduce me to the dweeb. What’s with that?
I hate tonight.
I hate everything about it.
I hate that I had to dress up. I hate that I had to mingle with a bunch of people I don’t care about.
I hate that Maple looks so damn good that for seventy percent of the evening, I thought about ways to slip her dress off her.
And mostly, I hate the way I’m feeling right now…
like someone lit some sort of jealous bomb in my chest and walked away, leaving me to deal with this unsettling and foreign feeling.
And you know what? I’m not going to admit that it bothers me that another man, who has more in common with Maple, talked to her the entire night as if I didn’t exist.
I’m not going to admit that when he was sucking an olive from his martini, I wished he would choke on it.
And I’m not going to admit that when we parted ways, my fucking skin crawled as she touched him three more fucking times, ending the night with a quick kiss on the cheek.
Nope, it’s fine.
Everything’s fucking fine.
I’m not irritated, I’m not jealous…I’m not about to find out where Glasses lives and threaten his life if he ever goes near Maple again.
Nope, I’m good.
I pull up in front of her apartment and put the car in park. I’m about to open my door to walk her up to her place when she stops me. “Don’t bother,” she says, opening her door herself.
Don’t bother?
Yeah, that’s not how this works.
I get out of my truck and follow her to the steps of her apartment, where she turns around, almost coming face-to-face with me as she stands on the first step.
“I said don’t bother.”
“And I chose not to listen to that,” I reply.
“Do you ever listen?”
“It’s rare.”
She huffs and then turns away from me and charges up her stairs.
I follow until she reaches her apartment.
She ignores my domineering presence, opens the door, and quickly slides in, trying to shut the door on me, but I slide my foot in the crack and prevent her from doing so.
She has nothing on my strength, so I slide the door open and let myself in before shutting it behind me.
“Graydon, I’m not in the mood to get into an argument with you right now.”
I lean against her door, watching as she nervously crosses her arms over her chest, attempting to look tough, but I see right through her.
I don’t want to get into an argument either.
Not because I don’t have things to say, because I do.
I have so much to say about that fucking prick who thought he could just show up and put himself between Maple and me as if he had the goddamn right.
I really don’t want to get into an argument because I don’t know what the hell I’m doing here in her apartment in the first place.
Any sane man would have just dropped her off and left, but I’m anything but sane right now.
I feel downright jealous.
Angry.
Betrayed, which is so fucking stupid, because what did she really do?
Nothing.
So why do I care about Flamingo Boy?
Why did I feel this insane, possessive pulse thrumming through me when he got near her?
Why did I desire to bring her back to her apartment to make sure she came back alone…with no one else?
All questions I’m not prepared to answer.
“I don’t want to argue either,” I say.
“Okay, so…why are you here?”
She wets her lips and my eyes track the movement, my stomach aching from the sight of her glistening red lipstick.
I don’t answer her, because I really don’t have an answer. I don’t know why I’m here other than I want to be. I want to make sure she’s here, alone. I want to make sure that no other fuck has the privilege of seeing her right before she gets ready for bed.
So I push off her door, close the space between us, and then gently place my hand on her waist before slowly turning her around, her back to my chest.
Surprised, she looks over her shoulder and shakily asks, “What are you doing?”
“Helping,” I say as I rest my hand on her hip and then take her zipper and slowly slide it down her back until it reaches the very top of her black lace underwear.
Jesus.
My mouth goes dry at the mere sight of the delicate fabric, at the way the gentle slope of her back leads to a pair of dimples right above her ass. Her round, pert ass.
“Oh,” she says breathlessly. “Um, thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” I say, not moving away, my hand still on her hip, her scent clouding my thoughts and judgment.
She slowly looks over her shoulder, and when our eyes meet, a beat of electricity pushes between us, a wave that almost tastes palpable, like something is brewing that I’m not ready to accept.
But something my body desperately wants.
I swallow the saliva building up in my mouth as she blinks up at me, her lashes framing the depths of blue in her eyes, her innocence reflecting like endless pools, inviting me in to corrupt the calm waters.
“Do you need help with anything else?” I ask, my thumb betraying me and skimming across her exposed lower back.
“I…I don’t think so.”
She doesn’t need anything else, so step away.
And yet, I don’t.
Glancing down at her back again, I feel this fiery desire to caress my finger over her spine, from the nape of her neck to the delicate slope of her…
Jesus Christ, what is happening to me?
Snap the fuck out of it.
But…I can’t.
My eyes travel back down to the clasp of her bra, my mind working on all the different ways that I could take it off. How I could push her up against the wall, right here, right now, and pull down the cups of her bra, exposing her.
I bring my fingers to the black lace bra, my mind racing, and quietly say, “I can take care of this for you.”
Her short intake of breath collides with my thoughts—my muddled, confused, fucking scary thoughts—and when her eyes meet mine again, I can see those thoughts mirrored in her pupils.
Muddled.
Confused.
Scared.
Because something is brewing.
Something different between the two of us.
Something that has my body buzzing with lust.
With need.
With so much pent-up energy that if I’m not fucking careful, I’ll do something really stupid, something I won’t be able to take back.
After a few short, agonizing seconds, she says, “Um, is it weird if you help?”
Maybe, but I want to.
I want to be the one removing her clothes, no one fucking else and especially not Glasses.
I shake my head. “No.”
“Then, um…sure. Thank you.”
She turns her back toward me, and it takes everything in me not to drag my fingers along her soft skin as I reach for the clasp.
Instead, I hold back my natural instincts, and slowly, one prong at a time, unhook her strapless bra until it falls loose.
Maple holds the front of her dress close to her chest so nothing falls, which is a reminder that if she were possibly feeling the same way as me in this moment, she would let her dress and bra fall to the ground.
But she doesn’t.
So I pull away to avoid the temptation standing in front of me.
I take a step back, putting just enough distance between us so I keep my hands off her, and as she turns toward me, her dress hangs loose, ready to fall at any second.
I raise my gaze to hers. All she would have to do is lift her arms and she’d be bare to me, and for some stupid reason, I find that really fucking appealing.
This is dangerous.
Very dangerous.
I need to fucking leave.
I tug on the back of my neck, taking another step back. “Anything else you, uh, you need?”
She shakes her head. “No, I think…I think I’m good.”
“Okay.” I glance at her one more time, those eyes huge as they stare up at me. Drop your arms, Maple. Let me see your fucking gorgeous body. Let me kiss your soft skin like we both want. Let me show you what a real man would do with you. Let me own you…like you’re owning me in this moment.
Just one taste…
But that one taste would ruin me. I know it would. And I can’t…I can’t risk being ruined, not right now, not by her.
“See you, uh, Monday,” I say.
“Right, first day of training camp.”
“Yup,” I say with a nod. “I’ll pick you up.”
A surprised look crosses her face as she says, “Oh, that’s not necessary.”
“Maple, I’m picking you up. Be ready by five thirty.” And then with that, I use every ounce of energy that’s not pumping straight to my dick and force myself out of her apartment, my chest heavy and my mind whirling.
What the actual fuck is happening?