CHAPTER 24 BOWER
BOWER
“It’s important?” I say, pacing Adalade’s living room. “What does he mean by ‘important’?” I pause and turn to her, tears filling my eyes. “He told his sister. I know he did. And now he’s letting me down gently, telling me that she never wants to see me ever again.”
“Why is that where your first thought goes?” Adalade says as she folds one of the cashmere sweaters I found for her today.
“Because that would be the only important thing he could talk to me about. He said it was urgent, which means…oh God, she’s coming here to punch me in the face.”
“Dear God in heaven, girl.” Adalade practically snorts in exhaustion. “If you weren’t so damn good at your job, I’d have fired you over this nonsense. You’re a smart woman; start acting like one.”
“I am. That’s why I’ve thought this through. This is the only conclusion I could come up with.”
“Really? Out of all the things he has to talk to you about, maybe he enjoyed your special book reading time so much, and he wants another crack at it.”
Yeah, I told Adalade what happened, because she’s the only one I can talk to at this point and she’s invested.
It was awkward at first, but then she told me a story about how she used to dabble in a good diddle—her words—back in the day, and well, that made it awkward.
My story was nothing in comparison to hers.
“I don’t think he’d text about that. We barely spoke about the dry-humping. I doubt he’d talk about the…the…”
“The diddle.”
“Sure,” I capitulate. “The diddle. I mean, we haven’t talked about it since it happened…
or talked much at all, to be honest. Ugh, that’s a lie.
We chatted this morning, but it was just him.
Wait, that’s a lie too. I told him about the donut I ate, he got mad at me for not sharing, and then said I owe him one, and instead of giving him one like an adult, I left one at his doorstep, bolted, and texted him while I was on my way here. ”
Adalade picks up her iced tea. “You’re exhausting.”
“I know. I hate myself for it.” I take a seat on the couch with her and lean my head against the back.
“Why did I dry-hump him? None of this would have ever happened if I had just gotten off him the minute I had my cupcake, but noooooo, I had to let my horny flag fly and grind down on his penis like it was my own fuck pillow.”
“Just be happy it was his lap and not his face. I heard that’s a new trend—humping faces.”
“Where the hell did you hear that?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I think Mark was telling me about it, a whole sit-on-my-face moment.”
“Mark your driver?” I ask, horrified. “He should not be talking to you about that kind of stuff.”
“I’ll have you know, just like yourself, I’ve given Mark quite a bit of advice, which has scored him a girlfriend.
He actually tested the sit-on-my-face trend with her and it was well-received but quite a commitment, and since you’re not in the business of committing to a handsome professional baseball player with a knee-melting smile, it’s best it was his lap. ”
“I…I don’t even know what to do with that.”
“Well, then, if we’re done here, I think I’ll have some chicken salad for lunch and then you can be on your way.”
Sighing, I stand but then turn toward her. “What do you really think it was?”
“I don’t know, but given the upward trend of your interactions, I’d guess that he might want to ask you to sit on his face. I’d be open to it.”
“Adalade.” I let out a deep breath. “With all due respect, you have not been helpful.”
She chuckles and examines her nails. “Just wait. I bet I’m right.”
“There is no way you’re going to be right about that.”
I’ll be honest, the one thing I hate about his schedule is that he gets back home so late after his games.
There are times when he doesn’t, because thank God, we’re on the West Coast and games start earlier than, let’s say, the East Coast, but still, the process for him leaving the stadium after all is said and done could be shortened.
I glance at my clock again. My nerves are fried at this point because I’ve been through every scenario in my head and know for a fact what Adalade said is not true.
Which means one thing—this has to be about Gabby.
Knock. Knock.
Once again, I’m going to throw up.
Whatever you do, Bower, do not fall for any funny business. He’s your friend’s brother, he’s your friend’s brother, he’s your—
I open the door and…
Fuck, why is he so hot?
“Hey, you,” he says with a nod before stepping into my apartment.
He must have gone home and changed, because he’s in a pair of gray joggers, a black T-shirt, no hat, but his hair is still wet from his shower and twisted and styled every which way, while he smells like fresh soap, an intoxicating aroma that has my nipples pebbling to attention.
“Why does it look like you’ve seen a ghost?”
“What?” I ask. “Me?” I nervously laugh, as if I’m attempting to hide a murder and the murder weapon is in my pocket. “There’s, uh, there’s no ghost here.”
“Bower?”
“Huh?” I ask, attempting to smile.
“Why are you being weird?”
“Wow.” I cross my arms over my chest. “Care to tell me why you’ve decided to be so rude?”
“What?” His brow creases.
Yeah, what?
I wave my hand dismissively at him. “That’s neither here nor there. What’s important is that it doesn’t happen again.”
“What doesn’t happen again? Sorry, not following.”
“You know, the thing.”
“What thing?”
I circle my hand around, as if that’s giving him the answer. “The…thing.”
“Bower.” He cutely scratches the top of his head. “What are you referring to?”
He’s going to make me say it, isn’t he? Of course he is. He’s an immature little punk, that’s what he is.
“You know…the diddling.”
“The diddling?”
It takes him a moment, but then a wicked smile passes his lips.
“Beautiful, I wasn’t even talking about that. But if you want to, I’d be more than happy to oblige.”
“No, no.” I wave my hand through the air. “Not necessary to talk about it, honestly. I haven’t thought about it at all.”
“Yeah, I can tell.” His smile grows wider.
“It really is just one of those things that happened, and then poof, oops, out of the memory, not logged away or anything. Just poof and it’s gone.”
“Because of how bad it was or how insignificant it was to you?”
“What? No, that was phenomen-uh, wait, umm…yeahhh,” I drag out. “Actually, it was pretty insignificant, so if you could not tell your sister, that would be great.”
He purses his lips for a second before he closes the distance between us, pinning me against the wall.
And the devil be damned, my body heats up within seconds.
Freaking seconds.
My hands turn clammy.
The back of my neck warms.
My mouth goes dry.
And as he lowers his head, closer and closer, my entire insides start to thrum with want.
With need.
With so much yearning that I should not take from this man, but so much that I want to.
“Insignificant,” he whispers as his lips caress my ear. “My fingers were fucking drenched, Bower. That doesn’t seem insignificant to me.”
I can feel my stomach quiver, the spot between my legs throb, my skin prickle.
“Um, yeah…I don’t know what to say to that.”
And I don’t, because his proximity is frying my brain.
All rational thoughts have completely gone out the window as I attempt not to throw myself at him.
“Tell me you were lying. That it was significant.”
“No,” I say as his hand finds my hip, and my body begs for his hand to slip down my pants again.
“Why not?” His lips caress my ear, sending body chills down my arms and legs.
“Because if I do”—I take a deep breath—“I fear it will happen again, and it can’t happen again.”
“Mm,” he rumbles in my ear. “And why is that again?”
“You know why,” I say as my hand presses against his chest, attempting to push him away. Instead, my fingers glide over his muscular chest.
“Can’t recall, actually,” he says.
“Bennett?” My palm glides over his pec.
“Yeah, beautiful?” he says, the nickname he’s used four times now, filtering right past the cobwebs and dreariness of my sex life and straight to my freaking soul.
“We shouldn’t—” His lips barely pass over my cheek, not kissing, just a whisper of their presence. “Fuck, we…can’t…”
I’m throbbing.
So fucking bad.
My legs want to spread, my heart is nearly beating out of my chest, and I’m buzzing to strip down to nothing and just rub my body all over him.
Every last inch.
“But you want to?”
“Doesn’t matter what I want.”
“Sure as fuck does to me,” he whispers, his lips pressing against my lobe before he pulls away so I’m forced to look him in his beautiful blue eyes. His hand lifts and he pinches my chin with his forefinger and thumb. “But that’s not why I came here.”
My breath feels short, but the brief distance allows my brain to function again. “Oh, not to, uh, not to chat about that? Because your text made it seem like that’s what you wanted to chat about, like you told your sister or—”
“Let’s get one thing fucking straight.” His anger rolls in, surprising me.
“Whatever the hell goes on between you and me doesn’t apply to my sister.
She’s not a part of this. She doesn’t make decisions for either of us.
And if I want to read a book and then fuck you with my fingers, then that’s what I’m going to fucking do, and she’s not going to hear a word about it. Understood?”
Oh my God, I think I might have just orgasmed.
The power.
The strength in his words.
The conviction.
The protection.
God, why does he have to be so hot, so attractive, so everything I think my body and my mind want? And why is he off-limits? Although, is he really? I haven’t told him to stop. I haven’t truly ended anything that he’s started, but rather, I’ve indulged.
“I said, understood?” he repeats, pulling my attention back to the present.
“Umm, ye-yes,” I stutter.
“Good.” He then puts a few inches between us and takes my hand in his, the anger vanishing as he says, “I spoke with Gretchen.”
Clearing my throat, I nod, feeling fuzzy and like I just had whiplash. “Okay.”