17. Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Seventeen
Alec
I should put a shirt on, but what fun would that be when those beautiful green eyes can’t seem to focus on anything else? I wonder if she noticed I caught her eye fucking me in the hallway.
It’s all too amusing and brings a desire out of me that I didn’t expect.
If I had known she was going to show up this evening, I would have, in fact, looked more decent, but the look on that pretty face of hers is much more intriguing, and for that, I’m thankful she never responded.
I’ll admit, the feelings I’m beginning to accept are a little overwhelming.
I study her as she hooks her thumbs through the loops on her shorts and rocks back and forth on her heels, unsure of what to say. She’s nervous, and it’s fucking adorable.
Her expression doesn’t falter as she continues to look around my apartment.
“It’s nice here,” she finally says. “Plain, but nice.”
With a smirk, I shrug. “I don’t really do much here.”
She makes the cutest sound, giggling. “I can see that.” One arm crosses over her stomach while the other hand reaches out, pointing toward the four walls that lock us in. “You could really use some art on these walls.”
She’s not wrong, but I never saw the point of hanging pointless objects onto the walls just for them to collect dust.
I take another good look around my apartment and shrug. “Looks fine to me.”
She nods, her eyes moving up to my collection of Jack Daniels that I keep on the top of my cabinets. Concern spreads across her face. Her lip worries between her teeth. “Do you collect alcohol, or should I be worried?”
I bite back the laughter that nearly falls from my lungs. “Maybe a little of both. Is that a problem?”
Her lip forms a thin line as she looks at me and then back at the bottles. I can tell her mind is wandering nervously. She’s creating different scenarios in her head.
“Honestly, I’m a Jack’s fan. Always have been. The bottles have a secret place in my heart. I don’t really drink much; as you can see, most of those bottles aren’t open,” I clarify to reassure her.
She gives me a soft smile, still uncertain. At least that’s what I thought until she asks, “Can I have some?”
“I’m sorry?”
She shrugs. “Was that a trick question?”
I suppose it’s not.
“I wasn’t expecting that from you because…”
“Why? Because of who my father is?” she cuts me off, laughing. “I’m tired of everyone thinking that just because my father is a police officer, I’m some goodie two shoes that doesn’t know how to have fun.”
I frown. I’m slightly taken aback. I know she just had her mother’s funeral, so I’m not sure about giving her whiskey. Mixing alcohol with sadness always ends badly.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
I run my fingers through my hair and grip the back of my neck. “I would have offered you some if…”
“If I didn’t basically call you an alcoholic? I’m sorry. I… I don’t know what’s come over me.” She looks down at the floor, twirling her fingers together.
I nod, moving toward the cabinets, and use my palms to pull my weight up so I’m standing on top of them. I grab the open bottle and hop off the counter like I’ve done a thousand times there.
I fill two glasses halfway and pass one to Summer. Her fingers brush against mine, sending a shock of warmth through my fingertips. I’d give anything to feel those soft, delicate hands run across my bare skin. I’m forced to shake my body slightly, making it look like a quick shiver from the cool air flowing through my apartment. Except, it was only to relax the pulse in my dick.
I take a sip of whiskey. The harsh taste stinging my tongue and burning my throat on the way down leaves me with satisfaction.
She does the same, except she scrunches her face as she swallows. “Sorry, I don’t usually drink this.”
I tilt my head. “You’ve got to stop apologizing to me, Sunshine.”
Her eyes met mine, and for a small second, I could have sworn my soul left my body. Her tongue darts out, running along her bottom lip. My eyes follow the movement, admiring the way she wets her mouth.
“Would you like a tour?” She nods, and I nudge my head for her to follow me into the living room. “There’s not much, but here we have another plain room with nothing but a television, speakers, and one of many guitars.”
She giggles, and my god, what I’d give to hear that sound over and over again. I think I might have a new favorite sound.
“Bathroom is there.” I point to the door on the right. “Make yourself at home.”
I step aside, allowing her to roam around so she feels more comfortable. She does, starting with the tan leather couch in the center of the room, running her fingers along one of the matching end tables. Then, toward the television. I can’t help but notice she keeps making short glances at my guitar that sits neatly on a small podium close to my bedroom door.
Placing my glass on the end table closest to me, I sit on the sofa and rest my elbows on my knees, admiring Summer as she walks up to my guitar. Her free hand reaches up, brushing her fingers gently over the strings. A low melody follows as her fingers sweep each string.
“That’s the guitar I used to sing Callie to sleep every night.” The very reason I don’t let that one leave the walls of this apartment.
Summer turns her head to me with a sad smile. Her dimples crease in the middle of her cheeks. “I think it’s beautiful that you put so much effort into making sure she was alright.”
With a smirk, I watch Summer turn her head back to the guitar, bringing her glass to her mouth. I watch the roll of her throat as she swallows the liquid. She makes the same scrunched face she did in the kitchen, and I smile.
“You know,” she walks toward me, “I’m getting you some art for these walls. They are too bare.” She points around the room.
I huff, grabbing my glass and swishing it around before bringing it back to my mouth. “Here’s the deal. You can fill my walls with whatever you please, but only if I can see your bra.” I’m playing with fire.
Her lips purse and she places her hand on her hip. I stare at her intently, waiting to see what fire she spits out. The best part is I’m not joking.
“That’s pretty bold of you, don’t you think?” She plops down beside me. “So, Alec Sokolov. Are you going to put a shirt on or teach me to pluck some strings shirtless?”
I think about that question for a second before shrugging. “I mean, you can take yours off, too. I don’t mind.”
She shifts on the couch, positioning her leg on the cushions. “You’re cute, but not that cute.” Her nose scrunches in a teasing gesture.
My lips curl downward in an upside-down smile. “Just for that, maybe I’ll take my pants off, too.”
Her mouth parts and her eyebrows shoot to her hairline. I smile, proud that I caught her off guard. Those flushed cheeks of hers don’t go unnoticed. I enjoy the color.
I roll my eyes and push myself off the couch, leaving my glass on the end table. “Come on.” I grab my guitar and take one step into my room before I notice she is still on the couch. Turning around, I look at her. “Are you coming or what?”
She brings her glass to her lips nervously, guzzling down the remainder of her whiskey before placing it on the opposite end table mine is on. Then she stands and follows me into the bedroom.
“You’re not getting in my pants if that’s what you’re planning.”
I chuckle, shaking my head. “That wasn’t my plan, but I’d be down if you are.” I give a slight wink, and she gasps, slapping my arm. “I prefer to play in here. Now, sit down.”
She scoffs, crouching down on the floor in front of my bed. “You’re bossy.”
I sit beside her, adjusting my guitar in my lap. “I’ll start slow. All you have to do is copy exactly what I do.”
“That’s easy for you to say.” Her long eyelashes flutter.
I play a couple of easy notes for her so she can get the hang of how to hold the guitar and feel comfortable. She watches carefully. When I pass my acoustic to her, her eyes widen.
“Come on. You wanted to learn, so take the guitar and do what I just did.”