Chapter 16
DEXTER
The next morning, I wake up to the sound of my phone alarm going off. Before I can reach for it, a hand shoots out from a pile of pillows and nearly smacks me in the face.
“Turn it off,” Holly mumbles. “Please. Hurry… hurry.”
“Working on it,” I mutter, voice gravelly. “Calm your tits, sweetheart.”
Of course the damn thing is still in my jeans. I drag myself out of bed, find the right pocket, and finally shut it off. Yawning, I stretch my arms overhead. My back cracks. The springs in this thing feel like they gave up sometime a decade ago. It’d make anyone cranky.
“What’s a guy gotta do to get a cup of coffee around here?” I grumble.
“Go to the bakery,” comes Holly’s muffled voice from under the comforter. “Two creams, three sugars, and an everything bagel. Thanks.”
“Or you can put the pot on while I jump in the shower.”
Holly pokes her head out, hair a complete disaster (but somehow still cute as hell) and eyes half-glazed, barely awake. “Even if I knew how, there’s nothing to make. No coffee in this apartment.”
“No coffee?”
“Haven’t had a chance to get groceries.”
“You do know the year, right? There are apps for that now.”
“Why bother?” she asks, stretching like a cat. “The bakery’s across the street. No delivery fee. No dishes. No cooking.”
“You could learn to cook. It’d be healthier.”
“I’m stimulating the economy by buying takeout, thank you very much.”
Her eyes twinkle and she and throws a pillow at me.
I catch it and toss it back. “Right. Keeping New York afloat with overpriced bagels and greasy tacos.”
“You just love to piss me off first thing in the morning, don’t you?” she says, sinking under the covers again, curled on her side, hair spilling across the pillow. “And Rosalita’s is the perfect amount of greasy. Not that you’d know. You’ve never been, so end of discussion.”
I grab my clothes off the floor and start pulling on my jeans. “All right, doll face. Once these go on, I’m off duty.”
“Off duty?” She snorts, eyes back on me, watching me.
“Speak up now or miss your second chance.”
“Wait…” She props her head in her hand, elbow buried in the pillow. “Didn’t you say you had a meeting today? I thought the Dexter train had left already. Don’t tell me this is you shooting your shot?”
“If I were aiming, babygirl… you’d already be on your back.”
She opens her mouth like she’s got a comeback… but nothing comes out.
I toss my shirt to the foot of the bed and crawl back up, bare chest and all. Holly watches every move. She shifts onto her back and sinks lower beneath me, eyes locked on mine, unblinking.
“You enjoyed yourself,” I growl, hovering over her. “Don’t lie.”
“Is… this,” she says, a touch breathless, “the moment I’m supposed to compliment your cock?
” Her mouth presses into a line the second the words leave her.
I see regret, followed by amusement. Her eyes are already smiling.
She definitely hadn’t planned to say it out loud.
But once it’s there, she doesn’t pull back.
I don’t answer her right away. I just watch her, take in the flush on her skin, the way her breath keeps slipping out of rhythm. “If you’re bringing up my cock,” I rumble, “I’ll take that as a yes.”
Her eyes flick to my lips and snap back up. “Yes. No. It was… fine,” she says, a little too quickly. Her throat moves when she swallows, and I can see the wheels turning. Ahh, there it is, a tiny grin she can’t quite hide. “Yep. Fine,” she repeats when I don’t bite.
I lean in. Close enough that the grin doesn’t survive.
“Sweetheart, if that was ‘fine,’” I let my voice drop, “then you’d better pray I don’t get tempted to prove a point.”
She lifts her chin like she’s going to kiss me.
I don’t close the gap, just wait.
Her lips come nearer, and nearer, until she slides past my mouth and leans into my ear. “I’m good, thanks.”
She shoves me off balance and slides out of bed, grabbing her robe.
“Cold,” I mutter.
“Realistic,” she shoots back, tying the belt.
I reach for my shirt and push to my feet. “Just a heads-up,” I say casually. “Later tonight, when you touch yourself to the memory, try to keep it quiet. These walls aren’t as thick as you think. Especially when someone keeps thinking about how ‘fine’ it was.”
She continues tying the belt. And re-tying it. “Don’t worry. I can handle myself.” She finally looks up. “Now, you shower first, I’ll go in after. And no, we’re not showering together.”
The shirt slides from my hand. All right. Shower at hers, no problem.
I walk into her bathroom and stare at the towel rack. Empty. Of course.
“You hiding the towels now?” I call.
“Pretty sure they’re in there somewhere,” she calls back, already halfway down the hall. “Try the cabinet.”
“Nope,” I say, kicking off my jeans and standing there bare-assed. “Cabinet’s empty.”
No response. When I glance back, she’s standing there in the doorway, trying hard not to stare. Her eyes dart away too fast.
“Towels are under the sink,” she says, voice tight, and storms off.
She can act cool all she wants. Make her little jokes. Pretend like this was just a transaction, a one-time deal. But I caught the look in her eyes last night… and again just now.
I know what that was. And she does too.