Chapter 22
Putting that motherfucker out of my head isn’t easy. If it’s not one developer, it’s another. But that’s a fight for another day. I’m not going to let it ruin the night with Lexie. I’ve been looking forward to bringing her home.
The raised bungalow with its dormer windows and wrap-around veranda was remodeled years ago when I could finally afford it.
A fresh coat of paint, an updated kitchen, and new furniture—I didn’t want to erase my mom’s memory but to honor it.
I tried to make the house feel like a place she’d still be proud of while creating space for Sophia and me to grow.
“This is it,” I announce, holding the door open for her. “My humble abode.”
She steps in and smiles at me in that way that hits me in the gut every damn time. I haven’t brought a woman here in a long while, and never one who meant this much to me.
“It’s as homey as I expected,” she says, looking around.
“Thanks.” It’s modest, nothing like the mansion she probably grew up in, but I’m proud of it.
The plush sectional in the living room is perfect for lazy evenings, and the kitchen has clean white lines, lots of counter space, and stainless steel appliances.
Along with my studio, it’s my sanctuary. Cooking after a long day relaxes me.
Miss Bethany, who cleans every two weeks, keeps it livable for two busy people. But this morning, I’d scrubbed the tub and toilet myself. Dice swears that’s the ultimate measure of how much you’re digging a woman. That, as well as stocking pads and tampons under the sink. Check and check.
“Can I pour you some wine?” I ask.
“Sure. I can help with dinner.”
“I’m good. Just keep me company.”
“That’s an easy job.” She grins.
I roll up my sleeves at the sink, wash my hands, and pour us each a glass. “It’s red with a hint of sweetness. Thought you might like it.”
She walks over to me and takes the glass, leaning against the counter for a sip. I watch the way her lips close around the rim, the way her throat ripples as she swallows. I’ve never been this attuned to anyone before. Lexie engages every part of me—my mind, my heart, my body.
“How is it?” I ask, picking up my own glass.
“I don’t often enjoy red wine, but this is really good. Not too heavy.”
“It should pair well with burgers.”
“You’re making burgers?” Her eyes light up.
“Yep.” I grin, liking how much she shares my joy for food.
While I shape the ground steak into balls, stuffing them with jalapeno and cheddar, Lexie insists on making the salad.
I select an old-school R it’s about making her a part of my life.
Grabbing her bag, I lead the way to my room.
“So this is your space,” she says, taking in slate-blue walls that give the bedroom an intimate feel.
Dimmable overhead lighting casts a soft ivory glow over everything.
The built-in shelves hold vinyl records and display my most prized comic books.
Each cover is framed and arranged just so, respecting the artistry.
Lexie steps closer, her fingertips ghosting over the edges of a few frames.
Her smile lights up as she discovers another part of me.
The guitar in the corner catches her eye, its polished maple wood gleaming faintly in the low light. She gently strums the strings, the sound soft and resonating, before her gaze drifts to the bed.
The platform king dominates the room, its upholstered headboard matching the walls for a simple, monochrome look. The dark gray comforter is offset by sheets of pale sunshine. The rest of the furnishings are in brushed slate tones.
But it’s the artwork hanging above the bed that surprises her. It’s one of her photos I had enlarged and printed on canvas: A black-and-white shot of the harbor at night.
“I can’t believe you did this.”
“Why not? I’m your biggest fan.”
“True enough.” She smiles. “It looks good there. I’m a little impressed with myself,” she adds with a hint of pride. Maybe she’s finally starting to realize just how talented she is. “I love your room. It’s so you.”
“It feels good to have you in it,” I say, watching her fingers trail over the comforter.
“I’ll lay out a hoodie for you.”
“I brought one.”
“I want you wearing something of mine if that’s okay.”
“Very okay.”
“Oh, and I made space for you in the top drawer and in the closet. I don’t want you living out of a bag.”
“You didn’t have to do that, but thank you.”
“It was no problem. I want you to feel at home.”
Leaving her to it, I go shower in Sophia’s bathroom and change into navy sweats and a gray tank top. When I hear the water shut off in my room, I grab a small surprise from the fridge and scribble her a note. Then wait for her to join me in the living room.
Minutes later, she appears, bundled in my olive-green sweatshirt. It skims her mid-thigh, the hem swishing against her smooth skin. Her mile-long legs are bare except for fuzzy socks, slouching on her calves. Ponytail, glasses, and no makeup, just effortlessly sexy. My blood goes hot.
She settles beside me on the couch and spots the box. “What’s that?”
“Open it and see.”
Lexie lifts the lid. “You didn’t!” She glances up at me, her eyes wide with delight, a radiant smile on her face.
“I had the baker we use for our pastries make it special. Told her it needed to have the perfect ratio of chocolate to whipped cream. I hope she got it right.”
“Oh, I think so.” She carefully picks up the éclair and inspects it like it’s fine jewelry. “Gorgeous,” she murmurs.
“It’s just an éclair,” I say, amused.
“Just?” she scoffs, her eyebrow arching as she gives me a pointed look. “If this is just an éclair, then diamonds are just shiny rocks.”
“I’m not going to argue with a woman who knows her chocolate and probably diamonds too.”
“Smart man.” She grins. “But give me chocolate over diamonds any day.”
Her reaction, even in jest, reinforces what I already know. Despite her wealth, Lexie appreciates the small gestures and a down-to-earth lifestyle.
When she finally takes a bite, her eyes flutter closed on a moan, “Mmmmm.”
“Good?” I ask. The answer is obvious as her expression melts into orgasmic bliss. It’s the kind of look I’m desperate to put on her face in a whole other way.
“The best one I’ve ever had. Thank you, and please tell your baker I’m going to need a dozen of these.” She savors one more bite before she puts the rest aside and notices the napkin tucked beneath the box.
She picks it up and reads it out loud:
“I had to go with cannoli,” I explain, “because I couldn’t think up one for éclair.”
She laughs hard. “You’re seriously too much. How did I get this lucky?”
“Feeling’s mutual, Blue. I’m feeling pretty damn lucky myself.
” I reach out, twisting loose a strand of her hair around my finger.
I don’t know who leans in first, but the distance closes, and our lips meet.
Her chocolatey-flavored tongue sweeps into my mouth.
I pull her to me, one hand circling her waist, the other hand cradling the back of her head to angle her just right.
I want to sink all the way into her until there’s nothing between us.
“Chaz,” she moans as I kiss down her jaw to her neck, breathing her in. My cock swells, and she responds, her hands gripping my biceps, her body squirming against me, her breath quick and choppy.
“Where’s the line, Blue?” I ask, pulling back to search her face.
Her lips curve into a grin. “If we’re using your baseball analogy, how do you feel about third base?”
“Damn good!”
“Then let’s go to your room.”
Fuck. I’m so hard I might not be able to walk, but I’ll crawl if I have to.
Lexie in my bed is something I’ve been fantasizing about on the daily for weeks, and it’s finally going to happen.
I walk her backward, tugging her hair free of the band to run my hands through the strands.
Then I yank her sweatshirt up over the curve of her ass, finding cotton panties.
When we reach the room, she steps away to remove her glasses and pulls the top over her head. I dim the lights low enough for ambiance but bright enough to still see every delicious inch of her.
“Fuck,” I breathe out.
The shape of her full breasts is visible beneath her cotton bra, decorated with little pink bows that match her panties. She puts her hands on my chest, her teeth grazing my lower lip. I rub my palm over her belly and glance down at her nipples, straining the fabric.
“Take it off.” My voice is rough.
She reaches for the hem of my tank and slides it up.
“I meant your bra.”
“I know. But you first.” I help her get it off, her warm hands roving over my chest and down my stomach, going to the waistband of my sweatpants. She undoes the string, and lust tightens my spine.
“Lex,” I warn.