Chapter 27
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
maya
I’m used to the noises in my apartment. Even the constant buzz of my fridge is part of the charm.
I like to think of it as white noise as I lose myself in a new book.
But the scratching on my door? That’s a new one.
One that makes my heart race as I set down the psychological thriller I’ve been lost in.
As I scan my apartment, my attention snags on the full moon outside the window, and panic surges through me.
Holy shit. Did the guy in 4D have a successful Ouija board night?
Has the spirit he conjured come to get me?
Or maybe a creepy girl with her head turned at an impossible angle?
It goes silent, but only for a moment, and when the sound returns, it’s with a vengeance.
My fight-or-flight instincts kick in, and, to my absolute shock—because for twenty-eight years, I’ve strongly believed I’m a flight kind of girl—I pick up a kitchen knife without hesitation, head to my door, and swing it open.
Oh. At the sight in front of me, I deflate. Well, now I feel silly.
I hold the knife at my side—there’s no need to point it at an innocent dog—and let out a relieved laugh. “You’re not a creepy little girl, are you, Goosey Goose?”
Footsteps echo up the stairwell, and ten seconds later, an aggravated Cole appears on the landing. “Christ, Goose.”
I lean against the doorframe. “Nice to see you, too, babe. You guys race up the stairs?”
Cole gives Goose a look of undisguised scorn. “The second I stepped into the building, he fucking sprinted upstairs and his leash slipped out of my hand. I’ve never seen him move so fast.”
Beaming, I crouch and kiss the top of Goose’s head. “He was excited to see me.”
Cole’s schedule has been overwhelming for the past few weeks, meaning Goose and I haven’t had nearly enough quality time together.
Neither have Cole and I, but I keep comments about that to myself.
The last thing I want to do is cause him more stress.
He’s heading into playoff season soon, this time as a captain, and he’s been training more than usual.
Despite how tired he is, he still makes time for me, even if he falls asleep within an hour of showing up at my door.
“Sorry I’m so late. We sat on the runway for hours after landing, and then I was stuck in traffic because of a concert.” He strides toward me like a man on a mission. “I tried calling, but I’m assuming you were reading and didn’t—wait, is that a knife in your hand?”
I glance at the knife I use to cut apples. “Oh, um, yeah. I thought Goose was an intruder scratching at my door.”
“So you opened the door for said intruder?” he asks, his voice rising with concern. “Wearing a sexy little pajama set?”
I look down. Okay, yeah, not my most well-thought-out plan, but I’d hardly call the matching cotton pajama set covered in daisies sexy. To each their own, I suppose. “Would you rather stand out there being a judgy Judy or come in?”
He grumbles in response, though he hustles into my apartment with more speed than should be possible for a man as exhausted as he is. The instant the door is shut behind me, I find myself pressed up against it.
He drags the tip of his nose along the column of my throat, the heat of his body soaking into me. “Mmm, I missed you. Your smile. Your laugh. Your naked legs wrapped around me.”
A breath catches in my throat as he presses his broad chest against mine. His tongue traces my lower lip, the simple move causing the sensitive peaks of my nipples to harden.
“I’m going to take a shower,” he says in that deep, rumbling voice of his. “Then I’m going to strip that outfit off you and make you come until the only word you remember is my name.”
My knees wobble and my whole body heats. “Yes, please.”
No point in being coy about how badly I want him.
I clean my kitchen to kill time while Cole showers.
I’m unloading the dishwasher when the shower turns off, but once I’m finished, I practically skip to my bedroom.
Though as I step inside, expecting to find him ready for sex, I instead find him ready for sleep.
Scratch that. I find him already asleep, the overhead light still on and with one arm flung over his eyes, the other resting on his toned torso.
I could wake him up with a lovely little blowjob, but if the dark smudges under his eyes I noticed when he arrived are anything to go by, he needs the sleep.
Too wired from my potential run-in with a ghost, I snuggle up with Goose on the couch and read. Only when I can’t keep my eyes open any longer do I curl up next to Cole in bed and fall into a peaceful sleep.
I wake up what feels like minutes later to a furry face nudging mine. My room’s still bathed in darkness, but according to my phone, it’s six a.m. Way too early for me to even consider waking up. I pet Goose on the head and then roll over, hoping he forgets all about me.
No such luck.
He presses his snout into my back and makes little growly noises that would be cute if it wasn’t the literal ass crack of dawn.
Cole, who usually lets Goose out in the morning, is still dead to the world.
I consider waking him, but just the thought makes me feel guilty.
He’s been in hotel beds for the past week, and my exhaustion comes from staying up too late reading.
It’s self-inflicted, and now I’ll have to suffer the consequences.
With a deep sigh, I leave the cozy comfort of my bed. I find a pair of sweats and a long-sleeved shirt, then mutter obscenities the entire way down the stairs.
Outside, Goose doesn’t want to just pee.
No, no, no. He wants to explore. If I were Cole, I’d have the arm strength to pull the behemoth of a chocolate lab away from the trees lining my street, or the stray glove on the sidewalk, or the FedEx truck that drives by.
But I have the muscle mass of a goddamn spaghetti noodle, so Goose drags me around like we’ve got all the time in the world.
I can’t be mad at him about it, either. Not when he looks so happy with his tongue lolling out the side of his mouth.
Twenty minutes later, he finally decides he’s done with the freezing outdoors.
God bless. Even dressed in full winter gear, I’m racked with shivers as we enter my apartment.
Not wanting to wake Cole by rooting around in my closet for a sweatshirt, I look through the clothes in the dryer—the ones I’ve been avoiding folding the past two days.
I have to stick my entire top half into the drum to reach the sweatshirt stuck in the back—one of Cole’s that I’ve gained ownership of, of course.
Several socks and a few pairs of underwear tumble out as well, making me sincerely regret not dealing with this the other day.
Goose yaps eagerly as I pluck each item off the floor.
Chuckling at him, I shove the clothing back into the dryer.
It isn’t until I shut the door that I realize he wants to play.
With my thong. It’s on the floor, halfway between us, and Goose is ready to pounce, his body lowered to the ground, but his butt in the air, his tail wagging.
It’s like a Western standoff. We zero in on the stray strawberry-printed thong before sizing up one another. I lunge for it, but Goose is way quicker than me and snatches it up with ease.
“Drop it,” I demand, holding out my hand.
He wags his tail in response.
“Goose,” I warn, putting on my stern face. “Drop the thong.”
The speed of his tail wagging increases and he growls playfully.
“I’ll tell your dad you were being a bad boy if you don’t drop it.” I wiggle my fingers. “I’m serious. I’ll give you until the count of three. One… two…”
With another yip, he launches himself across my apartment like the Tasmanian Devil, sprinting laps around my kitchen table and couch, a wild gleam in his eyes. He changes directions a few times, miraculously managing not to break a kitchen chair or knock over a book pile when he spins around.
This goes on for a solid two minutes before he plops down at my feet, panting wildly, with the thong still in his mouth. Sighing, I head to the kitchen and turn on the Keurig. There’s no way I’ll get back to sleep after that sort of entertainment.
I’m adding milk to my freshly brewed coffee when Goose finally drops my underwear.
Turns out the only incentive he needed was my lack of interest. Go figure.
The thriller I was reading last night rests on my coffee table, the perfect way to spend an early morning.
Instead, though, I can’t help but peer over at my computer, sitting by its lonesome self on my tiny kitchen table that doubles as a desk.
Since Jaden suggested I expand my short story, I’ve spent more time than I’d like to admit spacing out at work, letting the strands of the story weave themselves into a more fully formed plot in my head.
But breathing life into that story? Giving the characters names and quirks and hobbies?
Motivations, fears, goals? The enormousness of the idea is almost enough to make me swap out my coffee for a glass of wine.
I snag my thong off the floor—thank you very much, Goose—and head for the couch. Halfway there, though, I pivot and march to the kitchen table. I’m already up, so I may as well grab the bull by the horns and write a few of those ideas down… right?
Right.
By the time Cole saunters into the room in boxer briefs that showcase his impressive form perfectly, I’ve got a bare-bones outline typed up. And I don’t hate it.
“Morning, sleepyhead,” I greet him.
“Morning, baby.” He yawns, stretching his arms above his head. “I’m surprised you were up before me.”
I nod at Goose, who’s curled up in a ball behind my sofa. “This dude woke me in the middle of the night to take him out.” I pick up my mug and take a small sip. “And by the middle of the night, I mean, like, six o’clock, but that’s very early for me.”