Chapter 8 #3
“Don’t you mean pain in the dick?” I flash him the biggest smile I can. “Try not to think of me in the shower later.”
He scowls at me, then throws the truck into drive and starts heading back toward civilization. His hands clench the steering wheel tight, his knuckles white from the effort, but he says nothing.
When we finally reach the paved road again, I risk a quick glance in his direction. Frustration is rolling off him in waves, and it gives me a sick sense of satisfaction that he’s so wound up about this.
But that satisfaction is short-lived, because if I’m honest with myself, I was just as turned on by him as he apparently was by me. And the two of us going head to head can only lead to one place: ruin.
Thud, thud, thud.
Someone bangs on my apartment door, and I get up from my nest on the couch to see who could possibly be bothering me at nine p.m.
After our adventure earlier today, Blake dropped me off at my car without so much as a glance.
Which was fine. I wasn’t exactly in a friendly mood either, part embarrassed about how turned on I was by him, part mortified that I let him see how turned on I was, and part upset about how the day played out. Not to mention my poor shoes.
This wasn’t what I expected when he agreed to train me. Granted, it’s been one day, but I didn’t think that day would end up with a trip in the woods, ruined shoes, and almost making out with him.
But hey, tomorrow can’t be nearly as bad, right? Only way to go from here is up. Maybe he’ll actually teach me something useful tomorrow.
The knocks persist on my front door, and I undo the deadbolt and pull it open to find a delivery man standing there with a big, shiny black box.
“Miss Smith?” he asks.
“The one and only.” I wink at him.
He clears his throat, awkwardly shuffling on his feet. “Ugh, this is for you.” He shoves the box into my hands, then walks away.
“Hey!” I yell after him. “Who’s it from?”
He turns around long enough to say, “Don’t know, ma’am. I just deliver them. Have a good evening.”
I glance down at the box in my hands. It has a bit of weight to it, but there’s nothing on the box to indicate what it might be.
Giving it a little shake, I hear something slide back and forth, and like a kid on Christmas morning, I formulate my guesses as to what it could be as I head back into my apartment.
Maybe it’s from my parents for passing my real estate exam.
I’ve been telling my mom about this pretty crystal wine glass set I’ve been eyeing.
Or maybe it’s from Riley. She was the first person I called after I got my test results.
Actually, I hope it’s not from her. Poor thing is living out of a tent right now, literally, until she can save up for an apartment out there.
Okay, it has to be from my parents then.
Setting the box on my kitchen counter, I pull open the lid to find black tissue paper obscuring the contents. I don’t see a card or note anywhere, or any other clues as to who it could be from.
I guess the only thing left is to open it.
As carefully as I can, I undo the little sticker holding the tissue paper in place and pull it back to display the mystery gift. My heart does a weird little pitter patter when I see what it is.
Two pairs of Louboutin heels are inside—one red and one black—along with some kind of white fabric.
The heels are gorgeous, the red ones an exact replacement of the ones that got ruined earlier today, and the black ones sleek and elegant.
Both in my size. I carefully take them out of the box and set them on the counter, then grab the white fabric and unfold it.
It’s a jumpsuit, similar to the one I wore today, except instead of being strapless, this one has thin rhinestone straps. The fabric feels amazing as I run my fingers over it—way more expensive than the one I lost to the mud earlier.
Setting it aside next to my heels, I pull all the tissue paper out of the box, looking for a note. There’s nothing. Not even a gift receipt.
But there’s only one person this could be from.
My stomach twists at the kindness of the gesture. After the way things ended today, I could have sworn Blake and I were back to butting heads. In fact, I was pretty convinced it was his life’s mission to torment me until I quit. To get me out of his hair sooner rather than later. But now…
What does this mean? I almost feel guilty about how much money he spent to replace my things.
Not to mention the extra set of heels. Why would he even give me this to begin with?
He was under no obligation to replace my stuff.
As he correctly pointed out earlier, I was the one who decided to get into the mud.
I could have ignored his taunting, but I let my stubbornness win out and it was only my fault for the way things went after that.
My fingers come to my lips as a smile spreads across my face. Maybe he really does feel bad about taunting me to my muddy demise.
Grabbing the shoes and jumpsuit, a little squeal leaves my mouth as I run to my bedroom to try on my new things.
Tomorrow will definitely be a better day.