Chapter Four Sage
Chapter Four
Sage
I stare at one of the pictures of Travis I have pulled up on my computer. He is so handsome in a suit. Everything about him is so neat and perfect. Especially his face, which I would like to sit on one day.
Since my fortunate encounter with the man of my dreams two days ago, I have been obsessed with researching him online .
. . and maybe a little in real life. Okay, I went back to his house to check it out.
And maybe to be close or possibly run into him.
I don’t even know if he was home or not.
I couldn’t see through the windows, and there was nothing useful in his trash either.
Yes, I went through his trash. Bite me. It was mostly just protein-bar wrappers and dental floss.
Disappointing. Like, not even a mysterious vial?
I’m so consumed with Travis that I haven’t thought much about last night.
The picture falling in the hallway was odd, but after I found the window open in the second bedroom, I figured it was just the wind blowing it from the nail.
Plus, if there was really someone in the house, why would they just leave without taking anything?
Shaking the thought away, I go back through the last article on my screen.
Travis Blacksburg, 23-year-old tech genius, sells his startup for $750 million.
That article was posted five years ago, which means Travis should be twenty-eight now. Just two years older than me. We are basically made for each other.
I click back to a new article with an up-to-date picture. In this one, he is dressed in a tux, looking like a fine hunk of meat.
CEO comes to Blacksburg Tech’s yearly fundraiser without a date, reads the caption of the image. Don’t worry, you’ll have a date for the next one.
I ogle Travis on the screen for a few more minutes when the peeping from the oven reminds me to take out the cookies I’m baking.
After closing my laptop, I rush toward the kitchen. I grab the mittens before opening the oven. A wave of hot air hits my face, the smell of sugary goodness invading my senses.
Grabbing the pan with the mittens, I pull the cookies out of the oven and set them on the counter to cool off. While I wait, I take a few cute selfies showing off my baking skills in the background and post them on my social media with the caption Baking for someone special!
Just like always, a bunch of my regulars comment right away. I reply to and like a few before putting my phone to the side and getting back to the cookies. I find a plastic container with a lid and carefully stack the still-warm sweets into it.
Excitement fills my veins when I think about bringing these to him. I catch myself smiling simply because I’m so eager to see him again.
I slip into my sneakers and put my hair in a high ponytail before grabbing the cookies under my arm. On my way out, I snatch my purse from the hook and sling it over my shoulder.
The walk goes by fast, and before I know it, Travis’s lavish cabin comes into view. My heartbeat quickens with every step toward his house. By the time I walk up to his door, my heart threatens to beat out of my chest.
I raise my hand to ring his doorbell, and butterflies take flight in my gut.
I’m not a patient person, so when he doesn’t appear right away, I ring the bell one more time.
A few more moments pass, and I grow increasingly anxious.
The thought of him not being here enters my mind and sours my mood immediately.
I’m about to turn away when the door is suddenly ripped open. My eyes go wide, and I suck in a quick breath before holding it in. My mouth goes dry, and my tongue feels heavy as I look Travis up and down.
He is wearing a thin white T-shirt, a pair of black workout shorts, and sneakers. But his outfit is not what has my ovaries throbbing. It’s the fact that he is sweaty, and his clothes are clinging to his muscular body so deliciously I want to lick his abs like a lollipop.
“What are you doing here? You are interrupting my scheduled workout time,” he informs me in a stern voice.
I tear my eyes away from his intoxicating physique so I can take in his handsome face.
His forehead is currently set in an angry frown, his lips are in a thin line, and his eyes are squinting against the sun, shining directly at him.
Then I notice a weird-looking rash on the side of his face. I wonder how he got that.
He clears his throat, dragging me from my thoughts.
Plastering a megawatt smile on my face, I make my desert mouth work and say, “I came to apologize for barging in the other day, and I baked you some cookies to show you how much I mean it.” I hold out the container of chocolate chip cookies and wait for him to grab it.
He stares at it for a moment before shaking his head at me.
“So you are interrupting me to apologize for interrupting me?” he asks, his frown deepening.
A giggle bursts from me, and I slap my hand over my lips to hide it.
I cover up my laugh with a cough, but I don’t think Travis is fooled much.
He crosses his arms over his broad chest and scowls at me, making him look sexy as hell.
Like a disapproving professor who is about to put me over his knee.
Okay, get your mind out of the gutter.
I shake my indecent thought of Travis spanking me away and concentrate on him standing in front of me now. “I’m sorry I’m interrupting you again. Maybe I can join your workout?” I wiggle my eyebrows suggestively.
“You are not wearing workout clothes,” he points out flatly, totally ignoring my advances. He is playing hard to get, and I like the challenge.
“I could go naked.” I wink and shrug my shoulders.
“That would not be very functional,” he replies, making me laugh again.
He is so funny.
“I guess it wouldn’t be, but I would still enjoy it.”
“I doubt that,” he quips before finally snatching the box from my hand. “Thank you for these. You can go now.”
He takes a step back, ready to close the door in my face. I take a step toward him in return, ready to dash past him and into the house.
“I guess you would be eager to get back to your workout. I read about your disciplined nature in a newspaper article,” I admit unashamedly.
His eyebrow arches. “You looked me up?”
“I did. I wanted to know who my new neighbor is,” I explain without missing a beat.
“Well, you are right. I’m very disciplined, especially when it comes to my schedule, and answering the door isn’t on it. So why don’t you go back to your cabin now so I can continue my workout?”
“Is that poison ivy on your face?” I ask, desperately trying to change the subject.
“You know, I fell into poison ivy once while trying to go pee. I squatted right into it without realizing what it was. Had a rash just like that, but on my butt.” I giggle.
Now, thinking back on it, the story is kind of funny.
“Anyways . . . why don’t I help you with a cold compress? ”
Before he has a chance to answer, I swoop past him and dash into the house.
“Ugh, not again,” Travis murmurs under his breath as I make my way toward the kitchen triumphantly. He follows with a grunt.
“Have you tried an oatmeal paste for your rash?” I ask as I walk around his counters. “Do you have any oatmeal? I can make you some.” I open what I assume is the pantry door and have a peek inside.
“I don’t have any oatmeal,” Travis tells me, annoyance dripping from his voice. He places the box of cookies on the counter.
“Okay, I’ll just make you a cold compress,” I announce before grabbing a kitchen towel hanging over the oven handle.
“That’s not necessary,” Travis assures me, but I ignore him and step in front of the sink to run cold water over the towel. After it’s soaked, I wring it out and fold it into a thick square.
When I turn around, Travis is standing a few feet away from me, his arms folded in front of his chest again while his eyes stare daggers at me. I close the distance between us and bring the damp towel to his cheek. He pulls away at first, but once I press the compress against his skin, he stills.
His face relaxes, his frown evening out, and a hint of a smile plays on his lips . . . lips that I am very aware of, standing so close to him. God, I want to kiss those lips so badly. I wonder how they would feel pressed to mine. What would he taste like?
“This actually feels nice. It helps with the itching,” Travis admits, his voice even and smooth.
I smile at him, enjoying the moment. We just stand there, looking at each other for a few seconds. I could stay like this forever, gazing into his dark-brown eyes while my hand is pressed against his cheek, his body heat seeping through the towel.
“How long are you staying in the area?” he suddenly asks.
“Longer than I had planned,” I answer vaguely, on purpose. “I might stay indefinitely if someone plays their cards right.” I drop my voice an octave to sound seductive.
His gaze intensifies, like he is trying to figure out what I’m saying. So I’m making it very clear to him. Raising my free arm, I gently place my hand on his biceps. Travis’s posture goes rigid, as if he is surprised by me touching him like this.
I let my palm rest against his warm skin, feeling an electric current running between us. His eyes lower to where I am touching him, and he looks as if he is trying to figure out if he likes this or not.
Another moment passes before his gaze snaps back up to mine. “You should go now. I’m very busy, and I need to get back on schedule.”
Disappointment and rejection hit me all at once. I pull my hand from his arm, immediately missing the connection.
I pull the towel away from his face, too, inspecting the rash again. “It didn’t get you too bad, but it still sucks. I hope the itching isn’t too terrible. You can put this in the freezer, too, get it super cold,” I suggest, holding out the towel to him.
He uncrosses his arms and takes the towel from my hand. “That’s some good advice. You should share it with your twenty-eight thousand followers,” he suggests.
His comment makes me perk up in a jiffy. Because the only reason he would know my follower count is that he also looked me up. Oh my god, he researched me! Hope blooms in my chest, washing away all my earlier self-doubt.
“You know what? You’re right. I will share this on my page,” I say cheerfully. “I better head out and let you get back to your schedule.” I grin.
“That would be greatly appreciated.” Travis nods.
“I hope you like the cookies,” I say as I turn away from him to walk out of the kitchen. Part of me wishes he would stop me. He follows me through the foyer and toward the front door, where my eyes are drawn to three large bottles of bleach. Wow, that’s a lot of bleach.
“Doing some spring-cleaning?” I point toward the bottles.
“Something like that,” he answers just as we get to the door.
I reach for the knob and twist, pulling the door open. I don’t really want to leave, but I step outside anyway.
“See you around, neighbor,” I chirp over my shoulder as I walk down the front steps.
“We’ll see,” he challenges, making me giggle.
I hear the door closing behind me as I make my way down his driveway with a smile on my face. He doesn’t know it yet, but we will see each other again soon . . . very soon.