Scarlett smirks. “I think she just gave you a standing ovation.”
“She’s not the one I’m trying to impress.” I give Scarlett a pointed stare. “But perhaps we should go up to my room.”
No way can I fuck this beautiful woman properly with Oreo cheering me on from the sidelines.
Talk about a mood killer.
Scarlett nods and I take her hand, leading her upstairs. When we enter my room, she does a slow turn. I try to see the room through her eyes, as if viewing it for the first time. Like the rest of the condo, it’s finished in gray and white tones. There’s nothing special. Generic prints. Contemporary furniture. Total lack of personalization.
Beck was right. Hiring a designer was a mistake. This place isn’t me.
Not the real me, anyway. The one who likes Longhorn football, logic puzzles, and who’d much rather sleep under the quilt Mama Hart made for my fifteenth birthday than a designer duvet that looks like it should be in a magazine spread, not an actual home.
“So you want to impress me, hmm?” Scarlett sits on the edge of the bed and crosses her legs, skirt sliding up to reveal the top of her stockings. “I can’t promise a standing ovation, but you’re welcome to give it your best shot.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Scarlett
I lie wrapped in Nick’s embrace, the sheets tangled around our feet. I’m totally relaxed, boneless and unable to do anything but bask in the warm afterglow of not one but two toe-curling orgasms. Give the man a cookie, because that was hands down the best sex of my life.
I’d have happily given him a standing ovation—if only I could’ve managed it.
Even better? He’s a cuddler.
#winning.
His powerful arms hold me tight, my back flush with his chest, his breath warm against my cheek. We smell like sex and sweat. It’s a delicious, heady combination that has desire pooling low in my belly.
Along with a healthy dose of guilt.
How can I keep lying to Nick about the suggestion box, or my capstone project, for that matter?
Because regardless of what I’ve tried to tell myself, a lie of omission is still a lie.
He’s been so honest about his own past, revealing the ugliest parts, no matter the cost, while I’ve hidden behind excuses and deadlines, telling myself he wasn’t ready to hear what I had to say.
Because you’re a freaking liar.
No, I’m not. Not usually, anyway. And I’m hardly proud to make an exception in this case. Especially since I’m starting to think this thing between Nick and me might be more than just sex. The way he looks at me? The way he’s holding me even now? It can’t be just physical attraction.
Coworkers with benefits don’t snuggle.
At least, I’m pretty sure they don’t. I’ve never had a no-strings hookup, so I’m not what you’d call an expert on the subject.
Nick presses a gentle kiss to the side of my neck. “It’s getting late.”
His words land like an ice shower. I stiffen, mentally cursing myself for being so foolish. While I’m lying here imagining something more, he’s trying to figure out a way to kick me out politely.
Stupid, stupid, stupid. Hookups don’t linger, Scarlett.
“You can stay over.” He trails a finger seductively over the curve of my hip before hastily adding, “If you want.”
A giddy smile blooms on my face. He wants me to stay. To spend the night in his bed. In his arms. “I’d—”
I don’t get to finish because his phone rings, cutting me off.
Without a word, Nick rolls over and sits up. By the time I turn to face him, he’s digging through his pants pocket, searching for the source of the earsplitting ringtone. The bedroom is dark, but thanks to the light of a full moon and the floor-to-ceiling windows, I can see him clearly as he swipes accept and brings the phone to his ear.
