She’s literally vibrating because of me, and rotten bastard that I am, I’ve never felt better.
I study every visible inch of her. Face, neck, pussy, legs. Neither of us removed our shirts, leaving me with a drenchedbutton-down and her with a tank all stretched out and twisted around her stomach.
After shower number two with Maeve—I do not deserve this—we warm up some soup and dunk the sourdough.
I can’t stop my eyes from flicking around the room, just to double check that a certain tech monkey didn’t actually bug the place.
No matter what, he’ll notice my second overnight stay in her room.
Unless she boots me out.
Shit, I never even considered that possibility, and the tightness in my chest indicates I’m not a big fan. In the past, I was always the one to end the fun once we finished screwing. Sleepovers breed attachment, and I had no interest in that.
Until now. With the absolute last woman I should let burrow under my skin.
“Kellin, what is it? You want to switch soups?”
I nearly choke on my sourdough, coughing on a laugh. I wish my problem had such a simple solution.
“I could call room service. I’m sure you’re used to a more substantial dinner.”
“No, it’s fine.” I scoot my chair closer to hers, placing my hand on her arm. “I was just thinking about sleeping arrangements.” Panic flashes in her eyes, and I hurry to reassure her. “Can I stay with you?”
Last night, I needed an excuse to go through her files. Tonight, I just want to sleep here. Next to her.
Her shoulders relax. “Yeah, I’d like you to stay.”
My lungs flatten when happiness brightens her features. She’s breathtaking.
I spoon in a mouthful of soup to curb the impulse to say something stupid. “Thanks. This is nice. The soup.” I smile. “It takes me back. Like, tee-ball back.”
She rests her cheek on her hand. “Do tell.”
“My mom always made soup and sandwiches before ball practice. She called it her teaser before dinner. You know, just enough to tide us over. Not enough to ruin our appetites.”
“She sounds wonderful.” She sighs, just a little. “That’s so sweet.”
I lean over to kiss her cheek. “You’re sweet.”
Maeve’s not wrong. Once upon a time, I saw my mother as a kind woman. Before I was old enough to understand the dysfunction between my parents. My father was a bastard, yes, but my mother got off on manipulating and intentionally provoking him, only to play the victim afterward. Their twisted dynamics injected me with a healthy dose of wariness toward women and relationships.
But the way Maeve said that…
I rip apart the last bit of my bread. “Did you not have a nice mother, Maeve?”
“No, that’s not what I meant.” She rises, carries our empty bowls to the sink, rinses them out, and then puts them in her dishwasher.
I shouldn’t have pried.
Way to go.
“Sorry. I’m just being nosy.”
She glances at me from over her shoulder. “My family…” She returns to me and grabs my hand. “It’s complicated.”
When she offers a thin smile, I can’t tell if she wants to share or to demand that I mind my own business.
I already understand that complicated doesn’t even begin to describe her crazy family.
