“Max, no!” Raelynn giggles, grabbing his teal collar and pulling him back.
“It’s all good,” I laugh, wiping my cheek with the back of my hand. “I don’t mind. He’s a good judge of character.”
She kneels beside him again, petting his head, and I join in. His tongue lolls out of the side of his mouth, and his tail thumps happily against the door frame. “Well, it’s safe to say he approves of you.”
“I’m glad for that. It would suck if he didn’t like me.”
She arches a brow. “Why’s that?”
I watch her step inside briefly, setting her bag and lanyard on a small black entry table before joining me on the porch again. Max slips back into the apartment and leaps onto the darkgray couch. He spins three times before dropping down onto the cushions with a dramatic sigh.
“Because it would make coming to see you kind of difficult.”
“Do you plan on seeing me again? Outside of work, I mean?” she asks, her head tilting and her cheeks flushing.
I take a step closer, reach for her hand, and bring it to my lips, brushing a chaste kiss across her knuckles. “Only if you want me to.”
Her breath catches slightly. Then she closes the distance and cups my cheek with her other hand, before pressing her lips to mine. It’s gentle, warm, and her mouth lingers on mine for a second longer than necessary.
“I’d like that very much,” she whispers against my lips before pulling back with a soft smirk. She steps fully into the threshold of her apartment, fingers curling lightly around the doorframe. “Let me know when you get home?”
I scratch the back of my neck, a little sheepish. “I, uh… don’t have your number.” Why the fuck had I not asked for it sooner is beyond me.
She laughs, backing into the apartment. “You’re a cop. I’m sure you can figure it out.”
Before I can fire back, she grins. “Good night, Emilio,” she says, and the door clicks shut behind her.
I stand there for a second, blinking at the teal door that separates me from her.
Well… shit.
FOURTEEN
RAELYNN
I pressmy back against the door the second it clicks shut, holding my breath like that might quiet the frantic rhythm pounding in my chest. I can still hear him on the other side—his footsteps lingering, pacing maybe, or his fingers dragging through that perfect hair of his as he considers the challenge I just threw down.
I could open this door again. I could hand over my number and end the game. But where’s the fun in that?
No, this is better. He left me needy, teased me just enough to drive me crazy, and now he gets to suffer, too. My body still aches with it, humming with the ghost of his hands sliding over me, the rough pad of his thumb brushing my cunt through my thin panties, his mouth hot and greedy against mine—before pulling away with that maddening, “Not tonight.”
Fucking asshole. I hope he’s suffering just as badly. Blue balls serve him right. Still, I can’t deny I want him to do the exact same thing I’m about to—finish what he started.
Time is mercifully on my side. I manage to steal just enough of it to take the edge off—one toe-curling orgasm that leaves me trembling and breathless, muttering his name into the dark likea secret. Then it’s cleanup mode. Fresh panties, a quick rinse of my face, and my oversized Johnny Cash sleep shirt that I stole from an ex years ago and never gave back.
I’ve barely settled when chaos comes storming through the door. Tessa and Khloe tumble inside, loud as hell, singing the last mangled lines of a pop song I can’t even place. Their voices are high-pitched and off-key, bouncing off the apartment walls like some kind of drunken siren call. God only knows how many more drinks they went through after I left.
It doesn’t take long for the noise to simmer into its usual brand of disorder. After a few attempts to shush them (because, hello, we have fucking neighbors and it was nearly 2 a.m.), Tessa plants a sloppy kiss on my head before retreating to her room, giggling all the way. Khloe, though, she doesn’t even try. She just collapses face-first on the couch like a human pancake, limbs flung out in every direction, before grabbing the pastel butterfly throw and yanking it over her head like some kind of cocoon. Within seconds—literally seconds—she’s out. Snoring.
I just stand there staring at her, baffled. What goddess blessed this girl with the ability to knock out cold the second she lies down? It’s like she has a damn built-in switch that says horizontal equals unconscious.
Meanwhile, I have to cycle throughat leastseven different positions, stack three pillows in some complicated architectural formation, scroll on my phone until my retinas burn, and then bargain with whatever higher power will listen just tomaybefall asleep. And even then, my brain is a relentless little bastard, whispering things like, “Hey, remember that embarrassing thing you said in third grade? Let’s think about that for the next hour.”
Khloe? A fire alarm could go off. Max could bark himself hoarse. Hell, the world could end—and she’d snore right through it. A corpse sleeps lighter than her, I swear to god. Honestly, it’s a miracle she makes it anywhere on time.
With a yawn, I retreat to my bedroom, nudging the door shut with my hip until it clicks softly behind me. My gaze immediately finds Max, already curled into his usual crescent of black fur near the foot of my bed. His sides rise and fall in a steady rhythm, each breath broken by a little snore that almost keeps pace with Khloe’s distant symphony in the living room.
I roll my eyes, chuckling under my breath, and cross the room. The mattress dips beneath me as I slide under the covers, shifting until the familiar comfort settles into my bones. My body is just starting to relax when my phone dings on the nightstand.
