I rear back, surprised and maybe even a little turned on by how concerned he sounds. Farewell feminism. “Uh, yeah. Like I am most nights when he needs to shit…”
“I don’t like that.”
I scoff. “Trust me, I’m fine. I have a dog that weighs more than I do, a can of pepper spray, and I’m not one to gloat but pretty sure I almost made Silas cry the other day in the ring.”
“Okay, but I still don’t like you out on your own at night.”
“Well, good thing it’s not up to you then, huh?” I smile smugly although he can’t see me.
“Brat.” Happy mutters, his voice turning so low and delicious, I’m forced to cross one leg over the other to quell the dull ache it elicits between my thighs.
“So… where are you taking me?” I ask, quickly veering the conversation back to the topic at hand and not what I’m really wondering, which is whether or not Happy is currently lying in his bed, naked with his hand on his glorious dick. I clear my throat, adding, “On ourdate.”
“I don’t know,” Happy muses. “What do you like to eat? Besides my cock…”
A laugh escapes me, and again, the way he sayscock, makes my pussy positively thrum. “Happy Slater, don’t start something you can’t finish right now.”
“Oh, I can finish…” he murmurs, and I notice a telltale hitch in his breath as he says, “In fact, I’m already so fucking close.”
My cheeks flame and my jaw drops as I listen to the sound of his labored breath. “Are you?—”
“You bet your fine ass I am,” he confirms. “This is what you do to me, Baby Draper.”
“Oh my God,” I mutter. “I hate you.”
“No, you really don’t.” Happy chuckles.
And goddamn him, he’s right.
Happy: What time should I pick you up tonight?
Happy: For our date.
I roll my eyes, unable to hide my smile as I play dumb with my reply.
Me: What date?
Happy: Um, your date with the hottest hockey player in the NHL.
Me: I thought Rusty was married…?
Happy: Baby Draper, I am about five seconds from jumping up from this PT table bare-assed and coming down there to your office to spank you for even mentioning his name in my messages.
I laugh under my breath.
Me: I have to collect Toasty from doggy daycare on my way home, but I can be ready by seven.
Happy: I’ll be at your door to pick you up at 6:59.
Reading Happy’s message, I’m grinning like a fool as I step off the elevator and into the office, coffee in hand, pep in my step. Ugh. Who am I?
“Hi.”
“Oh, God!” I shout, hurling my phone in the process and listening with a wince as it lands with a crack on the floor. Grabbing it, I’m relieved to see the screen is intact, and I quickly put the device into the pocket of my jeans as I spin around to find Millie standing there, grinning at me like the goddamn Cheshire Cat. I think she’s onto something.
“Get a bell,” I chastise, smoothing back my hair.
“So,” Millie begins, her smile smug and conspiratorial. “How was the rest of your night?”
