Naked across the hall.
Is my air conditioner broken?
Christ on a radiator, it’s hot in here.
Jessica’s nails click-clack on the steps. Need to get those trimmed.
“Somebody’s a good girl who needs her claws trimmed,” Ziggy murmurs softly.
If I said that to the dog, she’d blow snot all over me. But when Ziggy says it, all I hear is panting.
And the sound of my heart beating faster.
We’re thinking the same things.
We have a vibe.
She’s special.
And I can’t fucking have her.
I want to flop on my side, but I can’t flop and also keep my foot elevated, so instead, I shove a pillow over my head.
But I can still hear her.
I hear the door across the hall creak as she enters the room.
I hear Jessica snuffling a happy noise, and it’s easy to picture Ziggy petting her.
I hear a drawer open.
My balls tighten harder.
She’s probably taking her clothes off.
Quit being a creeper. Stop it.
Nope.
Still imagining Ziggy unbuttoning the bright pink and yellow shirt she wore to work today.
I wonder if her bra is plain or if she’s hiding lace under her shirt. If it’s pink too, or beige, or if she’s secretly got lacy black or red lingerie under her clothes.
If her belly swelling with the baby is more noticeable in ways you can only see when she’s undressed.
If she has any birthmarks.
Stop stop STOP.
I can’t do this.
She’s my boss’s daughter, and I already feel like the world’s biggest fuck-up for coming back to the Pounders injured.
I can’t live with an obsession with the big boss’s daughter while she’s sleeping across the hall from me every night too.
I have to go.
I have to find a different place to live.
