My eyes popped open, then I winced at the pain in my head. The drilling was real, but I was alone in my bed. Judging by my sweaty T-shirt and panties, either I had malaria or the AC had died during the night.
“Shit. Not today.”
The drilling started again, the sound coming from upstairs. Mr. Gore must be installing a new lock on Sebastian’s door.
I checked the clock—nine a.m. Not bad for a Sunday morning.
I sat up slowly, holding my head. My temples throbbed. I hadn’t had a hangover in a long time. I reached for the glass of water on my nightstand, then opened the drawer and found some ibuprofen. I swallowed it and finished the water, then rubbed my hands over my face. As much as I wanted to go back to sleep, the noise wasn’t going to let me. Besides, it was safer to stay awake and not remember the dream I was having.
What the hell was that? Had I just dreamed of having sex with Sebastian? No way. Not happening. Not in a million years! I was just having a dry spell that had lasted much too long. I knew the signs. My hormones were raging, and my body needed healthy sexual release from something other than my vibrator.
I hadn’t had a boyfriend—a loose term for a few dates and a couple of sleepovers—in six months. I didn’t do commitment.
This dream was just a result of abstinence, alcohol, and the memories Sebastian had stirred up last night. Why did he feel the need to bring up the night we’d met?
As though I’d summoned it, the image flashed in my head again—a naked Sebastian lying in his bed, his crotch covered in whipped cream, topped off with a single red cherry.
His body was all lean curves, taut muscles, and ink. An intricate tattoo of a clock and its mechanisms adorned his left pec. Others, mostly space-themed, circled his right arm and up his shoulder. A couple of lines that looked like binary code started on his right hip and snaked down.
The moment I’d seen him that night, my first instinct had been to lap up all that whipped cream like a dairy farm cat. Then I’d quickly realized what a shallow jerk he was, dating a new woman every month, sometimes every week. That was a solid reason to kill any budding attraction I might feel for the man. I wouldn’t be a notch on this asshole’s bedpost if he were the last man on earth.
I’d heard that if you looked out the window as soon as you woke up, you would forget whatever you dreamed about. I had to ask Lily if that was true. Her insight into the human mind was scary good.
Just in case that theory was true, I walked over to the window, pulled aside the drapes, and opened it wide. The heat and sunshine assaulted me. I needed coffee. I padded into the kitchen, filled the coffee maker and switched it on. The wooden floor was still cool under my feet, but I knew it was going to get a lot hotter. I had to take a look at the AC unit. I prayed it just needed a good cleaning. If it was something serious, I was screwed. Mr. Gore was pretty handy, but I doubted he could handle a complicated repair job.
I poured coffee into a big mug withCoffee, because killing people is illegalprinted on it. I added two fingers of milk, sugar, and a sprinkle of cinnamon. I inhaled deeply and walked to the couch in the living room. Perfect. The scent of caffeine tickled the refresh button in my brain.
I sat cross-legged on the couch and turned on the TV, changing channels on auto-pilot. I settled for an episode ofSee Dad Run, a cute comedy centered around a funny family. I loved these types of shows. I’d always wanted a big family. As an only child, I yearned to see the faces of loved ones around the kitchen table. I longed for the chaos and fun a big family could offer. At least, that’s how they made it seem in those shows.
Right now, my girlfriends were my family. I couldn’t complain; they were a hell of a bunch, and were always there for me.
What was Sue doing now? She and Cam were on their honeymoon. I hoped she didn’t have a hangover. Unlike me, she didn’t have to dream of sex with a man. She had the real deal, and Cam was movie-star gorgeous. Although Sebastian had way more charm.
Last night when I’d returned with my tools, his face had lit up when he saw me. I’d had to resist the temptation to pinch his cheeks. Damn it, he could be cute when he wanted to be. It was stupidly endearing to see a six-foot man looking at me with hopeful, chocolate-colored eyes. I had the biggest weakness for chocolate. And dimples. I didn’t care that, according to Nikki, they were just a malformation of the cheeks. It didn’t make them less adorable.
After draining the last of my coffee, I grabbed my toolbox and the vacuum from the pantry, praying it still had enough juice to battle the dust colony inside my AC. Living in a pre-war building came with quirks—charming architecture, but no central air. My dad had installed a ductless mini-split unit in the living room, which cooled most of the apartment, and a noisy little window box kept my studio from turning into a kiln.
I set up the ladder, dismantled the unit, and when I reached the filters I recoiled with a sneeze. The dust buildup looked prehistoric. I vacuumed like a woman possessed, sweat pouringdown my face and between my boobs, as I Ghostbustered the gunk into oblivion. One deep clean turned into an all-out war—I vacuumed the entire apartment, reassembled the AC, and finally, with trembling fingers, pressed the On button. Eyes squeezed shut, I waited to see if it would actually work... or explode.
I heard a gentle purring sound, and a cool breeze lifted my sweaty hair off my forehead. I allowed myself a huge gulp of air. My AC was alive!
I plopped down on the couch and sat there for a few minutes, letting my heart rate lower along with the temperature.
After a while, I went to the fridge, chugged down half a bottle of water, then dragged myself into the shower. I scrubbed, shampooed, brushed my teeth, and ended the ritual by rubbing cream onto my face. I felt human again.
I was trying to decide whether to blow dry my hair when I heard a knock at the door.
Who could it be? One of the girls? No, they would have used the intercom. Besides, they rarely came to visit without calling first.
I secured my towel between my breasts and looked through the peephole. I gaped at the sight of Sebastian holding a plate piled high with Belgian waffles covered in berries, vanilla cream, and chocolate sauce.
Intrigued, I opened the door. Sebastian wore a white tank top, blue shorts, and a million dollar smile.
“Morning, Princess. Fancy some brunch?”
I eyed the waffles. They looked Pinterest-perfect. The aroma of ripe berries and chocolate syrup made my mouth water.
“Where did you get them?” Suspicion crept into my voice.
