Flash
Aweek or so later, my day had ended a little late and I left the flight pad eager to get my arms around Tate. As I walked to my bike, I pulled my phone out and called her. She answered immediately.
“Hey,” she breathed out. She was panting and I heard whirring in the background.
“Hey, baby. You okay?”
“Huh? Oh, yeah, I’m on the treadmill. Hold on.” I heard the whirring slow, but it didn’t completely stop. “I’m back.”
“Are you off?”
“No, I’m doing my cool down.”
“You lose your focus, you could fall off that thing,” I warned. “I’ll call you back.”
“If you hang up that phone, Parker Wallace, I will kill you and bury you in my mother’s garden, next to the azaleas,” she threatened. “I’m quite capable of walking on a treadmill and speaking to you at the same time.”
“That was a little too specific,” I murmured. “How long have you been thinking up ways to kill me?”
I heard the smile in her voice when she said, “You don’t want to know.”
“You up for dinner?” I asked.
“Are you up for more than dinner?” she challenged.
“What did you have in mind?”
“Is there somewhere... private we can go?”
My dick sprang to attention, and I squeezed my eyes shut. My house was still uninhabitable with major renovation. “I can get a room at the club. Or, we can go to a hotel somewhere.”
“Hotel, Flash. Definitely a hotel. For two nights.”
“Jesus,” I breathed out. “You sure?”
“Unless you’re busy.”
“Got Niall’s party tomorrow and family night. I usually crash at the club on family nights.”
“Then we’ll stay at a hotel tonight, go to the parties tomorrow,” she said. “If I’m invited, that is...”
