My muscles ache, tension knotted between my shoulder blades from spending the whole day pretending I'm not obsessed with a woman I can't have.
Heading to the bathroom, I want to shower this day off me.
The hot water does little to ease the tightness in my body. Nothing does these days. Not workouts, not whiskey, not even jerking off in the shower while thinking about her mouth. The release is temporary at best, followed by a hollow feeling that pisses me off even more.
I'm toweling off when my phone buzzes on the bathroom counter. I ignore it, wrapping the towel around my waist and padding to the kitchen for a beer. The phone buzzes again. And again.
My heart rate spikes when I see the contact name.
DO NOT RESPOND.
Hey, weird question but did I leave my laptop charger in your truck? I think it might have slipped out when we went to breakfast. Black MacBook one. I've torn my place apart looking for it.
I know you're probably busy, but I really need it
I can just buy a new one if it's too much trouble
I'll check
Thank you! You're a lifesaver
I toss the phone onto my bed and grab a pair of sweatpants, not bothering with a shirt. It's just a quick trip to the parking garage.
The interior light flicks on, illuminating the empty seats. I lean in, checking the passenger side floor first. Nothing. The center console. Nothing. The back seat. Nothing.
“Fuck,” I grunt, climbing in to check under the seats.
I reach behind the driver's seat, feeling around blindly. My fingers brush against something soft—my old SCU hoodie that I keep in here for cold mornings. I pull it out, and sure enough, there's her charger, tangled in the fabric.
I sit there for a minute, staring at it, debating my next move. The smart thing would be to text her that I found it and arrange a drop-off somewhere public. Neutral territory. Maybe have someone else deliver it.
But I'm not feeling particularly smart tonight.
I pull my phone out, typing a quick message.
Found it. Behind the seat under my hoodie.
I stare at the message for a second before adding my address.
1420 Riverside Drive, Apt 303.
My heart hammers against my ribs as I make my way back to my apartment. What the fuck am I doing? This is exactly the kind of shit I swore I wouldn't do. Yet here I am, inviting temptation right to my doorstep.
I toss the charger onto the kitchen counter and look around my place. It's not messy, but it's not exactly visitor-ready either. Not that it matters. She's coming for her charger, not a fucking house tour.
Still, I find myself shoving gym clothes into the hamper and stacking the coaching manuals scattered across my coffee table. I'm contemplating putting on a shirt when there's a knock at the door.
Another knock, more insistent this time, has me striding over to pull it open.
Hennessy stands there in a cropped sweater and high-waisted jeans, her hair loose around her shoulders. Her eyes immediately drop to my bare chest, lingering on the tattoos across my ribs before slowly trailing back up to my face.
“Hi,” she says, a small smile playing at her lips. “That was fast.”
Instead of handing her the charger, I step back and open the door wider. An invitation. A mistake. A fucking inevitability.
She doesn't hesitate, walking past me into my apartment like she's been here a hundred times before.
“Nice place,” she says, glancing around. “Very...minimalist.”
