"Jesus Christ!" I yelp, nearly jumping out of my skin. "What the fuck, Ramsey?"
He reaches over and flicks on the lamp beside him, his face appearing in the warm glow. He's sitting there in sweatpants and a muscle shirt that clings to everyridge of muscle, one arm stretched across the back of the couch. His hair is messy, like he's been running his hands through it, and his jaw is tight with...something.
"You're out awfully late," he says, his voice low and controlled.
I snort, dropping my purse on the counter. "It's eleven, not three in the morning. What are you, my dad?"
His eyes darken at that, and I immediately regret the comparison.
"Were you worried about me?" I ask with a teasing lilt in my voice as I saunter closer. "About who I was with?"
The corner of his mouth twitches. "No, I know you were with the girls. I hacked the cameras at Armand's to make sure."
I freeze mid-step. "You're fucking crazy, you know that?" I shake my head, but there's no real heat in my voice. "I also wouldn't have been with anyone else but who I said I was with. You don't need to hack security systems to check up on me."
Ramsey leans forward, elbows on his knees, and the movement pulls his t-shirt taut across his shoulders. "Oh, I wasn't worried about that."
There's something in his tone that makes my skin prickle with heat. "Then what were you worried about?"
"I wasn't worried," he clarifies, those blue eyes burning into mine. "I was making sure you weren't in any trouble."
I roll my eyes, continuing toward the kitchen. "At Armand's? The place with the twelve-dollar martinis and security at the door? Yeah, real dangerous."
"You'd be surprised," he mutters, watching me as I grab a glass from the cabinet.
"You want some water?" I ask, filling my glass from the tap.
"No."
I take a long drink, suddenly aware of how my dress clings to my curves after a night of dancing.
I notice Ramsey's eyes tracking my every move, lingering on the way my dress rides up my thighs as I lean against the counter.
"Go upstairs," he says suddenly, his voice dropping to that commanding tone that makes my stomach flip. "There's something on your bed. Change into it."
I nearly choke on my water. "What? Now? It's almost midnight."
"We're leaving." He stands up in one fluid motion, all six-foot-something of pure muscle and intensity.
"Leaving where? I just got home, Rams. I'm tired and?—"
He closes the distance between us in three long strides. Before I can finish my sentence, his hand connects with my ass in a light tap that somehow manages to be both playful and possessive.
"Be a good girl and just go change, star." His voice is a mixture of honey and gravel, and the way he says 'good girl' makes heat pool between my legs instantly.
I try to look annoyed, but my body's already responding to his command. "Ugh, fine. This better be good."
I trudge up the stairs, curiosity mingling with the familiar ache his proximity always brings. When I pushopen my bedroom door, I spot the items laid out neatly on my comforter.
"What the actual fuck?" I mutter, picking up what appears to be a dark blue bikini covered in tiny silver stars. Next to it is my favorite blue crop top sweater, a pair of black leggings, and my comfiest sneakers.
It's like he's packed for me, but for what?
Omg, swimming at midnight! I almost forgot about the bucket list. I’ve been on the moon since I felt his tongue inside me.
I strip off my dress; the fabric clinging to my sweaty skin from hours of dancing. My lace thong and push-up bra follow, and I slide into the bikini, adjusting the top around my tits. It fits perfectly—of course it does. Ramsey knows my size in everything.
The crop top settles comfortably over the bikini, falling just above my navel, and the leggings hug my ass in a way that makes me do a little turn in front of the mirror. I look cute but comfortable as I grab a makeup wipe and scrub my face and get rid of the last of my eyeliner and mascara.
