“First Thursday of the month, as always,” I agree simply, already thinking of different illnesses I might come down with between now and then.
“Good. Now, start using that gym membership, Charlotte. I don’t like to waste my hard-earned money.” It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask howsheearned it. A swift bite to my cheek helps lock the words in. “And bring your…boyfriend. This avoidance tactic is no longer cute. You’re a grown woman, Charlotte. Time to act like it.”
Chapter 2
Charlie
“Hey, Angel,” Dillon calls as soon as I step through our apartment door. I can hear the faint echo of gunshots coming from the television, but it cuts out a second later, and my boyfriend appears in the small foyer, giving me a wide smile. “How was your day?”
His jaw is covered in dark shadow, and he’s still dressed in the pressed pants and navy dress shirt he wore to work, although it’s untucked with several buttons opened at his throat. His dark hair is flopping messily over his forehead, giving him a boyish look as he approaches, planting a quick kiss on my lips.
My smile feels fractured. Dillon doesn’t seem to notice as he pushes my overcoat down my arms, taking it from me and hanging it up in the coat closet for me. “It was good. Busy.”
“How was dinner?” he asks, and then grimaces at the expression on my face. He takes my hand, leading me into the kitchen. “Well, I bought a bottle of your favorite wine on my way home. I figured you’d need it. And your book?—”
I groan, dropping my head back. “I left my books in the car.”
“More books, huh? You’re going to run out of shelf space soon.” His smile is crooked as he grabs the bottle from the fridge, popping the cork with quick movements. I pull a wineglass out of the cabinet, setting it in front of him,deciding now is not the time to tell him about the three boxes of books that are stacked in the corner of my best friend’s living room.
“How was your day?” I ask instead.
Dillon shrugs. “Same as every other day. Jack’s gunning for a senior associate position, which means he’s insufferable.” He shakes his head as he turns from the fridge, pulling out a beer and twisting the cap off. “I’ve known the guy for a decade, but I don’t think I’ll ever get used to his competitiveness.”
I lean against the white counter, watching him over the rim of my glass. “You don’t sound like you’re interested in the promotion.”
Dillon rubs his neck. “I’m ambitious, don’t get me wrong, but I’m enjoying where I am right now, you know? And competing with Jack—” He grimaces, and I chuckle.
“I never knew the finance world was so cutthroat.” I set my glass down and round the kitchen island, adding an extra sway to my hips. Dillon tracks me, heat flaring to life in his hazel eyes.
He swallows roughly. “I know it’s not quite like a bookstore,” he says playfully, thumping his bottle on the counter as I reach up and pull each button free of his shirt, enjoying the slow tease as more of his tanned torso is revealed.
Dillon might be on the leaner side, but he works hard at keeping himself in shape—another competitive facet of his friendship with Jack—and I definitely reap the benefits.
I lean forward, pressing a kiss to the hollow of his throat. “You definitely wouldn’t understand the chaos I experience on a day-to-day basis.”
He chuckles roughly, his hands landing on the curves of my hips, digging into my flesh. “I bet you need to work off your stress,Angel.”
I look up at him through my lashes. “Do you think you could help me with th—” The last word is cut off with a cry of surprise as he lifts me onto the counter. “Dillon!”
“What?” he asks distractedly, sliding a hand into my hair and fisting the strands. His other hand is sliding under my shirt, trailing over the swell of my stomach—and I immediately try to suck it in.
“You could hurt yourself, lifting me like that,” I scold.
Dillon shakes his head with a disappointed sigh. “One day, you’re gonna trust me,” he says, straightening up so he can finish unbuttoning his shirt and dropping it to the floor.
“I do trust you,” I protest as he steps between my thighs, roughly yanking my shirt off, leaving me sitting there in a black bra and leggings.
“Do you?” He raises a dark brow, tracing his finger over the edge of my bra, and goose bumps dimple my skin.
“I’m—”
Dillon presses a finger to my lips, his expression darkening with displeasure. “You,” he says firmly, “are perfect. And you’re going to let me show you.”
There are no more words after that as his finger slowly drops away, dragging my bottom lip with it, and then his mouth is there, slanting against mine, tongue tangling with my own. Dillon’s deft fingers make quick work of my bra, yanking the straps down my arms and flinging it away, his lips never breaking from mine. One hand cups the full globe of my breast, testing the weight in his palm before he pinches my nipple, making me gasp as he swallows the sound.
“I want to taste you,” Dillon whispers against my lips. He leans back, our eyes locking, his pupils already blown wide. His hand has dropped to the waistband of my leggings, tugging at them playfully. “Will you let me?”
I’m practically panting, desire spiraling through me. “Here?” I ask weakly. “We’re in the kitchen.”
