My hands fly to the phone to pick it up eagerly.
Jake finally texted!
Ladder Guy
Are you still skipping Pilates?
I check on the time. I’m already late for that, so there’s my answer. The evening is even more advanced than I’d realized. Although I try not to let it hurt me, it’s hard to ignore how his text feels like an afterthought, like he completely forgot we were supposed to meet and only sent it because he’s bored and trying to occupy the rest of his evening. But I can’t let it affect me because we’re supposed to be detached and distant outside of sex. We’re not friends or a couple. Just two adults with needs and pieces that fit well together.
So, swallowing back my pride, I rise above my conflicted feelings and send him an answer.
Me
Yes, but I’m still at work. I have to finish something before I leave, so it’ll be about an hour before I’m at your place.
Ladder Guy
What if I come to you?
Me
I can be at my place in 20-25 minutes.
Ladder Guy
Send me your address.
My thumbs are unsteady as I type the reply. He’s being very clinical and cold, which I’m not used to from him. No nicknames or flirting. He’s doing the bare minimum, so I suppose he’s still pissed about Saturday.
I try to finish what I was doing, but it’s useless. I could hardly focus before, and now it’s even worse. So, with a long and trembling sigh, I give up and grab my things, turning my computer off.
The old security guard is at his desk when I pass it in the ground floor lobby. “Another late night, Miss Kensington?”
“You know me, Farrell. Always girl-bossing.”
He laughs, his pearly white teeth contrasting with the dark brown of his skin. “You have a good evening, miss.”
“You too! And say hi to your wife for me.”
“Will do.”
A sedan is already waiting for me by NexaCorp’s entrance, and ten minutes later, I’m entering my building. Mickey—the night concierge—started his shift, and just like Farrell, he’s used to seeing me finish my day so late.
As soon as I’m in my apartment, I make the rounds, ensuring everything is alright. The maid came this morning while I was at work, so it’s squeaky clean, and aside from some messy folders in my office, there isn’t anything out of place. Then I inspect the fridge, looking for what we could drink. There isn’t much aside from beer, but I have ice cubes and liquors, so that’ll have to do. I already ate a small salad at the office, and given the time, I suppose Jake will have eaten as well.
When the intercom rings, I’m in the bathroom, adjusting my makeup and fluffing my hair. I also changed into a dress more comfortable than my work clothes. My legs are a little unstable as I go to answer the call. I’m impatient to see Jake, but also apprehensive. How will he behave after what happened at the gallery? Those texts he sent aren’t a good sign, are they?
Once I tell Mickey to let Jake up, I stand by the entrance, taking long and deep breaths. My heart is in my throat, and I wish I weren’t so damn affected by all this. It’s supposed to be a mindless sex thing, not whatever this is.
Every few seconds, I peek into the peephole because things might be a little easier if I see him coming. My anxiety peaks anyway when he appears, wearing all black and holding a brown paper bag on one side and what looks like a helmet on the other. I didn’t even know he had a bike, and the mere idea of it makes me weak in the knees.
Why does he have to be so hot all the time?
So I don’t look too pathetic, I wait for him to ring the bell, count to ten, and then unlock the door to open it.
The lump in my throat swells enough to cut off my breath as I take him in. He’s wearing a black sweater, its long sleeves rolled up his artfully tattooed forearms, and he has thick black leather gloves on his hands. As always, his jeans are the perfect fit, tucked into his military boots.
Once I’m done drooling over his wardrobe choices, I meet his green gaze. His face is closed off, but his eyes hold an intensity that I can’t miss.
