A bolt of thrill moves through me, me being pantyless and wearing his clothes, but I push it down, keeping my face a mask of indifference. Cool. Unaffected.
“Right. Could I get my dress back? Or maybe… borrow a pair of sweatpants? I’ll just be out of your way in a second. Thank you for last night. I appreciate you taking care of me.”
Wilder lifts himself off the floor and turns toward me.
Holy shit.
Seeing him shirtless fully in the bright morning sun makes my mouth run even more dry.
It’s the first time I’ve seen him shirtless, aside from the day he changed in his office, and that was over before I could truly get my fill.
My God, the man is… beautiful.
His torso is covered in the same style of ink as his back, haunting images that seem to dance across his skin as he slowly walks over to where I’m standing.
I can’t stop staring.
Admiring the wide expanse of his chest, the chiseled rows of abs along his abdomen, the thick line of dark hair that trails from below his belly button into the waistband of his sweatpants.
I’m not sure what’s sexier… that happy trail or the defined lines of his V that disappear into the waistband with it.
I can’t believe I had sex with this man.
I can’t believe that this man is the one who held my hair last night while I puked my guts out.
I manage to finally lift my gaze back to his face, where a smug, amused smirk tilts the corner of his lips, his dark brown eyes slightly lighter in the warm morning light.
“Did you say something? Sorry,” I mumble.
Wilder chuckles, and it surprises me how much I love the sound of it.
As easy as it is to be caught up in him, his smell, his clothes, him in general… my mind flits back to the email I sent last night. To the other day in his office when I felt so easily discarded.
I don’t want to be that girl. I don’t want to feel that way again.
Right now, I’m embarrassed—mortified, actually—that he, of all people, saw me that way last night. More vulnerable than I may have ever been with anyone before, including Lennon, the closest person to me.
“Do you know where my phone is? I’m going to call an Uber, and we can honestly just pretend that last night never happened. Obviously, something we’re good at.”
“You’re not taking a fucking Uber home, Maisie.”
My chin lifts. “Actually, I’m going to do whatever I want to do,Coach. You’re not my boyfriend, nor my daddy, so you don’t get a say in anything that I do.”
His eyes darken. “Another thing we’ll discuss when you’re not being a little brat.”
He has no idea how much of a brat I can be, but he clearly brings this out in me. This snarky, brazen side that makes me want to fight him at every turn, to push him, taunt him, drive him crazy.
“It’s not a good area, and I’m not letting you get into some strange fucker’s car, barely dressed,” he adds, his jaw tense as his eyes bore into me. “I’ll take you home.”
“You’ve done enough. I didn’t expect any of this, and I really hate that I was so drunk and acted the way I did, okay? I just want to go home and forget it ever happened. I know you didn’t sign up for this, and you made it perfectly clear where you stand. With me.”
I feel small as I say it. Childish. I cross my arms over my chest and chew the corner of my lip, avoiding his gaze.
He’s in front of me before I can even blink, tipping my chin with a finger, forcing my eyes to his.
“How about you stop telling me what the fuck I’m thinking?”
My breath hitches.
