Everything is shaved and lotioned, and my hair is curled, my makeup light and natural. I’m wearing one of my favorite dresses and what I’m pretty sure is Wilder’s, too, since he never seems to stop staring at me when I wear it, and of course, the outfit I bought earlier is beneath.
What little of it there is.
Jesus, my palms are so sweaty. Whyarethey so sweaty?
I drag them down the front of my dress and take a deep breath, willing myself to chill out. It’s just dinner. And hopefully orgasms.
No,definitelyorgasms.
Much-needed orgasms.
Sebastian meows from his spot in front of the front door after a resounding knock sounds against it.
I pull it open.
Wilder stands on my green gingham doormat, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his signature uniform of gray sweatpants and hellcats hoodie.
He must’ve come straight here from the arena. His dark brown hair is mussed like he’s spent the day raking his fingers through it, his jaw covered in my favorite shadow of stubble.
And God, Ilovewhen he doesn’t shave.
I’m beginning to realize the type I claimed not to have is actually a man who’s thirteen years older than I am. Aman.
Nothing like the future “finance bros” from campus in their polos and starched khaki shorts who still smell like stale beer from their frat parties the night before.
It’s not just that Wilder is criminally hot.
Because that’s just a fact.
But it’s his intensity that is part of what attracts me, the way that no matter who’s standing in the room with him… he’s the man that you’re drawn to.
He doesn’twantanyone’s attention, but he consumes it anyway, and somehow, that’s even more powerful than if he were to demand it.
Tonight though, that intensity feels like something entirely different. I can practically feel the tension radiating off him, an unease that settles over me.
It reminds me of that first day in his office, only he’s got a better grasp on it.
But his eyes… I can see something dark, something heavy? I can’t explain it, just that he looks exhausted.
“Hi.” I smile, holding my door open. “Uh, come in.”
His lip quirks slightly. “Hi.” He steps past me into the foyer, and I push the front door closed behind him.
Not a second after the lock clicks, the smoke detector suddenly begins blaring.
My eyes widen when realization hits me.
“Oh no, oh no, no, no, no,” I cry as I run to the kitchen, immediately finding thick, dark smoke billowing from the oven.
Wilder’s on my heels, cursing when he sees the smoke.
My finger pokes at all of the buttons in an attempt to press the one to turn the oven off.
“Shit.”
Finally, I get it turned off, and I reach for the mitts from the drawer beside the stove and open it, almost choking when a cloud of smoke billows out.
Jesus, what a disaster.
