I raise an eyebrow at her. She shrugs. “It’s affordable and clean. And I’m hardly ever out at night anyway. Sorry we can’t all live in Capital Hill.”
“I don’t live in Capital Hill,” I correct her with a smile. “I almost bought over there, but they wouldn’t let me merge three units into one. Had to move into a place closer to the water.”
She laughs softly next to me. “The tragedies of being a billionaire are endless, aren’t they?”
“I’m not a billionaire,” I argue and feel a little weird, like I always do, when my paycheck comes up. It’s mind-blowing that I make the money I do, but I work my ass off for it. Inside, though, I’m still that goofy kid who grew up in a three-bedroom, hundred-year-old house with a leaky roof in rural Quebec. The kid who had to mow neighbors’ lawns in the summer and shovel their driveways in the winter to afford new hockey equipment. “My place here, though, is pretty sweet. Just finished renovations a couple months ago. You should come see it. But you have to take off your shoes at the door. And, you know, the rest of your clothes.”
I see her eyes flare, and she covers her face with her hands. I laugh. “Again with the shy thing!” I reach over and gently pull her hands from her face.
“How come you didn’t drive Blondie home?” she asks me out of nowhere.
“Same reason you didn’t ask Trucker Hat for a lift. Not interested,” I tell her and then drop my eyes and look at her hand in my lap. I squeeze it lightly, willing her to get the connection—that I chose to drive her because Iaminterested.
“I should go,” she says quietly, with the slightest tremble in her voice that tells me she really doesn’t want to go. “I have to work in the morning.”
“And I have to work out in the morning,” I reply and turn my head to meet her eyes. In the weak light from the street they look pale gray. Her hand pushes the door open but she doesn’t move to leave. I stare at her and lick my lips before taking the final shot.
“So do you want me to drive you to work tomorrow?” I ask, trying to keep my voice flat and nonchalant. “Since your car is still out of commission.”
“That would be…convenient.” She swallows and her eyelashes flutter ever so slightly. “But you would have to get up extra early to get here. I need to be there by eight thirty.”
“Yeah…” Here goes nothing…or something…“Well, if I stayed here, instead of going home, that would save me some time.”
She smirks, but I don’t smirk back because I’m not just trying to flirt here. I am full-on propositioning her. Her smirk slips into something softer and sexier. “That’s probably the sensible option.”
If my dick had arms, it would be high-fiving me right now.
Chapter 11
Shayne
I feel like I’m in a dream as I open the door of my building and usher him inside. Sebastian, my mysterious French one-night stand, is here. With me. In my apartment. I’ve wanted this to happen again for the last twelve days. I’ve dreamt about it—not figuratively like daydreaming but actual hot, unconscious sex dreams about us having another incredible night.
But does this mean something? Is this just another random hookup and he’ll disappear for another two weeks? Does he want this to be more, or is he looking for a bed buddy? Am I ready to be a bed buddy? Do I have what it takes to fuck without emotion? Because I did feel something more than an orgasm last time. He’s all I’ve thought about since. If he does simply want a bed buddy, will I do it? Are the orgasms worth it? Should I turn around right now and tell him to just go home? Or throw some blankets on the couch and lock my bedroom door?
“Something is wrong,” he says softly as we climb the stairs to the top of the four-story building. “You’re too quiet.”
“I’m just trying to figure out why I’ve invited a stranger to spend the night in my house,” I confess, because why the hell not. “And what we’re doing.”
I steal a glance at him. He’s smiling playfully as he says cheekily, “Stranger, huh? Don’t worry, I’m not a serial killer and I’ll only tie you up if you ask me to.”
Okay, so he didn’t exactly answer me, but damn, now I’m thinking about being tied up by him. That might be hot…
We hit the fourth-floor landing and walk down the hall to my front door. I open it and hold it for him to enter. He walks in and waits in the hall, kicking off his shoes, as I lock the door behind us and walk into the living room. I flip on a tall floor lamp in the corner. The room illuminates, and Sebastian blinks and shoves his hands in his pockets, glancing around.
“Nice place,” he admits sheepishly.
“Thanks.” I give him a quick smile and as we stand there staring at each other, I decide to turn on the snark before it gets awkward. “So do you want to sleep on the couch? It’s a pull-out and it’s got a new mattress.”
He tilts his head just a little and cocks an eyebrow as if to sayare you kidding me?“No. I don’t want to sleep on the couch.”
“The floor? I have a camping mattress I can dig out of storage.” I bite my lip to keep from smiling.
“No.”
“Do you hang by your toes from the ceiling like a bat?”
He lets out a whoosh of air, a smile playing on those lips I am lusting after. “I sleep in beds. Only beds. Do you have a spare bedroom?”
