“Yes,” he says simply.
My little hormones are dancing around quietly on one shoulder and my miniature mother is presently absent from the other. “What’s your address?” I ask.
He tells me, I relay it to the Uber driver, and then I’m on my way to Blake’s. Just like that.
“He says it’ll be twelve minutes,” I tell Blake.
“Twelve minutes? Shit. Ladies!” he yells. “You have to scram. Girl of my dreams is coming over.”
When I pull up to his condo, he’s standing in the doorway on one crutch, smiling at me as I get out of the car.
Walking toward him I say, “So where are all the girls?”
He just laughs. When I reach the doorway, he leans in the best he can and kisses both cheeks. “Come on in.”
I walk into his two-story loft-style condo. It’s so different from Caroline’s. It’s charmingly messy. There’s art everywhere. Paintbrushes and canvases and photo books, prints, negatives, everything you can imagine that Blake needs to be creative.
He’s wearing jeans, low slung, sans belt, and he’s barefoot. There’s something about a man barefoot in jeans.
I’m looking around, mesmerized. He’s watching me, leaning on his crutch. There’s wonder in his eyes. “This is amazing, Blake,” I say.
“It’s kind of a mess right now. I’m a little wobbly still so I haven’t picked up.”
“No knee brace anymore?”
“Nope.” He grins. “I just have to hobble around on this thing for a bit more.” He raises the crutch and his foot at the same time. “I have metal in my body now. I’m, like, bionic.” He wiggles his eyebrows. “Which means you have no chance of winning the ultimate champion title back from me.”
“I’ll take you up on that challenge when you’re ready. I’m very confident. So…I smell the popcorn, but where’s the TV?”
“It’s in my bedroom. The loft up there.” He glances up the stairs. “Is that too weird for you?”
“No. I’m pretty sure I can still outrun you. Game of Thrones?”
“Let’s do it.” He catches the innuendo right away. “I mean, let’s watch TV, Hayden.” We both laugh.
He hops up the stairs and I follow. I can’t help but notice his grace and coordination even though he’s injured. The hormone gang is laughing at me. Mini Mom is still absent, thank God, because if he kisses me, I’m not stopping him.
At the top of his stairs my focus is drawn to the art covering the walls. I want to fill my apartment with it. He has a giant king-size bed with an all-white duvet that looks like a heavenly cloud.
The TV is on pause. It’s small in size compared with the art on the walls, telling me it’s not something he fixates on. He sits down on the front edge of the bed. There’s a giant bowl of popcorn to his right. He pats the space to his left. “Wanna sit?”
I look around, down at his feet, his legs spread, his hair tousled sexily like he just rolled out of bed. He’s looking up at me.
“You’re beautiful, Hayden. Whoever that guy was tonight, he was an idiot.”
I nod. I feel tears prick my eyes. Instead of sitting next to him, I walk to the corner floor lamp and dim it, and then I walk back and stand between his spread legs. I’m wearing a sweater dress that hugs my curves. Blake makes me feel confident and sexy without even touching me. But then, finally, he does touch me, and I don’t stop him.
His hands are on my hips. He slides them up toward my waist, the hem of my dress riding up my thighs. His head is tilted. He’s staring at me.
“Ready for TV?” he asks, eyebrow raised.
I lean my head down and kiss him. I kiss him. And then my hands are in his hair. We’re kissing more frantically. He’s sucking at my lip, tugging and pulling my body closer to his. I’m afraid I’ll hurt him and he senses it.
“You won’t hurt me. I’m bionic, remember?”
He lays back and I move to straddle his waist. My dress is practically up to my hips. I try to avoid his leg, but he seems unfazed by our frantic movements.
“I’m still operational,” he whispers.
