“I should—” he starts and clears his throat once more. “It’s late. You must be tired.”
And the moment shatters. I straighten in my chair. “Right. Yes. I should finish this paperwork anyway and head to bed.” Yeah, some Netflix shows are waiting for me.
He stands up, kind of awkward and uncertain now. “There are extra blankets in the hall closet. And towels, for morning. Help yourself to anything in the kitchen.” He hesitates. “Good—good night, Jenna.”
“Good night,” I echo and… wave.
Okay, Stop.
I urge the ground to swallow me.
Did I really just wave goodbye at him?
In his own house?
Sometimes I can’t believe myself.
I’ve madea lot of stupid mistakes in my career. Missed deadlines. Forgotten client names. Once, I even cited the wrong precedent in front of Judge Montgomery, who has the memory of an elephant and the forgiveness of a scorned tax auditor. But walking into Colton King’s bathroom while he’s jerking off? That’s definitely making the highlight. And the worst part isn’t even the boundary violation or the ethics questions or the fact that I’ll never be able to look him in the eye again without seeing... his dick. No. The worst part is that I’m still staring at it. Like a total creep.
As if my mind wants to take a fucking photo of him.
Of him standing in that shower, separated from me by nothing but clear glass. Naked. Completely, utterly naked. Water cascading down his body. One hand braced against the tile wall. The other wrapped around his way too big, erected cock.
Everything about him is big. Broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist. Muscled thighs that speak to years of professionalathletics. I’ve seen naked men before. But damn there’s naked, and then there’s... this. I knew the moment I saw it that I wouldn’t ever forget that picture. The water that cascaded down those ridges of muscle. That steam rising around him like some kind of mythological god just emerged from the mist in front of me. And the expression on his face…eyes closed, lips parted, completely lost in pleasure while I’m standing there like a freaking voyeur.
My cheeks burn. I should go. I should have left immediately.
But my feet feel bolted to the floor, and my eyes—those stupid little traitors—just keep drinking him in. The scar on his left forearm. The blond, wet buzzcut plastered to his head. The way his hand moves, slow and deliberate and… fuck…he opens his eyes.
For one excruciating moment, our gazes lock. His eyes widen with shock, then narrow with something I can’t identify. Not anger. Not exactly embarrassment either. Something... darker. More primal. And for one moment I wish I could just step in and… help him?
“Sorry!” I squeak, actually squeak, like a mouse caught in a trap. “Wrong door! So sorry!”
I slam the door shut and stumble backward, my heart hammering so hard I can feel it in my teeth. What just happened? What did I just do?
I practically run back down the hallway, my face burning hotter than the surface of the sun. I reach the kitchen and grip the countertop, trying to steady my breathing. My hands are shaking. Why are my hands shaking?
It was an accident.
Yeah, just a simple mistake.
People walk into bathrooms accidentally all the time.
I just need to be professional about this. Act like it never happened. I can do that. I’m good at compartmentalizing.
But my silly mind keeps replaying the image. Those water droplets clinging to his shoulders. I’m jealous of those droplets. The flex of muscle as he?—
No. Stop it.
I force myself to think about case law. Of poor abandoned baby kittens. Of Starbucks running out of pumpkin spice. About precedents. About anything other than the fact that I just saw my client—my high-school-bully-turned-professional-athlete client—naked and... jerking-off. I grab a glass and fill it with juice. But when I drink it, I almost vomit. Fucking shit! I accidentally grabbed the vinegar instead of the apple juice. Shit. I need to go. I just put the glass in the sink, still heaving because pure vinegar tastes abhorrent and when I hear the bathroom door open, I bolt out of the door, forgetting everything except my own brain that just got damaged for a lifetime.
TWENTY-FIVE
Colton
“Daddy, why are you so quiet? Is something up?” Livy asks and I snap back to reality. What kid notices something like this? Well, I guess a kid that had to witness a lot of fights from her parents. A kid who saw me sad more times than happy in her short life.
But today I’m not sad, I’m beyond myself.
