I scuttle—like the chicken shit I am—into my bedroom, being quiet so I don't wake my daughter because she’ll want a snack or drink or something, and there's no way I'm going back downstairs right now. I can't face him. Not after that.
It's just...
He smelled so good and is such a good kisser and then he told me I did a good job and I sort of went temporarily insane. If temporary insanity results in an orgasm brought on by nothing more than friction and flattery.
I groan in embarrassment. The sound, loud for a secondbefore I remember to stifle it, turns it into more of a growl as I fumble my way through the darkened room toward the attached bathroom. I stumble in, closing the door before switching on the light, then rip off my clothes and jump into a cold shower. I am quickly reminded how much cold showers suck, and immediately turn the heat up. I stand there for who knows how long, letting the scalding hot spray pour over my head as my thoughts swirl inside it.
This was all a terrible idea. I know I need the money, and my options were slim, but this is getting way more complicated than it initially seemed. Instead of simply showing up, smiling pretty, and pretending to be in love, I'm making friends and feeling safe and...
Getting off with my fake boyfriend.
"Ugh." I'm disgusted with myself.
Grabbing my body wash from the ledge, I squeeze a healthy dose of it onto the cloth I'm using and start scrubbing down. I work the suds over my shoulders, under my arms, and between my boobs before swiping it over the part of me Tucker just played like a fiddle. It's still a little sensitive and achy, but that's not what makes me gasp as I scrub.
I am embarrassingly slippery down there. Way more happening in that region than I have ever experienced. Probably enough that I soaked through my panties, and possibly even the comfortable, but cute, pants I had on.
Oh God. Does that mean the fly of his jeans might be wet too?
I stop what I'm doing and lean forward, letting my forehead hit the tile wall.
It’s so embarrassing.Everythingabout this is embarrassing. If I thought I could get away with packing all my stuff up and sneaking away in the middle of the night, I'd consider it. But I know Tucker would hear me. The cameras outside woulddefinitely pick up the movement of my vehicle. And…it would hurt his feelings.
And fuck me, I hate the thought of hurting Tucker's feelings.
After quickly finishing up, I switch off the tap, wring out my rag, and dry off. After winding the towel around my wet hair, I pull on a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt before quietly padding out into the bedroom.
While I can't exactly disappear in the middle of the night, I do need to disappear eventually, and the events of the evening were a great reminder of that. Even though Tucker has a beautiful house and I genuinely enjoy going to work with him and love the sense of safety I feel when he's around, this is a very temporary situation. And I need to keep that in mind the next time I accidentally end up wrapped around him.
Sliding onto the bed, I grab my laptop from the nightstand and prop it on the mattress in front of me before opening it up. If I'm going to move to Maryland—and Iammoving to Maryland—I have a lot to get organized. I've been checking things off my list as I can, but a few tasks remain.
And one of them is a big task.
But before I get to that, I check my email, my stomach doing some weird squishy thing when I see my employer has sent me something.
I've been so excited about this job. The hotel itself is nice, but not huge. They have a great event space, and a pretty pool outside. The attached golf course is well-kept and well known. It's the sort of hotel I've always wanted to run. And while I won't be coming in as the general manager, my position as assistant manager puts me directly in line to make that happen.
Plus, the pay is good, and the benefits are decent.
But the place looks nothing like McKinley Security Systems. I know it's ridiculous, but the aesthetics of Tucker’s family business are enough to make anyone want to work there. I don't evenfully know what all they do, but it's easy to imagine walking in and swiping my badge at the security desk inside their gorgeous foyer before going to my office.
Which is hilarious, because I doubt they’re interested in my business management degree. I’m sure they have that part more than handled.
Still, the excitement I initially felt at finally finding a job is slightly tempered as I open their email and confirm I will in fact be starting at our originally scheduled date. They've also attached a few forms I need to find out, so I spend half an hour doing that. Then I begin the task that's been the most difficult from the beginning.
Finding a place for me and Birdie to live.
To be fair, the last time I looked for an apartment for us, my funds were much more limited than they are now. I knew I'd struggle to pay the first and last month's rent—plus the deposit—on anything over a certain price point, even though that price point will be more than manageable on a monthly basis once my paychecks start coming in.
Now—thanks to Tucker—I can broaden my scope a little bit.
And that little bit actually makes a pretty dramatic difference. The places I can afford with the money he's giving me are markedly nicer. Instead of open, fight-for-a-spot parking, I can have a covered, assigned spot. In place of small windows and crumbling cabinets, I can have a light-filled space with new appliances. Instead of a thirty minute commute, I can be ten minutes from work.
And yet...
I'm still struggling to get excited, still having a hard time anticipating this new life I've worked so hard to obtain.
Even though I'm not thrilled, I email a few of the properties I like best, asking if they have immediate availability, then close up shop and slide under the covers.
