Page 88 of Off the Grid

Another flashback hits me. I like to sleep naked.

My pants off.

Her eyes wide.

Her smile fucking incredible.

My chuckle is a low rumble. She meets my eyes again, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip. She knows I remember what happened. The whole nine yards.

Or should I say the whole ten inches?

“It’s not something I can help, you know,” I say, looking down at my lap and then back up with an unapologetic smile. “I just wake up and it’s there, doing its own thing, like it has a mind of its own.”

“I know basic anatomy.” She’s flustered, and it’s freaking adorable.

“And yet you stared last night.”

She opens her mouth and closes it, caught in between acknowledging her wandering eyes and ignoring my comment altogether. “When you’re standing naked in my living room, I didn’t really have a choice.”

“You’re supposed to say, it’s not like I could miss it. I mean, the least you could do is give the ego a little stroke.”

“I think you’ve got that handled all on your own.” She moves toward the kitchen. “Coffee’s on if you want any.”

Owning your sexuality. Another flashback.

I look to the table where I tossed the magazine. Gone.

With a grunt, I rise and follow her. The kitchen is the same layout as mine. Hers is just more put together in most aspects.

“You’re more than welcome to help yourself,” she says motioning to the coffee, the milk, sugar, and mug out on the counter. “I have to get ready for work.”

She walks out and as much as I want to follow her, coffee calls my name like a siren.

That first sip is like heaven. The second has my head clearing. The third has me feeling like a new man.

I walk out of the kitchen with thoughts of getting my shorts on but stop when I hear her fingernails clicking on a keyboard. She’s to the right of me at a desk of some sort with those long legs crossed beneath it.

“I thought you had to get ready for work.” I rest my hip on the edge of the table next to her without asking and pick up what looks like a paperweight. I study it and then set it back down.

“I have to do a couple of things first.” She moves the paperweight back to where I picked it up from.

“Like?” I move the pen beside her laptop, click the top a few times so the ink goes in and out, and then set it back down on a different place on her desk.

“Stuff.” She picks up the pen and moves it back to where it was.

“So, in other words, you’re avoiding me again.” I pick up her Post-it notes, fan through the pad, and then set it down behind me.

Are you going to reach around me to get it?

“Not avoiding you.” She goes to reach out on instinct and then realizes she’s either going to have to touch me or go through me. She huffs and gives a frustrated shake of her head.

“No? Then why won’t you look at me?” I move the paperweight again back to where I moved it the first time.

“Will you stop?” she snaps but finally looks at me.

“There she finally is,” I murmur above the rim of my mug. “Good morning, Camilla.”

What the fuck are you doing, Riggs?