Page 57 of Worth the Wait

CHAPTER 21

DESI

“Come on, you little heathen.”

Matilda wiggles and shakes and suds fly all over the place, causing me to look up and then still when I see Reznor across the way. His shirt is off and he’s bent over looking at something on his front porch, biceps flexed, ass perfectly positioned, and I simply stand and watch him.

Distracted.

Mesmerized.

Recalling how deliciously fine he was the other night. And morning.

Break the habit, Des.

Wasn’t that what I swore to myself when he walked out? That I was going to break the habit he’d created in me wanting him?

But here’s what I don’t know. Do I break the habit so I stick to my guns about only needing casual sex, or is it so I don’t get hurt when he moves away?

I know the answer, but I don’t think I’m ready to admit it to myself yet.

I like that he doesn’t push me. Yeah, he kind of does, but in a cute, come on, let’s have incredible sex kind of way.

I like that when he’s not with me, I kind of miss him.

I like that—Shit.

“Knock it off, Des,” I mutter. “I can’t let myself do this, Matilda. I just can’t. There I go again talking to myself about the reasons why I can justify sleeping with him.” I look back up at Reznor and shake my head. “But wouldn’t you sleep with him if he looked like that?” I ask the sodden mutt.

Yep. I’ve lost my mind.

But that’s the problem. I think about him way too much. Like the kind of thinking about him where I have little daydreams imagining what it would be like if he weren’t going back to San Francisco in the coming weeks.

It’s just sex. It’s just sexy Reznor. That’s all it is.

Then why am I standing here with a soaking wet dog and staring at him and not tending to her?

Because he makes me wet too.

Matilda shakes again and water sprays on me. “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I say to her. “Good thing you’re so cute or else I’d be mad at you for that.”

I busy myself rinsing the suds from her and then towel dry her because Em’s putting Taylor down. I love that kid to death, but she’s a holy terror if she doesn’t get her nap. And nap time means I get alone time with my best friend—something that’s few and far between these days.

The clomping on the front porch immediately has my attention as I bolt for the front door to answer it before the doorbell rings.

I fling the door open and of course, it’s Reznor, standing there with his shirt off and that cocky smirk on his face.

“Don’t ring it!”

“Ring what?” he says, confusion etched on his face.

“The bell.”

He laughs. “I do believe I’ve already rung your bell a time or two.”

Every part of me thanks God that Emerson is not standing in the room behind me hearing this or witnessing the look in Reznor’s eyes that tells me he’d be game to go right now if I said it was okay.

“Aren’t you proud of me?” he asks.