Page 57 of Worth Loving You

“Fuck,” he hissed, dropping to a squat to clean the mess.

I flipped on the light in the kitchen and froze, my brows arched high. Wearing a pair of black sweatpants with a white stripe down the legs and nothing else, my mind was blown at the muscles that rippled with his movements. Muscles that were littered with tattoos. I had seen men like him in movies, read about them in smutty romance novels, but never thought they existed in the real world.

His shoulders wide and bulbous, his biceps bulged with thick veins down to his wrists. The dip in his back for his spine was deep, sinewy imprints from muscles disappearing into the sweats at his narrow waist.

When he stood and opened the cabinet beneath the sink to throw the glass away, he turned toward me with a sneer, stomping closer and closer.

My breath caught and I lunged to the side, practically throwing myself on the island. He jerked open the tiny pantry by the fridge and grabbed the broom and dustpan.

As he faced me again, I noticed both his nipples had barbells in them. And when his back was to me to sweep the floor, I saw claw marks on the side of his neck.

Humiliation scorched my skin, knowing I put those there when Milo was fucking me in the SUV earlier. It was one thing to scratch up your lover, but to inflict them on a spectator had me mortified.

“You really think that’s appropriate to wear?” he grumbled, dumping the contents into the trash and tapping the pan on the side. Kneeing the door to close it, he popped the plastic tray to the side of the broom and returned it to the closet, sneering with so much animosity.

I cleared my throat, squaring my shoulders. “I didn’t know you’d be up. Why are you up?”

“Like anyone on this floor is sleeping tonight with you screaming in there.”

I cringed, shrinking with more embarrassment. “Sorry.”

He went to the sink to wash his hands, shaking the excess water and tearing a paper towel off to dry them. Arching a brow, he tipped his head and repeated his question.

I crossed my arms over my chest, gripping my shoulders. His sight lowered to my crotch and then slowly returned to my eyes. I coughed and stepped behind the island.

“I guess there’s no need for modesty now though, huh? Not after I had a front row seat, literally, to what you look like.” He rubbed at the back of his neck, his lids narrowing. “Even got a little participation trophy.”

I batted my lashes, looking everywhere but at him. “I’m s-sorry. I had no idea…he was going to do that.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that.”

“Sorry…about your neck.”

He folded his arms and shifted to one leg, peering down his nose. “Sorry about the bump on your head.”

I started to rub it but remembered that would mean uncovering my breasts, so I stopped. “Crazy potholes,” I muttered anxiously.

“Yeah, well, I was kind of distracted.”

My pulse racing, I cleared my throat again while looking around the kitchen. “Again sorry. I know that was the last thing you wanted to see.”

“Hm.”

My eyes rolled, my frame sagging. “Look, Wyatt, I know you can’t stand me, but Milo likes me.”

“I think he’s in love with you.”

My lips quivered into a weak smile, my heart skipping. Taking in a jagged breath, I exhaled through my nose to steady my emotions. “Yes, well,” I whispered, my voice shaking. “You may not like the way I look, but he does, and since he is your boss, you need to find a way to get along with me. I mean, you can’t hate someone because they’re fat.”

“I don’t hate you because you’re fat.”

“Really? You’ve made it abundantly clear since day one you were turned off by the way I look.”

He thumbed his nose and turned his profile to me, huffing loudly. “Yup, yup, I remember what I said.”

“So, I say again, Milo likes the way I look, therefore it doesn’t matter that you don’t. Just because you can’t understand why he wants me—”

“On the contrary. I’m so hard right now, I would bend you over that bar and give you a real fucking if I knew it wouldn’t get me killed.”