Page 69 of Off the Post

Fuck. What a night it was.

Ali is literally sexy sunshine in a bottle. She’s sweet yet unafraid to take a risk, like the way she took over and eagerly fucked me on the couch last night.

Watching her come on top of me in that uninhibited way of hers is the hottest thing I’ve ever experienced.

Not at all like the lost and hurt woman Rossy described her when he drunk-shared in my car back to his place after the event. I can’t imagine Ali crumbling apart like Rossy said she did over the situation in San Francisco. The way he told it, it sounds like Ali came close to a mental breakdown.

That’s not the woman I’ve come to know. Ali is confident and strong. Bold yet soft. Honest but empathetic.

And now as I stride out into the kitchen where Ali is making coffee, it’s impossible to believe she is anything other than happy. She’s dancing to music coming from some wireless speaker, and the bright, cheery smile she gives me over her shoulder hits hard in my solar plexus.

I roll up behind her to wrap my arms around her waist and lean my chest into her back. She drops her head back and turns her chin up so I can bend down and capture her mouth with mine.

A beeping noise snaps my attention away. At first, I think it’s the coffee machine or the end of a microwave cycle, but Ali’s head whirls toward the front door.

Fuck. We’re about to get caught in the act.

“Oh shit,” Ali wheezes, and extracts herself from my arms. She drops down behind the kitchen island to hide at my feet.

Tanner strides through the door, leaving it open behind him as he scans the apartment in search of something. When his gaze finally lands on me in the kitchen, he looks confused.

“Hey, Wolf. What the fuck you doing here?”

I’ve never been good with making up stories, so I tell him the truth. Or, at least, a portion of the truth.

“I stayed the night after I dropped you off.”

“Huh. I didn’t notice you on the couch when I left this morning.”

Hoping he won’t ask for further details, I don’t respond or stretch the truth further. Rossy tilts his head, then throws a look over his shoulder toward Ali’s bedroom and the light streaming from the doorway.

“Where’s Ali?”

I shrug nonchalantly and look for a way to steer clear of that subject.

“I’m about to take off but was brewing a pot of coffee first. What you up to?”

My diversion tactic works. He shakes his head and then finds what he came back for. His phone, which he left on the counter. He picks it up and waves it victoriously.

“I forgot my fucking phone like an idiot. Wasn’t quite myself this morning,” he says with a chuckle, smacking his forehead with a palm. “I’ve got a meeting with my agent right after my sesh, and I need the address of where I’m supposed to be.”

“That would be helpful.” I round the corner, leaving Ali in her hiding spot. Rossy gives me a strange look, his eyes traveling down to my briefs, but he doesn’t comment. Instead, he comes in for our choreographed dab and double fist bump and then rushes toward the open door.

Just as he’s about to walk out, he pauses and turns his head toward me with a look of uneasiness flashing in his eyes.

I swallow. This is it. He’s figured us out.

“Hey, man, if I said anything about Ali last night on the way home, will you just forget it?” He screws up his forehead. “I talk shit when I’m drunk.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Ali raise her head, and she eyeballs me curiously.

Well, shit. This could get messy.

I give him a dismissive wave. “Nah, It’s all good. You always talk shit about stuff nobody cares about.”

“True.” He laughs, rapping his knuckles against the wood frame. “Catch ya later, bruh.”

“Ja. Later.”