“Fuck…” It’s an angry groan as my thighs clench, as my cock pulses.
For a moment, I stand under the shower, wishing the hot water would ease my tension. It’s no use. I’d planned to possess every inch of her body, and now I’m jerking off in the shower like a teenager. This is not how my Saturday was supposed to go.
Snatching up the body wash, I quickly clean up and switch off the water, stepping out and wrapping in a thick robe.
Standing in the center of my bedroom, I stare at the bed, thinking of her falling asleep in my arms. Her face relaxed with a little smile. My hand was on her breast, and she laughed softly. She asked me if I liked football, of all things.
My brow relaxes, and something moves in my stomach. She smelled like flowers, creamy magnolia and mimosa.
I push that to the back of my mind, reaching for my shirt when the twinge in my back pulls me up short. “Fucking Miles.”
It gives me an idea.
Picking up my phone, I quickly tap out a text as I jog down the stairs. We need to see Joselyn’s portfolio. Would you ask her to drop it by the office on Monday?
I quickly hit send and switch on the coffee pot.
Daisy replies fast. Sorry, I forgot to send you her number. Here it is.
A little woosh noise, and just like that, Joselyn’s information is on my phone. I stare at it for several seconds. She’s here in my hands. I could call her or text her and make her tell me why she left that way. I could order her to come back here now.
That is not who I am. I’ll let you be the point person. Just tell her to stop by on Monday and drop it off. Any time.
Gray dots appear as Daisy composes a reply. They disappear and reappear, and I imagine she’s changing her mind about what she wants to say. I have to hand it to Daisy, she’s pretty good at getting what she wants, but I’m not budging.
At last, she sends, Should I tell her to bring it to you or Miles?
Now that is a good question. I don’t give it a moment’s thought. Either is fine. Thank you.
She sends a little heart, and I take my coffee.
To be continued, Miss Winthrop.
Chapter 7
Joselyn
“It’s official. I am my own worst nightmare.” I pace Courtney’s apartment with my hands in my hair.
With every step, every movement of fabric over my skin, I feel all the places Spencer kissed me or bit me or froze me with ice before covering me with his mouth… Or fucked me silly.
“Stop being so hard on yourself. You’d been through a dry spell.” Court’s in the kitchen making coffee, and I cross the short distance from the living room with my arms wrapped around my waist.
“I said no men for a year. A year. I was going to focus on me, get my career back on track, and what do I do? I jump in bed with the first hot guy who looks at me.”
“A year is a long time.”
“I’m a total slut.”
“What’s a slut?” Oliver’s little voice makes me jump.
“Shit!” Both hands cover my mouth.
“Aunt Sly said a swear word.” Ollie snorts a laugh, ducking his head.
His mom cuts her eyes as she carries two mugs of coffee to the table. “Are you auditioning for SNL?”
“I’m sorry!”
Court bends down to kiss the top of his head. “Ignore Aunt Sly, sweetie. She’s having a hard week.”
His hands are cupped under his neck. “She woke me up last night.”
“I did?” I kneel in front of him, sliding my fingers across the front of his hair. “I tried to be super quiet.”
“I thought you were a monster.” He rubs his hands back and forth under his chin.
“What’s that? You got something?” I smile, leaning closer.
“It’s just Chartreuse.” He opens them, and my heart flies to my throat.
“Oh, gross!” I squeal, falling back on my ass and scrambling behind a kitchen chair. “Get it away!”
“Oliver James,” Court fusses. “Put that thing back in its cage.”
“She’s not a thing!” He cries, and I peek from behind his mother’s chair at the bright green tree frog with oversized orange eyes watching me from his palm.
“I swear to God, Ollie, if that thing gets on me, I will lose it.”
“You already lost it,” he grumbles under his breath, and my eyebrows shoot up.
“Rude.” I look up at his mom, and she shakes her head.
“That is not how we talk to adults, Olls. Now put Chartreuse in her cage.”
“She needs her bugs. She’s going to starve to death.”
“I’ll get her bugs. Put her up now.”
He stomps up the short hall leading to our shared bedroom, and I rise slowly. “I’ve been sleeping with that thing in the room every night?”
“It’s just a tree frog. Don’t be such a drama queen.”
“I’m loving the attitudes around here.”
But when she returns from the kitchen with a plastic cup of what looks like crickets, I notice her eyes have dark circles under them.
“Hey,” I catch her hand. “Are you okay? Did I wake you, too? I’ll sleep in my van next time.”
“It’s not that.” Her shoulders drop, and she exhales heavily.
“Tell me.”
She glances towards Ollie’s room before lowering her voice and leaning closer. “Ozzy showed up here last night. I didn’t even know he knew where we lived. Thank God, Ollie was already asleep.”
“What did he want?” My grip on her hand tightens. “Did he hurt you?”
She shakes her head, but her eyes are worried. “He said he wants his son back. He said I can’t keep him away.”
I’ve never met Court’s husband, but once when we were doing clinicals, I had to treat her clients for a week because he’d sprained her wrist. I’d also kept Ollie for her so he’d be away from the fighting when his dad was around.
“Didn’t the judge give you sole custody?”
Her lips tighten. “Ozzy won’t sign the divorce papers. I filed a restraining order a year ago, but I guess it expired. I don’t know. I thought he’d finally given up and gone away.”
“Do they ever really do that?” She doesn’t meet my eyes, and I pull her into a hug. “Don’t worry. I’m here now, and I can kick some serious butt.”
She exhales a laugh. “Thanks, Sly.”
Leaning back, I catch her eyes. “What? You don’t believe me?”
“It’s not that.” She rubs her face with her hands. “I’m just so tired. I stepped in this pile of shit, and no matter what I do, I can’t seem to get it off me.”
“I’m here for you.” She blinks up, and our eyes meet. “I’ll do whatever I can—just tell me what you need.”
“Thanks, girl. I just wish he’d lose interest.” She goes to Ollie’s room, and I sit in the chair, studying my warm mug of coffee. All those true crime stories I’ve watched about abuse situations ending in death push against my mind. I’d do anything to protect my friend.
My phone buzzes, and I lift the face to see a text from Daisy. Miles needs to see your portfolio. Spence said to bring it by on Monday.