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He steps right up to me and slides the glass back into my palm. He leans in and whispers by my ear. “I’ll. Give you. A ride. Next time.”
I squeak.
My body is in shock and I’m pretty sure he can tell.
He stands just inches away, openly staring at my mouth. “Drink up, Stargirl.”
A shiver races down my spine. For some wild reason, I imagine Nolan repeating those words. But in a totally different context.
I imagine myself on my knees. I imagine him pressing his cock between my lips. Drink up, Stargirl.
Holy shit. Where did that thought come from?!
Just like that, I’m dripping like the condensation beading on the outside of this glass.
Looking mighty satisfied with himself, Nolan strolls right out of the house, leaving me there. Hot and bothered and staring at his tight ass in those shorts as he goes.
In need of a change of underwear, I hop into the shower for a fast rinse. Thoughts of Nolan replay in my head—sexy fucker—and my hand ends up between my thighs.
As I shower, I say his name again and again. My fingers work quickly, taking me to a speedy climax before my shame even has the chance to catch up.
There’s been extreme levels of tension—of the sexual variety—between us lately, ever since I got back to town. And I can’t for the life of me figure out why. What’s changed? Is it just me imagining the lingering looks and dark stares and painful lust?
I probably am imagining things. Nolan Brighton does not do flirtation.
Back in the home office, I refuse to let my thoughts spiral into a pit of self-reproach. I’m an adult. I’m single. And Nolan is hot as fuck. I can fantasize about him all I want. As long as I never act on it, there’s nothing to be ashamed of. I just need to keep my eyes on the big picture. Regaining my independence. Not falling under some guy’s hypnotic spell.
I dig through my shopping bags. I choose some baggy black sweatpants and a white tank top to wear. Then I plop down on the couch, aware that I can’t keep putting off reading my emails. In fact, I’ve had an influx of new messages over the past few days. What did I expect?
I just want to toss my phone in the bushes and run away. But playing the runaway card is already getting old for me.
I’m a grown woman. I can’t keep avoiding the things that scare me.
Taking a huge breath, I open up my inbox and start going through my emails.
But once I start reading through them, I realize that it’s nothing like I feared it would be.
Yes, there are more than a few not-too-happy messages from the production studio. But my inbox is mainly overflowing with messages from gossip blogs, celebrity entertainment shows and media outlets. These are all interview requests.
They want to interview me. Me!
Holy shit. Maybe Daphne was right. Looks like I’m…famous.
But probably not in a good way.
9
NOLAN
“Wanna watch a movie?”
Inez glances up from where she’s leaned against the counter, drinking a glass of water, attention concentrated on her phone. She gives me a blank look. “Huh?”
Standing here in the entryway to my kitchen, I think I finally understand what it’s like to be the high school geek, asking my crush to the homecoming dance. Except I’m a twenty-seven year old single father, inviting my stunning houseguest to hang out with me on her night off from work.
Anyway, Inez had dinner with Stella and me earlier—pigs in a blanket with curly fries and broccoli. Don’t judge me. Then I went off to tuck my daughter into bed. Now I’m back in the kitchen and I see that Inez has tidied up the dishes. That leaves the whole night ahead of us.
I clear my throat, wondering why the hell I feel as nervous as I do. “I just figured…Stella’s already in bed. And it’s only eight-thirty. And I just…” I shake my head, feeling stupid for thinking she’d want to spend her free time with me. “Never mind.” I start to walk away.
