Page 58 of Blue Line

But, fuck, that was very enjoyable.

The words tumbled out when he showed up. I didn’t have time to think about them. Which is probably a good thing because I don’t think I would have asked him if I’d thought it through beforehand.

I want him, and he clearly wants me. I mean, it’s been evident since our kiss the other day and after our conversation earlier.

I’m tired of pretending not to want him. I think I’m finally ready to get off the denial train and admit that I like him.

I wish I’d asked him to stay. Invited him into my bed. Even though I’ve had two orgasms tonight, the most in a while, I’m still keyed up. All I can think about when I close my eyes is him stroking himself. I bet his cock would feel wonderful filling me up. No, I know it would. I blink open my eyes, glancing at the closed door.

Do I?

No, I can’t. He would have stayed if he wanted more tonight. I heave out a breath. It’s for the best that he didn’t. We need to talk about what we’re doing. If we’re changing the rules of our fake engagement, or if this was a one-time thing.

I hope he doesn’t regret it in the morning. I know I won’t.

But that’s a tomorrow discussion.

I roll onto my side, hoping I can fall asleep quickly.

I hope things aren’t weird between us in the morning.

The light spilling into my window is what wakes me up, and I stretch, rolling my shoulders and neck, trying and failing not to think about last night as my gaze snags on the chair he sat on and the laundry on the floor. The clean laundry that I probably should put away. I hate folding clothes, so I usually hang up what I absolutely need to and leave the rest in a pile.

I climb out of bed and pad to the door to listen for signs he’s awake and home, but it’s quiet, so I creep out into the hallway and make a mad dash to the bathroom. I don’t know why I’m nervous to see him. Probably because I’m afraid he’s going to tell me last night was a mistake. That it was a one-and-done thing. That he’s changed his mind, and he no longer wants me.

Once I’m done in the bathroom, I head back to my room to change into a pair of shorts and a tank top. I throw my hair into a messy bun before heading into the kitchen, which thankfully, is empty. I start the coffee pot and fill up a glass of water at the sink, sipping it as I wait for the coffee to brew.

“Morning, tornado.”

I about jump out of my skin, whirling around to find him standing in the doorway, a pair of gray sweatpants slung low on his hips. And of course, he’s wearing his glasses.

“Way to give a girl a heart attack.” I try to infuse an annoyed tone into my words, but it’s useless.

He chuckles, a deep raspy sound that goes straight to my core, as he steps into the kitchen.

“Sleep well?” he asks as he reaches around me and grabs his own glass from the cabinet, his arm brushing against mine, and that’s all it takes for me to want his hands on me. For him to touch me. For a repeat of last night, except with him participating instead of watching.

“Yeah.” I clear my throat and force my attention to the coffee maker, which has finished brewing.

I grab a couple of mugs and pour us each a cup. My phone dings as I’m taking my first sip, and I grab it. I click on the notification and read the email before sending a quick response.

“Oh, shit,” I mutter.

Should I have waited?

Will I seem too eager?

Oh well.

“What is it?” he asks, coming to stand next to me at the counter, bumping his hip gently into mine.

“I have a job interview on Friday.” I’m surprised how calm I sound, because internally, I’m jumping up and down.

“That’s awesome.”

I set my phone down before turning to him. “I’m shocked, honestly. I thought it was a long shot I’d even get an interview. The job sounds like a dream—traveling with a tour company all over the world, taking pictures of their guests. It’s a one-year contract, though. So not permanent, but at this point, I’ll take what I can get.”

I swear I see something flash across his face, disappointment maybe, but it disappears as quickly as it appeared. That’s weird.