I roll my eyes. “Not the time, man. Not the time.” I point him in the direction of the door. “Leave.”
At the slicing edge in my tone, the man grabs his briefcase and sulks his way to the exit. “Fucking over-priced foie gras,” he mutters bitterly to himself.
Iris is left standing there, one arm banded around her middle. Every inch of her is pink with embarrassment and she looks like she’s trying to fold in on herself.
She grabs her glass and tosses back the last of her wine, squirming as it burns its way down. She looks up at me, adorably shamefaced. She whispers, “I think I'm gonna need a ride home.”
21
Jude
Minutes later, I’ve settled the bill and the waiter has packed up my brother’s meal to go. Cannon merrily accepts his takeout container and he’s out the door, eager to get home and pick up naked-hour with his wife.
Then, Iris and I are in my car, making the short drive home. The ride is painfully silent, with nothing but the low sounds of a sports talk station filling the vehicle. I squeeze behind her car in the driveway and I have to say something to her.
I turn in her direction but before I can get a word out, she’s muttered a hasty ‘thanks’ and she’s bolting up the walkway and through the front door.
Fuck—I want to bang my head on the steering wheel because, yet again, I’ve missed my shot. Usually, I’m good with women. Getting a female to spend the night with me is pretty straightforward, especially once they realize who I am. But with Iris, I’ve got zero game.
A beep sounds from the seat Iris just vacated. I glance over and notice her cellphone lighting up on my passenger seat. With a sigh, I scoop up the device and move up the walkway.
My limp isn’t so pronounced tonight, I realize. A rush of gratitude pours through me as I climb the stairs to the second floor. I’m healing, slowly but surely. All that work I’ve been putting in, it’s helping.
I started working with therapist number five a few days ago. This new guy is younger. Eager to help. A Paragons fan. He doesn’t work out of some fancy sports clinic. He makes house visits since he doesn’t have his own work space. But what he lacks in experience, he makes up for in dedication and he sure as hell believes in me. With him and my sexy new exercise buddy in my corner, I’m starting to feel like my career has a real shot.
The cat skitters down the dark hallway when she hears me approaching. “Hey, Foxxy. It’s just me.”
Light pours from under Iris’s door. My heart is pounding in my temples and I take a second before knocking to gather my courage. After two soft taps of my knuckles, the door slowly swings open. Light from her bedroom spills into the hallway.
Iris stands there, looking up at me from under those pretty pale lashes of hers. Her glittery earrings are gone and so is her tempting red lipstick. She’s taken down that fancy up-do and now her curls bounce down, skimming the tops of her breasts.
“Forgot your phone in the car.” I give her a soft grin, unable to take my eyes off her.
She swallows and stretches out a palm full of hair clips and pins and elastics. “Thank you.” Her tongue swipes nervously across her lip when I set the device into her hand. She’s so tiny now that her high heels are gone. Tiny and curvy and perfect. “And thank you for coming to my rescue back at the restaurant. I was a little in over my head.”
I nod. “Anytime, Iris. If I’m around and you need my help, I’ve got your back.” My gaze bores into hers. “By now, you know that, don’t you?”
She presses her back into the doorframe. One polished gold toenail swivels back and forth, digging into the carpet at her feet. “I know that…” she confesses.
God—so many things I want to do to her right now. With the way she’s looking at me. With the way her breasts are rising and falling on each fast breath. Fuck. I need to get out of here.
“Good night, Iris.”
I move to take a step back but her tiny hand falls to my chest. She sets the phone on her dresser, rises onto her tiptoes and presses her rosy lips to my cheek. “Good night, Jude.”
She’s pulling away but my lust takes over. I trap her hand on my chest, right on my thudding heart. My free arm goes around her waist. We stare at each other.
And I stop fucking thinking.
I rush forward and press my lips to hers. For a moment, we both freeze. We stand there, gazes locked, cross-eyed, mouths pressed together, perfectly still, trying to process what the fuck we’re doing.
I’m kissing Iris Merlini. My college rival, my roomie, the woman I’ve been thinking about even though I know I shouldn’t.
Her eyes begin to flutter shut. Slowly, gradually, her tiny hands smooth up the front of my chest and hair clips rain down on the floor. My muscles lock in place as my entire body absorbs the sensation of her touching me.
Then, Iris flings her arms around my neck. And she kisses me.
She pulls me down for better reach and she kisses me, sweeping her soft tongue against the seam of my mouth. I’m helpless to do anything but open up and let her tongue inside. Suddenly, she’s not so shy anymore. Iris is in control, tilting her head to get the perfect angle.
That’s when my hands start roaming, touching, squeezing. With my pelvis, I push her into the doorframe, making her feel just how hard I am for her.
My greedy fingers find the hem of her dress and slide beneath the fabric, traveling up her velvet-smooth skin. When my good knee slides between
