I sighed. The hospital was where I needed to be. I checked the time: ten a.m. The doctors either made their rounds early or pushed their visits later and later into the day, leaving me wondering whether my mom would go home or spend another night.
Shoving myself up, I was grateful my store was closed on Sundays. I trudged to my bedroom as I heard the shower kick on. A smile tugged at my lips. A hot guy in my shower. I’d dated good-looking guys, but none had had more than two abs or towered over me and blocked out the sun with the width of their shoulders.
I stopped after flipping on the light in my room. Holy messy bedroom, Batman. Covers draped from the bed to the floor. Clothes scattered everywhere. My nightstand drawer hung open from when we’d dived into my condom stash.
If I could fist-bump myself, I would. A girl needed to cut loose with a guy who did it for her. And Sam did.
My heart sank. And today was probably as far as it would go. Searching my drawers for shorts and a cami, I mulled over what the rest of my day would entail. The hospital. That was it.
The water turned off. I didn’t need long. If I lingered under the spray, I’d miss time with Sam and get stuck ruminating over my mom and the store.
Mom and the store. One couldn’t seem to exist with the other. The portion of my trust I’d used to open Arcadia was all I had. The rest secured Mom’s future and medical bills, like the last two nights. Pilfering more to open in another location wasn’t an option.
I blinked furiously. Sam couldn’t catch me being the girl who cried after sex. How mortifying.
The bathroom door opened. He stepped out and my insides danced. With his black hair slicked back, his blue eyes were more apparent. Water droplets rolled down his chest to the chartreuse towel slung low on his hips.
He glanced at the towel and shrugged. “Your Superman towel was too small.”
He passed me as he walked into the room. I loved the smell of my dollar-store shampoo on him.
“That’s because it’s a kid’s towel, but I had to have it.” My smile faded and I pulled at the hem of my shorts. “I’m going to shower. It’ll only take a few minutes.”
He paused picking up his pants. “A woman only taking a few minutes to get ready?”
“Ha-ha,” I called as I entered the bathroom. I poked my head back out. “Haven’t you realized I’m low maintenance by now?”
Wes
Yeah, I had. I glared at the now shut bathroom door. She’d better shower quickly because as slow as her drain was, she’d overflow the tub within minutes.
Mara had almost talked my dad out of one of his most valuable properties. That old strip mall was in a prime location in Minneapolis. What was her angle? To get a better house? Newer car?
Everyone had a reason motivating their greed. What was Mara’s?
If Sam had finalized the paperwork and Mara had become the owner of the building, she could’ve sold it for millions—to me, because I’d had big plans for the location. The high-end condos and upscale shopping center could make me millions.
The water turned on and I imagined Mara’s lithe body under the spray. Blood pooled in my cock and I didn’t need to talk another hard-on down.
Her coming on my face. Glorious. I could have her for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.
I shook my head and finished dressing. I liked sex. A lot. But it didn’t rule me.
It hadn’t used to rule me. Since meeting Mara, I could lie in bed all day, fucking her. I had, in fact, except it’d been all night, dotted with a couple hours of sleep before I’d woken with a demanding erection.
My stomach rumbled. As delicious as Mara tasted, she didn’t fill my belly. The kitchen I’d glimpsed was opposite of her living room, through a narrow hallway. I shoved my hands in my pockets and went in search of food.
And found myself staring at a short row of cupboards in the smallest kitchen I’d ever experienced. Didn’t matter. It’s not like I knew how to cook. My sprawling estate employed landscapers, a housekeeper, and a personal chef. They worked during the day when I wasn’t around, and when I had the day off, they weren’t allowed to show. I liked my privacy.
Besides, my mom would con them and worm her way into my house. And never leave.
She’d eat all my food, too, the trays of five-star meals my chef prepared. Then she’d bitch about it.
Wesley, call your driver to take us to Templeton’s. A place she couldn’t afford to go on her own. This food should be trashed. I wouldn’t even donate it to the homeless. As if she ever donated anything.
Wesley, I heard of this fabulous new restaurant in New York. You should fly us there for the weekend. Because being stuck in a plane where I couldn’t throw her out was my idea of a fun weekend.
I heard the shower turn off. Shit, Mara was serious about a quick shower.
Cupboards teased me. They were tidy but had seen better days. Probably in the seventies. A couple of cupboard doors were stacked against the wall because they’d fallen off entirely.
Rummaging through her supplies, I decided to give up. Boxes of processed food lined the insides, and cans of sodium-packed whatever filled the rest. Switching to the fridge, I scowled. Milk, Jell-O, and, hallelujah, some fruit.
I pulled out the grapes and milk. Better than nothing and not as toxic as what the cupboards hid. There was a carton of eggs, but hell if I knew what to do with them.
“Oh hey, help yourself.” Mara breezed in. “I’ll whip up some scrambled eggs. You want any?”
As long as there were no canned veggies in them. “Sure.”
I stood, holding the food while I stared at her.
