Chapter Sixteen
Evie
I made it home without attempting to seduce Alex on my front porch and I counted that as a win. In fact, despite the strange start, I counted the entire day as a win. Spending time with him was so easy, it was hard to remember we’d just met. Conversation flowed naturally, twangs of chemistry kept things interesting, and the night was over before I was ready, especially because it ended on a slightly confusing note.
During our trip to Sweet Stuff and the first half of dinner, it definitely felt like we were flirting, and I’d been sure we’d end the night with another make out session. At some point, the focus switched back to work and the chemistry faded, leaving me to wonder if I’d been seeing things that weren’t there.
Which was a relief. (Kind of.)
I had too much going on in my life to start a relationship. (At least that was what self-help blogs had to say on the subject.)
After what happened with Drew, I swore I’d never date another writer again. (Though the two men were nothing alike.)
I paced from the living room to the kitchen and back again as I contemplated texting Alex. I didn’t really have anything to say, but couldn’t get him out of my mind and wasn’t ready for our night to be over. With my phone in my hand, I made my way up to my darkened bedroom and flipped on a light, stopping in the middle of the room to tap out a text.
Me: Not to be weird or anything but I just wanted to say I had a really nice time with you. I was so nervous to move to Wildrose, but I’m not anymore. I can see why you like your rut so much. It’s pretty enjoyable.
I hit send and immediately wished I hadn’t as anxiety reminded me I should have left him alone. When the bouncing bubbles indicating he was typing a reply started, I heaved a sigh of relief. They danced for a long time, stopped, then started again. For as long as they teased me, I expected paragraphs, not the one-liner that finally appeared.
Alex: Listen…I have something to tell you and you might not like it.
That statement shot a different kind of adrenaline through my system. Me: Ummm…okay…
Alex: I just feel like it’s important that I’m honest about this.
Me: I’m all ears. Or eyes, I guess, since I’ll be reading whatever it is you have to say that’s more important than acknowledging we had a good time together and I’m glad I met you.
Alex: Evie… This is so much more important than that…
My heart pounded as I watched the bouncing dots of his incoming message.
Alex: You left your curtains open and I can see you right now.
I laughed as I looked up. Sure enough, the windows were bare, the inky blackness of night making me feel exposed. In case Alex was still watching, I waved, then pulled the curtains closed.
Me: Creeper. What are you doing staring into my bedroom?
Alex: Oh, now I’m a creeper because you’re an exhibitionist and I just happened to look out my window as I came into the room. Seems fair.
I laughed, said goodnight, then flopped onto the bed and stared dreamily at the ceiling. Lord and Master, Sir Alexander the Glorious just creeped on me in my very own bedroom…and I liked it. Combine that with the memory of our kiss, his fantastic ass, and the blistering chemistry I’d somehow ignored all day, and I wasn’t surprised at all when my hand slipped into my pants and I found myself wet and ready.
What did surprise me was the fantasy that followed. As I teased pleasure into my body, I imagined throwing open my windows and finding Alex staring out his. His chest was bare, and his dick was hard, and imaginary me slowly pulled off my shirt and dropped it to the floor. Swaying my hips and tweaking my nipples, I teased him until he unzipped his pants and stroked his cock while I danced.
The scene brought on an orgasm so intense I squeaked, then laughed as I softened into my pillows. “Maybe I’m more of an exhibitionist than I thought,” I murmured, then climbed to my feet and got ready for bed.
Chapter Seventeen
Evie
A week passed and Alex and I settled into a comfortable routine. If he had pages for me to read, he’d show up with hope on his face as he handed them over. When he didn’t have pages for me, he’d arrive with Morgan in tow. We’d start the morning with a walk on the beach and go from there.
He’d been right. Sharing his rut did feel an awful lot like dating. Drinks. Dinners. Long conversations about, well, everything. His curiosity was boundless and I was a new toy to turn over and over in his hands as he understood how it worked. I had to actively remind myself he wasn’t as interested in me as he seemed.
Not that I was complaining. Alex was easy to be around and his attention felt good, professional or not. I could think of worse ways to earn a living than hanging around a man as talented and driven as him. Part of me kept hoping his work ethic and general writerness would rub off on me and I’d find my way to writing again. The other part—the one I only let come out when I was alone in my bedroom—kept wondering what it would be like to give in to my fantasies about him.
But we won’t talk about that part.
Bad Evie for thinking that way about your boss. (Though anyone in my position would.)
And this particular morning, my position included sitting on the couch, nursing my coffee as I waited for
