“You need to talk to her. Be honest, and go from there.”
I grunted, staring at my worn sneakers. I picked at the loose trim, thinking I needed to buy a new pair.
“So what got you all riled up and needing a beatdown?”
“She told me I could send Craig tomorrow to do the install—as if I’d send that fucker to her place.”
He laughed, falling back on the mat.
I glared at him. “Glad I amuse you.”
He sat up and wiped his eyes. “Not you, kid. Becca. She’s good.”
“What are you talking about?”
He stood and extended his hand. I let him yank me to my feet, and he slapped my shoulder. “You’re new at this relationship game. I get that. I know it seems a huge thing, but trust me—talk to Becca. She wants this as much as you do. Both of you have been driving me nuts all week.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re all emo and snippy. She looks as though someone kicked her puppy and she is going to cry any second.”
Becca looked as though she was going to cry? I thought she looked as though she didn’t care.
“Was she trying to make me jealous with the Craig thing?”
He chuckled. “Ding-ding. The boy finally gets it. She is interested. Now go get cleaned up. Tomorrow, grow a pair and talk to her. Be honest.”
“How honest?”
He met my eyes, his expression serious. “Tell her your story. If she’s interested, she needs to know it anyway. If she decides you have too much baggage, you’re better off knowing now. Or else, if you don’t want to risk it, you stay friends. It’s A or B. Your choice.”
He was right.
There were two possible scenarios that made me cringe, but if Becca chose to hear me out, it would be worth it.
I kept telling myself that all night.
I arrived the next morning at nine thirty as Becca requested. I didn’t stop for coffee, and I had no flowers for her. I avoided both places this morning, unsure if either was appropriate.
Music thumped from behind Becca’s door. Confused, I lifted my hand and knocked—then again, when she didn’t answer. The volume lessened, and Becca pulled open her door. Her face was glowing, the skin glistening with moisture. She had her hair pulled away from her face, showing off her elegant neck. Her shoulders were bare, the neckline of the shirt torn and ragged. She was breathing heavily, the rapid action drawing my eyes to her chest. She was braless, her nipples straining against the tight shirt. Her black leggings clung to her like a second skin. There was a towel flung over her shoulder, and she wiped her face.
“Oh hey, Reid. Come in. I’m running late.”
Disappointed at her casual greeting, I followed her down the hall. Her ass looked especially pert and full today. I wanted to cup it. To grab her and kiss her, and grind my erection into her so she knew what she was doing to me. To prove that I was feeling was anything but casual.
Instead, I set down my bag, trying to appear nonchalant. “Am I interrupting?”
“No, I’m taking my class. Do you need in this area?” She indicated the empty space behind her.
“No, um, I can start anywhere.”
She lifted a bottle of water, taking a long swallow. The action caused her throat to work, and I was fascinated watching the pull of her muscles. When a small river of water escaped the bottle, racing down her skin and disappearing into her neckline, I was certain I whimpered. Her expression never changed.
“How about I start at the door?”
“Sure. I’ll be here.” She pointed behind me. “I poured you water. I know you like ice.”
“Thanks.”
I opened my bag on the counter, making sure I had everything I needed. I carried the control panel to the door, along with the contact and other items I would need. The music started up again, and I glanced down the hall, freezing. My eyes widened when I realized what class she was taking. One, until this moment, I didn’t know existed.
Not yoga or one of the jazzer-whatever classes.
Pole dancing.
Becca was fucking pole dancing in front of me.
I stared as she went through some moves, seemingly forgetting I was even in the area. I knew my mouth hung open. I knew my dick lengthened.
I knew I was fucked.
She was elegant and graceful, a blur of movement as she twirled and arched.
Wicked and tempting as she wrapped her legs around the pole and bent backward. The bow of her back was mesmerizing as she hung upside down with only the strength of her legs holding her in position.
I had to turn away, fumbling with the items in my hands. I shut my eyes, counted to ten, and reached for the drill. I needed to concentrate.
Except my gaze drifted back to her and I stared for endless moments, caught up in her actions. She hung on the pole using only her hands, her legs split and wide, balancing. She transitioned into a spin and moved onto yet another seductive move.
I dropped the control unit, annihilating it when the drill landed on top. Cursing, I picked it up; grateful I always carried a spare. In the kitchen, I dug the other one from my bag, then desperate to cool off, grabbed the glass of water she had for me and drank it. I leaned against the back counter, watching Becca’s mesmerizing form.
She did a series of moves, ending with a one-legged spin, her arms controlling the motion. When she was done, she bent low, one leg around the pole, her arm locked in position. Her hair dragged on the floor, her other arm stretched back, highlighting her curves. Her face tilted in my direction, and our eyes locked across the room. Her chest heaved, mine matching her breathing without thought. A slow, sexy smirk split her mouth.
“You like that, Reid?” she asked, her voice a throaty purr.
The entire week crashed down on me. The worry, disappointment, and frustration made me react. I didn’t care about her father’s views, her ideas of convicts. I didn’t care we needed to talk. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was touching her. She knew what seeing her would do to me. She did this deliberately to provoke me.
It was my turn. The only thing standing in my way was the counter.
I was going over it.
I saw it all in my mind: vaulting the counter, grabbing her in my arms, and kissing her until she begged me to take her. Then, losing my virginity to the only woman I had ever wanted that way.
Reality was slightly different.
I cleared the counter easily, my height and frame giving me the advantage. Her eyes widened at the sight of me hurtling toward her. She twisted so her feet hit the floor, but she clutched the pole with her hands, watching me advance. My foot caught my bag, though, sending tools and screws everywhere. Instead of lunging and grabbing her in my arms, I stumbled on the contents, crashing into her. I gripped at her arms, yanking her up, somehow wrapping her hair around the pole instead of my fist, making her gasp in pain. She slid from the pole to the floor with me on top of her, hitting her squarely in the chest, driving the air from her lungs in a painful-sounding whoosh. Her leg jerked, kneeing me in the groin, causing an agonizing groan to escape my mouth.
“My hair,” she gasped.
“My dick,” I squeaked.
We started laughing. The sound drowned out the loud, thumping music. Carefully, I untangled her hair, reached for the remote, and turned down the volume. I brushed back the damp tendrils from her face and lifted myself off her, hovering over her torso.