Jason: My dick is hard just seeing your feet in the sand.
Carson: ^^^ and that’s why you have two friends.
I laugh to myself and turn the corner to my apartment, dinner dangling in a bag off my forearm as I text Carson back. One of the things I love about my “two friends” is that I can be a dick to the extreme, over-dramatic, and effeminate just to get a reaction from them—because I’m that guy—and they’re still friends with me.
Jason: You know you love it when my dick gets hard.
Carson: This might shock you but I really don’t.
I look up and catch George, holding the door open for me. I give him a tip of my cap. “Thanks, man.”
“Any time, Mr. Orson. Have a good night.”
“You too.”
I spot the open doors of the elevator and jog toward them as they start to close. “Hold the elevator.” A small hand blocks the doors, giving me enough time to make it inside.
“Tha—”
My voice falls short when I almost collide with Dottie in the elevator. The look on her face tells me she wasn’t expecting to see me, and I’m sure I’m mirroring the same shock, because she’s the last person I expected to see after our interaction a few days ago.
“What are you doing here?” she sneers as the doors shut behind me.
“Nice to see you too. I’m doing great, thanks.”
She folds her arms across her chest, and that’s when I take her in. Pressed wide-legged black pants that crawl up her hips and button above her belly button. A tight red and black shirt that covers her arms is tucked into her waistline, framing perfectly how small she is. Thin suspenders connect from her pants over her shoulders, and she’s paired the whole ensemble with black heels.
Business sexy . . . really sexy.
I want to play with those suspenders.
I want to snap them over her tits to see if I can make her nipples hard.
Bet her nipples are like fucking torpedoes.
“What are you staring at?”
“Your boobs,” I answer honestly. “Want me to stare at something else?”
“Yes, for God’s sake, have some class.”
“Eh, having class is boring.”
“You didn’t answer my question. What are you doing here?”
I look from side to side and then whisper, “I live here.”
Groaning in frustration, she clenches her fists at her side and says, “I’m aware, but you’re supposed to be on vacation.”
“Keeping track of me, sweet cheeks? That’s cute.”
“Don’t call me that, and no, I’m watching Emory’s plants while they’re away.”
“Plant-sitting?” I scoff. “People are so weird.”
“Why aren’t you on vacation?”
Persistent. I wonder if she’s as relentless in the boardroom. For some reason, that pulls up an image in my head: Dottie naked, bent over her desk, demanding to be fucked from behind until the task is complete. My fingers digging into her hips, smashing back into me until she cries out my name in sweet surrender.
Huh. Being fucking horny around this woman is dangerous. At least her caustic façade is enough to settle the ol’ dong down. It has been a long-ass time since I last got laid though, and I’m not really sure what I can do about fixing that. Random hookups haven’t been my thing for a while now.
I chuckle to myself, which only pisses off the woman next to me.
“Why are you laughing?”
“Whoa.” I pretend to tamp her down with my hand. “Easy there, killer. If you get any more tense you might snap.”
“Whatever,” she answers like the mature woman she is. “Now that you’re here, I don’t have to watch the stupid plants. You can do it.”
“Oh, no can do.” I shake my head. “Plants aren’t my thing.”
“What do you mean plants aren’t your thing? They’re easier than a dog. You just water them.”
“Yeahhh.” I cringe. “All those leaves? Nah, I’m good.”
“Are you serious right now? You’re not going to water their plants because of, and I quote, ‘all those leaves’?”
“Yup. I’m good.”
“You have got to be—”
Her sentence is cut short when the elevator makes an abrupt stop, jostling both of us into the walls of the small carrier.
“Huh, would you look at that?” I glance around the small room, wondering what’s wrong.
“No, no, no,” Dottie says over and over again, as she rushes to the panel and presses the emergency button.
When nothing happens, she presses all the other buttons.
“That’s intelligent,” I say, arms crossed and observing her from behind. “Confuse the damn thing so it has no idea what to do.”
She doesn’t answer, but instead pulls her phone out from her purse and starts holding it up in the air, searching for a signal.
“It’s cute that you think raising the phone higher will grant you service. We’re in a metal box surrounded by concrete, sweetheart. I never get reception in here.”
“Damn it,” she mutters, stuffing her phone back in her purse.
“Looks like you’re stuck here with me until someone figures out the elevator broke, so it’s best you get comfortable.” I sit on the floor and then pat my lap. “You can sit right here.”
“I’d rather lick the elevator floor.”
“There’s a disgusting visual. Suit yourself.”
I get comfortable and start rifling through my bag of food. Thank God I grabbed dinner before this, because I’m starving, and if I was stuck in this elevator with no food, I’d be a raging bastard, bashing his head against the metal door from pure hunger.
Low blood sugar does crazy things to me.
I bring the term hangry to a new level.
There’s only—
“Why are you smiling like that?”
I look up at her. “Smiling like what? I’m just being normal.”
“No, you’re smiling like you’re having a conversation inside your head and you think you’re funny.”
How would she know that?
“Well, I am funny.” I pop open my to-go box filled to the brim with a Philly cheesesteak sandwich and tons of fries. Staring at it, I say, “Oh yes, come to papa.”
I lift half of the sandwich and bring it to my mouth just as Dottie says, “It’s rude to eat in front of someone who doesn’t have food.”
“Are you calling me rude?”
“Yes, I am.” She folds her arms over her chest, staring at me as if I’m minced meat.
“That’s funny. Isn’t that the pot calling the kettle black?”
Her eyes narrow. “Are you saying I’m rude?”
I laugh. Does she really have no clue? She has been mean and ill-tempered every time we’ve spoken. In fact, there hasn’t been a moment where she’s been . . . nice. Although my teasing hasn’t helped her surly attitude, I’m sure. “Babe, you’ve been rude to me since the minute I walked into your office.”
“Because I needed to work and couldn’t afford the distraction.”
I shake my head. “No, because someone was doing something nice for you and instead of saying thank you, you ignored them, took their food, and then kicked them out.”