Ten minutes later I’m clutching the bag with the subs in one hand, her hand in my other as we race through the streets fighting the rain and the wind. We make it to my apartment, breathless and laughing but the moment I switch on the light the laugh gets lodged in my chest. We’re both soaked but every inch of Rina is wet, and her scrubs are see-through to the point where I can practically make out every inch of her breasts including her hard pointed nipples.
Nipples I already know taste as delicious as they look.
This was a bad idea.
I should never have invited her over. My head is a mess, and I didn’t think, and I didn’t want to be alone but now she’s here and she’s fucking stunning and I—
“Would it be too much trouble if I asked if I could use your shower? Maybe bargain for something dry to wear after?”
I shake my head no when what I really want to do is scream yes and shove her out the door. Actually, that’s not what I want to do at all. I want to rip her clothes from her body and lick every drop of rainwater from her skin.
“Yeah. Come with me.” I set the subs down on the counter and lead her to the loft upstairs.
My heart roars in my chest, my skin itchy and hot despite my wet clothes that suddenly feel like they’re suffocating me. I direct her into the bathroom, showing her how to work the shower and where the towels are.
“Thank you,” she says, clinging to the door, her typically fierce demeanor turning shy as her cheeks tint up with color. I think it’s the first time I’ve seen her shy and it’s such a goddamn turn-on right now.
“I’ll grab you something to wear.” While I try not to picture you naked and soapy in my shower, using my body wash and shampoo and smelling like me.
“Sounds good.”
Yeah, I think it does too.
The door shuts and a second later the water turns on and I blow out the breath I’ve been holding. Wet clothes hit the floor as I strip down. My cock is like a steel rod and I glare balefully down at it. Not gonna happen, buddy.
It jerks in protest, begging me to reconsider.
I throw on some clean boxer briefs, a pair of gray sweats, and a white T-shirt. Then I dig through my closet, looking for something that might fit her only to come up empty. Grabbing a pair of flannel pants and a hoodie, I walk over to the bathroom, rapping my knuckles against the wood door.
“Yes,” she calls out and I catch the sound of water slapping against the tile.
“I have clothes for you. I’m going to open the door and set them on the counter.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
The knob twists in my hand and if I thought my heart was beating erratically before, this is a whole new level. The scent of my shampoo hits me, floating through the air, caught in the steam and heat as it billows around the room. The glass walls of the shower are completely fogged over but I can make out the hint of her silhouette behind it.
I look away, staring at the counter as I set the clothes down for her. “I’m going to heat the subs.”
“That sounds perfect. I’m starving.”
Me too.
And why does everything she says have to go straight to my dick?
Padding barefoot down the stairs, I start the oven and unwrap our now cold and soggy subs. I can’t imagine either of us eating the entire thing, so I take half of hers and half of mine and wrap them back up in fresh foil, sticking them in the fridge.
Just as I put both subs in the oven, Rina walks down the stairs. Her blonde hair is still wet, but it’s brushed straight down her back and her face is bright and shiny. My clothes dwarf her, and it tugs a smile to my lips.
“Sorry, that was all I had.”
She laughs, glancing down at herself. “It’s fine. I only had to roll up the pants about fifty times to get them to stay up. At least they’re dry and best of all, they smell like you.” She holds the sweatshirt up to her face and takes a deep inhale. I stare awestruck, wanting to tease her or say something sexy or even stupid but nothing comes out. My mouth hangs agape for a moment before I regain control over my faculties and close it.
“The subs should just be a few minutes. Do you want some wine?”
She bobs her head. “I sure do. It was a loooong shift.”
I pull a Malbec from the wine refrigerator and go about opening it up. “Why’s that?”
“My patient decided he wanted to circle the drain all day. Made for a busy and stressful shift.”
“Circle the drain? Is that code for dying?” I hand her a glass filled with a heavy pour.
“It is. Pun intended.”
It takes me a second to get that I used the word code in that sentence. “Sorry about your patient.” I lift my glass to hers. “To better days than today.”
“I’ll drink to that.” We clink glasses and she takes a sip, her eyes holding mine for a few beats longer before she spins on the balls of her feet, walking over to the wall to see her art. “Hey, it’s still here.”
I laugh, taking another sip before checking on the subs. “You did it in pen. How did you think I’d get rid of it?”
Her head tilts as she studies the drawing she crafted on the wall. Taking another sip of wine, she says, “Judging by your tone you don’t like my brilliant art? And here I thought I was giving Aria a run for her money.”
I chuckle under my breath, taking out subs and dropping them onto a couple of plates, setting them out on the breakfast bar. “You mean the stick-figure drawing you made of me smashing my own head in with a club while saying I’m so hot?”
“No?” She spins in my direction, tilting her head the other way. “Not accurate?”
“Ha ha.”
“What?” She’s all sweet innocence and I roll my eyes.
“Come eat your sub, woman, before it gets cold,” I command, gesturing to the barstool and sub I just plated up for her.
“Yum. Thanks. I didn’t realize how hungry I was until now.” She takes a crunchy bite, chewing and swallowing before looking up and meeting my eyes. “I don’t know a lot about you, do I?”
“I don’t know a lot about you either,” I shoot back.
“Do you want to play a game then?”
“What kind of game did you have in mind?”
“How about another round of trivia with me?”
Game on.
11
Rina
“I don’t think I understand,” Brecken admits as he pours the last of our bottle of wine into my glass. I’m snuggled up on his plush fabric sofa under a very comfortable chenille throw. The lights are low, and the rain is still going strong outside. We have his gas fireplace on as we drink and talk.
After we finished our subs, neither of us wanted to brave the weather by walking me home so we ended up here, on opposite sides of the couch, telling each other things I never would have thought I’d tell someone like Brecken Davenport.
Player. Flirt. All around cocky bastard.
“What’s not to understand?”
He leans back after setting the empty bottle on the coffee table, his own glass in his hand. He looks ridiculously good like this. Relaxed, kinda tousled, only wearing a T-shirt and sweatpants.
“I don’t know. I don’t want to sound rude.”