I’m rendered entirely stupid. I know the moment she glances down she’ll see the tent in my pants, and I really don’t give a shit right now. It’s all I can do not to close the space between us and bite her full lower lip before taking things way too far on the kitchen floor.
But Jill is unfazed. She doesn’t even look at me, just turns and rifles through the cabinets on a hunt for breakfast. I almost lose my shit entirely when she bends to examine the lower half of the fridge and sticks her ass out so I can see the exact spot where the backs of her thighs meet the swell of her ass cheeks. Nothing flat in sight here. I actually need to lift the crew neck of my t-shirt to wipe my mouth.
“I’ll uh.” I clear my throat to get the horny frog out of it. “I’ll make coffee.”
She finally turns my way, but I hurry to the counter where the coffee maker stands, pressing my hard-on against it before she sees it and gets violent.
“Okay.”
I busy myself with the coffee and don’t dare peek behind me to see what she’s doing. Hell, she could be doing yoga in her underwear on my kitchen table for all I know. Damn. I’d like to see that. But nope. I’m getting her coffee, and then I’m checking her into a decent hotel before Bran and I go grab her shit from the Misty and get to the bottom of this.
I do everything but drum my fingers on the counter as I wait, willing my boner down and the damn coffee to brew. I finally get desperate enough to make an attempt at conversation.
“Been meaning to go shopping but haven’t gotten around to it. We can go through a drive-thru on our way to your new hotel if you need to.”
“Where’s Felicity?” she asks from the direction of my table, and the yoga images pop up again in my mind before I shut that shit down.
“She’s off looking at colleges, and then she’s going to art school in Virginia for three months.”
I hear her give a half-laugh. “I thought the two of you were looking for a housemate. I didn’t realize you were looking for someone to take her room.”
“She was looking for someone to take her room. Not me.” What is taking this coffee so damn long?
“Doesn’t play well with others. Check.”
My jaw tenses. “It’s not a character flaw to prefer living alone.”
“If you say so.”
“I do—never mind.” Damn, she gets my back up. “I’m not fighting with you this morning.” What I need is my morning swim and this damn coffee.
“Oh, and just when I was looking forward to it so much.” She snaps her fingers in what I assume is an oh darn expression. Brat.
The coffee finally finishes dripping, and I pull two mugs from the cabinet before filling each. Now that my dick is back where it should be, I grab my dad’s old sugar bowl and take it to the table with the coffee, careful to avert my eyes from the temptation sitting in the chair in her underwear.
“Sorry I don’t have any milk. I know you like your coffee white and sweet, but the sugar will have to do.” I take a seat across from her and pull my coffee toward me.
She doesn’t say anything, and I glance up at her by mistake to find her watching me with an unreadable expression.
“What?”
“You remember how I like my coffee.” It’s not a question.
I open my mouth to protest when I realize she’s right. I hadn’t even given it a thought. “Yeah,” is all I can say.
We’re both quiet as we sip our coffee, but it’s a heavy silence loaded with so many unsaid things. I should ask her why she’s here and, further, why she’s broke, but do I really want to get involved? I start to tap my foot and wonder what the hell is wrong with me. And then the words are out before I even know I’m going to say them.
“You know, you can stay in Felicity’s room for a while if you want. I’m starting a new job, and I won’t be around much anyway.” What the hell am I doing? I’m supposed to find out why she’s staying in a shithole and fix that in whatever way doesn’t have her living under my roof—and my skin.
Jill opens her mouth, and I’m not sure if I want her to accept my offer or tell me to go to hell. But a phone chimes. It’s not mine.
Jill immediately bites her lip and jumps out of her chair. She’s back in two minutes, her ridiculous dress from last night covering her hot body, and her purse slung over her shoulder. She tosses something at me, and I catch it. It’s my phone charger.
“Sorry. My Uber’s outside.”
Then she turns to go but pauses in the doorway to the kitchen, not looking back at me. “Thanks, Milo.”
She’s out the door a second later, and it closes gently behind her. I continue to sit with my coffee and my charger until the crunch of gravel silences and it’s only the groans of the house to keep me company.
Chapter Twelve
JILL
Dammit. Dammit. Dammit.
The plan was simple. Since the subtle flirting bombed last night, I was supposed to strut around half-naked this morning so I could steal his phone charger while he was struck stupid, letting his little head do the thinking. Then I’d slip out to catch my Uber and get back to the motel and be rid of him for good.
But I miscalculated the teensiest bit. I didn’t plan on his getting turned on making me get turned on. I thought my nipples were going to bust right through the fabric of my cami, for God’s sake! Milo Papatonis first thing in the morning is a sight to behold. Milo Papatonis first thing in the morning with a giant pipe in his pants? Come to mama! Ack!
I probably could have talked myself down from that one, so to speak, but then he hit me with the coffee. How does a man not see a person—whom he hates, by the way—for twelve years and still remember how they like their coffee? It was a wonder I didn’t swipe our mugs to the floor and crawl across the table to mount him like a sex-starved soldier returning from war.
Thank God my Uber came, or I might have even taken him up on his offer to stay before I ripped off my clothes. Which would have been a complete disaster. The only reason he offered was because he had boobs on the brain. He wasn’t thinking clearly at all, and neither was I. I’m going to tip my driver a gazillion percent for rescuing me from that close call.
Oh, but I can’t. Because I’m broke.
Which brings me to my next problem. I’m due at work in two and a half hours, and I still need to check out of my motel, find a new place to stash all my shit, and take a shower.
I honestly hadn’t realized exactly how bad the Misty Motor Inn was until everybody flipped their ever-loving shit last night. I mean, hookers are never a good sign, but people need to make a living, right? Although, now that I think about it, the bent spoon and syringe I spied on the railing the other day should have perhaps given me more pause. Hmm.
I ask the driver to wait when she pulls into the parking lot and then go grab the first load of bags. She doesn’t offer to help, which is understandable. I wouldn’t leave my car unattended here either. It takes three trips before everything is loaded safely in the roomy trunk, and then I’m in the back seat catching my breath.
“Where to?”
“Oh. Um.” Crap. “Do you know of any cheap motels where I won’t get mistaken for a prostitute?”