Wild for You (Hot Jocks #6)(11)
Her eyes meet mine and a thankful smile lifts her lips. “Okay, Grant. Thank you.”
“Will you be okay in here?” I ask, rubbing one hand over the back of my neck. I realize that I’ve never had someone stay in my guest room before. It’s a little surreal seeing her stack of clean clothes for tomorrow and a floral-patterned toiletry bag on the dresser.
“Yes, it’s perfect. Thank you for everything. I truly mean that.”
With nothing more to do, I don’t want to linger, so I grunt an affirmative and head to my room. On the way, I lock the front door and turn off the lights in the apartment, still trying to wrap my head around the events of today that led to a woman sleeping just down the hall from me. It certainly wasn’t what I expected when I woke up this morning.
Inside my room, I strip off my jeans and T-shirt, tossing them onto the overflowing hamper, and vow to myself to take care of it tomorrow. I’m wearing black boxer briefs, my usual sleeping attire, and trying to decide if I need to put something more on, when Hobbes comes barreling in and launches himself onto my bed.
Ana is right behind him, her eyes widening as she takes me in. Pausing at the partially open door, she makes a choking sound as her gaze tracks down my chest and over my abs, then lower to the bulge inside my briefs. Her chest shutters as she releases a breath, and her face turns pink.
When I clear my throat, she stammers out an apology and darts away, only to return a second later with another apology but doesn’t look my way. This time, she grabs Hobbes from my bed, where he’s busy wagging his tail, and disappears down the hall with him tucked under her arm.
Chuckling softly, I close my door, making sure it’s latched this time, and climb into bed. It’s been a long day that started with practice, so when my head hits the pillow, I don’t expect to feel so unsettled.
Even though I should be tired, I don’t know how I’ll get to sleep. All I want to do is hunt Kress down and kick his ass for putting fear in Ana, for leaving those bruises on her skin and scars on her soul.
4
* * *
Moving On
Ana
The brisk air nips at my already rosy cheeks as I shuffle down the street, Hobbes scampering ahead of me. I swear, if I ever took this little rascal off the leash during a walk, I’d never see him again.
I imagine Grant taking Hobbes out, like he did last night, his giant shadow paired with the pup’s tiny one. I smile, a little sadly, as I watch Hobbes sniff the new sidewalk, grass, and mailboxes. It must be a thrill to experience a new place. I wish I felt the same way.
Grant’s neighborhood is absolutely stunning, with ornate buildings and even a little park around the corner. I don’t spend too much time admiring my surroundings, however, because I know I won’t be here for long. My thoughts are stuck in a slow spin, focusing on why I’m here in Grant’s neighborhood instead of my own, and where I’ll end up after I leave Grant’s later today. Georgia’s, most likely.
I yawn, even though I slept like a baby.
Grant’s guest room has some really nice features, most notably the queen-size, memory-foam bed that lulled me into a deep slumber last night. I dreamed about the previous evening, but none of the damage and heartbreak. Instead, I dreamed about Grant’s hands on my foot, wrapping my cuts with a touch softer than I would have imagined from a man of his size. I only woke up because Hobbes was tearing around the room, desperate to go pee.
Since I woke up before Grant, I have the upper hand. It may be strange to some to think of interactions in such a strategic way, but when you’ve lived with a volatile partner for as long as I have, it becomes second nature. Getting up early means I can wear out the little guy with a walk, which means he’ll be less likely to cause a ruckus in the condo and potentially annoy Grant. I can also take care of coffee and breakfast when I get back, as a gesture of gratitude to this virtual stranger who has been so unbelievably kind to me.
What’s in it for him?
I have to gently remind myself that some people just do good things, regardless of reciprocity. With my mind on breakfast and my stomach grumbling, I coax Hobbes back in the direction of Grant’s condo. He was thoughtful enough to lend me a spare key.
Yesterday was so unexpected. Grant was unexpected. The way his lips pressed into a firm, straight line as he studied the cuts on my foot. The careful way he stepped in to help me.
I watched, helpless, as his jaw clenched and unclenched. It was obvious he was thinking about saying something. What, I had no idea, because apparently Grant is a man of few words. But that’s okay because I’m an expert at reading between the lines, and it was obvious he was pissed off about something.
On the elevator trip up to his floor, I contemplate my next move. I’ll have to get ahold of Georgia.
Once we’re inside, I give Hobbes his breakfast, oddly satisfied by the familiar crunching of kibble. The bathroom door is closed, a dim light peeking from the crevice just above the floor. Steam seeps out. Grant must be in the shower.
I’m suddenly struck with an image of him, all lathered up with soap, water streaming in curving torrents down his defined muscles.
My stomach flips and I blink my eyes hard, knocking that vision right out of my head. It certainly doesn’t help that I have a very good idea of what Grant’s naked body looks like. Since I barged into his room like a perverted lunatic last night . . . a real class act, Ana.