Reckless(2)

“Late for something?”

You’d think he hadn’t been gone for two weeks. I know we’ve only been dating for six months, but he’s given me jewelry—real jewelry, not that costume crap—and says he wants to marry me someday. Hello, he spoons me after sex sometimes. That has to mean something, right? And he usually makes me come. He’s probably batting in the high .400s, and my trigger does not go off easily, so I’d say these are good signs.

But before I can ask him why he’s being weird, he ushers me into the house. I turn and find him peering down the driveway, his dark eyes shifting from one side of the street to the other.

He clears his throat and closes the door. A muscle twitches in his jaw. “Sorry, hot stuff. I’m meeting a contractor in a bit. Wasn’t expecting you.”

Relief washes through me. “No worries. Thought I’d stop by on my way to work. I have an hour.”

I waggle my eyebrows at him, and he nods, glancing at his watch again. “That should be enough time.”

For me to rock your world? Oh, yeah.

By the time my back hits his mattress, all thoughts of his birthday and the unopened present sitting in the living room fly right out the window. I don’t care that we’re skipping straight to the main course. I don’t even care that he hasn’t told me he missed me. It’s his birthday. He can do this any way he wants.

So he didn’t call me much while he was away. I know work has kept him busy. He owns property all over Texas and commutes often between Dallas and Austin to manage a new housing development he and his family are building. I love that he’s motivated and on top of his shit. At least one of us is.

Jamie peels off his t-shirt, putting those gorgeous muscles on display. A sigh escapes me as he wedges himself between my thighs. His rough jeans scrape my skin, but I don’t care.

In the two point two seconds we’ve been in his bedroom, he’s managed to strip me of most of my clothes, except for my black lace bra and thong, which he eyes appreciatively before he presses himself against me.

“Missed you, sugar plum,” he whispers against my neck.

Warm fuzzies fill my chest. Of course he missed me. I knew he did.

The moment his lips touch mine, we’re in a frenzy to get closer, and the Jamie who makes me come undone is back. His hand fists my hair, and he’s sucking on my neck and grinding his cock against me.

I’m lost in a haze of lust until something slams down the hall. Was… was that the front door?

His whole body goes rigid.

“Jamie!” a female voice yells out. “I’m home, baby!”

It’s my turn to frown, especially when I see the expression on his face.

“Fuck,” he grunts. “Get up. Put your shit on.” He leaps off the bed like an Olympic runner at the sound of the starting gun and tosses my shorts and tank top in my face.

I’m still processing what’s happening when he closes the bedroom door, but yells, “I’m coming. Be there in a sec!”

“Who is that?” I didn’t hear the doorbell, and I doubt a contractor would waltz in like that.

Plus, it’s a woman.

He ignores me and yanks on his t-shirt.

With dread slicing through my veins, I open and close my mouth like a beached fish. “Are you…are you seeing someone else?” Holy shit. Is he dating that other waitress I saw him talking to last month? Is he cheating on me?

He buttons his jeans and motions for me to move off the bed. I stand up and slide on my shorts, my mouth still agape as I watch him smooth down the comforter. “Seriously, Jamie. Are you fucking someone else?”

Pushing his hands through his hair, he growls, “Not now, Tori. Just fucking get dressed.”

I wrestle with my tank top. “Please tell me that’s a relative in the other room, and that you’re not screwing around behind my back,” I plead, my voice low. Why I whisper, I have no clue. If he’s cheating on me, I should be screaming in his face and breaking out the crazy.

Footsteps sound down the hall, and a look of panic registers in his eyes.

And then he’s pushing me back along the far end of the room.

Back behind the dresser.

Back behind the teal ottoman.

All the way back to the walk-in closet, where he shoves me into the shadows and tells me to wait.

“What’s going on?” I ask, horrified. Why is he hiding me in the fucking closet?

His eyes clench, and he shakes his head. “I’m sorry, okay? Just wait here and be quiet. I’ll explain everything later. Please do this for me. I promise to make it up to you.”

But I don’t have time to respond before he shuts the closet door in my face just seconds before that woman squeals with delight and launches herself in his arms. How can I tell? Because he slammed the closet so hard the sliding door bounced open, and there’s a one-inch gap.

And I can see everything. Her gorgeous black hair and designer clothes. Her lithe body and perfect tan. Those expensive black and red heels with the French name I can’t pronounce.

Then the kissing starts. She’s moaning and telling him how much she missed him. Telling him how she never wants to spend that much time apart again. Saying how much she loves their new house. How she’s going to make it their home.

Does she mean this house? Is this their house?

Nausea overrides my senses, and suddenly, I’m suffocating. Cold sweat breaks out on my body, and I swallow—hard—so I don’t throw up in that asshole’s new Nikes, which are sitting at my feet.