Page 24 of Ice Me Out

My fingers sank into his hair, and I pulled his head back, exposing his thick neck. I teased him—kissing and licking down the column until I located a spot that made him squirm.

“Okay, you drulovebirdsrds. The diners are gone, the servers have tipped out, and the kitchen has shut down. You don’t have to go home, but you gotta get the hell outta here,” DeAndre announced. We scrambled away from each other like two teenagers who’d gotten caught fooling around in the back of a car.

“Right—”

Hart paused to clear the lust from his voice.

“Thanks for everything, D. We’re gonna get out of your hair.”

“Good. It was nice meeting you, Vera. Come back anytime,” DeAndre offered.

“Thank you. The food was amazing,” I praised, pulling up the strap of my dress that had fallen down my arm during our make-out session.

Not long after DeAndre left, Hart posed a question.

“Would you like a tour of my condo?”

The Tour

Vera

Our Uber pulled up to the curb of one of Seattle’s pricier condos, nestled in the heart of downtown and only a few miles from the arena. I wouldn’t be shocked if Hart had a corner unit with an amazing panoramic view of the Great Wheel and the harbor.

The drive from Andre’s felt arduous and unnecessarily long. The restaurant was only four miles away, and traffic was next to nothing, but being in a confined space with Hart and not being able to touch and tease him how I wanted was maddening. From that little preview I’d gotten at Andre’s, I knew Hart wasn’t afraid to be vocal in the bedroom, and I loved that shit.

“Stay here. It’s raining, and I don’t want you to get wet,” he explained before leaving the car.

Too fucking late.

Monica: Mount Rushmore.

Shit. I forgot to update Monica.

Me: Margot Robbie. I’m not coming home.

Monica: I figured as much. Be safe and keep your location on.

Me: Always.

My door opened, and Hart greeted me with an umbrella and an outstretched hand. My gaze traveled from his proffered hand to his warm eyes, and I couldn’t believe I’d gotten so lucky. I’d taken a gamble on Sugar Rush and hit the fucking jackpot.

I accepted his help without hesitation and let him pull me close as he escorted me into the building. He nodded to the doorman and dropped the umbrella in the stand. I barely had time to take in the lobby’s elegance before Hart whisked me toward the elevators.

“We need to talk,” he said bluntly, punching the call button.

Please, Hart. Don’t be on some weird shit. Like, you’re hot and all, but I’m not rimming you or stomping on your balls.

“What do you want to talk about?”

“We haven’t shared our test results yet.”

“Shit. Thanks for reminding me,” I murmured, digging my phone out of my purse.

“No problem. I’m sending you mine now.”

The elevator dinged softly, announcing its arrival, and Hart gently ushered me inside with a warm hand resting on my lower back.

“I received your results—all clear.”