Page 54 of Control (Everyday Heroes 3.50)
But that’s the problem. I think about him way too much. Like the kind of thinking about him where I have little daydreams imagining what it would be like if he weren’t going back to San Francisco in the coming weeks.
It’s just sex. It’s just sexy Reznor. That’s all it is.
Then why am I standing here with a soaking wet dog and staring at him and not tending to her?
Because he makes me wet too.
Matilda shakes again and water sprays on me. “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I say to her. “Good thing you’re so cute or else I’d be mad at you for that.”
I busy myself rinsing the suds from her and then towel dry her because Em’s putting Taylor down. I love that kid to death, but she’s a holy terror if she doesn’t get her nap. And nap time means I get alone time with my best friend—something that’s few and far between these days.
The clomping on the front porch immediately has my attention as I bolt for the front door to answer it before the doorbell rings.
I fling the door open and of course, it’s Reznor, standing there with his shirt off and that cocky smirk on his face.
“Don’t ring it!”
“Ring what?” he says, confusion etched on his face.
“The bell.”
He laughs. “I do believe I’ve already rung your bell a time or two.”
Every part of me thanks God that Emerson is not standing in the room behind me hearing this or witnessing the look in Reznor’s eyes that tells me he’d be game to go right now if I said it was okay.
“Aren’t you proud of me?” he asks.
“For what?”
“I came to the front door.” He flashes a lightning-quick grin.
“Good boy.”
“Don’t I get a treat?” he asks with a lift of his brow and eyes that run the entire length of my body in slow appreciation before stepping past me into my living room uninvited.
And I’d be lying if I said that slight brush of his body against mine doesn’t do things to every part of me.
“Can I help you?” I manage when I notice he has an electric drill in one hand and a large bag of something in his other.
“I’m not sure if you want me to answer that,” he says, followed by a low rumbling chuckle as he sets his stuff on the coffee table and turns toward me.
Damn the man gives good face.
Our eyes hold across the small space, and every part of my body is more than aware of him, his cologne, the look in his eyes...just everything. And including how much I wish Emerson wasn’t here rig
ht now so I could scratch this itch that seems to keep coming back somehow.
You promised, Des. No more sex with him.
“Is it Pussy again? Is she wet?” he asks, a ghost of a smile turning up the corners of his mouth. I’d swear he rehearsed the timing, because just as the words are out of his mouth, Emerson enters the room, mouth wide, cheeks flushed.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I was...I’ll just”—she looks back and forth between us then throws a thumb over her shoulder—“go back in here, and you can pretend I’m not here.”
“No. Em. You’re fine.” I glare at Reznor. “He’s talking about Logan’s cat, Pussy.” Emerson eyes me. “I’m serious. The first time we met—it was—it’s just a joke between us. Reznor Mayne, please meet my best friend, Emerson Malone. Em, this is my new, temporary neighbor, Reznor.”
“Oh my God. Yes. Grant was telling me about your Academy days last week.” She crosses the small space, tucking her strawberry-blonde hair behind her ear before reaching her hand out to shake his. “So nice to meet you.”
“Likewise.” They shake. “Is it really true you own a skydiving company?”
