Page 30 of Come in with the Rain
“Hey, handsome, you still with me?”
My eyes focus again on Jennifer. She’s beautiful, all smooth skin and full, red lips, but she might as well be a basset hound for all the interest I have in her.
“Sorry,” I mutter.
“Still thinking about that girl from the gym?”
I spin my empty beer mug around, settling it between my fingers again. I’m not surprised she knows I’m thinking about Stella. I can only imagine what she made of the weird interaction she witnessed between us.
“It’s complicated. I apologize. I don’t mean to be distracted.”
Jennifer leans back in her seat and sucks on her bottom lip. The gesture is sexy, and I wonder if it’s natural or something she’s rehearsed. “That’s okay. The second I saw the way you were looking at her, I knew I wasn’t going to catch your eye. I thought for twelve hundred dollars, I’d at least get a second date.”
I look down at the table, feeling like a guilty child. “Sorry. I guess I have a little bit of a crush.”
She smiles, a maternal sort of thing, and for the first time, I wonder how old she is. She’s definitely older than me. “I would guess you’re not the only one.”
I look straight at her, at her dark eyes, one of them half-hidden by her mane of raven hair. “What do you mean?”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “Oh, honey. You don’t get that worked up over a harmless little auction unless you’re jealous.”
I don’t know what to say. It never occurred to me that Stella might be jealous. She was drunk, that I could tell, so I assumed she was upset because she didn’t want me treating her like she was helpless. But jealous?
Jennifer taps her manicured nails on the table between us. “For such a hottie, you’re not too self-aware, are you? I don’t know what’s going on between you and that gorgeous girl, but I would bet my bank account that she thought she was going home with you tonight.”
That can’t be true. It can’t be. It’s not like I said tonight was a date. And we agreed to keep it professional. Why would she think—
“I bet she’s still up, drinking away the thought of you.”
My stomach goes tight the way it does when a sense of urgency settles in my blood. I want her, and I want her now.
“I’m sorry,” I say, already halfway out of my seat.
“No worries, hot stuff. I got my money’s worth.” She sends me a kind grin, and I take the time to leave enough cash on the table for our drinks before I rush out of the bar.
CHAPTER31
STELLA
If Abby was here, she would tell me no man is worth sitting home on a Saturday night, sulking. But Abby isn’t here. She’s on her way back from Tahoe, and I’m here alone, trying to stop thinking about Adam and that woman and what they’re doing right now. But it’s hard to stop thinking about him when the evidence of him is everywhere. The paint cans and the tools and the fact that my futon is pushed against my window, covered in a sheet, instead of sitting in the center of the room, like it always is.
My blood is still buzzing a little, but I honestly wish I had thought to stop for a bottle of bottom-shelf vodka on my way home. What am I so upset about? If there was never a chance that anything was going to happen between us, then why is my skin crawling as if I’m sitting here being cheated on? I groan and put one of my couch cushions over my face. Maybe it’ll put me out of my misery.
A knock sounds at the door.
I whip the pillow away and look at the clock on my stove. It’s only a little after eleven, which is way too early for Abby to be back. And she would be too tired to come by anyway. I rush to the door, my heart pounding at all the possibilities.
But when I open it, it’s not the police, like I’ve half-convinced myself it will be. It’s Adam, and he’s breathing like he ran here from the other side of Baltimore.
My adrenaline spikes at the sight of him, my heart pounding in my ears and my hands starting to tremble. “Adam? Did you forget something that you—?”
The question doesn’t make it out of my mouth because Adam has taken one large step into my condo and swooped down to press his mouth to mine.
Every first kiss I’ve ever had—even with Mickey—has always been a slow, gradual thing. Like lighting a candle and then using the candle to light the fireplace. But with Adam, there’s no gradual climb into inescapable heat. He puts his mouth on mine, and the world goes up in flames.
I gasp, and it’s like Adam wants to own every part of me. His tongue is in my mouth, his hands are in my hair, and he’s pushing me back into my condo so fast that I almost stumble. He rips away from me, bends down, wraps each of his big hands around both of my thighs, and hoists me up.
Something like a whimper escapes me when my hips settle against his, and then I’m lost. Lost in the taste of him and the brush of his tongue and the pull of his lips and what it’s all doing to my body. I’m half-aware as he kicks my door shut and then presses me against it. I grab at him, holding his face and then sliding my hands up to his hair to tug on it as I kiss him. How long have I wanted to do this? How long have I told myself I was just horny and that it had nothing to do with Adam himself?
