Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 109608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 438(@250wpm)___ 365(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 438(@250wpm)___ 365(@300wpm)
“A mess I’m more than happy to make with you.”
Stepping back, he tests the water with his hand. “Still warm. Want to take a bath?” He runs the pad of his thumb over his bottom lip. “We can do a lot of dirty stuff in there while getting clean.”
“That’s an offer I can’t pass up, counselor.” I step into the tub, glad he’s right. The warm water feels like a hug as I slide my body under it.
“You relax because when I get back, I’m going to make you c—Did you hear that?” He looks toward the door.
“Hear what?”
He’s already grabbing a towel from the rack and wrapping it around his lower half. “How is someone knocking on my door in a secured fucking building?” And there goes his good mood . . .
“Brady?” I offer, wondering if I should get out of the bath.
“Maybe,” he says. “Stay in the bath. Relax. I won’t be gone long. Wine?”
He’s already left the bathroom, so I yell, “Please.”
“You got it.”
I lie back, but something doesn’t sit right. He’s right. No one has access to this floor without being given prior permission. I get out of the tub to investigate. Is someone here, or is he just hearing things?
27
Loch
“Fuck,” I grit through my teeth.
Closing the peephole, I debate what to do. If I open the door, I can end it, tell her I’m a goner for another woman. If I don’t open it, she’ll start calling. Fuck.
“Loch?” Christine calls from the other side of the door and knocks again. “Open up.”
“Loch?” Tuesday says from the bathroom. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I jog to the corner of the living room and yell down the hall. “Coming.” I’m so not coming until Christine is long gone.
Rushing back to the door, I know I need to end this and not let it drag on. I learned the hard way with Judge Judy. Lesson learned. I open the door, but her hand is on it, and she pushes in. “Why’d you keep me waiting so long?” she asks, dragging her fingertips across my bare chest. “Oooh, I see you’re ready for me.” Shit.
I fast-walk backward, trying to barricade the apartment from her breaching the living room. “What are you doing here?”
Instead of walking back to the door, she stands her ground. “The last text you sent asked for a rain check. I’m cashing in.” She glances at the door. “Do you mind grabbing my suitcase?”
“You never returned that text to claim the offer, and unfortunately, I need you to leave.” I try my best not to sound callous, but there’s no time for niceties. I need her gone before Tuesday gets wind of this visitor.
“What do you mean, Loch? I’m here now. Anyway, I just traveled from the airport in a snowstorm.” She sidles up to me with that look she used to give that meant I wouldn’t get any sleep. “Plus, everything’s closed.”
“I am too.”
She straightens, eyeing me with half-mast lids. “What does that mean?”
Walking around her, I open the door and wave her toward the upright suitcase still in the hall. “A lot has changed since I sent that text. I have a girl—”
“Loch?”
Fuck me . . .
I turn back to see Tuesday wrapped in a towel, standing at the end of the hallway. She’s twisted her hair up on her head with wet strands stuck to her neck. She tightens the towel at her chest, staring at us—no smile or comfort in her expression. Not even anger creeps up her neck. Her gaze volleys between us before she takes a deep breath and plants her hand on her hip. “Who’s this?”
Christine might get her way on her transatlantic business class routes where she calls the shots as a flight attendant, but in her personal life, she’s not one for competition. She crosses her arms over her chest and cocks an eyebrow at Tuesday. “Who are you?”
Tuesday glances at me first, then replies, “I’m his girlfriend.”
Fuck me . . .
How do I make this nightmare stop?
“Is that true, Loch?” The tapping of Christine’s foot punctuates each word from her mouth, especially my name.
Here we go. This is definitely not what she’ll want to hear. I owe her nothing, but I owe Tuesday everything. “This is my girlfriend, Tuesday.”
The statement catches her off guard, causing her neck to jerk. She looks over my shoulder to the woman I know is still standing there, probably like a deer in headlights, and then back to me. “I . . .” She steals one more look at Tuesday, and then the strangest thing happens. She smiles. It’s not like the killer one she gave me the night she pursued me at a charity event in Brooklyn. No, it’s almost . . . happy.
She angles toward Tuesday and says, “So you’re the woman who caught the uncatchable.” Looking at me, she adds, “She’s very pretty.”