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I let out a long slow breath, the ache in my lungs letting me know that I’ve been holding it for far too long. “I’ve got to check on Jeff, and I have some plans to finish for...” I’m babbling so I shut my mouth while she slowly mounts the first couple of steps. “It was good to see you again, Cari. We’ll have to do it again sometime.”
Jesus Christ, stop making it worse.
“Okay.” She turns to look at me and squares her shoulders, reminding me of how she’s faced down Nora earlier. “How about tonight?”
The step she’s standing on makes us the same height, which makes me think of those red heels of hers. I’ve been in a constant state of arousal since I showed up on her doorstep but thinking about her in those heels, and nothing else, isn’t doing me any favors. I keep my distance, resisting the urge to pull my hands from my pockets. Pull her against me. If I do that, I’m going to take her on the fucking stairs, and I don’t want to do that because I’m trying to do this right, goddamn it.
“It’s Wednesday—dollar shots,” I tell her giving her a grin. “I’ll be here—my shift starts at eight.”
“Oh,” she says her brow, crinkling slightly. “You’re working?”
“The new guy and I split Wednesday. Declan and Conner work Thursday—Ladies’ Night,” I say, trying to keep my tone casual. “You want to do something before I have to be behind the bar?” I look at my watch, calculating how long I have to wait before seeing her again. “I can come back—”
“Was this a date?” she says before catching her lower lip between her teeth. She looks nervous, and I can’t decide what she’s hoping my answer is.
Yes. I want to say it. But I won’t. I can’t because this isn’t about me or how I feel. This is about her, meeting me halfway. Instead, I shrug. “You tell me.”
The corners of her mouth pull upward into a smile. “How quickly can you get back here?”
Every ounce of blood in my body rushes straight to my cock, and it takes every bit of self-control I have to stop myself from throwing her over my shoulder and pounding my way up the stairs. I want her naked. I want inside her. And if she looks down now, she’ll see just how much.
Maintaining eye contact with her, I dig into my pocket and pull out my keys. Snapping off my key to the apartment, I press it into her hand. “You need to take this,” I say, my fingers curling around hers for a second before I let her go. I take a step back. And another. And another. Until I’m a safe distance away from where she’s standing on the stairs. “See you at seven?”
No, none of this is going the way I planned.
I’ve had eleven months to get myself under control. To learn how to manage the half-crazy, out of control feeling I’ve been fighting a losing battle against since the first night I had her. Eleven months and I was sure I had it handled. I was sure I had it all figured. Planned out.
I’ve never been more wrong in my life.