Page 10 of Ready or Not (The Nape #I)

Did I feel like a pendejo for inviting her to my place so we could wait out the rain until our next adventure?

Probably .

However, I wasn’t thinking straight.

Drunk off the kiss we just shared, I barely managed to form a coherent thought, let alone question my own decisions. My mind was on some lovestruck loop, my hands still felt like static from holding her, and my heartbeat currently matched the speed of a Toyota Camry racing on the freeway.

Ay mami.

The things this woman was doing to me without realizing it.

First, it was me noticing the subtle things to figure her out. Now, it was me throwing caution to the wind, letting her into my space—where every corner told a story I haven’t shared with anyone else other than family.

Mierda. I’m losing control, but… I don’t care.

I didn’t care because it was for her. Liked her too damn much to stop myself.

I wanted her all to myself.

“I couldn’t find the hair dryer, so I’m gonna let my hair air-dry,” I heard her say as she came out of the guest bedroom.

“It should be in the cabinet unless my sister?—”

Pausing as she appeared in the hallway, she wore the lime green Sade shirt and Celtics basketball shorts I left behind for her.

It hung loosely to her frame, swallowing all her curves, yet somehow making her look even more irresistible.

My throat tightened as I took in the sight of her—bare-faced, coils damp and curling around her cheeks and shoulders, looking utterly at home in my clothes.

Ay. I gulped, nodding like some damn dog begging for scraps.

“Unless your sister what?”

“Oh… Uh,” I scratched the back of my neck. “Uh—I mean, I think one of my sisters took it the last time they were here.”

“You okay?” she asked, tilting her head slightly to the side.

My mouth suddenly dried up, and my tongue felt like it was glued to the roof of it.

Okay? Hell no, I wasn't okay.

I was a grown man, and yet here I was, unraveling just because she looked like she belonged here.

Like she belonged with me.

I watched as her eyes narrowed slightly.

Mierda .

Scrambling for words, I felt like a fucking pendejo again, my tongue heavy and useless in my mouth.

“Yeah, yeah,” I managed to croak out. “You look good. Comfortable.”

My attempt at nonchalance fell flat; the chuckle she gave in response told me as much.

Dios mío .

Focus, cabrón. Focus.

“Thanks for the shirt, by the way. It’s like five sizes too big for me, but I appreciate it,” she teased, tugging on the hem of the shirt that only just grazed her hips.

The movement pulled the fabric tighter over her collarbone for a second, giving me a preview of her pebbled nipples against the cotton…

Wait… are her nipples pierced?

I quickly took another peek while she tugged the shirt, her attention on the print of Sade’s face on the front.

Carajo.

Yep, there was no denying it.

Tiny heart-shaped bars under the cotton—clear as day now.

Heart-shaped piercings.

Why didn’t I notice them before? We were together all day, and her dress wasn’t thick enough to hide them, and we were pressed so close when kissing…

My throat felt tighter, a lump climbing up to lodge itself firmly there as I tried to redirect my thoughts.

But every time I blinked, the image was burned into my brain—the soft curve of her chest under my shirt, the delicate outline of those tiny hearts teasing me like they had a world of secrets to whisper in my ear…

Or my mouth.

Focus, focus, focus.

I blinked hard, fighting to keep my eyes from wandering back down.

“Desi?”

"Yeah, uh… sure, no problem," I said, clearing my throat and looking away, pretending the window suddenly looked fascinating. “You can wear it until your clothes are all good to go.”

She squinted.

"Are you sure you’re okay? You look nervous…" she said, leaning one shoulder against the hallway wall. Her arms crossed loosely over her chest, which only managed to draw more attention to everything I was trying—and failing—not to look at.

"Nervous?" I laughed awkwardly, scratching the back of my neck again like an idiot. “Nah, not at all.”

Her brows arched. "You really sure? 'Cause you're acting like you've never had a woman wear a hoodie of yours or something before."

"I mean... I never did so…" I muttered, my eyes darting away again.

She blinked, her teasing smirk faltering for a second. "Wait, really?"

Heat crept up the back of my neck and spread over my ears.

Damn it.

Why couldn't I have left it at an eye roll or cracked a joke? Anything but admitting that .

"Yeah..." I shrugged, trying not to let the weight of her gaze make me crumble. “Unless you count my sisters who love to steal my shit.”

Her lips parted slightly, and for a moment, the only sound in the room was the soft patter of rain against the living room windows overlooking Lexington Ave instead, she turned the record over in her hands, reading the tracklist as if she needed a reminder.

“Honestly? There’s no way I can pick just one. ‘When I’m In Your Arms’ maybe? Or ‘Young Love.’” She paused and glanced up at me with a soft smile that made my chest ache. “The way her voice wraps around you… It’s like medicine for the soul.”

“Yeah… It really is.”

Her fingers skimmed over the edge of the vinyl case before she handed it to me. “Can we listen to it? Please?”

I took the album from her without hesitation and slid the vinyl from its sleeve. “Of course.”

Walking over to my Fluance RT85N record player near the floor-to-ceiling windows, I carefully placed the vinyl on the turntable and purposefully placed the needle to start playing When I’m In Your Arms.

As the first few chords filled the room, her shoulders visibly relaxed, and she closed her eyes.

“You picked that song on purpose, didn’t you?” she asked as her hips started swaying gently to the beat, her eyes still shut.

I leaned back against the edge of the shelf, crossing my arms as I watched her.

Every movement she made was so effortless, so unguarded, like the music that poured out of the speakers was flowing straight through her veins.

My pulse quickened again as I noticed the way her coils bounced with every sway of her head, and how the hem of my oversized shirt and shorts flirted with her thighs, revealing just a glimpse of smooth, brown skin each time she moved.

She was lost in the rhythm, and I was lost in her, my heart pounding against my ribcage with every step she took closer to the couch.

Her eyes blinking open, she caught me staring for what felt like the hundredth time that night. She didn’t call me out this time, though. Instead, she grinned and moved closer to me to close the distance between us.

“You’re doing it again,” she looked up at me.

“Doing what?” I asked, though I already knew.

“Looking at me like…” She trailed off, searching my face with a sultry look that stopped my breath short. Her fingers reached out, brushing against my chest as if testing the waters. “Like that.”

“Don’t do that,” I breathed out, taking my hands into hers.

She batted her eyelashes at me. “Don’t do what?”

"That," I muttered, my throat dry as I held her hands. "Don't look at me like you don't know what you're doing. Like you don’t know how hard it is for me not to..." My words trailed off, my resolve faltering under the weight of her gaze.

Her lips quirked up into a sly, knowing smile as she stepped even closer, leaving barely an inch between us. "Not to what?"

I closed my eyes for a moment, exhaling slowly.

This woman was testing every ounce of my self-control and making it feel effortless. The scent of her—vanilla and now thanks to my body wash cedar-wood, wrapped around me in waves, pulling me under before I could think straight.

"Not to kiss you again," I admitted finally, my voice low and uneven.

Her smile widened slightly, but her gaze softened as she tilted her head up to look at me. "What’s stopping you?"

Her eyelids fluttered, but she didn’t move back.

If anything, she leaned closer, the corners of her lips tugging upward in that playful way that made me weak.

"So why don’t you?" she challenged softly, her breath grazing my jawline.

And just like that, it was over for me.