Page 95 of Stay With Me

“Good girl.” He winks as he takes my hand and helps me down.

“You better watch it. Those words are known to make panties disappear.”

“Oh, I already have yours from earlier.”

I laugh at his cocky grin. “And where exactly did you put ’em?”

After our little moment in the coffee trailer, I drove home and changed before our date and replaced the ones he stole. But I wouldn’t be opposed to him ripping off another pair and keeping those, too.

“That is my little secret and only for me to know.”

I scoff as he unlocks his front door and motions for me to go inside first.

“If I know you as well as I think I do, they’re in one of two places. Your nightstand drawer that’s most likely filled with condoms and lube or your truck’s glove compartment. Damn, I shoulda checked before!”

“Wrong and wrong.”

“In one of your dressers.”

“Nope.”

I walk farther into his apartment. Technically, it’s a duplex, but Landen lives upstairs, so close enough. I’ve only been in here a few times but never had the opportunity to really look and snoop around.

“Wait…I know.” I help myself to a tour and walk down the hallway, past the master and guest rooms before I find the right door.

“Where’re ya goin’?” He follows behind.

“If I find ’em, I get to steal ’em back.”

“I don’t think so! I stole those fair and square.”

When I enter the bathroom, I whip open the shower curtain and bark out a victory laugh.

“HA! You little perv.” I swipe them off the showerhead.

Tripp snatches them from my fingers and holds them above my head. “Don’t think so, Sunny. These are mine.”

I raise my arm, but it’s no use even if I could jump ten inches high. “Is that so? Because I hardly think sheer pink is your color.”

“No?” He holds them up to his scruffy face. “I think they go well with my complexion.”

“Oh my God, you’re an underwear freak, aren’t you? Do you have a bunch of random women’s panties stashed in your drawers?”

I reach for them once they’re within my arm’s length, but he’s too quick and yanks them over my head again.

Just as I attempt a second jump, the queasiness returns.

“I think I’m gonna be sick,” I tell him and turn around toward the toilet.

The moment I lift the lid, my stomach wretches and all the popcorn, M&M’s, gummy worms, and the slushie come out.

“Oh shit, Sunny.” Tripp kneels beside me, grabs my hair, and rubs my back as wave after wave slams into me.

Ten minutes later, I wonder how I have anything left in me to release, but it doesn’t stop. The pain is so intense, I swear I pop a blood vessel in my eye.

“I think I’m done.” I groan, and he helps me stand.

“Sit, and I’ll get you some water.”