Page 17 of The London Chance
Geez, it was a good thing she couldn’t see me now. I couldn’t even say his name without grinning like a fool.
“Take a chance on romance,” she singsonged. “I like him. You could have just said you were taking the week to shag your new lover boy, you know.”
I massaged the bridge of my nose. “I don’t see myself ever saying that, Maxi.”
She barked a laugh. “I don’t either. Not your style. But you’re obviously having fun.”
“I am.”
“Good for you. You should bring him ’round.”
I snorted as I pushed away from the window. “I don’t think so. He’s in London for another five days and—”
“You’re spending it in bed,” she intercepted. “Got it. And not that you need it, but you have my approval.”
“Gee, thanks.” I leaned over my desk, scrolled through a couple of new emails, and logged off. “I should go—”
“You really like him, don’t you?”
“I just told you I did.” I grabbed my coat from the rack next to my door and mouthed,See you Mondayto Richard, scurrying to the lift before he could stop me.
“No, you told me you were having fun. That’s different.”
I pressed the button and shrugged my coat on. I should have ended the call too. I knew better than to engage in circular conversations with Maxine, but I heard myself ask, “How?”
“One is temporary, and the other lasts longer. Maybe even…forever.”
“Are you reading romance novels again?” I huffed, rolling my eyes, though the gesture was lost in the connection.
“I am and will always be reading romance novels, thank you very much. And I know what I’m talking about. I’m not suggesting Chance is your happily-ever-after person, but I will say this…you’re very picky about people in general, Roman. Spending an entire workweek with a sexy new man is a good look for you. He could be someone special. I’m signing off before you disagree with me for the sake of being contrary ’cause you’re ornery like that.” She made a kissy sound, then chirped, “Later!”
“I’m not ornery,” I grumbled, stepping into the crowded lift when the doors opened.
And I certainly wasn’t in the market for “someone special.”
I scrolled through messages on my cell, hoping for an insta-distraction. Maxine was too damn insightful, and in this case, she was right. I’d gone out of my way to avoid eligible bachelors and bachelorettes. Sure, I’d had a few one-night stands over the past few years, but no repeats. Ever. I could tell myself that circumstances made this different and that I’d forget Chance as soon as his plane departed next week, but I knew that was a lie.
The “this is only sex” argument didn’t work either. I clung to it for as long as I could because I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been so in tune with a lover. But this blip of sexual frenzy in my otherwise ho-hum world turned me inside out. The moment Chance hiked that T-shirt over his head and brushed up against me in a haphazard, not quite seductive maneuver in my kitchen, I knew I was in trouble.
Everything about him lit me up, and I didn’t get it. This was the same man I’d escorted to my guest room at midnight, then found curled in a fetal position next to the toilet at two in the morning half-dressed in a suit that smelled like a sewer on a hot day. No doubt he felt awful the next day, but he’d looked so fucking adorable in my oversized sweats and ancient tee. And I just wanted…to take care of him.
I couldn’t figure it out. I wasn’t the type to shuffle appointments and conference calls, or to show up late to the office…or not at all. If we only had five more days, I was going to spend as much time as possible naked and buried deep inside him. I wanted to know every inch of him…from the flecks of gold in his blue eye and the caramel tones in his brown eye to the scar on his knee from falling off a bike as a kid. I wanted to study his cock as if it were a subject I could ace in school. I wanted to know what turned him on and got him rock hard.
I had a sudden flashback of him stroking himself while he pushed two fingers in his ass this morning…putting on a dirty show before begging me to fuck him. I stepped out of the elevator and did my best to refocus. Having sex on the brain twenty-four-seven was killing my concentration. But damn, it was good.
We’d barely left my bedroom that first day. By day two, I’d licked every inch of him, and by day three, fucked him in almost all of my favorite positions. I couldn’t decide which I liked the best anymore. Chance bent over my kitchen table, on his knees on the stairs, straddling me on the sofa, clinging to me like a monkey while I held him in the shower, or staring up at me while we moved together in synchrony. It was fucking amazing sex.
But it felt like more than sex, which probably should have made me nervous. For some reason, it didn’t. Those months of chatting had given us a base to work with so that once we got past the initial awkward phase, we actually had things to talk about. And Chance was very easy to talk to.
He was funny, interesting, intelligent.…I couldn’t believe I’d ever thought he was uptight or boring. Christ, Chance didn’t know the meaning of those words. He flitted over a myriad of topics ranging from British condiments and biscuits to the proper way to tie a shoe. In case you’re curious, he loved Marmite in small doses and when he bragged that he could eat a sleeve of Fox’s Golden Crunch biscuits in one sitting, he wasn’t kidding. I made sure to buy a dozen the following day.
His rabid intensity was softened with a self-deprecating humor that made me laugh. I respected his sharp mind and appreciated his strong opinions. And I loved the way he looked curled into the corner of my sofa, holding a teacup, his eyes ablaze as he shared his thoughts about an old episode ofSherlock.
Genius writing, but couldn’t they have condensed it?That sort of thing.
We didn’t watch much TV, though. We spent hours discussing movies, theater, art, travel, Toronto, LA. We even touched on a few taboo subjects we’d shied away from on the app…like religion and politics.
It was all so…easy.