Page 201 of Cloudy With a Chance of Bad Decisions

This was not the bachelor pad I’d anticipated.

And…it spoke volumes of the life Alex wanted—but had never let himself have.

Alex pulled into the driveway and the garage door rose with nary a creak. Perfectly oiled, probably. The kind of perfection only money could buy. An automatic light illuminated the space as Alex parked the car. We exited in tandem, both of us eager to head inside, though that didn’t stop me from taking in the space around me with awe.

I clutched my pickle jar close, for moral support.

To my left, a parked motorcycle—presumably based on the shape—was covered in a drop cloth for protection. The wall at its back housed a set of shelving units painted a glorious firetruck red. Tools hung in perfect precision along a matching pegboard inlaid into the unit. There were a few empty spots made glaringly obvious by its organization.

A honeyed wooden workbench connected the first set of shelves to a second even larger set that spanned the connected wall all the way to the door that led inside the house. These were clearly used for storage of a different sort. Hockey skates, gear, and other miscellaneous sporty knickknacks populated the shelves along with what had to be the remainder of Alex’s camping gear. There were quite a few empty spots here as well, though it didn’t take a genius to realize that was because half his camping gear was in use at the wedding.

“You done stalking me yet?” Alex teased. I jolted, twisting to look at him across the hood of the car.

“You brought me here, it’s not stalking.” My tone was certainly defensive, which did not help my argument.

“Gathering intel, then?” He looked far too pleased with himself, eyes dancing. “Spying?” I flushed, and Alex’s gaze flickered to my cheeks. A Cheshire-like grin curled across his lips as he cocked his head.

He didn’t tease me again. He simply led the way through the garage and up the steps. The kitchen door swung open silently, and Alex waited at the top, eyes watching me hungrily. He usually looked at me like that, so it wasn’t particularly alarming.

Things felt different though…stronger.

Alex wasn’t hiding.

And his desire was blatant.

Apparently by paying attention to the contents of his garage, I’d pleased him.

“You can ask me questions, you know,” Alex said as I climbed the steps. He didn’t move out of the way, studying me from the doorway he was blocking. My heart skipped a beat. “Anything you want. I’ll answer to the best of my ability.”

“Why a motorcycle?” I inquired immediately. Alex laughed, shifting to the side barely enough to let me through. Our chests brushed when I squeezed by. I couldn’t help but shudder—a motion Alex caught, as he licked his lips, pale eyes dancing.

“I like the way it feels,” he answered. “Makes me hard when I ride it and it buzzes between my legs.” I choked, stumbling into the dark open kitchen with a shocked noise. I must’ve looked annoyed because Alex shut the door with a click and immediately crowded me into the kitchen island. “I’m not lying,” he promised. “Or teasing. That’s really my main motivation.”

“Why am I not surprised you bought a death-trap simply because it makes you hard?” I said, breathier than I meant to.

“Because you pay attention to me,” Alex husked, watching me with those all-knowing pale blue eyes. Like he saw right through me. “Because youseeme.” He dropped in close, nuzzling our noses together in a tantalizing back and forth that sent a shiver down my spine. My breath hitched. Alex’s eyes were swimming with emotion.

They asked,am I right?

They begged,please tell me I’m not making this up.

They begged,don’t let me down.

“I do see you,” I whispered, lashes fluttering. “I…”

“You’re so precious, Georgie Porgie,” Alex murmured before stealing a needy kiss. It felt different here, surrounded by his things. Private and special—and personal. I whined, my free hand twisting in the back of his sweat-damp t-shirt. His skin was molten where I brushed it, muscles in his lower back clenching as he pressed into me with greed. The pickle jar dug into our bellies, trapped between us, but neither of us cared.

Big, scratchy palms skimmed up my forearms, tickling the hair on them. Leisurely, they climbed, tracing my biceps, my shoulders, till Alex was cupping my face in both his hands and holding me steady.

Obedient.

Sipping from my mouth like he was parched and I was the only thing that could quench his thirst.

We kissed and kissed and kissed.

Soft, hard, sweet.

Insatiable, ravenous, delicate.

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