Page 7 of All Your Firsts

“Lovely,” I say as I spin around to pick up my bag and jeans from where I left them on the floor by the bed, purposely avoiding eye contact with the woman on the bed.

“Yeah, lovely,” he whispers as he gazes into my eyes.

My face contorts with disgust, and my cheeks burn with humiliation as he gawks at me while a naked woman lounges on his bed. Men can be such pigs.

Once I make it out to the living room, I hastily pull on my jeans. Enough people have seen my exposed skin tonight. I don’t want to give the neighbors a show.

Sensing a burning sensation at my back, I spin around.

My green eyes collide with his caramel-colored ones as he leans against the doorframe. His relaxed posture is evident as he leisurely slides his inked hands into the pockets of his faded jeans. Yet his underlying tension is apparent in the sharp definition of his clenched jawline that’s covered by a touch of dark stubble.

He smirks at me as he senses me appraising him.

I feel a prickling sensation against my skin, causing goose bumps to rise along my spine as we have a stare down. What the hell is happening to me?

I angrily extend my middle finger toward him, slam the front door, and head to the main house.

As I wander around the house the following morning, I can’t help but stifle a yawn. Judging by the enormous bags under my eyes, it’s clear I barely slept for maybe two hours after the bizarre encounter with Vic and the naked woman.

My frazzled nerves had me on edge.

I recall seeing a gym on my quest to find my room last night, but now I can’t remember where it is.

Faint music drifts from an open door down the hall, so I follow it.

The sight of exercise equipment neatly arranged in the room catches my eye. The room is spacious, with a large mirror that spans the entire wall and even a sauna off to one corner.

I was excited to come in and take advantage of the space. During my time at college, the girls’ dorm housed a small and overcrowded gym where camera shutters clicking was more common than weights clinking.

My joy is momentarily suspended as I watch the devil from last night effortlessly doing pull-ups.

He should be proud of his impressive physique. I’ll give him that.

His back muscles flex and undulate as he moves up and down effortlessly. A prominent gray and black skull tattoo adorns his back, spanning from one shoulder to the other. It looks ominous, with demons swirling in the midnight orbs of the skull’s eye sockets. The blood-orange ember eyes practically glow. What would make someone want to get something so dark and disturbing?

My eyes continue to explore the plethora of tattoos that cover his body. On the back of his right calf, an eagle with its talons ready to strike perches, while on the other calf, an angel and devil appear to be engaged in a lively dance. I strain my eyes to absorb every intricate detail of the stunning artwork.

“You’re more than welcome to come in and work out something more than just your eyes,” Vic says as he jumps down and faces me with a smirk.

He caught me looking at him. How unfortunate and embarrassing.

“Funny,” I say with a sarcastic tone, rolling my eyes to emphasize my indifference, even though I’m mortified.

As I stretch on the black mat, my stiff muscles protest with every movement, screaming at me in discomfort. The pool would have been a better choice overall, especially once Vic works out on the bench press.

I find it impossible to tear my gaze away from him as he firmly grips the bar, his back arched with a noticeable bulge outlined on the crotch of his dark gray gym shorts.

I look down at the mat quickly. What in the hell am I doing?

I’m going to chalk my fascination with him this morning up to lack of sleep, never being around a man by myself, and a nonexistent sex life. At some point, I’m bound to cave when I see a fine man in front of me, right? It doesn’t mean I like him. I just enjoy the view.

He seems to be a mess. Well, at least last night, from his disoriented state of me being in his house. Surely, Gage told him. Then there’s the girl he threw on the bed. I assume his guesthouse is for hookups, which makes me want to jump in a pool of bleach. The bed I slept in is probably an STD cesspool.

The question is, why have a beautiful family home if you don’t have a family?

“Well, who do we have here?”

I glance up at a man grinning down at me who would be attractive if not for the visible hickeys dotting his neck and the overpowering smell of alcohol emanating from his pores. Gross.

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