Page 5 of The Boyfriend Effect (Frisky Business 1)
In the last few months alone, there was the massage therapist he started dating and loaned several thousand dollars to start her own practice. Then she dumped him. Then there was the wannabe chef he helped get into culinary school, only for her to break up with him once the semester started. It’s always been this way. I have no idea what happened with Samantha.
But even with all the confusing emotions I’ve endured, there’s one thing I always knew.
Hayes Ellison will never be mine.
My attraction to him is almost suffocating. To say we have a complicated relationship would be an understatement. When he’s near, I burn hotter than the sun. His big, broad body seems to suck up all the oxygen in the room until I’m dizzy and almost breathless.
And now he’s here, sitting on my couch, telling me he’s swearing off women, and looking at me with pity over my poor, damaged hoo-ha.
“Have you had breakfast yet?” he asks.
I shake my head. It’s nine in the morning. I made coffee but I haven’t gotten around to breakfast yet.
“Let’s go out and get something. Then I can tell Wolfie I fed you.”
I nod, feeling slightly ashamed. I’ve lived with the idea that Hayes is only nice to me to appease my brother, and only takes care of me out of familial responsibility. There’s no one I trust more, but Hayes isn’t an easy man to be around. He can be demanding and intimidating.
But when he looks at me, there’s a softness in his eyes. He’s always been that way with me. I’m his one soft spot, I guess. Like all the times I sought solace in his arms—when my high school boyfriend broke my heart, when my father died . . .
I shove those thoughts away because now isn’t the time to take that trip down memory lane. “Can I shower first? I’ll be quick.”
His square jaw clenches. Apparently, I exhaust him. Like a small child. “Sure,” he says finally.
And I do. With my hair up in a bun, I take the world’s fastest shower. The warm water stings the raw skin between my legs, but it’s nothing compared to the agony of having to tell Hayes about my injury.
Why did I tell him the truth? I could have easily made up some bullshit about pulling my hip flexor doing yoga. But instead, I came clean. One look into those whiskey-sweet eyes, and I’m suddenly confessing my darkest secrets. A tingling sensation twists through my lower belly.
Well. Not every secret.
If Hayes knew how attracted I am to him, it would go one of two ways. He would either laugh at me until he was red in the face, or he’d feel super uncomfortable and then avoid me for the rest of time. Both options sound like hell to me.
I sigh, scrubbing my skin a little harder than usual. But no matter how hard I scrub, I’ll never wash myself clean of my thoughts of Hayes. I’ve spent hours fantasizing about kissing that sensual smirk off his face, wrapping my arms around his broad shoulders, pushing my hips against his rock-hard . . .
Okay, whoa. The more I let myself fall down this rabbit hole, the more maddening the pulsing heat between my heart and my core grows. My fingers run absently over my slick, tender skin.
Would it be incredibly sinful to masturbate in the shower with Hayes less than ten feet away from me, separated only by a thin door?
I push the thought away, dipping my face under the sudden blast of cold water coming from the showerhead and reaching for the knob. There’s always a brutal rush of cold water right at the end. I usually get out of the tub before turning off the stream, but this morning, I need the wake-up call, and to cool down my now overheated body.
With Hayes waiting, I finish getting ready in a flash. I pull on a T-shirt and a pair of leggings from the drawer, once again mentally kicking myself for skipping laundry day this week. Work has been somewhat stressful. I look at the row of polo shirts hanging in my closet, each with the embroidered Riverside logo, and a lump forms in my throat. Whenever I think about what’s happening to Riverside, Chicago’s oldest retirement home on the north side, all I want to do is curl up in bed under ten blankets, watch my favorite movies, and cry.
I don’t have time for this.
Precious moments wasted, I scramble to make myself look presentable. After a dozen swipes of mascara, a few corrective lines to my eyebrows, and a vigorous finger-combing of my tangled hair—now I’m ready to go. I reach for the doorknob, already preparing my apology to the patiently waiting Hayes.
And I stop short. Deodorant!
I swipe the stick under my arms aggressively, shaking my head at my own reflection. Twenty-five years old, and I still don’t have my morning routine down pat. Hayes’s presence this morning has turned me into a frazzled mess. I really wish Wolfie wouldn’t intervene so much in my life.
