Page 13 of Click of Fate

Wade:

Get your rizz on, dude.

Alex:

Dude? Too old to use that middle school slang shit.

Wade:

You just used “mid.”

Alex:

Yeah, but I’m cool and hip and all that.

Wade:

My girlfriend is a professional video gamer. I’m cool and hip.

Alex:

If you’ve gotta say it…

Wade:

And with that, I shove my phone back into my pocket. I huff out a laugh and shake my head. That’s when I notice that Stella has already finished her text and is watching me with a soft smile on her lips.

“Something entertaining?” she questions.

“Just my friends talking shit,” I tell her.

“Ah, well, that’s how you know they love you,” she says.

“Yeah, well, their shit talking can wait,” I say. Then, I lean in and whisper, “I’ve got better things to do.” She doesn’t hide the shiver that rolls through her body, and I realize there’s a slight breeze in the air. There must be a storm coming in, so I lift my arm and drape it over her shoulder, pulling her into me. She snuggles in without missing a step.

Several minutes later, my building comes into view. The building is considered historical, as it was once an old carburetor factory, but now it boasts one and two-bedroom loft-style apartments. With high ceilings, expansive windows, and open floor plans, it maintains its historic charm while pushing a modern feel. The place is cool as shit, and I knew this was where I needed to live while I build the Squeaky Bum brand here in Indy.

A jolt of panic shoots through me. I hope my place isn’t too messy for her. Did I leave dirty clothes all over my floor? I’m not a messy person, but I am a bachelor, and life has been busy…

She must feel my body tense because her face tilts up toward mine. “Second thoughts?”

I tighten my arm around her shoulders, pulling her just a little closer, like it’s the most natural thing in the world for us to be this close.

“No,” I murmur. “You?”

She smirks. “Not yet.”

I hum in approval as we enter my building. I type in a few codes to let us through the entrance and then we head up the stairs. Watching her out of the corner of my eye, I notice she’s relaxed, but her finger taps lightly against the purse at her hip.

Pulling out my eye, I ask, “Nervous?”

With a sideways glance, she says, “You wish.”

I unlock my door and motion for her to head in, and I follow after.

She takes in my space, her eyes darting from the kitchen to my living room. The light over my sink is on, so the place isn’t bathed in complete darkness, but I flip on the light above the kitchen island to give her a better look without killing the mood completely.

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