Page 91 of Arrogant Puck

A smirk plays on my lips as I watch her stare. Her eyes glance between my legs, and I remember the first time she accidentally walked in on me jacking off. The memory of her wide eyes and flushed cheeks makes my dick twitch.

“I’ll be in the bathroom,” I say, needing some space before I lose control completely.

“Doing what?” she teases, and there’s something playful in her voice.

The question hangs between us, and I can’t help imagining what she’s implying. The image of jerking off while she watches, her eyes on me as I come undone, sends heat racing through my veins.

“I’m just kidding,” she says quickly, probably seeing something in my expression.

I don’t press the issue, just walk to the bathroom and shut the door behind me. I take a piss, brush my teeth, and splash cold water on my face, trying to get my body under control.

When I come out, she’s gone, and I’m left standing in my empty bedroom with the scent of her still on my sheets.

I need to burn off some energy, so I change into running gear and head out for a few miles around the neighborhood. The morning air is crisp, and the rhythmic pounding of my feet on pavement helps clear my head. Sort of.

Every step reminds me of how she felt pressed against me this morning, soft and warm and perfect. How she kissed me like she meant it, like maybe she wants this as much as I do.

By the time I get back to the house, I’m drenched in sweat and my hip is only marginally complaining. I tear off my shirt as soon as I’m through the front door, leaving it on the floor as I head straight for my bathroom.

I leave the door open because it’s what I normally do—living alone for three years will do that to a man. The hot water feels incredible against my overheated skin, washing away the sweat and some of the tension I’ve been carrying.

When I’m done, I walk around my bedroom naked while I look for clothes, secretly hoping Sage might walk by and get an eyeful. But when I realize she’s probably holed up in her room being responsible and professional, I give up the fantasy and get dressed.

I walk to her bedroom door and knock.

“Come in,” she says.

I open the door to find her sitting cross-legged on the bed, surrounded by paperwork and her laptop. She’s got that focused look again, the one that reminds me she has a life and career beyond whatever this is between us.

“I’m going to make some lunch. Want some?”

“Sure,” she says without looking up from her documents.

I head to the kitchen and start assembling sandwiches—turkey, Swiss, avocado, the good mustard that costs more than it should.

“This isn’t how I pictured you,” Sage says, sliding onto one of the kitchen island stools.

“I don’t starve,” I tease, slicing the first sandwich diagonally.

“Obviously.” She glances down at the three sandwiches in front of me. “I’m assuming you’re eating two sandwiches.”

I slide the first completed sandwich across the granite counter to her. “You’ll understand in a sec. Take a bite.”

She eyes me suspiciously but picks up the sandwich and takes a generous bite. Her eyes widen slightly as she chews, and she nods approvingly. “Perfect amount of mustard.”

“I know.” I finish assembling my second sandwich and take a bite. “If you want a second one, I guess I can share.”

She smiles, taking another bite. “It’s so good. Thank you.”

We eat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, and I find myself watching the way she savors each bite. There’s something satisfying about feeding her, about making sure she’s taken care of.

I finish my second sandwich and start putting everything away, wrapping the leftover turkey and storing it properly.

“Who’s your best friend?” she asks suddenly.

The question catches me off guard, and I feel my chest tighten. “He’s gone. Yours?”

Her eyes widen with shock and something that might be sympathy. “I’m sorry,” she says softly. “Um. I have a best friend from high school, but we’re very different. She likes her matcha green teas and her spin classes, and I’m still going out to the bar for a drink.”

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