Page 13 of Fashionista's Playbook

“Ain’t nothing wrong with healthy habits.”

She turned away from me and folded into herself in a subtle way. Those little movements, barely perceptible, caught my attention every time. The lack of confidence pissed me off, forcing me to bite back that anger.

Moriah was hot as sin, smart as hell, and turned me inside out in only a few weeks. And she had no idea.

“I wanted to ask you something anyway, about the guest room down the hall from the office.” She hurried on, the moment of vulnerability gone.

She turned on the machine, which I never used, and hopped on—her back to me.

The color in her cheeks and the innocent expression had been cute, sexy even. But the way her ass moved on the elliptical sent my hormones into overdrive.

Focusing on her words, rather than her ass, centered me. I’d not made use of half the monstrosity of a house.

“Yet another room in need of…everything.” Only one of the other bedrooms was furnished and that was shit Vin had boughtand stashed up there. “We can get furniture for it when we go pick out the living room stuff.”

Breathing heavy, she shrugged. “I was going to ask if I could rent the space from you?” She rattled on between panting breaths, not realizing I’d have said yes to anything she’d asked me just to hear her talk like that.

Would her voice pitch the same way if she talked dirty? Would she talk dirty? I rubbed a hand over my face to erase the dirty little flare of my imagination.

“You can have it.”

“How much?”

“Moriah, I’d feel like an asshole if I charged you to use the space. Consider it a perk.”

“No.” She paused the machine and hopped down, pretty face stern. “I can’t take advantage of you like that. I’ll pay.”

I tossed up my hands for peace. She was even sexy when stubborn. “Fine. Whatever you think is fair, take it out of your check.”

With a curt nod, she moved toward one of the resistance machines. “Good. Thanks.”

If that was how negotiations with Moriah were going to go, I was in trouble.

Uh oh Jersey Chasers, there might be trouble in paradise. My sources saw the Tightest of Tight Ends in the swanky office of the Man Upstairs. Looks like Coach and the Big Cheese were there as well. I can hear Coach now, complaining about the distraction of certain rowdy family members. I told you last episode the powers that be weren’t going to be happy.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Moriah

I had grown accustomed to Travis’ routine. He was up and gone early, gone before I got there most days. He called and checked in the first few days, making sure I had a handle on things.

I saw him after practice most evenings and tried to convince myself I didn’t hang around on purpose to see him. Or break off plans with Rumer to stand beside him in a high-end furniture store, debating the merits of leather over fabric.

“It’s easy to clean.” Travis pointed out as he dropped himself into an oversized leather sofa with dark wooden accents.

The piece was heavy, masculine, strong—much like the man. Admittedly, he looked good on it.

He’d look good sitting on a curb in a hotdog costume.

“I remember you sayingIget to decorate the living room.” I pointed out, but I was softening. It was his house, after all. The white L-shaped sectional and jewel-toned throw pillows were looking less appealing by the second.

“That’s before I saw this couch.” He patted the spot beside him. “You need to experience it to get the full effect.”

I huffed a sigh that I didn’t really feel and walked over, tucked my skirt beneath my legs, and sat as primly as possible. The electric tingle warmed my skin through my skirt and traveled between my thighs so that I squeezed them together to keep from squirming. It didn’t help that he smelled good. Something masculine and woodsy—not unlike the damn couch.

I sat rigid and he rolled his eyes.

“Mom never let us have anything fancy. No leather, no glass, nothing that cost a lot or broke easily.” He laughed. “Said Vin and I would just destroy anything she spent real money on.”

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