Page 59 of IOU

“I’m positive,” I say, feeling the anxiousness from her body.

“Okay. Water drinking nerd for the win,” she drawls out loudly, ignoring the bored look I give her and finally pressing the button.

Images of confetti and balloons explode on the screen right before she tackles me in a bruising hug. “We did it!”

Holding her close, I try to hold on as she bounces up and down, her braless tits torturing me through my shirt.

“Be still.” I press her down.

“What? Why? Why can’t we celebrate? We won a virtual million dollars!”

For the love of God, she’s still moving.

“Ainsley.” My voice is a growl and stops her mid-air, where she realizes what she’s doing to me.

“Oh,” she says, very amused. “I didn’t realize you were that excited about winning.”

What a smartass.

“Yeah, it’s been quite the revelation.”

She eases down to my lap, careful not to impale herself on my dick straining to get through my pajama pants. “Thank you,” she whispers, her breath fanning across my lips. Her words hold sincerity. She’s not just thanking me for helping her win the game.

“Who knew you could be so poetic?” She inches closer, and with each word, her lips drag against mine.

So much for calming my dick down.

“I don’t know what you mean,” I lie.

It’s verbal foreplay with enough sexual tension to drive me mad. How badly I want to hoist her up and slam her against the table.

She presses her lips harder. “I’m calling your bluff, Maverick Lexington.”

Haven’t I told her to know her opponent before she plays the game?

I snatch her by the hips and yank her lower half forward so my hard cock meets her softness. “Are you sure you want to do that? Remember last time how that game played out for you.” I’m referring to all the IOUs she racked up.

Her hips rock and heaven help me, I enjoy the feel of her against me for just a moment before I stop her, and she moves her lips over mine. “I remember, and I’m willing to go all in. You left me that note. Why?”

Fuuuck. Why did she have to say it so confidently—so challenging?

Now I have to play, but I have the losing hand. It’s not that I don’t want to admit to Ainsley that I left the fire extinguisher and the note, because clearly, she knows it was me. But forcing me to admit that I care about her well-being is out of the roommate zone and into something else that I can’t handle just yet.

“I was merely protecting my apartment from future fires,” is what I go with instead.

I can feel her smile press against my frown. “Hmm ... I suppose that is partly the truth.”

Yes, yes, it is.

“Well,” she says after a moment, “nevertheless, I appreciate the thoughtfulness. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a friend who cared.”

A friend who cared.

Is that what I am? A friend? My dick sure disagrees. Sure, I’d like for her to stop trampling on my personal space and sure, I’d like my sofa back sans the stuffed sea animals, but I’m not that much of a dick. I don’t like to see any woman cry, especially over someone so undeserving—someone like my father who put his image and business above his wife and kids.

That’s all this is between Ainsley and me—a contract. I owe her a place to stay until I can find her something permanent. It’s in my neighbor’s and my best interest to keep the crying and the crazy down to a minimum.

It is a contract, Maverick. Don’t forget.

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