Page 26 of Hero Hair

Chapter Nine

Teala

My heart is hammering in my chest. This is a normal occurrence. I’ve had many hot men in my apartment over the years. The problem is I called my mom on the way to my house and she heard it in my voice. The excitement, the nerves, the anxiety. Leave it to a mother to alert you to the fact that you should be more nervous than you actually are. Macs is gazing out of the window, looking down at the traffic and people walking the streets. I’m on the eighth floor and my view is awesome. It’s why I purchased this apartment.

The exterior of my building still has the original swooping curves and gray gargoyles. There’s a panel of glass that spans across my whole living room. Off to the right you can see the bay in the distance and to the left are the exquisite, bustling city views I’ve come to crave. I like to know I’m surrounded by people even if I’m mostly alone. My hand shakes as I measure a shot of bourbon into a lowball.

“On ice?” I ask, looking at him over my shoulder. My kitchen is open to the living area.

“Neat,” he replies, spinning to make eye contact at the sound of my voice.

I shiver. I nod and hold out the glass for him, and set it on the concrete counter. While the exterior is beautiful and original, the inside of my unit is modern and sleek. Cool tones with matte metal finishing touches, only punctuated by the colorful artwork I have dripping on every available wall. I stare down at the twenty-two cents on the counter and smile.

Stalking forward, he slides the glass toward his chest and then picks it up. “Thank you,” he says. “You have quite the place here, Tay-la.” He takes a sip and closes his eyes. “This is good. Real good.”

Watching his lips starts an erotic movie reel in my mind. I close my own eyes, but for a different reason.

“I’ve been here forever. I love it. The views are perfect,” I reply, turning quickly to the bar to make myself a drink.

The liquor bottles are lined neatly on a metal cart. I choose vodka and then excuse myself to change out of my workout clothing. Hesitantly, he agrees to let me leave the room. Because I’m sick in the head, I pray he follows me. He’ll walk in when I’m naked and he’ll take me right then and there. I don’t have to prove anything to anyone. My friends would never know the difference and even if they did, I can more than afford my own way to Vegas.

I toss on a black maxi dress with a racer back. It shows off my shoulders and back muscles. If anyone can appreciate those, it’s him. As I walk past my low, black dresser, I swipe my chapstick and glide it on. I pick up my vodka from the coaster and join Macs next to the window. I don’t keep curtains or shades on my windows. I like the possibility of someone seeing me naked. Or fucking. Or just watching me when I least suspect it. Life is too boring.

Macs’ scent permeates my living space. It’s terrific. Man musk, deodorant, and whatever cologne he wears. He coughs on a sip of his drink and cranes his neck when he hears me padding up behind him.

“Trying to sneak up on me?”

“Even I know I can’t sneak up on a SEAL.”

The smile drops from his face. What did I say? I’ve mentally noted not to bring up his profession again. That must be an issue for him.

“Unless you want me to sneak up on you?” I add on.

Eyeing me over the rim of his glass, he throws it back to finish in a large swallow. He makes a show of putting his empty glass down on the table next to the couch. “I like your dress,” he says, when he turns his attention back to me. With his hand still cool from the glass he traces my bare shoulders with two fingers. “It shows how hard you work.”

Exactly as I thought. “Thank you. It’s sort of in my job description. You’re a pretty hard worker yourself,” I reply, placing my hand on his bicep.

Macs watches my hand on his arm.

“So, is this the part where you kiss the ever-loving shit out of me?” I ask, drinking the rest of my cocktail and setting my own glass next to his.

He’s wearing a clean shirt, so I’ve surmised he must have changed in the car. He still has the goddamn workout shorts on. I bet a woman designed them. They’re the kind that show a hard-on from six miles away. Macs has one. A big one. Kissing isn’t going to help that problem. Well, him kissing me on the lips isn’t going to fix that problem. Me kissing him somewhere else would fix it quite easily.

Quirking one brow, he runs a hand through his hair. “I could. Are you going to be a good host and show me the rest of your place first?”

Ah, hidden agendas. Yes.

I nod. “Well, you’ve seen my living room and kitchen.” I wave my arm to the large room we’re standing in.

He follows me down a hallway next to the kitchen.

“This is my spare room.” I open the door to a teal and white fluffy wonderland. They’re my mom’s favorite colors. She stays here sometimes, so I decorated the room with her in mind.

Macs bites his lip, uninterested in anything except his main goal. “And your room?”

“For the record, I don’t think you’re supposed to be seeing my bedroom this early in the dating process.” I close the door behind me and show him the guest bathroom. It’s solid white, including the hand soap bottle, but for the large artwork above the toilet.

“Also for the record, if we aren’t fucking in your bedroom, I don’t think it matters what room I’m seeing.” He nods at the artwork. “Sloths?” he asks with a smile.

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