Page 38 of Space Oddities

Lady blue balls.Please. That can’t be a thing. And if itisa thing, it’s probably only a Julesthing.

Palming my face, I drag my hand down, trying to keep calm.

Taking a deep breath, I open the fridge, welcoming the cold blast of air.

I’ll make myself a sandwich. I’ll make Trish a sandwich. Then I’ll invite her down to eat and feel her out. Arms full of lunch meat and condiments, I spread them out on the counter, grabbing a loaf of bread from the cabinet.

This is Trish we’re talking about. I have to be careful. I need to strategize. Plan ahead. Any unplanned, sudden movements and—

“You’re going to the rehearsal dinner, aren’t you?”

I glance up from my task, nearly dropping the bottle of mayo in my hand.

Trish, in yet another tiny bikini, saunters into the kitchen, laptop in hand. The bikini is light pink with a white ruffle along the strapless bra-like top and around the leg holes of the barely-there bottoms. It’s both ladylike and femme fatale.

I’ve never been so glad of having a pool in my life.

“Ian?” The devilish smile on her face tells me she knew exactly what she was doing when she put that on. “Are you going to the dinner?”

“Ah, yes.” I clear my throat. Maybe Jules was on to something with the lady blue ball comments.

“Good.” She purses her full pink lips, blinking up at me under her dark lashes. “I thought maybe we could go together.”

Leaning against the counter, I cross my arms, feigning nonchalance in the hopes of hiding my erection. “Why, Miss Garrett. Are you asking me out on a date?”

She shrugs, the movement making her ruffles quiver. My pants get tighter.

Screw focus. I push off, taking a step toward her.

“Oh no,Mr. Kincaid,” she mocks, holding up her free hand to warn me off. “I need to get my words in.”

I frown, my brain having trouble functioning when all the blood has rushed somewhere else. “Words in?”

She lifts her laptop. “Every day I need at least two solid hours of writing now that we’ve settled on a new book idea.”

Using the royal we again only makes me harder. When I look her over from head to toe again, I’m sure my cock is about to bust open the seams of my pants. “And you have to get your ‘words in’ in that?”

She’s barefoot, her pale pink toenails match her two-piece, as does her lipstick, and the coordination is driving me crazy for some reason. Her head comes up to my collarbone she’s so tiny. Makes me want to pick her up, wrap her legs around my waist, and take her. Upstairs to my room, against the kitchen wall, hell, I’d take her on the pool lounger again if she’d let me. In fact, outdoor nookie could become a fetish of mine. As long as it’s with her.

As if reading my thoughts, she glances out the windows at the pool. “It’s a nice day out. Might as well get a tan for the wedding.” She pulls a piece of paper from her notebook. “Here.”

I take it, glancing down at a list of names and phone numbers.

“I made a list of therapists I researched. All of these are well-known for their ability to help with anxiety disorders like claustrophobia.”

The names on her list match the ones on mine I made this morning. Even with lady blue balls Trish managed to find time to help me. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it, sugar.” She sashays to the French door. “Why don’t you make some calls while I write?” Then she’s out the door, leaving me with a list and a hard-on.

* * *

An hourlater and my pants situation has not gone down. Probably because instead of working remotely from my office, I brought my work laptop into the kitchen so I could sit in the chair at the table with the perfect view of Trish, cross-legged in one of my patio dining chairs, tapping her pink painted fingernails on her computer.

At first, my eyes were on the exposed skin, on the way she rubbed lotion on her legs, how her body bounced as she shimmied in her chair every once in a while, like she was excited over some new idea. But now, my own work long forgotten, I’m captivated by her tiny, oval-shaped face morphing into countless expressions as she types.

She goes from frowning to smiling to glaring daggers to looking tearful in less than a minute, as if she’s feeling what she’s writing.

I’d be exhausted if I felt all that in such a short time.

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