Page 61 of Omega Artist
“Agreed.”
“The yoga thing is an added bonus…” I don’t miss his sarcastic tone. “The goats taking a dump on the mat is just the icing on the cake, baby.” He swats my butt with his free hand. “Come on or we’ll turn into popsicles.”
Minutes later, Tig is antsy as he peers through the brochure provided by the disheveled woman behind the reception desk. He suddenly lets out a boisterous shout of joy as he reads that he can attend the class without actually doing yoga.
“But you’d have so much more fun doing so!” We’re having this discussion while the woman is trying to impart vital information about how this place works. Classes. Food. Goats. All the while, the tattooed man beside me continues grunting for no apparent reason.
“Do I strike you as the kind of guy who’d enjoy putting my body in tortuous poses outside of sex?”
“Tig, you strike me as the kind of guy who enjoys a challenge.” I take a peek at the fireplace in the expansive living room beyond the hostess. I spot shelves full of used books and, just like that, I know that staying here was the right decision.
She hands me the key to our room.“Oh, and by the way, you’re in luck because Chance Bateman will be hosting an event tomorrow night… And he’ll have signed posters to give out.”
“Who’s Chance Bateman?”
“That would be me, sweetheart.” The drawl that escaped from the sexy mouth of the tall man standing behind me is as swoon-worthy as his looks, now that I’ve swiveled my head to ensure that I’m not daydreaming. “The failed professional soccer player from Oz who’s no wizard, but believe it or not, my posters still sell!” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, then supplies highlights of his past as an athlete whose career was cut short by injury. Once the cocky man is done bragging about his exploits, he realizes that Tig’s glaring at him. Instinctively, I reach for Tig’s hand and lace our fingers together. Warmth spreads throughout my needy body. I really don’t get his ability to ignite my lust.
“And you’re teaching a yoga class?”
“Oh, no. I came all the way from California to visit my Pixy.”
“Is she an instructor?”
The former soccer player’s answer comes in the form of a hearty laugh. “Pixy’s my goat! He’s definitely all male; he shags all the lovely females to breed babies for the yoga class thanks to Bree, my youngest. She’s allergic to goat hair…” His eyes become distant for a moment before adding, “So, I’m here to meet Pixy’s babies. My wife’s stuck in Hermosa Beach because of work.”
In a blink of an eye, Tig’s face drops. I have no clue what changed, but his beautiful grin turns lopsided. I watch him struggle to swallow and heave a breath. Perplexed, I redirect the conversation and ask him how long he’ll be staying.
Tig doesn’t utter a word and seems preoccupied when I tilt my head to glance at him. I’m not the prying kind, but I can’t leave it at that. He looks stiff and pained, and a tinge of sadness washes over me. I’ll have to remedy that once we get upstairs.
“It was a pleasure meeting you, Chance Bateman. I hope we’ll get to meet Pixy during our stay.” We arrange to see each other after tomorrow’s class so that I can snap a picture of the infamous sex symbol—I mean the goat, not the soccer player—and Chance absentmindedly waves goodbye while he moves on to harmlessly flirting with the receptionist.
“Let’s go to our suite, shall we?” With the bags on his shoulder, Tig leads the way and starts ascending the stairs up to the third floor.
Despite its fancy name, the pictures on the website showed a large bedroom with a private bath, which is a luxury that I refuse to compromise on. How people can share bathrooms with strangers is beyond me.
It’s a good thing I didn’t have to confirm with Tig prior to booking it. He simply didn’t have much of a say in this since I treated him, claiming that I owed him for all the time I’ve spent at his apartment. Consuming his food. Borrowing his tee-shirts. Christening every inch of his place.
He puts the bags down in the doorway as I take in what will serve as our bedroom for the next couple of days and chortle. “Oh, this is… cozy.” My voice is half-joking, half-disappointed.
“Rustic, borderline spartan, you mean?” He counters, then follows me into the bathroom, where I start sorting out my toiletries on either side of the vanity. I shiver when his arm wraps around my waist; his chin rests on my shoulder as his scruff rasps against my neck. Both looking in the bathroom mirror, we lock eyes. “It’s a barn, Alie. What did you expect?” His voice is low and subdued. He coughs.“What do you say? Wanna buy a signed poster from Mr. Chatty later, huh?” His throat is scratchy and he sounds like he does when he wakes up in the morning, paired with an edge that I’ve never heard.
“Mmm… no. Why?”
“Well, maybe I’m mistaken, but your cheeks are pink. Considering how fit you are, it can’t be from climbing the stairs, and I doubt that it’s from the cold. You sure seemed to enjoy his company.” He swallows hard. “Maybe you have the hots for the guy.”
I stop what I’m doing and lace my fingers with his. “Are you jealous?” I joke, incapable of imagining that he is. He shrugs off my question, and I give him a peck, relieved that his gloomy mood shifted to a more cheerful one. “He’s not my type, anyway.”
“Oh, please. Chance’s every woman’s wet dream, just like Graham is!”
“You should know by now that I’m not every woman, Tig de Luca.”
“I couldn’t agree more, Aliénor.” The fact that he can’t quite pronounce my name is really cute, although he wouldn’t appreciate that adjective any more than sweet.
To prove how preposterous his assumption is, I make quick work of his belt, zipper, pants, and boxer briefs and, in turn, he confirms that he got my not so subtle message. Steamy. Efficient. Fast.
God, I love quickies when they’re synonymous with good sex!
“You always have to have it your way, my alpha princess. Such a hot and messy quickie from such a neat control freak!” he mocks me. “You’re my favorite control freak, Alie,” he concludes and his mouth crashes to mine, stopping me from arguing that there's a difference between being organized and being a control freak. I’m so blissed out from our quickie that my resistance is soon forgotten.
