Page 22 of The Playboy SEAL
Carefully, I open my car door and call her over. She ambles over, eyes curious. With my right hand I grab some random change I have at the bottom of my cup holder. I despise change. I’m killing two birds with one stone. I jiggle the coins in my palm and stand to face her.
“Twenty-two cents,” I explain, moving my hand down so she can see it.
She smiles. “Big baller.”
I smirk back, making sure to use the smile. “It might as well be a million dollars. Give me your hand.”
Teala raises one sculpted brow. “Okay?”
I dump two dimes and two pennies into her cool hand.
“If we lose this bet because of me, you get to keep that,” I say. I figure this show might endear her to our cause and relieve some of the tension she feels at letting me into her world.
She jerks her chin to the side. “The stakes are so high. How will you ever keep your hands off me, big man?”
She takes my hand and leads me to the elevator. As we ride up to her floor, she doesn’t take her gaze off mine in the reflection of the mirrored walls. Her eyes flicker with mischief. I like it because it’s a familiar look.
I also fucking hate it.
CHAPTER NINE
Teala
My heart is hammeringin 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. Mykitchen 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 racerback. It shows off my shoulders and back muscles. If anyone can appreciate those, it’s him. As I walk past my low, blackdresser, 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’s 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.
