Page 21 of Cause When You Love Someone
By the time I looked up, I saw Ishmael was pulling into the extra parking spot I paid for.
“I’m going to walk you upstairs. I’ll get a ride home once I know everything is . . . quiet.”
I opened my mouth to tell him it wasn’t necessary, but I knew it would fall on deaf ears. Despite only being in each other’s company for a little over a week, I knew Ishmael would do as he pleased if he felt it ensured my safety.
The journey up to my place was quiet, apart from my heart ringing in my ears. Ishmael didn’t appear troubled by the silence, though I couldn’t stop shifting my weight from one foot to the other.
“You shouldn’t have to stay long,” I announced. “I’m sure the doorman would’ve told me if Chaz showed up.”
Ishmael stepped past me as soon as I unlocked the door. The warm scent of cinnamon and a trail of clothes met us in the front of my home like a doormat. No matter how much I kept a clean house, I couldn’t care less when I had to find something to wear.
“Hm. Sorry about the mess,” I called out before he disappeared down the hallway. “I’m not usually this messy. Most days, my place is put together. I know it doesn’t look like that now, but I was in a rush to leave.”
An amused expression seized his face when he joined me in the living room. “You’re rambling.”
“I was explaining.”
He nodded while relaxing in my favorite seat in my house. Arranged in front of a floor-to-ceiling window, the spot offered a spellbinding view of Silk Hills.
“How long are you staying?”
“Not long,” he replied, though his focus was attached to his phone.
His lackluster response drove me to rush out of sight. So accustomed to people being at my beck and call, I second guessed myself when in the company of a man who paid me no mind. Granted, I appreciated his professionalism, but I thought our short moment at the photoshoot meant he had passed treating me like an annoying little sister.
On weary legs, I went into my beauty room and closed my door. As I struggled to take off my leather top, tears layered my vision. I was overstimulated and overwhelmed with my racing thoughts.
“Ugh!” Dramatically, I threw my body back on the bed, yet a soft knock at the door caused me to sit up. “Yes?”
“Are you all right?”
“No—yes.” I stopped before I started rambling again. “Can you help me?”
The door crept open, and Ishmael occupied the space.
“What can I help you with, Clarke?”
“My top. The zipper on my top,” I clarified.
Like a bee to a fresh sunflower, Ishmael’s long legs swallowed the distance between us while I abandoned the bed and gave him my back.
“Move your hair,” he muttered in a voice that piloted goosebumps to my skin. “Why are you shaking?”
My breath got caught in my throat when I felt his longer fingers dance across my back. “I don’t know.”
“You do know. Are you scared?”
“There’s nothing to be afraid of.”
The moment of silence was interrupted when Ishmael guided my zipper down my spine.
“Happy you know it,” he declared before leaving me alone.
The absence of his hands on me made my skin yell for one more stroke. It had been a long time since a man’s touch gave me goosebumps, and even longer since I wished a man would try his luck.
Any other night, it would take at least an hour to complete my nighttime routine; however, the idea of Ishmael being in my house led me to change clothes then join him in the front room.
“Nigga! I sent you the address thirty minutes ago. Hurry yo ass up!” I heard Ishmael say to someone on his phone.
