Page 62 of Forgotten Comeback
Taylor
It was a hell of a night at work. A drunk guy passed out at my table, mixing up everyone’s chips and creating the biggest headache for me. I’m ready to shower and sleep for like a hundred years.
Flipping on my bedroom light, I stop short, my heart thudding wildly.
I grab the note from my bed. It’s a sketch of the ladies’ locker room, with a rudimentary drawing of two stick figures having sex in the shower. Except Gavin’s drawn huge breasts on the female stick figure, and a huge dick on the male.
Was this your dream?
It’s so ridiculous, I can’t help but laugh. I grab my phone from my purse. Remembering that I blocked Gavinagain, I unblock his number and send him a text.
Call me, or I’m calling the cops.
My phone rings, and I accept the call. “You keep blocking me, man-eater,” Gavin says with a smile in his voice.
“For good reason! How the hell did you get in?”
“Front lock needs to be replaced.”
“Why didn’t you say something when you were changing out the other lock?” I huff.
“Because I broke in through the back, not the front.”
“Ah ha! So you admit to breaking and entering!”
“More entering, less breaking if the lock’s already broken,” he says with a smile in his voice.
I march to my window and peek outside. The man’s standing at my front door with his toolbox and a bag. “Oh my God.”
“Exactly what you said when I made you see stars.”
“Ugh.” Ending the call, I march downstairs and fling open the door. Ushering a smug Gavin inside, I warn him, “I’m only letting you in because you brought food, and I’m starving.”
“I’m starving too,” he says suggestively.
“Not happening. I’m tired. I’m grungy from the casino?—”
“Take a shower while I’m changing out your lock.”
“In the shower wasn’t the right answer, by the way,” I throw over my shoulder before hurrying upstairs to my bathroom.
The water heats up as I strip, glancing at myself in the mirror. Cheeks flush, a huge smile on my face, I’m nearly as ridiculous as Gavin.
After a quick shower, I throw on leggings and a tank top and join him downstairs. Taking a seat on the floor next to the coffee table, I rummage through the food bag. “Alright, now. I draw the line at kale chips.”
“What did kale chips ever do to you?”
“What have kale chips ever done for anyone?” I counter.
He chuckles, stepping outside. Testing out the new key, the door opens, and he enters dramatically. “Mi lady’s lock-ith is install-ith.” He clicks it for emphasis.
I make a show of rolling my eyes, even though I’m grinning. “Please stop-ith and come eat with me.”
He saunters over, sexy as hell in a T-shirt, shorts, and a baseball hat turned backwards. My ovaries don’t high-five each other; this time, it’s more of a subtle nod to each other.
“What?” he catches me staring.
“Are you here because I’m the only woman in the Tri-State area who hasn’t fucked you?”
