Page 2 of Hurt to Love
“So, Ryley does yoga. What’s the big deal? I do go to the gym once in a while, you know. It’s not like I haven’t seen chicks do yoga before.”
“Not like Ryley does it, you haven’t.”
He was growing redder now, heavy breaths blowing out of his flared nostrils like some kind of savage dragon. It didn’t deter me though. In fact, it spurred me on even more.
“And howdoesRyley do it?” I crossed my arms over my chest and leant up against the kitchen counter. This I could not wait to hear.
“Naked.”
I almost choked out the last bit of Sylvie’s salad.
“Naked?”
“Yes, naked. In our living room.”
“Holy fuck, dude. So you just waltz in after a hard day’s work and there she is, doing the downward dog, all ready for you. Fuck. I want one of those.”
“What the fuck does that mean?” He growled, clenching his fists and looking like he was seconds away from pummelling my face in.
“I want a chick to come and do naked yoga in my living room. I wanna come home to that.”
Typical Jackson, he took my comment completely the wrong way.
“You think it’s okay to picture my wife naked and now you want her?”
“I didn’t say I wanther. I said I wantthat. I want naked yoga.”
“Who wants naked yoga?”
Ryley chose that exact moment to waltz into the kitchen, wearing a red satin robe and nothing else. The material clung to every one of her curves, leaving nothing to the imagination. I looked away, busying myself with the temperature of the oven so as not to anger the beast standing next to her.
“Cill. Why did I even need to ask who?” She grinned, and Jackson snaked a territorial arm around her waist, pulling her closer to him.
“Baby, you need to go back upstairs. You know what that robe does to me,” he whisper-growled into her ear, but loud enough for me to overhear and get the message. He wanted me gone. He needed his alone time.
“Don’t be long,” she purred, and he slapped her ass as she sauntered back out of the kitchen. “And don’t eat all the lasagne,” she called over her shoulder to me.
“Yeah, whatever,” I mumbled, knowing that once I started eating this bad boy, I wouldn’t be able to stop.
“It’s Friday night, what are you doing here? You’re not gonna find the love of your life hiding out in our apartment, eating our food and watching Netflix. Maybe you could try online dating?”
What the fuck was Jackson on about? Did he even know me?
“Online dating? Are you serious?” I cleared my throat dramatically for effect. “Twenty-eight-year-old, six-foot hunk of hotness with a kick ass physique, dark sexy hair, green eyes, fucks like a champion. I’d jam their servers and blow up the internet.”
Jackson shook his head, but he knew I was right.
“Perfection like this,” I circled my face with my hand, “needs to be appreciated in the flesh. An online app just wouldn’t cut it.”
“I think a bit of modesty might be attractive too.” Jackson narrowed his gaze on me. “You need to get out more.”
He was right; I did need to get out. But not to meet anyone. I just needed to get laid.
“Fine. I’ll do that.” I fake grinned back at him, overly nodding like one of those dogs in the rear window of a granny’s car, then I rolled my eyes like a teenage girl. “I just need to finish this lasagne first. It’ll give me the energy I’ll need for when the ladies of this city find out I’m out tonight. It’ll give me stamina.”
Jackson let out a low, deep chuckle, and I gave him a wink and a smirk in return. But my wicked grin hid a pitiful truth. The God awful fact that I was going through a dry spell. The driest fucking spell I’d ever known. Maybe I’d been too focused on work, and keeping Jackson’s plates spinning for him, but my life, my sex life? That was pretty much non-existent. It had to change. There was only so much self-love a man like me could handle without going completely insane. Variety in my sex life these days meant using the other hand. I needed a fucking release, literally, and with a real, live woman.
“And don’t go to one of our clubs either. You know you’ll end up working instead of relaxing,” Jackson said, giving me a pointed look.
