Page 99 of Hate You Later
“It’s perfect. I have a matching hat for Oliver too. See? Is this not the most hysterical thing you’ve ever seen?”
It is, actually, but I’m not inclined to give her the satisfaction.
“Great. Alrighty then, guess I’ll be on my way.” I shed the vest and place the hat back on her work table. I can’t get out of here fast enough.
“You forgot something,” she says.
“Excuse me?”
“You can’t go home without a shirt.”
“It’s dirty. Keep it. I’m good.”
“Don’t be silly. Take mine.” She pulls her faded concert tee over her head and tosses it at me.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I catch the shirt and fling it back at her.
“What? It’s not like you haven’t seen me naked. I just don’t want you to freeze and catch pneumonia and then have to cancel the masquerade.” She places her hands defiantly on her hips. Her breasts are pert and hard in the cold studio. Her breasts are mocking me.
“Yeah, whatever. Don’t worry. You’ll have your event space,” I mutter and make my retreat, holding out a hand to shield my eyes. “And just because I’ve seen you naked before doesn’t mean you can just strip in front of me any old time—especially if you’ve decided we’re just going to be friends now. That isn’t … well, it just isn’t proper.”
“Fine, whatever.” Georgia rolls her eyes at me and pulls her tee back on. “At least take a sweatshirt?” She grabs an oversize hoodie off a hook on the back of the door, but I’m already gone. I don’t want her sweatshirt. I don’t want to smell her. I don’t want to be her friend, with or without benefits. I certainly don’t want to be the loser just waiting to get a look at her tits when she decides it’d be fun to tease me.
She can go fuck herself as far as I’m concerned.
With a click and two beeps, I’m sitting shirtless in my car, and then I’m peeling out into the street. I’m burning up and freezing cold. I’ve got half a hard-on and a heart that feels like it just got tossed and drop-kicked. I don’t care what direction I’m going, as long as it’s away from that volatile little bundle of trouble.
* * *
Back at my loft, I take a long shower before making myself some breakfast and feeding Oliver.
The cat, while initially peeved, now seems extremely happy to see me. It’s the first time I’ve left him alone overnight, and I guess it never really occurred to me that he wouldn’t like that. Cats are supposed to be fine with being left alone. Cats aren’t supposed to give a shit, right?
Except, now that I think back on this, I realize what a crock that is. Pretty much every night since he came into my life, Oliver has slept on the foot of my bed. He’s my shadow as I move through the loft daily, settling in a beam of light or on a fluffy cushion in whatever room I happen to inhabit. What had he thought last night? He must have been worried. Maybe he thought I was never coming back?
“I’m really sorry, dude,” I say, petting him and giving him a little extra food. Much to my chagrin, he doesn’t judge me at all. Not even a dirty look. He just purrs excitedly and gives me those damned, blinking “lovey eyes.”
Worse, I realize that I’m sitting here, blinking back at him.
I do the only thing I can think of to make myself feel better. I throw myself into my work.
There’s only a week left till the masquerade, and while I trust that Ashley has made progress as promised on furnishing the models, I haven’t had a chance to tour them. I stop downstairs and grab a cup of coffee from the countertop where the workers have set up a temporary coffee station.
“Have you guys seen Ashley? Or my dad?”
“Not today, boss. She might be out shopping for more stuff. And Walker hasn’t been down for coffee yet. Maybe check his loft?”
“Will do,” I say. “No prob.” Good thing I have a master key for all the units. I don’t really need anyone to show me around.
I start with the loft my dad and Ashley have been occupying. It’s convenient that they’ve both been able to stay close to the project, but I’m probably going to have to talk to both of them about clearing out before the event. At least for the night, so that we can show the unit.
“Knock, knock,” I call out as I bang on the door. “Anyone home?” I hit the doorbell for good measure, hearing the chimes echoing inside the large, mostly empty space.
Unlike my loft, this one is a single-level unit. It has two bedrooms, an open-plan, central kitchen and living room, and oversize bathrooms. The view is incredible, as with all these units. A full wall of glass leads to a large patio with one of those glass-fronted Jacuzzis Bryce was so crazy about.
Assuming nobody’s home, I let myself in. Ashley has outdone herself. The space is outfitted like an urban dream home. The central area is furnished with a massive, white sectional sofa. There’s a modern, glass dining table and leather Eames chairs off to one side. The kitchen is loaded with the latest and greatest appliances. A brass faucet and hardware gleam like jewelry. But the counters are littered with take-out containers.
I flip on the lights to assess the mess. The shades are all drawn, which is actually a good call both to keep the furnishings from fading and to conserve energy.
