Page 14 of Hot Stuff
Fuck, as of last month, she’s not even a college student anymore.
A niggle of worry tugs. She’ll be looking for her own apartment soon. I want her to move back into my place and maybe now I won’t be here, she will. I can keep the apartment for her. I’ll buy something when I relocate. Or lease something. Whatever. None of that matters right now.
What matters is telling Oakley yes.
The elevator opens and I step in, move to the back as more people board. By the time the doors close again, the damn thing is full, and as it rises to the top I grit my teeth at every stop it makes, tap my fists against my thighs in an agitated rhythm.
I barely notice the people around me although I hear the whispers, my name; I know I’m recognized.
All I can think isplease don’t talk to me. The last thing I want to do is sign autographs or take selfies.
Thankfully I’m left alone and I’m the last passenger when the doors open on the top floor. I’m out and down the hall to Oakley’s door, my fist banging on it within seconds.
When the door opens, I’m greeted by a towel-wrapped Oakley, her hair in some kind of messy knot on top of her head that shouldn’t be sexy but is, and for a moment my brain freezes.
My gaze goes from those chaotic strands of auburn hair to her perfectly polished pink toenails and I’m sporting my second instant erection of the day.
This woman.
She gets to me in a way I’ve never experienced, and I’ll be fucked if I want to do anything about it other than drop my pants for her again.
I step forward.
She steps back.
Again, I take a step and so does she.
Our breaths are labored, and I’m sure my eyes are as dilated as hers, and her heart has to be racing as fast as mine.
I can’t think of anything except touching her. Getting inside her. I want her all over me. I want to be all over her.
But my brain isn’t functioning right, and I can’t seem to string the right words together.
I’m in her suite, shutting the door behind me with a hard shove, and the only thing I can do is blurt out one word.
“Yes.”
Oakley
“Yes!”
That one word echoes around me and it takes a few seconds for me to say or do anything because I don’t know what Walker is saying yes to.
Is he talking about coaching the Rogues?
Hope flutters in my chest.
Or is he talking about doing something with the crackling chemistry that arcs between us?
The fluttering from that thought takes place lower down and I’m left in a struggle of indecision.
Which answer do I want?
Right now, with my skin on fire and my sex clenching tight, I know which I want him to be saying yes to. Except I want both, and really, we should be able to have both, right?
We’re adults, unattached and free to fuck whoever we want.
And right now, in this moment, I want to fuck Walker Alcott more than I want him to coach the Rogues.
