By the time she stops shuddering and clenching her thighs around my head, I’m in danger of pushing too far. Try explaining to your cock it can’t have the woman that has been satisfying it beyond belief for a month. The jerk doesn’t want to listen.
I come to my feet, using my body to keep Ever from sliding down the wall into a heap. Our foreheads pressed together, I breathe. Breathe. Ignoring the stubborn prick in my pants, I look at Ever’s face, finding it flushed and soft. So much more than merely beautiful. Have I ever looked at her like this? Just . . . quietly looked? Before I know what I’m doing, my mouth is pressing kisses to her hairline, the curve of her cheekbones. One corner of her mouth lifts, her nose wrinkling, and I find myself smiling back. Affection hits me so hard in the stomach, I almost fall back down on my knees.
Whoa. Whoa.
I need to get out of here. Something is different. Something has changed . . . or at least is in danger of changing inside me. I haven’t touched Ever like this in a while, so maybe I’m just really grateful. I don’t know. Time to hit the bricks, though, right? Why am I having such a hard time letting her go and backing up? She feels really, really great all pliant like this. I don’t think I’ve ever held her afterward.
Ever’s eyes pop open and she’s searching my face, and that’s what propels me backward. I don’t know what she’s going to see, but I-I think it’s too much.
“I have an early training session tomorrow morning.”
She jerks off the wall, like she just had a bucket of water emptied over her head. “Oh. Oh, you—yeah.” Her hands are clumsy as they drag her skirt back into place . . . and they reach out to me. She wants me to hug her again. Hold her. Jesus, what am I going to do? Even if I want nothing more than to wrap her up in a big, squeezing bear hug, I don’t want her to get the wrong idea. What is the wrong idea, again? “My panties, Charlie.”
Oh. Fuck.
My hesitation seems to have . . . embarrassed her? But I’m definitely the one who should be humiliated. Of course she didn’t want a hug. I’m an idiot, and I need to go home before I ruin every inch of progress I’ve made toward becoming her go-to guy for . . . everything. Friendship, cater waitering, cunnilingus. All of the above. “Sorry.” I hand her back the gray lace, kind of wishing I could keep it. “They look great on you, Ever.”
She steps into the lace and wiggles the panties up her body, forcing me to battle the groan of all groans. “Thanks for—”
“Don’t you dare thank me for that.”
Color climbs her cheeks. “Then . . . thank you for helping out tonight.” She tucks her hair behind an ear and moves past me, careful not to let our bodies touch. “I don’t think we could have pulled it off without you guys.”
I grab her elbow before she can leave the closet, knowing I somehow fucked up, but refusing to let my error ruin the fact that we’re almost back. Ever and Charlie. Committed to being uncommitted. “Hey, Ever.” I slide my hand down to her wrist, bringing her hand to my mouth for a kiss. “Still friends. Please?”
Her eyelashes sweep down to hide her eyes. “Still friends.” She leans in and gives me a soft kiss on the cheek. “Good night, Charlie.”
This time it was goodnight, not goodbye—and I’m damned thankful.
It’s short-lived, though, because as soon as I step out into the rushing Manhattan evening, I have the overwhelming sensation I should be back inside, taking Ever home.
Chapter 12
Charlie
I’ve done so many push-ups today, my arms are aching with the strain. Soon as I hit one thousand, I’m going to run another couple miles, try to beat my best time. I’m holing up in my room tonight with study materials, because we have an exam coming up. I don’t need a refresher. Hell, I knew everything in the handbook before I entered the academy, but if I don’t distract myself, I’m going to call Ever again too soon. It has only been a couple days since the catering event, and new friends space out their interactions more, right?
Who the fuck knows? I just don’t want to appear too eager. Meanwhile, I’m about as eager as sailors during Fleet Week. How is she? Is she working a job tonight? If not, what the hell is she getting up to without me? Central Park, the beach, watching movies? I got used to living in the dark about her everyday activities, but that’s really not working for me anymore.
I’ve been tempted to message her on DateMate. As Reve. God knows I’ve been logging on to look at her photos often enough. They’ve become part of my routine. There’s a picture of her balancing a plate of toast on her head that I like to eat breakfast with.
It’s time to have my head checked.
Danika walks into the gym, kicking the edge of my floor mat. “Saw your not-girlfriend.”
“What?” I go down on my chest, roll over and sit up, like an animal that’s been offered a treat for performing. “Where?”
“At that tapas place near Union Square.”
“Fuck.” I come to my feet, just as Jack saunters in eating a burrito. “A date?”
“Who’s on a date?” Jack asks around a mouthful. “I like dates.”
Danika crosses her arms, clearly enjoying watching me squirm. “Ever. With some sexy financial type. Caught them through the window as they were sitting down.”
“Oh shit,” Jack says, turning on a heel and trying to leave the room. “I have an appointment.”
“Wait. Just . . . wait,” I call, halting him in his tracks. My heart and brain must have swapped places, but my heart feels twice as heavy and my head is beating. I thought Ever’s upcoming rendezvous with Reve would prevent her from scheduling dates with other dudes. Didn’t Ever and Reve have a connection? Apparently not enough of one to keep Ever cooling her heels. “Sexy financial type? Like . . . sexy how? How is he sexy?”
“Objection,” Jack waves his burrito. “Irrelevant.”
“You’re on the law side of law and order, Jack,” Danika says. “You realize that, right?”
“Stay on the subject.” I sound like someone is using my stomach as a trampoline. “Ever. Date.”
“A sexy date.”
“Sexy how?”
Danika throws up her hands. “Kind of a Patrick Wilson type, I guess. Cufflinks. Starchy shirt. Fresh haircut.”
Jack smirks. “You need a refresher course on what’s sexy, honey.”
Christ, I think I’m having a panic attack. The last time I experienced this severe nausea and racing, spiky pulse was when I found out Ever was going speed dating. I thought of her getting hurt or being sweet talked by a bunch of chumps and . . . I came up with the plan to sabotage the event. Can’t do that again, though. It made Ever sad. Made her lose her sparkle, and even for a short span of time, that’s unacceptable. I can’t meddle again. Unless. . . .
“Did he seem maybe like an asshole?” There’s no way to keep the hope out of my voice as I throw the question at Danika. “Like he could ghost her after one date. Or maybe he looked more like Patrick Bateman from American Psycho, instead of Patrick Wilson?”
Danika tilts her head, like she’s on the verge of calling me an idiot. But whatever she finds in my expression seems to change her mind. “Yeah. It’s possible I might have seen a splatter of blood on his collar.”
Disorderly Conduct (The Academy #1)
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