He tucks my messy curls away from my face before shooting me an apologetic smile. “I know.”
I shyly smile right back at him without saying another word because there really is nothing else to say about it. It’s who he is.
“For the first time, maybe ever, I wish no one knew who I was.” He grazes his fingertips along my bare back. “But, Stevie, just because we’re keeping it quiet doesn’t mean I don’t want people to know about you. If it weren’t for your job or my fucking contract resigning, I wouldn’t shut up about you.”
I hide my stupid giddy smile in his chest.
“So don’t think for a second I’m keeping this quiet for any other reason than that.”
There’s a hidden meaning behind the words he’s saying, and I pick up on it right away, so I lean up and kiss him for that.
“I like having you in my bed.”
“I like being here.” I check the clock on his nightstand, letting me know that I’m going to be late for the video call scheduled for my dad’s birthday. “But I need to get going.”
I push my naked body off him, but he grabs me, keeping me in place. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. New rule. You’re not allowed to run away from me anymore.”
“I’m not. But I need to get home so I can call my dad.”
“Your phone is here. Call him here.”
“I need my laptop. It’s a three-way call with Ryan too.”
“I have a computer, Vee. Stay here. Please.” His tone is pleading, his eyes are begging, and I’ve never seen this arrogant man so desperate and needy. In fact, I have to keep myself from laughing at this unexpected side of him.
“Okay.” I melt back into his body. “I’ll stay.”
He takes two handfuls of my ass, pushing me into him. “Morning sex and breakfast.”
“Breakfast, yes.” I pat his chest, getting off him before starting something I don’t have time to finish. “Morning sex, no. I don’t have time.”
“I’ll be quick.”
A condescending laugh escapes me. Something tells me there’s nothing quick about the way Zanders fucks. Even when it’s “quick,” it’s most likely detailed and comprehensive, making sure every part of my body would be given his full attention.
And any other time, I wouldn’t dare complain, but Ryan is on the East Coast for work, and we need to get this call going before his morning shootaround.
“Fine,” he resigns. “Afternoon sex, then.” We both climb off the bed, his flawless tatted body pulling mine in, my back to his chest. “I bought you some clothes yesterday. They’re in the bottom drawer for you. Or if you’d rather wear something of mine, you can take anything you want.”
He places a soft kiss on my bare shoulder before quickly pulling on a pair of sweatpants. But before he leaves me alone in his room, one large hand lands firmly on my ass.
“For fuck’s sake, Vee.” He throws his head back in defeat before heading towards the kitchen. “Your ass is insane!”
Alone in his room, the realization begins to sink in. Did that really happen last night? My head is light and dizzy, and my chest feels like it’s filled with air, ready to pop. It’s as if I’m floating around, and my feet can’t touch the ground, but in the best way possible.
In the most amazing way possible.
I really like Zanders, and that’s terrifying. But being scared feels a lot better than not giving in to what I want.
Opening the bottom drawer of Zanders’ oversized dresser, I find multiple pairs of sweatpants, leggings, and cotton shorts. A few different sweatshirts, some with hoods, some without. A plethora of Tshirts and flannels, but the thing that every single one of these articles of clothing has in common is that they’re brand new with tags still attached.
It’s thoughtful as hell and not because he spent money on me. Zanders throws money around like it’s nobody’s business. But because he bought everything in about five different sizes. There are pants in here that I could never squeeze into in a million years, yet there are some that would be so big I’d be swimming in them. But the point is, he went out of his way not to guess my size and get it wrong. It’s happened to me before, and that shit is embarrassing. Instead, he got every size across the spectrum so I could pick what I feel most comfortable in.
It reminds me of the Christmas gift he got me. Three pairs of sweatpants in three different sizes. And the more I get to know Zanders, the more intentional I realize that was.
I’m not going to lie. I’m about two seconds from tears because I’ve never had someone understand the struggle of having clothes bought for them. Most of the time, it’s awkward when assumptions are made and things don’t fit correctly. Then there’s this guilt associated with being unable to wear said gift.
So, this, this makes me feel overwhelmingly seen.
I form a pile of the clothes that I’ll never be able to wear, either because they’re too big or too small, and put them to the side so I can make sure to donate them later today. I won’t be able to get use out of them, but someone else will, and Zanders doesn’t exactly seem like a “returns” guy.
Taking all the pieces and sizes I picked to keep, I replace them in the bottom drawer, claiming that small bit of Zanders’ penthouse. But instead of getting dressed in something he bought me, I hesitate. He gave me permission to wear something of his, which sounds nice.
I’ve never worn a guy’s clothes before. Not in a cute way, at least. I’ve never been able to because men’s clothing is cut straight up and down, but I’m all curves. Their shirts and hoodies always get too tight around my midsection, and their pants can’t get around my ass and hips. But Zanders is a huge man with thighs thicker than mine, so maybe it’ll work.
Rifling through his drawers, I find a T-shirt and a pair of basketball shorts, and I can’t even explain the little jolt of victory that flows through my chest when they slip on with ease. I’ll probably never tell anyone this because it seems so small and unimportant, but for the first time in my life, I feel the way all the other girls did when I was growing up, and they got to wear their boyfriends’ hoodies or jerseys to games.
I find Zanders standing shirtless over the stove, his gold chain and tattoos doing all sorts of things to me at this morning hour.
“Now, don’t get too excited about breakfast. I have no idea what I’m doing, nor have I ever cooked for someone before.”
I bury my head into his back, wrapping my arms around his waist. “I’ll be happy with anything.”
He gives me a soft grin over his shoulder, but when his stare finds his clothes on my body, that smile grows.
I grab his hand, spatula and all, holding it up to examine it. “You should probably take that off before you get in the shower again.” I nod towards the ring of mine he’s wearing on his pinky finger. “Mine aren’t as nice as yours. That’ll for sure turn your finger green.”
He turns his head, putting his lips on mine. “Sounds like I need to replace all yours one day.”