Page 53 of Pining for Pierce
I let it drop to the floor, then take off my boots and jeans, sitting on the couch in the end to tug them from my damp, frozen legs. My t-shirt and underwear are all wet. There’s no way I can keep them on and not still feel a chill, so I quickly remove them too, struggling a little with my bra, before pulling on Pierce’s robe. It’s way too big, but is so cozy and warm, and it smells of him. I pull it around myself, fastening the tie at my waist, and then I pull out my braid, running my fingers through my damp hair, just as Pierce calls, “Are you decent?”
“Yes.”
He comes out wearing gray sweatpants and a white t-shirt… the same as the one he had on just now, but dry. His tattoos are on display, as is his growing arousal, and he pulls down his t-shirt at the front, snagging my attention, and making me smile.He smiles back, because we both know why he did that, and then he comes over.
“Sorry to be so obvious,” he says, and I have to chuckle, recalling our conversation when we were down by the creek.
“I don’t mind.” Actually, I kinda like it.
He looks down at the pile of clothes by my feet before he bends and picks them up. I guess that means we’re done with talking about the ‘obvious’, and in a way, I kinda like that, too. It feels normal… and we could use something ‘normal’.
“I’ll put these in the dryer,” he says, holding out my clothes.
“Okay… but not my jacket.”
He nods, wandering to the table and putting it over the back of one of the chairs before he goes to the closet beside the bathroom, opening it to reveal a washing machine with a dryer stacked on top, which he opens, putting my clothes inside and switching it on.
As he comes back, his eyes rake up and down my body, his head tilting to one side and a slow smile forming on his lips.
“My robe never looked that good on me,” he says, resting his hands on my waist, and I smile up at him. I lean against his chest and he holds me close.
“I’m sure I look a mess. My hair…”
“Looks fabulous,” he says.
“No, it doesn’t.”
“It looks fabulous to me. Are you okay?” he asks, and although he’s posed this question too many times already, I don’t mind, and I’m happy to answer… truthfully.
“I’m not too bad. Still a little shaky, I guess, but a lot better for being here, and being warm and dry.”
“That’s good,” he says, leaning back. “Now… let’s find something to eat, shall we?”
It’s getting late, but he’s not wrong. We need to eat, and I let him pull me into the kitchen and stand to one side as he opens the freezer, bending to look inside.
“You’ve got a pizza there,” I say, and he glances up at me.
“You feel like pizza?”
“It’ll be quick.”
He nods his head, pulling it out, and once he’s removed it from the box, I study it, noticing it’s a thin-crust, twelve-inch supreme, covered with marinara sauce, Italian sausage, pepperoni, bell peppers, black olives and onions. My stomach rumbles and Pierce turns, chuckling.
“Can I take it you’re hungry?” he says.
“A little.”
“And my choice of pizza is to your taste?”
“Absolutely.”
He puts it into the oven, setting the timer for fifteen minutes, and then he pours two glasses of soda, leading us back into the living room, where he waits for me to sit. I do so, in the corner of the couch, pulling the robe closed, before he hands me a glass and sits beside me.
“Did you hear what Brady said?” he asks, taking a sip of his drink and then putting his glass on the low table in front of us.
“Which part? About Laurel having a baby girl, or about us giving statements, or about your bike?”
“You already knew about Laurel, so…”
