Page 43 of Wild Card
“I have excellent hearing, but it’s hard to miss Bex’s conversations.”
“She’s a drama queen and has a tendency to exaggerate. She thinks an empty fridge is a travesty.”
“You don’t hate the grocery store?”
“No one hates the grocery store. It’s just one chore that kinda slips my mind… often.”
“Good then, glad I can help.” I lift the bags in my hands.
Her eyes bulge, her mouth popping open. “You bought groceries?”
“I bought us lunch and threw in a few things you may want.”
“Why?”
“Because you have a lot going on. With school, work, and your family situation, thought you deserved a break.”
Her face softens, and like yesterday, her eyes melt in a way I like a hell of a lot.
Wolf decides he’s tired of waiting, skimming around her legs and stuffing his nose through the slit.
“Hey, boy.”
At my voice, he goes crazy, whining and squirming to get free. “Babe, he’ll hurt himself if you don’t open the door.”
She blows out a breath and steps back, opening the door wider. Wolf greets me by nudging my legs for attention, but my focus is drawn to the woman standing before me.
Fuck me.
The tiny black shorts mold to her body, showcasing long lean legs. The bright pink tank hugs her chest, stopping right above her hips, giving me a glimpse of her trim waist. Her hair is pulled up on her head in a messy knot, face free of make-up.
She’s fucking gorgeous all the time, but right now, she’s exquisite.
My cock goes hard thinking about ripping those shorts apart.
“I wasn’t exactly expecting company.” Her arms wrap across her stomach nervously.
“You look beautiful, Willow.”
“I’m a mess.”
“Not to me.”
A trace of shock passes her face before she drops her arms. “How’d you know where I live?”
“I have my ways.”
“In your line of work, I’m sure you know stalking is illegal. First my office, then the park, and now my house.” It’s small, but I don’t miss the twitch of her lips.
“You work in my assigned rehab facility and the park is a public place. But say the word and I’ll leave.”
She tips her eyes to the ceiling, pursing her lips and pretending to think about it. “I don’t get the serial killer vibe from you. And you do have good taste in lunch.”
“And they say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach?”
“Studying is excruciating work.”
I tear my eyes away and notice the wreck of her living room. Papers, notebooks, textbooks, and folders all cover the sofa, spilling onto the floor. In the middle of the room is an ottoman where a laptop sits next to a—a mobile?
