I kick off my Nikes and stretch my long legs out underneath her coffee table, attempting any means possible to relax and not act like I want to jump her bones, which is exactly what I want to do.
“Okay, watch this guy, he’s about to do the Salmon Ladder, it’s a total dream crusher.” She’s completely mesmerized by the television, and I can’t stop staring at her.
“What’s a dream crusher?”
“It’s something I made up because that one event seems to always knock people out of the competition, crushing their dreams of moving on.”
She has no clue the effort it’s taking for me not to lie her down on this couch and kiss the hell out of those lips. No clue that my heart is thumping loudly in my chest with how much I want to touch her or that she smells like the fresh morning air I breathe in on my early runs.
Doing whatever I can to take my focus off the effect she has on me, I watch the show. The Salmon Ladder is intense, men and woman taking a stick and jumping from peg to peg without touching the ground. I’m pretty sure if given the chance, I could tackle the Salmon Ladder. But the show itself is extreme. An obstacle course made to defy the human body; it’s right up my alley.
As the clock ticks on the final competition, she grabs for my hand and squeezes. “Oh my God I can’t take it! What if he falls?”
An electrifying jolt shoots through my blood at her touch, shocking me, and all I can think to do, is squeeze her hand back. Because I don’t want this dude to fall off the Salmon Ladder and I don’t want the show to be over, ending my night in Addison’s apartment. But in reality, I don’t want to let go of her hand.
The contestant makes it to the final round and we both stand and cheer at the television.
I’m still holding her hand.
The urge to pull her to me and wrap her in my arms overwhelms me, and if I don’t let go of her petite fingers soon, that’s exactly what I’m going to do.
“I have to go to the bathroom, I’ll be right back.” She darts off towards the back of her apartment, slipping her hand free of mine.
Damn. I need to get a grip.
I’m left standing in her living room, not sure what to do with myself. Grabbing the remote control, I scroll through her DVR list. This chick is a reality show goddess. Everything from Survivor to The Voice to Master Chef is recorded here. I continue to search for something else we can watch, because I’m not tired, and I really don’t want to leave—not yet anyway.
I sense her walk back into the room, and my focus is immediately drawn to her. Wanting to kick myself for not noticing her bare legs when she was standing at the front door, I now can’t seem to peel my eyes off them. She’s tiny, can’t weigh much more than one hundred and ten pounds, but she has curves that make her sexy as hell. Her legs are graceful, simply toned, and perfectly proportioned leading down to her slender feet with meticulously pedicured pink toenails.
Slowly I stand and greet her. “You watch the Kardashians?” I ask jokingly.
Her gentle laugh curls through me. “What can I say? I’m a reality show slut.”
She yawns.
I can take a hint. Sitting down, I slide my feet into my shoes.
“You’re leaving?” I sense disappointment in her voice.
Not wanting to push my luck, I stand and walk towards her. “It’s late and you’re tired.”
Her mouth opens to respond as Arctic Monkey’s “Do I Wanna Know?” begins in the distance.
In an instant, the easygoing demeanor she’s worn all night fades, and a faint smile with a touch of sadness appears.
I realize the music is coming from her phone. “The asshole?” I ask.
Silently she nods but doesn’t make a move to grab her phone.
“Are you going to answer it?”
She gently shakes her head as she holds my stare.
“Do you want me to leave?” I should be running for the front door, not needing to get myself involved in whatever drama is plaguing her life, but I can’t get my legs to move.
Indecision wars in her eyes as her nostrils flare slightly and she stands in the middle of her living room staring at me.
I didn’t want him to leave, but I didn’t feel right asking him to stay. He made the decision for both of us, kissed me on the forehead, and let himself out. I hadn’t seen him the rest of the weekend, and I was definitely looking.
He probably has a girlfriend, and I . . . have baggage.
Matt wants me back, and I can’t deny the sliver of happiness those words brought me, the satisfaction that after five years of loneliness, I may get my happily ever after. He’d plugged his number into my phone, setting the ring tone to that crazy song.
“Don’t give me an answer just yet, Addy. Only know that I’ll be back. Every time this song plays, it’s me, doing what I should have done five years ago. Crawling back to you.” He kissed me, and then . . . he left. With a promise to return soon, he left me . . . again, as I stood on my doorstep with swollen lips, a guilty conscience and a heart that felt like it had more cracks than I know what to do with, a scenario that felt entirely too familiar.
His wife’s name is Helen.
It was easier when I could call her the wife. Adding a name to the description makes her real and ruins my fantastical life, that no matter how hard I deny it, I still secretly dreamed would one day come true.
But then Damian knocked on my door, and the cracks in my heart eased, the guilt began to fade, and a faint feeling of hope began to bloom somewhere deep inside, as I moved Matt to the back of my mind and enjoyed the company of my new neighbor.
It was impossible not to notice the hint of sexual tension that rested between us. His dark olive skin had been flush with excitement at the completion of the Salmon Ladder. When he grabbed my hand, I didn’t want him to let go.
How was it possible that in the span of thirty minutes, my heart went from cold and angry, as I watched Matt walk away from me—bruising my heart again, to once more beating, like it was running the race of a lifetime?
The urge to run my fingers through his dark hair electrified my hands, having to practically sit on the damn things so I didn’t subconsciously inch them closer to his side of the couch. Nothing about that night felt right, until Damian walked into my apartment—suddenly everything fell into place.
Something about him makes me want to change the course of my life, because falling into Matt’s devilish hands is not going to work.
“I like the mug,” a deep but casual voice says to my right. I turn to see Damian, shirtless and deliciously yummy walk onto his balcony, a plain black coffee mug gripped in his strong right hand, a soccer ball tucked inside the curve of his arm.
“It’s one of my favorites.” This one happens to be shaped like a toilet bowl.
“No nudie girls today?” I ask, as I nod at his coffee cup.
An easy smile begins at the contours of his mouth as he places the ball on the ground. “Nah, thought I’d give you a break.”
I smile inwardly at his relaxed demeanor. I hadn’t seen him since he left my place Friday night, and he was quickly becoming my favorite morning routine.
Checking the clock on my phone, I realize there are only ten more minutes to enjoy the ocean view before I have to get going.
This morning, my eyes seem to wander to the view next door instead of the glistening blue sea. I can’t help but admire his powerful body standing at the edge of the balcony, focusing his gaze on the endless ocean. His large masculine hands cupped around that boring mug.
Leaning forward, he grabs a gray T-shirt off the table. Turning in my direction, he throws it over his head, covering himself.
“Whoa. Wait a minute.” I sit straight up. “You just blocked my morning view.”
His brow wrinkles in confusion.