I throw open the front door of the apartment and call out for her. It’s too quiet. I sense if I go down the hall I’ll find an empty room, but I can’t fight the urge to check, regardless. The door is open, lights off, and, yep, she’s gone. The boxes from earlier are nowhere to be found. Kate’s sheets and blankets have been pulled off and replaced by Evie’s set.
“Damn it!” I stomp to the bathroom, peel away my sweaty clothes and toss them in a pile. I twist the faucet and the shower soon fills with steam. Kate’s gone; she might think she’s won. Yeah, not happening. I need a better game plan to think things through. My girl is stubborn and I'm preparing for an all-out battle of wills.
Squirting a glob of shampoo into my hands, I run my fingers over and through my hair. I rinse my head and then work the soap into a lather and run my hands down my torso. Thoughts of Kate, her beautiful spirit, feisty attitude, toned body, perky tits, and luscious, smart mouth, fuel my hands’ descent. I’m rock hard, stroking my length, imagining Kate’s hands are my own.
Leaning back against the fiberglass enclosure, I picture Kate on her knees before me. God, I wish she were with me now. Within minutes, I reach my orgasm, Kate’s name a prayer on my lips as my hands coat with evidence of my desire. I push off the wall and the spray from the showerhead collides against my stomach. I reach for the soap once more, and make quick work this time.
The tension I released only moments ago seeps back in. Masturbation is a hollow replacement for the real thing. Twisting the knob so the water slows to a stop, I resolve that the next time I get off in the shower Kate will be physically present instead of only in my thoughts.
Drying off, I fasten the towel around my waist. The bang of dishes clatters through the thin wall. She’s back. My heart races. I blow out a breath and prepare to take on my strong willed Kate. I throw open the bathroom door and saunter out.
“Couldn’t stay away, could you, beautiful?” I call down the hall. I round the corner to a very amused Evie.
“Beautiful?” Her brows rise and a smirk pulls at her lips. She’s removed pans and half of the refrigerator’s contents onto the counter. “Not that I don’t enjoy the sentiment, but was that meant for me or did you expect someone else?” I scowl and pull the towel tighter at my waist.
“Of course you’re beautiful, but please don’t make me suffer through your poor cooking skills. Let me get dressed and I’ll take over, chef.” Her laughter follows me down the hall and back to my room.
I pull a pair of boxers, shorts, and T-shirt from the drawer and dress in record time. Where the hell is my mind? Of course it would be Evie, not Kate. Fool. Get your head in the game, Beltran. I release a frustrated growl as I stomp back down the hall.
Evie’s propped herself on the counter, mixing bowl in hand, legs swinging off the ledge.
“What’s the story, morning glory?” She beams, dragging the spoon in lazy circles.
“What are you doing? I said to wait.” The counter is still a mess as I attempt to decipher what the hell she’s trying to make. Evie’s a horrible cook. Love her to pieces, but she should be banned from the kitchen permanently.
“I can stir pancake batter, thank you, Mr. Grumpy Pants.” Grabbing the bowl from her arms, I grimace at the lumpy contents. She hops off the counter and moves to a barstool. I salvage the batter by adding a few spices and a little milk, and heat the pan.
“So what crawled up your ass?” A few drops of water splashed onto the pan sizzle nicely, so I pour the batter for the first batch, then meet her gaze.
“I don’t know what you mean. Other than having to clean up your kitchen catastrophe, I’m just peachy.” I attempt a smile.
“Oh.” She twists her long dark hair between her fingers. “I thought maybe you were upset about something else. Sorry about the mess. I’m just starving.” Damn. I’ve hurt her feelings.
“Pretty boy not making his queen breakfast anymore?” I smirk and attempt to lighten the mood with a joke. After flipping the cakes, I pull the syrup from the fridge and grab two plates off the shelf.
“No. He had to work today. Besides, we got into a fight earlier.” I raise my brows. This is a first. Evie and Tate don’t fight about anything. Her shoulders hang in defeat as I slide a full plate across the counter and hand her a fork. “Thanks, Jon.”
“You wanna talk about it?” She shoves a forkful into her mouth and nods her head. I pour her a cup of coffee and she sips before she answers.
“He isn’t happy I’m moving back here.” She pokes at her food. “I mean, I’m not thrilled, either.” Her eyes snap to mine. “No offense to you. You’re a great roommate.” I laugh, a genuine one, and flip a stack of pancakes onto my plate.
“I get it, Evie. You don’t have to explain.”
“I guess I thought this temporary living arrangement would be fun, but that I’d be ready to move back. I discovered I liked falling asleep in his arms every night.” She shrugs again, and talks between bites. “It’s scary how quickly you become hooked on someone.”
“I know what you mean,” I grumble. Her eyes snap. Shit. Shouldn’t have said that out loud.
“Oh?”
“I—I can imagine.” I busy myself washing dishes to avoid her inquisitive gaze. The last thing I need is Evie going to Kate before I can. Maybe it’d be nice to have her opinion, but it could also backfire. No. I’ll figure this out on my own.
“So, how do you feel about Kate moving out?” Her words hold more question than the simple one she’s asking. I dry the last dish and put it away before I meet her gaze.
“It’s great. It wasn’t so bad having her here. But I’m glad to get my roomie back.” I paste a fake ass smile on my face and hope it’s enough to deter a list of questions. “Now, about Tate. I’m sure you guys will work through this. Can’t you just take turns staying at each other’s place more often? Not sleeping in the same bed seems like an easy fix. Nothing to fight about.”
Evie nods, her expression thoughtful. “Yeah, I guess so.” She shrugs. “It’s more than just sleeping in the same bed, though. I’m going to miss the stupid stuff, too. You know, like packing lunches, doing laundry together, stolen kisses between putting the boys to bed. I know, I sound annoying, even to my own ears.” She laughs and rolls her eyes.
“So, Tate doesn’t want you to move out. And it sounds like you agree with him. What’s the problem here?”
“I can’t just move in with him! It’s too soon. I can’t leave you. That’s not cool. You’d need notice to find a new roommate. Besides, he hasn’t even asked me to stay.” She murmurs the last part. I roll my eyes. Women.
“If Tate asked you to stay, would you?”
“Yes.”
I shake my head. “But you won’t ask him?” She throws her hands in the air and waves them wildly.
“It’s not my house! And if I ask him I won’t know if he really wants me to move in, or if he’s just asking because I asked him and he’s just being nice.” She stops with the crazy talk and shoves the last bite in her mouth.
“So, you want him to ask, but not because you put the idea out there. Basically, you want him to read your mind?” Her eyes roll.
“Thanks a lot, Dr. Phil. Let’s pretend I said nothing. I’m sure it’ll work out.”
“Stop. I’m just trying to understand the inner workings of a woman’s psyche.”
“How’s that going for you?” She smirks.
“Not well. I think I’ll stick with my day job. But honestly, Evie, from my viewpoint it sounds like you just need to talk to him. Tell him how you feel. I bet you’ll be surprised.” She breathes a deep sigh and her shoulders straighten. She hops off the chair and washes off her plate in the sink. I shove the last of my pancakes into my mouth and do the same. She bumps my shoulder with her own.
“You’re pretty smart for a juggernaut. Have you considered taking your own advice?” A grin pulls at my lips.
“Maybe I will. We should probably get to work.”
“Yeah, I think that’s a good idea.” I fill my coffee mug before following Evie into our makeshift office. I boot up my laptop and open my email, scroll through it, and jot down a few notes. I have a ton of reports to fill out from last night’s incident. Detective Collier wasn’t thrilled with my renegade actions and they’re moving a raid up earlier than they’d like for fear of covers being blown.