Page 7 of Silver Foxed

I manage a tight smile. “It was a long drive up here.” That fact is true. I am tired and hungry from the drive. Though that’s not why I look peaky. Thank god she can’t read my mind, or she would’ve called the cops on me by now. Hell, I should call the cops on myself.

“Oh! I’m so sorry.” She smacks her forehead, and I have the desire to grab her hand and kiss the skin she just hit.

I dig my fingers into my thigh—I’ve lost my goddamn mind. Maybe I should’ve seen a psychiatrist instead of taking a vacation.

“What are you sorry for?” I ask, my voice, by some miracle, sounding normal.

“I’m a terrible host. I should’ve at least offered you something to drink.”

I think of how we met and picture her serving me a glass of water in that apron. I clear my throat and shift on my feet. “You weren’t supposed to host me. No apologies needed.”

“So my dad offered the house to you for the weekend?” she asks, sitting down on the bench seat.

I try not to cringe when she calls Oliver “dad.” It sobers me a bit to hear her say it, reminding me she’s off-limits and my thoughts are still highly inappropriate. “Yes, it was very last-minute,” I say, sticking my hands in my pockets.

She hums, tucking a loose tendril of hair that looks like silk behind her ear. “So typical that my dad wouldn’t ask my mom before offering the place to you. She thought it was going to be empty this weekend. We didn’t have any rentals on the schedule.”

“Like I said, I’ll stay the night then leave tomorrow. Then you can continue on as if I was never here.”

Her light laughter fills the air. “You made a memorable entrance, Elijah. I don’t think I’ll be able to forget your visit, no matter how short.”

With that, she pops up off the bench and takes a step toward me as I try not to let the images of her naked ass in that white thong pop into my mind yet again.“I bought a ton of groceries. If you’d like to get settled then come down to the kitchen, I’m making chicken cacciatore for dinner. I was also planning on breaking into my dad’s wine cellar. After all this, I could use a drink.”

“That’s kind of you.” My mouth is already watering at the idea of a home-cooked meal. When was the last time I had one? I can’t remember.

She smiles. “It’s no trouble. You came here to get away like I did. Or at least I’m assuming you did. If you insist on leaving so soon, you might as well get a night of relaxation in before your long drive tomorrow.”

“Alright,” I say, knowing it’s probably a bad idea to be anywhere near her. But I do need to eat.

“Great,” she says excitedly. “I’ll see you downstairs.”

Alex spins and walks toward the door, the late sunlight from the windows streaming in to catch strands of golden brown mixed in with the orange and red hairs of her ponytail. In her swift departure, I’m left with a lingering scent of rose that tickles my nose and goes straight to my groin. I adjust myself and walk to the door, closing and locking it before I rest my head on the cool wood.

I shouldn’t have said yes to dinner and just starved for the night. But I couldn’t help myself. She’s so damn beautiful, and apparently, I’m a glutton for punishment.

After another inhale and exhale, I walk to the bench seat, sitting in the exact spot Alex just was. I reach for my phone and turn it on. As it powers up, I debate if I should text Oliver, let him know what happened minus walking in on his daughter mostly naked. But instead, I find myself opening a search browser on the internet.

While I knew Oliver had a daughter, I surprisingly don’t know much about her. I think the last thing I remember him saying was that she was always so busy with one thing or another that he and his wife hardly ever saw her.

Curious to know her, especially after our meeting, I type “Alexandra Martin” in the search bar and press enter. Immediately, several results appear for her. I know it’s the same person because her picture pops up beside the name.

I click the first link, a networking website, and discover she’s a first-grade teacher at a private school in Los Angeles. That explains why I’ve never seen her around the office, then. Not only does she not work for Oliver, but I know teaching is exhausting, especially elementary school. Or at least that’s what I’ve heard from friends of mine who work in education.

Images of her teaching play behind my eyelids, and I smile. Even though we’ve just met, her personality is warm and open. I bet she’s a wonderful teacher.

Going back to the search, I scan the page for my next click. When I see one for a local newspaper in Los Angeles, I stop and click as soon as I see the headline:

Alexandra Martin Engaged to Business Mogul Sean Jamison Jr.

My stomach bottoms out. Alex is engaged? I could’ve sworn she was flirting with me before. But maybe she was just being nice and I’m simply reading into things because I’ve been lonely. And because I’m attracted to her.

I furrow my brow as I try to remember if she was wearing a ring, but I don’t remember seeing one. Come to think of it, neither Oliver nor Stephanie ever mentioned Alex getting engaged or that she was dating anyone. My curiosity grows as to why my friend would leave something that large out of our conversations.

I study the black-and-white picture of the couple and wonder if it’s because Sean Jamison Jr. looks like a total smarmy asshole with his perfectly coiffed brown hair and clean-shaven jaw. The article is over a year old now, and I highly doubt they ever got married. Because if my best friend left me off his daughter’s wedding invite list, I’d wonder if we were really friends at all. Which I know isn’t the case.

I also doubt she’d be on a weekend getaway by herself to a remote home her parents own, cooking mostly naked, if there was a man in her life. And if there is, that man needs to get his head examined because I would never let a woman like her out of my sight.

My cock twitches in agreement, and I release a long sigh before I stand from the bench and turn off my phone again. After I drop it on the dresser, I open my travel bag to grab a fresh pair of clothes. I think a quick shower is in order because there’s no way I’m going to make it through dinner without doing something I’ll regret, like asking Alex to sleep with me. Or coming in my pants. Both of which would be mortifying. Both of which I cannot allow myself to do. Hopefully, my fist can take the edge off, and I’ll be able to have a nice, normal dinner with her.

---