Page 13 of Unleashing Chaos

It’s not just a good start, but a phenomenal one. After having my first date run out on me, Cannon is the reason my night was salvaged. Despite the drama it could stir in the house, I wouldn’t mind having another night like this with him.

I get to my feet, and he stands up right behind me, placing his hand on the small of my back. When we get home, he helps me to my room.

“Oops, I didn’t take my shoes off,” I sing with a giggle as I plop down on my bed to remove them. “Jace will be mad.”

“Jace clearly has issues with giving up control. This place is staged like a model home. He needs to let go and live a little,” Cannon says, turning down my blankets.

I start to climb into bed but shake my head. “Whoa, no way am I sleeping in this dress.” I hold up one finger. “Be right back.” I make my way to the closet, swaying a bit as I walk, and shut myself in.

I lean against the closed door, shutting my eyes and taking a deep breath. Cannon is a great guy—sweet, polite, funny, handsome. But he’s the first guy who’s shown me attention. I have to slow down; there’s potential here, but I just got to the human realm. I have more to experience, more to see.

I slip out of the dress, hang it up as neatly as I can manage in my condition, and slide into a pair of flannel pajama pants and a baggy T-shirt, something that shouldn’t give Cannon the wrong idea.

“Okay,” I say, coming back to bed and climbing into the spot he’s made for me. “Thank you, Cannon. For everything.”

“I had fun with you tonight. Thanks for indulging me. Is there anything I can get you before I leave?”

“A glass of water maybe?”

He nods. “Coming right up.” He disappears into the hallway and comes back a few seconds later with an ice-cold bottle. “Here you go.”

“Thank you. I appreciate it. And thank you for showing me how to act on a date. Next time I have one, I won’t bring up marriage. I swear.”

“Just be yourself, Desi. I’m sure you’ll charm the right man.” He leans down and kisses my forehead. His lips are soft on my skin, giving me a giddy feeling. I close my eyes and bask in the sensation. My bliss is short lived when he pulls away and turns off my light before leaving.

I stare at the ceiling and replay my time with Cannon. Every conversation, every touch, every tingle that coursed through me. I had fun, a little too much fun thanks to the margaritas, but fun all the same.

A flicker of light catches my attention, and I turn on my side to look out the massive window . . . and straight into Jace’s room.

My jaw drops. How did I not realize this before?

The decor is much like the rest of the house: simple, clean, and comfortable. He steps around his bed and takes off his glasses, setting them on the nightstand. He looks slightly different without the distraction of the black rims on his face. Even from here I can see the strong line of his jaw and the scruff that lightly covers it. He grabs the back of his shirt, his biceps flexing with the movement, and my eyes go wide as he takes it off. Holy shit, he is ripped; his abs could have been chiseled by a world-renowned sculptor. His chest is broad, the perfect complement to the muscular arms I already knew he had. And every inch of him appears to be soft tan skin.

His body is gorgeous.

I feel creepy watching this private moment, but I can’t tear my eyes away. In fact, I want to get up and move closer to the window to check if I can see any better. But I don’t. I just hope he doesn’t take off any more of his clothes.

Or hope that he does. I don’t know. I’m so confused right now.

Jace acts like he can’t stand me half the time, and I can barely stomach him either. Yes, he’s organized and there doesn’t seem to be one aspect of his life that’s run by chaos, which is what I want, right? But he’s cold. His practical take on everything makes him seem boring and unapproachable. Play video games, eat some bland, healthy food, load the dishwasher, work, run, work some more, maybe eat some peanut butter puffs if he has had a bad day, and go to bed. I’d have more fun, and a better conversation, with a bucket of rocks.

Yet here I am, still half-drunk on tequila, watching my rigid, type-A, apparently jacked-as-hell roommate get undressed for the night, like a stalker in some horror movie. I guess it just goes to show that my limited experience with a male of any species has left me easily excitable.

I wonder if Jace gets excited about anything. My dress, which I know was hot, didn’t have much of an effect on him. He spared me a couple of glances before a “You look nice.”

Nice. Pfft. He probably doesn’t even jerk off.

Jace snaps the button open on his jeans.

Jeans! He’s actually wearing something that isn’t loungewear. I wonder if he went out tonight. Did he have a date too? I don’t get the chance to ponder the thought further because he pulls down the zipper and tugs the jeans down, revealing skintight boxer briefs and a set of strong, powerful thighs, and I nearly implode.

“Oh, oh, no,” I say out loud, covering my mouth with my palm. “I didn’t mean to manifest that shit . . . shit!”

Thankfully, Jace disappears into his bathroom. Although there is nothing more to see, I don’t turn away. Images of his perfect body are seared into my head: rippling muscles, tanned skin, and those stormy eyes. My thighs clench, and I jerk my hand away from where it’s toying with the waist of my pajama pants.

“No. Absolutely not.” I fold my hands on the outside of my comforter. “Forget what you saw, brain and hormones. Go to sleep. We are not getting turned on by Jace Wilder. Not happening.”

But my eyes don’t listen and sneak one more peek into his room just as all the lights go out. I bet he has an entire bedtime routine and has never felt conflicted about anything. I snort at the thought. That’s absurd; of course he’s been conflicted. I bet he contemplates what he loves more—peanut butter puffs or Spider-Man?

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