Page 86 of Chemistry: The Chemist

“Dammit. I knew it,” she gasped. “I can tell by the way he stands. The pictures do him little justice.”

I won’t do you any either if you don’t find something else, someone else to swoon over.

“Not even a little.”

His possessiveness was growing on me. I, too, wanted to be the only person who admired him the way only lovers and friends with benefits should.

“To the couch?” Macy asked, finally changing the subject.

“I imagine so. You have about twenty minutes before I’m out of here.”

“Jack said an hour.”

“Unless you want The Chemist at your doorstep, taking note of every feature on your face and sketching it in his memory bank, then I suggest you listen to me. Jack doesn’t know him, Macy. I do.”

Nodding, she headed toward the couch. I followed her, but not before fixing a drink. Vodka and pink lemonade from the fridge was the perfect match. They were not preferences but would suffice. The timer began ticking the second I touched the plush sofa.

Within thirty minutes, I was nearing my complex with a heartbeat between my legs and ovulation on my brain. It was a crucial time of the month for me. And before Chem, I didn’t have anyone to caress my aches.

Now that he was a factor, I knew there wouldn’t be another cycle I spent massaging my clit or watching others indulge in sexual acts I dreamt of in my sleep and while wide awake.

The valet slid into my driver's seat as I slid out. Dressed in black from head to toe, I strolled into the lobby and then into the elevator. Seconds later, I was headed down the hall, ready to crawl into bed with another glass of tea.

The rainfall was set for seven and I could hardly wait to watch it from my bedroom window. Because it was floor-to-ceiling, the effects were dramatic, just as the beating of my heart when a familiar face stilled in my sight.

“Chemi–” I halted, stopping myself from saying his full first name.

With his chin angled, he stared at me. Silently, he studied me. I wasn’t sure if I should run in the opposite direction or shove him into my apartment, against my door, and strip him of his clothing.

“Come inside,” he suggested, holding on to the handle of my door.

He turned the knob along with my stomach. The fact he’d been inside of my temporary home without me there to monitor him made me weary.

“A burglar as well? My, my… so many hats.”

“I haven’t stolen anything in my life, Eden. Don’t insult me.”

He held up the key I hadn’t given him. I shook my head, following him inside.

“So, you saw the mess I left, huh?”

“I haven’t been inside. I was waiting on you.”

“Because you knew I was on my way home?”

“I did.”

“Of course, you did.”

“It’s better if I know where you are at all times, Eden. Things aren’t black and white with me.”

“Why not?”

“Another subject for another day. Right now, I just want to rest.”

There it was. The answer to the nagging feeling in the pit of my stomach. Chem’s presence had never felt so bleak and mild. It was bold and obnoxious. It was quiet but loud. It was consuming. But, now, it felt meek. Mellow. Mild.

Without allowing him to take another step, I whipped his body in my direction, forcing him to stop in front of me. His resolve was baffling.

---