Page 52 of Against the Clock

“Good morning,” I say into her hair, her hair that smells so good.

“Hi,” she says. “I’ve got to get ready for work.”

I clamp my arm tighter around her waist and she makes another small squeak. I grin.

“Stay home. Stay with me.”

“You have to work, too,” she protests, turning towards me. I loosen my grip slightly so she can. Her oversized shirt’s slipped off one shoulder, and I groan at the sight of her bare skin, her sleepy eyes and lips.

“I can think of so many better things to do than going to work today,” I say, nipping at her shoulder.

“I have too many things to do to call in.”

“I know, I know,” I say, even though I don’t, not really. I squint at her. “Like what?”

“Like I’m still pulling together the investigative piece on the AFL cheer teams. Like a piece I need to follow up on about the downtown farmer’s market.”

“I like that,” I tell her.

She raises an eyebrow. “Like what?” She squirms slightly, her hands on my bare chest. It makes me hard. Not like it takes a lot, not with Kelsey half-dressed in my arms.

“I like that you’re a badass. An investigative reporter.”

“Thanks,” she says slowly, a smile dawning on her mouth, better than the sun slowly rising out the window.

“I wish you could like what I do, too.”

Her expression darkens, and I immediately regret the words.

“Wait, not like that. I didn’t mean it like that. I meant I wish things had been different for your dad.”

“So do I,” she says, her voice so soft I have to strain to hear it.

She slides out of my arms and I roll onto my back, sitting up, watching her collect items from a tiny reach-in closet.

“Kelsey, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“I know,” she says.

“Can I take you out tonight?” If this was the monthly poker night with my friends, all my cards would be on the table. All my chips would be in the pot, likely along with the keys to my truck.

I’m all fucking in with Kelsey Cole, and she doesn’t have a clue.

I’m having way too much fun trying to get her to bet on us, too.

I cross my arms behind my head, knowing it makes them look bigger. She glances over at me, a suit jacket in her hands, and her gaze drops to my pecs. I flex them, ignoring the sting of pain from where I was hit last night.

“Where?” she asks, a ghost of a smile on her lips.

I think back to the email my agent sent me with a list of events and reservations and tickets he managed to get me for this week. For me and Kelsey, a PR blitz, the email had said.

“It’s a surprise,” I say.

“Okay, and what do I wear to this surprise?” she asks, voice muffled as she shuffles through her closet.

“A dress.” It won’t matter, not really, but I want to see her in a dress. I want to think about her in a dress today. I want to bend her over my bed and fuck her while she wears a dress.

“One like this?” Kelsey holds up a cream sweater dress, and the color and shape of the dress in my little fantasy shifts.

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