Page 83 of Steamy Ever After

Wait, a minute.

If he thinks I’m a bitch, then why would he want to sleep with me? Is he that much of a man-whore, or does he have ulterior motives?

No, I need to stop overthinking this.

I unlock the building door and walk upstairs, breaking down the problem into tiny pieces with each step.

Do I want to have sex with Joe? Yes.

Does he want to have sex with me? Apparently yes.

Will sleeping together break this wall between us and possibly make us better roommates? Ideally, yes.

I nod. That’s what I need to focus on; making things better between us.

I remember that night in my bedroom, when thoughts of his body wandered into my mind. I imagined his taste. Pictured his solid muscles beneath my touch and having him pressed against me. I even conjured the scent of his skin.

Honestly, there’s no real risk if this turns out to be a mistake. There’s no serious friendship to ruin. There’s no complicated past or history between us.

All I feel for him is sexual attraction.

And he absolutely doesn’t ignite butterflies in my stomach. Well, not usually.

He isn’t on my mind 24-7.

I don’t think about him while I’m at work doing mundane tasks.

He doesn’t invade my thoughts.

I’m not obsessing over every potential thing I’d do to his rippled body…

Stop. Focus. Let’s do this. Before I chicken out.

CHAPTER 9

JOE

Iwalk into the laundry room, catching Jane in the act, a pile of my wet clothes clutched to her chest.

“Please tell me you’re not about to?—?”

“Dammit, Joe.” Startled, her voice cracks. “You scared the shit out of me.”

“What are you doing with my clothes?”

“I was just putting them in the dryer for you.”

“Sure, you were.” I shake my head and take the pile from her, throwing it into the dryer before she can do any more damage.

“I really was,” she insists.

After adding a dryer sheet, and starting the machine, I glance up. She looks offended, sticking out her bottom lip, staring at me with an expression I haven’t seen before. Regret? Sadness? I don’t know, but it sure as shit isn’t anger or hostility.

I cross my arms, and her eyes follow the movement before coming up to my face. The air definitely shifts between us. Everything feels tight—my chest, my breathing—it’s strange and feels intrusive right now. But also, exciting.

Frustration takes a back seat and lets me take her in.

Her white pajama T-shirt falls mid-thigh, and the neckline is worn and stretched out. The light above her head reveals the curve of her silhouette beneath the thin faded cotton fabric, and my throat tightens. I force myself to swallow.

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