Page 47 of Not Your Little Girl Anymore

“I’m sorry, I didn’t expect you to come by,” Alec says, clearing the cups off the counter and placing them into the sink.

I give him a soft smile. “You don’t have to apologize. I should have texted you back.”

He chuckles with a shrug. “That would have been nice.”

I scrunch my nose. “Yeah, I’m really sorry. I wasn’t interrupting something, was I?”

He looks at me with furrowed brows. “Of course not. What makes you think that?”

I huff a laugh and wave my arm out. “You’re not wearing a shirt.”

He looks down at himself and smiles. “If I had to guess, you like it.”

I gasp, but my flustered cheeks make it obvious that he’s right. The downfall of having pale skin.

Silence falls again, giving me time to get a good look at his apartment. I don’t know why I thought everything would look different… Considering he’s in a band, I had assumed his place would be more thrilling. But it’s not. It’s so… basic. Blank white walls. The tiles are clean and shiny. You could probably eat off the floor.

He gives me a minute to digest everything, which I appreciate. When I’m ready to break the silence, I blurt out the first word that comes to mind. “Purple.”

I cringe, and his expression changes, clearly confused. I can’t help but laugh. “My bra color.”

Chapter Seventeen

Alec

I should put a shirt on, but what fun would that be when those beautiful green eyes can’t seem to focus on anything else? I wonder if she noticed I caught her eye fucking me in the hallway.

It’s all too amusing and brings a desire out of me that I didn’t expect.

If I had known she was going to show up this evening, I would have, in fact, looked more decent, but the look on that pretty face of hers is much more intriguing, and for that, I’m thankful she never responded.

I’ll admit, the feelings I’m beginning to accept are a little overwhelming.

I study her as she hooks her thumbs through the loops on her shorts and rocks back and forth on her heels, unsure of what to say. She’s nervous, and it’s fucking adorable.

Her expression doesn’t falter as she continues to look around my apartment.

“It’s nice here,” she finally says. “Plain, but nice.”

With a smirk, I shrug. “I don’t really do much here.”

She makes the cutest sound, giggling. “I can see that.” One arm crosses over her stomach while the other hand reaches out, pointing toward the four walls that lock us in. “You could really use some art on these walls.”

She’s not wrong, but I never saw the point of hanging pointless objects onto the walls just for them to collect dust.

I take another good look around my apartment and shrug. “Looks fine to me.”

She nods, her eyes moving up to my collection of Jack Daniels that I keep on the top of my cabinets. Concern spreads across her face. Her lip worries between her teeth. “Do you collect alcohol, or should I be worried?”

I bite back the laughter that nearly falls from my lungs. “Maybe a little of both. Is that a problem?”

Her lip forms a thin line as she looks at me and then back at the bottles. I can tell her mind is wandering nervously. She’s creating different scenarios in her head.

“Honestly, I’m a Jack’s fan. Always have been. The bottles have a secret place in my heart. I don’t really drink much; as you can see, most of those bottles aren’t open,” I clarify to reassure her.

She gives me a soft smile, still uncertain. At least that’s what I thought until she asks, “Can I have some?”

“I’m sorry?”

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