Page 15 of Puck & Make Up

I pull in behind Monroe’s, park in the small lot there, and look up at the second-floor railing that does little to obscure the entrance to Dessie’s apartment. I’m not a fan of her living above the bar, and I like even less the fact that her front door is visible from the parking lot—and thus vulnerable—to any drunk assholes hanging out around in the dark after last call.

But that’s something for another day.

Tonight I’m…

Well, I’m being a fucking idiot.

Or maybe I’m finally doing something smart, something I should have done months ago.

Something I’ve avoided because I was too chicken shit to risk fucking with the status quo.

But…that’s done.

I’m moving, and I don’t want to leave her behind.

And she…well, maybe it’s purely out of pity, but this is the most open to me that she’s been in years.

I need to see this through.

I’ve watched Axel and Bailey find their way to something damned close to perfect despite a plethora of obstacles. I’ve watched Billie Rose navigate a shitstorm and come through, if not unscathed, but whole, and she did it largely because she had Joel at her side.

So, the least I can do is clear the air between Dessie and me.

And maybe…I can find a way for this woman to stop glaring at me, to stop poking at me, to…

Finally move forward.

Explore the connection between us.

And the almost palpable sexual attention I feel every time I’m within a hundred feet of her?

Maybe I can do something about that too.

My dick twitches and I glare down at it, silently ordering it to behave.

Patience.

This is not about getting a taste of Dessie—not solely, notyet. This is about doing something different, something better, something—I reach over and snag the bag of cookies from the passenger’s seat of my car—that may win over a woman’s heart.

A woman who is more porcupine than soft female when it comes to me.

But one who’s…

Going to be mine.

“Enough,” I mutter, popping the door and unfolding myself from my sedan, careful not to hit my head because no matter how big of a car I get, I still manage to crack my skull on the frame regularly.

Tonight, though, I escape without head injury then cross the dark parking lot, climbing the stairs to Dessie’s apartment. There are lights on inside, and I can hear the soft echo of a TV through the front door.

She’s home.

Excellent.

Yeah, this is working exactly as I planned.

I knock.

There’s a long pause, and the TV goes quiet. I don’t panic, just wait, knowing she’s going to be laser-focused on the door, hoping that the intruder leaves her be.

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