Page 47 of Tenure

As we pull into the parking garage of his building, I frown. “I don’t have any clothes,” I say.

He looks at me like I’m stupid. “You won’t need them.”

37

James

She wanders around the apartment touching my things while I make us each an old fashioned. It’s distracting. Images of her in my shower and on my bed flood my brain, miraculously giving me yet another semi. At this rate, I must be at risk of brain damage from the lack of blood supply properly circulating anywhere but to my dick.

I’m feeling a bit raw. I know I’m beingfucking stupidby outing us so casually, and for someone who usually takes six months to call a woman back and a year before I learn her last name I’m moving at warp speed. I rarely allow women in my apartment. I’ve never been partial to sharing my personal space. I’ve spent more time with Kiernan this week than I’ve spent withanyone woman in the past decade. And like a fucking twelve-year-old, Iasked her to be my girlfriend.

I cringe just thinking about it but can’t ignore the embarrassingly fuzzy feeling in my chest. It’s been a long time since I’ve had such a good day.

She’s staring at the big canvas on the back wall with a frown as I hand her her drink. She takes a sip without looking and then winces, making a face and glaring at the glass.

“It’ll grow on you,” I say.

She has another sip and openly cringes. “I like wine better.” But she looks back up at the canvas.

“What’s wrong with it?” I ask.

“Nothing, I guess.”

I grin. “What a glowing recommendation.”

“It’s just notyou.None of this stuff is.”

I glance around at the apartment. It’s all glass and chrome, sleek low furniture, lots of white, neutral and nonoffensive, and I shrug.

“Decorator bought it all,” I say.

“Oh, good. So, I can openly say how hideous this is? It looks like a baby threw a jar of squash at your wall.”

I chuckle. “First of all, you can openly say anything. Always. And second of all, thank you very much for that because now it’s all I can see.”

“You’re very welcome.”

“It’s just an apartment. As long as it’s clean and quiet I really don’t care.”

She frowns. “But there should besomethingin here that’s got some personality. This place is so . . . clinical.”

“Pick something then.”

“What?”

I pluck the glass from her hand and down it in one sip, before downing my own and putting both of them on the table.

“We can go shopping tomorrow. Pick something you like.”

“It’s not about what I like. It’s about whatyoulike.”

“We’ll go shopping and find something I like then,” I say, brushing her hair off her neck and pulling her forward. She’sdefinitely got some bruises but they’re subtle, nothing you’d notice unless you were looking for them.

I trace them with my fingertips.

“I’m sorry I was so rough,” I say.

She looks up at me, leaning into my touch. “I liked it,” she says.

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