Page 83 of The Shake Off

I had no clue what time it was. From the way the sunlight was hitting the ceiling, I knew it was after six a.m. but that was all. I tried to sit up a little, to see if there was a clock anywhere, but it was hard to move. It would be pointless to try and wake the lump next to me; Ace would sleep until his body clock decided it was time to get up. I didn’t know what time he had to be at the grounds, but if that was lunchtime, I could see myself being trapped for the rest of the morning.

I went back to staring at the ceiling, this time with a broad smile spread across my face.

I mean, wow.

Like, holy shit. Wowzers.

I had never used the wordwowzersto describe anything. But seriously… last night.

I had not expectedthat.

I could still feel him everywhere; the delicious aching between my thighs. His dick. His tongue. His fingers. He was a machine, a literal sex machine. I’d come so hard I was surprised my vision had returned already, because I definitely hadn’t been able to see before I’d fallen asleep. I knew for a fact my vagina would never be the same.

Ace Watson had certainly taken his assignment seriously. Maybe I should send the editors atCosmoa fruit basket.

I eased out of bed as carefully as I could, trying my best to move Ace as little as possible, which was hard seeing as he appeared to be glued to me. Silently tiptoeing to the bathroom, I closed the door and stood in front of the long bathroom mirror, my naked body on full display.

I’d never had a problem being naked; I loved my body, I loved the way it curved in all the right places, I loved the way my ass looked in jeans, and while I could probably lose twenty pounds, I wasn’t willing to trade a great pair of tits to do so. But right now, running my fingertips over the faint marks on my hips where he’d gripped tight and thrust into me like his life depended on it, I’d never felt quite so sexy.

I turned slowly to find more on my ass.

Somehow, Ace had transformed from a guy who could have been fucking anyone, to a guy who looked at me like he wouldn’t ever get enough. It was dizzying and addictive.

It was dangerous.

A deep throb let out in my pussy, and I turned away to pee.

I was only as I was washing my hands that I realized the entire wall behind the sink was, in fact, a window, and if anyone in the buildings opposite had been awake and looking out, then they’d have had a good show. A whole wall of windows… my bathroom didn’t even have a window, but this bathroom was not like the bathroom I had. I think my entire apartment could fit into it.

Also, for a twenty-three-year-old man, it was surprisingly clean and tidy. Towels hung neatly on the heated rail, there were no beard trimmings in the sink, or – as I looked – in the giant bath. An impressive selection of shampoo and body wash was lined in a row along a shelf in the shower, the labels facing out. I reached for one, twisting off the cap and taking a deep inhale. This was where the smell came from; that oaky scent that kicked up tiny pulses deep in my belly.

Stepping around the corner at the far end of the bathroom, I found myself in an equally tidy closet, organized by clothing type – t-shirts, shirts, jackets, pants – hanging on rails. I picked off the smallest t-shirt I could find, and pulled it over my head. In a drawer below I discovered boxer briefs, socks, more t-shirts, and thankfully sweats which I tugged on. Opening another door, and I was back in the bedroom; Ace hadn’t even stirred.

As quietly as I could, I walked out and found myself in a dark hallway.

Arriving in his apartment had been such a blur that it took me a second to remember which way we’d come, but I followed the glow of sunlight to the cavernous main room I’d walked into off the hallway from the elevator. I stopped under the archway and peered around, just in case I wasn’t alone, but I suspected Ace’s roommates weren’t early risers either.

My face split with a broad grin; at least I was wearing more clothes this morning.

I wasn’t usually one for embarrassment, but I hadn’t expected to walk in and find Lux Weston and Parker King, their eyes bugging wide and scaring the shit out of me. I wasn’t sure who’d been more shocked.

Probably me.

Double height windows, just like the bathroom, stretched down one side of the living space. In the far corner near the elevator doors was the kitchen, and on the other side was another archway which I assumed led down to more bedrooms, but I wasn’t about to go exploring.

I walked over to the window and stepped to the edge, ignoring the way my belly quivered as I took in the height and drop to the sidewalk. It was like being at the top of the Sears Tower, or on one of those glass walkways that assured you it could withstand the weight of a herd of elephants. But there was always that question in the back of your head – what if you were one elephant too many?

I moved back and appreciated the incredible view from a safer spot.

The sun had fully emerged over the Hudson, turning it a glowing, golden bronze color. Directly across the way, New Jersey spread out. I watched a black speed boat power up the river, leaving a white plume in its wake, and as my eyes tracked it north, I could just make out the tops of the black spears of The Lions stadium, which arched high in the cloudless sky.

Turning around, I spied a coffee machine tucked in the corner of the kitchen. Thankfully it was one I could work, not like the one at Kit’s which required a PhD just to grind the beans. Opening the drawers, I discovered a neatly stacked selection of coffee pods, removed a mug from the top of the machine and stuck it underneath. While it was dripping, I continued my investigation of the living conditions of major league ball players.

What I found put me to shame.

A fridge full of neatly lined shelves, and an entire supermarket worth of fruit and vegetables. Cabinets filled with spices, seasoning and flour? I mean…flour? I know I used my cabinets for storing things other than food, but this was impressive and had me vowing to be more organized.

Taking my coffee, I made my way over the giant couch where I found PlayStation remotes, another edition ofCosmo, and a well-thumbed copy ofDon Quixotewhich I picked up. I hadn’t readDon Quixotesince college, and it didn’t quite seem to fit in this apartment with the basketball hoop on the wall by the giant television, and the – I counted them up – seven baseballs lying about the place. Not to mention the bats stacked by the elevator like they were umbrellas.

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