Page 53 of Blue Collar Hotties

“I’m pretty tired. Going to call it a night.”

He glances at his watch. “It’s eight fifteen.”

“Goodnight!” I spin on my heel and bounce off the door frame in my rush to leave. My insides are rioting, my lips still tingling from his kiss, and there’s a dull, slippery ache between my legs. I can feel my freaking heartbeat down there.

Well. That was definitely an experience.

Slipping into my bedroom, I close the door behind me. Rest my head against the wood, then close my eyes and turn the lock with asnick.

It’s not like Lincoln would ever come in here without knocking, but I still need that barrier. That extra layer between me and the outside world right now. How else can I think straight?

And… that kiss could have gone a lot worse, I suppose. He could have reeled back in horror; could have said I have bad breath. Could have noticed how stupidly,painfullygone for him I am.

Pushing off the door, I cross the room, flop onto my bed—and solemnly swear that I am never, ever getting up again.

Lincoln

Jenny’s avoiding me. Maybe she could hide it better if we lived in a bigger place, but this apartment is smaller than some of those train carriages I photographed. The walls are thin and the floorboards creak. I could say her name at a normal volume from the kitchen and hear her answer from inside the shower.

That has actually happened to me. I nearly didn’t survive it.

Hell, sometimes late at night when I’m lying in my bed, I swear I can hear the soft, sleepy rhythm of her breaths, falling into sync with mine.

So I know, sure as anything, whenever Jenny tiptoes into the kitchen to make coffee when she thinks the coast is clear. Iknowwhen she drags a side table into her bedroom so she can work on her sewing behind a closed door, the loud rattle of the machine floating through her wall like gunfire.

And I hate it. I fucking hate it.

I’m addicted to that girl, and she clearly wants me gone already.

I’ll do the right thing, because I may be tattooed and scruffy and rough around the edges, but I won’t stay near Jenny if it makes her uncomfortable. So I start putting out feelers for my next job, and I write up a new ad for the room.

“Will you read this, sweetheart?”

Okay, so I keep calling her that. I should stop that too, but you know—I’m in withdrawal. Baby steps.

Jenny blinks at me from beside the kitchen counter, steam rising from the milky coffee she just made, the morning sunshine spilling through the window and glinting gold in her ponytail. Her eyes dart around like she’s searching for an escape, and pain radiates through my chest at that, but I hold up my laptop. I won’t bother her for long.

“It’s the room listing. You want to check it over before I put it up?”

Jenny stares at me, eyes wide. Her spoon clatters to the counter. “You’re leaving?”

Well. Yeah.

“It’s okay, I’ll find you another roommate. Someone trustworthy.” And a woman, too, if I get my way. “And I’ll keep paying rent until they’re here. There won’t be a gap, so don’t worry.”

Jenny shakes her head, slowly, like she’s not hearing me properly. “I’m not worried.”

Good. Fine. I step closer, hoisting the laptop between us so she doesn’t get the wrong idea. The word doc’s up on the screen, my suggested ad ready and waiting.

“I took out the bit about bringing a microwave. Unless you want to collect them.”

Jenny puffs out a strained laugh and shakes her head. Her voice is weak, her forehead creasing as she scans the ad. “No. One is enough.”

“And don’t take this the wrong way, but your listing was a little blunt. So I made it friendlier.”

“I was drunk,” Jenny mumbles, and I tilt my head.

“Huh?”

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