Page 29 of Commander in Briefs

Who the fuck was she expecting? I smile, all the while looking her over, checking for any signs of disarray. Her little spandex shorts ride high on her thighs, milking the muscles there, while her loose tank has slid off her petite shoulder, just dying for someone to remove it. Rest assured little tank top, Daddy is here. She looks perfect.

“Hello, beautiful.” My voice is almost a damn purr.

She arches a brow. She knows something is up. Well, tit for tat, Ans. I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.

I clear the purr from my throat. “My shoulder hurts. I need you to look at it and call Bellamy.” I crowd her and begin to push through the doorway. Her solid mass doesn’t move. What the hell?

She narrows her eyes, totally not believing my story. “Really? Your shoulder hurts and you didn’t call me immediately?”

After the long-ass day I’ve had, I am in no mood for twenty questions. I snap, unable to control my anger, “Yes! Is that a problem, Dr. McCallister? I believe I pay you to be on call. Has that changed?” It’s an asshole thing to say, but I’m at my limit.

She’s silent and pissed, her heavy glare practically burning through my face.

“Can I come in, or are you going to examine me out here?”

The side of her cheek indents. Usually, that indicates she’s biting down to keep from speaking. I’m prepared for the onslaught of verbal sparring, as I stand tall and meet her glare in a challenge. She leans against the doorway for the longest fucking minute ever. Finally, she takes a deep breath and opens the door.

I don’t miss the reluctance etched on her face. Damn. What is her deal? “Gah. Finally. You are acting so weird today.”

I push through the small opening between her body and the door. I don’t dare ask if she is PMSing because last time I did, it did not go well for me. She punched me so hard it left a bruise for a week.

Inside, the house smells like buttery, sugary heaven. Oh, fuck me, is she making pancakes for dinner? My mouth starts to water just thinking about the buttermilk goodness. “Please tell me you are making pancakes and it’s not one of those damn candles that smell like it.”

She snorts. “Pancakes. You hungry?”

I’m always hungry and she knows it. She makes her way toward the kitchen, glancing down the hall every now and again. Why is she acting so nervous? It’s makingmenervous. Agitated, I launch my heavy duffle bag toward the hall bench, its heavy weight rocking the whole piece. Oops. I check to see if Anniston caught it but she’s busy flipping the pancakes.

Hot damn! Motherfucking pancakes! I feel better already. I saunter over, enveloping her tight little body in my arms and place a chaste kiss on her neck. A quiet little moan escapes her.

“What have you been up to, beautiful?” I question softly, nibbling her earlobe. “I’ve been getting radio silence.”

She turns, wrapping her hands around my neck as I turn my head and plant soft kisses on her lips. She’s tense and not responding. I press another kiss to her forehead. “Anything wrong?”

She shakes her head and lets out a resigned sigh. “I need to tell you something.”

Uh oh. That pit of dread bubbles back up to the surface. I force a smile. “What is it?”

She chews on her bottom lip. “I, uh, I’ve been helping out a friend.”

Thank heavens! A friend. I can live with helping a friend. “No problem,” I respond cheerily.

She shakes her head with a small grimace. “He’s been down on his luck and needed my help.”

The anxiety is back. I know all of her friends, especially the guys. And I know for a fact she doesn’t have another guy friend, apart from me. She has associates, but not friends, and none of her associates have seen hard times. I have Facebook—just because I’m a pro ball player doesn’t mean I don’t stalk the fuck out of her Facebook page. I have downtime.

“A dude,” I confirm.

She nods and I’m at a loss as to what to say. I let go of her and rake my hands through my hair. I’m just going to ask her. I’m not going to be a pussy about it.

“Ans. Are you seeing someone? Is that what this is?” There. See? All balls, no pussy here.

She shakes her head quickly. “No. Absolutely not. It’s just a friend. I swear. He needed my help and I couldn’tnothelp.” Her voice cracks at the last part.

Her and her damn bleeding heart. The tension in my shoulders is unmistakable. I roll them for something to do so she doesn’t see how much she’s upset me. “Okay. So why haven’t you told me?” I know she’s still hiding something from me. It’s not like her to be nervous.

Her gaze drifts to my shoes. “You won’t like it.”

I already don’t like it. Her behavior is out of character and is freaking me the fuck out. Whoever this “friend” is, I’m sure to hate him. And she fucking knows it.

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