Page 63 of Whatever Lola Wants

He sat in front of her to tug on his shoes, then picked up her dress. “Do you want to put this back on, or just head for the locker room to get your street clothes?”

She frowned. “Are we leaving?”

“Yeah, we’re leaving.” He stroked his hand over her hair, sweaty and tangled, and bit back a smile at the grumpy look on her face. “You’re done for the night.”

She looked like she wanted to argue, and he braced himself to put his foot down. Then she sighed. “Okay.”

“Good girl,” he said approvingly, and she frowned again.

“Don’t go getting ideas about me obeying you,” she warned him. “I’m just tired.”

He smothered a laugh and hauled her to her feet. “Whatever works, sweetheart.”

He tucked her clothes and his shirt into the bag, zipped it shut, and shouldered it before swinging her up into his arms, blanket and all. She gave a startled squeak, her eyes going wide.

“Um. You don’t have to carry me,” she told him, and he shook his head at her.

“Of course I do,” he told her. “Now shut up.”

He opened the door and strode out, and she pressed her face to his chest. But he saw the smile.

CHAPTER TEN

He drove her home, poured another bottle of water into her, and helped her shower. He evaded her attempts to do something about his erection while he washed her hair, threatening her with a bare-assed paddling if she didn’t keep her hands to herself.

Honestly. If it hadn’t been so obvious that he wanted her, a girl could get a complex.

He scrubbed her down almost impersonally, rinsed her off, then gently smoothed moisturizer into her skin before wrapping her up in a robe. Then he made her sit on the edge of the counter while he dried her hair, laid a soft, sweet kiss on her tender mouth, and put her to bed.

To sleep, of all things.

Her last thought before she tumbled into sleep was to wonder how many men with a boner that big would’ve made ensuring her comfort a priority.

The next time she opened her eyes, it was morning.

Lola pushed up in bed, the blankets falling away as she blinked at the sunlight streaming into the room. The bedroom windows faced east, and she’d been so tired last night she hadn’t thought to ask him to pull the curtains. She had no idea what time it was, but she felt rested, and so relaxed it felt as though her bones were made of Jello.

She frowned, remembering the night before. Simon had brought her home, tucked her into bed. Had he left? A quick look around the room revealed no clues to his presence—no shoes on the floor, no clothes tossed over the chair.

He’d probably gone home after she'd gone to sleep. She shoved aside the twinge of unhappiness and eased out of bed, groaning when the muscles in her thighs protested. She was in good shape, but running on wrestling mats was a workout she wasn’t used to.

Slipping into her fluffy robe, she walked to the kitchen on rubbery legs. Her stomach rumbled, reminding her she hadn’t eaten dinner the night before—which, now that she remembered, was surely the reason she’d given out before the end of the scene. She winced, knowing she’d have to tell Simon. Like any good top, he was kicking himself for not noticing that she was nearing her limit before she’d called it, and he would not be happy when he found out why she’d hit the wall so hard.

Intent on filling her empty belly, she pulled open the refrigerator and stared into it as though she could make bacon and waffles appear by sheer force of will. Since she had no bacon and no desire to make waffle batter, she shut the door and was pulling out her phone to order something when her doorbell rang.

She tapped her phone to bring up her doorbell camera. She didn’t recognize the blonde woman standing in the hall in her bare feet, an uncertain look on her face.

Tucking the phone back in her pocket, she tightened the sash on her robe and opened the door. “Can I help you?”

The woman blinked bright blue eyes, teeth worrying her full bottom lip. “Are you Lola?”

“Yes.” Lola frowned. She knew most people in the building, but she’d never met this woman before. White and slightly taller than average, she had a curvy figure tucked into worn jeans and a faded cotton t-shirt with the Superman emblem on the chest. Her bare toes were painted a pale pink, her blonde hair was up in a ponytail, and her skin was peaches and cream over classic bone structure. She was almost breathtakingly pretty.

“I’m Ginger. Ginger Dowling? I’m?—”

“Peter’s cousin,” Lola finished and relaxed her grip on the door handle.

Ginger sagged with obvious relief, her smile widening. “Oh, good. I was afraid he’d forgotten to tell you about me.”

---