Page 28 of Ella Gets the D
Cam texted me, and I talked to some brunette who clearly isn’t the person losing her shit in my bathroom. Bar brunette is a blur. But this woman? Her soft moans, supple curves, and pouty lips are unforgettable.
I follow the scent of lavender to put hostage negotiation skills I don’t have to use. If she has a panic attack, she’s on her own. Not because I don’t care, but because she locked the door.
“Um, you okay in there?”
I need to pee, and for you to leave my house.
The door muffles her words, an indication we’re in for a long morning given it’s now past three. So much for catching up on sleep.
“Listen, I don’t know if there’s someone I can call”—a car, preferably—“but you can’t stay in there. Or here.”
What is her name? Did she tell me, or did we get straight down to business?
None of my casual hookups have the code to my house, and I don’t remember sharing a Lyft with anyone. Who. The. Hell. Is. She?
“You good?” I knock again. “I’ll go get your phone, and I’ll call a car to take you wherever you want.”
Instinct sends me jerking back the moment the door swings open. My good razors are in there, and I wouldn’t put it past her to try and cut me.
Her chin lifts, and her nostrils flare. She wags a finger at me. “You touched me!”
“You reached for me first!”
“You weren’t supposed to be real! I was dreaming and didn’t realize”—she motions at my bare chest— “thatwas real.” Her eyes turn cold with an expression meant to scare, but it does the opposite. “You have two minutes to get out of my house.”
The bedsheet spirals around her waist like a skirt, killing any chance for another peek at those long, thick legs.
Wait.
Back up a second.
“Yourhouse?” I emphasize the first word. This is news to me.
“Yes,” she says in a huff. “Tonight was obviously a mistake.” She shakes her head with a hand to her cheek. “I don’t hook up with random men—or anyone. Just get out before I beat you down!”
I raise a brow and roll my lips. “Like you did when you pelted your phone at my face? Spare me the replay.”
“Out! I don’t want to call the police, but I will.”
This is a first. A one-night stand trying to kick me out of my own damn house. “And say what, exactly?”
A vein strains against the column of her neck. “That a man in…” Her eyes stall on my chest again. “Amanentered my home and bed and…” She wets her lips and looks away.
“And?”
She bites her lip before pink blooms across her cheeks. Her throat works to swallow.This should be good.
“The point is—”
“We woke up between each other’s legs and assumed we came home together.” I’m still not sure how that happened if I left thebar alone, but one thing at a time. I’m two seconds from crashing and falling asleep, but I need to make sure we’re both okay. Then she can take her own advice and get out—her and her delusions.
The frown etched onto her face tells me she can’t decipher dream from reality. Or maybe she needs to shit. At what point do I call one of those mental health teams? Serious question. She can think she lives here all she wants. From her own house.
“You still don’t get it.”Here we go. “I. Live. Here.” She walks to the bedroom door and opens it. Then she closes her eyes and takes a breath. “I’m sorry that I touched your dick.”Didn’t mind that part.“Please leave. I won’t call the cops if you go now.”
“You live here?”
“Yes.”
