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Wes
*You’ve Got Another Thing Coming*
Christ, I cannot get home fast enough. As soon as I get in, I open the back door to let the cat out and then jump into the shower to beat off to the filthiest, most aggravating fantasy of Lily Barnes I’ve ever had. Fueled by lust and frustration and guilt and resentment and possessiveness and impatience and annoyance and sympathy…and did I happen to mention lust? When forty-five minutes of crunches and push-ups and free-weights still haven’t done anything to subdue the fucked-up longing and ache, I turn to beer.
Which is a joke because no amount of beer or jerking off could ever help.
I’ve had a very sober nine-year boner for one girl.
One infuriating, beautiful, bright, cheeky, secretly sweet girl.
The one who skipped town without saying good-bye.
I think I’m a pretty simple guy. I know what I like and I know what I want, and everything else can go fuck itself. But I’ve never met anyone who made me feel so many different things, sometimes all at once. There’s no other person, no other activity that gets me going the way she does. I’ve looked, and I know I’ll never find it. And apparently, there’s nothing Lily Barnes can say or do to turn me off. She’s definitely tried.
As pissed as I was right after she left, everything was easier when she wasn’t around. Far less stimulating but easier. It figures she’d show up again when I wasn’t ready, in a way I never would have expected. At least I’m not alone in this. I know full well she’s struggling just as much as I am. We’re both strong-willed and stubborn, and neither of us are going down without fighting our attraction first.
I’m on my third bottle of Bud, sprawled out on my sofa in my T-shirt and sweatpants, when I hear a knock at my front door. It’s dinnertime and I haven’t ordered food, so I expect it to be an asshole solicitor of some kind. I get up to open the door abruptly and just enough so the asshole can see me frowning. Only, the asshole who’s standing on my doorstep is so used to seeing me frown at her, she doesn’t even flinch.
Here she is, in a little T-shirt and tight jeans, her hair up in a ponytail, showing up when I’m not ready for her. Any sign of the feelings she was grappling with earlier is gone, replaced by the usual glinty-eyed smirk.
“What are you doing here?” I growl.
“I’ve come to fetch my cat, Mr. Manners,” she says.
“Since when is it good manners to show up at someone’s house unannounced? How’d you know where I live?”
“In case you’ve forgotten: I’m your assistant. Your home address is in a file on the computer. Which reminds me—HR has my personal cell phone number, but I should probably give it to you, in case you need to get hold of me.”
Oh, Lily, you have no idea how I need to get hold of you.
“You have a Barnes Group cell phone. So do I. If we need to get hold of each other for work, that is how we will get hold of each other.”
“I don’t consider my cat’s living arrangements to be Barnes Group business, do you?”
I stay in the doorway, blocking her from entering. I grip the door handle with one hand and rest my other hand, the one holding the beer bottle, against the doorframe. Her eyes soften for a second as she scans the length of my tensed arm muscles. “You could have let me know you wanted to come over first. I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to take Fanny away like this.”
She tears her gaze away from my bicep, straightens her posture, and lifts her chin defiantly. “Just let me see her, Wes.”
I allow myself one quick look down at the smooth skin of her long, exposed neck, the way the light fabric of that dark T-shirt is caressing her curves and doing a very poor job of concealing her perky nipples. One of the many things that has always bewildered me about this girl is how she can be so willowy and lean but still have curves in all the right places. I move aside, pulling the door open farther, trying to ignore the sway of her blonde hair and her hips as she walks in past me, almost brushing up against me but not quite. She’s wearing that bold, sexy fragrance that she was wearing yesterday. Different from the one she wore to the office today.
I know your game, Lily. If you think you’re going to flirt and seduce your way into my good graces as a boss or as a man or as a cat caretaker, you’ve got another thing coming. Tonight, anyway.
She steps inside the wide foyer and looks around. “This is really nice,” she says with no sarcasm and a little more surprise than I’d like.
I’d bought a restored craftsman-style house in a quiet neighborhood. I’m not the only single person living around here, but let’s just say that if I ever actually used Tinder, I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t find any potential matches on there who are in the immediate area unless they’re visiting family. “What’d you expect?”
“Nothing. I mean, it’s not your typical bachelor pad. It’s warm. And tasteful.”
“Guess I’m not your typical bachelor.”
She chooses not to comment on that. “How long have you lived here?” she asks as she wanders through the sliding doors to the living room, admiring the honey-stained hardwood floor beneath her fancy sneakers. “Oh—should I take off my shoes?”
“No, you shouldn’t.” I don’t want to see her bare feet. It’s not like I’m a foot guy, but I have never seen a sexier pair of feet on a girl… Fuck, I want to see her feet. “I bought it a year ago.”
“It’s kind of big for one person…” she offers casually.
“I wanted a place that’s big enough for me and my dad, if it ever comes to that.”
