Page 18 of Sassy Love
LAWSON
The brown brick of Serenity House Women’s Shelter towers over me as I wait by the front steps, feeling more than a little guilty about my last poor choice of words directed at the woman I have to share an enclosed space with. I should apologize.
I should eat my damn words.
The clack of heels closes in, and I look up from the message I sent Mack. I’m so far out of my depth with this fiery woman. I thought I could handle working here. With her.
Maybe I should talk to Reed instead? God knows Rubes keeps him on his toes.
Carlie’s in a dress today—red—with black heels.
Fuck a man where he stands. I loosen the tie around my neck and force a platonic smile as she side-eyes me and stalks past.
Great. Just fucking great.
“Carlie, wait up.”
With a sigh, she stops and spins back. “What, Rawlins?”
“Did you get somewhere with those numbers I put on your desk?”
She tilts her head, closing the space between us at the top of the stairs on the landing. She smells goddamn incredible. Like spice and vanilla, or is that something floral?
“Serelle gave me access, so I don’t need your little handwritten love notes anymore.”
“Love notes?” I raise both brows at her.
She made a very clear point of hating being called Princess. But by the look on her face, it didn’t hit the way I assumed it would. Just when I think I have her pegged, she surprises me.
I’m an idiot.
That’s most likely her MO. Say one thing, do the other.
“You know, those sticky notes you stole and then littered my desk with?” She raises her chin, and it’s all I can do to not let my gaze fall to the soft, delicious-looking creaminess of her elegant neck.
The thought bursts when she says, “And who could forget the whiteboard covered in your formidable scrawl? My vibrator legit ran out of batteries last night when I replayed those words over and over in my mind.”
Her red-stained lips part on a feigned desperate breath, letting her head fall back.
My last breath stalls out.
The image of this stunning, hot-headed woman arched on a bed, impaled by her vibrator, sends my blood rushing south faster than humanly possible.
Sweet Jesus.
I try to clear my throat and choke on the absence of air that should be inflating my damn lungs. I grind my molars, sliding my hands into my pockets and hoping she doesn’t catch the now-stretched crotch of my slacks. “Here I was thinking you’d be face down in your pillow, crying all night at the thought of me.”
She huffs a breath, raising an eyebrow. “The only way I’ll be face-planting on my pillow is if I’m biting it. And nowhere in that scenario would there be you.”
Well, fuck.
She throws a smile over her shoulder, so saccharine that it absolutely registers as an insult.
Christ, it’s going to be a long day. I’m going to need a workout after the clock ticks over. I flick Miles a text and then drop one into our group chat, ‘City Crew.’
I make it up the first flight of stairs as my phone lights up. Two messages from Miles. Four in the group chat.
“Sounds like someone needs to work on some frustration.” Miles.
