Page 26 of 1 Last Shot

Yeah, that would definitely scare her off.

And because the universe is hilarious, it chooses that moment to make Isabella appear before me.

I stop in my tracks on the sidewalk and glare through the laundromat window at the object of my annoyance. She's loading the last of her clothes into the washing machine, then squinting at all the knobs and buttons. She bites her lip after a moment, which I've noticed she does when she's thinking hard about something.

It just makes me want to bite her myself.

I watch as she pulls out the laundry detergent she brought, and slowly pours it into the tiny drawer at the top of the machine. She looks over the knobs again, clearly trying to figure out the right settings, and then she presses Start.

It's obvious she's never had to wash her own laundry before, but it's also obvious based on the clothes she wears and car she drives that even on her own, she's rich enough to have someone do them for her.

I remember the first time I did my own laundry. I was eight, and my mom was on such a bad bender that the idea of house chores never even entered her mind. So, I had to figure it out myself. It took me four tries to get the right settings, but eventually I walked out of the basement with clean, somewhat dry clothes. I was so proud of myself, I don't even remember the end of Mom's bender that week.

The memory, combined with the sight of Isabella going through the same experience—albeit for different reasons, thank God—has a bubble of admiration growing in my chest. She doesn'tneedto fumble her way through this, yet she's doing it anyway. Because shewantsto learn.

She might not be the spoiled little rich girl I thought she was.

The annoyance from this morning wars with these feelings of admiration. I don'twantto feel any of this. This girl should be an afterthought when I leave my apartment in the morning and pass by her front door. She shouldn't be present enough in my life to evoke any feeling, even something as mediocre as annoyance. And shedefinitelyshouldn't be making me feel something as warm and fuzzy as admiration. Even the idea of that…

I feel the concoction of confusing emotions start to bubble in my stomach. I'm unsettled and growing angrier because of it, and I have no idea what to do with myself. I don't need or want this shit, and I want heroutof my head.

And when Isabella spots me through the window and automatically smiles at me, I feel the implosion as it happens.

Ripping the door to the laundromat open, I stride over to where she's standing in front of the washing machine. She watches me as I move, her smile slowly slipping off her face. This isn't my usual avoidance of her, this is mehuntingher.

She opens her mouth to say something, but it snaps shut when I stop in front of her—because I'mwaytoo close. There's barely any space between us, and she has to look up to see my hard gaze.

She wants to keep pushing back? Keep appearing in my life despite the very obvious message that I want to be left alone? Fine, I’ll give her the time of day. I’ll give her myattention.

"Princess," I purr, feeling some of the roiling emotions inside me settle a bit when her expression turns into a familiar mask of nerves. "Funny seeing you here. Especially since we have a laundry room in the basement of our building."

Her cheeks pinken with embarrassment.Good.

"So how'd your night go?" I ask casually.

But she sees through my act, because her brow furrows at the unassuming question. And yet, she can't not answer. "It was fine."

I cock my head. "Richie Rich didn’t please you enough?"

Her eyes go wide and her mouth pops open. I don't blame her. I'm completely in her space and her business right now, and I'm not pulling any punches.

"I didn't gohomewith him!" she protests. "How dare you imply—"

"I figured it wasn't your best night, because I didn't hear any sounds through our shared wall," I interrupt, as if she hasn't spoken.

"You were listening for it?" she asks, the disbelief evident in her tone.

I shrug, feigning nonchalance. "I had a bet going with myself. But I thought he'd at least make you moan alittle."

She glares at me, annoyed despite the topic being hypothetical. She opens her mouth to snap back with something, but I don't give her the chance. I'm too eager to push her past any line she has, and finally break this thing between us that's fucking me up.

I crowd her back against the running washer with my body, so close to her now that I can plant my hands next to her head. But I'm not actually touching her.

Until I slide one thigh between her legs.

She gasps the second she feels it.

The sound makes me grin. "See? That wasn't so hard."

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