Page 37 of This Life of Mine

I hesitate, glancing back toward the street. The neighborhood is still, silent, houses dark and tucked in for the night.

Of course it is; it’s nearly eleven o’clock. The rational part of me suggests I walk back to my car and wait there until he decides to actually show himself.

I shift my weight—keys cool in my hand.

“EJ?” I try again, forcing a little humor into my voice. “Is this part of your game?”

The words barely leave my mouth when I hear it. Rustling in the bushes to my left. My heart flutters, and I spin around at the last second to…

Hands wrap around my waist, sudden and firm, pulling me inside.

The door crashes shut behind us, and I gasp as light floods the room, blinding. The world tilts when my back hits the wall, and he’s already there, caging me in, my arms drawn up and held fast before I understand what’s happening.

I see his expression. Grinning. Followed by laughter. Far too pleased with himself.

“Got you,” EJ says, smiling down at me as he holds my wrists in place.

“Not funny,” I snap, shoving my body against his chest, trying to put space between us.

He laughs. “Relax. It was a little funny. You should’ve seen your face.” His grip loosens, but his smile doesn’t. “Besides, fear does interesting things to people. Gets the adrenaline going. Adds a touch of heightened emotion,” he draws out.

“It’s not funny because this is exactly how scary movies start,” I say. “The girl notices all the warning signs telling her to get the hell out of dodge, and instead, like an idiot, she stands there.” I tilt my head to the ceiling. “Congratulations. I’ve officially proven I’d be murdered in the first five minutes. A completely forgettable character.” I glare at him. “You’re lucky I didn’t knee you in the nuts.”

My arms are fold after he releases them. I glare up at him, thoroughly annoyed.

From his height, I’m sure I resemble a pouting child. He’s nearly six feet tall, after all.

A long blonde-haired, green-eyed Tinder gem. We were clear from the start: benefits only. No pretending we cared who else came and went from each other’s lives.

We wanted connection when we needed it, and physical relief when we craved it. Simple. Clean. Supposedly uncomplicated.

That was the agreement.

Irritation, however, has a short lifespan when he’s standing there shirtless. One glance at his broad shoulders and sculpted muscles is enough to soften my mood.

Annoyance fades, and appreciation takes its place. Physical attraction tends to recalibrate things.

“Ouch, babe,” he says with a crooked grin. “I think we’re both lucky. If you had kneed me, I wouldn’t be able to do this…”

He leans in, his mouth finding my neck, and whatever tension I had dissolves into a low sound I don’t bother stopping. His kisses linger as he tugs my coat open.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, eyes dropping. “This black lace on you is perfect.”

He dips closer, his voice brushing against my ear. “You look fucking sexy.” A pause. “Let’s have some fun.”

My breath catches as his hand slides into my panties. I gasp, my fingers curling into his shoulders.

“Look at you,” he says, teasing. “Already responsive.”

“Stop talking,” I manage, heat rushing through me, “and do something about it.”

His smile is immediate—satisfied—as he pulls me closer.

I wrap my arms around his neck without thinking. His hand slides to my waist, steady and sure, guiding me backward as we keep kissing—slow steps—until the living room opens around us.

He backs me toward the couch, never breaking contact, and I go willingly, following the quiet insistence in his touch. When we sink down together, he guides me to lay against the cushions.

He follows me down easily, his body settling over mine, one arm braced beside my head as his mouth finds mine again. The kiss deepens.