Page 92 of Sweet Distraction

And yet . . . fuck. Where is she?

I mean we had sex. Great sex. Memorable—even if I’m still thinking about it.

Does she regret it? Is she already chalking it up to being buzzed? The fact that she lives here and can’t leave without seeing me again?

But I don’t take her as a one-night stand girl.

Yet the bed is empty. Her clothes are gone.

And why the hell does that bug me?

But before I can spiral further, my bedroom door creaks open . . . and there she is.

Wearing my T-shirt, hair a mess, legs bare, carrying two mugs of coffee, and a smug-ass look on her face.

My dick instantly salutes the situation.

But when she meets my gaze, her eyes narrow, and her lips pinch. “You thought I did the walk of shame back to my bedroom.”

“Why would I think that?” I play it off.

“You did, didn’t you?” She looks bewildered as she holds out a coffee mug to me.

“Well, it doesn’t do a man’s ego a lot of good when he wakes up and the woman he wants is gone.”

“Uh-huh.” She sits on the edge of the bed, her knee bent, giving me a hint of what I want just beneath. “Because you’ve never snuck out in the middle of the night so you don’t have to wake up to whoever you just spent the night with?” A smile toys at the corner of her mouth. “Please, correct me if I’m wrong.”

I smirk, leaning back on my elbows as my eyes take in her nipples pressing against my shirt and then dip lower. “I don’t do the walk of shame,” I say playfully.

“Neither do I.”

“Says the woman wearing the sex shirt she ripped off me last night.”

“You weren’t wearing a shirt when I got home.” Her eyes scrape down my chest, and her chest hitches. “That’s part of the reason we’re sitting here like this right now.”

“That’s all it takes with you? No shirt and you’re ready to go?”

“It did last night.” She fights a smile. “Shirt was on the dresser. Didn’t think you’d mind if I borrowed it.”

“By all means—I’m definitely not complaining.”

She takes a sip of her coffee like she didn’t hear that, but her cheeks go pink.

It’s fucking hot.

She dips her eyes down toward her coffee and studies it like it’s one of her textbooks. Why do I get the feeling that I’m about to get the straight-and-narrow Willow?

“Wills?”

“Hmm?”

“Just say it.”

Her eyes flicker up to me and then back to her coffee. “I get that this could be . . . awkward. You know, since we slept together—”

“We did?” I tease.

“And that I live here. That I work for you. Like . . . I understand if this is just a one-time thing and you want—”