Page 127 of Hate You More

“The purpose is for us not to catch feelings. The apartment is a no-go zone, as is your bed.”

“What about a hotel bed?”

“A hotel is fine.”

“My bathroom?”

An image flashes to life. Red lipstick. Rosso tile. A breath-fogged mirror. His eyes lowered and his tongue tracing the rise and fall of my flesh.

I give my head a shake. “Not your bathroom.”

“Other bathrooms?”

I give a shrug. “You do you.”

His smile. It’s like I can almost feel it pressed between my legs. “Oh, you know what I’m gonna say to that.”

“Let’s just get on with it.”

Troy bends his head, and the paper begins to fill with a slanted text. With a flourish, he slides it to the side and begins again. “You need some suggestions?” he asks without looking up. “I’m happy to offer. Or even demonstrate.”

“I’m good,” I murmur as my pen moves over the paper.

This time, he doesn’t pass (innuendo-filled) comment.

The moments pass as my own papers fill with my looping, cursive script. It’s not like I don’t have my own ideas.

“Are we sharing or keeping each other in suspense?”

“Share, I think. In case one of us feels uncomfortable.”

“So we can veto.”

“I guess.” Before I can say anything else, his big palm comes down on my pile.

“Let’s swap,” he suggests. “It’ll be more fun that way.” He picks up a square of paper. “A chance encounter with a mysterious stranger.” My words in his voice raise goose bumps along my arms. “Good one,” he adds, his gaze meeting mine, golden yet all kinds of smoky.

I duck my head but it comes up sharp. “Banging the boss?” I demand.

His smile lurks. “I knew I should’ve gone with workplace encounter.”

“Which of us is the boss in this scenario?”

“What do you think?” he asks silkily. Excitement trickles through me as he reaches for another square. His brows rise. “Man in uniform.”

“Have you got a problem with that?”

“Got any preference?”

“I don’t have a bellhop fetish, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Is it a soldier one, or do I get to be a policeman who’ll frisk you, then dig out the cuffs?”

South of my waistline seems to like both of those prospects. “I’ll let you choose,” I say quietly.

“You wanna play doctors and nurses,” he purrs, before I can take my turn.

“It says doctor and patient,” I put in primly. “Don’t worry, I’ll warm my stethoscope. My turn now, greedy.” I glance down. “Sex with a stranger.”