“What does messy look like on you, sweetheart?” he asks, proving me correct.
“You do not want to know.”
“Try me.”
I glance at her again. Her hand covers her face as she remembers. Jesus, I need to know what it was if it’s causing this reaction in her.
“Let’s just say I embarrassed myself by agreeing to something that, in the end, I didn’t go through with. The next morning was one of the most mortifying mornings of my life.”
“And here I thought you don’t do casual sex,” Jack says, echoing my thoughts.
“I didn’t end up sleeping with him.”
“Ah, but you had the intent if you woke up with him the next morning.”
“I was so damn drunk I didn’t know what I was doing.” And that right there proves my earlier thoughts correct—Lorelei drunk is a recipe for disaster.
I’ve reached her apartment and pull the car into a space that is conveniently empty right outside the complex.
As I switch off the car, she says, “How did you know where I live? I didn’t tell you.”
Jack chuckles. “Lorelei, sweetheart, you and I need to sit down and swap notes on Ashton. If you don’t think he knows everything there is to know about you, you’re the one living in fantasyland.”
I exit the car and walk around to her side. She opens the door before I reach it, and I place my hand on her back to steady her after she stands.
Her eyes find mine. “I can manage on my own.”
“I’d rather make sure you don’t fall.”
“I might be drunk, Ashton, but I’m still capable of looking out for myself.”
“I have no doubt,” I murmur. My hand stays where it is as I walk her in.
Jack comes with us, clearly attached to Lorelei already. When we reach her front door, she fumbles in her bag for her keys. I take the bag out of her hands and locate the key for her, ignoring the irritation she levels on me.
She puts her hand out and says, “Can I at least open my own door?”
My lips twitch. Her fight turns me on more than I’ve been turned on in a long fucking time. I hold up the key and she swipes it from my hand. A moment later, she opens the door, and I step into an apartment that is as different to mine as you could get.
Lorelei’s home is colourful and cluttered. But not cluttered in a messy way; rather it’s immaculately tidy, just packed full with books, art, photos, plants, pillows on couches, candles, and more colour. So much colour.
She leads us into her kitchen where I discover more plants, along with recipe books. Large windows line one wall in here and a window seat scattered with cushions sits under the windows. Lights hang low over a long wooden island bench, and I can picture her cooking here. I imagine Lorelei to be an amazing cook from what I see.
Jack whistles as he takes it in. “When are you having us over for dinner?” At her frown, he adds, “Tell me this isn’t all for show. You do cook, right?”
“Oh, that…. Yes, I love to cook. Nothing for show here.” She looks genuinely confused as to why anyone would bother to put on a show in their home. She hasn’t met the people Jack and I usually associate with.
I track Lorelei’s movements while Jack wanders off and leaves us alone. She fusses for a few minutes, tidying the books and papers on the island bench.
When she looks up at me, I’m surprised to see uncertainty in her eyes. I’ve not seen this emotion in her—Lorelei always appears confident and sure of herself. “Thank you for lunch,” she says softly.
I close the distance between us. “It won’t be our last.”
She stills and her breathing slows. “I’m beginning to think you aren’t the man I assumed you were.”
“What did you assume?”
The uncertainty disappears from her gaze. “I thought you were an assh