And we talked again Tuesday evening while I packed to go back up, Judge teasing me throughout that I had a quota of only one bag he’d carry up the stairs for a two-night stay.
I decided to get ready at his house for work on Friday, just to push my overnighter beyond capacity so I’d be forced to bring two.
And as my getting-ready game was extreme, in the end, I was definitely at two.
I received the same wakeup call Wednesday.
I did it knowing, that night, I’d see him again.
I was way beyond playing it cool.
I couldn’t wait.
And I didn’t consider the possibility of putting the effort into caring that I couldn’t.
I did not hide it from Judge (who didn’t hide it either).
And honestly?
That was the most romantic of all.
I selected an outfit for our date from my own store, it took no time to do so, I knew precisely what it should be.
The perfect date outfit for Judge Oakley.
A man who might not care about wisteria.
But that didn’t matter in the slightest.
Because he cared about me.
Chapter 21
The Petals
Chloe
The second time I woke in Judge’s bed, I did it for the same reason as the first.
The bed had moved.
My eyes fluttered open even as I reached, coming up empty, then watched, in shadow, as Judge got up, and he in his pajama bottoms silently made his way to the bathroom.
He didn’t turn on the light until he’d closed the door.
I snagged his pillow, claiming it, curling full body around it, letting the smell of him hit my senses, and I stared through the dark at the bathroom door.
My date outfit was a bust.
Not because Judge didn’t think it was cute, he did.
No, because last night, when I arrived, he was standing in the doorway to the garage as his garage door opened after I hit the remote.
I pulled in, shut down my Evoque, got out, and he didn’t move from his spot.
“Hello,” I called, shifting to the backseat door to grab my things.
“Touch your bags, I’ll spank your ass.”
I stopped dead.
“Come here,” he ordered.
“I see someone had an early cocktail of bossy,” I remarked.
However, I did this moving his way considering (and this likely came as no surprise) I was not a female who turned down a man carrying her bag for her.
When I cleared my car, his gaze gave me a top to toe, though he lingered on the toe part.
“Nice outfit,” he said offhandedly.
I stopped in front of him, not surprised he was in jeans and an attractive, hunter-green button-down. Thus, I was right in expecting our date wouldn’t be formal because that just wasn’t Judge.
“Please tell me this date involves food, because I’m starved.”
“Sorry, doll,” he whispered, “I get to eat first.”
This confused me.
A lot of things were confusing me, since he was lounged in the doorjamb, arms and ankles crossed and unmoving.
That unmoving part including not touching me or, say, kissing me hello.
“Is Zeke here, one, and are you frozen in place, two?” I asked.
At these words, he unfroze, his hand darting my way, catching mine.
This wasn’t a sweet holding of hands.
This was a capture and tug.
As in, his fingers were tight around mine and I was being hauled into the house and up the stairs.
More confusion.
A good deal more.
“Judge!” I snapped.
We hit the landing by the kitchen, didn’t hesitate, and he dragged me through that floor to the main stairs.
And we started up them.
My confusion cleared.
“Judge,” I whispered.
As with the first, the second time I said his name, he didn’t respond.
He didn’t say anything until we were in his room.
He had a great bedroom. Large with a fireplace across from the foot of the bed that was made of an interesting mix of gray and brown bricks that went all the way up to the vaulted ceilings. Ceilings that were covered in tongue-and-groove.
There were also these incredibly interesting low, wide, six-drawer dressers tucked in on either side of the fireplace that were made of distressed wood, and their handles looked like the old-fashioned leather grips from suitcases.
Further, there was a chair and ottoman tucked in the corner on what, on our first night sleeping together, had been Judge’s side of the bed.
An iron and wood chandelier hung from the center of the ceiling.
And it was clear he simply bought the mushroom comforter, tan sheets and mushroom edged in navy and tan euro pillow shams (as well as all the accoutrement, including shammed standard pillows and a downy cream throw folded at the end) from a display in some department store (I would have done some mixing and matching, but it very much worked).
He had a wall of windows and small balcony off my side of the bed, a TV hanging over the fireplace, a large complementary rug covering the wood floor, and on the wall, a magnificent, slightly impressionistic painting of a white horse bounded on the canvas in bold, primary colors that represented a forest.