One week. Seven days. All fucking torture if anyone would have asked Alex, and all because he was trying to keep it professional where Mary was concerned.
He bounced his leg, a nervous habit as he stared at Mary, who sat on the floor in his living room. And although he was grasping all the things she taught him, he was having a hard as hell time trying not to talk to her about that night at the club.
Oh, he tried, every single time they got together, but she shut him down each and every time. And he couldn’t blame her.
Her mouth was moving, but all he could think about was that night. Over and over again. All he could hear was the music that had played overhead when he had her pressed against the wall at the club. All he could smell was the sweetness that always clung to her. And fuck, all he could feel was her softness against his hardness. And that’s exactly what he was right now. Hard.
He shouldn’t have looked at how her long legs were crossed, her shorts riding up and showing so much creamy skin. He shouldn’t have stared at the swells of her breasts that pressed against her loose fitting t-shirt. Alex shouldn’t have noticed any of that because it was a douchebag move.
But he couldn’t help himself.
He shifted on the couch, trying to alleviate—and hide—his hard-on.
“Alex, are you even listening to me?”
He froze and cleared his throat before nodding. “Yeah. Of course.” Fuck, his damn voice cracked like he was some kind of teenager going through puberty. He cleared his throat again and leaned forward so he was resting his forearms on his thighs. “I’m listening.” No, he wasn’t, but she didn’t need to know that. Mary didn’t need to know he was an asshole for checking her out all the fucking time.
“Yeah?” She arched a dark brow.
He let his gaze travel down her legs and stopped when he saw the fabric of her shorts gape at the junction of her thighs. Fucking hell. Rubbing a hand over his jaw he averted his eyes, knowing that he was just working himself up for no reason, and if he didn’t get his arousal under control she would no doubt see the wood he was sporting.
“Yeah.” He said, but hell, even he heard how much that lone word sounded like a fucking lie, well, somewhat. “You were talking about the rise of proximity in underdeveloped countries.”
The surprise on her face had a grin spreading across his face. Yeah, he was listening—half-assed—but he still knew what she said even if he’d been eye fucking her hardcore.
Every time he saw her, he found himself wanting her that much more. And each time she looked into his eyes he wanted to tell her how sorry he was for all the shit that had gone down. God, he wanted to tell her that, for her to look in his eyes and know how much he meant the words.
He was in uncharted territory right now, and had no idea how to navigate when it came to trying to be a decent guy for the only woman he’d ever had feelings for. He’d fucked up, and what fucking sucked even more was the knowledge that if she hadn’t come to his house and been the bigger person, he probably would have stayed away.
Alex was a stubborn fucking asshole.
And he’d decided that he wasn’t going to give up. He wasn’t going to let her go. Alex would show her that they were meant to be together, and if it meant proving himself to Mary for the rest of his fucking life… he looked forward to it.
17
“I don’t know about this, Darcy.” Mary curled a hand around her gym bag a little tighter as she followed her roommate down the shady looking alley that apparently was how they’d get to this “incredible, but selective gym” owned by a former MMA fighter.
Darcy looked over her shoulder and grinned.
“Hell yeah.” She faced forward again. “Mica told me how to get here.”
Mary swallowed and glanced around. It was still daylight, but that didn’t mean safety was guaranteed, especially when they were downtown and in some seedy back alley. But apparently Darcy and the pierced guy, Mica, she’d danced with at Tainted, were getting closer, so close she had been working out with him at this gym.
“And believe me, it helps get out that aggression, for me at least.”
The asphalt beneath their feet was cracked and even missing in some parts. A few dumpsters were lined up to their left, the light stench of rotting garbage filling the narrow alley.
A door slammed open right as they walked by it, and a heavyset man wearing a greasy, stained apron shuffled out with a large black trash bag slung over his shoulder. His gut protruded out from under the dirty material, and he eyed them for a moment before he promptly ignored them and walked over to one of the dumpsters.