Page 11 of Cocky Tech God

“What are you doing?” She clutched her white t-shirt against her chest as if it were a shield.

“Going to take a shower and hit the hay.”

“Uh-uh, Hansen. I take the first shower. Remember?”

Shit. Already messing up. I’d never been good at following rules. She should have known that by now.

“You get one do-over. So, don’t mess up again.” She pivoted back to the wall to grab a small bag. With it in one hand and t-shirt in the other, she walked to the bathroom, the door slamming behind her.

Did that mean she also got a do-over if she broke a rule?

About thirty minutes later, Lucia came out of the bathroom in the white t-shirt, a plume of steam in her wake. In addition to the t-shirt, she had on a pair of gray sweatpants she might have worn in college, they were so faded. I knew she didn’t wear a bra by the slight pebbling over exactly where her nipples would be.

Jesus. Fucking. Christ.

“You look cozy,” I said, holding my clean, folded boxers in a tight grip.

She dropped her bag on the floor and wound her long, wet hair up in a bun on top of her head. She looked much younger than her twenty-eight years in that moment.

“Don’t make fun.” Lucia strode to the bed, taking the right side.

Seems like she was better at remembering rules than I was.

And I really wanted to know what her do-over would entail when she inevitably broke one of her own rules.

Lucia

Sleep never refused me. I was the type of person who fell asleep once my head hit the pillow. Even in high-stress situations, I never had issues catching z’s. Except this time. I was wide awake and pleading for the dreamland express.

No such luck.

I didn’t want to say it was because Hansen was next to me, snoozing away for the last couple of hours, as if sharing a bed with me was completely normal. But my logical mind said yeah, that’s exactly why, because—OMG—it was too weird being in the same bed with him. If I weren’t there, feeling his hot heat against my flesh, I’d think it was all a dream.

What was actually happening to me right now?

My back was to him, but I may as well have been on top of him—that’s how my brain worked out this scenario. Of course, I focused on that image. Me on top of him… Me rocking his world. Me envisioning every comment I’d made a month ago on repeat in my brain. Stop it.

I had to admit he seemed to be less of a dick during this debacle so far. He had been kind of a gentleman about it and about our rules—well, my rules. He hadn’t touched me or traipsed around naked. And he hadn’t said anything crass since the bar. Was it wrong that I wished he would have pushed the envelope a little? I missed our flirtation—it was all we ever really had. Gentleman Hansen was not what I needed right now.

Since I’d met him two years ago at a New York Technology Professionals Society event, I knew he was a player. A smooth, dirty talker. We’d spent half a Sunday volunteering at the Food Bank, which was odd because I never imagined playboys had time to volunteer—or cared to. Not that I could judge; some men coined me a man eater. Whatever. After meeting him, I heard all the gossip. And though I wanted to know if he was as good in bed as what I’d heard, I knew it just wasn’t a good idea. Hence, our flirtation that would never go anywhere began.

And now, here we were, in the same bed. The irony was quite funny. I tried so hard to stay out of bed with him yet falling in bed with him took only a hotel booking software mishap.

I flipped to my opposite side, now facing him. Moonlight emptied into the room from the open blinds. The light kissed his graceful, yet powerfully structured profile. He looked so peaceful, innocent, as if he conducted his life in a saintly way. He was no saint. Neither was I.

Flush on his back, he stretched out his thick arms above his head. A sliver of flesh emerged from the motion. I bit my lip. How did the rest of him look under the t-shirt? I’d imagined it, not going to lie. I surmised it was pretty great. Long lines of ripped muscles and taut skin. I held my breath while watching him breathe in paced rhythm.

Suddenly, he stirred. My heart jumped at the prospect of being caught staring—not that staring was breaking a rule. Still, I didn’t need to add fuel to our mutual fire. I knew he thought the rules were ridiculous. And I was starting to wonder why had I been so worried about it. If Hansen and I did hook up, as we both wanted, we both could easily separate without emotion. He was only good for one thing. And I only wanted one thing.

Still, I flipped over on my other side, facing the balcony door again and away from him. When the loud beat of my heart calmed, the purr of his undisturbed breathing still vibrated through the air.

I sighed. Okay, this was ridiculous. I shouldn’t be losing sleep over this. And my God, it was so hot in the room, and the growing heat of our two bodies under the sheets didn’t help. These sweatpants are coming off. I peered over my shoulder, waiting for him to move again. He didn’t.

Just do it. I held my breath and counted to ten. The counts were slow in my mind, proving in each moment I was being juvenile. As I reached ten, Hansen turned on his opposite side, facing away from me. The scent of his soap wafted from his skin straight up my nostrils. Lemon and spice. And something affluent only a man who owned Louis Vuitton luggage would smell like. I held back a laugh. This was becoming too much. Now I really wished Mia had come instead of me.

One pant leg at a time, I eased down the fleece material. Sweet relief came in waves, but it didn’t last. Hansen was still next to me, after all, and now the sheet had fallen, exposing his sinewy back of power and muscles moving in tandem with his breath. My gaze moved lower, straight to the perfect globes of his ass outlined in his boxers. I bit my lip.

Something had to give.