PIPPA COMES HOME the next evening with Daisy and stops short in the kitchen, tilting her head with a surprised smile.
“What’s this?” she asks, gesturing at the massive mess I’ve made.
I rub the back of my neck, feeling stupid. I can’t believe I thought this was a good idea.
“Dinner,” I manage, meeting her gaze before looking away. “I made dinner for us.”
I’m a fucking wreck. I can’t stop thinking about her having orgasms in her room with the toy, and I can’t stop worrying she’ll find out it’s from me. She must not know I sent it—it’s the only explanation for why she hasn’t quit or called HR. When I think about her moving out, I feel sick. When I imagine the look on her face as she finds out I bought it for her, I want to tear my hair out.
I’ve tried compartmentalizing Pippa. I’ve tried placing her in a separate box in my mind and saving thoughts of her lush mouth, perfect tits, and round, smackable ass for the moment I climb into bed every night.
None of it’s working. She’s constantly in my thoughts, and me buying her that toy is a looming axe above whatever we are.
I’m falling apart, so I’m making dinner for us. I don’t know why. I don’t seem to understand logic anymore. Not where Pippa’s concerned.
She blinks. “I didn’t know you could cook.”
I shrug like it doesn’t matter. “You don’t have to eat it if you don’t want to.”
“I do want to,” she says quickly. “I’m just surprised.” She tips a smile at me, and my nerves settle a fraction. “Pleasantly surprised.” Is she blushing? She wanders to the oven and peers in. “Enchiladas?”
I nod. “Black bean, yam, and spinach. Ready in twenty.”
She heads upstairs to drop her stuff, and I blow out a long breath as my head falls back. Five minutes later, I’m loading the dishwasher when she returns to the kitchen. She reaches to pass me a bowl, and our fingers brush. Electricity spikes through our touch, and I jerk back.
“What’s up with you?” She gives me an amused, curious look. “You’re so jumpy.”
My shoulders tense. “I’m fine.”
She snorts. “Jamie, your shoulders are at your ears. Do you need a massage or something?”
My cock stiffens, thinking about her soft hands kneading into my neck. Jesus fuck. “I don’t need a massage,” I blurt out.
She puts her hands up. “I didn’t say I was going to do it. Relax.”
I’m fucking blowing this. I drag a breath in. Pippa moves in front of the sink to wash a knife, and without thinking, my hands are on her shoulders, moving her away.
“I’ll clean up. I didn’t make this mess so you can clean up after me.”
“I know.” She shrugs under my hands. “I’m happy to help. I live here, too.”
“Pippa. Sit down.”
She sets the clean knife on the drying pad and turns to me with a worried look. “Did I do something wrong?”
“No.” I hate myself. “I’m sorry. I’m stressed out today.”
Her mouth twists. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
There I go again, picturing her sinking to her knees and taking me between her pretty lips. I’m about to say no, but another image appears in my head. Us sitting in the living room in the middle of the night while she plays the guitar.
“Music.” I fold my arms across my chest, leaning against the counter. “That would help.”
A smile lifts on her mouth and she reaches for her phone. “I can play DJ, no problem.”
“No.”
Her gaze snaps up to mine, one eyebrow raised.
“You.”
Her mouth twists to the side again, but she holds my gaze. “That was a one-time thing.” She smiles like she’s kidding, but vulnerability flashes through her eyes, and my chest aches.
I lift my eyebrows at her. “I made dinner.” Just like her, I’m teasing, but I’m also not.
We stare at each other, and I feel her resolve fading.
“Come on, songbird,” I murmur. “You going to make me beg?”
She huffs, rolling her eyes. “Fine. But only because you’re clearly having a bad day.” A little smile curves on her pretty mouth and her eyes lose that hesitant expression from a moment ago. She heads to the stairs.
She returns with her guitar and takes a seat on the couch. I stand in the messy kitchen, staring as she positions the guitar on her lap, looping the strap over her shoulder.
It feels almost too good to be true.
“I’ve been playing around with some stuff,” she admits with a funny, almost-embarrassed smile that makes me want to kiss her again. “It isn’t very good.”
The breath leaves my lungs in a huff. “I’ll be the judge of that.”
“Okay.” She smiles to herself and begins to play.
Her music fills the apartment, and a warm, tight pressure surges in my chest. The song she’s singing is hopeful, sweet, and fun. The lyrics are about getting back up on the horse after falling off. Pippa’s voice is soft but strong, and she has control over her notes like a professional. She makes it look easy and effortless.
As she sings about moving on from tough times, I wonder if I have anything to do with this, if the pep talk I gave her before the wrap party about getting back on the ice made any impact.
I really, really hope it did.
She sings a line about finding someone better, and an ugly thought strikes me. What if she’s thinking about moving on with someone else? I imagine her swiping on a dating app, and I feel sick. I picture guys knocking on our front door to pick her up, and my jaw hurts from clenching.
The tune ends, and she shoots me an embarrassed smile. “Not a lot of cleaning happening over there,” she teases.
I blink, shaking myself. “Did you write that?”
She nods. “I know it needs work.”
“Why do you do that?” I ask without thinking. “Cut yourself down like that.”
Discomfort flashes across her face, and she shifts her feet beneath her legs. “Um.” Her lashes flutter. “I guess I say it first so others won’t.” She looks over at me, and I definitely want to kiss her again, even just to distract her from the assholes who made her feel like she wasn’t good enough.
“I’d never do that, songbird.”
She holds my gaze before she gives me a small nod. “I know.”
I’m so fucking gone for this girl.
“How can anyone ever say yes to you if you say no to yourself first?” I ask. She chews her lip, watching me, and instead of pushing the issue, I just twirl my finger in the air. “Next.”
She laughs, and the tension dissipates. “Demanding.”
As I clean up, Pippa continues to play. Daisy snoozes on the couch, and when the timer rings, I dish out and gesture for Pippa to sit down at the table I’ve set.
The air hums with excitement. This feels like a date. No. Not a date. This feels like… something more. Something natural, easy, and necessary. Like we’re a couple or something. Daisy’s eating her dinner from the slow-feeder bowl I bought her, and Pippa watches with amusement as her tail wags.
This feels like family.
My stomach tightens. We’re not, and I know that. This is just me trying to smooth things over with her so I don’t lose someone I really need this year.
Pippa takes a bite and hums with appreciation. “Jamie, this is great.”
I smile at my plate. “Thanks. I used to make it for my mom when I was a kid.”
She quirks a funny smile at me, half-confused, half-amused. “You were cooking as a kid?”
I nod, gripping my water glass. The memories flood back—my mom’s dim room in the middle of the day, curtains closed, her under the covers, fast asleep. All she did was sleep for weeks at a time until she rose out of the funk she was in. That’s what she called them—funks.
“Okay,” Pippa says, leaving it be.
It’s her reaction that makes me want to share more. The way she gives me space tells me she’ll keep it between us. She’d never tell the media or her friends.
“My mom had depression when I was a kid. Sometimes I had to cook for myself.”
Her concerned gaze meets mine, but there’s no pity behind her eyes. “Oh. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. I managed it.”
Understanding passes over her features, and a small smile lifts on her face. “That’s why you take care of everyone.”
I just shrug. “I have no choice.”
She reaches across the table, covers my hand with hers, and gives it a warm squeeze. Her skin is soft, and my hand tenses under hers so I don’t haul her into my lap like at the wrap party.
“Sorry,” she whispers, yanking her hand back at my grim expression.
This is going all wrong. We eat in awkward, tense silence, and when we’re done, she gets up to clear the plates, but I stop her.
“I’ll do it.” My tone comes out sharper than I wanted.
She takes a seat on the couch and picks up her guitar again. She plays another song while I clean the kitchen more thoroughly than ever. If I stop, she’ll stop playing, and I’m desperate to hear her voice. Her singing on the couch makes this apartment feel like a home.
Her song ends and she glances over at me with a small smile. “I think you got that spot.”
I look down to where I’m scrubbing the spotless countertop.
She bites her lip, her nerves written all over her face. “Sit with me?”
My feet are already moving to the living room. I can’t say no to her, it seems. I drop down in the chair facing her.
She pauses, offering me a hesitant look. “Are we okay?”
I jerk a nod. “We’re fine, Pippa.”
She studies me, chewing her bottom lip, and I can’t stop thinking about what that bottom lip felt like between my teeth as I kissed her at the wrap party.
Fucking hell, what I wouldn’t do to experience that again.
Silence stretches between us before I shoot to my feet. I’m on edge, and I’m going to do something stupid if I sit down here with her.
I make it all the way to the hall outside my room when her voice stops me.
“Is this about the toy you bought me?” She climbs the last of the stairs, folding her arms over her chest.
My gut drops. Of course she figured it out. “Pippa.” I drag in a breath. “I’m so sorry.”
She stares at me. I can’t read her expression. “Why?”
I shake my head, feeling sick with nerves. “It crossed a line. You told me that in confidence and—” I cut myself off, frustrated. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. I had too many beers and I’d been thinking about you all day.” Shit, I didn’t mean to say that. “Because we’d been texting. I’d been thinking nonstop about what you said at the wrap party.” My eyes meet hers, and heat roars in my blood. “I like you being here. I like you playing music in the apartment and I like you coming to my games.”
Her mouth tips up into a smile. “I like going for walks with you, and you making dinner.”
My heart aches. All I can do is nod. I can’t believe I almost fucked this up because I was horny.
She tucks her hands in the sleeves of her sweater. “And I like going to your games and hanging out with your mom.”
Now we’re just listing more reasons why I shouldn’t have done what I did.
Her tongue darts out to wet her lips. “I used it.”
I stifle a groan at the memory of listening to her coming all over the toy. I can only imagine what it looked like. I can’t stop imagining what it looked like.
I can’t lie. “I know.”
“You do?” Her eyes go wide.
“This place isn’t soundproof.” I rub the bridge of my nose. Now that she knows, maybe she’ll be more careful so I don’t have to walk around with an erection all day.
She shifts, squeezing her thighs together. “I heard my name coming from your room the other day,” she whispers, cheeks flushing.
I freeze. Yesterday, I let her name slip when I was thinking about her, jerking off. Even remembering it sends blood rushing to my cock. “I didn’t hear you get home.”
We stare at each other for a long moment, and the air between us sparks. She bites her bottom lip and I watch the movement, fascinated. I wonder if she’d do that if I had my fingers buried inside her.
My eyes close. Fuck. No matter how hard I try, I can’t get those ideas out of my head. I feel myself getting hard.
“Jamie,” she breathes, and I look at her.
The look in her eyes tells me something dangerous is about to happen. She’s about to say something that I won’t be able to stop thinking about. I know it.
“What?” My voice is low.
“Why did you buy that toy for me?” Her lashes flutter. “The real answer.”
I take a step toward her. The thread holding my willpower together is close to snapping. “Because I wanted to give you something he couldn’t.”
Her gaze drops to my erection, and more blood rushes there.
“Because,” I continue, because I can’t seem to keep a fucking secret around this girl, “I wanted to make you come harder than ever, and that was the only way. And I don’t want anyone else to do it.”
Her throat works and she’s blushing again, but her eyes are locked on mine. The tension between us is thick and electric as I take another step toward her.
“Did it work?” I ask, because I can’t help myself.
Her breath is ragged as she nods, and my balls ache. I should go to my room. I’m about to snap with her looking at me like that.
My control frays, and I walk forward until her back is pressed against the wall. My chest brushes hers, and I can feel her breath on my neck as she tilts her head up to look into my eyes.
“You need to stop looking at me like that, songbird,” I tell her, leaning my forearm on the wall above her head.
“Or what?” she breathes.
“Or I’m going to lose my mind.” I say it like it hasn’t already happened. “I can’t stop thinking about you using that toy.”
A tiny smile ticks up on her mouth. Coy, teasing, and knowing, like she sees exactly what she’s doing to me.
Keeping my distance, I chant to myself. But the voice is getting quieter, farther away.
“You want to show me?” The words fall out of my mouth before I can catch them. My voice is low and thick.
There’s a beat between us where that fading voice in my head thrashes for attention, and I slam the mental door on it. This isn’t a relationship. Pippa has no experience in bed, and I do. Who better to show her what she’s worth than me, a man who thinks the world of her?
In the dim light of the hallway, her pupils blow. “Okay.”
My control snaps, and my hand wraps around the back of her neck, pulling her mouth to mine.
