Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 98909 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98909 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
“Thanks,” I mumble, still needing to move.
But after a long day, followed by a long shift, topped off by mind-melting sex, exhaustion finally claims me, and I’m asleep before Keaton even replies.
Not Sure of the Etiquette
Keaton
There’s a naked man sprawled on my bed.
Cue: minor panic attack.
Only minor, though, because I locked the door after myself last night. So unless one of our frat brothers decides to kick down the door, the chances of anyone discovering Luke Bailey in my bed are slim.
I roll onto my side and prop an arm beneath my head. Luke’s facedown on the mattress, bare-assed, one muscular arm curled over the pillow he stole from me at some point in the night.
My gaze skims over the sinewy lines of his ridiculous body. Now I understand why he’s so ripped—he spends his weekends dancing, toning his tight body and working those muscles hard. I feel a throb down south, and it’s more than just morning wood.
Heat tickles my chest as I remember what we did last night. Luke’s powerful body crushing mine, his hips moving in the same sensual rhythm as when he danced for those screaming women. Only he wasn’t dancing. He was fucking me senseless.
Okay.
So I’m bisexual. I try that out in my head. Scientists like to label things. I’m a scientist. But the idea of labeling myself isn’t comfortable yet. Besides, the data set is still small. It was only last night. And that one other time. And the kiss.
Plus all those sexts over the app…
A sleepy groan interrupts my thoughts, and suddenly his eyes slit open. “Are you watching me sleep, Hayworth?” he mumbles. “Because that’s creepy.”
“I’d be sleeping myself if some jackass didn’t lay claim to all the pillows.” I give him a pointed look.
His expression grows more alert, and he looks at the pillow he’s been cuddling with, as if just realizing it’s there. “Ah. Sorry. Yeah, I’m a pillow thief. Blanket hog, too. Also…” He stops awkwardly, then sits up and rakes his fingers through his rumpled hair. “I don’t usually sleep with people. Not sure of the etiquette.”
I’m not surprised to hear it. Sharing a bed with someone requires a level of trust that Luke Bailey doesn’t seem to feel toward many people. I’m pretty sure the only reason he crashed in my room was because he was dead-ass tired.
“Anyway.” Before I can blink, he’s sliding off the mattress. “I need to shower and work on my finance interview.”
My eyes hungrily devour his body as he rummages around for the towel he was wearing last night. Oh, fuck me. I want to get off with him again. “Are you working again tonight?” I ask thickly.
“Yeah.” He wraps the towel around his waist, offering a stern look. “And don’t even think about showing up at the club.”
“Why not? Can’t perform if someone you know is in the audience?”
“Something like that.” He heads for the door. “Later, Hayworth.”
“Wait.”
He stops, but doesn’t turn around. I frown. He’s clearly eager to bounce, and I don’t like it. Is he freaked out about last night? Fuck, am I a bad lay? My list of sexual partners is a short one: Annika. And now Luke Bailey.
Insecurity creeps into me. “Are we cool?” I ask the back of his head.
He glances over his shoulder, nodding briskly. “Yeah. For sure.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Last night…it was good?”
There’s a long pause. Luke’s Adam’s apple jumps as he swallows. When he speaks, his voice is slightly hoarse. “It was better than good,” he says before sliding out the door.
I spend the rest of the morning alone in my room, trying to concentrate on the essay I’m writing for the Chile internship. It’s due Monday, and I’ve been struggling with it all week. I’m supposed to write about the unique intellectual gifts I can offer the scientific team.
Like that’s not an intimidating topic. And today I can’t focus because my mind keeps drifting back to last night.
I had sex with a man. And I’m not freaking out about it. Not much anyway. And why is that?
Also, why do I care that Bailey skulked out of here within three seconds of waking up in my bed? It’s not like I expected us to cuddle and act all lovey-dovey. We barely know each other. Hell, it wasn’t long ago that I hated his guts.
But it bothers me that he left, because I don’t know what it means. Are we one-and-done? He got my ass, and now he’s off in search of a new man—or woman—to hook up with? I wish I could talk to someone, pick their brain about this, but who on earth would I tell? I’m not confiding in Judd or any of my other teammates. And no way I’m seeking the advice of a frat brother.
The one person I’d normally talk to is hooking up with some lacrosse player.