Complicated Girl (Baker Street Romance #2)(27)
Author: Mimi Strong

Drew looks at my shirt, and his jaw stops moving, mid-chew.

I’m wearing the I ♥ BJ shirt.

Drew watches me as I grab the jam jar, dip my finger into the jam and then slowly suck it off my finger.

His gray sweatpants give him no privacy at all. I can see him rising to my challenge.

I lick some more jam as he watches, then I get up from my chair and kneel down in front of him. I give him an innocent look as I nuzzle my face along his thighs, moving up.

After teasing him with gentle nudges for a few minutes, I reach up and pull down the sweatpants. He closes his eyes as I lean forward and pretend he’s got jam all over him.

His body is all tension and urgency, and I enjoy having the control. I take it slow, easing him into relaxation and drawing it out. I take a short break and look up at him. The words come from my mouth without any pre-thought: “Say my name. Tell me what I am. Angel or devil?”

“Megan,” he says softly. “You’re a devil and an angel all wrapped up in one, Megan.”

Smiling, I take him back into my mouth and drive him to completion.

Even though I’m not technically the one being satisfied, I feel very satisfied by the time I help him pull his sweatpants back up.

“That was great,” he says. “You’re too good to me.”

“I know. What can I say? I can be a really nice girl.” I take my seat again, the heat of my arousal comfortably contained, like fireflies in a jar.

He finishes his coffee and pours another cup from the carafe.

“So, this weekend,” he says, picking up on the conversation from two sex acts ago. “Dinner on Saturday night at six?”

“Only if you tell me where you live.”

He chuckles. “I think I’m willing to take the security risk.”

The washing machine interrupts us with its load-finished chime.

Drew follows me down toward the laundry room, and I give him a tour of the rest of the house along the way.

“Great house,” he says with admiration. “When did you say your mother was coming back?”

I open the washing machine and start pulling out the clothes we were wearing last night.

“She might never come back. The woman just loves Europe, apparently.”

“Do you miss her? My parents live ten blocks away from me. I can’t imagine them being gone for so long.”

I keep moving, putting the clothes into the dryer. I stop on Drew’s trousers. “Uh-oh. The grass stains on the knees didn’t wash out.”

“Did you pre-treat them?”

“Of course I did.”

“Did you let the stuff sit for twenty minutes before you put them in the wash?”

“Sort of,” I say, which is a lie. I threw them straight in. “Don’t worry, I’ll run them through again.”

Drew pulls the other wet clothes back out of the dryer. “What’s going on here? These are all different colors. Don’t you sort by colors?”

I squirt the pre-wash on Mr. Fussbucket’s grass stains. “Calm down, dude. There’s nothing bright red in there. I’m not a complete idiot.”

He pulls out his dress shirt and scowls at it. “There’s a grass stain on the elbow of this shirt.”

I snatch it from his hand. “Fine. I’ll pre-treat that one too, even though it’s barely visible.”

“Don’t get huffy. I’m not mad at you. I just don’t want to go into work late, doing the walk of shame with grass stains on my clothes. People will talk.”

I empty the rest of the bottle of stain remover on Drew’s grass stains, then keep squeezing, making the plastic bottle fart noisily.

“Let them talk.”

He lets out an exasperated sigh. “I’m actually running out of time. Do you mind if I borrow these sweats? I’ll just swing by my house on the way to work.”

“Come with me. My mother’s got some guy clothes in her room.”

Drew seems reluctant, but I grab his hand and haul him along behind me.

We go into my mother’s room, where Drew sits on the edge of the bed while I open up the second closet—the one my mother doesn’t actually use.

Drew looks surprised by what’s in the second closet. “There’s a whole wardrobe in there, and it’s not bad.”

I shrug. “I guess the guy had good taste.” I start laying some dress shirts and trousers on the bed.

“I almost hate to ask, but… why would someone leave so many clothes behind? These aren’t brand new, but they’re nice. Did your mother’s boyfriend… pass away?”

“My mother’s never had a boyfriend. Not until now, in Europe. With the Italian or the Jamaican or whoever it is.”

I hold one of the light brown shirts up to Drew’s neck. This khaki shade is a good color on him, but he’s so cute, I can’t imagine any color looking bad.

He takes the shirt from my hands, and then takes both my hands in his. He’s still sitting on the edge of the bed, and I’m standing in front of him. Does he want to fool around again, already? Grinning, I move forward and sit on his lap. I lean down for a kiss, but he pulls his face away.

“Whose clothes are these?” he asks.

“Does it matter?”

“You tell me.”

I push back and get off his lap. It was stupid of me to bring him in here. I should have let the pre-wash soak on the grass stains. I’m always so stupid and impulsive and impatient.

“Talk to me,” he says.

I take the khaki shirt off the hanger and toss it on the bed next to him, along with a pair of dark brown slacks. The other clothes, I put back in the closet, back to where they came from.

“I don’t like to talk about it,” I say.

He crosses his arms. “I’m not leaving this room until you do.”

“Just go. You can’t be late for work. You have an important job. People are waiting for you. Patients. You don’t have time for my dumb stuff.”

“You’re wrong. My job isn’t that important. Not today, anyway. They can reschedule my appointments, or my partners can take over for me today. Meenie, I think there’s a reason I got grass stains on my clothes.”

I chortle. “There sure is. The reason is that you’re an insatiable sex beast, and you had to take me on my lawn because you couldn’t wait another minute to get your hands on—” I slap my h*ps twice for emphasis. “—all of this booty.”

Drew’s face is still serious, his brown eyes drawing me to him. “Look at me. Look at us. We’re here together because both of us went to a self-help group—a self-help group we didn’t mean to go to. You thought it was a weight loss group, and I thought I was going to a seminar on investing.”