My chest aches.

Why did it harm a lot to see him with another person?

There’s a knock on my door and I almost fall out of the bathtub as I scramble to get dried off and slip on a gown. My coronary heart is racing. Who could possibly be right here at the moment? I grip my telephone, able to dial 911. I tiptoe to the door and peek via the little gap and my abdomen dips.

Aidan Willoughby stands there holding a bag in his hand, trying like each lady’s moist dream.

Blond hair that may be a little raveled, plump lips, broad shoulders, his jaw peppered in scruff that I lengthy to really feel towards my fingertips. Once more.

Wait. We hate him proper now.

Preserve your head on straight, lady.

He in all probability simply dropped off his lover on his approach over right here.

“I can hear you respiratory, Mazie. Open the door.”

“Don’t boss me round. I’ll open it if I need to open it.” I take a minute to rapidly pat my bun that I’d tied on high of my head once I obtained within the tub and look down to ensure my gown is closed earlier than whipping the door open. “It’s late. What are you doing right here?”

His eyes scan my physique and I squeeze my thighs collectively.

I can’t react to this man.

I’m a powerful lady.

I can’t be disrespected nor fall for the charms of a participant.

“I, uh, I needed to drop this off.” He holds out an Athleta bag. I look inside and see a present card.

“What is that this?”

“I nonetheless really feel dangerous about ruining your outfit. So, I obtained you a present card as a result of Sabrina mentioned they promote nice athletic put on for ladies.”

I huff on the point out of her identify.

“It’s nearly ten o’clock at evening. You simply went there now?” I don’t know why that’s the primary query I’ve.

“Nicely, they closed at 9, however Sabrina is aware of the shop supervisor and so they let me in to seize a present card actually fast.” He shoves his fingers in his pockets as he stands out within the hallway, and I glare at him.

“Nicely, please inform your lover thanks for considering of me.” I try to slam the door in his face, and he chuckles and places his hand as much as cease the door from closing.

Why is that this humorous? I’m not laughing.

“She’s not my lover.”

“Oh. She’s your girlfriend then? Good for you. I hope you’ll be very completely happy collectively.” Once more, I attempt to slam the door in his face, but when I’m being trustworthy, I’m not making an attempt that onerous. I need to hear what he has to say, I simply don’t need to admit it.

“Are you jealous?” His tongue dips out to moist his backside lip, and I almost combust.

Rattling this man.

I huff and gasp and make all kinds of noises to let him understand how outrageous that’s. “Jealous? Of what? We’re nothing.”

“I don’t agree.”

“You don’t get to agree or disagree, you…you…soiled, slimy…douchey-player,” I spew, and he bursts out laughing in response.

“Mazie.” He steps nearer to me.

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