The Professional by Laine Stockton

Author:Laine Stockton
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Published: 2020-04-02T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWELVE

Cora

I lay flat on my back staring up at my ceiling and wondering just what in the hell had come over me last night. I’d jumped in a pool, dripped water all over Sarah Summers’ beautiful apartment, and, most shockingly, I’d made out with Alex Flynn on the patio like a teenager afraid of waking up her parents after prom.

I squeezed my eyes shut at the memories, hoping that I might be able to erase them from my brain with enough concentrated effort. Nope, not happening. They were scarred there forever, for better or worse. I groaned and rolled over, hoping to go back to sleep so I could forget for just another couple hours.

That also didn’t happen. My brain was too active to fall back to sleep. All I could remember was the feel of Alex’s lips on mine, of his hard, muscular body pressed against me. It had felt perfect. For a moment. Then I’d woken up and realized exactly what I was doing, what a mistake I was making. I’d run away, fled inside and left him standing, wet from saving me, on the patio alone.

Was I a terrible person? No, I told myself, Alex is. He’d goaded me into doing something stupid. He didn’t know you’d jump into the pool like that, a little voice inside me whispered. No, but I’m sure he was thrilled that I did. So he could be the hero.

And he was.

And then I’d left him outside, wet and alone.

I checked my phone for the time. It was nine o’clock, way past my normal waking hour. I rolled out of bed and cautiously approached the door, listening at the crack for signs of movement. It was quiet. Too quiet. I pushed the door open and peered around the corner into the living room. Alex wasn’t there. Maybe he was sleeping?

With a quick glance around, I approached his door and listened, trying to hear footfalls or maybe faint snores.

“Good morning.” Alex’s voice came from the other side of the room and I lurched away from the door. Of course he’d come upstairs to find me listening at his door. How much more embarrassing could it get? Wait, no. Don’t answer that.

“Alex!” I half-shrieked then caught myself. “Alex,” I said as formally as I could barefoot and in a nightgown. “You’re up.” An obvious statement that didn’t give him much to go on; he just stood there and looked at me. An awkward tension threatened to descend. I could feel it beginning to drip over my shoulders and leak down my back.

“I’m staying in the house today,” I said, moving away from his door and into the kitchen where I started to prepare a pot of coffee. “So you do whatever you want.”

He was quiet and I could feel his eyes on the back of my head. They seemed to say, Seriously? We’re not going to talk about this? No, Alex. No, we are not. We are going to pretend that last night’s

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