When I wake the next morning, the blazing sun streams in through the unadorned windows. As the rays slant across my face, I roll over, clutching the pillow to me.
I feel… absolutely marvelous. Which is surprising, because I drank my fair share last night.
The party was fantastic. I make a mental note to call Dominic later and thank him again for everything. I don’t think the evening could have been more perfect. And I really enjoyed meeting all his friends and colleagues.
Maybe he’ll be able to set aside a little time this week to meet for lunch. We’ve always been close, but since my parents died, we’ve become even closer. It’s nice living near him again. Nice to know that if I want to drop by at a moment’s notice, I’m only forty-five minutes away.
Just as I’m about to snuggle into the blankets and go back to sleep, my eyes shoot open as I remember in vivid Technicolor what transpired on the terrace last night.
Oh my God!
Did I seriously do that?
I pull the pillow over my face before screaming into it.
Laughter mingled with disbelief spills from my lips. The masturbation itself doesn’t bother me. It’s not like I haven’t done that before. But touching myself while listening to another couple having sex is certainly a first for me.
In all honesty, I don’t care.
No one but me knows what happened. It’s not like those two were cognizant of anything but themselves.
Clearly.
If anyone should be embarrassed, it’s them.
Not me.
Pushing thoughts of last night from my mind, I roll out of the king-sized bed and step in front of the windows. It must be around ten or so and the weather looks fabulous. Not a cloud in the bright, azure-colored sky. My eyes fall to the street below. Traffic is heavy, which is normal. Even on a lazy Saturday morning, everyone has somewhere to be and are in a hurry to get there. For a few minutes, I watch a couple of joggers on the sidewalk that winds along the edge of the lake.
A pang of longing shoots through me as I follow their progress.
Once upon a time, that used to be me.
I haven’t run in so long.
I guess I lost the drive to do it.
When my life fell apart, running fell by the wayside. For the first time in years, a spark of desire to feel my feet pounding against the pavement flows through me. To feel my lungs burn as I gasp for breath. To feel my muscles sting as I push them past their limit.
Without thinking, I go to my dresser, pulling out a sports bra, shorts, and a hot pink tank top. I dress quickly and gather my long blond hair into a ponytail. I don’t give myself any time to reconsider my decision as I grab my phone and a pair of earbuds before heading toward the door.
I don’t have to run far.
I can walk part-way if I need to.
The point is to get back out there and do something I’ve always enjoyed. Something that makes me happy. My dad encouraged me to run when I was in middle school. He ran every single day of his adult life, rain or shine. I think that’s one of the reasons he enjoyed living in Seattle. He could be out on the streets in January or February instead of running laps on an indoor track. Once I worked up enough stamina and could run a couple miles, we started entering 5K’s together. A year before he died, we ran a half marathon. A framed picture of us with our arms wrapped around each other after the race sits on my dresser.
It’s one of my favorite photos.
Stepping onto the elevator, I stick my earbuds in before scrolling through the playlists on my phone. I need music that will get my blood pumping. I’m just about to reach over and press the lobby button when someone beats me to the punch.
Not expecting anyone else in the enclosed space, my head jerks up, and my eyes collide with espresso-colored ones. I suck in a breath as my neighbor’s dark gaze stays pinned to mine.
The way he’s staring at me…
It’s like he knows…
No.
There’s no way in hell that he’s aware of what I was doing out on the balcony last night.
Or that I was even out there in the first place.
I was quiet. Like a mouse.
He can’t possibly know. I’m overreacting. This is paranoia getting the better of me.
Even though it’s Saturday morning, he’s wearing another dark suit and crisp white button-down shirt. The top button has been left unfastened, and he isn’t wearing a tie. A smattering of dark, crinkly hair is visible at his neckline.
Slowly, he lifts a hand, and I find myself mesmerized by the movement.
God… those hands!
My insides shudder with pent-up longing.
Oh-so-slowly, he swipes his thumb across his lower lip. My mouth waters.
Holy hell.
What am I doing? What’s happening to me? This isn’t a normal reaction.
My gaze abruptly jerks back to his. My mouth tumbles open as his eyes slide down the length of my body. My nipples-damn them-tighten under his intense perusal, which feels like a physical caress.
I stifle the whimper of need poised on the tip of my tongue. I realize that I’m wearing nothing more than tiny running shorts, an athletic bra-which does nothing to hide my arousal-and a thin tank top.
When his hooded gaze flicks up to mine, heat radiates from every pore of my body.
If the hungry look in his eyes is any indication, he knows that I not only sat there like a perv while listening to him screw another woman, but got off on it, too. Literally. I literally shimmied out of my panties, spread my thighs, and stroked myself until I came just as hard as the woman he was pleasuring.
Good Lord, even though I thought I’d been quiet, he still heard me.
Kill me now.
I can’t take the way he’s staring at me. Like he’s already stripped me bare and is on the verge of fucking me the way he did that woman. I’m ashamed to admit, even in the privacy of my own head, that I’m conflicted.
Because I want it.
I want him.
And yet…
Before the elevator doors fully open, I squeeze through, shooting out of the car like my ass is on fire. George barely has enough time to open the front door before I fly through.
“Have a good day, Ms. Castile!”
I imagine that by the time my sexy, next-door neighbor reaches the sidewalk, I’m already halfway down the block. I’d also be willing to bet that a satisfied smirk mars his darkly handsome face.
It’s amazing how the hot burn of humiliation can spur you into running three miles in less than thirty minutes. But it does. I guess I’ll have to thank him for making my first run in two years a good one.
Ha!
Not going to happen.
If I never see that man again, it’ll be much too soon.