Hit the Spot

If she fucking left …

“Legs,” I hollered, rounding the couch and crossing the room when she didn’t answer.

The laundry room was next to the kitchen, and I stopped in there and pulled on a pair of mesh running shorts before cutting through the dining room I never used as a dining room—had a pool table set up in there—getting to the front door, swinging it open, and peering outside.

The streetlamp at the end of the driveway was shining on Tori’s car. It was parked behind my Jeep.

She hadn’t left. Good.

Now where the fuck was she?

I closed and locked the door, then hit the stairs and took them two at a time. The upstairs hallway was dark, so when I reached the top, it was obvious which room Tori was in.

My old room.

Fuck yeah. I was gonna get to see her in there. Been wanting that.

I stopped in the doorway, going unnoticed, and pressed my shoulder against the frame, pulling my arms across my chest as I watched her.

Tori was dressed again, wearing the frayed jean shorts and steel blue sleeveless top she showed up in that felt like silk and billowed at her waist. Her back was to me and her hair was down—long, tangled waves that looked messy from fucking. She was barefoot and stood on her toes to peer at the trophies on the back of my old dresser. Her calves tensed. Her hands curled around the beveled lip of the wood, keeping her balanced.

I loved her barefoot in my house. I loved her clothes on my floor. I wished they were still there.

“Wow … seven? Really?” Tori mumbled under her breath, pausing to stretch higher on her toes, then whispering, “That’s so cool.”

“Seven what?” I asked.

She startled with a gasp and spun around, hand pressing to her chest as it heaved. “God, Jamie, you scared the life out of me.” She took several deep breaths and tucked a stray curl behind her ear. “Wear a bell or something.”

I smirked and pushed off from the frame, crossing the room and repeating, “Seven what?”

Tori looked from my bare chest to my face, then glanced behind her and pointed over her shoulder. “You were seven when you won that trophy. That just seems so young to me.” She turned back around. “Was that the first competition you ever won?” she asked, looking up into my eyes after I reached her.

I nodded, knowing which trophy she was talking about. I didn’t need to search it out and, instead, kept my gaze on her and the red glop she had smeared on her bottom lip.

It glistened near the corner of her mouth.

“How’d you know I was seven?” I asked, taking her face between my hands and bending down. Her eyes froze. She pulled in a breath a second before I drew her lip into my mouth and sucked, tasting sweet strawberry filling on my tongue. “Been eatin’ my Pop-Tarts?” I teased, leaning back but keeping hold of her face.

Her mouth twitched.

“I was hungry,” she admitted softly, sucking a little on her lip now, too. “And the, uh, trophy was dated.”

“Doesn’t explain how you know I was seven.”

“I may have looked at your license. I know you’re twenty-eight.” She watched my brow arch, then looked back into my eyes. “Your wallet was on the counter,” she explained on a quick voice. “I saw it when I was getting my snack and was curious what your middle name was.” She tipped her chin up and smiled, whispering, “Jamie Carter McCade. I like it. I like that you’re four years older than me, too.”

“Yeah?” I mumbled, sliding my thumbs along her soft pink cheeks.

She nodded, then her face fell. “Is it okay that I did that?” she asked, eyes troubled as they jumped between mine. “I just looked at your license. I didn’t look through the whole wallet.”

I shrugged, explaining, “Lookin’ ’cause you wanna know shit about me. I want you knowin’, babe. You can look all you want.”

Tori smiled again, liking my views on her snooping through my shit. “’Kay,” she murmured.

“What else do you like?”

She smiled bigger. I felt her warm hands take hold of my hips.

“Well, just going off your license, I like that you’re six-three and an organ donor,” she shared, stepping closer until I felt the fabric of her shirt against my stomach. “And that you’re a Scorpio. The Aries in me really likes that.”

I slowly shook my head. “Jesus,” I chuckled. “You follow that shit? You sound like Quinn.”

“No,” she giggled. “Not really. I just know which signs I’m compatible with and which ones to stay away from.”

“Yeah?” I dipped my head until our foreheads touched. “Should’ve checked my wallet nine months ago, babe. Saved us the time.”

“No way. Then we never would’ve had our bet.”

“And?”

“And I liked our bet,” she admitted sweetly, rubbing her hands up and down my back. “Didn’t you?”

“Like what we’re doin’ now better.”

“Yeah,” she sighed. Her nose wrinkled. “This is okay.”

My brows grew tight.

Tori watched this happen and laughed quietly, then she linked her hands behind my back. “You have eleven trophies in here and eight in your other room,” she stated.

“Yeah.”

“Plus six in that office downstairs.”

I smirked. Fuck yeah. She’d gone around counting.

“And one in the bathroom,” she continued. “Which, I really don’t understand that placement but I’m assuming it’s there so guests will see it.”