Alphas & Millionaires Starter Set (24 page)

“Ugh, it smells wicked horrible.” I walk in the apartment and head right for the windows that overlook the street. I can still feel the ash embedded in my hair. “I’m getting in the shower, Riss,” I call as she plops to the couch.

“Your Boston’s showing,” she teases. Although we weren’t originally from Boston, the dialect was starting to rub off on me. “I’ll make breakfast,” she calls back. By breakfast, she means oatmeal and toast because that’s all she can make. I even put a sticker on the microwave so she remembers where to press. Otherwise, she burns her oatmeal.
Every single time.

“None for me, please,” I call out. I shut my bedroom door and disrobe. I’m not in the mood to eat. My stomach hasn’t stopped turning since the moment I was scooped off my bed.
That bed.
I turn to look at it and see that the covers are half off. It feels weird knowing that Eric has seen the inside of my bedroom. He probably didn’t have time to really look, but still.

The shower feels absolutely amazing. The warm water hits my face, washing all the dirt and ash off of me. I rinse my hair, washing it twice to make sure the smell is gone, and scrub my face, getting the ash out of my pores. I stay an extra ten minutes, just letting the water run over me.

Finally, I get out and reach for a towel.
Oh crap, wouldn’t you know—no towel.
Yet another downside to working on laundry day.

I peek out my bedroom door and call out to Carissa, “Riss! Can you bring me a towel?” I’m shivering from the open windows blowing air right over my bare skin. “Riss!”

Ugh, she’s not answering
. I peek out and see she’s nowhere to be found.
Oh, what the heck.
I tiptoe down the hall and across the living room. Our rooms are on opposite sides of the apartment, which benefits me greatly when she brings guy friends over. We have our own bathrooms as well, leaving little to argue about.

“Where the heck are you…son of a—” I quickly cover my parts with my freezing cold hands as I hear a laugh.
His
laugh. “Turn around!” I demand. He continues laughing, but finally covers his eyes.
Oh holy balls, he just saw me naked. Butt naked. And wet.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to disturb ya there.” The southern tone comes from his sweet lips.
Eric.

I dart my naked butt to Carissa’s bathroom and grab the closest towel.
Scooby Doo? Really, Riss?
She looks all female and sex appeal, but deep down she’s still so much a child.

I wrap myself up in Scooby and grab a smaller one for my hair. I come back out, blushing now. I could die right now.
Literally die.
I’m embarrassed I acted like that, but mostly I’m embarrassed because he just saw everything and more.
So. Much. More.

I tiptoe back out to the living room. He and Carissa are casually sitting on the couch, apart from each other. Carissa is good at getting what she wants. She never has a problem getting a man’s attention, but the way Eric is ignoring her and only pretending to be interested in what she’s saying is humorous and honestly, priceless. I can tell his lack of interest is annoying her, so she stands and huffs off.

“He’s all yours,” she whispers in my ear as she heads back to her room. I have no idea what she’s talking about, but I don’t bother to think about it as I’m standing in the middle of the apartment in only a towel.

“I’m, um, going to get dressed now. Is there something you needed?” I ask, hoping he gets the message to leave.

“Just wanted to make sure y’all were adjusting well.” The squeak in his voice tells me otherwise.

“We’re fine. Really, you don’t have to keep checking up on us. I don’t think the taxpayers are paying for that.” I cross my arms, keeping the towel in place.

He laughs at my dry humor. “No worries. It’s on the house,” he plays back, showing off all his perfect teeth again. “And we’re neighbors, so really, I’m just being neighborly.”

“I’ve never seen you around before.” I sound more accusing than I mean to.

“That’s because I just moved in.”

“Where are you from?” I ask, realizing he’s keeping me around longer than I intended.

“Canada,” he answers, breaking into laughter as he sees my confused expression. “Texas, actually.”
Figures.
Southern. Hot. And a Texan.

“Well, I appreciate the southern hospitality, or whatever it is you’re doing, but it really isn’t necessary.” I don’t know what I mean by that; I just want a reason to make him leave. The way my bare skin reacts to his voice makes me cringe inside. His emerald eyes pierce through me so far that I feel it all the way down to my toes. His smile is genuine and his voice charming.

“Perhaps I’ll see y’all around then.” He nods and lowers his head. He stands up and starts walking past me when I reluctantly grab him by the arm. I could die right now.
Literally die.

“Hold on.” He turns back around and faces me. I get a whiff of his musky scent, and instead of making my eyes water like the smell of cologne typically does, it makes me smile. His smell is so addicting it arrests my ability to speak or move.

“Yes?” he asks after I stand there saying nothing.

“Thank you again,” I say, eventually spitting the words out. “I mean it. You really did a sweet thing coming to help.” I realize my hand is still touching his arm, but I can’t find the strength to move it. He smiles so sweet and natural that I’m lost in it.

He takes my hand in his and moves it to his mouth. “It was my pleasure, Velaney.” He lays a soft kiss on the back of my hand and looks intently at my eyes again. We share a moment—or two—before he moves. “If you need anything, you know where I am.” He walks out leaving me completely breathless and confused.
If I need anything? Like what?
Perhaps an oxygen mask from constantly holding my breath around him…

* * *

Oh, frack, my body aches like a son-of-a-bizznatch.
I really need to work on my lack of synonyms.
Not only did I grow up with a father who screened my teeth every chance he had, but also my mother is a pastor. That’s right.
A pastor’s daughter right here.
My parents were constantly creating replaceable swear words—usually ridiculous ones. Bizznatch, fudge, tartar sauce, and holy biscuit were the common ones I heard over my childhood years. As much as my mother didn’t approve of any kind of swearing, she gave in to replaceable words. However, between my father and older brother, Aiden, there were slip-ups.

I wasn’t completely against swearing. Hell, shit, and damn were usually the ones my mother allowed to slip. She’d say Hell was a place, not a swear word, damn was something beavers made, and shit was something all animals do naturally. Why she had exceptions for those were beyond me…

I ran every day this week. I pushed myself harder and harder each day, letting out the sexual frustration that had secretly built up. As Carissa called it, my
pussy fairy
needed to twirl her magic wand and give me a big O or I’d run to the point of no longer feeling my insides.

I picked running.

I was fine with not having a man in my life. I had one relationship out of high school three years ago, so yeah, it may have been some time since the
pussy fairy
has spread her love, but running was my outlet. My sexual tension releaser—what I would tell Carissa anyway.

I stopped to catch my breath, and propped my sweaty hands on my knees. Bent over, I close my eyes and focus on catching my breath.
Just one more mile. I can do this.
I ran out of water a mile ago and am now running off pure rage. Rage I’ve been holding in since I was a little girl. Rage that my family has put me in…

Looking up, I see the sun rising—yellow and orange fluorescents stream in between the city buildings.

I swing my arms around, crack my neck and slam my feet to the pavement. Rage and anger are what fuel my runs every single day. A childhood filled with regret and pure hatred is the focus of it all. What sounds like the perfect childhood—dentist father, pastor-preacher mother—was anything but.

Oh God, I made it.
Oh, sweet, baby cheese balls—as my mother would say—I’m home. Desperate for air and water, I sprint to the elevator. I slam my body against the back of the elevator, except it’s not the wall I’m used to hitting my hands on.

I look up and see Eric. Shirtless. Sweaty. He smiles down at me, and my hands that are supposed to be smacking the wall are pressed up against his hard, sweaty chest.
Oh hells bells, he has a nipple ring. And tattoos. Good Lord, I’m doomed.

“I’m so sorry! Geez. I’m sorry, Eric. Did I hurt you?”
What a ridiculous question.

“Of course not. I should be asking you that.” He laughs, well aware of how hard his chest is. His chest hairs are covered in sweat, but surprisingly, he smells sweet. I’ve never had the urge to lick someone’s sweat before, but he gives that thought some merit.

“Can I sue for wrist damage?” I tease back. Of course, it was my fault for running into him, but my wrist really does hurt.

“Can we settle out of court, at least? I can’t have felonies on my record.” He smirks, and I swear I feel my heart beating out of my chest. Holy shizzwizzle, his body is wicked hot.

Insanely hot.

“I suppose I could. What are you offering?” I ask, crossing my arms, seeing if he plays along.

“I would settle for dinner,” he smiles, leaning back on the railing.

“Dinner? You’re a cheap—” Nope, I can’t say it. No matter how much I want to, I can’t get it out.

“Ass? Were you just about to call me a cheap-ass?” he asks, pretending to sound offended. I laugh, embarrassed that he even noticed.

“Yeah, but I failed miserably.” He continues laughing as I feel my cheeks heat. “I’m not some childish good girl, I promise. It’s just that every time I swear, or attempt to, that is, I see my mother’s sneering face in my head.”

“Oh?”

“I can’t swear.” I wave him off, not wanting to have that conversation. “Working out?” I ask, changing the subject. There’s more to the swearing thing than I ever plan to explain. Damn and hell are the only ones that I allow to slip out, especially because they don’t hold a painful memory in my mine…like the F bomb.

“Yeah, I run to the gym and back. Cardio and such,” he explains. He leans back against the wall, crossing his arms. “So, you can’t swear, huh? Did a bad ol’ witch put a spell on you or something?” He chuckles as if this is absolutely preposterous.

Bad ol’ witch?
Yeah, that’s a good name for my mother.

“Something like that,” I smirk back. “Wait, there’s no gym in this neighborhood,” I mention, changing the subject once again.

“I know. I run to the one by the university.”

“That’s like ten miles!” I gasp.
There and back.

He laughs. “Yeah. It’s nothing.” He shrugs as if he’s too macho to complain. “You should come with me some day. I’ve seen you out running all week.” My insides heat at the fact that he’s noticed. My legs weaken and I grab the railing behind me to keep myself up.

“I don’t know,” I vaguely respond. The elevator dings at the fourth floor.

“See ya ‘round, Velaney.” He walks out and turns around to face me. The doors close on his smile, leaving me completely breathless,
again.

I stumble back to my apartment, entirely taken aback. I’ve encountered men that were interested in me before, and even dated one guy, but Eric was affecting me differently than anyone ever has. Perhaps it’s because he saved me from smoke inhalation, or the fact that he saw me naked, but I couldn’t let it get to me. I wouldn’t. Men are just after one thing, and that one thing is on strike.
For now.

I grab my towel and head right for the shower. I have images of Eric in my head the entire time. His body. Covered in sweat. Sweet-smelling sweat. His dark hair brushed back, his piercing emerald eyes.
Oh God, get out of my head. Out!

I finish my shower in record time. I need to focus on something else. Anything else. Work. I only work weekends when Coach asks me. I try not to make it a habit, but most weekends I don’t have anything else to do anyway.

I dress, eat, and head out to my car; the
Ladybug
as Carissa calls it. I bought my red Volkswagen Beetle as a college graduation present to myself last year. I studied sports medicine at Boston University, and after graduation, I was offered a job at the university to work with the hockey team.

Most of them flirt with me and make sexual references to the fact that I get paid to rub them. There are a couple of cute ones. However, I’m not ready for that yet. 

“Good morning, Coach.” I smile and wave with my coffee cup in hand.

“Vel! Just the girl I was looking for.” He steps behind his desk and walks toward me with a clipboard in his hand.

“Whatcha need?” He directs me into the workroom where two of his players are laying on padded tables. “What happened?” I rush over to one and examine the damage.