My life took a turn for the better yesterday.
Because Mila agreed to give this, us, a chance. Today, she even agreed to a date, and I can't describe how happy I am about that. I know we're supposed to meet tomorrow anyway, but I want to use every second I have to get to know her better.
Saying goodbye was the hardest thing ever, quite literally, but I knew it was necessary. Every woman deserves to be treated with respect, but especially Mila seems like she needs to take it slow. Even if she may not know it—because fuck me, she almost killed me with how she lost control yesterday.
It was damn beautiful, and I can't wait to see her between the sheets, to see how she loses control there. But that's not where we are just yet — and that is more than fine with me. I know my limits, and hers, too. So I'm taking it slow, stopping our encounters before they can lead to something neither of us is ready for, yet.
Even though I was distracted most of the time today, the memory of Mila's legs around me taking over every ounce of attention, I tried to get through the meetings as well as I could. Generally, I despise that part of my job—being team captain comes with obligations I don't need in my life, but I only want the best for my team.
It's lunchtime by the time I roll around to Mila's apartment building, looking left and right when I slip through the back door. I was serious when I told her we'd be careful. I already have plans set in motion to assure she's kept out of the spotlight.
Nervousness runs through my veins when I stand in front of her apartment door, and I already feel how every nerve ending lights up at the prospect of seeing her again; it's a feeling I haven't experienced in a while. Or ever.
I take a deep breath and knock on the door, knowing I'm fifteen minutes early, but I didn't see any use in sitting in my car to wait there. I want to use every free second I have and spend it with her.
The door opens, and I brace myself for the impact her appearance has on me, but the woman in the door frame looks nothing like Mila. Instead, a tall redhead arches her eyebrows, and I immediately glance at the doorbell.
Am I at the right apartment? The names Lyne & Watson on the bell tell me that yes, this is where I was yesterday.
The redhead interrupts my thoughts. "Yes, you're at the right apartment. You're Hayden Cross." This woman looks more than intimidating; I'm pretty sure she's almost as tall as me, and she looks strong too. The ponytail that holds her long red curls falls over her shoulder when she leans toward me, her outstretched hand appearing right in front of my face. "I'm Jasmine. Jasmine Watson. You'd better write that name down somewhere, because I'm the one who'll kill you if you hurt my best friend."
She smiles when the words leave her lips, but I can see it in her eyes. She's serious about this. Somehow, that makes me smile too. I'm glad Mila has someone like her looking out for her.
"Hi, Jasmine Watson. Nice to meet you." I shake her hand. "Your threat is noted. I'll make sure to inform my lawyer about your presence."
That makes her laugh, and she gives my hand a tight, way-too-strong squeeze before she steps to the side and waves me inside. "You're funny. I like that. Come in."
I step past her and into the hallway, my eyes immediately settling on the couch Mila and I spent most of last night on. I mean, it's ridiculous—she doesn't even need to be in eyesight; the sole thought of her sends my blood down south.
"Ew. Okay. I'm disinfecting that couch as soon as I can." Jasmine's voice makes me turn my head, and she has that fake-disgusted but amused expression on her face when she glances at the couch and then back at me. "No wonder she slept so long today. I don't even want to know what you did on there last night."
"It was PG, I promise."
"Yeah, sure." She winks. "Let me see if Mila is ready yet. I woke her up half an hour ago when I came home."
Another laugh escapes my throat; I'm not surprised Mila slept until after eleven AM, especially since I only left in the middle of the night yesterday.
"Mila?" Jasmine's knock on her door echoes around the apartment. Damn. I really don't want to get on that woman's bad side.
"What?" I have to stifle a laugh at the annoyed tone in Mila's voice, but Jasmine just rolls her eyes.
"The hot quarterback is here!"
"Jas! What the hell?" Mila's voice resonates through her door, and this display of raw friendship instantly makes me laugh again. "Give me a minute!" she yells again, and I decide not to say anything. I'm sure that'd only embarrass her.
"It'll be more than a minute, I can tell you that," Jasmine states.
"She can take her time." I shrug. "I don't want to stress her. Every minute she needs longer now, I'll just add by the end of the day."
Jasmine leans against the wall, her arms crossed in front of her chest. "I believe you. You're very nice for a celebrity."
"Well." I laugh. "That might be because I don't consider myself a celebrity. I'm an athlete, simple as that."
"I can respect that." She shoots me a warm smile, and I think she's about to say something when suddenly the door to Mila's room opens, and both Jasmine and I turn around to watch her step through the doorway.
And there it is, the feeling I was preparing for earlier. The moment she appears in my vision, all of my attention focuses on her. She's wearing tight black jeans, paired with a light blue tank top, her hair loosely falling over her shoulder when those brown doe eyes settle on mine.
As expected, the sight knocks the air out of my lungs, her stormy yet petite appearance makes my mouth dry, and my heart thunders in my chest as I move toward her. Only when I intertwine our fingers can I release the long breath I'm holding, her flushed cheeks filling with more and more color every second I look at her. "You look absolutely beautiful, Lucky."
"Thank you...you are very handsome too."
I can't help the smile on my lips; it'll take a long time until I get used to those compliments. "Thank you."
We hold our gaze for another small eternity, my thumb brushing over the soft skin of her flushed cheeks. The way she almost unnoticeably leans into my touch makes my heart skip a beat, her already-so-familiar closeness warming every inch of me.
"Jesus fucking Christ! We can open up a meth lab with the chemistry in here!" Jasmine calls out, and I have to admit I forgot she was here for a moment.
"Jas!" Mila groans, removing her hand from mine to cover her face with her palms.
"What? I needed to say something to get you out of that weird spell before the two of you get going on the couch again."
"Oh my God..." Mila drops her head, and I can't help but laugh this time, taking one step closer to her to wrap my arm around her shoulders. I can't deny it feels fucking good when she immediately turns and hides her face in my chest. It shows she feels safe around me.
The movement also seems to shut Jasmine up, who now regards us with wide eyes when I place a kiss on Mila's head. "You ready?" I ignore Jasmine's comment and whisper into Mila's ear, who just shakes her head at my question. "Alright then. Jasmine, I'll gladly buy you a new couch if it bothers you that much." I wink, and for just a second she seems actually stunned, but then her face breaks out into this enormous grin.
"I'll take you up on that, Cross."
Mila finally comes out of hiding, her hair messy now from being tucked into my side. "Okay. Let's go, before she embarrasses me even further." She narrows her eyes at Jasmine, who just shrugs at her remark.
"I meant what I said, Cross. Hurt her, and you'll face my wrath. You might have money, but I have these..." Jasmine holds up her fists. Usually, I would've laughed at that gesture, but she really is one scary-ass woman.
"Understood," I retort, noticing from the corner of my eye how Mila slowly but surely becomes uncomfortable again. "Alright, you ready?" I ask, and this time she shoots me a shy smile. "Good." I'm just about to say goodbye to Jasmine when Mila suddenly grabs my hand, pulling me out of the apartment without another word. Her best friend's laugh echoes in the apartment as the door falls shut behind us, and Mila immediately releases a deep breath, her hand still clutched in mine as we reach the elevator.
When she gazes up at me, the fire in her eyes potent as ever, I punch the button, knowing I won't be able to keep my hands off this woman for a second longer. As soon as the door opens, I pull her inside, and with the sound of the door clicking shut behind us, I have her pinned against the wall.
She doesn't protest when I come down on her, my lips chasing her own like it's the sole reason I exist. I can practically feel her melt against my touch, her fingers digging into the back of my neck as we both hold on for dear life. She deepens the kiss, her tongue brushing over my bottom lip, asking, begging for entrance. "Hayden..." she moans into our kiss as soon as our tongues collide, the sound of her voice driving me mad. I almost feel my sanity slipping away as I punch the emergency stop button, seconds before we reach the ground floor. And then she surprises the hell out of me when she suddenly grips my shoulders and jumps me, sending me staggering back while I plant my hands on her thighs, steadying her as we crash into the wall behind me.
Our bodies are perfectly locked in place when she tightens her legs around my hips, her fingers pulling at my hair as she diminishes every inch of distance between us, the feeling of her skin on mine driving me insane in every possible way.
"Hello?" a male voice says from nowhere, followed by a knock on the elevator door.
Mila immediately pulls back, her eyes wide when she presses a hand on her mouth. I feel how she tries to get out of my grip, but I hold her tightly before I whisper into her ear, "Lucky, you'd better answer him..."
"What am I supposed to say?" she whispers back.
"You'll think of something." I stifle a laugh at her question.
The voice speaks again. "Hello? Should I call security?"
"No!" Mila calls out. "No! I, uh...I just lost my pen!" It's taking a lot of self-control not to burst out laughing now, especially when Mila hides her face in the crook of my neck, mumbling something along the lines of, "Why am I this way?"
"Uh, okay, ma'am. I'll come back in five minutes. I hope you find your pen by then!"
I wait until the footsteps subside before I slowly lower her back on the floor, though she still holds onto my neck like her life depended on it, apparently hiding from this very amusing situation.
All amusement gets stuck in my throat the second she speaks again, though. "I'm such a joke."
It makes me want to pull back, but she's still holding on tightly, obviously not wanting to show herself. "Why do you say that?" I ask as I wrap my arms around her.
"Because it's true. This stuff always happens to me." She tightens her grip, and I can't help but squeeze her once more. I feel for her, so much. She seems to be a misfortune magnet, but that doesn't define her.
"It's not true, Mila. There's a difference between being funny and being a joke."
She finally pulls back, her eyes searching mine before she finally looks down at the floor and sighs. "Yeah, it's okay. Let's just forget I said anything."
"No, Mila, look at me."
"But the elevator..." She goes to pull the stop button, but I grab her hand before she can.
"We don't care about the elevator now. Come on, look at me." She finally glances up at me, her eyes now holding something sad and lost. "Do I make you feel like a joke?" I ask.
"What? No, no. Really. It's not you, I swear. I just...I want to be taken seriously, you know. Sometimes it feels like all people see when they look at me is clumsy little Mila."
I immediately know what she means. People are trained to make assumptions based on our appearance, on our behavior. They rarely take the time to get to know someone if they think they already painted the picture. "You know what I see when I look at you?" I tip up her chin so I can regard her properly. "I see a beautiful, smart woman with the most mesmerizing eyes I've ever seen. I see a strong-willed and damn talented writer who sometimes finds herself in unfortunate situations. Which, admittedly, can be quite funny."
She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, a nervous chuckle escaping her throat. "How do you always say the right things?"
"Words are subjective. I always speak my mind—you're just the right person to hear it."
She laughs again before shaking her head, her skin filled with color when she presses a kiss on my cheek. "I can only say it again, Cash. You're very good with words."
I interlace our fingers with a grin. "And I'll say it again, Lucky. Only for you."