door, wishing I could physically claw my way through the wood to get to her. Frankly, I’d wear my fingers down to bloody stumps to get to her, if I thought it would convince her to come to my bed tonight. I’d open a vein and give her every last drop of my blood, if it would mean she’d open her thighs to me tonight. I’d pay her any amount of money. The only two things I won’t do? Lie about that fucking demo. Or beg. I begged her once, that very first night, right before she double-flipped me off and peeled away in an Uber. And I swear to God, I’ll never do it again.
There’s movement in the hallway again. Footsteps, as plain as day. I hold my breath and wait. And pray. But the brief footsteps are followed by the distinct sound of a door opening and closing at the other end of the hall. And that’s that. The house is silent now. Apparently, Georgina decided she’d rather punish me, than fuck me, tonight.
Chapter 7
Reed
At a quarter past eight, wearing cycling shorts and nothing else, I greet two deliverymen at my front door, lead them upstairs, and direct them where to unpack their big box. Most mornings, I get up quite a bit earlier than this to fit in my workout, but after yesterday’s marathon day that began in Manhattan and ended with me jizzing against my bedroom window, I fell into a deep slumber until about twenty minutes ago—which was when Owen called and woke me up with the news that my delivery was about twenty minutes away.
I rap on Georgina’s closed door. “Wake up, Bobby Fischer,” I call out. “Rise and shine.” Georgina moans softly behind the door, sending arousal streaking through me. Because, apparently, any moan from this girl, no matter the context, registers as something sexual to my brain. “Wake up, Georgie girl.” I knock again. “Even if you hate my guts, you’re going to be my shadow today. And right now, I’m heading into my gym for a workout.”
“I’m up,” she croaks out. “Just give me twenty minutes.”
“You’ve got five. Throw on workout clothes and meet me in the gym.”
In the gym, I do core blasters and plyometrics for a full twenty minutes before Georgina finally appears, her form-fitting short-shorts and sport bra instantly making me forgive her completely for keeping me waiting so long.
“Sorry, I...” she begins. But the second she notices a second Peloton bike set up next to mine, her words trail off. She rushes to the sleek stationary bike and grips its handlebars, like she’s confirming it’s not a figment of her imagination. “This wasn’t here last night during the tour! How did this get here?”
I smile. “You said you wanted to try one. So, I decided to get you one. This way, we can ride together.”
Her jaw hits the floor. “This is for me?”
I chuckle at her adorable expression. “Yes. It’s my gift to you, with an assist from Owen. I know you don’t have a place of your own yet, so I’ll have it delivered to your father’s place after this week, if you like. If not, you can leave it here as long as you need, until you get a place of your own with enough room for it.”
“Thank you!” With an effusive squeal, she breaks into an effervescent happy-dance—a sexy, jiggling display that makes me want to give her a month’s worth of exercise equipment, if it will guarantee I’ll get this same reaction every time.
“I’ve only got one request,” I say. “I’d like you to be my personal spin instructor this week.”
“Hell yeah! With pleasure!” She shakes her ass with glee... but then freezes. “Shoot. I don’t have any—”
“Shoes?” I point to a shoe box on the floor next to her bike. “Put on your new shoes, saddle up, and let’s sweat.”
Like a kid on Christmas, Georgina tears into the shoe box while I get my own cycling shoes on, and soon, we’re both clicked into our pedals and ready to begin.
“Let’s get warmed up,” she says, and we both begin pedaling at a fairly easy pace. “So, how hard do you want to work this morning?”
“A ten out of ten,” I reply, without hesitation. “Annihilate me.”
Georgina snickers. “Careful what you wish for. I taught advanced spin for the past two years. I’m pretty good at this, if I do say so myself.”