Her eyes flew open. For that matter, how many women had there been since they’d started sleeping together?
And even if there hadn’t been any, there likely would be now. She wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if he was calling another one up right this very minute. A woman who wouldn’t overstay her welcome, who wouldn’t ask pesky questions, who wouldn’t be distracted by something as mundane as her career.
The thought made her sick, considering the guy wasn’t her boyfriend.
And she didn’t want him to be.
Did she?
No.
He was mercurial and immature, and half the time she felt like she didn’t even know him.
But the other half of the time she suspected he might very well be the best man she’d ever met.
“Tricky,” Heather muttered to herself. “Very tricky.”
There was really only one thing to do in these situations, and Heather headed toward the kitchen, grabbing a spoon even before she opened the freezer door to contemplate her emergency supply of ice cream.
Heather’s brow furrowed as she surveyed the variety of options. Was getting in a fight with your booty-call neighbor a cookie-dough situation? Mint chocolate chip? What she really wanted was the special-edition pumpkin pie ice cream she’d picked up last week, but pumpkin pie reminded her of Thanksgiving, which made her think her of Josh . . .
She reached for the plain vanilla. To punish herself.
Heather had just pulled the lid off, spoon ready for demolition, when there was a knock at the door.
Her eyes narrowed as she glanced at it.
She dug her spoon into the ice cream, scooped out an enormous mouthful of vanilla, and shoved it in her mouth, trying to ignore the second knock.
By the third mouthful, the knocking hadn’t stopped. In fact, it was growing louder.
“Go away,” she called. “I’m in a mood.”
To her surprise, the knocking stopped. For once, the man had listened to her. Heather told herself she wasn’t disappointed at how easily he’d given up on her.
But then, how hard did a guy like Josh fight for an easy lay, really? He likely had dozens of others a phone call away, and it wasn’t like he couldn’t pick up fresh meat in a bar in two point four seconds.
She’d just inhaled another giant mouthful of vanilla when an awful banging started up. One couldn’t call it music coming from the other side of her bedroom wall. This was no band practice, no solo playing.
This was someone banging on a drum set as loudly as he could with no perceptible rhythm.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she said around a mouthful of ice cream.
The banging persisted. No, it got louder. And louder.
Heather’s hand clenched around the spoon so hard she thought she might actually bend the metal. What a jerk. No big deal. She could ignore it. Could ignore him.
She made it about three minutes before she barged into his apartment, still wielding her spoon and temper.
As expected, she found him seated by the drum set, not even pretending to do anything other than bang it over and over.
“What the hell is your problem?” she yelled over the banging.
His hand paused only briefly when he saw and heard her, but he crashed the drumstick down onto the drum one more time for good measure before tossing it aside and storming toward her.
Heather held her ground, and they were toe-to-toe, glare-to-glare.
She spread her arms to the side. “You happy? You get what you want?”
Josh shook his head. “Not even fucking close.”
His mouth slammed down on hers a half second before his hands closed greedily around her head as he took her in the hottest kiss of her life.
Heather’s spoon dropped to the floor as her fingers found his waist, clawing at his shirt.
His lips were possessive, his tongue insistent, and his fingers punishing as they tugged at her hair.
Heather had never had makeup sex before, had never quite understood the big deal, but she got it now. Oh, did she ever.
Josh had them both out of their clothes in seconds, but Heather didn’t have time to be impressed because she was too busy being turned on at the feel of his hands on her breasts before he dipped his head and sucked a nipple into his hot and greedy mouth.
She moaned something that might have been his name or might have been a wanton plea as his hand slid down her stomach, this thumb circling her as his middle finger slid inside. Even more erotic was the way he watched her as he played with her, his eyes never leaving hers as he touched her everywhere she needed him.