I Can Explain

by Missy Johnson

  I’m going to be sick.

  I spin around and stand flush against the wall, gasping at how cold the brick cladding is. I’m desperately trying to think of another solution, but there’s nothing. I glance over at Jake’s balcony, and see the lights are still on inside. All she has to do is find my dress or my phone and look out here. This is going to be a whole lot worse if I have to admit to Chase why I’m out here.

  I look around, one more time, but there is nowhere left to go. Other than down. An eight-story fall would finish me, and huddling on the balcony in this weather would probably kill me too. I’ve got about ten seconds to decide what I’m going to do.

  Either I scale back over and deal with Jake’s wife, or I knock and deal with Chase. Hell, there isn’t even a decision to make, because there is only one choice.

  I have to knock.

  I have to suck it up and knock on my boss’s door, while I’m wearing nothing but my underwear. Underwear that I’m practically popping out of. Damn Peyton and her tiny, perky breasts. My hands shaking, I take a deep breath and bring my fist up to the door and knock.

  And just when I thought I couldn’t embarrass myself any harder in front of Chase.

  Chapter Six

  Chase

  I sit back in my chair and sigh as I rub my forehead. It’s so late that it’s almost daylight outside and my head is aching from spending way too much time staring at the same page of numbers. I’ve got to get some sleep, or I’m going to drive myself insane.

  The problem is, I know the moment I close my eyes, all I’m going to be able to think about is my brother and my ex-wife.

  I’ve been sitting here working since I got home last night. I use the term “work” loosely because I’ve barely made a dent in the report that I need to be finished for tomorrow’s meeting. I haven’t even finished balancing the expense sheets for last month, which should’ve been done yesterday.

  Spending the afternoon being fitted for a suit for a wedding I never wanted to be a part of in the first place is what’s put me in this bad mood. What I thought was going to take an hour at most, ended up eating into three hours of my time. It was late by the time I got back, and, because I was already behind after spending the day in a meeting I really didn’t need to be at, meaning that an all-nighter was necessary. But it turns out even that wasn’t going to help get this done.

  Yep, I’m pretty much fucked.

  Standing up, I stalk across the room to the bar and pour myself a drink and gulp it down. I don’t like mixing alcohol with work because it dulls my senses, but let’s face it, a drink isn’t going to make the slightest bit of difference at this point. Fuck it. I’ll have another. Maybe then, I can forget for five minutes that Josh is marrying Casey.

  I told him I was okay with it, but I’m not. I’m hurt, annoyed, and I’m frustrated as fuck. The worst thing is that I have to suck all that up and plaster a smile on my face. I have to pretend I’m good with this because I know venting that to Josh will only strain our relationship even more.

  The truth is, I miss my brother. I miss the way we used to be. But I’d be stupid to think after everything that’s happened, we could ever go back to the way we were.

  Loosening my shirt, I set my drink down and then unbutton my cuffs and my shirt. I shrug it off and then pick up my drink, wandering back over to the couch to sit down. I lean back and close my eyes, rubbing the back of my neck. I could really go for a massage right now. Especially one with a happy ending.

  What the fuck was that?

  My head whips sideways to the balcony. I frown because I’m sure I heard something. It could just be my mind playing tricks on me. I’ve been up all night, after all, and I had one hell of a day yesterday. I shake my head. That must be it. But then I hear it again. Okay, that definitely wasn’t my imagination. Someone is trying to break in.

  I snap into action mode and hurl myself off the couch, ready to take down whoever the hell has decided to mess with me while I’m in this foul mood. I thrust back the curtains and brace myself for confrontation. My eyes widen. Okay, now I’m sure that I’m imagining things. Alana Morrison, on my balcony at six in the morning, in her underwear?

  I’m pretty sure I had this fantasy last night

  Quickly recovering from my shock, I unlock the door and slide it open, a smirk spreading across my lips. I rest my hand casually against the wall as I stare at her. Maybe she’s the perfect distraction. God knows she keeps throwing herself at me. Who am I to stand in the way of her dreams?

  “When I told you to focus more on your work, this wasn't exactly what I had in mind,” I say, not bothering to hide the amusement in my voice.

  She flushes and looks down, her arms wrapping tightly around her chest.

  I snort because it does nothing to cover the way she’s bursting out of that bra. My cock twitches, making it clear what he’s hoping for. She glares at me, obviously not enjoying that I’m finding this so funny.

  Maybe she heard my prayers for a happy ending and came running?

  “Can I come in?” she asks stiffly.

  “Sure,” I say.

  Stepping back, I make sure that I’m close enough so that she has to slide her body against mine to get in. I chuckle and shake my head because this is just too fucking perfect not to make the most of it.

  “Congratulations, by the way,” I add.

  “What do you mean?” she asks, frowning at me.

  “I mean I’m used to women throwing themselves at me, but I’ve never had anyone try and break in through my balcony,” I explain with a chuckle. “I admire your dedication.”

  “First of all, I am not throwing myself at you, and second, I wasn’t breaking in,” she retorts defensively. “Didn’t you hear me knocking?”

  She walks farther inside, and I close the door, my gaze following her across the room. My eyes are firmly on her ass as her hips gently sway which every step. My jaw tightens at the sight of her panties riding up her ass.

  What the hell is she doing on my balcony in her underwear?

  I’m surprised I have time to think that—considering how busy I am imagining what she would look like with those tiny panties off. I sigh, the thought my tongue sliding along her bare pussy is nearly too much for me to handle.

  She sits down on my couch, carefully trying to cover herself up, much to my amusement. I walk over there and stand against the wall, knowing I’ll have the best view of her there. She flushes as I stare at her.

  “So, are you going to explain to me why you’re on my balcony at six in the morning, wearing next to nothing?” I finally ask.

  She glances down, her face going crimson as if I’ve just reminded her that she's practically naked. I step forward and lean against the back of my armchair, mainly because I’m so fucking hard it’s getting uncomfortable.

  “It’s a long story,” she mumbles.

  I shrug, spreading my hands out. “I’ve got time.”

  The combination of lack of sleep, alcohol, and her turning up in her underwear is driving me crazy. Inappropriate visions pour through my mind of her crouched on her knees, wrapping those plump, red lips around my length.

  She glares at me. “I really don't want to get into it right now. Do you have a shirt or something I can borrow?” she asks. She’s shaking. I’m not sure if she’s cold, or just really fucking embarrassed.

  “Sure,” I say.

  I walk down to my bedroom, ramping up the heating on the way. I retrieve the lilac sweater that’s been hiding in my closet for the last few months. Honestly, I’ve got no idea who left it here, but I knew it would come in handy one day. I walk out and toss it to her. She gratefully puts it on. I grin as it clings to her petite frame and barely covers her waist. Her eyes blaze as she glares at me.

  “This is all you have? Do you even know who it belongs to?” she asks accusingly.

  “Yes, and no. Sorry, it’s laundry day.” I smirk, even though I’ve got a closet full of shirts that would cover way more of her, and she k
nows it.

  I much prefer to have this conversation with her wearing as little as possible.

  Watching her sitting here in that sweater is doing nothing to tame my erection, though. At this point, I think the only fix is going to involve plunging my length into her pussy. Or down her throat, because at least I already know she’s up for that.

  Contrary to what most people believe, I don’t wave my cock at everything that moves. Just most things. But there was something about Alana that sparked my interest. And when she turns up at my apartment in nothing but a skimpy set of underwear, how am I'm expected to react?

  “Can I get you a coffee or something?” I ask her. She nods and even manages a smile.

  “That would be good,” she says.

  I walk into the kitchen, glancing back to check on her every now and then. I'm dying to know what happened, but she's keeping pretty tight-lipped on the details.

  “So, you haven't told me how you wound up on my balcony yet,” I point out as I fill the coffee pot.

  “I know,” she says, her face going red. “There's a reason for that. It’s embarrassing enough, without you knowing all the details. I feel sick every time I think about it.”

  I frown. “Is this something that I should involve the police over?” I ask.

  She glares at me, her eyes flashing. “You think I'm stalking you?”

  I chuckle at her feistiness. “That’s not what I meant. I was asking if someone hurt you?”

  “No, it’s nothing like that,” she mumbles. “Well, unless you count my dignity because that's pretty much shattered.” She frowns and looks up at me. “I just don’t want this to affect my position at work,” she says softly.

  I smirk because her only position I care about at the moment is the one that allows me to slide my cock inside her at the right angle.

  “How about this,” I begin. “You tell me why you're here, and then we can forget this ever happened.”

  “Really?” she asks, frowning at me like she doesn't quite believe me.

  I nod, even though she’s right not to trust me. I have no intention of ever letting her live this down.

  “Okay. I’ll tell you, but if you laugh…” I hold my hands up and put on my most innocent expression. She sighs and closes her eyes before speaking. “My gym instructor invited me out for a drink last night. I went, we got talking, and things progressed back to his place. I was about to leave before anything really happened, but before I got the chance, his wife interrupted us.”

  “His wife?” I say, unable to hide my grin. She nods, frowning at me. “Why wasn’t he doing it for you?”

  “Pardon?” she asks, bewildered.

  “You said you were about to leave, so I assume he wasn’t doing it for you. Why not?” I ask with interest.

  “Is that any of your business?” she sputters, her face glowing red.

  I smirk at her. “I guess not. So, let me get this straight. He kicked you out onto his balcony when his wife came home? Wow, what a gentleman,” I mutter, resisting the urge to go next door and punch the shit out of the creep.

  She stares at me, narrowing her eyes as if my comment was a personal attack on her.

  “I'm well aware of my ability to pick terrible men, thank you,” she says, through gritted teeth.

  “Oh, so, this isn’t the first poor relationship decision you've made, then?” I ask her.

  She glowers at me like she can't believe I just asked that. Hell, I’m pretty impressed with my ability to offend her too. Maybe I should go three for three.

  “Excuse me? I didn't realize that I was here to discuss my love history with you,” she snaps.

  “I didn't realize you were going to be here at all, so I guess we’re even.” I grin.

  I stare at her for a while, enjoying watching her squirm on my couch as she struggles to think of what to say next. She clears her throat, finding the courage to look me in the eye.

  “Do you mind if I use your phone to call a cab?” she asks quietly.

  “You went out with someone you barely know without your phone?” I ask. I frown because I thought she was smarter than that.

  She glares at me like I’m the idiot.

  “Do you think I’m that stupid? Wait, don’t answer that,” she mutters, holding up her hand. “I took my phone, but it’s still next door, along with my other things.”

  “So, you’re just going to leave them there?” I ask, confused. I laugh because, for some reason, I find that hilarious.

  “I’ll buy new ones,” she replies defensively.

  “And a new phone too?” I ask, smirking at her.

  “I’m due for an upgrade,” she fires back without missing a beat. “Look, can I use your phone or not?” she asks, her frustration showing. I stand up and walk toward the door, not answering her. “Where are you going?” she asks, alarm lacing her voice.

  “To get your things,” I say like it’s the most logical thing in the world. “I feel it’s my civic duty to look out for you and to make sure his wife realizes she married a giant asshole.”

  Alana’s eyes widen. She jumps up and stands in my way, but I easily sidestep around her.

  “You can't do that,” she hisses, following me to the door. I turn around, trying not to focus on the way that top is riding up over her waist. “Why not?”

  “Because I'm embarrassed enough as it is without her knowing that I landed on your balcony after her husband kicked me out,” she cries angrily.

  “Put yourself in her shoes. You wouldn’t want to know?” I ask her pointedly as I keep walking.

  “You also apparently slept with his sister,” she calls out after me when it’s clear her approach isn’t working.

  That stops me in my tracks.

  “And how would you know that?” I ask, more curious than anything else. “How did you get onto the topic of me on your hot date?”

  “He asked me about my job. Is it my fault if you’ve slept with the whole damn city?” she retorts.

  “I guess not,” I murmur, raising my eyebrows. I don’t bother correcting her on the number of women I’ve slept with. It’s not nearly as many as she probably thinks.

  I walk out and down the few steps to my neighbor’s door and pound on it. I’ve never actually met this guy—or his wife—even though we’ve both been living here for the past twelve months. I am finding it kind of amusing that I’ve slept with his sister. I’m pretty sure I know exactly who she is too, and she wasn’t that good.

  I glance back to see Alana peeking around the corner. I grin at her. Irritation flashes in her eyes, which makes me chuckle. You think she’d be a little more appreciative of what I’m doing for her. The door cracks open. I whip my head back around to see his wife—unless he has more women stashed in there, which wouldn’t surprise me—standing there. She frowns at me.

  “Can I help you?” she asks, sounding irritated.

  “I sure hope you can,” I begin, running a hand through my hair. “My friend left some of her things inside your apartment, and I was hoping I could retrieve them for her.”

  She looks confused. “What was she doing inside my apartment, exactly?”

  “Right. Maybe you should ask your husband that one,” I suggest with a wink. “I’ll give you a hint, though. He wasn’t teaching her to knit.”

  “Are you kidding me?” she says, glaring at me.

  She swings the door wide open, giving me a great look at their apartment. I’m pleased that mine is bigger—and more tastefully furnished.

  “Jake, get the fuck out here,” she cries.

  A man who I assume is Jake appears from the bedroom, wearing only a pair of boxer shorts. He glances at me, the color draining from his face. I smile at him and wave. If he recognizes me, then he probably knows why I’m here.

  “Look, I'm not here to cause trouble. I just want Alana’s things,” I say to him.

  “Alana?” he repeats, shaking his head as if the name means nothing to him.

  I laugh. Is he really
trying to play dumb?

  “Yes,” I say slowly. “The chick you had in here just before your wife came home from work—” I glance at her and wince. “Early, I presume?” she nods. I turn back to Jake and shake my head. “Really, Jake? Shoving your side piece of ass, practically naked, onto the balcony so your wife wouldn’t find out what you’d been up to? You’re lucky she didn’t end up with hypothermia.”

  “I didn’t…” He glances at his wife, his desperation oozing from his voice.

  “You didn’t what?” she screams at him.

  I wince as she stalks over to him and slaps him across the face. He pleads with her to listen, which leads to the two of them fighting it out, right there in front of me. I tap my foot impatiently, waiting for one of them to remember I’m standing right there. After a few moments, I realize that’s not going to happen.

  I spot Alana’s phone peeking out from under the coffee table, so I walk over and scoop it up, along with her dress which is balled up under a cushion on the couch.

  “Lovely to meet you both,” I say, walking back to the door. They both turn to stare at me in shock. “If either of you ever needs anything…sugar, coffee, marriage counseling…I’m right next door.”

  “There,” I say, smirking at her as I walk back inside my apartment. “You can put that on if you must.”

  She steps into her dress, slowly sliding it up over her thighs. I watch the sweater as it rises, watching her expertly dress in front of me while revealing as little as possible. She struggles with the zip, so I motion for her to turn around so I can help her out. She jumps as my fingers touch her back—accidentally, of course.

  “Sorry,” I murmur. An awkward silence happens between us. “I can see why he took you home,” I murmur, glancing at her in that dress. “But what I don’t understand is why he let you go.”

  She flushes and glances down, smoothing the fabric over her curves. I reach into my pocket and pull out her phone, handing it back to her.

  “Thank you,” she whispers.

  “You don’t need to go if you don’t want to,” I say as she walks toward the door.