Chapter 115 (1/2)

I practically pout. “Well, I saw her trying to flirt with you.” I don’t like the way jealousy feels; it is the most obnoxious emotion possible.

“You silly girl.” He takes one more step to bring his body to mine and then leads us into the elevator. Cupping my cheek, he forces me to make eye contact. “How can you not comprehend what you do to me?” he asks, inches away from my mouth.

“I don’t know,” I squeak when his free hand grabs mine and leads it down to his shorts.

“This is what you do.” He shifts his hips so his erection fills my hand.

“Oh.” My head is swimming.

“You’ll be saying much more than ‘oh’—” he begins, but is interrupted when the elevator stops at the next floor. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he groans when a woman and her three children step into the elevator.

I try to step away from him, but he wraps his arm around my waist, refusing to let me move. One of the children begins to cry, which makes Hardin huff in annoyance. I begin to imagine how humorous it would be if the elevator stalled and we were trapped inside with the crying child. Fortunately for Hardin, the doors open moments later and we step out into the hall.

“I literally despise children,” he complains as we reach our apartment. When he unlocks the door, cold air flows out from the apartment.

“Did you turn the heat off?” I ask him when we walk inside.

“No, it was on this morning.” Hardin walks over to the thermostat and curses under his breath. “It says it’s eighty degrees in here when it’s clearly not. I’ll call maintenance.”

I nod and grab the blanket from the back of the couch and wrap it around myself before sitting down.

“Yes . . . it isn’t working and it’s cold as fuck in here.” Hardin speaks into the receiver. “Thirty minutes? No, that won’t work . . . I don’t give a shit, I pay a small fortune to live here, and I won’t have my girlfriend freezing to death,” he says, then corrects himself: “I won’t have it freezing in here.”

He glances over at me, and I look away. “Fine. Fifteen minutes. No longer,” he barks into the phone and tosses it against the couch. “They’re sending someone up to fix it,” he tells me.

“Thank you.” I smile at him, and he sits down next to me on the couch.

I open the front of the blanket and reach for him. When he scoots closer, I climb onto his lap and thread my fingers through his hair and tug lightly.

“What are you doing?” His hands rest on my hips.

“You said we have fifteen minutes.” I brush my lips along his jaw and he shivers.