Club Prive: Sweet Escape (Kindle Worlds Novella) by Leslie Johnson Page A

and running on wobbly legs to the bathroom to brush my teeth and slick on another layer of deodorant. “Just a minute,” I hear her tell him. Then she is skidding past my bathroom door, her fuzzy socks sliding on the wood floors. She reappears, huffing as she asks, “What do you want me to do?”
    “Give me thirty seconds,” I say through a mouthful of toothpaste and look down at my clothes. I’m in my rattiest t-shirt and running shorts. I spit a huge wad of foam into the sink. “Make that forty-five.”
    She’s gone and I can hear her picking up bowls then said bowls crashing into the sink while I pull on cute little Victoria Secret lounging bottoms and a tank. I run a brush through the snarls on my head and smooth chap stick over my lips.
    I’m jumping back on the couch when the knock comes on the door. By the time Brooke opens it, I’m under the soft afghan and am raising a cup of chamomile tea to my lips. Casual. Classy. That’s me.
    I see the flowers before I see the man, but it’s the man who captures my attention. He’s wearing the same suit from before, the tie loosened and top button undone. His hair looks like he’s run his hand through it a hundred times. I’ve never seen anyone so beautiful.
    “Thank you for the soup,” I say, my tongue feeling as thick and unwieldy as it did right after my reaction. “And the groceries. And the flowers. And the crazy amazing blender.” I meet his eyes and something curls low in my belly. “And for saving my life.”
    The hair on my arms stand up as he steps closer to me, as if his very presence is charged with electricity. Behind him, Brooke is pointing to the kitchen and tiptoeing in its direction.
    “I like your apartment,” he says, setting the flowers on a side table. The smell of Peruvian lilies and roses fill the air. He shoves his hands in his pockets, as if he’s uncertain what to do with them now that they’re no longer holding their burden. His uncertainty warms me, strengthens me. Pushing the blanket aside, I stand and walk over to him.
    “I was very lucky to have answered Brooke’s ad looking for a roommate when I decided to move to Manhattan. I could never have afforded a place like this on my own.”
    He takes another look around the surprisingly spacious living room with its warm walls and dark hardwood floors. The comfortable, overstuffed ivory couch and chairs, the inexpensive but lovely art on the walls. The huge TV peeking out of an antique cabinet that is a work of art in itself.
    “Do you believe in luck?” he asks me, taking a step closer and lifting a hand to trace the curve of my jaw.
    I swallow as his hand moves down my throat, resting there. “I believe in everything,” I tell him and his lips curve into a smile.
    His hand squeezes the tiniest bit, and I feel my pulse beating under his fingers. “I’m beginning to believe in everything too.”
    A long sigh comes from the kitchen and I smile up at him but don’t step away. A blushing Brooke comes tiptoeing from the room, a carton of ice cream in one hand, a spoon in the other.
    “Sorry,” she mouths as she walks toward her bedroom, but less than thirty seconds later, she’s back with a small bag. She tosses it on a chair, winks at me and is back in her room, closing the door behind her.
    “She seems very nice,” he says, his thumb rubbing my lower lip, his other hand coming up to stroke my hair.
    “She’s amazing. I can’t imagine how sad my life would be if she wasn’t in it.”
    “Have you eaten?”
    I nod. “Again, thank you. The soup was delicious.”
    “I should go and let you get some rest,” he says and disappointment floods through me.
    “I took a nap earlier.” I tangle our fingers together. “Don’t go.”
    He brings my hand to his lips and that electrical charge between us heightens. “Avery, you nearly died today. Your body—”
    “My body needs you to make it remember that it’s alive.”
    He growls low in his chest, his eyes darkening as