STUBBORN

MIKE

I feel like locking my legs together and putting a protective hand over my junk when I knock on the door, but I maintain a normal stance. If Sharon wants to walk out and belt me again, I’m going to have to take it—and take it with a smile. And maybe be smart enough to see it coming this time and get out of the way.

The door creaks open, and one sapphire-hued eye peeks through. When she sees it’s me, there’s a huff and a groan then the door reluctantly slides open a few more inches. Since my T-shirt got soaked the night before, she’s wound herself up in the quilt, draping it over her body until she looks like a mummified sausage roll. Her eyes widen when they sweep down my length. Yup, I went full-on wolf this morning, even if looking like a sheep would have been better. I’m wearing my regular black attire a pressed, tailored twenty four hundred dollarMM suit and shined shoes. I look like I’m getting ready to rock a conference room, though the thought of me stepping into an office