From Bully To Beloved

SERA

TWENTY-NINE DAYS LEFT

Idon’t need an alarm to know when it’s time to get up. My body is quite familiar with my daily routine, and I always wake up a good hour before I have to get to work. I come to consciousness to the soothing feelings of warmth and safety.

Dear Lord, this bed isheavenly.

I even had a naughty dream. I think I orgasmed-the memory makes me giggle. The first thing I’m going to do when I get that money is buy a new bed. A bedjustlike this one, withthebest mattress and all. Super cozy. Memory foam. I forgot what it was like to sleep without being in a dent. Or having a spring poking me in the back.

Though something is poking me in the thigh.

Somethingbig.

It’s about now when I realize I’m definitely not lying on the mattress. It smells masculine. Musky and cedary. There’s an even rise and fall below my head, arm, and body. It’s so nice and comforting. A steady calm beat thumps against my ear.

Wait. A calm beat?

I open my eyes, and the first thing I see is the tattooed expanse of Colton’s naked chest. My leg is flung across his hips, and my arms are practically around him in a hug.

Which means what’s poking me isnota spring.

I want to scoot away quickly, but I’m also acutely aware that could wake him up. That is out of the question, mostly because I don’t want him to know I was cuddling him.

I’d better not have orgasmed!

As carefully as possible, I slide my leg off him. I unwrap my arm from around his torso.

Please don’t wake up, please don’t wake up, please don’t wake up.

“Good morning, sweet thing.”

Dammit.

Colton’s sleepy smile does little to soften how absolutelymortifiedI am that I was cuddling him. “Ready to confess your never-ending love?” he rumbles.

“I’m sorry,” I say, instantly shifting to the other side of the bed. In fact, I scooch over to my half so quickly I just about bounce off the mattress.

I’m busy sliding back the stupid strap of my nightie. No boob slip. No boob slip.

Even as I’m struggling to find my balance and ignoring the hand he’s instinctively extending to help me, I’m not busy enough to miss the bulge. The blanket is bunched up at the bottom of the bed, meaning I can see all of Colton. His boxer briefs do very little to hide his very obvious erection. Now that’s some impressive morning wood if I ever saw it. I realize what I’m looking at and immediately avert my eyes.

“Sorry,” I say again.

Colton laughs. Dammit, I hate how sexy it sounds with his raspy voice.

“I’m not,” he says, clearly in no rush to move or cover himself. “You wanna rethink us consummating our marriage?”

“No! Of course not!”

“You sure? Youwerecozied up to me thirty seconds ago. The whole night, if I’m not mistaken.”

“I can’t be held responsible for what I do in my sleep.”Owned by NôvelDrama.Org.

“I just find it funny how much you protested, and yet, here we are.”

“Oh, shut up!”

“Come on, Sera. Admit it, it felt good.”

It did feel good. He did feel good. Too good. Also, he smells really good. Like man, and bare skin.

I peek back at him. My face hasgotto be beet red-I know it is. I feel the heat in my cheeks. “It was just an accidental cuddle,” I say, jaw clenched. “Means nothing.”

“Uh-huh. Sure it doesn’t.”

He stretches again and places his hands behind his head, giving me a full view of his tattooed body. Dear God, the pecs on that man. He’s built, but it’s not excessive. His muscles look and feel like they come from hard work, not endless hours at the gym.

Just past him, I can see the alarm clock on the nightstand. “I don’t have time for this. I have to get ready for work.” It’s the perfect excuse I need to get out of bed.

“It’s not even six.”

“Yeah, well, that’s what happens when you work in the restaurant business.”

I grab a pair of clean black pants and my second pink uniform shirt, making a mental note to throw my work clothes into the wash before I leave or when I get back.

“I know how restaurants work. I was a busser way back in the day,” Colton says, sitting up. “I was talking about the fact that you worked last night and now you have to go back in less than twelve hours later.”

“The owner asked me to cover a shift.” I gather a few more items on my way to the bathroom.

“The owner should do it. I’d never ask one of my employees to work back-to-back shifts like that.”

That makes me pause. “You have employees?”

I’m well aware that I know little about Colton’s life. The few times Mrs. Bianca tried to talk him up to me, she mentioned he was well-off, but never went into details about what he did. I didn’t ask. I had no interest in him or his employment endeavors. Now, my curiosity is piqued.

“Yeah, I own several Ashton Motors in San Francisco and the bay area, and I’m opening a new location here in the city.”

“A car dealership? You sell cars?”

“Motorcycles, actually.” Colton stands up, arranges his shorts (or what is inside his shorts), and stretches one more time. “Buy, sell, and fix.”

Without hesitation, he drops to the floor and starts doing push-ups. I have the mental image of him riding shirtless on a shiny motorcycle, his tan, tattooed chest glistening from sweat. I shake away the mental image.

“I guess I never thought of you as the responsible CEO type,” I admit.

He grins at me as he works out. “So, you’ve thought of me, huh?”

“Ugh.” I roll my eyes and leave, ignoring his smirk. Can’t have a regular conversation with this guy without him turning it around and being a cocky jerk.

I hurry to get ready, not wanting to be late. My morning routine is screwed up already from being in a new place, and I’m not sure how long it’s going to take me to get to the subway from here. I can’t afford to spend any more cash on an Uber until I get paid again.

After getting dressed and freshening up, I scour the bathroom floor, looking for my clothes from the night before. My name tag is still on the shirt, and I need it. But the floor is clean, and I have no clue where the clothes went.

When I go back to the bedroom, Colton and his inked body are still doing push-ups. My eyes fall to his hips.

Up, down, up, down.

That sweaty muscled image that came to mind earlier is now right in front of me, and my body responds even as my mind goes blank. Pure heat passes through me. It makes me wonder what he feels like sweaty-and panting-during sex.

I clear my throat.

“Where are my clothes?” I ask.

“On your back.”

“Hilarious. I meant the ones I left in the bathroom.”

Colton finishes exercising and gets to his feet. “I threw them in the wash. Figured they were dirty since you left them on the floor.”

What is he? A stickler for cleanliness? “Well, next time, ask.”

“Well, maybe don’t leave your clothes on the floor.”

Every time I think I can handle being around him, he says something else that reminds me just how much he gets on my damn nerves. “Just don’t touch my stuff.”

I head to the washing machine to retrieve the name tag, and bump into him on the way out.

“By the way, I used your toothpaste,” I say. “Hope that’s fine.”

“Sure. Forgot yours?”

He’s so annoying. “Yes, Colton, I forgot mine. Why do you have to rub it in?”

“You’re tightly wound, you know that, Seraphine?” he asks.

“Why are you there every time I turn around?”

“Because I live here.”

“You’resucha smartass.”

“You’re not the first person to tell me that.”

“And I’m sure I won’t be the last.”

Colton concedes with a nod. “Probably not. What time do you work? I’ll be ready in a few and can take you.”

“It’s fine, I’ll just take the subway.”

“Seriously, woman, it’s not a big deal. I’m heading out in a few minutes anyway.”

“Work?”

“No. I have a goodbye to make.”

I take a second to realize what he means. My annoyance with him immediately evaporates. Wow, Sera. Way to forget why you’re in this situation to begin with. The first thing he’s going to want to do is to visit his grandmother’s grave. That’s what I would do if I’d missed a loved one’s funeral. From his hard expression, I think I can see that the matter has affected him more than I first thought.

Perhaps his grandmother meant more to him than he is letting on?

He shouldn’t go alone.”Do you want me to go with you?” I ask, knowing that I need to bury my grudge in the light of the moment-at least for now.

After my mother passed away, I couldn’t handle visiting her grave without Marie by my side. I could go with him and tell Marie that I’m going to be a bit late to the diner. She’d understand the reason.

He seems surprised at my offer. “That’s not necessary. I can handle it. Just give me five minutes to shower, and I’ll drive you.”

He doesn’t wait for an answer, just steps into the bathroom and closes the door behind him.

I’m at a loss for words, not expecting his courtesy.

I can handle being in a car with him for a few minutes.

While he showers, I finish getting ready.

I grab my art bag and sift through the supplies I made sure to pack with me when I left my place. Because I need the money, I’m subletting my apartment to a friend of a friend who’s visiting NYC for the month. I also know this will make it difficult for me to capitulate to Colton and flee back to my own four walls. I have a suspicion that the moment will come when even $750, 000 is not enough to bear his presence. My place is a shoebox-sized studio apartment with the living room, bedroom, and kitchen combined into single room, and while I wanted to make sure my guest had enough room for her stuff, I’m now extra glad I brought all my drawing supplies.

Drawing calms me down, and I feel as though I’m going to be doing alotof drawing over the next month.

Before my mom got sick, I used to draw and sketch every single day. Whenever I finished a drawing, she would find a spot on the wall to display it. But then I needed to work to support both of us and drawing went on the back burner.

If I can get through this next month and receive my inheritance, I’ll be able to take some classes again. I can draw more regularly and maybe build up my portfolio. A few years ago, I attempted to sell my art on ArtGal, the largest and most popular online platform, representing thousands of artists, however, my work hours were too much to keep up with it.

I hear the shower turn off, and I reach down to grab my messenger bag. When I do, it tips over and my red sketchbook spills out.

Shit. I must have left it open.

It falls open to one page.

Boy, am I glad that Colton isn’t around so he can’t see the sketch of all the nude bodies.

People are my favorite drawing subjects. I love studying the human body and trying to recreate it on the page. I’ve attended many nude art classes over the years. It was one of my favorite experiences in school, every Thursday from 6:00 p. m. to 8:00 p. m.

The models the school hired fluctuated: sometimes it was a male, sometimes it was a female. I had a favorite one-the “jiggly girl”: a pregnant woman, maybe around twenty-six, and completely uninhibited. You could just tell how much fun she had by her whole attitude. She would come rushing in, tear her clothes off, get in the middle of the hall-the tables were always arranged in a circle-jump up and down to loosen herself up, and her tits would jiggle. She had super-thick thighs, and a “give no fucks” attitude. Once she was all jiggled out, she’d proceed to offer original and not always the easiest of poses. She made it a point to always ask us if we had certain positions we wanted her to do, and she’d also warn us if she couldn’t hold a certain position too long. “Guys, you have about ten seconds to finish up.” That was such a breath of fresh air compared to other models who wouldn’t interact at all. It was wonderful and somehow magical to draw her nude body, eternalizing the various stages and changes of her pregnancy onto paper week by week, drawing the way her belly and breasts grew. At the end of the class, she was the only model who would walk around and take a look at what we’d drawn, and it wasn’t unusual for her to go home with several drawings some of us had gifted her.

I used to think I was pretty good-until thatstupidarticle from the douche critic had come out three years ago.

I shove the red book into my bag just as Colton comes down the hall.

I don’t want him to see my drawings.

Colton is dressed in blue jeans and a white T-shirt. It’s a simple outfit. I must have seen it on other guys a dozen times. It’s got to be the tightness of them. They cling to his body damn well, letting me view every thick muscle.

I think about his bare chest, about the heart tattoo, and my fingers twitch.

I want to touch him.

But more than that, I want todrawhim.

Not going to happen, Sera.

You willnotdraw him-he won’t go for it. Put it out of your head.

He’d just make fun of me for being nosy and wanting to see his naked body. The jerk.