Don't Call Me Hero by Eliza Lentzski Page A

cumming,” she gasped.
    It was the first time she’d spoken since the initial crush of lips unless you counted a heavy sigh or a slipped profanity or celestial praise.
    She held tightly to my upper arms as she rode out her orgasm. I couldn’t resist, so I swooped in for another kiss. Our tongues battled for dominance while her thighs quivered around my hand. I stayed inside of her until her legs stopped shaking. It was only then when I withdrew and collapsed beside her.
    I was obviously hoping for some reciprocation, but I was too exhausted to say so. My lungs felt like I’d climbed a mountain, not just had furious sex with a beautiful woman. I was in shape, but I supposed that sex worked a different set of muscles than running did. I would just need more practice, I thought with a satisfied grin.
    I rolled over at the same moment she rose from my bed.
    “Where are you …” The words got caught in my throat.
    Her hair was slightly disheveled as she slid her blouse on and refastened the buttons.
    “I have to go,” she said simply.
    My forehead furrowed. “Go?” The word made no sense to me.
    “Yes,” she sighed with growing impatience. She retrieved her skirt and zipped it back into place. “I have an early morning. I can’t dally here.”
    I pulled myself to a seated position. All kinds of insecure questions came to mind: Why can't you stay the night? Was I not any good? Will I see you again?
    I refused to allow myself to sound clingy and pathetic. I leaned over the edge of the bed and grabbed my T-shirt from the floor.
    She sat at the bottom of the mattress. Her head was cocked to the side as she put her earrings back on. I hadn’t noticed her taking them out.  “I trust you’ll be discrete?” Her caramel eyes regarded me.
    “I just got into town,” I said, slipping my T-shirt over my head. “Who would I tell?”
    Her gaze flickered over me. “Mmm … indeed.”
    She stepped into overpriced stilettos and left without another word.
    I fell back onto my pillows and let out a deep breath as I stared at the ceiling and drummed my fingers against my abdomen. What the hell was that?
    Leaving my bed, I grabbed my discarded jeans and made a face when I realized they were wet. Somewhere in our frantic scramble to rid each other of clothes, my beer had been knocked over. A puddle of carbonated alcohol pooled on the floor. I threw my pants in a corner of the room to deal with later. At least I wouldn’t have to go far to the Laundromat.
    There was another light knock at the door, and I launched into action, pulling on a pair of shorts and senses going on full alert. She’d come back. I felt a cocky grin slide into its usual place as I swung my apartment door open.
    “Back for round …” The words died in my mouth when I saw a pixie-haired woman standing in the hallway. “Sorry.” I poked my head into the hallway and looked either way. The other woman was nowhere to be seen. “I thought you were someone else.”
    The second woman didn’t appear fazed by my reaction. “Hi. I’m Grace Kelly Donovan. I live across the hallway.” She jerked her thumb in the direction of Apartment B.
    “Grace Kelly?” I repeated. “Like the actress?”
    “Don’t worry. We’re not related,” she said with a bright grin. “My parents are just obsessed with Old Hollywood.”
    “Oh.” I leaned against the doorframe. “I’m Cassidy. Cassidy Miller,” I returned. “My parents didn’t name me after anyone.”
    “Welcome to the neighborhood, Cassidy Miller.” She shoved a wicker basket into my arms.
    “Wow. Thanks. This is really great.” I sifted around in the basket, examining its contents. There were cookies and muffins and planted herbs and some other things I’d have to later explore more carefully. “You wanna crack into this thing?” I asked, pulling out a bottle of pinot noir.
    “Oh, I-I really couldn’t.”
    My smile returned, less cocky and more genuine. “You’d be doing me a big favor.