I should warn her that I’m an asshole. That would be the non-asshole thing to do.
“Luke Saint,” Autumn says, furrowing her brow and glaring at me with a mixture of anger and disapproval. “I didn’t go digging around your personal life, although I probably should have, since you’re standing in my house and you very well could be a serial killer.”
“Trust me,” I say. “With the way you get under my skin, if I were a serial killer, you’d have been a goner already.”
“That’s probably true,” she says, laughing. “Although, who brings someone knives as a gift? That’s like, super creepy serial killer stuff right there.”
“Someone who can’t work in this lame kitchen of yours,” I say.
“Really?” she asks. “The guy who’s living in a camper down by the river calls my kitchen lame?”
“Woman, you haven’t seen my kitchen.”
“Woman?” she asks, laughing under her breath. “Has anyone ever told you that you really have some retro macho attitude going on?”
Olivia comes careening across the kitchen floor, the toy car in one hand as she runs on unsteady legs straight into Autumn’s leg, and Autumn lets out an “oof” as Olivia hugs her. In a flash, the toddler is on the move again, not even pausing to stop as she slides the car across the floor in the opposite direction.
“Woman,” I say again, with heavier emphasis. “Who’s cooking for your little behind right now?”
She laughs. “My behind, as you put it, hasn’t been called little in a long time.”
I make a show of walking around behind her and taking a long look at her ass in the jeans she’s wearing. Shit, hers has to be the nicest ass I’ve ever seen. I want to slide my hands over it. Hell, if her kid weren’t here, I’d be bending Autumn over the kitchen counter right now. Instead, I make an appreciative noise under my breath. “Your behind is perfect,” I say, walking back to the counter.
Autumn’s cheeks flush pink, which only makes me think about what she’d look like, flushed with arousal, underneath me in bed. Or on top of me. Or pinned against the wall. Or sitting on the kitchen counter.
Damn it. This girl is going to be the death of me.
She’s going to destroy me, ruin me in every way it’s possible to ruin someone.
In all of the best possible ways.
“In fact,” I say. “I’ll let you know what I think about it later.”
“Oh, really?” she says. “You think so? Is that what you came over here for -- to finish the job?”
“I didn’t come here to finish anything, Red,” I say. “I’m just getting started with you. I have no intention of finishing the job anytime soon.”
She smiles, looking at me for a long moment before she says exactly the last thing I expect to hear from her. “I’m not looking for a boyfriend.”
The words catch me so off guard, that I laugh uncomfortably. “Excuse me? Did I ask you to be my girlfriend?”
“Nope,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest, which has the unintended effect of giving me a view of her chest down the front of her shirt. I have to glance away, think about something decidedly un-sexy, because if I keep looking there, I’m going to be rock hard in all of about twenty seconds. “I’m just saying.”
“Well, in case you haven’t noticed,” I point out helpfully, “I’m not boyfriend material.”
Autumn laughs. “I’m rather clear on that point,” she says. “So we’re just friends.”
“Friends,” I say. “I don’t know that I’ve ever been down on the floor between a friend’s –“
“Luke!” Autumn protests loudly, as Olivia comes toddling back toward her.
“Mama,” Olivia howls, veering right toward the refrigerator.
“Are you hungry, Liv-bug?” she asks. “Do you want a snack?”
I turn back toward the counter, focusing my attention on prepping dinner. Friends, I tell myself. That’s a novel concept. I’ve never been friends with a woman I’ve screwed before. Shit, I try my damndest not to have conversations with a girl beyond exactly what I’d like to do to her.
Friends -- with a woman with a kid.
Maybe I’m growing. Becoming a better person.
After Autumn settles Olivia into her high chair, she comes back to the counter to fill up a cup with water for her. She brushes against me, accidentally I think at first, but when I look up at her, I realize it’s totally intentional. “I think it’s called friends with benefits,” she says, her voice low, as she passes by.
Shit. And just like that, I can’t stop thinking about Autumn naked. I’m not getting even slightly more mature.
Friends with benefits.
I should be pleased with this development. I should congratulate myself on my luck with escaping a potentially clingy girlfriend.
Except there’s just a small part of me that finds it annoying that she just suggested we only hook up.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Autumn