“Asa?” she whispered, trying to gauge if he was awake. She cleared her throat and said his name louder, but he didn’t budge.
She thought about waking him up, or even just staying in the safe, cozy warmth of his embrace, but she really had to pee. It also wouldn’t hurt to have the chance to brush her teeth, freshen up a bit.
She slid out from under his arm and edged herself off the bed, turning to see if the movements had disturbed his sleep at all. He burrowed a little more into her pillow, the blue of his hair extra bright against the white sheets, his mouth slightly open as he breathed the slow, steady breathing of someone still in the deepest non-REM stage. She adjusted her lavender comforter until it was covering him more completely, less because she thought he’d get cold and more because it was just something she wanted to do.
By the time he finally emerged an hour later, she’d showered and dressed and was sitting at the table, nursing a cup of coffee and jotting plans for Cold World down in a notebook. Something had happened overnight and suddenly she was bursting with thoughts and ideas. She couldn’t wait to talk to Asa about them, but she figured if he was anything like her he’d need coffee first.
“Do you want me to pour you some?” she asked, holding up her mug.
He ran his hand through his hair, which was adorably flattened on one side and sticking up on the other. He was still wearing only boxer briefs and an undershirt, and even though he was more covered up than he’d been that day at the beach, her heart sped up a little at the sight of him. “That depends. Do you have cream and sugar, or do you keep your kitchen on some Soviet food rationing system?”
“Ha ha,” she said sarcastically. “I have milk and sugar, if that’ll suit your refined palate.”
“I’m good, actually,” he said. “I did use an extra toothbrush I found still in its packaging under your sink. I hope that was okay.”
“It was probably a BOGO deal. It’s fine.”
He crossed over to where she was sitting, squeezing her shoulder as he came behind her. She liked that casual touch more than she probably should, liked the way he left his hand there as he looked down at the notebook.
“What are you working on?”
“Did you know that in 1977, it snowed as far south as Miami?” She tapped her pen against the bulleted list in front of her. “Places near Orlando reported as much as two inches. The coldest recorded temperature in Florida was negative two degrees, in Tallahassee back in 1899.”
He pulled out the other chair to sit down, pulling the notebook closer so he could read what she’d written. “I see you still don’t have an answer for how cold it has to be to kill someone.”
“Because there are too many factors!” she protested before he looked up and she saw the grin that let her know he was teasing her again. “Besides, that’s too macabre for the interactive exhibit I’m thinking of. The idea is to try to get more families with toddlers or elementary school groups to come in, not to scare them away.”
“I like it,” he said, scanning her list. “Especially the part where kids can excavate little toys out of ice by experimenting with droppers of warm water and other stuff. I still have some of those little plastic penguins. We can get more figurines like that, and then the kids can just keep them.”
“That’s what I was thinking,” she said, “except I’m not sure about the choking hazard aspect. We’ll have to consider that one more.”
He raised his eyebrow at her use of the word “we,” and she took a deep breath, telling herself to just go for it. If he said no, no big deal, right? She wouldn’t even be able to blame him, after what a production she’d made of turning him down again and again.
“Would you want to work together?” she asked. “I mean, obviously you can still work on your mural idea, and in fact I was thinking that this could use some art to show how cute we could make it for the kids . . . I’d help you with any budgeting parts you needed assistance with, and I have a bunch of other thoughts on changes we could make to cut costs or increase revenue even more, like there’s a local peewee hockey team that needs a place to practice, and our rink isn’t regulation but we could make it work if they came in for an hour during the slow part of the day—”
“Lauren.” Asa cut her off, laughing. “I’d love to work with you on this. Seriously.”
“Yeah?”
He leaned over the notebook, angling his body so she couldn’t see what he was up to until he was done. When he slid it back to her, there was a doodle of a little bear wearing bell bottoms, shivering little lines around his shocked face as he stood under a palm tree covered in snow. Lauren’s surprised giggle came out more like a squawk, and he smiled.
“I might have to research late seventies fashion. Maybe more disco than hippie? I have no idea.”
She added a wobbly Afro to the bear, trying to give it more of a late seventies feel.
“Perfect,” he said, and when she went to stand up, he pulled her down onto his lap. His arms were wrapped around her waist, his chin on her shoulder when he said, “See? I told you we’d work well together.”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
“Why not? It’s so much fun.” He kissed the sensitive skin at the side of her neck, his lips brushing her earlobe. She felt the flutter of his breath against her cheek as he said, “Am I getting ahead of myself?”
Her own breath was caught in her throat. She was afraid to move, afraid to break whatever spell had wrapped around them at her kitchen table. When she finally spoke, she could only manage a single word.
“No.”
She was conscious of his bare thighs under her, the light dusting of hair, the way his muscles flexed as he drew her back against him. And then she was very conscious of the hard length of him against her ass, the layers of clothing between them doing little to disguise just how turned on he was. It made her feel powerful, knowing that she could do that to him with such little provocation.
“How about now?” he asked, his fingertips skimming the bare skin of her waist under her shirt. She shook her head wordlessly, sucking in a breath as his hands slid up farther, his thumbs rolling her nipples through her bra.
“Now?” he rasped into her ear.
She tilted her head back, her neck exposed as she arched against his touch. “I don’t—” she started, breaking off with a ragged sigh when he reached to cup her breasts fully under her bra, his hands warm and possessive. “I can’t follow what you’re asking me.”
His hands dropped to her rib cage, and immediately she wanted them back where they were, his palms rubbing the tender tips of her nipples. “I’m asking permission to touch you,” he said. “To show you how much I want you. Because, god, Lauren, I want you.”
She turned so she was more sideways on his lap, burying one hand in his hair as she looked down into his gray eyes. She loved his hair, how soft it was under her fingers. She loved the way he looked at her with his full attention, his gaze on her face like he was still cataloging every tiny detail, like he hadn’t yet run out of new things to notice.
“Only if I can show you, too,” she said. “It’s only fair.”
“Tit for tat,” he said solemnly, then immediately closed his eyes.
“Was that a joke? It was terrible.”
He cracked one eye open, biting his lip in an adorably self-deprecating expression that would make her forgive ten more equally cringeworthy puns. “Sorry,” he said. “I’m a little nervous. I joke when I get nervous.”
Nervous was her default state, but weirdly, hearing him admit to feeling the same way made her own nerves fly out the window.
“Maybe I should do something to shut you up.”
She’d never been good at dirty talk, and her every instinct wanted to immediately apologize for saying something so rude, but Asa didn’t seem to mind.