“At this rate, I’ll have more of your clothes at my place than you do here at yours.”
“I don’t see a problem with that.”
She closed her eyes before heading to the door, then looked back. “Graham . . . eventually we have to talk about later. Now is fun. Now is . . . wow.”
“Spectacular,” he emphasized, getting up to find his own boxers.
Yes, spectacular was the word for it . . . and for him. Lord, he was too delicious for womankind to resist. The navy boxers slid up and over his very fine ass, and she felt a pang of regret she couldn’t stay all night.
Being an adult sucked sometimes.
“Nevertheless,” she went on as he hunted up his jeans, “eventually, we have to get to the later part of the conversation. There are things you need to know about why later isn’t an option. Things that—”
“Oh, hey, look at the time,” he said, checking his wrist, which had no watch. “You did say you had to go, and personally I’d love for you to be the one to bust up a Greg-and-Reagan make out session.” His smile turned devilish. “In fact, could you be running your video on your camera when you walk in? Just, you know, flip the lights on really fast like it’s a raid? I’d love to see how fast Greg’s ass hit the floor from the couch.”
“You’re terrible.” She went for her bag, dug out her phone and checked to make sure Reagan hadn’t texted with news. Nada. “Thank you for dinner,” she began, turning to find him walking behind her. His jeans were only half buttoned, and he hadn’t put on a shirt. He was still barefoot.
She was going to go into a coma. A hot guy coma. “I-I-uh . . . thank you.”
“You just said that,” he pointed out, checking the kitchen. “You have everything?”
“Mm-hmm,” she hummed, watching his back muscles strain as he reached into the fridge and pulled out two bottles of water. Carrying them with him, he kissed her once more then walked her to the door, and out to the car.
“For your drive back,” he said, handing her one.
“You’re a hospitable sort.”
“I want you to come back. Often. And stay longer.”
She kissed him once more, because he was sexy and shirtless and considerate and too much for her to resist in the now. The wow now. The spectacular now. Sliding her palm up and down his chest, she pushed firmly so she could open her door all the way and slide behind the wheel. “Get some rest.”
“No morning practice. I can stay up as late as I want.” He flashed her a sexy smile. “I’ll call you.”
Normally, she’d have rolled her eyes the moment she hit the main road, because I’ll call you was typically male code for Nah, not interested, and no balls to say it to your face. With Graham, it was code for . . . he’d call. She knew that one down to the bone.
“And next time, bring Zach.” With that parting shot, not having a clue how much his simple, unrehearsed acceptance of Zach in her life meant from a man she was interested in, he gently closed her car door and stepped back so she could reverse out of the driveway and head home.
Where she had a couple of babysitters to break apart, and an empty bed to sleep in.
Later sucked. Now was better.
*
KARA arrived home, parked, and hustled up to her second floor apartment. She debated, just for a moment, getting her phone ready to record, then thought better of it. If she had a cutie boyfriend like Greg, she’d make out with him on any couch she could. No judgment from her.
But when she opened the door, the only one on the couch was Reagan. Her friend’s face illuminated in the yellow-blue glow of the TV turned to her. “Hey, stranger. I was about to text Graham to make sure everything was going okay.”
“I’m so sorry, I’m way later than I thought.”
“I’m not punching a clock. Greg took off a while ago. He was hungry. Again.” Reagan rolled her eyes and stood as Kara flipped the lights. Her friend started to take the DVD out of the player. “How’d dinner go?”
“Dinner was nice. Spectacular.” That made her grin, though she tried to hide it by turning her back to Reagan. Working to keep her voice neutral, Kara set her purse on the hook by the door. “He’s a decent cook. Pasta and homemade garlic bread.”
“Hmm. Something cool for dessert?”
Kara cocked her head as she went to the kitchen to toss the empty water bottle in the recycling container. “What?”
“The sweatshirt.”
She jolted, realizing she was still wearing his sweatshirt. Again. She was actually starting a collection of Graham Sweeney sweatshirts. “No, I was just . . .” Shivering with lust. “Cold. No dessert.”
“Hmm.” Reagan followed her into the kitchen, waited until Kara opened the fridge to get another bottle of water out—despite claiming to be cold, she was suddenly flushed—then slapped her hand over Kara’s butt. “You liar! You totally had dessert. You had a Graham Sweeney sundae!”