He suffered through a full-body shudder. “You’re not playing fair, Roxie.”
No, I wasn’t. But he wasn’t either, picking me up and looking like the Wolf of Wall Street.
“What can I say? It’s been a long and lonely week,” I admitted, giving him a quick kiss while we were stopped at a red light.
He lifted my hand and kissed it gently, smiling and making my heart do a thundering flutter. “I missed you too.”
Bomb dropped, he stepped on the gas as the light turned green.
Meanwhile, I was a bundle of holy shit. Breathe in. Breathe out. He missed me. He missed me!
Summer lovin’, holy fucking shit . . .
Tonight felt like there was a lot riding on it. I wasn’t nervous, per se. More like confused, excited, and a little apprehensive—this was an official coming out of sorts. He’d been much more open, more touchy-feely, more all-out-grab when others were around lately. A brush across my cheek here, a pinch and a tickle there, drawing every eye to us.
I wondered if it would be more of the same tonight. Judging by the cinema-worthy kiss he delivered . . . I would wager that would be a yes.
As the car crunched over the gravel driveway, I barely felt a bump—a testament to the amazing craftsmanship of the Mercedes. Lines of cars were already here, and the driveway was lit up with solar lights that led the way to their newly painted bright red door.
When I came here for the painting party, Leo and I weren’t a thing. Now we were, and were announcing it to the town. Shit, wait, what were we announcing? Were we a thing?
Leo pushed a button to shut off the car. This was some serious techno stuff—no key, just a button.
“Are you ready?” he asked, turning toward me. Tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, he twirled the end between his fingers.
“As I’ll ever be,” I answered. I moved in and gave him, one, two, three pecks on the lips.
He groaned when I finally pulled away, his lips chasing me halfway back across the console. “If I don’t get out of the car now, I’m taking you into the backseat, and I don’t care who witnesses it.”
I looked at the number of people milling about the driveway. It appeared that most of the town would be getting quite a show. “Later. I’ll make it worth your while.”
Satisfied, he adjusted himself and hopped out of the car, then circled around the front to open my door. He held out his hand and helped me out, his eyes never leaving mine.
They said so much, held so many filthy promises, that I was tempted to toss him onto the front of the car and mount him like a hood ornament.
“You’re here!” Chad shouted, coming down the stairs with two mason jars in his hands. Beautiful, fitting, and charming, they held some sort of punch with raspberries, mint, and ice floating around.
“We’re here!” I answered, as full of enthusiasm as he was. I welcomed the interruption, before we were tempted to put on an X-rated movie of Old MacDonald Had an Orgasm. A movie that, based on how good Leo was looking tonight, I’d be proud to star in.
Chad led us into the house, taking my hand as we walked through the front door. But no one was looking at his hand. No, ma’am. They were all looking at the hand that Leo had placed firmly and succinctly in the small of my back, announcing our relationship more publicly than if we’d arrived with his tongue down my throat.
Eyes widened, hands covered open mouths, and elbows jabbed to alert others. And I’m fairly certain that those who couldn’t attend were alerted via Facebook and Twitter, since people were snapping pictures of the happy couple.
The happy couple being us. Or at least one of us.