His jaw stiffens ever so slightly, and he gives a curt nod. “Right.” That tiny gesture crushes my fleeting hope that maybe something real could be budding here.
“But how is that helping? No one will hear us.”
“Still, good practice, for…” Then he hesitates, shifts the topic. “I never asked… how did your meet-up with hot coffee shop guy go this morning?”
I force a smile, leaning back into the seat. “Good. Really. I was in the car answering messages, and he brought me coffee… and a little bag with cream, milk, and sugar.”
He murmurs something under his breath, something, I think, about the guy not knowing my coffee order.
As I struggle to hear, I ask, “What?”
“Nothing.” He runs a hand over his face, rubbing at something I can’t reach, something I wish I could.
“It was really sweet of him,” I add softly.
“Hot coffee guy is sweet,” he agrees, stepping out of the car. Cool air rushes in, brushing over me, but it isn’t the cold that sends a shiver down my spine. It’s the way he reaches for my hand without asking, the way he guides me inside with effortless certainty.
Inside, he picks up a key from the side table and hands it to me.
I glance down at the keychain, a tiny wooden hockey stick that he’d meticulously made with love and care. My lips curl in a smile. “You know… you could sell these.”
“I don’t want to,” he says simply.
“I know.”
“I know you know.” His answer is quiet, but holds much weight. He’s trusting me with this, a key to his house, a key that could unlock a story he doesn’t want shared.
He looks the length of me, lust now spreading in his eyes. “Now what was this you said about adding to my…collection.”
His smile is playful but wolfish, and it stirs a pulse of heat between my legs that I can’t ignore. He pulls me to him, close enough that I can feel the weight of him pressing against me.
“Do you have something sexy on underneath these?” His voice drops low, a husky tease that makes my pulse race.
Before I can respond, his fingers are undoing the button on my jeans, the zipper hissing open under his touch. A tortured sound escapes his throat and I lean into him, my eyes begging him to slide his fingers into my panties, and then into me. I don’t even care how needy I’m coming off. I want him.
“All night,” he murmurs. “I’ve been thinking about getting you naked.”
“Even when we were talking about muffins?” I tease, trying to sound light, but the tremor in my voice betrays me.
His groan wraps around me and it’s crazy how much I like torturing him, crazy that I can even do that, but Jaxon makes me feel so damn desirable. “Especially when we were talking about muffins.”
Before I know it, I’m in his arms. My brain short-circuits for a second, expecting him to take me upstairs to his bedroom. Instead, he pivots and steps toward the living room.
I glance around at the room I haven’t spent any time in. Like the rest of his place, it’s cozy and inviting. “Are we going to do it in every room in this house?” I ask, breathless, half-laughing, half-exasperated.
He gives me a serious look. “You need to be prepared for everything, Row,” he replies, his voice deep and full of promises. “Especially long, drawn out foreplay. It could come up.”
“I think something is coming up,” I tease.
He sets me on the sofa, and I can’t help but notice how ordinary he suddenly starts acting, like this isn’t some bold, sexual escalation. He disappears, only to return with wine and a bowl of ice. Then, to my surprise, he flicks on the TV.
I sit up straighter, maybe a little disappointed. Jeez. I assumed this was about sex. Was I really wrong? Is he already tired of me? No, that can’t be it. We just talked about panty collections and road-trip chats. Sexy road trip chats.
He pours two glasses of wine and hands me one, the movement casual, confident. Then he punches in a search on the screen.
“Zombieland?” I ask, incredulous. “Uh… I thought you were more of a Hallmark guy.” I try for a light tone, to hide the disappointment coiling through me.
“Haha, funny,” he replies, his lips twitching.