“You don’t have to do that, West. I know you’re anxious to get back to your life.”
“You say that like we’re never going to see each other again.” He looks genuinely confused.
“I thought you don’t date redheads?” There. I said it.
“I thought you don’t date hockey players?” he counters, arching a brow.
“Weren’t we just being glib?” I pause, hoping we’re on the same page with all of this. “Because you said you were going to be my…person.” And I’ll be crushed if it turns out that was just talk.
“I meant it.”
There’s another beat of silence because I’m not sure what this means.
“Are we going to…date?” I ask finally.
“I don’t know what we’re going to call it but I assumed we would see each other again.” He hesitates. “Don’t you want to?”
“I don’t want you to show up out of guilt because I let you weather out the storm here.”
He chuckles. “You think I’d do something like that out ofguilt? I like you. We have a lot in common. You’re beautiful. I love touching you. I’m not making any promises, but there’s no reason we can’t spend time together. We’re both busy, but I always make time for my friends.”
Friends.
Part of me is disappointed at his use of that word, but what did I expect?
“Besides,” he continues when I don’t respond. “I seem to recall us planning a cookoff.”
That makes me laugh. “We did.”
“I don’t know my schedule yet because of the weather, but once we get through this, we’ll sync calendars and come up with a day.”
“And what does the winner of this cook off get?” I ask playfully.
“If you win, you plan a day doing anything you want—I pay for and participate in whatever it is.”
“And if you win?”
His eyes darken. “We find a sitter for Joey, and you do anythingIwant.”
I frown. “I mean, that’s fair, but there have to be limits… I’m not playing hockey or anything like that.”
“Of course not. I’m talking about going to a baseball game or a day of golf or something. I’d never ask you to do something you’d be genuinely uncomfortable doing.”
For some reason, that makes me think about what we did last night on the couch. And somehow, I know what he just said applies to the bedroom too.
“Basically, whoever wins gets to plan a fun day.”
“Exactly.”
“You’re a sweet guy, West.” I tilt my head to gaze up at him.
“I try to be.” He brushes a few errant tendrils of hair out of my face and then bends his head to kiss me. He’s not tentative now, taking my mouth possessively.
And I let him because kissing him is nirvana.
He pulls me close and I straddle him again, but this time his hands are under my T-shirt, sliding beneath the sports bra I’ve been wearing for two days. Without breaking our kiss, his fingers drift to the front and he gently cups my breasts.
Oh, God.