No Weddings (No Weddings #1)(25)

So much fun.





I scrolled through my phone contacts, grinning like an idiot. Couldn’t help it, really. I’d gone into full-blown stupid mode.

Clicking on Hannah’s number, I hit the text box and typed.



We doing your place or mine?



I waited, watching two kids on scooters race by on the sidewalk.

Her reply came through seconds later.



Are you up front on my couch?



I grinned and replied.



Nope. Breaking in your new chair. Spun it around a quarter turn.

Better angle . . .



Her message bubble popped up while she typed her reply.



Did you just make that dirty?



I laughed.



Is that what three little dots does to you? I’ll have to do it more often

. . .



A minute passed. Then another. No whirring noises happened. I began to wonder if Little Miss Ice Queen had frosted over, or melted down.

Finally, her message bubble showed her typing again.



Your place.



I nodded.



My roommate might be there . . .



The sigh I heard was so loud, she had to be standing right inside the kitchen doorway.



I am NOT interpreting those three dots to be anything sexual.

I don’t do threesomes . . .



I choked, coughing like I’d inhaled a gallon of water. My mind blanked—zero thoughts between my ears.

She saved it, compensating for my total wipeout.



Does he bite . . . ?



I stared at those three naughty little dots. My cock twitched, and I adjusted in the seat. On a deep breath, I shook my head, taking control.



Only 5-star food.

Do you do threesomes . . .

for dinner . . . ?



She appeared in the doorway, smiling.

Damn, I loved that smile. I grabbed my messenger bag from the table and joined her. “Ready?”

She nodded once. “Sure. We need to go shopping first.”

“No we don’t. I went shopping already.”

She pulled her head back, surprised. “How did you know what we’d need? Or that I’d say ‘your place?’”

“I assumed one out of our three days you would. And you’re a gourmet chef, right? I bought every ingredient imaginable, according to the sales person who assisted me. I figured you’d improvise.”

Her eyes narrowed imperceptibly, but then she fought a smile. “Improvising in a kitchen is one of my greatest talents.”

My mind spun at the loaded tone in her voice, and I tilted my head as she headed out the door. “One of them?”

She turned around to face me again, walking backward as I stepped through the doorway. “Shouldn’t you be focusing on the first part of the sentence instead of the last?” Her eyes sparkled with humor.

I blinked, speechless about the huge innuendo she’d left thick in the air between us.

Her head fell back and she laughed—a deep, rich sound. She’d let her hair down, and it fell in shiny, dark waves around her face. A few strands on the right touched her slender chin. Without thinking, I reached up and tucked them behind her ear.

She gasped at the contact, shuddering. Big trusting eyes looked up at me. I saw deeper than that, though. Fear and hurt were barely masked by the brave and reckless front she put on. They were the same emotions barricaded behind her icy walls.

I stared down into her eyes, but decided not to attempt to break through her carefully constructed shields. She deserved better than that kind of rough handling. I figured she would let down her guard when she was ready.

“C’mon, Maestro. Let’s see what you can cook us up.”

The spell broken, she nodded rapidly, pulling her small purse from her shoulder.

I stepped outside, waiting as she turned off the lights, activated the alarm, and closed the door. She fished a bundle of keys from her purse and locked it.

When she turned, I pressed a hand to her lower back. “Let me drive.”

She stopped cold, pointing. “That thing? No way.”

I laughed at her horrified expression. “Ever ridden on a bike?”

She shook her head, hard.

“Live a little, Hannah. Slide something wide between your legs and hold on tight to me. You might like it.” I smirked.

Her eyes narrowed, but the corners of her lips twitched.

Yep. I didn’t need a text box for sexual innuendo.

When she hesitated, I shattered her ice. “It vibrates…”

She burst out laughing. I took advantage of the crumbling walls to grab her hand, tugging her forward. “I promise it’s safe. I get here in one piece often enough. That should tell you something.”

She let out an undignified grunt.

I handed her the extra helmet I’d brought—yeah, I was that confident—and helped her fasten the chin strap. She looked adorable: pinked cheeks, dark waves of hair flowing out.

I straddled my bike and held out my arm, thankful she’d worn jeans. She took it and expertly swung her leg over, with that little purse snug over her shoulder.

Before I backed us up, Hannah adjusted, tightening her thighs around my hips, sliding her hands around my waist, and tucking them up in front of my chest. Her body pressed into my back. “This okay?” she asked.