A Not So Meet Cute(88)

“It’s a mutual appreciation,” he says before he closes his eyes.

His breath evens out as his grip on me relaxes. Is he . . . taking a nap? With me naked like this?

When he doesn’t move, but continues to lie there, eyes closed, hand on me, I realize that’s exactly what he’s doing.

And maybe, in other circumstances, I’d take offense to this. I’m a naked woman lying right next to him. I’d expect him to want to take advantage of the situation, but Huxley doesn’t need to. He can lie here in comfort, knowing that I’ll probably lie right here with him.

Which I will, because this moment feels comfortable. It feels normal.

I close my eyes as well and let out a deep sigh as I allow the raft to float us around the pool. The incoming clouds slowly block the sun from crisping up our skin, giving us the opportunity to just enjoy the warm heat.

I’m not sure how long we stay like this.

I can’t be sure how long we nap, but it isn’t until I’m being carried up the stairs of Huxley’s house that I realize I’m no longer on the raft.

In a haze, I open my eyes and blink a few times. “What’s happening?” I ask, confused.

“I didn’t want you to get burnt. The sun came out again,” he whispers softly.

Carrying me down the hallway that leads to our bedrooms, I half expect him to kick open the door to his bedroom, but he doesn’t. He opens my bedroom door and then softly places me on my bed, rolling down the blankets and then slipping them up over my naked body. When he straightens, he grips the back of his neck and asks, “Can I get you anything?”

Caught off guard from his one-eighty in attitude, I shake my head. “No, I’m . . . uh, I’m good.”

He nods and takes a step back. “Sorry about that back there.”

“Sorry about what?” I ask.

“Touching you. I shouldn’t have. I’m just having a hard time keeping this professional, especially when I walk in on you naked. You’re damn hard to resist, Lottie.”

I tilt my head, trying to understand him. “When has touching me ever stopped you before?”

“I’m trying to respect what we have, not fuck it up.”

“Do you know how you can fuck it up?” I ask.

“How?”

“By closing yourself off.”

He grips his neck even harder. “I’m trying, Lottie.”

“I’ve noticed,” I say. “And I appreciate you opening up and talking to me. Answering my questions. It means a lot to me. It makes this situation easier, and honestly, I like getting to know you, Huxley. You’re a . . . neat guy.”

His brow quirks up while a slight smile pulls at his lips. “Neat?”

I smirk. “Yup. Neat.”

“Pretty sure no one has ever called me a neat guy before.”

“Such a shame.” I remove the covers he placed over me and stand from my bed. As I walk toward my bathroom, I feel his eyes tracing my every move. I walk into the walk-in closet and grab a fresh pair of underwear—if that’s what you want to call them. The fabric barely covers my ass. I look for an oversized shirt but remember all of my clothes are in storage. Groaning, I walk back out. His eyes immediately rake over me, from head to toe. It’s a heated gaze, reminding me that he might not have done anything with me this morning, but there’s no doubt in my mind that he wants to. “Can I borrow a shirt?” I ask. “I really just want to wear something oversized and comfortable.”

“You want to borrow one of my shirts?” he asks.

“Yeah, do you mind?”

His eyes grow darker and he pauses before answering. What’s the big deal? It’s a shirt.

I’m about to tease him, when he says, “Sure.” He turns away from me and heads into his room. I follow behind him, not caring at all that I’m topless. What’s the point in covering up now?

He goes to his dresser drawers and pulls out a faded black T-shirt. “Don’t lose it. It’s one of my favorites,” he says before handing it to me.

I take the threadbare shirt from him and unfold it, revealing a picture of Creedence Clearwater Revival. I quickly look up at him. “CCR? You have a CCR shirt?”

He nods. “They were one of my dad’s favorite bands. I only have a few memories of my dad, because he divorced my mom when we were young, but the memories I do have of him always involved CCR playing in the background.”

I slip the shirt on, loving how it smells like him.

He takes a step forward and tugs on the sleeve. “You’re swimming in this.”

“The way I like it.”

He nods again. “Yeah, you look pretty damn good in it.”

I hug myself. “It’s really comfortable. I might steal it from you.”

That playful brow of his quirks up again. “You better not.”

Teasing him, I say, “You shouldn’t have offered up this shirt if you didn’t want me stealing it.” I move past him, only for him to grip my wrist and pull me against his chest.

He tilts up my chin and says, “Don’t make me peel that shirt off you right now.”

“Is that supposed to be a threat? Feels more like a reward to me.”

His lips thin as they press together. His eyes search mine, bouncing back and forth, and I wait for his next move. His comeback. But he doesn’t say anything. He just . . . shakes his head and then laces his fingers with mine to bring me back downstairs to the kitchen, where he spins me toward the counter and lifts me up onto the island. The cold surface makes me squeal for just a second until my skin becomes acclimated.