Play with Me (With Me in Seattle, #3)(84)

“From what you told me, it sounds like he was looking out for you.”

“He was,” I nod in agreement. “But it still hurt. I loved him, and he left. And I was too stubborn to stay in touch with him after he was gone. And then when the mad wore off, and I wanted to hear his voice, I felt like too much time had passed, and I didn’t think he’d want to hear from me.” The last sentence is said with a whisper and brings tears to my eyes.

“I’m quite sure that’s not the case,” Will murmurs and brushes a tear off my cheek with his thumb. “No matter how stupid Jules acts, I’d always want to hear from her.”

“Yeah,” I mumble, not knowing what else to say.

“I think we should get up.” Will pulls away from me and bounds out of bed, all naked and rumpled from sleep.

“I think you should get your sexy ass back in bed.” He grins wolfishly at me and pulls the covers away from my naked body.

“Nope, up.”

“Hey! It’s cold.”

“Get your hot ass out of bed and into the shower. I have a surprise for you.” He rolls the blankets into a ball and throws them on the floor, stomping into the bathroom to start the shower.

“What about morning sex?” I yell after him.

“In the damn shower!” he yells back.

“You mean we can have morning sex in the shower?” I yell.

Will appears in the doorway and leans his shoulder against the jam, crosses his muscular arms over his chest, naked as a baby.

“I love it when you’re naked,” I tell him happily from my position on the bed.

“I’m happy to hear that,” he smiles and crosses one leg in front of the other, looking all relaxed. “Are you going to get in the shower under your own power, or do I need to carry you in there?”

“Why are you so bossy this morning?” I ask with a laugh.

“I’m bossy every morning, babe. Now,” he pushes away from the door and saunters to the bed, grabs my ankle, and pulls me to the edge of the bed. “Let’s get in the shower.”

“Okay,” I hold my arms up, and he pulls me to my feet, but rather than letting me walk into the bathroom, he lifts me onto his shoulder and carries me.

“I can walk,” I tell him wryly and slap his firm ass.

“Not fast enough.”

“Tell me about this surprise,” I slap his ass again just before he sets me on my feet.

“No. You said something about shower sex.” He grabs my shower gel and lathers up a wash cloth.

“I’ll have shower sex with you if you tell me about the surprise,” I offer and have to grip his biceps to hold steady as he glides the soapy cloth over my breasts and down my stomach, landing between my legs.

“Are you sure?” he asks.

“What was the question?”



*



“Where are we going?” I ask from the passenger seat of Will’s car.

“You’ll see. We’re almost there.”

“I don’t like surprises.”

“I’m getting that. You’re really bad at just shutting up and letting me do my thing, sweetheart.”

“You should never tell me you have a surprise for me.”

“Lesson learned,” he mutters and parks the car in front of the café with the twelve-egg-omelet.

“Breakfast is the surprise?” I ask with raised eyebrows.

“Shut up, Megan.”

He exits the car and opens my door for me, pulling me up by the hand, wraps his arm around my waist and plants a hard kiss on me, right there on the sidewalk.

“You can shut me up like that anytime, football star.”

He winks and leads me into the restaurant, through the shabby booths and to the back where a guy is sitting with his back to the room, beanie on his head, hoodie on, tattooed hands holding a cup of coffee.

Leo.

My wide gaze finds Will’s and he just shrugs.

Leo looks back at us and smiles, stands, and holds his hand out to Will. “Hey, man.”

“Hey. I’m gonna let you guys catch up. Do you mind giving Meg a ride home when you’re done?”

“You’re leaving?” I ask him, butterflies swarming crazily in my stomach.

“I’m a third wheel, and won’t understand your inside jokes anyway.” He brushes his hand down my face, leans in and whispers in my ear, “You’ll be fine. I love you. Call me if you need me.”

“I love you too,” I murmur and watch him walk out of the restaurant.

“Have a seat,” Leo gestures to the other side of the booth, and I automatically plop down in it and just stare at him. His beanie is pulled low across his forehead, covering his eyebrow piercing. His grey eyes are happy, but guarded as if he doesn’t quite know how I’ll react to him.

He’s gripping onto his coffee with both hands.

“You have new tats on your fingers,” I murmur.

“You have a new tat on your arm,” he returns.

I smile. “I’ve had it for a while.”

“What song?”

“Dare You To Move.”

He nods, understanding why. “The floor line?” he asks.

“Yeah.”