Still Not Over You(44)

She jolts upright at Steve’s name like someone flicked a switch on the Energizer Bunny.

“What? Steve?” It comes out in a breathy little screech, only for her voice to trail into a squeak as the blanket falls down around her waist. She lets out the most adorably chirpy little “Fuck!” I’ve ever heard, clutches at the blanket, pulls at her tank top, freezes for a moment, then rapidly sets her bra and tank to rights before clutching the blanket around her waist.

She shoots me a nervous, wide-eyed look. “Oh. Uh. Crap. Morning.”

I grin. I can’t help feeling like the cat that got the cream. “Morning, beautiful. Let me get our clothes so you can stop wearing that blanket as a shawl.”

Her cheeks burst with color. It just makes me want to taste her tongue again.

She glowers at me, but it doesn’t have much effect when her glasses are falling off her nose – and you can bet it was hot as fuck last night, seeing her arching under me, eyes wide and wet behind those sexy librarian glasses – and her hair’s a wreck and she’s clutching a blanket for decency.

“Pants, Mister,” she says firmly. “I want my pants before we talk about this.”

I smile, quirking an eyebrow. “Yes, ma’am.”

Lifting her off me gently, I keep the blanket wrapped around her so I don’t get kicked in the junk, and shift to stand while simultaneously twisting to deposit her in the seat. I lean down to kiss the top of her head. She plants a hand on my face and shoves me away.

I just kiss the center of her palm, then grin and saunter away to fetch my shirt, her shorts, and her panties.

I shouldn’t feel so light about this.

Too bad I’ve been an arrow strung tight to a bow for the past five years, and the tension’s finally released, shooting straight home.

Yeah. Sometimes, it feels like Reb is the last bit of home I have left. The rest has been a mess of death, dad, Dallas, and bad fucking memories.

I push them out of my head for now, plucking my dew-damp t-shirt out of the grass and pull it on, settling it over my chest. Then I drape her shorts and panties over my arm and return to the poolside lounge chair. She’s made herself a kind of blanket nest, burrowed down in it. She's looking out over the pool with that dreamy look in her eyes, her brows knit together.

I sink down on the edge of the chair and offer her clothes.

“Here.”

She darts me another one of those nervous glances, then snatches her panties and shorts. They disappear underneath the blanket. There’s a little wriggling, a little cursing, a lot of blushing, and then I guess she’s dressed because she’s no longer clutching at the blanket like it’s her last line of defense.

She bites her lip, pulling her knees up to her chest, watching me over the little round hillocks they make.

“Hi,” she says in a small voice.

I smile again, this time wider. “Why do you look like I’m about to tell you to go fuck yourself?”

“Because that’s been the pattern for the past five years, hasn't it?” she retorts dryly. “Though, I guess I don’t really need to fuck myself since you did a pretty thorough job.”

“Thorough, huh?” I grin wolfishly, and she scowls. “I'll take that as a compliment.”

“I – you know what I mean!”

“Do I? C'mon, Reb. You write romance books. You start making clever sex puns, you gotta own them.”

“I write romance novels. I don’t live them, Landon.” She groans, dragging a hand across her face. “Oh, hell. I’m living a romance novel...aren't I?”

“Doesn’t have to be that complicated. Or that much drama. We're both grown-ups here, babe.” I lean over and nudge her with my shoulder, then toss my head. “Come on. Let’s get your shit and sneak out before Steve sees us. We’ll talk it out back at my place.”

She stills. “You were serious about...about me coming back?”

“As a heart attack.”

“Just to be your fake girlfriend...with benefits?”

Shit-fire, she's got me there.

I clear my throat. “Well, it might be a little more complicated than that, but yeah...that's the gist of it.” I hesitate.

I don’t want to give her an ultimatum, tell her that we’ll only talk it out if she agrees to come back with me, but her brother’s back yard is seriously not the place for this conversation.

She seems to pick up on what I’m thinking, as she casts a nervous glance over her shoulder toward the house, then unfolds herself and rises. “Okay. I'll come. Most of my stuff is still in my car. Let me get my bag from the house.”

“You want to drive, or ride with me?”

“I...” She pauses, blinks, remembering her car is here. There’s a touch of that shyness I remember. “Well, it’ll be easier if I ride with you, won’t it?”

“You know it.” And I’m not thinking of her straddling my lap, crushed between the wheel of the Impala and my body. “Saves on gas.”

Lame excuse. Doesn't mean she doesn't beam like the sun after it's out of my mouth.

She clears her throat, rolling her eyes playfully, hiding the genuine happiness seeping through her. “Okay, fine. I’ll ride with you.”

“Good answer. Move, Reb. We've got five minutes.”