Trouble (Dogwood Lane #3)(70)

My heart pounds in my ears, but not loud enough so I miss the guttural groan of him losing himself.

Panting, I watch him come undone. His face lifted to the sky, his eyes shut in a bout of pleasure—it’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever witnessed.

He drops his chin. I bite my lip and prepare for a variety of responses.

None of them are what I get.

He slips out of me without a word. Instead of getting up or cracking a joke, he wraps me in his arms and pulls me against him.

My breath stalls in my chest as he rests his chin on the top of my head for a long moment. Before he pulls back, he leaves a kiss in its place.

There is a wariness in his eyes, an uncertainty of what to say. I don’t know what to say either. Even so, I’ll be damned if this gets weird. It was too perfect.

“I have to say, you didn’t lie,” I say, trying to lighten the mood and draw attention away from too many feelings.

“What about?”

He offers a hand and helps me to my feet. I brush off my legs and back as I try not to smile.

“Eight inches was fair,” I note.

He laughs as he gathers our clothes. Mine get a quick shake. Grass and twigs fall off them.

“I told you,” he says. “I’m great with tools.”

I take my clothes from him and slip my shirt over my head. Looking him up and down and then back up again, I grin. “I’d have to agree.”

He shakes his head as he buttons his pants. “Let’s get you home so we can clean you up.”

“Harper is going to love this,” I say. “Maybe I can tell her I fought a lion in the woods. That’s believable, right?”

He stands still. “I was, um, meaning my house. But I can totally take you to Harper’s.”

I hold my shorts in my hands. Looking up, I take him in. He’s watching me with what I can only think is hope.

I grin. “Your house will be great.”

He smiles but doesn’t say a word.

He doesn’t have to.





CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

PENN

I could get used to this.

The ceiling fan sends ripples of cool air over my naked body. The sheet that’s supposed to be covering me is askew, a remnant of a long, altogether enjoyable night.

And morning.

Because Avery doesn’t play around.

She’s curled up next to me, her head on my chest. One of her arms is stretched over my stomach, and a leg is entwined with one of mine. I tug the sheet up around her, making her as cozy as possible. If she doesn’t wake up, she won’t leave.

Now I sound like a lunatic.

I brush her hair away from her face. Her lashes are long and displayed along the tops of her cheeks. She looks peaceful and happy. When I think I had something to do with that, a peace settles over me too.

I’m fucked. I know it. I don’t know what to fucking do about it, but I’m out of my depth here. How I got here, in my bed, with Avery Perry, a.k.a. Anthill Abby, makes my head spin. Add to that the fact that I’m not actively freaking out, and I might as well be admitted to a mental institution because people aren’t supposed to do this—wake up one morning and feel like a different person. I learned that on a television show once too.

She stirs, her arm lifting off my body as she stretches. The little sounds she makes as she wakes up are adorable.

Her head tilts as she looks up at me with sleepy eyes. “Hey,” she says.

“Hey.”

She holds my gaze for a moment before rolling onto her back. I think about dragging her back against me, but there are laws about holding people captive and I’m not sure I’d let her go.

That probably should terrify me. Strangely, it doesn’t. Not yet, anyway.

A yawn slips from her mouth as she gets her bearings.

“Every part of me hurts,” she says. “Parts of me hurt that I didn’t know could hurt.”

“Those city boys don’t know how to put it down, huh?”

She smacks my chest.

I sink back into my pillows and watch her sit up. Her breasts are heavy and have the most natural, sexiest hang to them.

“One, two, three, or four?” I ask her.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I’m doing research.”

She takes an elastic off her wrist and ties her hair in a knot on the top of her head. “Okay. Is the answer, ‘The start to a Coolio song for five hundred’?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I say, giving her answer back to her.

She sighs. “What am I actually choosing?”

“One would be Anthill Anonymous. Two would be Rocky Root. Three would be Crazy Cowgirl, and I’m going with Miscellaneous Missions for number four, only because I’m not sure what to focus on. There was a lot going on at four this morning.”

“I can’t with you,” she says, looking at me like I’m nuts.

“What? I want to know what you liked best. How else will I improve?” I wait for her to answer, but she doesn’t. “Fine. It was totally Anthill Anonymous, wasn’t it? I mean, it was super cool to fuck someone I didn’t know—only I really didn’t know you because you lied about who you were.”

“Penn,” she says, laughing, “the first time we were together was one of the worst times I’ve ever had. With anyone. Ever.”