Well Matched (Well Met #3)(55)

He rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. “You know that’s not the only reason I go to Jackson’s, right?”

“Sure, but I bet it’s top five.” I echoed his stance, leaning one hip against the kitchen counter.

He opened his mouth to object, but instead he just laughed. “Okay, maybe. Only when I have to go alone, though.” He raised his eyebrows meaningfully, and the flutter in my chest grew uncomfortable. I didn’t want to think of him picking up someone else. But I didn’t want to go out with him either. Sure, we’d hung out there together before. But the energy between us felt different now. What if someone saw us standing a little too close to each other? What if someone said something?

So I made a disgusted noise in the back of my throat and started herding Mitch toward the front door. “You’re on your own tonight, I’m afraid. I have very important plans with my bed.” Whoops. That came out wrong.

“Now, wait a second.” He turned to me when we got to the front door. “Maybe I spoke too soon. Your plans sound a lot more fun. Tell me more.” His voice went all rumbly, and this close, that massive chest of his was right there. I knew what was under that T-shirt and I wanted more. Taking care of myself in the shower earlier hadn’t been enough, apparently. Now my mind was on the drawer in my nightstand, and the box of condoms I’d tucked in there recently. Just in case.

For a long moment silence hung between us, and I was aware of every breath we took, practically in unison, while his bright blue eyes darkened with promise. It was just the two of us here. It would be so easy. So goddamn easy to reach for him. To ask him to stay. I could practically taste his skin, feel the heat of him over me, and every part of me ached for it. Ached for him.

This was a bad idea, I knew that. This was a line that I shouldn’t cross. Not a second time.

But I was too caught in the blue of his eyes and the brilliance of his smile, so instead of pushing him out the door like I should, I nodded back toward the kitchen. “There’s a couple beers left, you know. If you wanted to stick around and . . . finish them.”

His eyes never left mine as he stepped closer, one hand curling around my waist. “You know, I think I’d like that.”

“Good.” I leaned around him to throw the bolt on the front door, which shifted my body so that I was flush against him. He sucked in a breath and his hand slid to the small of my back, pulling me closer.

This didn’t change anything, I told myself as I led him to my bedroom. We were still just friends. Just friends, I reminded myself as his mouth was hot on my skin, as I pulled his T-shirt over his head, as he laid me back on my bed. This was all meaningless, I thought as his fingertips trailed across my skin, cupping my breasts while his tongue licked up inside me.

As I dissolved under his hands and his mouth, as he groaned out my name while pushing inside me, as I dug my nails into his back to pull him closer, harder into me, I took comfort in knowing that wall around my heart was still intact.

This didn’t change anything.

We were still just friends.



* * *



? ? ?

After our impromptu sleepover and leisurely breakfast on Sunday, we finished the living room, painting over the primer with the acceptable-but-boring Eggshell. Monday morning I took all the painter’s tape off the edges of the wall, waiting for Mitch to come by to help me move the furniture back. When he got there he didn’t even knock, just came right in the front door. Making himself at home.

“So what are we working on today . . .” His voice trailed off and I heard his footsteps come toward me in the kitchen. I glanced over my shoulder to see a puzzled expression on his face. He took an exaggerated sniff of the air. “What’s that . . . is that . . . ?”

I shrugged. “Nothing exciting. Pork shoulder in the slow cooker again.”

“Yeah, but . . .” A grin crawled up his face. “You made this for me?”

“I did not,” I said a little too quickly. “I made it for me. I can’t afford takeout every night, you know.” It’d seemed like a good idea when I’d started it last night, making a big slab of meat for us to devour at the end of the day, but not if he was going to be all smug about it.

He nodded firmly, moving to the coffeepot to pour himself some coffee, which of course I had also made extra of, in case he’d want some. “It’s for me.”

His conviction was maddening, but when he was like this it was easier to just not argue with him. While he sipped his coffee I went back to what I was doing when he got there: staring at the kitchen with a critical eye.

“You sure I shouldn’t do anything in here?”

He shrugged. “Like what?”

“I don’t know. But now that the rest of the house is starting to look better, it looks kind of dingy in here, don’t you think?”

“I don’t know that I’d say that.” He leaned his elbows on the kitchen island and studied the room with me. “Your appliances aren’t all that old, and the floor’s in good shape. But it’s up to you.”

“Yeah.” I decided to table the thought for now. One room at a time, one project at a time. “Let’s get the living room put back together.”

The living room was so much brighter now that it wasn’t blue anymore. The Eggshell wasn’t quite as soulless as I’d feared, and once we’d put the furniture back the way I liked it, the whole room looked larger and sunnier. It wasn’t bad, but I wasn’t sure if it was me. But it didn’t have to be. I wasn’t making these changes for myself. I was making them for whoever owned this place next.