Lizzie Blake's Best Mistake (A Brush with Love, #2)(58)

Both their bodies rested on the floor at this point, tangled in the sheets and plastic, and their breaths came in heavy pants from the commotion.

And then Lizzie started giggling.

It was quiet at first, almost imperceptible. But the sound grew to wheezes and snorts, her whole body shaking with laughter.

And Rake was utterly defenseless against the tidal wave of laughter that broke in his own chest. He didn’t know how long they lay there, laughing and shaking on the wreckage of her bed. Eventually, the need to pee outweighed the fun, and Rake sat up.

“Get in the bed,” he said to Lizzie as he stood, reaching out a hand to help her up.

“I can sleep on the couch,” she protested.

“No” was all Rake said, turning her shoulders and giving her a gentle push toward the bed.

After handling his bathroom needs, he returned to the site of his near demise, folding up the useless plastic so Lizzie wouldn’t similarly trip over it. He snuck covert glances at her form on the bed while he finished his task, his heart pounding with hard strikes against his chest.

With a deep breath, he walked over to his side of the mattress, sliding under the sheets and leaving half his body hanging off the edge so he wouldn’t accidentally touch Lizzie. Which was the totally normal way to handle the situation.

“This is very one-bed-at-the-inn,” Lizzie said after a minute, giggling as she squirmed next to him.

Rake was trying to keep his breathing steady—which had become jagged and short for no apparent reason whatsoever the second he slid next to her—and he offered a grunt in response. He stared up at the ceiling, hyperaware of Lizzie’s untouchable body just a few inches from him.

“Go to sleep,” she said, poking him in the ribs. “You’re lying all stiff and weird.”

Stiff indeed, Rake thought, her breath pushing soft clouds of air onto his cheeks. Living with Lizzie was making him randier than a teenage boy.

“I’m all wired now,” he said, clearing his throat.

“Too much excitement,” Lizzie said with a yawn.

“Which part was most exciting for you, Birdy? Me shattering my kneecaps or you double kicking me in the chest?”

Lizzie let out one of her booming signature laughs, making the bed shake. Rake loved her laughs—loved how easily he could pull them out of her and how little sparks of happiness seemed to travel on the sound—but he decidedly did not love her laughs when they were two inches from his ear.

“Jesus Christ, Lizzie. Now you’ve gone and blown out my eardrums too. Any other bodily injuries you want to inflict before the night’s up?”

Another laugh bubbled to the surface, but she clamped a hand over her mouth, sending the vibrations through the mattress.

“Glad you think it’s so funny. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’re trying to kill me.”

Her laughter continued, making him smile. A foreign sense of pride swelled in his chest, knowing he was the source of her joy. He wanted to make her laugh forever.

“I’m serious,” he continued. “At this rate, you’re going to be carting me around to endless doctor appointments in my old age with the damage you’re inflicting.”

Her laughter started to fade, but he picked up momentum with the joke.

“And, in retribution, I’m going to make sure they’re all at the most inconvenient times of day. You’ll hate it.” He laughed to himself, picturing an elderly version of Lizzie trying to drive him to appointments around the city. They’d probably fight over directions. And laugh.

After a moment, he realized how quiet and still Lizzie had become. He squinted at her, making out subtle traces of her face in the dark. The deep pucker between her eyebrows. The way she chewed on her lip.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, reaching over and giving her arm a soft squeeze.

“Nothing,” she said, shaking her head and pulling her arm away.

“No, tell me. You look upset. Did I offend you? I was only joking.”

“No, it’s just…” She stared at him, the dark room turning her usually vibrant and bright eyes into dark searching pools.

“Just…?”

“You said, ‘old age,’ which means we’d—” She paused, swallowing. “Which means we’d have to still be together for that to … happen.”

Rake blinked. “Right. Right…” he said, his mind somersaulting. “Total joke. Once the little one comes of age I’m sure we’ll…” He waved his hands around in a vague motion.

“Right,” Lizzie said, nodding. “Right. Yeah. We’ll … yeah.”

An awkward silence snuggled in between them. Lizzie cleared her throat.

“Well, good night, then,” she said, turning away from him and tucking her knees up toward her chest.

“G’night,” Rake whispered back, trying to ignore the odd poking sensation in his gut.





Chapter 29



Week thirteen, baby is the size of a half-eaten corn dog. And has butt cheeks.

About a week later, Rake woke up with a raging boner.

That was torturously cradled by Lizzie’s ass as they spooned.

Which, unfortunately for Rake, was his new disaster of a morning routine.

He always woke before Lizzie for work, saving himself at least a little bit of embarrassment. But the softness of these summer mornings and the sweetness of her skin caused all his common sense to drown in a warm pool of pent-up horniness and tempting bad decisions.