Love on the Lake (Lakeside #2)(46)

I spot a bag in the back and pull it out. “Goldfish crackers?”

“They’re good in soup. Which I eat a lot of in the winter.”

“Let me guess: canned tomato soup and grilled cheese is your favorite.”

“Less my favorite and more my go-to since it’s fast and easy. You wanna keep looking so you can poke some more fun at my juvenile eating habits? There’s probably a few boxes of mac and cheese in there somewhere.”

“And boxed scalloped potatoes?” I arch a brow.

“Don’t start knocking boxed scalloped potatoes, or you can get right back into the truck and I’ll drive that sweet ass of yours home.” He points to the door.

I roll my eyes. “You’re not driving my sweet ass anywhere, except maybe into your mattress later.”

“Now who’s throwing around the cheesy lines?” His gaze moves down my body on a hot sweep, though.

“Accurate, not cheesy.”

“Not accurate if you keep making fun of my eating habits.” He crosses his arms, but he’s smirking.

“I happen to love boxed scalloped potatoes. I always cook them in a super-shallow pan, and take them out like five minutes early.”

“So the potatoes are still a little crunchy,” he finishes for me.

“Exactly. Me and my younger brother, Bradley, loved them that way. Van used to get so annoyed that they weren’t fully cooked.” My smile wavers at the memory.

“It must be hard to have all those memories and try to reconcile them with who he’s become.”

“He’s still my brother; he did something terrible, but it doesn’t mean I’m not going to love him. I hate what he did but not him as a person, if that makes sense.”

He moves closer; his fingers drift along my cheek. “Your heart is too pure for someone like me.”

“What?” I must have heard that wrong.

“Sorry.” He gives his head a shake. “Do you wanna sit? We can talk?” He thumbs over his shoulder to the couch.

It’s alluring, the idea of opening up to him. But even if I misheard him, I have a feeling too much talking tonight is going to make him hazardous to my heart. Right now I don’t want to think, I just want to feel. “It’s pretty late. Maybe you should show me your bedroom instead?”

“Yeah. I can definitely do that.”



Half an hour later I’m tucked into his side, both of us sweaty and sated. His bedroom is 100 percent him. The frame is rough-hewn wood, and the dresser matches. There isn’t much in the way of furniture, the room being built for function instead of style. But the comforter is gray-and-navy plaid, the sheets the same shade of navy. There are only two pillows and no extra blankets. It’s a bachelor bedroom through and through.

“So I’ve been thinking.” His fingers sweep up and down my spine.

“Oh? What about?” I settle my hand on his chest and prop my chin on the back of it so it’s not digging into his pec. My stomach flips at his expression. He looks nervous.

“You and me.” He sounds uncertain.

“Okay.”

“I don’t really know how to do this.” He scratches above his eyebrow.

“Do what?” The panic is instant and makes my stomach somersault.

“I’ve never had a woman in this bed.”

“Because you usually sleep with women at their houses?” I’m trying to figure out where he’s going with this.

“Yeah. No. Shit. I’m not very good at this.” He blows out a breath. “Look. I don’t do relationships. It’s just not . . . something I have much experience with, and it seems like something I’d be likely to fuck up. I don’t let a lot of people into my personal space and definitely not my bed.”

“Do you not want me to sleep over?” My throat feels like it’s starting to close up, and my heart squeezes painfully. At least if I have to do the walk of shame, it’ll be dark.

“No. I mean yes, I want you to sleep over. I like you. I want you here. What I’m trying to say and really sucking at it is that I like spending time with you.”

“And you’d like to spend time with me in your bed?” I try to make a joke, because he seems pretty stressed out, and for a second I thought he was kicking me out after sex.

“Yeah.” He smiles. “Exactly.”

I smile back but swallow down the stupid lump that’s formed. I remind myself that he’s literally just told me he doesn’t do relationships, so any romantic notions I’ve started concocting need to be tossed out with the trash.

“Wait. No.”

“You don’t like spending time with me?”

“I do. A lot. And not just in bed. I was thinking maybe I could take you out for dinner or something. We could go to Lake Geneva. They have nice restaurants. The kind where you can wear a dress and get all fancy. If you want. I mean, I don’t mind going to places around here either.”

“You mean like a date?”

“Yeah. Like a date. Unless you don’t want to call it a date. Then it can just be dinner.” His eyes dart around.

“I’d like to go out for dinner with you.”

“Yeah?” He sighs in relief and grins.

“Yeah.” I smile back.