Meet Me Halfway(51)

I dared a glance, feeling my heart pick up when his eyes tracked my movement. Setting the cup against my lips, I was not at all prepared for him to reach forward and grab his own cup. Holy fucking hell. Did that mean he’d done it to someone else or…

The people around us disappeared, I didn’t even know if anyone else moved to take a drink. I was entrapped by the man across from me, nearly convulsing in my seat as molten lava poured in my core. The cobwebs that’d been covering my libido were long gone, burned up as if they’d never existed.

Not once did he break eye contact with me as we each tipped our heads back. The roll of his throat as he swallowed was possibly one of the most erotic things I’d ever witnessed, and I was suddenly too hot in my own skin. If he’d been able to touch me, just one touch, I might have shattered right there at the table.

And by the way his nostrils flared, he knew it.

Fuck.





Chapter Fourteen





I was death.

That was, if death looked like a pile of dog shit that’d been run over by a golf cart full of polo-wearing, sweaty men before being scooped up and tossed in a lava pit.

I hadn’t woken up hung over. I actually only had a minor headache, which was the surprise of the century for me, but I’d barely slept a wink. I’d passed out within minutes of crashing but had woken soon after with a brain that refused to shut down.

A few hours later, and I was fucking dragging. I’d had to take a scalding shower and drink two large cups of coffee just to find the energy to get dressed for work. I was now slouched on my couch, listening to a lecture about the inefficiency of school drug programs while I worked on a crocheted baby blanket to keep myself from falling asleep a half hour before I needed to leave.

It was going well so far. I’d only had to restart the lecture three times when I’d failed to comprehend a word and re-do the same row of stitches five times when I kept losing count.

I’d finally given up on the lecture and was staring at the half-finished blanket resting in my lap when a knock sounded at my door. My head shot up, wondering who would be here this early. Rick and Layla were passed out in her room, and my parents wouldn’t have brought Jamie back yet.

Creaking the door open, my tongue got lodged in my throat at the sight of Garrett in his hoodie and a pair of sweats, holding a plate of cinnamon rolls. If delicious was a view, this would have been it. He had a slight shadow dusting his jaw, and his hair was tussled in an incredibly endearing way.

“Hey.”

“Good morning.”

His half-lidded eyes took in my work clothes before glancing down at himself. “Were you about to head out?”

I shook my head, opening the door wide enough for him to step through. “No, I still have a few minutes before I need to leave. What’s up? By the way, I’m desperately hoping those heavenly smelling morsels are for me.”

He smirked, handing me the plate. “Sarah made them this morning. She practically kicked me out of my own home to bring them to you before you left, as a thank you for dinner. She said to tell you nothing goes with chili better than cinnamon rolls.”

I half-laughed, half-squealed. “No one else on this coast does that! God, Harry better be ready for a fight because I might steal his wife.”

“You a fan of polygamy?” he poked, resting his fine rear on a barstool while I slapped a roll on a clean plate and put it in the microwave.

“Not particularly. I was just going to replace Layla with her. After last night, I’m sure you can understand why.” I busied myself with grabbing a paper towel, slapping myself internally for bringing up the previous night.

“She’s a feisty one.”

“That she is.”

Pulling my prize from the microwave, I didn’t even care that I had an audience as I stuffed my mouth with gooey, breakfast perfection.

His eyes sparked, a laugh hiding in their depths, but he turned, gesturing to my mess of items littering the living room. “So that’s what you do when you should be sleeping?”

“Jealous?” I asked, sticking my thumb in my mouth and sucking the icing off like the glutton I was.

His lids lowered, “Yes.” Clearing his throat, he stood, walking toward the couch and balancing his butt on the edge. “Your free time looks positively exhilarating.”

I joined him, closing my laptop and moving it out of the way so he could sit. “Don’t knock it till you try it.”

He raised his eyes to the ceiling, lips moving like he was either praying for patience or talking to the popcorn.

“I see I’m not the only ceilologer.”

His head snapped back down, brows heavily creased, “A what?”

“Uh…” Why did I never think before I spoke with this man? I swore my social cues seized up completely when he was around. “Nothing.” I picked up my crochet hook, fiddling with the tip.

He stared at me for another moment, probably coming to terms with the fact that I was really fucking weird. No shade. I was. “What are you working on?”

I looked down at the soft bundle of pink and white yarn, feeling self-conscious. “A baby blanket.”

“Are you an aunt?”

“No. I do have a brother, but he doesn’t have any kids. I make blankets to donate.”

He continued watching me in that silent way of his, asking questions without actually asking them. I sighed, knowing there was no reason for the subject to embarrass me.