His eyes gleam as he stares down at me, the restaurant entrance behind us. “This was the night of my dreams.”
“Same,” I respond as he kisses the side of my head, lingering to smell my hair. “Back to my place?”
“Heck yeah, I’m still hungry.”
sixteen
OUR TAKEOUT CONTAINERSare scattered across my coffee table while we watchDie Hard,and Kevin begs for scraps. My feet are shamelessly in JP’s lap as I lie back on the couch, and he gives me a foot massage.
“That was the most Maury Povich night of my life,” he says, and I laugh.
“Families are wild, and Howard came to let the world know how messed up his is.” I drag my fingers under my eyes to wipe the happy laughter tears away.
“Or at least let all of Olive Garden in Chicago know.” His lips slide into a smile—that smile. The one that makes me take a deep breath to collect myself.
“Tonight was my favorite,” I sigh out the words, and his hands grip my ankles as he nods. “Oh shit, I need to pack!”
I jump from the couch, and Kevin barks.
“Can I help?”
“No,” I say. “But you can keep me company.”
He smiles quietly. At least, that’s the only way I can describe it. It’s like he wants to smile his widest and brightest, but he holds back. Maybe it’s because we have these weird stipulations around us. And even if the professional ones are gone, there’s still the circumstantial ones.
He’s headed back to Greece on Monday. I’m still here.
I walk out of my closet with two sweaters and throw them in my suitcase while JP lies on my bed, one hand petting Kevinand the other sipping a glass of wine. “How long will you be in Seattle?”
“I fly home Sunday,” I answer, and he nods.
“What time?”
“Eleven... p.m.”
He deflates. “Who’s watching Kevin?”
“Chelsey.”
“What happened to Kenna?”
God, the details this man remembers might dismember me. “She moved to Atlanta.”
“And how does Kevin like Chelsey?” he asks, scratching his ears to Kevin’s delight.
“Well, he doesn’t like her as much as you.” I grin and throw a pair of sweats in my suitcase.
“Oh, sexy lingerie!” he comments.
“Always,” I say, but swallow. There’s a part of me that wants to show him the possibilities of what could be, but that back part of my mind stops me. I throw in the last few essentials, then my toiletry bag and zip the top.
“That was the fastest packing I’ve ever seen.”
I jump on the bed next to him and groan into my pillow. Kevin hops off the bed and saunters out to the hallway.
“Packing for Thanksgiving with family is basic. A sweater to look festive. My favorite stretchy jeans to accommodate the stuffing and sweet potato casserole. Sweats. T-shirts. And one outfit that will remind my mom I’m still a successful little shit when she invites a publicist, journalist, or producer over tomeet meand remind me how I should have never left the industry and that being a therapist is a stupid waste of time and is only something used to show status. She thinks people are like, Look! I’m fancy enough to have a therapist!When that isn’t even nearly close to what I do.”
He sighs heavily and tucks his fingertips in my hairline, making my eyes fall closed. “I hate that she doesn’t love what you do.”
