She focuses back on the paper, bringing the red pen to her lips, drawing my gaze right to her mouth.
Is she trying to kill me here? I clear my throat and move to the side, pretending to focus on something else. “Any luck?”
This time when she looks back up at me, her stern glare has my balls shriveling up in my boxers. Well, that’s an instant way to kill a blooming hard-on. I’ll take that as a no.
“What is it you’re looking for, exactly?”
“A place to live.” Payton huffs and straightens up, folding the paper neatly in front of her, just like I recall her father doing at the table on the nights I would sleep over at the Mosbys’ when I was younger. “Hollie offered to turn her home office into a guest room for us, but I refuse to put a damper on their newlywed bliss. So my choices are moving in with Archer—” She makes a face, so I know that’s also off the table. “—or stay living with Mom. And I know my mother means well, I truly do, but sometimes I feel like she’s smothering the hell out of me.”
Seeing Payton rest her head in her hands in defeat, I decide it’s best to not ask to clarify that. I can see the predicament that she’s in. I can’t imagine it’s all that easy to move back home as a young adult after everything she’s been through. But I also see Connie means well, too.
Before I can fully think it through, my mouth opens with an idea. “Move in with me.”
“What?” she gasps, picking her head up so fast I worry she’s given herself whiplash.
I could easily lie and say I said something else, but I don’t actually want to. “Move in with me. I have an extra room that’s doing nothing but gathering dust at the moment.”
She blinks rapidly, as if trying to tell if I’m serious or not. “I can’t do that.”
“Why not?” I quirk a brow. “You know me. You trust me.”
“I don’t know.” Her stubborn side is trying to come out swinging, I see, but I won’t let her. “I don’t want to cramp your bachelor lifestyle with your best friend’s younger sister and her child. We’re loud and messy—”
Stepping in front of her, I place my hands on her shoulders. “It’s fine. I want to help. I know that you and the Princess are a package deal.”
She searches my eyes, seeing if I will waver, but I stand my ground.
“Okay.”
If I weren’t still holding on to her, I might have fallen over. “Really?” This time, it’s me who’s shocked. Was it really that easy for her to agree? I was already planning a list of pros and cons that I might have needed to make for her.
She nods.
“Cool. Do you want to come by after your shift to check it out?”
“No, like you said, I trust you. Anything is better than my childhood bedroom, with my mother trying to clean up and ask daily questions. Every morning, I feel like I’ve entered an episode ofDays of Our Liveswith her gossip and theories about the neighbors. You know how Connie Mosby is,” she says jokingly, and I can’t be sure, but I think under her breath, she says something about sex toys? How the hell did we go from talking about her mom to sex toys? I shudder and push the thoughts from my mind. Clearly, I’m losing it.
“We’re off Sunday. Why don’t I swing by in the morning, and we can load my truck up?”
“I don’t have much stuff. I can just meet you at your place.”
“Payton,” I say sternly, and her eyes widen at my tone. I grip her chin with my thumb and forefinger so she looks directly at me. Her lips part slightly in a gasp. I like that she’s so reactive to my touch. “It’s okay to accept help. Let me help you, please,” I plead.
Her eyes drop to my lips. It’s so fast that if I hadn’t already been staring into her baby blues, I might have missed it. It may have been brief, but I know it was there.
With our proximity, it would be so easy for me to close the little distance between us and press my lips to hers.
Would she push me away? Would she tell me to fuck off? God, I hope not. I’ve spent years, more years than I’d like to admit, imagining what it would be like to slip my tongue between her lips, tasting every part of her.
She clears her throat. Was she thinking about that, too?
The air is so thick between us I’m not even sure one of my expensive chef’s knives could cut through that. And those are so sharp, you can slice through paper.
“Fine, but only because I don’t want you to bring out the puppy dog face.”
“What, this one?” I stick my bottom lip out in a pout. I pretend to be clueless, but I know exactly what I’m doing.
Payton playfully pushes my arm. “Yes, asshole. Quit it. You know damn well that no woman can resist that face.” Too bad I don’t care about all or any woman—just one in particular.
