"I'll show you."
A sound came out like a laugh mixed with a groan. "Fuck, Rhett. You can't say things like that."
"Why not?"
"Because—" He gestured vaguely. "Because it makes me want to do things that probably aren't slow."
I grinned. "What kind of things?"
"Things involving significantly less clothing and possibly your bedroom."
"Well." I settled back against the couch cushions, pulling him over me. "When you put it like that."
Our legs tangled together, with his solid weight on me, the warmth radiating through his sweater.
"Better?" I asked.
"Yeah." He touched my face with a beefy thumb. "You're really okay with this? With me being here, taking up half your couch, and probably about to wreck your entire evening plan?"
"My evening plan was you, Hog."
"Me?"
"You."
The candles flickered, throwing shadows across Hog's face. He looked younger in the low light, less guarded.
"I've never been anyone's entire evening plan before," he said quietly.
"Their loss."
"Maybe. Or maybe I'm lucky you've got terrible taste in men."
I stared up into his eyes and kissed him again. Slower this time, tasting the mint tea still lingering on his tongue.
When we broke apart, he was smiling.
"So what now?" he asked.
I stood and offered him my hand. "Now I show you the rest of the apartment."
He let me pull him up from the couch. His fingers were warm, slightly rough from hockey tape. I led him through the apartment—past the kitchen with its organized chaos and past the bathroom where I'd hung a towel for him next to mine.
Down the short hallway to my bedroom.
He stopped in the doorway like he'd hit an invisible wall.
"Rhett, this is—" He gestured vaguely at my room, at the queen bed that suddenly looked small with him standing beside it. "I'm gonna destroy your apartment."
"What?"
"Look at me." He spread his arms, taking up even more space. "Look at your bed. I'm gonna break something. The frame, the mattress. Hell, probably you."
His voice had that self-deprecating edge again, making him smaller and easier to dismiss.
"Hog."
"My body isn't designed for—" He gestured at my carefully made bed, the neat nightstand, and the room that fit someone my size, not his. "For delicate situations."
