“For your hair?”
Wow, this was humiliating. Had she presumed too much? “If I stay overnight, I need… my hair needs extra oiling. When you said ‘secret girlfriend,’ I thought… I can put it back in the Jeep.”
“Erin,” he caught her elbow and pulled her forward. Their lips met, and she melted into him. It was better than the hug. Here was refuge, the place in his arms where she belonged.
If he kept being this perfect, she’d have no choice but to fall in love with him. They’d named their relationship today, and she’d never used the ‘L’ word with anyone ever.
Time to move to the safer ground of sexiness.
“So, this is your house.” She drew back to look around. “It’s big and—”
“Cluttered?” he said. “I blame Abby.”
“Abby left a stack of New Yorkers, Men’s Health, and Plain Dealer newspapers?” His front door led to an open floor plan living room and kitchen dining room. The living room had a massive pile of magazines and newspapers shoved in the back corner.
“She bought me all of these subscriptions. According to her, if I disappeared, someone would call the police when I stopped picking up the paper.”
“You aren’t dead; you shoveled the walk.”
“Nah, I pay a neighborhood kid for that. The newspaper deliver guy needs to get to the door to notice if I disappear.”
Erin kept examining the living room. He had a massive flat screen TV hanging up above the fireplace facing a sleek black couch. A guitar hung on the outer wall, next to a battered armchair. “You play the guitar?”
“I try. It’s better than my singing.”
“You could carry a tune,” Erin said. He hadn’t been awful during the three-legged race.
“Nothing like you.” He glanced at her, almost shyly. “You could sing, and I’ll try to play something. I have a pretty limited repertoire of the late 90s and early 2000s.”
“Velvet Revolver?”
“Also Hinder and Seether,” he admitted.
“We can try it,” Erin said with her stupid heart leaping again. He remembered her humming from months ago and was willing to put himself out there. Not many men were secure enough to appear less than the best at everything. “The rest of the house?”
“This is my kitchen-dining room.” He had a large, stainless steel, industrial looking kitchen. The dining room was behind the couch, and the kitchen looked into the living room. His dining room table was an impressive chestnut piece with stacks of papers and a laptop. “Sorry, I worked while I waited.”
“It’s okay.” His fridge contained bottled water, not even beer. Undeterred, she looked in the freezer and said, “You cook and freeze your own casseroles? The turkey was amazing, but this is a whole other level of domestic.”
Noah hastily shut the doors. “Abby did it. Remember her last visit about two months ago?”
“The vomit-inducing mortification at the North Star? Nope. Don’t remember it.”
“She’s fifteen years older than me, kind of been a second mom. When she flies in, she cooks a bunch of casseroles to make sure I don’t starve to death.”
“You eat three-month-old casseroles?”
“I’ve been eating a lot of pizza lately.” He gave her a quick kiss. “If I hadn’t been busy elsewhere, I’d have finished them weeks ago.”
Erin put a hand on the counter-top to brace herself and saw it had dust on it. “You’re not eating here? Don’t you eat breakfast?”
“I keep cereal at HQ, or I eat at the firehouses when I’m on tour. For lunch, if I don’t order something, I subsist on protein bars and beef jerky in my Chief Car.”
“Your liquor cabinet has dust.” Erin pointed to the corner with a well-appointed collection.
“I don’t like to drink alone,” he said. “It’s pathetic, and I’m a little worried to start.”
“Why? I drink after a sucky shift.”
