“Good, because I’m going to have some good dreams tonight.”
“Gross ...”
Leona ignores me and goes back to the living area, and I see her looking out the window. I refuse to acknowledge her behavior, so I set about the finishing touches until I hear Gabby and Reid come back in.
“Get your hot turkey here!” they holler in unison.
That’s pretty much how the rest of the evening goes. Leona eyeing up Reid, Gabby assuming the role of faithful sidekick, and as for me, I’m fried.
“Thanks for tonight. I probably would’ve stuffed myself with food while watching football all alone if it weren’t for the invite,” Reid says at the end of the evening, leaning into the counter.
Gabby is asleep on my bed after watchingThe Wizard of Oz. Leona is home, hopefully not dreaming of Reid. I’m in my kitchen, sitting on the counter, dishtowel thrown over my shoulder, a glass of wine next to my thigh—sexy, I know—with Reid.
“No family close by?” I ask, trying to eat up time with my words. I have no clue what the next move is—or what to do.
“None,” he says, his Adam’s apple bobbing.
“What about work?”
“Everyone’s mostly got a family in tow. And then there’s my graduate student, Tim. He’s a real piece of geek. Oh boy, I needed a break from him.”
“Real piece of geek?”
“I teach statistics, Andi. Most of us are pretty big geeks. Hate to burst your bubble.”
Even though I try to keep it from happening, I feel my eyebrow rise.
“You disagree?” he asks, his eyebrow mirroring mine.
“You don’t look like a big piece of geek.” Desperate to hide my embarrassment, I grab my glass and gulp my wine.
“I don’t, do I now?” Reid hops down and comes closer.
“Not really. Except your glasses are geeky chic.”
“I like you, Andi.” He settles between my thighs, his lips whispering words along my cheekbone. “And your daughter. What I mean is ... I know you’re a package deal. Right now, I like you a lot.”
“Is that a stats term,a lot?” I make light of the moment when Reid is obviously trying to be sincere.
“It is. It means I like you about ninety-nine point eight percent a lot.”
He’s careful not to use the wordlovebut doesn’t allow me to ruin the moment, and I like this about him. Nothing ever comes of that type of bullshit.
He kisses me on the lips, a gentle, closed-mouth kiss. His hand slides up my back, takes the dish towel, and tosses it near the sink. The next round, he skims over my shirt, back down again, and then he makes his way underneath. The warmth of his palm feels electric against my skin.
“I like you too,” I mumble against his lips.
We stay like that for a while, kissing and exploring. My hands find a perch on his hips, but they itch to do more. Reason stops me.
“Gabby,” I whisper.
“Right, we should be more private,” he says, not needing me to explain.
I like this too. Maybe love it.
“Is that okay?” I ask. “I know it kind of puts a damper on us. But that’s my life, you know?”
He places a kiss on my forehead. “More than okay.”
