“Why don’t you work on the cover here? I’ll pick up the shirts. And there’s no point in lugging Queenie’s things back and forth. Just leave it. Come back after your dinner… and stay.”
Stay? He can’t mean that. Dice isn’t used to having a woman and a cat sharing his house. How long before the high fades and his flight reflex kicks in?
“Thanks, but that’s okay. I’m sure you need your space.”
His expression tenses, temper flashing in his eyes. “Ifyouneed space, own it. But don’t put that on me when I just asked you to stay.”
“Why are you getting all salty?” I shoot back. “I was trying to be considerate of your situation.”
“And what situation is that?”
“Getting bored. Burnt-out on me. I just thought you might want a break and your house back.”
“I’m nowhere near burnt-out or getting bored. I like having you here. Even your demon cat. I want you to stay tonight. Every night. To spend as much time together as we can before you leave.”
He looks sincere. Sounds sincere. Like he means it. But shacking up for the next couple of weeks? That’s madness. So why am I considering it?
“It’s not a marriage proposal, Lot.”
“I know that.”
“So what’s the problem?”
“No problem. Just thinking.” My leg bounces. “If we do this, we need a few ground rules.”
“More rules?” His brows lift.
“Want to hear them or not?”
“Yeah. Go ahead.”
“Not every night. I want time with Rayne at her place and I needtime for myself. But I also want to be with you. I’ll stay a few nights a week here.”
“Sounds fair. Give me a grocery list and I’ll pick up some more stuff.”
Now he’s grocery shopping? “Yeah, okay, but one more thing. If at any point this starts to feel like too much—for either of us—we agree to be honest about it. Straight up.”
His eyes don’t waver. “Deal.” He extends his pinkie. “You said this is the only way it counts.”
Biting back a smile, I set down my mug and hook my pinkie around his. But unlike when we were kids, he tugs me forward and seals it with a kiss.
God, don’t let me fall in love with this man again.
Chapter Twenty
Lot
That shit was deranged… even for me.
The Shipmate on the boardwalk is one of my favorite restaurants. New York has exquisite food, but this seafood is heaven on a plate. I’ve known the owner, Val Vargas, and his wife, Eva, since I was a baby.
Rayne and I arrive to find her father already seated at a booth. He stands as we approach, his eyes lighting up.
“My girls,” he says, pulling Rayne into a hug, then me. “Lot, it’s so good to have you home.”
“Great to see you too, Uncle Mo,” I say as we pull apart.
He looks as handsome and debonair as ever. Even dressed casually in slacks and a sweater, he exudes elegance. Not pompous or stiff. More like Dennis Haysbert with that deep voice and quiet gravitas.
