Four more weeks until you’re Mrs. Drake, Tyler texted.
Final countdown, I texted back.
Although, I didn’t say to what.
Gavin knocked on my door at 9 A.M. on Saturday.
I had just woken up, still in my pajama shorts and a tank, my hair in a messy bun atop my head. When I opened the door, he was leaning against the doorframe, and his brows raised slightly.
“Is this what you look like every morning?” he asked.
I cursed the ache of my heart and the heat creeping up on my cheeks at standing there so disheveled and scantily clothed. However, no coffee was running through my veins, so it was all I could do to yawn and manage, “I usually sleep naked. Why?” in the midst of it.
His eyes ran over me, and I knew he was envisioning me with less clothing on than I had. “Ah… nothing,” he said.
“Liar,” I said, leaving the door open for him to enter as I strode away. “Do you want coffee?” I asked him, making my way to the machine.
“Don’t you want to know why I’m here?” he asked as he closed the door.
“I do, but I need coffee first. So, you’ll just have to wait for me to be ready to hear whatever you have to say.” I pulled two mugs down from the cabinet before prepping the espresso machine.
He settled onto one of the barstools, pulling his booted foot onto the first rung. I could feel his eyes on me as I made coffee the way I liked—extra strong with oat milk and caramel. The smell wafted through the apartment, filling me with that fresh morning feeling. And when it was done, I brought both cups to the bar.
I leaned an elbow against the counter before him, hugging the coffee in my hands and pressing it to my mouth. His tongue swiped across his lips, and he reached out, fingers toying with the hem of my pink silk shorts.
Too close. Too dangerous. Too early for my willpower to be in place. With how sleepy and needy I was for touch, he had about six inches of space to cross before I would have let him fuck me across this countertop.
When his gaze lifted to mine, I didn’t bother trying to hide how terribly I needed to shift the weight on my feet, my pussy pulsing from his touch on my thigh.
“What are you doing today?” he asked, his voice deep.
“Being lazy,” I answered. “Someone has been keeping me up late texting, and I thought I would just be laying in bed sending him pictures all day. Maybe eating junk food and having a vodka later.”
“What kind of pictures?”
“Well, you’ll never know now. You’re here,” I said, tilting my head.
“Tease,” he said, his hand grasping at my flesh.
I nearly smiled, my heart doing a somersault with his fingers on my thigh. “What are you proposing?” I forced myself to ask.
“I was going to propose skydiving and dinner, but now that you’ve mentioned lying in bed and pictures, I might reconsider.”
“I didn’t say you could lay in bed with me,” I said.
“Killjoy,” he muttered.
“Wait—skydiving?” I asked, realizing what he’d said.
His smile broadened. “Thought I would help mark something off your list.”
“I don’t think I woke up prepared for skydiving this morning,” I said, nerves sweeping through me. “That’s… you’re not fucking with me, are you?”
“No,” he replied. “And it’s a couple of hours north, so you have plenty of time to talk yourself in and out of it.”
“Oh, well, that’s key because I think I need to have at least one freak-out about it,” I said.
“As should any normal person.”
