“Rafferty!” I cried.
He dipped his chin. “I’m a biker, Lex. Champagne toasts are for weddings and not much else. Unless you got a toast, I say we drink up.”
I gave him my driest smile. “To taking chances… after all these years.”
His smirk reappeared. “Always so eloquent.” He touched his glass to mine. “To taking chances.”
We sipped our drinks for a moment, then I wandered to the counter where he’d placed the mochi. I hadn’t seen the box, and once I did, I whirled to face Rafferty. “S’mores? I didn’t even know they made such a flavor!”
He kept his glass in front of his lips. “I didn’t either, but I know you love s’mores, and I figured I couldn’t go wrong. And if that doesn’t work out, there’s still strawberry in the freezer.”
Words were on the tip of my tongue, but I had to hold them back. Telling him, ‘Oh my God, I love you,’ held a little extra punch at this point.
We ate our mochi bites, and I successfully kept myself from moaning. Once I knew where he found the S’mores flavor, I was going to that store and buying all the boxes. Budget schmudget and calories be damned.
“What are we watching tonight?” Rafferty asked.
“Something short. I have to be out the door by seven-fifty tomorrow morning.”
His eyes darted to the time displayed on the oven. “It’s not even eight-thirty, Lex. How many hours of sleep do you need?”
Maybe I’d misread him… dealing with a home invasion had a way of killing the mood.
“I’m getting up at six-thirty, so I can take a quick shower and cram a little more before heading out the door, which means I need to go to bed at eleven.”
He downed the last of his champagne, set his glass on the counter, and closed the distance between us. “You have a TV in your bedroom. Are we vegging out there or on the couch?”
“My room,” I murmured.
He nodded once. “More champagne or are you good?”
“Champagne is no good when it’s flat, then it’s just wine.”
“Go cue up a show. I’ll bring your glass.”
Butterflies swarmed in my belly when I entered my room. Standing next to my bed, I took my shoes off. Then I realized I wasn’t sure where the remote was. Rafferty had put my clothes back in the drawers, and stacked my books next to my desk and nightstand. Unlike at my parents’ house, he hadn’t made my bed. I moved to the other side of the room, thinking perhaps the remote had been tossed under the bed.
“What are you looking for?” Rafferty asked, putting two glasses on the night stand.
“The remote.”
He lifted his chin. “Sorry, I put that under your pillow. I’d meant to put it on the nightstand and forgot when I got a call from Cal.”
I put a knee on the bed and climbed in, grabbing the remote from beneath a pillow. “You told him about the break-in, too, I take it.”
Rafferty sat on the edge of the bed and tugged off his boots. “Yep.”
I turned on the television, navigated to Netflix, and froze.
“What are you thinking about, Alexandra?” Rafferty asked, settling next to me with his back to the headboard.
I glanced at him. “This is like… God, I’m such a stereotype.”
“You lost me.”
I cocked a brow at him. “Netflix… and chill?”
He closed his eyes and exhaled. Then he slouched in the bed, reached out and pulled me toward him. I went with the flow and stretched out alongside him.
