“No.” She shakes her head, and her curls bounce from side to side. Her hair is so damn sexy. “We’re not there yet.”
“Soon, though.”
“Soon?”
“When you’re ready.” I want to be sure.
“Okay.”
“Now, grab something dry out of my drawer.” Because the sight of her wet T-shirt is more than I can take. Have mercy.
29
Becklyn
Surreal.That’s the only word that comes to mind as I search his top dresser drawer for a T-shirt. I opt for one I remember him wearing all the time back home. I guess you’d call it a classic band tee, black with the logo from the group U2. I know he loves them. I remember him listening to them a lot.
As I’m about to lift my wet shirt off, I turn and watch Lucky step into his bedroom. “Oh, sorry.” He must see what I’m doing.
I have a decision to make here. I can either skitter away, maybe go into the bathroom and change, or I can just do it now. In front of him.
With bravery I didn’t know I had, I turn slowly, facing him. My hands are still on the bottom edge of my white shirt. His eyes haven’t left me. They’re now gazing down at the bottom of my shirt. I swear he’s holding his breath.
“Becklyn.” His voice comes out sort of gruff. “If you do that, I’m going to…”
“What?” Since when did I get so daring? “What are you going to do?”
He doesn’t hesitate. “I’m going to want to touch you at the very least.”
Perhaps I should give this more thought. Am I ready for Lucky to touch me?
Long answer? Yes.
“Lucky Ganetti,” I say as I slowly raise the shirt over my stomach that’s still pretty soft. “I’ve been waiting for you to touch me since I was old enough to know what that meant.”
“Babe…” Lucky’s chest is moving up and down, fast.
My shirt is right below my breasts. Below my best and prettiest bra.
Yeah, I thought about it. I changed into it before I went to the store.
Without another thought, I drag it over my chest, past my neck, and off. Tossing it to the side, I let my arms lower to my sides. The two of us stare at one another for way too long. As far as I’m concerned, the next move is his.
He doesn’t disappoint. His stride is long and determined. If there wasn’t carpeting in his room, I suspect I’d hear his feet pounding. He’s in front of me in no time. “You’re fortunate.”
Oh, wow. He’s not one of those guys, is he? Sure, I joked about him being braggy, but it was a joke. “Fortunate?”
“If my rib wasn’t cracked, this would end up with you in my bed.”
Well, shoot. I forgot about his stupid rib. “Why is that fortunate?”
“We’re not there yet.”
“You may not be—”
“We’re not there yet.”
He’s so sure… “So wherearewe?”
