Sometimes she said things that reminded him exactly how many years were between them, especially when they’d lived vastly different lives. It would’ve been one thing if neither of them had been married with kids, or if both of them had. If either of those things had been the case, their age difference might not have seemed so drastic. But with the lives they’d both led, sometimes Rory felt twenty years older than him, not eight.
“You wanna Netflix and chill with me before we do some Netflix and chillin’?”
She smiled in spite of herself and nodded against his chest. “Only if you promise not to laugh at me anymore.”
“Ah, princess.” He wrapped her tighter in his arms and rocked them from side to side. “You know I can’t do that.”
“I hate you,” she said, but she couldn’t keep the laughter out of her voice. “Find us something to watch, and I’ll get our drinks.”
He nodded, dropped a quick kiss on her lips, and strolled into the living room. She stood in the kitchen for a minute, pressing her hands to her heated cheeks. In an effort to stifle her embarrassment, she swallowed the rest of her wine—if she were tipsy, she’d give exactly zero shits about it. Good heavens, why hadn’t she said that to her sisters first? Surely, they would’ve told her what a damn idiot she was. Butnoooo, it had to be the man sharing her bed.
“What’s this?” Nash called.
Rory leaned back to see into the living room where Nash was holding up a design magazine. A gorgeous canopy bed was circled in bright pink marker with little hearts all around it.
“Ava. She loves goin’ through my magazines. A little designer, that one. She wants that bed something fierce.” Rory laughed, remembering how she’d choked when she’d spotted the price. “She doesn’t quite understand that it costs more than all my monthly bills combined, bless her heart.”
Nash hummed and turned back around to study the magazine while Rory poured herself another glass of wine. After grabbing the beer he’d left on the counter, she carried their drinks into the living room. He lounged against the arm of the couch, one leg straight out in front of him on the cushions and the other bent and resting on the floor.
“Very interesting…” he said.
“What?”
“I seem to remember you calling this ‘nonsense’ when I tried to get you to watch it.”
She glanced at the screen and nearly froze when the familiar image forThe Haunting of Hill Housegreeted her. Fortunately, she had enough wits about her not to give herself away that easily. “I did because it is.”
“I’d only watched through episode three when I was here.”
“And your point is?”
“You’re on episode seven.”
“I—” That time, she did freeze, right in the process of straightening after placing their drinks on the coffee table.
“So, you’ve been Netflix and chillin’ one of my favorites without me?” he asked in mock outrage, snagged her around the waist, and tugged until she tumbled into his lap.
She squeaked at the sudden movement and slapped his thigh. “You’re an ass, you know that?”
“I do, princess.” He tucked her right into the vee of his legs and pulled her back until she rested against his chest. “Now tell me how you’ve only watched three more episodes. You do understand the concept of bingeing, right? Do I need to give you a lesson on that?”
“You do understand that I can kick you outta my house, right? Or shall I give you a lesson in that?”
He chuckled, his warm breath sweeping across her cheek. “Then explain to me how you’re only on episode seven?”
“I don’t sit around all day watchin’ TV, Nash. I have a job—two, actually—and a life. Our bookings have kept me crazy busy, designin’ at home when I’m not at a client’s house. Not to mention, I’m a mom and a sister and—”
“Too scary to watch alone, huh?”
When she didn’t dignify that with a response—mostly because he was absolutely, one hundred percent correct—he pulled her even tighter against him. “Don’t worry, princess. I’ll make sure all the boogeymen don’t get you.”
Taken at face value, his words were easy to mistake for a taunt. But Nash said them with such sincerity, there was no stopping her swooning.
She was dead set on figuring out this new life on her own, on doing as much herself as she could because she’d never before been given—or taken—the chance. And, yeah, this was just a fictional show they were talking about, but she couldn’t stop the warmth from settling into her chest that he’d make sure she was safe—from any foes, fictional or otherwise.
But even with a big, muscly guy to watch over her, she still didn’t want to see more than one episode at a time of this terrifying show. “One of this and then one ofThe Great British Baking Show?”
His cheek puffed against the side of her head as he smiled. “Whatever you want.”
