And ultimately, there isn’t anything happening between us except an insane amount of attraction. Insane because I don’t behave like this, and everything about her screams danger and highly uninterested in anything more with me.
“I do.”
“Cain dated Madison fromLive Like an Influencer,” Rhiannon offers unhelpfully.
Eden gasps. “Um, what?”
I shake my head at her. “Please don’t start that rumor. I did notdateMadison.”
She smirks before taking another sip of her wine. “You’re right. They didn’t date.”
Of course that’s exactly what her brother wants to hear.
“Who’s the coolest famous person you’ve ever met?” Eden asks.
I think for a moment. “Probably Tom Hardy.”
Eden’s mouth drops open in shock. “No freaking way. He’s so hot.”
Gabriel rolls his eyes and stands as Rhiannon laughs. “That he is.”
“You want another beer, big shot?” her brother asks as he heads to the fridge and retrieves another bottle.
“Probably shouldn’t. I have a long drive back to the city.”
“Well, it was nice to meet you. Will we be seeing more of you around?”
I tug at the back of my neck, having no idea how to answer that question without talking to his sister first. It’s not that I don’t want to see them again, I like the Carpenter’s more than I thought I would, it’s that his sister’s been pretty fucking clear where I stand. Which is nowhere. Rhiannon doesn’t meet my eye but Eden’s practically bouncing out of her seat.
“Not sure about that.”
He nods and turns his attention to Rhiannon. “I can do the dishes after I shower, sis.”
She shakes her head. “It’s fine. I’m sure Cain won’t mind helping me clean up.”
“I’d love to,” I respond with a smile while Eden darts away from the table to go work on her schoolwork upstairs.
Rhiannon and I gather up the dishes, setting them on the counter while she begins rinsing off the casserole she made, handing each dish to me to dry. I notice the way my boxers are still fitted on her hips, the inches of soft, sun-kissed skin that’s exposed, and the way it felt under my fingertips to squeeze her there.
Has it really been that long since I’ve touched her?
Her brown hair is pulled up in a messy bun, exposing the smooth curve of her neck as she works, and she’s biting her bottom lip gently, as if lost in deep thought. Even the tiny little diamond nose ring she’s always worn looks adorable to me in this domestic setting.
“Your siblings are fun,” I say breaking the silence.
She laughs. “Gabriel was much easier on you than any other guy who’s ever come for dinner.”
“Why do you think that is?”
She shrugs. “He probably doesn’t see you as a serious threat to my happiness.”
What the hell does that mean?
I hate being written off without ever getting a chance. “Because I’m not your type?”
She stops rinsing and sets down the dish before shifting her focus to me and leaning a hip against the countertop. “Weren’t you the one who said you didn’t have a type?”
“Yeah, because having a type means you’re considering more than one option.”
