“Perfect. Thanks.” Zoe kisses us each on the cheek and starts to dash off again. But she stops and turns back to us.
“Don’t think I didn’t notice what’s going on here. I want details later.” And just in case Owen or I might misunderstandthis as innocent, she waggles her brows for us, before running off toward the elevator herself.
As we watch her go, Owen knocks his arm against mine. “Want to get out of here?”
“Yeah,” I quirk a smile. “Your place or mine?”
CHAPTER 58
GEORGE
Back at my apartment,Owen is cooking me dinner, and I am shamelessly watching him as I lean against the edge of the dividing wall. I know I should be hungry. All I’ve had since we left Vermont is a package of chips and a slushie. But I am far too distracted by the sight of the man in my kitchen to think about food.
He’s trying dutifully to pretend he doesn’t notice me. Scurrying around, washing vegetables, chopping things. But I’m pretty sure by the extremely focused way he is not looking at me, he is very, very aware that I am blatantly checking him out.
I clear my throat, and the blush that rises on the back of his neck confirms my suspicions. It is also enough to draw me to him, wrapping my arms around his waist and nuzzling against the warmth of the skin at his nape.
“When I said you didn’t have to help, I didn’t mean you should actively interfere with the cooking process.” His voice is teasing and low.
“Mmm, can’t help it.”
He tips his head back, resting it against my shoulder. “Doesn’t seem like you’re trying too hard.”
“In my own defense,” I slip under his arm, placing myself between him and the counter, his arms caging me in. “I don’t want to.”
Owen leans in, brushing his lips against mine. I bring my hands up, into his hair. He hums, pressing into me, pinning me against the counter.
After a minute or two of this, he reaches out and shuts off the faucet I was only dimly aware was running.
“Executive decision,” he says, trailing kisses along my ear and down my jawline. “Dinner can wait.”
“Good choice,” I take him by the hand and step backwards toward the bedroom, pulling him along with me. “Step into my boudoir.”
“Wow, the boudoir on a first date?” He smiles, then carefully removes my glasses, setting them on the nightstand before he pulls his sweater and my shirt off me for the second time today.
“Does this really count as only the first date, though?” I ask as he slides my glasses back onto me, and I get to work removing his clothes.
“Maybe not?Miss Matchedmight count.”
“Not the walking tour of New York?”
He bends to nip at my jawline. “Mmm, maybe. Maybe we need to do that again. Together.”
I’m momentarily distracted by the idea of all the places I can take Owen and things we can do if we’re actually in the same place.
“Oh! Have you seen the High Line? I think you would love the High Line. Plus, there’s this great Vietnamese restaurant not too far from the northern end?—”
He’s laughing at me. Silently, but he’s shaking as he buries his face in the spot where my shoulder meets my neck.
“Hey!” I protest, but now I’m laughing too.
He pulls back to look at me. “George. I definitely want to do all those things. And there are a few places in Vermont I’d love to show you whenever you can make the time to spend a couple days up there. But right now, I would really like to continue this.”
The man makes a very compelling point. He hooks a finger into the waistband of my pants and leads me to the bed. The mattress dips under our weight. Our mouths meet again, limbs tangling as we finish undressing each other without breaking the kiss. When our remaining clothes are discarded on the floor, Owen presses his lips in a torturously slow, deliberate trail down my body. I reach down and lift his chin to stop him.
“Hey.”
He looks up at me, pupils blown, breathless. I brush his hair back, fingers combing through it. “My turn.”
