So horny that my panties have been wet since I woke up, in fact.
I drag my thoughts out of the bedroom and into the light, focusing on the beauty around me. The October sun filters through the live oaks in Audubon Park, dappling the walking path with patches of gold. The breeze is refreshingly cool, promising my beloved autumn is right around the corner. And my coffee—a perfectly pulled cortado from the gourmet truck—is exquisite, though still hot enough to burn my tongue.
I sip it anyway, grateful for something to do with my hands.
My lips.
My mouth…
Beside me, Nix walks with that athlete’s grace that’s impossible to ignore, coffee held loosely in one large hand,wearing faded jeans and a Boston University tee that hugs his shoulders in a way that begs my eyes to linger.
Which they absolutely shouldnot.
Do not linger, do not appreciate, do not think about how good it felt to dig my nails into his shoulders while I?—
I take another too-hot drink, focusing on the way the liquid burns down my throat.
We’ve been walking for maybe ten minutes, talking about nothing. The weather. The park. How happy Parker and Makena looked last night. Safe, surface-level conversational drivel that skirts around the elephant in the room.
The very horny elephant…
What happened last night on the porch wasn’t supposed to happen.
And it definitely wasn’t supposed to be that hot.
But it was.
Damn, it was…
I can still feel the ghost of his hands on my hips, the ache between my thighs that woke me with a gentle pulsing, silently suggesting a “rise and ride” morning would be a fantastic idea. But, of course, Nix wasn’t in bed beside me. I was forced to stumble into the bathroom—slightly hungover—where I spent an embarrassing amount of time in the shower. Where I closed my eyes, letting the water stream over my skin as I remembered his mouth on my breasts, the way he growled my name, the feel of him buried so deep inside me that I?—
Jesus Christ, stop it. Now! Please. Your panties are already a disgrace, woman, and the day isn’t getting any younger.
The inner voice is right. It’s time to focus. Strategize.
I’m about to suggest we find an empty bench when a stronger breeze rustles through the live oaks, sending a shower of leaves spiraling down around us. I feel one land in my hair, but before I can reach for it, Nix turns to me on the wide path. His fingersbrush against my temple as he pulls it free, the simple touch enough to send a current rippling across my already hyperaware skin.
We’re standing too close now, close enough that when I look up, I can see the flecks of amber in his dark eyes.
Close enough to smell clean laundry mixed with his earthy Nix scent—the one that lingers on my tongue like a fine, herby gin I can’t wait to taste again…
“So, I’ve been thinking order of operations,” I blurt out as I take a step back, bringing the potential energy down a notch.
But only a notch.
The air between us is still charged, and heat lingers in his gaze as he cocks his head to the side. “Order of operations? Are we a math equation?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. Maybe? I was just thinking you would be more familiar with the order of operations than the priority pyramid. Basically, we need to decide which fire to put out first.”
He nods. “Got it. Backstory is probably a good place to start. When did we start dating? How serious is it? Are we telling our friends this is all for show, etc.? Parker texted this morning, asking what happened last night after they left, and I…” He arches a pointed brow. “I wasn’t sure how to answer.”
“I’m sure he’ll hear the gossip soon enough,” I say with a sigh. “Molly definitely talked.”
“How do you know?”
“My mother texted to warn me to lock my gate this morning.”
He winces. “Sorry.”
