I slap a hand over my face. “Please tell me I didn’t sniff you in public.”
“You did,” he says, amused.
“Oh God.”
His voice softens, and he puts me out of my misery. “You kissed me, sweetheart. That’s it.”
I peek through my fingers. “Was it… Was I bad?”
“No, Jenna. You were perfect.” He chuckles, and my breath catches.
Oliver holds my gaze, his expression shifting to less teasing now. “You said my name. In your sleep.”
I blink. “I did?”
“Mhmm.” His eyes track my face, as if memorizing it. “Said it right after you kissed me, like it finally clicked and you remembered me after all these years.” He continues, and his voice dips into that gentle-command register that turns my bones to pudding. “But we’re not doing drunk kisses again, Princess. Next time your mouth is on mine, you’re going to be fully sober. And completely aware of what we’re doing.”
I stare at him. He saidnext time. Next. Time. What the hell am I supposed to do with that?
I swallow hard. “Okay.”
He straightens slightly, though he stays very close. “Now, did you drink your water this morning?”
“Yes,” I say automatically. “You left it on my nightstand.”
“Good girl.” Holy shit, I thought guys only said that in romance books. I’d be lying if I said that simple phrase coming from his lips didn’t make my panties wet. “And the meds?”
“Yes. Those too.”
“Did you eat?”
I blink. Then blink again. “Well, no?—”
“Wrong answer.” He tilts his head with a single raised eyebrow. “You’re getting food as soon as you leave here.”
My heartbeat does a stupid, fluttery thing. “You can’t just boss me around, Oliver.”
“Oh, Princess,” he tsks. “I absolutely can.” The devilish smirk on his face makes my knees go weak. But before I can overthink it, he gestures to the coffee. “Thank you for this, by the way.”
“You’re welcome,” I smile. A moment passes between us. It’s soft, charged, and a little terrifying. “So,” I say quickly, scrambling for self-control. “I owe you dinner. For everything. Just name the place and I’ll take you out this week.”
“Mmm. No.”
My eyes widen and I rear back. “No?”
“No,” he repeats firmly. “You’re not taking me out.” He slowly drags his gaze down my body, then back up to meet my eyes. “I’m takingyouout.”
My breath stutters. “You… you don’t have to?—”
“Jenna.” His voice is quiet but his tone is unarguable. “I’m not letting you pay for athank youdinner when I’m the one who enjoyed last night the most.”
Heat climbs my neck as my breaths quicken. “Are you always this confident?”
“Only when I know what I want,” he replies, leaning in closer. “And I want you.”
My pulse bangs against my ribs. A date. Arealdate. With Oliver Jacobson, who has muscles now and kisses like pure sin and calls mePrincessin a way that should be illegal.
“W-when?” I manage.
